#Lockout Problems

The question we get asked most often these NHL lockout days is, “So how are you doing with no hockey?”

And while I cannot legally comment on any specifics, I can reply with a resounding, “NOT WELL.”

I give you a text message conversation between my husband and I on a night when instead of working a game against the New York Islanders, he decided to “help” at home with the two middle children while I took our youngest to a birthday party.

Me: So what do you have planned tonight?

Him: Just ordering a movie and pizza.

Me: Cool.

10 minutes later

Him: What’s your social security number?

Me: What do you need that for?????

Him: I’m trying to order a Pay-Per-View movie and it’s not working.

Me: Why isn’t it working?

Him: I don’t know why it’s not $%&^#* working--you sound like the operator that just hung up on me twice.

Me: I appreciate your frustration sir, how can I help.

Him: If you tell me there are 9 customers in front me, I’m filing for divorce.

Four minutes later..

Me: Did it get fixed?

Him: Text Matty, I’m using my cell phone to straighten out the pizza order.

Me: I’ll just call the house phone.

Him: Don’t--I’m still on hold with the cable company.

Me: What’s wrong with the pizza order?

Him: I made the mistake of ordering cinnamon “sticks” and they only serve cinnamon “rounds.” 

Me: Why does that matter?

Him: It doesn’t unless you’re Archimedes. Which is what I’m trying to explain to them if you’d quit texting me.

20 minutes later

Him: Hey, remember that time last summer when we ordered a pizza and had it delivered to the community pool?

Me: Um, yeah??

Him: So does Papa John because that’s where they delivered our pizza.

Me: It’s November. The pool is closed.

Him: Well, some Tennessee penguins are enjoying some cinnamon rounds right now.

Me: Good thing it’s the rounds--I hear sticks are bad for penguins.

Him: I know where Papa John can stick his cinnamon right about now.

8 minutes later after a panicked text from my son.

Me: Is everything ok?

Him: Yes, dear, why do you ask?

Me: Well, your son just sent me a text saying you were swearing at the lady on the phone. He said you needed “parental control?”

Him: That’s exactly what I exercised when the cable company wouldn’t lift our parental controls and let us order a movie tonight. 

Me: I’m on my way home.

Him: No rush,  we are watching a movie on the computer.

Me: ?

Him: I told them to stick their cable box where the cinnamon don’t shine.

Me: Uh oh.

Him: We are getting a satellite dish on Monday.

Me: I hope they carry the NHL Network.

2 minutes later.

Him: @#$%^%

I repeat: NOT WELL. Please send hockey.

©Tracey Henry 2012

I leave you with another little ditty from my HOA

For me, this is my transition week between Fall and Christmas.

For my HOA, it is the transition time between autumn tree shedding maintenance and illiteracy.



"Subject: Proper Leave Removal 

Residents,

Please let your landscape vendors know, that is a violation for them to blow leaves from your property to any common space.  Leaves from your property need to collected and removed. When leaves are blown into common areas, not only does it block up natural area drainage but also costs the HOA, since we have to have the crews make several additional trips to remove leaves in areas that have already been addressed.

I appreciate your cooperation.
Thank you
Community Management"

Theme Park Tips--Holidays or otherwise

Our typical Thanksgiving is spent at home with me cooking way too much, squeezing more chairs around a crowded table in between home hockey games. This year (and all other lockout years) we had the opportunity to travel so we did. To Disney World.

The happiest place on earth is also a very crowded one during major holidays, but we were able to hit everything we wanted to, including the newly-expanded Fantasyland.

It can be done, my friends. And here are my quick tips on how to enjoy the Magic Kingdom with 100,000 other people.

1.) Use Fast Passes. EVERY RIDE THEY ARE OFFERED. Standby lines are for rookies.

2.) One of the longest lines we waited in all day was to get on the monorail before we even got to the park. Check the hours because they vary, but if it's a later close, think of shifting your day up by an hour or two. It cleared out around dinner time, and we could have avoided that first wait by leaving the hotel later.

3.) Do the park in a logical order. It astounds me that people crisscross hitting attractions out of order. This just adds needless time, especially if you're navigating large crowds that hate strollers. I once read that most people go to left when starting the park, but I don't think that's true if Space Mountain is to the right.

4.) Send your fastest runner ahead to collect Fast Passes. This saves you oodles of time.

