The Eve of Eve

I wanted to sit down and write one more nugget of love before Christmas officially arrives. Neal is off tomorrow through Monday and I anticipate lots of kitchen time, a fair amount of couch time, and maybe just a smattering of bed time. Not much blogging time. We are under the 30-day mark and if I don't think about it, I'm perfectly content. Once I start dwelling on the events Neal will miss and the shear loneliness that always accompanies a deployment, it's a total tailspin into multiple tubs of Nutella and bourbon. But I am making you this promise...there will be blogging! Magnolias and Mimosas burst onto the scene approximately a month after Neal arrived home from Kuwait. And what I regretted most about my decision to begin blogging was that I hadn't made that decision 13 months earlier. Not for the ego-stroking or self-gratifying posts about a military wife's struggles. It was more about providing the truest glimpse into deployment and the sorrowjoygrieffrustrationdelight that comes with it. I heard a pundit say once that only 5% of the American population is really affected by the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. The other 95% is at the mall. But what if you could read the stories from the front line? Breathe in the honesty? Translate that into action for our men and women in uniform and their families? We all sleep under the protection of the flag, sometimes blissfully unaware of the men and women who are providing that protection. I can be one story. From one perspective. I promise that over the next year, I will give my version of events...not for sympathy or even empathy...just to give a viewpoint.

But for now, the gifts are all wrapped and placed under a tree that is up and decorated only because I was bitten hard on the bah-humbug butt by the Christmas spirit at The Biltmore. We have more food than our base housing fridge can hold, a true testament to the blessings we are bestowed. And a wreath holds all of the Christmas cards we have received over the past couple of weeks. More blessings. We will spend the next few days baking, cooking, laughing, lounging, and being together. I will soak up every minute and store them in the footlockers of my mind so that I can pull them out when I see a movie that I know Neal would enjoy or bake a dish that he would lick clean. Facing a year without your best friend and life's partner is a daunting task, but why squander hours away on that thought when there are so many moments to enjoy now? Tiny, joy-filled moments that make up the length of life...that is my Christmas wish for you. Thank you so much for reading this past year; I hope you will stick around for the next one. Merry Christmas from the Miller household. I will see you on the other side, a few pounds heavier, but no worse for the wear!

xoxo and Cheers!

Twas the Night Before Mobilization

Neal poses in front of a HET.

'Twas the night before mob'ing, when all through the halls,
Not a creature was stirring, not even the Slaws.

The duffles were packed with thought and with care,
In hopes that everything was all crammed in there.

The colonel was nestled all snug on her cot,
While visions of logistics danced in her thoughts.

And Captain in his beret and Giles in his fleece,
Were having a long talk about war and peace.

When out on the road, there arose such a clatter,
They sprang from their desks to see what was the matter!

Away to the window they poured like the rain,
Yanked up the blinds and peered out from the frame.

The moon and the light of street lamps below,
Gave the luster of mid-day to events they'd behold.

When what to their bomb-searching eyes should attest,
An up-armored Humvee and 8 rumbling HETs!

With a fiery lieutenant leading the show,
They suddenly saw, it was Firrento!

More rapid than gunfire, the 5-tons rolled on,
Soldiers all driving, destroying the lawn.

"Now Grayson! now Martin! now Paxton and Sheal!
On Weston! on Hayman! on Hammond and Deal!

To the front of the gate! to the top of the wall!
Now drive away! drive away! drive away all!"

As dry leaves will whip in the December wind,
When met with an obstacle, they all did ascend.

So, up the rooftop, the HETs they all flew,
With a Humvee of gear; Firrento, too!

And then in a flash, they heard way up higher,
The squealing and screeching of their balding tires.

As Giles grabbed Captain and was turning around,
Down through the air shaft Firrento was bound!

He was clothed in Dress Blues, from service cap to shoes,
Limping from the fall, he threatened to sue.

A bag of OCIE he had flung on his back,
He looked like CIF, just opening his pack.

His eyes - how they twinkled! his smile was so merry,
His cheeks rosy red - like chow hall cranberries!

His pursed commander's mouth, drawn up in a grin,
Baby butt's got nothin' on his clean-shaven chin.

The white of his teeth, his slim silhouette,
What keeps him from bouncing around in a HET??

He had slender man-hands and toned runner's calves,
He smelled a little like patients and Tiger Balm salve.

So clean-cut, so fit, so essence of brass,
Leading HRC was his skinny lil' ass.

