Wordless Wiki Wednesday

Posted on 29 September 2010 | 5 responses

Air turntables or a solo rendition of “Deep and Wide”?

You can call me Emmylou

Posted on 28 September 2010 | 9 responses

*phone rings*
Hello? [only no stress on the "O" it's more of an "uh"; I've determined that part of my Oklahoma family speaks with a distinctly proper North Carolinian accent, only not quite so slow]
Hey, Granny.
Why, hello sugarbabe. How are you doing?
Just fine. I need to ask you something.
Well, all right.
When did Pappy [her dad] go gray?
Oh…early.
Did anybody else prematurely gray?
Hmm…quite a few.
Uhboy.
What? Why?
I just pulled out about the 10th white hair in a month. White. Pearly white.
[she laughs] Well…

* * *

And then, the other night.

I pulled a 13-inch white hair out of my head. It was buried pretty deep in there, under some layers in the back. I held it tight between two fingers and took it into the living room to show Kevin.

“Look,” I said. “I need you to confirm that that is white.”

“It’s white.”

“And see?” I held each end in opposite hands. “It’s thirteen inches long.”

“Yup.”

“Do you know what that means? It means I’ve been lying down on the job and it’s been there a while.”

By then I think he’d lost interest. He’s black-haired with a few dozen shiny, silver hairs creeping in that he couldn’t be more proud of. And he just calls me a “wise woman” whenever I mention it.

There are more and more every week. I don’t think I’m vain and I’ve never imagined myself to be a regular “dyer,” it’s just not something I want to invest in, but I can’t say that I expected to have to start making a decision in my mid-twenties. Over the past few months I’ve done a little research and found quite a few prematurely gray or white-haired individuals in my family. So it’s looking like this is reality.

It’s okay. This happened to many of my family members. And Emmylou Harris, right? Did she go gray early? She’s been gray as long as I have been alive but I don’t suppose that means much. Then there was a lady in my hometown. I remember when she just. stopped. dying. it. And she had this beautiful white hair. I never knew it was under there. It was so odd…so different from what I was used to seeing. It was striking. And it was lovely.

Now the question is — do I embrace it? Since this all started happening I’ve been reading articles here and there about graying and the culture we live in. Not that you need the numbers, but an overwhelming number of women over 40 choose to dye their hair. It makes it really hard to peg what “premature gray” actually is because so few people — women especially — allow themselves to gray these days.

Sure, I’ve got years to go before I’m totally white-headed (and it is white, there’s no two ways about it), but for right now…I think I’m going to leave it. Don’t hold me to it or anything. I just as liable to say exactly the opposite tomorrow. But I’ve got a little time to think about it. And I’d kinda like to see what my genes have planned.

Unless I get a skunk stripe. Then all bets are off.

My Summer Vacation – Part 1

Posted on 27 September 2010 | 2 responses

Since summer is now over, it’s probably about time I told you what I did on my vacation, right? Right.

We’ve had an awful lot of trouble flying out of Oklahoma over the past year. Finally, in June, we made it.

Oh, happy day!

After our adventure in the Denver airport, meeting one of the stars of NBC’s The Office, we landed in Philly and were met by my mother-in-law. We spent a night there in Pennsylvania and were off early the next morning to head for Virginia.

Our first stop that day was at this cozy little place called G-Lodge (a filming location for M. Night Shyamalan’s The Happening) where I had an omelet with lox and cream cheese. Oh yes. By now you know I’m addicted to this stuff. It was fabulous. Susan (my MIL) and I both enjoyed our omelets and think we determined that they use 2 eggs instead of 3 — 2 eggs being the preference for us both. Too much egg = BLEH. Gimme the cream cheese!

I should also point out that I was 2 days into this vacation before I realized I hadn’t taken any photos. It happens. We were having a good time I forgot to stop and take pictures.

We stopped that first night in Fredericksburg, Virginia to have dinner with my brother- and sister-in-law, Brian and Beth. (Yes, I’m Elizabeth and she is Beth. Thank goodness I never went by “Beth” or holidays could get really confusing. And don’t even look into the names of Kevin’s first cousins and their spouses. It’s too much. Okay, I’ll just tell you. Essentially, all but 2 or 3 people are either named Beth or Brian or married to a Beth [or a variation, in my case] or Brian. Maybe it’s good we live so far apart?)

After 1.5 long days of driving, we were in Clinton, North Carolina, where our Crumplers hail from. It’s a small town south of Raleigh and it reminds me a whole lot of the area I grew up in. Other than there being no oil rigs. And the fact that we don’t have tobacco farms in Oklahoma.