5.) Did I mention Fast Passes? Because often if you are getting them for one ride, you may have the nice surprise of receiving more to another attraction. This happened for us while getting ours for Peter Pan--we got bonus passes for the new Dumbo ride.

6.) Focus on your must-see rides, but don't overlook others that may have a shorter line. Carousel of Progress might seem lame, but it sure is a cool spot to land while you wait for Buzz Lightyear. I'm looking at you, Swiss Family Robinson Tree House, Hall of Presidents and Monsters, Inc. Laugh Floor.

7.) There was not a single reservation available the entirety of Thanksgiving Day inside the park (or at surrounding hotels for that matter) so if you have to settle for counter service, eat at off-times. before 11:30 or after 2:30 for lunch, early or late dinners.

8.) We are not parade people and if you aren't either, still make a note of when they are to avoid Main Street like...Main Street during a parade.

9.) Speaking of Fast Passes, they will give you an hour window in which to return. Try not to hit it at the exact return time, go about 20 minutes after the start time.

10.) Individual events like Mickey's Not-So-Scary Halloween and Mickey's Very Merry Christmas parties are great if they are offered during your stay. While it seems that a 7:00 pm start time may not be enough time, tickets are less expensive than a full-day admission and you get more bang for your buck with less crowds and wait times.

Get your ears on this Christmas.

The new attractions in FantasyLand had just opened to the public earlier that week, and while we didn't get to go to the new Be Our Guest Restaurant which sounds like a Don't Miss, we enjoyed the new Ariel ride and the new Under the Big Top attractions that used to be Toon Town. Definitely worth the hype and it still has a lot to go including a new roller coaster for us big kids.

So don't be put off by the crowds this holiday season, it's about making memories. While I'm cynical about a lot of things, Disney is still one of the places my whole family enjoys together, and for that I am thankful.

And for Fast Passes.

Smashmob

As I asserted on Twitter last Tuesday, I think most of society's problems can be solved with a well-executed flash mob.

This proves that theory. This Smash Mob was one of the coolest things I've ever been a part of in my many years on this planet.

Fakesgiving

While many of you gear up for Thanksgiving, we here in the Diva household are preparing for Fakesgiving festivities.

Fakesgiving is my favorite holiday. Born from those many, many, many Thanksgivings that didn’t exactly go the way I had planned, Fakesgiving was a perfect pre-cursor, do-over or post-apocalyptic event which is now often more highly anticipated than the real thing.

Let me explain.

Let’s just hypothetically say that your childhood traditional Thanksgiving dinners were often assembled along plastic tablecloth-lined banquet tables in a second cousin’s thrice-removed basement in which marshmallows (in either the salad, sweet potatoes, stuffing and gravy) were the main entree. In exchange for sitting quietly in tights and too-small Mary Jane’s, your mother would cook a second Thanksgiving meal later that evening so that leftovers would be more than an empty Jello mold and your Dad could have a goddamned turkey sandwich for Crissakes, why, that would be reason for Fakesgiving.

Or let’s just say--for argument’s sake--that one year your crazy aunt took a Japanese cooking class at the Y and made everyone sit on pillows on the floor while she served hand-rolled sushi and tofurkey stir fry. Again, a second, more traditional meal would be prepared the day after so your Dad could have a goddamned turkey sandwich for Crissakes.

Or how about that year when your Dad scored Lion’s tickets and your Mom thought maybe you should eat before the game so you wouldn’t need to eat that crappy stadium food, so at 8:00 Thursday morning you ate cranberry waffles and turkey bacon? After the inevitable loss sitting in traffic, your Mom would pretend that your car was a float in the Macy’s Day parade in the parking lot of the Silverdome, and promise a feast with all the trimmings that weekend so your Dad could have his goddamned turkey sandwich for Crissakes.

Or, again, let’s just pretend that maybe later in your life you found yourself at the table of your possible future in-laws for the first time, and realized, in horror, that creamed onions, turnips, and the giblets were their Thanksgiving staples and as you wondered if this relationship had any chance whatsoever with these huge cultural differences glaring between you like the sheen from an unmolded can of cranberry sauce, you appeased yourself with a second, more familiar dinner later that week so maybe you could ponder your future over a goddamned turkey sandwich for Crissakes. 