A wink of his eye, a click of his heel,
Giles rubbing his eyes to see if it's real.

He spoke not a word, just unpacked the gear,
Sunglasses, Gortex, wet weather pants in here.

He turned to his men, a salute he then mimed,
And giving a nod, up the air shaft he climbed.

He sprang to his HET and called to move out,
They shot to the sky, broke free of the clouds.

"We got this!" he screamed, as they roared out of sight,
"Merry Christmas to all! And to all a goodnight!"

by: Moi

* I apologize for the all of the acronyms. I can only tell you that OCIE is the gear that Soldiers get - and usually it's pretty fancy stuff (in the way that everyone who has ever slept in an Army sleeping bag will never appreciate North Face sleeping bags again). And CIF is who gives out the OCIE.

*Firrento (also not his real name) is the commander of our unit and is truly a skinny little dude. And a physical therapist, hence the Tiger Balm.

*Also I am not an Australian journalist leaking sensitive documents over the WWW. Names and unit abbreviations have been changed to protect our men and women in uniform.

Champagne Friday: The Little Village That Could (with your all's help!)

A Christmas Story
by Mama Virgo

Most American school children, OK and some adults, would have a difficult time finding Zambia on a map of Africa. Hopefully, most would be able to point to Africa – “you know, kids, it’s the really big one between two big oceans”. Depending on their age and interests, they might have heard of Dr. David Livingstone who has a large town (pop. about 90,000) named for him in southern Zambia. But the vast majority of the world population has never heard of the Kazungula District of Zambia. And only a handful of people, including you folks who frequent this blog, have ever ever heard of a remote forest village called Namapande (you won’t find it on Google Earth). This geography lesson is intended as a reminder of how special you are! Not only are you aware of this village but some of you sent contributions to help put a roof on their school before the fragile bricks were destroyed by the rainy season. So settle in, grab the drink of your choice and listen to the Christmas story about Namapande and how a few good folks made a difference just by caring about people you will never meet; people who want their kids to have an education; people who are on the margins of the marginalized; people who can never repay you or do anything for you – except of course make you feel warm all over because of your generosity.

Many villages in Zambia were flooded during the rainy season several years ago. This season can last from about October until April with an average of nearly 40 inches of rain. Unable to rebuild their community after another flood, the government advised about 400 villagers that they would be relocated to a new area, Namapande, virtually flood proof as there is no water in sight. The villagers were allowed to take minimal possessions to their new land. One gift that they did not realize at the time was that they were placed in a part of the Kazungula District which is an area loved and served by two Kentuckians, Lonnie and Fran Turner. There is some discussion/debate about why the government chose land that was isolated; had no readily available water source; was at least 10 miles from a main road; was covered with bush and vegetation; and had no visible means of obtaining food. I prefer to think that they did not intend harm or hardship.

But these villagers are tough. They did not whine and complain (which is the American way…why did the government do this to me…nobody likes me…blah, blah,blah). Nope, they dusted off their machetes and started clearing the land by hand. Keep in mind, this is an area about the distance from the U.S. Capitol to the Lincoln Memorial if you squared it up. And if you think that’s not far, try walking it sometime in July or January and imagine clearing your way with a machete. For housing, the government gave them military style tents, which when we saw them were fairly tattered. These villagers, being more comfortable in thatch huts, started building their homes quickly. Soon, the government installed a well about mid range of the property. Helpful, but not sufficient for all these folks. Onto the scene arrived Lonnie and Fran, having heard about this remote cache of people who had few resources, a village now called Namapande Resettlement. Who knows how these things become known in a forest of no computers, no phones, a community not visible from the highway. Nonetheless, Lonnie and Fran’s humanitarian organization, Partners in Development, went to work and put in another well and started visiting the village on a regular basis, providing some resources, and developing a relationship with the people and the village president, Billy. Guess what, you must have a relationship with people before you can help them! Sweeping in, destroying their village, setting up a democracy, and arranging the village American style does not work.

Our group, who was visiting with Lonnie and Fran, arrived at Namapande on Sunday, August 1, 2010 to an unbelievable welcome. The only indication from the main road (a two lane highway through the bush country) that a village is near is a road sign made from a log with Namapande carved its length.

The road that traverses about 10 miles back to the village is composed of packed and loose sand, one lane and barely passable in places. Its’ condition in the rainy season is unimaginable.

