NYR 11-5-11 through 11-17-11: A Summary

I am truly thankful for:

11-5-11: Being with the people I love.

11-6-11: Visits that are good for the soul.

11-7-11: The best snack. Ever.

11-9-11: Delicious pizza with a friend all the way from Mozambique days. Summer is still the same breath of fresh, happy air. Her parents very aptly named her.

11-10-11: Mexican food with some spicy chicks from Bogota days.

11-11-11: A holiday from school. I've missed two Colombian holidays during my time in DC. Finally, a holiday I can celebrate.

11-12-11: A BEAUTIFUL fall day in Washington, DC. I'm talking "perfection". I explored some museums (okay, really the gift shops), I checked out the newly dedicated Martin Luther King Memorial, I ate lunch at my favorite DC restaurant Founding Farmers, and I walked. Oh, how I walked. I google-mapped my route because I honestly felt like I walked about 17 miles. It turns out it was only 6.4 miles but I think their calculations might be off slightly. All I know is my feet and legs HURT.

11-13-11: A fabulous Brazilian lunch with some State Department friends from different posts. It was SUCH a great time.

11-14-11: A delicious cheeseburger - called The MACK - with some classmates who might have invited me along just to be the "den mother". I found out one of them graduated from college in 2010. Yes, that was last year. That means he's 23. A mere child. I learned that people that young are called millenials. There you go.

11-15-11: I LOVE this cooking store and wish I owned one.

11-16-11: dinner out with Jimmy's good friend from grad school. I had a delicious steak and enjoyed Matt's always-smart-and-interesting discussions.

11-17-11: My pre-game dinner at Five Guys. I'm sort of like a superstitious football player who does the same pre-game ritual before every game because it worked once before. I'm convinced there's brain power in those Five Guys burgers. It worked two weeks ago as a pre-test meal, so why not this time, too?

Dear 7 loyal readers and the rest of you lurkers who don't want to tell me who you are,

I just wanted to touch base to say hi and to tell you I've missed you. Life has been a whirlwind and there's so much I want to share with you.

1. Jimmy got home safe and sound and his year in Afghanistan is officially O-V-E-R! Hurray for prayers answered.

2. Mac, my mom, and I had a great trip to Las Vegas with the extra-special and extraordinary BB(razilian)FFs, which we then followed up with a side jaunt to the Grand Canyon. I have some photos I want to share but they're on my laptop and now that we're at my mom's and she doesn't have wireless, it's just too time-consuming to move them to her desktop. So that will have to wait.

3. We picked up Jimmy in Washington, DC last Monday and had a few days there as a family doing some State Department housekeeping as well as sightseeing. Other than it being about 112 degrees and that one pesky parking ticket (that I am fighting because the machine was broken and I left a note in the car window explaining this), it was a great trip. We got to visit with newer friends from Afghanistan, old State Department friends, even older Georgetown grad school friends and practically antique USC friends. (Obviously new and old are used in terms of length of friendship and not actual age.)

4. We've spent the last week here in Moncks Corner, visiting with friends, eating lots of good food, running errands, etc.

5. The newer Mexican restaurant in Moncks Corner, Cinco de Mayo, is very good. Just in case you happen to be in Moncks Corner sometime and you've got a hankering for Mexican food. The carnitas are almost as good as the ones Jimmy used to buy at a roadside stand between Guadalajara and the town of Tequila. Just fyi.

6. Our family beach week starts Friday and I hope for a nice ocean breeze to combat this horrible heat. I either am unable to take the heat and humidity in my dotage or I'm suffering from hot (or sweat) flashes. The 60-degree temperatures of Bogota are never going to be as inviting as they will be when we land there.

7. Speaking of Bogota, we fly out on August 8.

8. Speaking of Bogota, we found out some details on our apartment and good news! It's big enough for any of you to come visit. Maybe just not all at once. And it's in the neighborhood I wanted - walking distance to restaurants, movies, grocery store, etc. Hurray for more prayers answered.

9. Speaking of Bogota and because some of you have asked, Mac will have testing at the American School on August 10 and at the British School on August 12. Jimmy and I will also have our "testing" with the school psychologist at the British School on the same day. I hope we have the right answers.

I feel like there should be a #10 but I really can't think of anything, so I'll close for now. More to come!

packout update #3 plus my venting

The moving men performed herculean tasks today and got the lion's share of the sea shipment done. They'll finish up tomorrow morning and then do the really bulky but quite minimal storage shipment.

So it was really a very stress-free day as far as packouts go.

And then Time Warner Cable reared its big fat incompetent head. I'll save you from all the gory details. I'll just share an email I just sent to them on their help email function a few minutes ago that sums up my trials and tribulations with the company as well as their very TWC-esque (read here unhelpful) response. When you read this, you should keep in mind that when the tech came, he didn't get my attention nor that of the three movers who were in and out of the house. I guess the big moving truck parked right out front of the house and the door left wide open threw him off.