Don’t I wish that house was in the family. It’s one of the larger homes in town.
They’ve got some great historic houses there in the area.

Kevin’s grandma lives there in Clinton. She’s got the most spectacular southern sounding name — Julia Mae. We spent a lot of time there at her house, showing her wedding pictures since she wasn’t able to travel for our wedding in 2009, and just visiting and enjoying the time with her and Aunt Sue.

We drove out to the cemetery to visit Kevin’s grandfather’s grave. John Franklin passed away a couple of weeks before I was supposed to come out and meet Kevin’s grandparents for the first time.

“Crumpler” may not be a common name out this direction, but all you have to do is look across that cemetery to see that his family is to Clinton what my family is to the Pernell/Foster area of Oklahoma.

One thing I look forward to when we go to North Carolina, other than seeing Kevin’s family? The hot dogs. Most reactions I get about these are the “love ‘em” or “hate ‘em” variety. I lie in the former camp. And I’m not even a slaw person! But throw that stuff on a hot dog with some yummy chili and onions and I am set.

Stewart (Kevin’s dad) took us to Jennifer’s Grill there in Clinton. And boy howdy, that place was hoppin’. We let Stewart take care of the orders while we waited outside, so as to avoid the crowd of hungry patrons.

We grabbed our food and took it back to Grandma’s where I enjoyed my second North Carolina hot dog.

Jennifer’s is the place to go for one of these things. So if you’re ever down Clinton way, stop in and try one. They’re affordable and tasty and I’m pretty sure I could put 3 away before I knew what hit me. For the sake of my waistline, I’ll try to make sure that never happens.

Home

Posted on 25 September 2010 | 6 responses

I imagine this will sound pretty peculiar to most people.

There’s just something about the smell of hot tar that fills me with nostalgia…

Warm fuzzies, memories of childhood…

It’s how you know you were raised in the oilfield.

My Nose

Posted on 24 September 2010 | 15 responses

Pride brings the fall of so many. As a kid, there wasn’t much I could imagine being prideful about. I was pretty plain (in my mind) and I never thought of myself as perfect or beautiful or anything like that.

Then I read Anne of Green Gables. What Anne was proud of was her straight, rather handsome nose.

I looked at my own and was shocked. Never before had I paid much attention to the slope of my schnoz. It was straight.

Now, this may not seem too special, but no one in my family has a straight nose. At the time, my youngest brother did, but a well-aimed punch a few years ago scarred his profile for life. Everyone else was born with some funky bump in the middle.

So there I was, pleased as could be about my nose.

Somewhere around that time, I started waking up early in the morning before my alarm would sound (this was in grade school). It was the smell of my mom cooking bacon waking me before 6am. Most people would find this experience pleasant, but it was an assault on my senses. There was gagging and slight nausea, but I survived.

Then came college. And again, the theme here is me waking before I should because of a smell. This time? Vomit in the hallway. I’d like to thank the ladies of Couch Tower, Floor 3, 2004-2005 for sharing your revelry in the hallway outside my dorm room. Thank you.

And so, it is clear that because of my prideful ways I have been cursed with hyperosmia (I have the cluster headaches and migraines that go along with it as well). In this house, a full trash bag cannot be left in the kitchen overnight. Not unless you want the smell waking me at 2am and then me waking my husband as I take out the trash at that hour.

At work it has comedic results. There is much gagging and leaving the room whenever a stench enters that I can’t tolerate. And then our nurse tells me she sure hopes that I stick around there long enough for everyone to see me in the early stages of pregnancy — because CLEARLY, that’s going to be a fun time for everyone. My desk is a mere 7 (long) strides from the nearest restroom, so I should be taken care of.

All this to say that I am one of Yankee Candle Co.’s best customers. I know, very mid- to late-90s of me.

(Those are the spoils from last weekend’s shopping trip. Managed to get 3 for the price of a little over 1 with my mad couponing skills + sales.)

I get pretty out-of-hand with air fresheners, odor absorbers, plug-ins, potpourri warmers, incense, and candles. If you have any major allergy issues then it’s likely my house would mean certain death for you. Don’t worry, it’s not overkill. My husband doesn’t complain so I know it must not smell too strongly. But when you’re fighting the smell of “old man” that still comes out of the walls if we aren’t properly circulating the air (which means every ceiling fan in every room of the house is on 365 days each year) you’ve got to break out the big guns.

And if the big guns just happen to smell like baked goods, well, who’s to argue with that?

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