The road ends in a clearing where many villagers were gathering, cooking fires were burning and two large tents stood as the centerpiece with UNICEF stenciled across them.

These were the tents, equipped only with small wooden benches, which served as the school buildings for what appeared to be several 100 children of all ages. Behind the tents was a newly constructed brick building, a skeleton of a structure with no roof, made from homemade bricks and mortared with local material (not your Daddy’s bricks and mortar).

As we unloaded, we were surrounded by smiling, eager children who are unaccustomed to seeing pale skinned, pale eyed people. As we began to take their pictures with our legion of digital cameras, feeling so paparazzi-like, and then show it to them, they were aghast. Many, if not all, had never seen a picture of themselves. They pushed, crowded, all wanting more photos taken. That afternoon evolved into music, the performing of plays which they had written for us, dancing, laughing, eating familiar as well as new foods, and sharing, although we did not speak a common verbal language. The Turner’s brought $5000.00 worth of donated textbooks from the U.S. and presented these to the headmaster of the school and her two assistants.

Some of the children were allowed to hold the books and were visibly upset when it was time to return them to the teachers for safe keeping. As we toured the school shell, we were told how the funds had been exhausted and the danger of the bricks crumbling when the rains came if no roof was in place. There was no question that we had been placed there at that moment in time to serve a purpose. We could be the feet to make sure that school was protected; knowing in our hearts that Americans are generous and that we would not be alone in our commitment.

In many African countries, children complete Basic School which is comparable to our elementary education. If they are to go further, then families must pay for them to leave home and live in boarding schools. Understandably, few are able to further their education due to finances and the need to stay and help the family. At a minimum, children need that basic education and hope that they can go further. The intellect of these children is quite amazing. We were saddened to know that many will not be able to attend high school. But the building in Namapande is the beginning and prayerfully not the end for many of these children. The roof is now on and the building is protected. Plans are underway for finishing the building when weather permits.

If anyone dares to tell you that a few people really cannot make a difference, especially halfway around the world, tell them the story of Namapande. If anyone asks why you are here, what is your purpose in life, tell them the story of Namapande.

Writer’s note: This about the 4^th draft of this blog. I started out trying to be cute, caustic and comical, and a bit critical of the government. Entertaining, but stupid. It dawned on me, Duh, that this will be posted on the internet which means the government can see it which could result in consequences impeding the work of the Turner’s. So, a word of warning, if you care to comment on this piece, please be aware that if you Google Namapande, this blog will likely be there, as it was when I did so in preparing this post. Please be mindful of how your comments could be taken. It’s preferable to believe that everyone is doing their best to help these folks.

Champagne Fri...er...MONDAY!

OK, yes, I think my exact words were "and there will be a Champagne Friday this week! I promise!"

And then Neal came home from work.

And opened the bourbon.

Not just any ole nasty gut-rot redneck stuff, either. The Woodford Reserve. (Tip to the bourbon afficionado wannabes: Maker's Mark is for your wife to mix with her Diet Coke/7-Up/triple-distilled sparkling water. If you are asked at the office Christmas party, Woodford Reserve is your drink of choice. Ascot is optional.)

So we had a bourbon with dinner. And another with dessert. And then another while we watched Wall Street (the original, not the one where Charlie Sheen is trying to fit another movie in between jail terms). And then, well...I don't quite remember. A Christmas tree was definitely involved, though. Suffice it to say, the good Cap'n needed to blow off some steam. It was our first weekend home with nothing to do since the first part of September. And in just a little over a month, bourbon will be nothing but a wet dream for him. So, rev up the ice maker and pass the bottle!

Anyway, here it is Monday and while things have calmed down some, I still have a couple of projects I'm finishing up. But I wanted to spread Christmas joy through the WWW. So...first...

Isn't this AMAZEBALLS?? I bet bourbon would be very tasty in an angel mug. Or Champagne. Or something non-alcoholic. Bwahahaha...whatever.

Anyway, as part of Shana's 12 Days of Christmas, this is today's giveaway item. Just by telling you about it I get 3 entries. Which is awesome. Unless 3 of you enter because you saw it here first. Or 4. And then I'm in the red as far as entries go. All you have to do to enter is leave a comment on today's post....which you should do anyway because she is, once again, letting us live vicariously through her and Christmas in NYC.