Original Message Follows:
------------------------
First Name: Susan
Last Name: Story
Email Address: susanstory@yahoo.com
Street Address: 105 Barberry St
ZIP: 29483
Phone Number: 8437712284
Category: Downgrade/Cancellation
Comment: I was supposed to have my equipment picked up today but through a series of TWC bungles, the service was cut, the equipment wasn't picked up but I continued to wait for nearly the 12-hour "window" because when I called at 4:30pm to try and find out where I was in the queue, the incompetent agent didn't tell me the tech had already been to my house. Only when I called back at 8pm did I find out from Mary, the only knowledgeable and helpful agent I've ever spoken with at TWC, that the tech had already come and gone. She was in the process of preparing an equipment pick-up
request, but we got disconnected because of the cell service in my house (remember my service was already cut so I couldn't use my home phone). I tried to do a chat with Julian tonight but he couldn't help me. He told me to call the TWC number, but I explained that I had been on hold and/or waiting for TWC for over 4.5 hours already today and wouldn't wait more and asked that somebody call me directly. So in typical TWC fashion, my service rep Julian had me called but I've now been
waiting on hold for 52 minutes and 46 seconds. I have the modem and the cable box at my house at 105 Barberry St. in Summerville, SC 29483. I will be there tomorrow from 8am to 4:30pm with two professional moving trucks and 4 movers. After tomorrow, I move to Bogota, Colombia, so you can either send your tech there to pick up the equipment or I will leave it on the front porch. Your choice. Please just let me know what option you've chosen. My cell phone battery is dead and won't
be recharged until tomorrow. Tomorrow morning you can reach me on that cell at 843-670-1487. But please note, I will only be at the house from 8am to 4:30pm. I will not be able to wait any longer and waste more hours for TWC.

Why was I surprised when only a couple minutes later, I got this response:

Dear Valued Customer,

Thank you for allowing us the opportunity to assist you. We are unable to process downgrade and
cancellation requests via email. Please contact us at 1-877-566-4892, at your earliest convenience,
and one of our Specialists will be happy to assist you.

We sincerely regret any inconvenience this may cause you, and we look forward to assisting you in
the future.

Thank you for contacting Time Warner Cable Carolinas Region.

For the record, I've remained on hold for a bit longer. I'm up to 1 hour, 6 minutes and 46 seconds right now. But I'm going to bed now because it's another great packout day tomorrow.

But it promises to be a lot more entertaining for me because BFF is coming to help me and she's coming with treats, like Starbucks coffee and that decadent blueberry scone with about 500 fat grams because she said we could have a splurge day for the packout.

I hate to even admit this...

But the Walton family saved the day again. Mac and I went to the water park today to enjoy the refreshing, brisk 102 degree temps which made the water a petri dish as best I could tell. I put my wallet in the bag I took into the water park.

We got home, showered, and then rushed out to the grocery store to buy dinner fixings for my high school friend Dara who's coming over to break bread tonight. Naturally I forgot to put the wallet back in my handbag and naturally I didn't discover this until I'd put my groceries on the conveyor belt thing at Publix.

I had my checkbook and I begged the cashier to take my Blue Cross Blue Shield insurance card as proof of identity. He said I'd need to take it up with the supervisor. Well this supervisor looked like he was about 17, but I begged and pleaded and showed him the insurance card (with Jimmy's name on it, of course, and not mine, but Jimmy's name is on the check as well so unless I was an estranged spouse, it would be okay, right?). He then asked if I had any other picture ID. I carry this little pouch with all those miscellaneous cards you always need, but I was pretty positive that none of them had a photo and I was 100% sure the insurance card was the only one that actually had a name on it. But I found my Sam's Card and wouldn't you know that on the back of it is a very grainy picture of me with my name. And for no apparent reason I was able to remember my drivers license number off the top of my head and that combination was apparently all the proof I needed. Hallelujah!

the story of my beautiful Naot shoes

Last August I bought a wonderful pair of Naots, which are the most comfortable shoes I've ever owned and I think the most expensive shoes I've ever bought. This isn't saying much for many people, but I'm not an expensive shoe person so it's saying a lot for me. You can read about the purchase here.

The saleslady told me she'd owned her pair of Naots for something like 11 years, so I counted on a long relationship with these beauties. I wore them all winter with socks and tights and they continued to feel like bedroom slippers.

Until the leather on the inside of one of the heels wore through and the shoe literally rubbed me the wrong way.

I didn't really notice this until I could lose the socks when the weather warmed up. And then I realized it quickly when a big blister formed on my heel.

I did a quick fix by affixing an industrial-sized band-aid on the inside of the heel. But I didn't feel like that was a long-term fix for the queen bee of my shoe wardrobe.

I decided to contact Naot to see how they suggested I fix the shoe. I googled NAOT and got the website for the American distributor (Naot is an Israeli company). I sent an email and heard nothing. So I called the helpline number and spoke to a woman who told me I could take the shoes back to the store where I bought them. I explained that wasn't realistic since the store was outside of Boston and I was in South Carolina. She was fresh out of suggestions after that.

So then I sent an email to the Israeli Naot office. I've heard nothing from that attempt.

I decided I'd just have to live with the band-aid solution.

Until this weekend when I saw an ad in the Charleston paper that said the Naot factory representative would be at the Folly Road location of Phillips Shoes on Saturday.

When I read this, I was sitting at the pool and knew I wasn't going to make it to Folly Road before the rep left, so I decided to call. The rep was at lunch, but I spoke to the store manager who assured me the rep would call me when she was back from lunch.

