Champagne Friday: Random Style

thank you

I have been conspicuously absent around here this week. I haven't felt great and between catching up on Downton Abbey's season 2 premier on the PBS website, trying to stockpile R.E.D. Friday items, and starting my taxes...well, there hasn't been much of anything bloggy in my life this week. But I can't let a Champagne Friday pass without celebrating. So this week I'm popping a cork and recounting some random events from the past week that never quite made it onto the blog. If you have a little random of your own, be sure to link up with Shana.

1. Neal has started back to school so while he's writing papers about the structure of leadership in organizational leadership in leadership companies (or something), I'm watching 30 Rock...from start to now. That's 102 episodes. I'm on number 70. So far, I've learned that Frank is not that foul when dressed as a Harvard man, Jason Sudeikis is way hotter when he's playing Liz's boyfriend, and that show has a lot of guest stars. Like people who, I would imagine, have to appear due to some unfortunate loophole in their contract (especially any cast members from SNL...except for Seth Myer. How did he get out of it?).

2. A number of my friends opted out of Christmas cards this year and decided to go with Happy New Year's cards instead. And here I thought they just didn't care. Also, we are sending out Happy Arbor Day cards instead of Christmas cards so, y'know, keep an eye open for that coming soon to your mailbox.

3. All of the sports commentators nonchalantly commented on Tuesday night that Auburn wouldn't give UK too much trouble in the game on Wednesday. Thanks a freakin lot, guys. We nearly lost and I would have been all too happy to blame it on you and your dooming predictions. Save them for our opponents, will you?

4. While watching the evening news this week, there was a commercial for a flavor enhancer that you put in your food. It comes in a packet and you add the "chicken" flavor to chicken, "beef" flavor to beef, and so on. What the what? Do I even want to know why companies don't think our chicken tastes chickeny enough for us?

5. The season 2 premier of Downton Abbey got clobbered by the critics. Of course, these are the same people who said I should watch Dances With Wolves (still haven't made it through without falling asleep), How Green Was My Valley (sounds like a porn film), and Titanic (OK, you have me there. Although geez, Rose...can you freaking scoot over so Jack doesn't have to freeze to death?). But I thought it was magnificent. A bit of a twist for Mr. Bates and Anna...a little bit o war to keep it real...and Dame Maggie inserting barbs whenever possible. They will probably not win any awards for their depiction of the English at war, but I don't watch DA (I'm going to shorten it and see if it catches on in the interwebs) for the war scenes. I watch it to see Mrs. O'Brien scheme and Lady Mary pine after Matthew. Because I'm a chick and that's what we do.

6. Lastly, Neal has discovered a pizza place in Macon that is 7 different types of garlicky goodness. They get their crust to puff up like Papa John's, but without the tub of grease floating on the top. But if you don't have anything of the Ingleside variety near you, Papa John's is giving away a pizza every 45 seconds every Saturday until Super Bowl. I guess this is their new marketing strategy...if there's going to be a heart attack every 45 seconds, let's make sure we're the leading cause.

Happy Champagne Friday. A toast to you, wherever you are!

Champagne Friday: The British Are Coming

you're the best

I was actually searching for an image of British royalty casually sipping on champagne for this post. But a complete lack of images tells me one thing: the British royalty do not openly sip champagne. And I just think that's a damn shame. Although, I bet Camilla does a pretty healthy keg stand.

For this Champagne Friday, I am unabashedly singing the praises of PBS's new season of Downton Abbey. No...that is not DownTown Abbey. That would be a McMansion parked squarely in Covent Garden. Downton Abbey is the engaging and soap opera-esque story of the upstairs inhabitants of a country home outside of London and the downstairs staff that keeps it running.

With the exception of Maggie Smith (that's Dame Maggie Smith to you), who plays the reigning Dowager Countess of Grantham (but may be more familiar from her roles in Harry Potter), I recognized none of the cast. But they perfectly execute their roles so that it's easy to imagine yourself falling into the patterns of either the upstairs or downstairs lifestyle. I recently read a review in the USA Today that said one of the reasons Downton Abbey is such enthralling entertainment is because the staff are not treated like third class citizens by the upstairs residents. In the first season, the cook cried on the earl's shoulder and the butler lent comfort to the oldest Grantham sister. Their lives are intertwined and the series shows an easy, albeit occasionally dramatic, interaction between those living upstairs and those working downstairs.

The second season starts on PBS on Sunday, which is why I'm spewing my British love, all the way from the colonies, here today. If you want to get caught up before Sunday, fortunately the first season is only approximately 7 hours long. You can find the 7 episodes of about 45 minutes each on Netflix instant streaming or you can watch them on the PBS website. Another reason to love a hit PBS show? As they are facing a possible cut in government funding, it's so much easier to donate to a station that gives added quality to your life. Also, it's public television and I have yet to hear anyone on Downton Abbey drop an f, s, or h-bomb. And the sex scenes consist of a twee bit of kissing and maybe a hand wrapped around the head. Three cheers for not having to cover Neal's eyes!