Secondly, the children of Africa are singing your praises because the school in Namapandi has a roof!! Mama Virgo sent me these pictures on Friday:
Isn't the most beautiful thing you've ever seen? Yes, well it's no Frank Lloyd Wright...but it's a fully functional school building. When you're comparing it to a tent, it may as well be the Louvre. If you have forgotten how the school looked when Mama Virgo and her team of IBC volunteers left, here's a refresher:
And then I did that annoying and pushy thing where I asked for money/prayers/a band of angels and *voila* we raised the roof! So, to all of those who sent checks, prayed about it, told a friend who sent a check, or told a friend to pray about it, THANK YOU! Here is proof that money and prayers work hand-in-hand.

To celebrate the completion of the school in Namapandi, Mama Virgo has graciously agreed to write a blog post about her experiences there last summer. She has been known to string a sentence or two together into paragraph form (and once, into book form...God bless the dissertation) so expect great things. No pressure, Mama Virgo.

Congratulations on making a difference, good luck on Shana's wing-ed coffee mug, and Happy Monday! Just 12 more days until Christmas!! I can hardly stand myself...

Making Veterans' Day Last Just a Little Bit Longer

In 12 minutes, Taps will, just like any other day, play here at Ft. Lee. I've listened to more bugles, more cannons, more cadence calls in the past 10 days than I ever thought possible. But with every Retreat that sounds at the end of a day, with every marching Soldier that passes, and with every lone cry of a bugle at 11 PM, I am reminded of one stark truth: freedom is not free. There are sacrifices and tears and a price associated with our freedom to worship God or many gods, to curse the president, to pick a school...a side of war...a side of the street. And when we, you and I, are not laying down our lives for these freedoms, someone is. These men and women get up before the sun. As we are brewing the morning coffee, they are running in formation. As we are kissing our spouses goodbye for the day, they are kissing theirs goodbye for the month...or months. Our daily irritations would be welcome distractions from the routines they know and live.

Today, this is not about me or me and Neal. Do we have our own sacrifice looming? Yes. There is certainly no denying that. But today we are together. Taps plays now, accompanied by his snoring and the glow of my laptop. Today is not our sacrifice. But it is someone's...many someones.

I hope you paused yesterday and thought about the men, women, and children who are affected everyday by a loved one's absence...and about the men and women in uniform who go or have gone, regardless of the orders or the expectations. They all have different reasons for serving. Their reasons don't matter. Their willingness to do so does.

The video posted above is 4 minutes long. I hope you are able to find 4 minutes in your day to sit down and remember those who have sacrificed it all, and send up a prayer for those who have done what we have not. You know I don't post videos...well, ever. And I've sifted through an hour's worth of YouTube videos to find one that I thought is a good representation of how it is to live the military life. It's frustrating...humbling...painful...but at the end of the day, it's nothing compared to the beauty of an American flag waving in a slight breeze.

We are traveling back to Macon today for our pre-deployment Yellow Ribbon event on Saturday. I will be spending Champagne Friday with my favorite veteran (Sorry, Army Dad...you are a very close second favorite...it's *almost* a tie...really). I hope you are able to spend it with your own hero...someone who may not wear a cape or even a uniform, but makes life easier through laughter and love. A salute and a cheers.....

In This Moment

The dishes done,
the laundry folded.
Cleaning out the fridge,
the bread has molded.

Finding the time
to kiss goodbye.
Neal scurries out
with lunch and a sigh.

One vet remembers,
as many do not.
Each day is a bonus,
not an afterthought.

So I hug a little longer
and call a little more
and forget about revenge
or settling the score.

Each day is a bonus.
we mustn't ignore.
We aren't guaranteed tomorrow,
just right now, no less, no more.

This is part of The Scholastic Scribe's Tuesday Poetry Slam that she has just created. I'm certainly not ready for a microphone and a beret, but it does take me back to high school, writing poetry and pose to fit a picture. I feel like I'm 16 again. Maybe I'll have McDonald's for lunch and slip a note to Neal in study hall. Want to join in? Simply jot down a little something and then click over to Mrs. Scribe's blog and comment that you have done so. Easy as Cheese Whiz!

Happy Champagne Friday: HOOAH!

Champagne Friday rides again...and this time from sunny (finally) Ft. Lee, VA!

As I type this, we are currently staying here:

I can see that you are incredibly jealous and I think you absolutely should be. It is very vintage. I'm pretty sure they were even able to keep the original air filters. How lovely that they have worked so diligently to keep everything original to the building, circa 1961. (Clearly, it's a little early in the winter season for this picture to be one of mine. Thank you so much US Army websites!)