And the rep did call back, but unfortunately didn't have many suggestions other than to take it to a shoe repair place to see if they could patch it somehow or to affix a heel pad on the back. She did tell me that as a goodwill gesture, the manager of Phillips wanted to offer me $20 off my next shoe purchase. How nice is that?

The manager called me back later and got my mailing address, and the mailman brought me two $10-off certificates yesterday.

So here's a HUGE shout-out to Phillips Shoes and particularly to the manager at Folly Road. You totally rock and I will be in there soon to enjoy a little shoe shopping.

a close-to-perfect Saturday

a 9am baseball game where Mac's team won 13-2

the playground and lunch with BFF, her husband, and her daughter (who is my future daughter-in-law in case you didn't know)

the neighborhood pool - we ended up staying for 3.5 hours because a school friend and neighbor showed up so Mac was entertained and I read - lovely


apres-pool chocolate milkshake for Mac and strawberry milkshake for me

oh what a night

Last night I attended a College of Charleston Alumni Association event with BFF Caroline and her husband Willie. I haven't exactly been the most actively involved alumna in the association; in fact I have never been to one of their events, not even this big to-do last night on the year I graduated which is their big attempt to woo you into active participation into the association. Which might explain why I haven't been actively involved.

The big draw for our attendance last night was that Willie's son's band was playing. Normally they play at venues that don't crank up until about 11pm and as I'm long asleep by then, I have never heard them live before. If you don't know The Plainfield Project, you should look them up. They're as great, if not better, live as they are on their CD. (And I heard they may have a new CD coming out later this summer so stay tuned for more good stuff.) The music is easy to listen to and they're very energetic and fun to watch. (There was also great food and a lot of energy from some 2000 people in attendance so it was a good event.)

Despite the great time, I felt really, really old. I would venture a guess that most of the people there last night are either graduating this year (they got a good discount on the tickets) or they graduated sometime in the last five years. Young. Practically babies. Barely old enough to vote.

And they were all in very short dresses. I'm talking short enough where you'd know all of Victoria's Secrets if they bent over just a teensy little bit. I bought myself a new dress for the event at Kohl's (under $13 with tax and using this coupon I got in the mail - what a steal!!!) and was worried that it was too young and short because it stopped about 2 inches above the knee. Clearly I was measuring from the wrong end!

Since our focus was to see Carter's band, we hung around close to the stage, which was really the best place to see not only the band up close, but also the spectacle of young women throwing themselves at the band. These girls would just get on the stage (before Carter asked them to get off which invariably happened), even though there wasn't a whole lot of extra room and never mind that if you're playing a guitar, you might just need a little elbow room. I felt embarrassed for these girls but maybe they didn't remember it this morning.

Which leads me to my next thought.

As I watched all these 22 year-olds having what they think is the time of their lives, I wanted to tell them that you have no idea what life has got in store for you. You think this is the most fun, most exciting, most important, biggest and best time of your life.

Oh, if you only had the perspective of a little time and space.

Fast forward 15 or 20 years, and I hope and pray you'll be able to come back to one of these events and realize that your life is bigger than you could have ever imagined. That those 4 years of college were important, but they weren't nearly as important as you felt they were when you were in the middle of them. That at 22 if you'd dreamed the biggest dreams for yourself and your life, you wouldn't have thought it possible that you'd have covered the ground you've covered by 40. Those are the things I wanted to tell those girls last night who were throwing themselves at a band. But I had to go to the bathroom instead, which is what happens to 39 year-old women who know they better go before they have to drive 45 minutes back home. So Caroline got us into the good bathrooms with no wait because she told the guy guarding the door that she was the band's mom. Clearly there are perks to being old and experienced!

"put me in coach. I'm ready to play"

Today was Opening Day for Summerville Little League. I thought Opening Day would mean they'd introduce the teams, somebody would sing the National Anthem off-key, we'd eat a hot dog and that would be it. But earlier in the week, I learned an actual game was involved. (They limited the season opener game to one hour apiece, but it was a game for the records nonetheless.)

Now you might be thinking that of course, they'd play on Opening Day. After all, that's what they've been practicing for, right?

Except that they only had 2 practices ahead of time. One practice was only attended by 3 players (one of whom was Mac). And the coach is out of town this week, so we haven't even met him. He wasn't even here for Opening Day.

If you understand what I'm saying, there was a lot of room for error. I mean, A MONUMENTAL LOT.The coach emailed everybody and told them to wear gray baseball pants and the team's red jersey. But there was no mention of matching belts and socks, so of course I cheaped out and bought white baseball socks at Wal-Mart to go with the cheap cleats I bought at Wal-Mart. (After all, we'll be lucky if he doesn't outgrow them before the season ends.)

I knew we needed a belt but I didn't have time to go to the sporting goods store before today, so after checking Wal-Mart (no baseball belts) and Target (no baseball belts), I decided to improvise and I just bought a belt in the boys' section of Target that sort of looked like a baseball belt and definitely could pass from a long distance for a baseball belt, but which was most definitely not a baseball belt. Thank goodness Jimmy wasn't here to witness this and Mac is too young to know better.

So Mac was fairly well-dressed for the part. And as we all know, he's a sucker for any activity that gets him a new uniform so he's loving the whole get-up.
Anyway, we show up and our team looks like we just got off the Island of Misfits. Every single person on the other team had their orange shirts, gray pants, orange socks and orange belts. They probably all had on matching orange underwear, too. Our team didn't even all have on gray baseball pants. Heck, not everybody on our team even had baseball pants on. But it wasn't a fashion show, right?