I'll leave you with some of the Dowager Countess's more cutting remarks...so very British...so very witty. They are delivered so precisely and so quickly sometimes that it's hard to get them all!

And some of these could give a bit of the plot away so if you would rather hear for yourself, then I'll leave you here. Happy Weekend and Happy Champagne Friday!


"I couldn't have electricity in the house, I wouldn't sleep a wink. All those vapors floating about."

"Last night! He looked so well. Of course it would happen to a foreigner. No Englishman would dream of dying in someone else's house."

"Why does everyday involve a fight with an American?"

Corn and Caucuses (or what I learned from Wikipedia this morning)

This is what I know about Iowa:

1) It is in the midwest.
2) They grow corn there.
3) When I was 10 years old, the love of my 5th grade year, Jeremy Woodford, moved with his family (as if he had a choice at the ripe age of 10 to stay behind and live out his days with me) to Des Moines and left me clutching his elementary school football jersey in the gym after a dance.
4) Every 4 years, the candidates flock to the state to duke it out and win over the undecided voter.

The Iowa caucus generally falls on the first Tuesday of January, which means you probably missed most of the hype due to the month-long excitement of office Christmas parties and watching the Yule Log on Netflix. But even when you aren't tuned in, it still happens.

Iowa seems to be a rather random choice for candidates to attack and conquer. A more rational decision would be Texas. Look how many people live in Texas. That's like half the country. Seal up the Texan vote and you are as good as inaugurated. Or what about Maryland? Those folks live so close (and sometimes intertwined with) the D.C. set that surely they would only vote in someone they deem worthy as a neighbor.

But, nope, Iowa it is. All because Georgia governor, Jimmy Carter, used his "win" in Iowa to catapult him into success in New Hampshire and ultimately to 1600 Pennsylvania. Ever since, candidates have traveled to America's land of corn and Jeremy Woodford to hold court in places like The Pizza Ranch. These town hall meetings, which sometimes happen in a town hall but more often than not take place in someone's colonial home living room (decorated with Queen Anne coffee tables and a roaring fire) are called caucuses. I love the word caucus. I think it sounds like a rowdy party of cactuses (except, technically it's cacti and when you say it like that it just doesn't make sense any more). So these cactuses get together on a Friday night and, fueled by Captain Morgan rum and the hopes of bumping pricklies with a cactus from Economics class, throw a toga party in the basement of a city hall building. By midnight, the DJ is grinding jams while the cactuses are grinding trunks and that is called a caucus.

Or it's "a smoke-filled room where candidates for public election are pre-selected in private", according to the diary of James Adams. Although James Hammond Trumbull suggested that it comes from the Algonquin word for counsel. And other sources claim it is derived from the Latin word caucus, meaning "drinking vessel".

Regardless of whether they're getting counseled or getting drunk, Iowa gets the first stab at it every 4 years. But the Iowa caucus is not without its fair share of controversy.

Winning the Iowa caucus does not always equate to presidency.

Apparently, the Democrats must vote publicly in an Iowa caucus, which is just lunacy. Even a Kindergarten teacher can tell you that closing your eyes and raising your hand is the only legitimate way to take a vote.

Absentee voting is not allowed. Our deepest apologies to all of the Iowan military serving abroad. You are basically Washington D.C. during the Iowa caucus.

The equation for calculating votes is apparently very complex and not as easy as "1 for Bachman, 5 for Gingrich, 19457436368474 for Romney."

Speaking of complex, my hat goes off to whomever wrote the breakdown for the Democratic and Republican processes for Wikipedia. I got hopelessly lost somewhere around the 2nd paragraph and started thinking about how I was so hungry for strawberry cupcakes with cream cheese frosting. But I think everyone would agree, you know your political shit.

So, today is a big day for the corn-fed. They will close their eyes and raise their hands (being Republican and all) and later tonight someone will emerge victorious. I hope it's Rick Santorum in those ridiculous v-neck vests. I see a fashion trend there that's just itching to emerge.

And now that I think about it, maybe substitute the word "potato" for every time I used the word "corn". Hard to keep my starches straight.

Do you live in Iowa? Do you have some light to shed on the matter? Are you offended that I called you corn-fed? Don't take it personally, so am I.

Oh the Difference a Year Makes

When I awoke this morning, it could have been any other day in any other year. We were in bed and asleep by the time 2012 rolled in and only the excessive news coverage of last night's celebrations reminds me that it's a new year with new plans, new expectations, and new dreams. Otherwise I would still be writing 2011 at the top of my checks.