However, if we play our cards just right and secure a PCS to Ft. Lee after Iraq, we could be living here:

My apologies to the nice family whose house I was camped outside of drooling and photographing.

So, to celebrate Champagne Friday, I'm going to leave you with some observations of Ft. Lee 72 hours into my visit:

1) The housekeeping staff, also known as Sharon, is extremely friendly. She is also very honest. She really doesn't appreciate it when visitors leave money scattered about as if to lure her into a made-for-Dateline-filming trap. And if you must leave your underwear on the floor, the least you could do is make sure they are clean. No one wants to see your accident.

2) The gym across the field from us has a cardio room. It is quite possibly the most awkward set-up I've ever seen...and seeing as my degree is in Kinesiology, I've seen a few. The treadmills face the ellipticals. Both sets of equipment have televisions hanging directly overhead. So, the treadmill users are expected to watch the TVs over the elliptical users' heads and vice versa. Basically, if you are like me and love to watch how people walk, run, or just behave in general, you tend to let your eyes wander to the individuals down below. That gets awkward.

3) There are bugles for everything. There are 7:00 AM bugles, noon bugles, 12:30 bugles, 5 PM bugles, 5:30 bugles, and 11:00 bugles. And I may have missed a couple as I'm not here all the time. Yesterday, they fired cannons at 5:30. I'm aware of all of this because the loud speaker is just over yonder from our room. (I can say over yonder because it's Virginia. And the seat of the Confederacy. Which is basically Mother Planet for the South.) I sleep through the 7 AM bugles so no worries there. But I wish someone had warned me about the cannons. I'm not sure my heart will ever beat regularly again.

4) If you skip a workout, you will suddenly find yourself shamed into dragging butt to the gym because everyday after the 5PM bugles, a squadron (or 10) begins doing PT, complete with synchronized counting, across the lawn. Yesterday it rained for 12 hours straight. And yet, there they were, counting, jumping, jacking, and pushing up (which, Shana, is nothing like push-upping). In the rain. I didn't drag butt to the gym, though. I just stood there and watched and prayed none of them caught their death of pneumonia.

5) Either everyone is getting lots of good sleep, lots of good sex, or lots of good food because they are all alarmingly friendly and helpful. Even when it rained for 12 hours, I was still inspired by the Soldier on MP duty, standing in the rain and checking IDs. When I said, "what a day to work outside, huh?" she smiled and said, "oh that's OK. I like the rain." Who the hell likes 50 degree rain? No one. But 2587403 points to her for at least saying it.

I'm now jaunting off to Richmond, about 25 minutes away to scout out sights to see and food to eat should Neal happen to get the day off tomorrow. And I may hit a bead store or 2 while I'm there. But never fear, I'll be back for 5:00 bugles and PT!

Happy Champagne Friday, darlins!!

Are you drinking champagne with me today? Have you been to Ft. Lee? Can I bring you a cannon back as a souvenir?

S.L.U.T.S. Tour the South

Before I even begin, I must commend Shana @ Fumbling Towards Normalcy on her most excellent recap of last weekend's festivities and buffoonery. And I suggest you hop over to read her blog, as I will only be giving the highlights with pictures and she does a fantastic job of providing you with the bigger picture.

Now, she is absolutely correct in saying that I picked her up with a small bar packed in the trunk because, really, what kind of southern belle and blog author of Magnolias & Mimosas would I be if I didn't at least greet her with mimosas? Although, just in case she preferred a little something harder (or softer) at 11:00 AM, I brought a variety. And my compliments to Class VI at Robins AFB for making all of this possible for under $50. Shana has generously posted photos of Georgia Aqurarium Parking Garage Mimosa Drinking on her blog. (And yes Mama Virgo, this was before we got out of the car and walked around Centennial Park for like 3 hours, so it's all good.)

Because we all know that Virgos love their lists, here's a top 21 from our S.L.U.T.S. (Southern Ladies Under Tremendous Stress) Tour of the Deep South:

1. When staying in Atlanta, may I suggest always staying in The Glenn Hotel on Marietta Street. Always. The staff is young and flirty, the decor is hip, and the views from the rooftop bar are spectacular. Plus, there is a frosted pane of glass between the shower and the bedroom...y'know...in case you are into voyeurism.

leading into the bar from the elevator

the bar (which was decorated for the Halloween party that we slept through)

view from the rooftop bar

rooftop bar with my lovah, CNN, in the background. kisses, Anderson!