Our boys took the field first. Mac was in centerfield and was able to stop several hard hits (over the course of a couple innings). The other team clearly has been practicing batting for at least the last two months or else they are genetically predisposed to being Louisville Sluggers. It had the distinct feel and flavor of a David vs. Goliath situation.

When we finally got our first turn at batting, there was so little hitting that it was embarrassing. I mean really embarrasssing. In coach pitch, each batter gets 5 overhand pitches and if he doesn't hit any of them, he gets two soft pitches. If those aren't hit, he's out. (In the interest of time today - with the one-hour time limit on each game - they only did the first 5 pitches.) We may have seen 3 up, 3 down straight out of the box. It was pretty demoralizing as a parent who wants her son's team to do well.

The orange team's next at-bat was a repeat of the first. They hit hard, ran fast and didn't get any quick outs. But then something happened to our team at their next at-bat. They actually hit the ball and got on base. Spirits picked up and it really became a fun ballgame to watch because it wasn't so lopsided.

And Mac played his heart out. He had two opportunities to bat. He got out at first on the first bat (after a great hit) and made it safely to first on his second at-bat. He moved from centerfield to the pitcher position (it's coach pitch, so he didn't pitch but he played the position). And he assisted in the last out of the game by getting the ball and throwing it right to the first baseman. It was a great first game for him and he was thrilled with the whole thing.

There's always some little fly in the ointment in even the best situations and today was no different. There are definitely a couple parents on this team that are going to grate on my nerves before this is over. They clearly should have enrolled their sons in the Parks league, which is reportedly the more competitive league in town. Nothing suited them today: they're upset the coach wasn't there, they're upset that they only had 1 practice (they weren't among the 3 boys who showed up for the first practice) when some teams have been practicing for weeks; they're upset that the stand-in coach couldn't pitch better; they're upset that nobody taught the children every single baseball rule in the one hour of practice they had this week. The lady corrected everything her son did wrong, almost before he had a chance to make a "mistake." I intentionally tried to bother her by using my Upward training in applauding players from both teams on good plays, but I think it was lost on her. What I really wanted to do was tell her that these children are 7 years old and that they just need to be having fun and breathing fresh air and getting dirty, but she was sort of scary and I didn't think she'd take well to my advice. I saw her in a nurse's uniform the other day, so I'm hoping she's going to be working a lot of shifts when we have games so she can't rain on our parade.

All in all, a GREAT first day of baseball. I can't wait for Jimmy to get here next week to participate.

(And if they give an award to worst-dressed player, it won't go to Mac. We bought the red socks and belt after the game today!)

the draft

A couple weeks ago, I signed Mac up for Summerville Little League. At the time of sign-up, I was told he would need to report to "the draft" on Saturday, February 20, between 12pm and 2pm.

Did they say "the draft"?

I know he's tall for his age but they know he's 7, right? He's not 17 and trying to hopscotch college to go straight to the pros.

So I questioned what the draft involved. Just a few drills, ma'am, to evaluate his skill level.

Right.

Between the sign-up and the draft, we were traveling to Orlando for all but about 4 days. So when we got home from Orlando, we went to the sporting goods store the very next day to buy a new glove. The old glove was not in great shape and it looked like it belonged to the 4 year-old for whom it was originally purchased. We needed all the help we could get before the draft, so a new glove it was.

Except the man at Dick's was not very nice or helpful. Maybe he only wants to wait on professional athletes who might saunter into his branch location here in Summerville but I have a feeling that 7 year-olds are probably what he gets mostly so he needs to put on a happy face and dip into his patience reserves.

With new glove in tow, Mac and I went outside to practice batting on Friday afternoon. The drill necessarily meant that I was the pitcher which is not necessarily my strongest suit. Mac told me to pitch overhand but I knew that was a recipe for disaster, so I did these nice and easy underhand pitches which he knocked out of our pretend ballpark. He didn't want to practice fielding, so we called it a day.

After his basketball game yesterday we hightailed it over to the ballpark as we only had 45 minutes left in our allotted draft time. I knew we were in trouble when we walked to our appointed field 4 and saw all these little 7 year-old boys in their cleats, baseball pants and last year's Summerville Little League jerseys. But Mac is fearless and isn't daunted by challenges, so he went right out there, put on the batting helmet as instructed and went to home plate.

Where he was told he'd get 2 pitches from an adult. Only 2 pitches, son, so hit what you can.

And then this grown man threw a fast overhand baseball pitch at my child, who swung and missed.

Pitch 2, I'm happy to report, was solidly hit so there was redemption.

The next drill was for Mac to hit the ball off a tee and then run to first base as fast as he could so they could time him. They told him to run through first base, but he promptly slowed down and stopped on the base so he lost serious time there.

The final two drills required him to get his glove and report to shortstop. The pitcher man asked him if he knew where first base was. Um. Hello, Mister. He just ran there. So Mac politely pointed out first base to this man who then threw him a grounder, which Mac sort of stopped and threw to first base. It was a good throw but his ball was more of an arc than a straight-line bullet like these other boys were throwing. The final drill was a pop fly which Mac missed but picked up and threw to first base.