So, obviously I am returning well in advance of my anticipated February 1 date. And if I had come back when Neal's deployment was done, I would have been moved back over here around the middle of November. But I waffled about leaving behind new readers and returning to a blog full of good times and the saddest of sad memories. Ultimately, Magnolias & Mimosas best describes my affinity for the full white petals of the deep south trees and justified drinking before noon. And, of course, my enduring love affair with the ampersand.

I would do a year in review, but a) I am not much inclined to spend vast amounts of time and energy reciting the past and b) I think you would be less inclined to read it. Suffice it to say, Neal and the 352 were integral in closing down Iraq (and, consequently, in the quietly televised ceremony of troops crossing the Kuwait border and American flags being lowered for the last time) and I spent my time and our money trying to distract myself from his absence and my loneliness. But I also grew the business to a point where I am now able to pay myself a salary and I very nearly finished our wedding scrapbook...5 years in the making. We learned how to endure involuntary separation with more patience, understanding, love, and humor than ever before. We remembered how to depend on one another again.

And we are leaving 2011, the Iraq War (although, technically, it is termed Operation New Dawn since Congress never sanctioned the thing to begin with), and Skype as our only means of communication behind. We are looking forward to finishing our tour in Georgia and expanding our family when the time comes. But I don't think of today as The Beginning, filled with hope and promise and all that is fresh and new. I closed the door on 2011 the day the 352 arrived home. I welcomed the new year and all that it offered on a sun-toasted day in the middle of November. The Beginning doesn't have to always land squarely on 1 January. It's convenient for calendar sales and comparing resolutions around a break room plate of fiber squares, but it is not wholly necessary.

Therefore, for us, it's just another day. Except for these Paleo eggs that Neal urged me to try...just as I was reaching for the waffle maker.

Hiatus

Y'know how when bloggers get all ambitious and motivated and try to start a second blog, they suddenly realize that they can't keep up with the first one? And you, as readers, think I can barely stay on top of this one and now she's adding another blog? How will I ever keep up? It's sort of like that around here.

I would like to think that I am not defined by the events in my life. But the truth is, I absolutely am. I am defined by the loss of a son, the life I live in the south now, the deployments we have endured. And to say that M&M will not become an "Army Wife" blog is just wishful thinking. I am defined by how we will get through this third deployment and that will color every post I write from now until the end. Therefore, the result is an Army Wife blog. I didn't start M&M with that intention. Being married to a Soldier was just part of a bigger life, so I feel like it's dishonest to continue posting under this blog. I get aggravated when I begin following a blogger who describes their blog as a smattering of life's little moments and then it turns into a blog about one aspect of their life. Every post is about their new husband, new baby, new job, new deployment. I will read the first 4 or 5 posts, but after that, I'm out because that's not what I signed up for. So, I'm giving you all an out...a chance to duck out of something that you did not sign up for.

Magnolias & Mimosas is going on hiatus until February 2012. My blogging will continue over at 400 Wake-ups until Neal returns home next year. My smattering of life's little moments are defined by the distance, both physical and emotional, from my husband and my blogging can't help but reflect that. You have all been such faithful and dedicated readers of Magnolias & Mimosas that in the interest of complete disclosure, you should have a chance to bow out of this Army Wife's blog. When he returns, life as I once knew it will return. Being married to a Soldier will once again just be a part of who we are as a couple and the life that we lead in the deep south. So, until then, au revoir or come find me at 400 Wake-ups.


And thank you to everyone who has been so devoted to this blog. My passion for writing has not changed, only the location where I share it.

xoxo and Cheers!

Allyson

The 4th is the New 1st

Happy New Year!!

Personally, I am a little ready for 2011 to choke on a Hot Tamale and die...but I wish you all the best in the next 12 months. That's not true...I don't want 2011 to die. That's like saying I hate 2011. And all I can hear is my childhood babysitter's voice in my head saying It's not nice to "hate" something. You don't hate it. Hate is a strong word. So, I don't hate or wish death on the new year. I'm just not particularly looking forward to it.

The packing began on Sunday.

Now my "workout room" is littered with piles of varying shades of brown and green. I am not complaining, though, because as soon as those piles are gone, so is he.

As I was lying in bed last night, alternating between staring at the ceiling and staring at the clock, I began to think about these next 3 weeks. The 3 weeks leading up to the last deployment were spent feverishly working to get the interior of the house painted. Not because it was going on the market or even because it needed it. I just thought it would be lovely to have the house painted. I have never regretted a decision more than that one.