2. It is 3 1/2 hours from Atlanta to Savannah. If you must make that drive with someone, I recommend doing so with someone who loves to swap stories as much as you. I love my husband. He does not swap stories. It is a very quiet drive. Sometimes I make up jingles for tampon commercials in my head.

3. Your first stop in Savannah should absolutely be at Savannah Candy, preferably on River Street, so that your second stop can be at some incredibly touristy gift shop to get your fortune told by Zoltar.

Shana gets caught with her hand in the taffy bin

fortunately, when we woke the next morning, Shana was exactly the right size

4. If Zoltar repeatedly rejects your $1, perhaps you don't want to know your fortune after all.

my fortune: "You talk too much. Close your mouth and open your ears. But you are always willing to be helpful to others." So, I guess there's that...

5. There is a difference between sexy witch...
and slutty witch...
It is important to know the difference.

6. When presented with the choice, always spend the extra $15 for a set of really good fangs. You'll never regret it.

7. Halloween weekend is precisely the best time to take a hearse tour around Savannah. Someone else drives your drunk ass through the entire city while you get to see everyone's costume from a seat that is sort of like what the Pope rides around in the PopeMobile. I highly recommend it. (Again, Shana has the best costume pictures posted on her blog)

8. If your tour guide happens to be Wes, a firefighter with the Savannah FD, he may take you into a burned out building that is supposedly extremely haunted. If you are, by your very nature, a total horror wuss, you're going to need to be pretty toasted when you tour this house. In effect, by the time you see this:
everything should look like this:
Trust me. Especially if Wes tries to take you into the basement. And my sincerest apologies to Shana, who kept getting snagged on my bracelet and instead, was sure she was being violated, repeatedly, by the black vomiting ghosts of Savannah's Yellow Fever epidemic.

9. This is Wes, the firefighter tour guide (in the black t-shirt, not the fishnet. Although, I would not have been particularly shocked if he had been in fishnet).
Even if you dress like this for your hearse tour, Wes will not take you home at the end of the night. He has standards, after all.

10. If you tour the burned out house that Yellow Fever built, you will be plagued by the first sign of Yellow Fever, black vomit, even if you have only consumed 1 mojito and 3 LIT's through the course of the evening. To prevent black vomit, may I suggest avoiding River Street's "Savannah Tea" and not eating beef tenderloin bruschetta for dinner. Also, watching Paula Deen on TMZ will only make you sicker. (Again, my sincerest apologies to Shana the Good Witch for not being able to hold my liquor. I blame the Savannah Tea. And the Yellow Fever, of course.)

11. Hell yeah, Y'all...Paula Deen will cure that hangover faster than you can say "fried chicken makes my liver sing a lover's ballad."

ain't nuthin' wrong with dat

12. The Shalom, Yall Jewish Festival will completely destroy any hope you may have of getting a decent shot of the beautiful fountain at Forsyth Park.

Well, one without tables, people, and tents, that is. But you will get to see and sign the pink fire truck, if you so desire. Ruby the fire truck, dedicated to Breast Cancer awareness.

13. If you absolutely feel called to build a house, the least you could do is build it in Savannah. They just don't build 'em like this in Jersey. Can I get an amen?

14. Leopold's Ice Cream Shop is famous. And a perfectly acceptable substitute for lunch.

15. May you never say a negative word about the Holiday Inn Express on Bay Street. The staff is helpful, the price can't be beat, and they also boast a lovely rooftop view of the river. No bar up there, but I think I will suggest it when I write my review on TripAdvisor.

Holiday Inn Express...not just for the Griswolds anymore...

16. Someone (who shall remain nameless, but has been to Savannah numerous times, unlike the other traveler) may try to tell you that The Pirate's House restaurant is absolutely, definitely, and without a doubt on River Street. She will then force you to walk the entire length of River St. 4 times in search of this illusive and supposedly haunted touristy spot.
It is not actually on River Street. But a simple phone call from your fancy new Droid will tell you that.

17. When you finally make it to The Pirate's House, you may feel obligated to choose between shrimp n'grits and pecan-crusted chicken. May I suggest refusing to choose and ordering both?
And the veggies are sliced and sauteed. Not from a Bird's Eye bag. I asked.