After a couple sports with Upward, which stresses sportsmanship, being part of a team, and learning the fundementals, this baseball thing seems a huge departure from what I think is necessary for a young child just starting out in sports. And I've been told that S'ville Little League is actually lower key and less competitive than the Parks League here in town. A mother who moved her children from Little League to the Parks League because "there just wasn't competition in Little League" told me that when her son played 5 year-old ball, they actually had a catcher on his team who couldn't catch and would let the ball hit the backstop and roll to him to catch it. H-O-R-R-O-R! Needless to say, I don't want my child to be the one that the other mothers talk about as the weak link but if he doesn't get to learn the game now, when does he learn it? And the sad thing is that Mac is a pretty decent player but compared to those boys out there yesterday who apparently swung bats and donned baseball gloves immediately out of utero, he looks like he's never heard the word "baseball" much less played it. I hope we survive the season!

supper club

I've joined a little supper club of neighborhood women who meet once a month at one of their houses for dinner and conversation. Tonight is my turn to host, which leads to the dilemma of what to do with Mac. Supper Club starts at 7pm and Mac's bedtime is 7:30, so I told him he can stay downstairs to meet everybody for a couple minutes and then he must be banished to his room upstairs or else.

(The "else" being that I said we wouldn't leave for Disney World until Friday instead of tomorrow, and he actually believed me.)

Always one to love a party, he then asked if he might read a story to the ladies.

Um. No. (I mean, I do everything to encourage his reading, but this isn't a poetry open mike night.)

Then he asked if he might play the piano.

Um. Double NO on that one. Does he remember that he stopped taking lessons last month? He keeps playing this little song that he's made up over and over and over, and I think he thought tonight was going to be his big debut.

That made me remember our neighbors in Guadalajara. They were both dentists (he was the one who asked me if I'd ever thought about having a nose job or a boob job. But that's a story for another day.) The first time we went to their house, they made their son give us a concert. He was about 8 and maybe he was playing under duress or maybe not. I don't remember him as a child prodigy, just your average 8 year-old recreational piano player. In any event, he played and played and played that piano. There was no conversation during the performance. We just had to sit and listen attentively. And in our young newlywed life, Jimmy and I made a pact that we would never subject our guests to an 8 year-old's playing the piano. In honor of that pact, there will be no playing of the piano tonight.

winter farming

(suburban style)

electricity meter reader

The moment I have been dreading is just about upon me.

My electricity bill last month was really high. We are talking astronomically high for the shoebox we call home (but not, I'm happy to report, as high as my neighbor's was for the same period.) I know it was cold, but we were out of the country for 10 of the roughly 30 days.

Now that it's been even colder and we've been home the whole month and I've been using my gas logs (having no idea what that'll add to the bill), I am terrified of what my bill is going to be.

I just saw the meter reader sneak down to the meter on the side of my house. A thought crossed my mind:

If I tackled him, I could probably steal the meter reader machine from him and hire a young hacker person to change the reading to reflect an abnormally low reading.

It's pretty cold and windy outside, though, and I don't know any young hacker people off the top of my head and he'd probably come to before I had a chance to get the thing out of his hands, so I just watched him leave instead.

Just another day in suburbia.

foreign languages

Speaking foreign languages and I go together like oil and water - it's just not my thing. I fancied myself a French scholar after my required semesters of high school French, but then got to college and heard people speak real French and knew I didn't stand a chance. That part of my brain just isn't wired correctly.

So when we first moved to Mexico, I went with zero espanol and thought I'd be fine.

Until I realized I wouldn't be after about 22 minutes in the country.

After a lot of gnashing of teeth, I finally realized that I had to get with the program. When in Rome and all that jazz...

So I took classes at a little school in Guadalajara and then did online courses with the University of Maryland. I got the basics but that was about it. I made myself a promise that I'd never go to another country to live again without the language. The promise was kept with Mozambique because I was able to do full-time Portuguese training with Jimmy at the State Department before we moved there. And even though there was a 4+-year gap between Portuguese classes and our arrival in Brazil, I hoped the Portuguese synapses were still firing. And they were, well enough to get by.

And now, of course, we're going back to a Spanish-speaking country. I'm afraid any Spanish that's still lurking in my brain is so damp and mouldy that there's no way it's coming back out. The Portuguese has taken over.

I thought it would be a good idea to take a class at the local community college, but then I decided that was more commitment than I needed in my life right now.

Then I remembered that counties have adult education programs. I remember Arlington, VA had a comprehensive and wonderful selection of adult ed classes. And when I was in Boston, I picked up the book (no exaggeration) of adult ed classes offered by Cambridge. You could study anything and everything from Thai cooking to Finnish.

Not so in Dorchester County, SC. Your choices are basically ESL or school bus driver training. No joke.

So I shelved the Spanish training until yesterday when Mac and I went to Target. While he used the restroom, I checked out the $1 section right in front of the store where I found this:
Isn't that brilliant? Quick and for dummies and cheap. Just what I was looking for.

Well I started "studying" last night in the bathtub. There's some funny stuff in this book. I thought you might like to improve your Spanish along with me. You should make sure you're locked in the bathroom with the fan on so nobody hears you making these sounds. Here goes three short lessons for your enrichment...