These 3 weeks are simply going to fly. He will work everyday until we head to Kentucky. Then it will be a whirlwind of visits, trying to see everyone one last time. We have 2 tiny projects to complete on the townhouse between all of the visiting. Then it's a race back to Georgia so that he can finish packing and I can stick him on a jet plane...don't know when he'll be back again.

I would say of the entire deployment, the month leading up to and the month before coming home are quite possibly the hardest. In the middle...even after the second month, really...you have established a routine. Oh, right...the trash goes out on Wednesday night....I can work out in the evenings now...Remember to start the cars and motorcycle once a week...Why is that electric bill so high in Kentucky? I need to send Mama Virgo over to check it out...That sort of thing. Even the phone calls from Iraq become routine.

Sort of.

What many civilians don't understand is that if I'm at the movies and I get a phone call from the desert, I'm stepping out to the lobby. If I get a call and I am in the middle of the pew, in the middle of the church, during mass, I'm taking that call. I eat, sleep, and pee with my phone beside me. Because I can't call him back when the movie is over. I can't call him back if I leave it on my desk while I run out to get the mail and miss hearing it ring. It's hardly ever a breaking news phone call. Mostly it's How are you?....Fine. You?....Good....What did you today?....Oh same ole' thing. You?...Grocery store, oil change, went to work out. I miss you and love you....I miss you and love you, too. What matters is hearing his voice, his laugh. Even though he laughs at everything and in the midst of a serious conversation it drives me nuts, he just wouldn't be the man I married without it.

I started thinking about those phone calls last night. And the quiet that fills the house at night. So much quiet that sometimes I feel like I'm just going to suffocate from the weight of it. And I started thinking about the worry. I have taken to calling his ultimate destination Camp Cupcake because there will be amenities that Forward Operating Bases in Afghanistan do not have. But he is traveling to a region that, according to CNN, is no longer part of the "war." And where there is no war, there is very little military protection. He is not worried, but I am.

And I began to think about the ceremonies planned for pre-deployment. I have never had the opportunity to participate in these events because he has always been cross-leveled in...meaning that he was pulled from his unit in Kentucky and attached to other units across the country. I have always been alone when that jet took off, not another spouse of a Soldier in sight. Now I will be surrounded by many of the family members in our unit. I can't sit down in the middle of the Atlanta airport and have an Ugly Face Cry like I did the last time. But maybe I shouldn't be doing that anyway.

Anticipation will make a person crazy. Predicting what the last few days of one chapter and the next few days of the next will hold...it will cause you to stare alternately at the ceiling and the clock. I am not new to this game and yet I still dread the coming days and weeks. Women often say to me, "I wish I could send my husband away for a year!" And mostly, all I can do is smile and nod because really, you don't. You don't want to send your husband, your best friend, you life partner into a completely inhospitable environment (both weather-wise and safety-wise) while you stay behind and keep everything running as smoothly as possible. When the baby projectile vomits all over 3 walls in the middle of the night, it's just you and a rag. There is really no point in even mentioning it when he does call because by that point, the situation has resolved itself, either for better or worse, and it would only cause him worry. There are a million tiny crises over the span of a year that you must address and dissolve. No woman wants to face these without at least a little bit of help from the man who said "I do." If he is making you crazy, send him on a golfing trip with his buddies. But don't suggest to a military wife that you would trade shoes with her in a hot second. Chances are, you would be banging on the door, wanting those Jimmy Choo's back in a week.

I am trying as hard as I can to continue being a functioning, even thriving, member of society. But the truth is, I'm suspended in a Jell-O mold of jealousy. I am jealous of the anniversaries spent together, of babies being born and babies being planned, of a weekend routine full of chores and projects done with a husband close by. We will have our Parisian holiday, complete with pie in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower. It's just a long and lonely road to get there.

This post is part of my Deployment ramblings. I am writing these because A) another military wife, new to the game and lost in a sea of feelings, may stumble across this blog and realize that we are all in this together. We are a family and we all know what it's like to endure Annual Training, deployments, and pressing uniforms. No one should feel alone. There are too many of us. and B) Blogging forces me to sit down and record my life's events. Whether ridiculous or tragic, I can always look back through my blog and see how far I've come...how much further I have to go. Blogging through a deployment may just keep me from losing my mind. I have thought a LOT about this and have decided to close my comments during the Deployment ramblings. I am doing this not to prevent you from having your say, but from feeling like you must say anything at all. I know and love that you all are pulling for us, praying for us, thinking of us. I am not blogging about this deployment because I need affirmation. I am not doing it for sympathy or attention. I simply think that the stories that evolve out of a deployment will never make it onto CNN. So, I'm putting them here. It's the least I can do. If you really want to contact me, I check my email about 7000 times a day.

xoxo

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!