Or who can forget the year that you and your husband decided to do something different that year, and booked a family trip at Disney? You may have realized soon after arriving that you were not the first person to think of this particular activity, and not a single restaurant on property had availability until Groundhog’s Day. With an exhausted and whiny toddler you finally pushed the stroller up to Sonny’s Star Cafe at 10:40 at night for a cheeseburger since even the turkey leg stand in Frontierland ran out before noon, you then spun tales of lumpless gravy and pumpkin pie as soon as you got home and yes, your husband can get a goddamned turkey sandwich for Crissakes that doesn’t cost $24 and shaped in mouse ears.

As you can see, there are many reasons why Fakesgiving should be an important date on everyone’s calendar. It’s the day you, as the host and guest, get to decide mashed or scalloped, dressing or stuffing, canned or homemade, and best of all, who to invite without guilt or obligation.

So Happy Fakesgiving, friends. I am as grateful for you as my Dad is for that goddamned turkey sandwich for Crissakes.

This is also being cross-posted at SuburbanDiva.com as I attempt to breathe some life back into the column. Please feel free to sign up for newsletters over there so you won't miss a thing.

I've never been thankful for a glue gun

The extent of my Thanksgiving crafting abilities has been limited to a rather racy bunch of burlesque pine cone turkeys and some dried bean studded napkin rings that resulted in a broken vacuum cleaner and two cracked fillings. Fortunately, I have found some other ideas that don't look so dangerous or PG-13.

Here are a  few from my friends at the National Wildlife Foundation. I particularly like the pumpkin vase and leaf display.

And the folks at Spoonful.com know me too well know and sent me some more themed-meal addiction fodder with these Thanksgiving treats.

Spoonful.com

Spoonful.com

I'll make sure Jessie washes her hands before we trace it.

Check out more here, including that Tiny Thanksgiving Dinner of which is not even fair to tempt me with.

Cookie chump Mom

I consider myself an expert on very few things in this world. Mummy meatloaf, Twitter, $12 bottles of wine and maybe cookies.

On Saturday morning I found out just what a novice I am in the latter despite my recent intensive training on the subject.

You see, I have been coerced against my will volunteered to be the "Cookie Mom" for our Girl Scout Troop. I thought this would be a relatively simple endeavor--how difficult can it be to order a few cases of Thin Mints for 15 third graders? They kind of sell themselves, right?

OMG.

I have now completed 28 hours of required training which--among other helpful life skills--include the sustainability of palm oil, the nutrition facts of a Samoa and how to bedazzle a card table to set up in front of Home Depot. My schooling was a combination of 39 online videos followed by SAT essay questions, a Saturday morning in-person session beginning at 7:30 am and ending 2 days later, and an on-going tutorial with a website that seems to crash my browser and my spirit.

But I am now certified to compile your Tagalong orders beginning December 24th which I can assert with expert certainty goes nicely with a $12 bottle of Hey Mambo.

I should have started my candidacy earlier than 10 this morning

And since you already know my presidential pick, I will tell you that for the first time in my voting career I also wrote-in two candidates in my local races for the House and U.S. Senate. Me and, uh, me.

Sadly, both races were basically unopposed and I just think that's criminal. The political process needs good people running and not just settling for the loudest (and richest). So hopefully tomorrow I'll be announcing my Senatorial win and shopping for suits and a smart carry-on bag.

But for now, I wait. It's the middle of the afternoon and I've got applesauce simmering on the stove and rolls rising on the counter. Tonight's theme is comfort food as we watch the returns, eat ice cream from the carton and wine from the bottle. No one knows what the outcome will be, so tomorrow half of us will be elated, half disappointed and most all sleepy and slightly hungover.

At least we will all be comforted together knowing that the political ads and campaign solicitation emails will cease for about a week until we gear up for 2016.

More HOA Fun or I live in the weirdest place ever

Actual letter today from our HOA.

Residents,
In an effort to save money and to be more echofriendly, we stocked the ponds with tilapia.  These fish multiply quickly and eat most all the vegetation in the ponds.  This keeps us from having to add pesticides and other chemicals in the water.
Tilapia is a warm water fish and when the water gets to cold the fish will die off.  You may have noticed fish floating in the ponds.  When the fish die, it attracts the turkey buzzards that come around to eat the dead fish.  This should only last for a few days.
These large black birds are causing a lot of attention and I wanted to make sure the community knew there is no reason to be alarmed.
Thank you-
Community Management


My pretend response:

Community Management;

Does being "echofriendly" mean that we will be constructing a stone ravine or cave in which our voices will finally be able to reverberate or will we be hiring people to repeat everything we say three fading times when on designated walking paths? Because it's about time we addressed echo issues in our community.