I was so inspired by "putting my mouth in a rounded position, as if to breathe a kiss over a flower" (WHAT?!?!?!), that today I bought a Berlitz program at Barnes and Noble. Since I can't seem to muster the mojo to start my running program, maybe I'll do Spanish instead...

facebook

I have been a Facebook user for a year and a bit now. I was a Facebook holdout for a long time because I thought it was for teenagers who wanted to IM their friends. Even the term "social networking" sounded phony and plastic to me.

But then I joined and got suckered into the whole concept. I loved reconnecting with people that I hadn't seen in decades. Because we were living in Brazil at the time, I felt so much closer to people when I could read their status updates. You can really learn a lot about people by what they report. And some people feel the need to share the minutiae of their lives, so you really learn more than you ever wanted to know.

When I joined Facebook, I asked to friend the most central people in my life - those that I had frequent contact with, some in my email address book, friends from home, State Department friends from over the years, etc.

The thing with Facebook is that once you are friends with one person, other mutual friends see that and sometimes you get subsequent friend requests from those mutual friends.

Which opens a whole nasty can of worms.

I felt like I needed to confirm every friend request I received as long as I knew the person.

Or had some vague, distant recollection of them tucked away in the recesses of my overly-packed brain.

Jimmy, on the other hand, was more selective and told me I should be, too. To which I said, "I was nice to everybody in high school, so why in the world would I suddenly start picking and choosing who I was going to be nice to on Facebook?"

Now, some year and a bit later, I can say there's a large, extreme, humongous difference between being polite to people when you run into them at the grocery store and friending them on Facebook.

So I have started de-friending (or is it un-friending) people.

There are people who play this game called Mafia Wars on Facebook, which I find ridiculous, but can live with people who compulsively waste time on this game because we all waste time in our lives. Until one of them sends me a gun on my Facebook. Hellooooooo? I couldn't figure out how to get it off my page, even though I find it so offensive. I blocked the application so nobody else can send me a gun, and I immediately de-friended the guy.

And I've started de-friending people who make comments that I find socially or politically offensive. I feel really, really awful that I de-friended an older woman from my mother's church yesterday, but I'm tired of reading her political commentary. I get it that she's a staunch Republican and I can appreciate that she wants to share her views everyday, 12 times a day. I just don't need to read it anymore, so I hit that little "x" button by her name on my friend list.

I feel empowered.

If you're reading this and we're friends on Facebook, I promise I won't de-friend you. Because I love you. Just don't send me any guns.

a very busy weekend

Well, we have just survived a weekend that surely puts me in the lead for Mother of the Year 2010.

Back in December, I bought the Be a Tourist in Your Own Town passes that are sold annually by the Charleston Visitors Bureau. If you're a resident of the Lowcountry and have any interest whatsoever in seeing a lot of the sights, you should invest in this pass next year. For $20 per person or $50 for a family pass (for 4 people), you get a one-time admission to 33 area attractions and discounts at 24 local restaurants. The only catch is that you can only use the pass in January.

Our first outing on the pass was to Middleton Place the first weekend of January when it was about 25 degrees. Not such a pleasant experience, but I figured we'd almost gotten our money's worth with that one little excursion so it didn't really matter if we didn't spend much time there.

And then of course, last weekend we went skiing so we wasted one whole weekend of the pass but it was yet another vote for my Mother of the Year reign.

I was determined that we were making up for lost time this weekend and boy did we ever.

On Friday, Mac had a play date after school with his best friend here and then we went out for pizza at Andolini's with the play date family. (Not on the pass but surely a vote for MOTY).

On Saturday, we went to Mac's first Upward basketball game. After a quick lunch with my mother at Atlanta Bread Company, we were off to the WW2 aircraft carrier Yorktown in the pouring rain. The Yorktown is my least favorite tourist attraction in all of Charleston and perhaps in all of Earth. I hate this place. It smells funny, you have to walk up and down tight little staircases, and it feels claustrophic even if you're not claustrophobic. Naturally it's the place Mac wanted to visit the most. MOTYs don't complain; they just do. So I did, and I kept my mouth shut and did not complain about the awfulness that I think the Yorktown is and guess what? Mac is his moma's boy: he didn't really like the Yorktown either! Which is a very good thing because as we were leaving, all these Boy Scouts were coming on with sleeping bags and suitcases for a night aboard the Yorktown. Can you say "that will never happen with the Story scout while his moma is the only one around to chaperone?"















On Sunday, we went to church and then to the Charleston Tea Plantation. The plantation is way over on Wadmalaw Island, which is one of the most beautiful places in the Lowcountry. Our trip there definitely gave us a walk on the wild side. As we were driving there, enjoying the gorgeous scenery and driving the 55 mph speed limit, a deer ran out of the woods at full speed. Thank God she was a smart deer and/or had good peripheral vision because as I slammed on the brakes she veered to the right and crossed the road ahead of us. Needless to say, Mac thought that was the highlight of the day. We arrived safely at the tea plantation and enjoyed a wonderful, very professionally produced tour of the factory before heading out on the tram ride. Did I mention it rained A LOT the day before? Well the tram bogged down and we all had to walk back to the visitor's center. When we left the tea plantation, we went to Angel Oak, a nearby live oak tree that is believed to be some 1500 years old and the oldest living thing west of the Mississippi. It was very impressive (photo of the tree was taken by Mac).