18. New Yorkers understand a lot of things...what a bagel is supposed to taste like...where you can find a purse that is easily mistaken for one from the Valentino collection...how to travel in large crowds without actually having to touch someone. But what they will never understand unless they leave New York is shrimp n' grits. This is a Shrimp N' Grits Virgin getting her first taste of the explosion of flavors that is only possible down here in the Land of Milk and Honey.
Yeah, J...you want to see that face more often? Give that girl grits! And a bottle of wine wouldn't hurt, either.

19. Bonaventure Cemetery is worth the short jaunt over to Thunderbolt, GA. Made famous by the movie, Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, it used to house the famous Bird Girl statue. Now, you must give your $20 to the Telfair Museum's Jepson Center in order to see Bird Girl. She is probably miserable. Wouldn't you be if you were uprooted from acres of silence and Spanish moss, only to be plopped down on cold tile, surrounded by electronic eyes? Yes, I thought so. But many other statues are still located in Bonaventure. I propose you get your photos now, before someone else makes them famous. Also, if you start seeing mobile homes and chickens running through the yard on your journey to Bonaventure, you haven't gone quite far enough.

20. It is impossible to take a picture of the Spanish moss that captures its true and mystical form. Case in point...
The only person I know who has been able to pull off a truly spooky Spanish moss/cemetery picture is Salt.

21. Finally, even when you are completely sober (albeit still suffering from an alcohol/fried bacon grease hangover), you will still try to tell your northern traveling partner that the Spanish moss growing in the trees is an "orgasm" as opposed to an "organism," clearly indicating that the next deployment is going to be extra rough.

A city girl and a southern belle walk into a bar...and the town is never the same. And I'm looking so forward to bringing the south to the north this spring. If I come home saying "youse guys" though, I may just have a come-apart.

Champagne Friday: On the Road Again

I feel like I'm always traveling on Friday. Last Friday, I took Mama Virgo to IKEA and she repaid me by taking me to The Cheesecake Factory...and Trader Joe's. Today, I am leaving town and heading back to base, just in time to run my Race for the Cure in Macon tomorrow morning with the Air Force Posse. But I wanted to post something for Champagne Friday as I've been a little hit-or-miss lately.

So, to celebrate, let me tell you about Michael's yesterday.

Usually, everyone is in a big hurry in craft stores. I'm not sure why. I try to go when I have several hours to kill. I plan my trips to Michael's and Hobby Lobby like I plan my trips to Goodwill...lots of time to dig through everything, mix and match ideas, and try it all on for size. But, I will admit, there are times when I just need one thing and I know exactly what it is. And then, I think I could probably be classified as someone who is in a hurry. Most of the time, the cashiers are very pleasant...it's the customers that make me wonder what is wrong with the world. If one cashier suddenly opens her register, instead of the next person in line stepping over, it's a rush of carts...with children left behind to fend for themselves and a trail of body parts...the limbs of those who couldn't move fast enough. This is only a slight exaggeration. You would think the cashier was handing out winning lottery tickets to each customer in her line.

Sometimes, mothers have pushed a child's patience with beading and scrapbooking just a bit too far and it is in the check-out line when he/she finally melts down to a puddle of goo and tears. This usually comes justafter they have asked for the candybar/PopRocks/pen with a pom-pom lid and silly face/a spool of ribbon with puppy paw prints. "No" is the answer...and then it starts. I generally try to let that woman go ahead of me...for the sake of all of our sanity. It is pretty rare that I actually have a completely pleasant experience in the craft store.

Until yesterday.

I just needed one thing and I knew exactly what it was and where it was. And I needed to get out of there so I could check that off my to-do list and haul ass and Mustang across town. As I stood in the ever-growing line, silently wishing I had one of their coveted 40% off coupons, I overheard the woman at the register telling the woman in front of me about how she really needed to organize her purse, but hadn't had time because her son had been sick...blah...blah...blah. I almost always tune someone out who starts telling me their life story at the check-out line. Mostly it's because I don't want to get stuck in the parking lot being their sympathetic ear. I have just enough of Mama Virgo's Therapist gene in me to entice someone to just let it all out.

Let me stop here and say that I realize this is not Christian-like. We are put on this earth to take care of one another, whatever those needs are. I am working on this attitude of mine. If the woman in front of me at Target needs to tell someone about her mother with cancer, I absolutely should stop and listen because there is a reason that I'm with her, in that time and place. So, I'm working on it. Like my life, it's a work in progress.