Thank you for the explanation regarding the large black birds. I was worried that some residents were ignoring the leash laws or it was a sign of the Apocalypse or something. Good to know that it is just a circle of life thing brought on by budget concerns.

I look forward to the annual Fish Fry at the Clubhouse being scheduled sooner rather than later. Perhaps the proceeds can be used for a spellcheck upgrade on the community servers or hiring a marine biologist to consult on a breed of fish that can survive a temperature dip lower than 60 degrees.

Hugs, Hugs, Hugs,
S.D.

The most wonderful time of the year

My favorite holiday of the year just passed this weekend.

It’s better than any Halloween treat. More exciting than Fourth of July fireworks. It’s got the New Year’s Eve magic without the New Year’s Day hangover. It’s like Christmas without all of the shopping, wrapping, baking, decorating and obligatory parties. It is the perfect gift of a day for an exhausted and overwhelmed mother like me.

It’s Daylight Savings Day.

Although it has no official anthem, I find myself humming “It’s the most wonderful time of the year,” weeks before its arrival. I decorate by fluffing my pillows and wearing footed pajamas. My children and I reverse roles. They send me to bed on Saturday night with a wink and a warning that the clocks won’t turn back if I’m awake to watch it. I squeeze my eyes shut and pretend to sleep as I listen for tell-tale signs like hooves on the roof or incessant winding.

If I were to personify Daylight Savings Day, I would mascot it with a benevolent Mother Nature character. She is warm and nurturing, and every autumn, she turns our clocks back while she tucks us in snugly. She tandems with Mr. Sandman and together, they grant the wish most uttered amongst worn-out folks like myself: “Just one more hour of sleep…PLEASE!” as we hurl the alarm clocks and baby monitors across the room.

The Daylight Savings Fairy must be the patron saint of parents or something. Because Daylight Savings doesn’t occur at 11 a.m. when you could get an extra hour of time at work or on the treadmill. It doesn’t commence at 3 in the afternoon for an extra hour of carline. And it most definitely doesn’t start during the airing of “High School Musical” 1 or 2. No, we are given our additional hour at drowsy 2 am, when you are either sleeping, or doing something that would require an added hour to post bail. Blessedly, all dry cleaners, Toys R Us stores and restaurants with crayons and paper placements are closed.

And if I didn’t know any better, I’d swear that the holiday was to commemorate two ancient Greek gods, the lovely nymph, Fallbackius and her horrible ogre of a sister Springforwardusa. The latter is the most evil creature in history, torturing parents with cruel sleep deprivation. Her feast day has all the celebratory spirit as April 15th. I hate Springforwardusa. I will never speak of her again.

And please do not rain on my Easter parade and give me some perfectly reasonable explanation that Daylight Savings wasn’t even practiced until World War I, and even then it wasn’t really uniform until the mid ‘70’s when Congress passed a law blah blah blah. Don’t start yammering to me about energy issues. Because it’s the same as my Chicken Picatta; I’d rather not know where it comes from, just that it goes nicely on a bed a fettuccine. Or in this case, on a bed of high thread count Egyptian cotton.

This holiday requires no phone calls, no mailing of cards or good wishes. It’s the one day of the year that living on borrowed time is a good thing. The more silent, the better. So on Sunday, please just count a sheep for me or two. I’ll sign your name to the card to Fallbackius next to her plate of Unisom cookies and warm milk.

And when I awake on Sunday morning to that beautiful, innocent joy of knowing that it is really 7:00 a.m. instead of 8:00 and rolling back over wrapping up tightly in my blanket, I’ll not know for a blessed moment if it is just another day in November or Christmas morning.

But for my worn out maternal body that lately has been falling asleep during AC/DC concerts and ringside space shuttle launches, it’ll be a day of Thanksgiving.

(©2007 Tracey Henry. Originally a Suburban Diva post way back then, but still holds true today.)

#CMAawards

Last night I live-tweeted the CMA's which is really fun and relevant as the show was broadcast live, but the morning after this particular medium falls just short of coherent.

But if you did watch, and appreciate 140-character observations, here's a recap. 

 And to sum it all up at the end of a long, but entertaining night:

Tracey Henry ‏@Subdiva

Taylor to Blake: "I'm going to let you finish, but you should have never ever ever ever ever won that. Like ever."