And today, Mac and I went with Friday's play date family to Charles Towne Landing, which has been redone in the last few years. It was a great afternoon of beautiful weather and good friends.













(Speaking of beautiful weather, my car thermometer yesterday said it was 69 degrees, which is a whopping 56 degree swing upward from last weekend. Do we dare hope that spring is on the way?)

Anyway, I know some of you other mothers were hoping to take the Mother of the Year award, but I think I've got the market cornered at least for the voting in our house. I even got flowers from Jimmy this week with the following card attached:




And that card came before this weekend's Charleston version of the "12 European countries in 7 days" tour.

But don't worry: I burn out fast and I'm not even sure I can get to February when the pass expires before I take to the couch for weekend afternoon napping.

random musings on this Thursday afternoon

1. Do you know how much geese poop?

I was going to join a running group at the local Y because they said it was for experienced and beginner runners. I was all set to go today to start with "Moms on the Run" and then got a long email from the leader answering my questions, about such things as do you run inside or outside (you have to dress appropriately) and was it really okay for beginners.

The email explained that some of the moms are marathoners who are trying to get back into marathon shape, so they regularly run 10+ miles on these runs, but that there were other people who only ran 3-6 miles.

Ummm. 3-6 miles? Are those the beginners?

So do you have anything for whatever is lower than beginners?

I decided I wasn't up to running with these Moms. So I started my own program today. The neighborhood where we live has wonderful paved bike paths all through the place. Someone told me there are 5 miles worth of trails. I don't know that and I surely didn't see 5 miles of trails today. I did a pathetic little run/walk combo that would have been the envy of some geriatric person who is mobile only with assistance from a walker. But I did it and that's the main thing.

Now on to the goose poop. There are a lot of ponds in this development and the Geese of White Gables must move around to use all the ponds. And they apparently use the bike paths surrounding the ponds as their port-o-lets. I've never seen so much goose poop. You really had to be vigilant to avoid stepping in it.

2. I made butternut squash soup for the first time today and it was delicious. I don't know why making homemade soup intimidates me, but from start to finish, it took an hour and now I have all these bowls of yummy soup in my freezer.

3. My absolute favorite orange juice (if I have to buy it in a bottle)? Tropicana Pure Valencia with Pulp

When you live in a place like Brazil where you can order the most delicious fresh-squeezed orange juice at literally any restaurant, sandwich shop or fine dining establishment, it's a rude awakening to return to processed orange juice.

So imagine my delight when I found this stuff. It's the closest to fresh that I've ever tasted without cutting and squeezing the oranges myself. At $4.49 a bottle, it
can get a little expensive when you guzzle glass after glass as I have been doing (I tell myself it's for the extra Vitamin C to ward off colds). I figure I better drink as much of it as I can stomach right now because with the damage to the orange groves in Florida due to freezing temperatures, it'll probably cost $16 a bottle sooner rather than later.

a reflection on Haiti

I am so overwhelmed with sadness when I see these newscasts and online photos coming out of Haiti. The helplessness and hopelessness these people must feel weighs on me. The not knowing the whereabouts of your friends and family - or even whether they're still alive - has got to be heartbreaking. And then if you find out that your people are alive, but injured, can they even get medical help? Can they get food? Can they get clean water?

The Charleston newspaper ran a story in this morning's paper that ended with telling about a man who had just flown to Miami from Port-au-Prince before the earthquake struck. He left behind a wife and a young daughter for a short business trip. When he landed in Miami and learned the news, he started calling them. His quote: "I call. I call. I call. No one answers." Can you imagine how helpless this man feels? Or his wife and daughter if they're trapped under rubble? Or if they're alive and trying to get in touch with him and can't, knowing that he must be worried sick. It's the stuff of my nightmares.

I have never been to Haiti, although Jimmy was assigned there before our move to Brazil. He was due to start French training in Virginia when he was offered the job as the regional environmental officer in Brasilia. That job became open very unexpectedly because the woman who held that job was diagnosed with a very aggressive, terminal cancer. In the blink of an eye, our fate changed and we never made it to Haiti.

So while we've never been to the poorest country in the western hemisphere, we have lived in a country that is slightly poorer than Haiti in terms of GDP and per capita income. While there were a handful of wealthy people in Mozambique, the overwhelming majority of people there live in a kind of poverty that I could never even imagine in my most horrible nightmares. Today in Mozambique, the average per capita income is $320. And in Haiti? $400.

Do you understand that?

They have to spread out 400 measly dollars over 365 days. They have to raise their children on $400 a year. They have to eat, clothe themselves, provide shelter. That is less than 92 cents a day to survive.

And then an earthquake comes along and snatches away any little bit of anything they have.

I have heard the arguments that people give about these poor countries: the people must not be industrious, they must be lazy, they must be stupid.

These people are none of the above. They are simply trying to survive one day at a time. There but for the grace of God was I born to parents in the United States. Any of us, but for the grace of God, could have been born in the Haitis and Mozambiques of this world.

As bad as this awful global recession is in the developed world - and believe me, I am not minimizing the devastating effects that it has had on many, many people's lives - we all still live in a relatively comfortable world that's light years beyond what these people live in the best times their countries have ever seen. If you're reading this, you're on a computer, which means you have enough money to spend at least the $300 that the cheapest little computers cost now. In Haiti, that little computer would be 3/4 of your annual income.