Anyway, the woman in front of me, being more Christian-like and kind, listened and sympathized. The cashier told the lady she could only use 1 of her 3 40% off coupons each day. So, instead of putting the other 2 items back and using her coupons later, she turned to the 2 of us and said, "Would you like a coupon?" HELLZ YES! And then I felt like a big slab of crap. I had totally tuned her out and she turned around and gave me what I wanted the very most in that moment. I thanked her and mentioned how I was just thinking "Darn! I REALLY wish I had a coupon right now."

The next cashier over opened up his line and the woman in front me, with her arms overloaded, turned to me and said, "you go on. I have a lot and you just have that one thing." There was so much nice going on, I thought my heart would explode. So, I walked up to the cashier and paid for my one item with my 40% off coupon and practically skipped out the door.

I keep thinking about the experience and the idea of paying forward a kindness. As I go through the weekend, where I'm bound to stand in lines, sit in traffic, and talk to many people, I hope to find a way to share this stranger's kindness repeatedly.

Happy Champagne Friday, lovahs! Cheers!

Not Even Close to Wordless Wednesday: More Army Fun

I have gotten several comments regarding my blog over the past week.

"I love the Army pictures!"

"Thanks for sharing!"

"Wow, your blog is bright. I mean...whoa...BRIGHT!"

OK, that last one was from Mama Virgo. We were driving to IKEA last Friday (how my mother had never been to IKEA until last Friday is beyond me. I feel like I failed her as a daughter. And a human being. But just like when I introduced her to Goodwill, there will be some fall-out from this discovery...most likely in the form of throw pillows and closet organizers.)....and she said, "Wow, your blog is really bright." Yes. Yes it is. Allow me to explain.

When pretty pixie with the pink toenails is chillin' at the top of my blog, I don't get any Google analytics because it's not a Google template. Not that I obsess over visits or numbers, but I would like to know if anyone from Malaysia is hitting my blog or if someone found me from googling "Army slut wears jock strap for wine tasting." Y'know...that sort of thing. So, I grabbed a template that was quick, easy, and...PINK! And here it will stay until I have 7 minutes to sit down and figure out something a little more customized. My apologies to those who must wear sunglasses to view my blog these days. And you're welcome to everyone who no longer has to grab their reading glasses.

I hate that I'm currently writing about once a week. And really...it's supposed to be Wordless Wednesday so, technically, there aren't supposed to be any words at all. But I'm finishing up last minute touches on the KY condo before I head back to Georgia at the end of the week. Besides, I think y'all were really digging Neal's training photos last week and since that's approximately 75837% more exciting than what's going on here, I'm bringing you part 2. I am absolutely certain that you would rather see men in uniform (which is second in sexiness only to men in baseball pants), carrying large guns and rolling around on the ground than hear how I found the perfect striped throw pillows at IKEA or hung bourbon distillery pictures in my dining room.

So...Happy Wednesday to all. And now I give you....our U.S. Army....

This would be 50-cal training. I don't know about you, but I've never seen a man with a gun that large hold it that close to his little soldier.

Walking while firing a weapon. Much harder than walking while chewing gum and walking while texting. Slightly less difficult than walking while tying your shoe.

This picture reminds me of that episode of Designing Women where they take the women's self defense class. The entire 30-minutes they are saying, "And what does she say?" "She says NO!" Fists up, assume the stance, be ready to kick, scream, or run like hell. But a soldier never runs. Although they do play Retreat over the loud speakers every night. What is that about?

How amazing that as far as we've come in modern warfare over the past 40 years, we are still throwing grenades. I mean, they are inherently dangerous, what with the tiny pin with a tiny loop that could get caught on anything and all. But here they are...throwing grenades and running for cover. May as well attach a firecracker to a carrier pigeon....

Urban tactical ops. I reeeeaaallllyyyyy hope Neal never needs this skill. The men I know who have returned from a tour of knocking down doors and securing houses are never the same. They are your PTSD and TBI soldiers. They don't walk around in the dark and they jump at the sound of fireworks. But wouldn't the training be kind of fun? As long as you know there isn't someone with a bigger gun waiting on the other side, I mean.

I guess this was the walk-through. They do it for real today. Whatever for real means....

I think Neal is beyond pleased to be out of the classroom and on the move. And he's getting close to the end of this mobilization...which is good. Apparently if the chow hall decides there aren't enough soldiers to feed that day, they just shut down. Without feeding anyone. I can't even count all the ways that's wrong. Good thing Neal loves a tasty MRE!