Country Music Awards

There's been a lot of seriousness in the recent days behind us, and there's sure to be coming up in the immediate days ahead of us, so how about a few hours of nonsense in between?

I'll be live-tweeting the CMA's (Country Music Awards) from Nashville tonight as I attend the event, red-carpet and maybe an after-party, so tune in and follow me @Subdiva on Twitter tonight for a running commentary of all things bedazzled here in Music City tonight. It will be great fun, I promise.

Recap tomorrow here if I'm not arrested for stalking. Or libel.

Halloween lessons

Our second Halloween in this 'hood and the lessons I've learned:

1.) I need to buy double the amount of doubled-amount of candy that I bought twice as much as last year.

2.) People love Halloween here. There aren't enough aisles of inflatable ghosts, cats and other general spooks at Lowe's to fulfill the demand in Middle Tennessee.

3.) Trick-or-Treating at large, stately, popular country music singing stars homes doesn't suck.

4.) I need to seek professional help for the lengths I go to theme this meal.

Halloween was a little hollow in 1979

More and more frequently, I'll recall a warm childhood memory and as I'm regarding now it in my parental mind's eye, I can't help but stop and think, "What the hell?"

We didn't grow up in a bad area of town. On the contrary--it was a nice suburban Michigan home in a subdivision filled with large sprawling yards and growing families. It was a particularly good neighborhood to Trick-Or-Treat in because there was always a porch light on at every house, and easy- to-navigate streets.

I remember going out with my Dad and sister and we'd hit as many houses as possible in our unknown costumes buried under a parka since October in Michigan meant it was 3 degrees outside. My Mom would stay at home passing out the candy and when we returned we'd dump out our pillowcases filled with sugar treasures, and the mad sorting would begin.

Or should I say, my mother would begin the 3 day long inspection process and clinical drug trials.

You must put into context that the idyllic neighborhood I described was set in the late seventies which is when all urban legends were born. I have no idea if there was any concrete evidence or actual events to support the extraordinary means my mother would go through to make sure our candy wasn't tainted, but I imagine some fuzzy-screened news anchor with a wide tie informing the good citizens of Oakland County that Charles Manson was on the loose in the Hershey factory inserting razor blades and Tylenol laced with cyanide into fun size Snickers bars.

Even before one M got stuffed into my mouth, she'd immediately start the torture.

All apples (yeah, that lady lived in my hood, too) were tossed into the trash. "Hello, ever hear of Snow White?" Popcorn balls or anything homemade? "I'm not sure if it's poisoned but you don't know what kind of kitchen that came from. You could get trichinosis."

All loose candy was pitched. Anything in a wrapper that was torn, wrinkled or compromised in any way was an immediate discard. And all Milky Ways were automatically confiscated, but I think it was just because she liked those.

We were then allowed to choose one piece of candy from our bags, but only after Mom chopped it up like a sushi chef to make sure there was nothing hidden inside or any powdery residue on the blade of the cleaver.

After the intense visual inspection and biopsy, you'd think you were in the clear, but you were obviously not aware of the cornucopia of dangers lurking in a Bit o' Honey in 1979. No, then all of the level 1 cleared candy was bundled back up into the pillowcase with the firm declaration, "You can have this back in a few days after your Uncle has had a chance to X-ray it."

Yes. X-Ray.

This was an annual ritual that I thought was just our curse having an Uncle as a radiologist, but one year we had to take it to the local McDonald's for a mobile screening so this must have been a widespread concern in our zip code. I guess irradiation was deemed less dangerous than the possible lockjaw we'd get from biting down on a rusty nail.

By the time the candy would come back well into November, it lost much of its appeal. Still wearing its hospital bracelet and reeking of antiseptic, the bag sat on the kitchen table looking a little lighter and glowing unnaturally. I couldn't help but lose my confectionary appetite a little.

And again, looking back at it through my parental mind's eye, maybe it was all by design.

Trick on my Treats after all.

A cry for help with my mouth full

At least I can admit I have a problem.

And I fully acknowledge that I am the Queen of the Theme cooking.

I will take any holiday, sporting event, television program, news item, or even an overheard sentence uttered by a stranger in the grocery store and turn it into a themed meal.

It's just kind of what I do--an inside culinary joke I have with myself four nights a week.