This morning on the way to school, I heard the deejay on a Christian radio station talk about comments made by televangelist Pat Robertson. I haven't been able to get the full transcript. But here's part, in case you haven't heard these inflammatory comments.

"Something happened a long time ago in Haiti, and people might not want to talk about it," the controversial televangelist said during an interview Wednesday on the Christian Broadcasting Network.

"They were under the heel of the French...and they got together and swore a pact to the devil. They said, 'We will serve you if you'll get us free from the French.'"

Robertson continued: "True story. And so the devil said, 'OK, it's a deal.' They kicked the French out. The Haitians revolted and got themselves free. Ever since, they have been cursed by one thing after the other."

Robertson went on to note that though Haiti shares the same island with the Dominican Republic, it remains desperately poor while its neighbor is "prosperous, healthy and full of resorts."

"[Haitians] need to have a great turning to God, and out of this tragedy, I'm optimistic something good may come," Robertson said.

He also called the earthquake "a blessing in disguise".

I think Mr. Robertson and I must be watching different coverage. I have seen footage of spontaneous prayer services and singing that have sprung up in the midst of this despair. I don't worship the devil, but it didn't seem like devil-worshipping to me. This is exactly the sort of stuff that gives Americans in general and Christians in particular a bad name all around the world.

I will get off my soapbox for now. I hope that you're remembering those people in Haiti, whether it be with your prayers or your financial contributions. They need it more we can imagine.

up in the air

Today I went to the 12:05pm showing of "Up In the Air". I wanted to see what all the hype was about after hearing that it was the best movie of the year. It was good, but I thought it was terribly sad. Yes, there were lots of funny parts, but overall, I just felt it was sad.

Anyway, that's not why I'm writing. When you go to a 12:05pm movie, you usually encounter one of three types of people if you're not alone in the theater: 1) old and/or retired people; 2) stay-at-home moms; or 3) out-of-work people.

Today was my day for the old people. I walked into the theater about 12pm and there was just one other couple. They were talking at normal conversational levels, so I heard everything they said, despite the fact that I was one row down and 5 seats over and despite that fact that those loud pre-preview commercials were running. They talked about "the best golfer in the lowcountry", "Mr. Simmons", "doing work with the DAR", something about "business models", etc.

They were bad enough.

Then three old people came in just before the previews started. I will be the first to admit that the volume might have been a little on the loud side. But when the first preview ended, I heard the man from the back row say really loudly, "well, I hope they got that sound up loud enough."

To make it even worse, the people on the row behind me talked at normal conversational tones and volume the entire way through the previews and into the opening scenes of the movie. Now I know a lot of people hate previews, but I happen to be one of the few who love previews. And I particularly love the opening scenes of movies, so do us all a favor and shut up as soon as the announcement comes on that says "Be courteous and zip your lips" or something to that effect.

And then, to make it even worse, I could hear one person in each group having to explain the dialogue (some of which was racy) and repeat lines to the men in the group every so often.

Maybe I need to push back to the 2:30pm showings?

random musings from my midday ride through Summerville, as seen from the front seat of my car and photographed by my trusty Blackberry

1. Okay, there's no photo for this one, but I just saw a man driving a convertible with the top down. Two potential reasons cross my mind:

a. The convertible is stuck in the open position;

or

b. The driver, like me, thinks that 47 degrees F feels downright balmy after 22 degrees F.

2. Two photos, neither of which will do this truck justice.


Now Crystal is obviously the passenger in this truck as evidenced by the arrow pointing from her name to the passenger side window. The window is detailed with "C-n-D", so although I couldn't get a look at the driver's side, I imagine there's a D name, like David, with an arrow pointing to the driver's side window. And "D" is obviously the so-called "Country Boy" as noted on the tailgate. I don't know if D had an idea to start writing on the "top line" of the tailgate and then changed his mind or why there's that scribbling that looks like he tried to write Bubba. Maybe D goes by Bubba? Thankfully, we know that D, aka Bubba, aka Country Boy, can survive. And he'll always be able to find his truck. Let's just hope Crystal is a permanent fixture in his life.

3.
I know you can't see the sign up close. There was too much traffic for me to drive and click while passing by. This photo is from the now-defunct Checkers hamburger joint. The sign, which is made sadder by a missing letter, says:

CLOSED
THANKS
SUMMER_ILLE

My question is do they mean:
a) (we're) CLOSED (permanently but we do so want to say) THANKS (to you) SUMMERVILLE (for all the years of your patronage);

or

b) (we're) CLOSED (permanently now). THANKS (for nothing) SUMMERVILLE.

basketball and Dippin' Dots

This afternoon Mac and I enjoyed a College of Charleston (my alma mater) basketball game with and courtesy of Caroline, Willie and Isabel. Jimmy took Mac to his first college football game in October, and I am proud that I have accompanied him to his first college basketball game. Mac had a great time, particularly with Isabel, to whom he is betrothed, unbeknownst to any of the interested parties except for me. Mac and Isabel also enjoyed Dippin' Dots, those little ice cream ball things that are like something you'd find at the gift shop at the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum. Based on his hyper behavior since the consumption some 3+ hours ago, I am pretty sure that Dippin' Dots contain at least one controlled substance.