This month alone we've had paella and burgers for Columbus Day, Nathan's hot dogs for the playoffs and apple pie for the presidential debates. But the creme de la creme of my kooky cookery, my celebratory savories, festive foodstuffs, and motif meals is Halloween.

Our usual dinner is a pot of chili and the obligatory mummy dogs and cupcakes, but I think I've found a new freakish fare for the table: Mummy Meatloaf.

Spoonful.com

Use this guide from Spoonful.com and this 1770 House meatloaf recipe from Food Network Magazine (which is by far the best meatloaf I've ever eaten, family confirms) and you'll become a permanent member of my themed cook support group.

P.S. Our next meeting is November 1st for All Saint's Day.  Bring divinity, angel food cake, and St. Louis style ribs.


P.S.S. Imagine pairing this with graveyard ghost mashed potatoes? Ok, I'll stop now.

My one and only political post--read at your own risk

Fair warning: this is my one and only political post of this season, so if you want to skip this one and return tomorrow for more of the usual, please feel free. I won’t be offended.

So you stayed. Thanks. And to reward you, this will not be about bashing the other guy or opposing positions. This is simply my opportunity to let you know who I am--and who I am not--as a voter.

I am a proud Democrat. 

What I am not is naive.

I believe in social justice, Civil Rights and religious freedom. I am not fiscally irresponsible, a moocher, and or easily dismissed.

I believe my grandmothers fought for my right to vote, go to college, earn equal wages and make my own healthcare decisions. 

I am a wife and proud mother of four beautiful and loved children. I am not a baby killer. Perhaps this makes me a feminist, but I’d like to think I’m more humanist.

I do not see affordable healthcare as an affront. I am relieved that we finally value humans as much as we do our cars, houses and motorcycles. I am grateful that my son will be able to provide for his family someday without fear of his pre-existing condition. I’m happy that no other parent will have to make a medical decision based on whether or not they will be eligible for insurance.

I believe in a social safety net--one that was woven by my grandparents’ generation who lived through the Great Depression and decided a country as great as ours should never be without one again.

I also don’t see my grandparents as a voting bloc or a drain to the economy with their care after working their entire lives contributing to the system. I see them as brilliant architects of a society that allows us to grow and follow our dreams without fear of losing everything if we get sick or retire.

I am a person of faith. But I have no interest in my government making policy decisions based on any one church’s tenants, beliefs or interpretations.

I am an American. I believe one of the many sources of this nation’s strength is our free education system, and the more educated the population, the better off we are as a society. I believe that’s an investment that pays off in every facet of civilization.

Admittedly, I am also sometimes the token liberal. In our school, neighborhood, workplace and church, I have become used to it. What I am not is ashamed of anything other than the parents and teachers who suggest to my middleschooler that overturning Roe v. Wade is an age-appropriate topic, or the only factor in voting for president. I believe a pro-life agenda goes much further than this single issue that has no business being taught to children as a partisan talking point. 

I am a realist. I know that social programs and defense cost money and that money comes from taxes which I don’t like to pay anymore than anyone else. But I can’t imagine living in a nation without schools, libraries, parks, police and a military that makes these things possible and I’m willing to pay for it.

I am a tree-hugger, but in genuine disbelief that no matter how you think the planet was made, that we can’t all agree to keep it clean. I think If bureaucracy is a pejorative term for agencies that keep our medicines and food supply safe and our air and water clean, then I suppose I’m a blasphemer, too.

I am a mother, a daughter, a wife, a sister, a niece and a granddaughter. I am an equal. 

As are you. And whomever you choose to love.

And I am frightened. Because I believe all of the things I am is at risk this election unlike most others. I see unprecedented intolerance, anger, bigotry and ignorance and it scares me to my core that we can’t have an adult conversation about any political subject without name-calling and suppression of ideas different from our own.

But most of all, I am one of millions of natural-born caretakers this election that would like to see a return to people over positions, individuals over issues and family over fanaticism.

And finally, I’m a lifelong student and another lesson I’ve learned from my grandparents is that neither party can stop time from marching relentlessly forward. I’m determined to continue to progress so I’m not left behind.

And I am now stepping off my soapbox and returning you to our regularly scheduled election.

Please vote.

Halloween is so big here...

...Even the mailboxes dress up.

I'm exporting this custom to all points North and South. I like it.

Curiously, they we only dress up our mailboxes for autumn and Christmas. I'm not quite sure the reason for this abridged calendar--I think they would look fetching in Easter bonnets or Fourth of July ribbons--but sometimes it's best not to ask.

Two flags up for me, Roger.

Safe again

After living here for the almost two full years now, I really had come to the conclusion that the only thing I was in danger of here in the state of Tennessee was perhaps developing heart disease from living so close to the Loveless Cafe or only being able to get our news from Fox.

But despite the relative safety of the area, we somehow decided to install a home security system nonetheless.

Our last run with this wasn't exactly successful. All of the doors and windows in our Florida home were wired with a very menacing voice that would alert us every bloody time someone would crack a window, but neglected the big security breaches like Jingle running away every single day. It also helpfully notified us to a low battery in the smoke alarm for the last 3 years we lived there despite it having been changed repeatedly. When we finally moved it felt like a prison break that I imagine the new owners are alerted to every six minutes to this day.

But this security system was going to be different. We got the premium package that included all of the bells and whistles.

Which doesn't do much if those bells and whistles are of the silent variety.

About 9:00 in the morning last week, a very nice police officer showed up on our doorstep with his hand on his holster to let us know that our new system was indeed working according to plan as it is apparently not-so-silent in the Sheriff's department. After a brief ID check and confirmation that Jingle was not exactly the world's best watch dog as she fell asleep on the feet of a stranger bearing a gun in our living room, the officer determined the perpetrator of the breach.

His interrogation of the suspect was swift yet thorough--the five year-old female confessed not only immediately, but proudly and unapologetically stating she pressed that little red button on the unit she was told never to press, "On purpose just to see what would happen."

The officer, whose heart visibly melted all over the dog at his feet, didn't even cite her for stealing his heart. Instead, he took her outside and showed her all of the bells and whistles in his squad car.

We learned many lessons this day. Stevie came away with that this would probably not be the last time Jessie saw the inside of a police car and Sean determined that the alarm keypad should maybe go up one shelf higher.

As for me, I realize that two years was much longer than I would have thought it would take us to become that family, and I wish the Loveless served tequila.

Guilty. 

Fall what?

We just returned from Fall Break, which is Nashville's way of saying, "By the first week of October, we realize what a colossally bad idea it is to send the kids back to school closer to the Fourth of July than Labor Day, so here's the week that you could have had in August with the rest of the country so you can completely destroy all semblance of a routine you finally had going. Oh, and we're still going ahead with your child's sports schedule because we also realize the rest of the world continues as planned so good luck planning a trip or anything that doesn't revolve around an out-of-town game."

So we went to Louisville for a hockey tournament.

I'm not complaining--I don't hate Fall Break until this Monday after when we all have to go back after 10 days of sleeping at odd times and alternating meals between pizza and lukewarm powdered eggs out of chafing dishes at the Homewood Suites. I feel like I've woken up hungover from a night of huffing airplane glue from an EPA case study on how not to ventilate an ice arena.

Oh wait, we did.

But we made fun anyway. When we weren't hallucinating or vomiting from the lingering Zamboni fumes, we managed to take in a movie, do some shopping and even go to the Louisville Slugger museum and factory which I highly recommend if you're ever out that way. Before we left, the kids had a couple of sleepovers and homemade baked goods were consumed, so it was a fine week no matter how you slice it.

Even if it's a big ole slice of warm pumpkin pie instead of a refreshing Key Lime.

No more whining for me

From the owner's manual: "Keep wines that you plan to use for EVERYDAY drinking and entertaining on the front half..."

Finally an appliance that gets me.

This might be the most remarkable machine even despite its impressive instruction manual.

You see, this simple appliance was surprisingly complicated to purchase and install. If we are to believe the first installer, it was backordered, then crafted by hand or carved from a single lump of stainless steel which took four months despite being a stock item at the local store. Once it did finally arrive from Napa or Bordeaux or Mars, and after said-installer was in three car accidents (none his fault) one employee accident (first time ever), a shoulder injury, and a week delay for paint to dry (???); on the morning of the delivery date on the way to its bought and paid for location, it was completely and tragically destroyed in a fiery car crash, with all backordered, hand-forged remains vaporized before the insurance adjusters could even arrive, along with the receipts of the order that the store since lost or misplaced.

We didn't buy that either.

Turns out it takes less than a week to be ordered and delivered when you just go ahead and do it yourself.

So we've unwittingly become more DIYer's since moving here but at least we can now reward ourselves with a glass of Merlot served at a perfect 58 degrees.