Wednesday is my day to teach class at the clinic. Sometimes it is a busy day with full waiting rooms, multiple special formulas to deal with, angry clients, and topics of conversations that bring up all the crazy (and sometimes dangerous) things people do with and for their children. Other days are slow and I'm stuck lecturing on the evils of drinking a gallon of juice a day to three or four people in a room and wishing time would move a little faster so I could shuffle them out of the room.
This last Wednesday was one of those slow class days. My last class of the morning had just ended and I decided to participate in my clinic's favorite "quiet clinic time" game: talking. This particular day I had a question for a visiting program director who was working at our clinic, covering for a co-worker on leave. We finished discussing my question, then moved on to other random topics that really had nothing to do with anything. Towards the end of her time together, she asked me a question I've grown used to: Why did you move here? The simple answer is, I found a job here. Straight out of college I found a job and there was no way I was turning down full-time employment with a decent salary and more benefits than I'd find anywhere else in my field with my "level of experience." (aka I just graduated and I spent all my time in college working at a bakery!)
She dug a little deeper than most: Why did you want to move here though? Why did you move down here with no family, no friends, no roommate? She took me a little by surprise. Most people moved on to different topics when I said I moved here for work. I had to think for a second, because I didn't have an answer. After two seconds of stalling, I answered her with the only thing I could think of: Because I could. Why not? I could only move up in life! (A sarcastically funny statement born from the fact that I lived in the basement of my house for the last five years I lived at home. Literally the only move I could make was moving "up" from the basement level of the house! )
In all honesty, that is the entire reason I wanted to move to Charleston, and why I specifically looked for jobs here. Because I wanted to and because I could. Sure, I visited the area with my family. For all of two and a half days. One and a half of which were spent looking at Parris Island watching Marines explain the function and purpose of their training. So after that I plotted and planned to get down here. Everything from taking an internship at a local teaching hospital to getting a job and working for a few months before starting an entirely different course of study at a local college. Basically, anything that would get me where I wanted to go. But I had never visited the city, never did much research into the area, never made much effort to get an "in" anywhere down here for anything I wanted to do. Then I saw the job posting. Then I sent in my resume. Then I went down for an interview. Then I moved. Because I could.
Some people have a defining life goal. They want to be teachers so they can help educate children and teach them about the world. They want to be doctors so they can help heal the sick. Researchers so they can cure terrible diseases and answer the question, "Why." That is amazing. I sometimes wish I had a specific dream to pursue, some specific goal to strive for during my education and career. Perhaps I'll find a driving force in my life somewhere down the road, but at this point I am quite happy with my "because I can" direction. I already have my next "because I can" idea that I think might be fun. Whether or not it works out remains to be seen.
I know that the entire time I live here, no matter how long it lasts, is going to be a great experience. Too many little details have worked out too well for this to be just random fate. I am here for a specific reason, I just don't know what it is. Yet! It could be just so I can say I did something, "Just because I could!"
Well, it is WELL past bedtime and time for me to get some shut eye before I have to get up and go to the early service tomorrow, or today, since it's now after midnight. Since everyone in their right mind will be reading this on or after Sunday morning, I hope you had a great night's sleep and had sweet dreams about sunshine and warmth!
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
The local language...
I don't know about you, but I don't have an accent.
I don't know about you, but I consider myself polite when dealing with strangers/customers/clients.
I don't know about you, but I try to limit my use of "slang" words.
I don't know about you, but lately I have been paying attention to what people around me are saying, and I feel like the country cousin who has that crazy accent, no manners whatsoever, and speaks some almost uninteligible words.
Before I came down to Summerville, I told myself that I would not allow myself to slip into a Southern accent. Not that I had a problem with an accent- I truly enjoy listening to individuals native to the coastal South and how they pronounce different words, I find the accent fairly soothing. No, I wanted to steer clear of an accent because I like my Midwest accent and figure that some day I might move back, so why lose what I've spent 23 years perfecting? (Also, I have family and friends who would pounce on an accent and tease me mercilessly!!) Day 3 on the job I almost gained my Southern accent. I had been training with my co-worker all day, a lady who is from Summerville and has lived here her entire life. After I was done working with her for the day, I was set up in my office reading my training manual when I suddenly realized that the way I was pronouncing the words in my head was exactly how my co-worker had been saying them all day. It was quite amusing. What was even more funny was me practicing that accent while I was driving home that day. It didn't sound anything like the voice that was in my head! I regressed after that, partially out of natural habit and partially out of spending almost two weeks at home during Thanksgiving and Christmas. However, the other day at church I found myself drawling out a few words and sounds while I was talking with a few people...maybe I am taking on an accent! At the very least I will hopefully start entertaining people with my bad mix of Southern and Midwest accents.
I work in an office that has mostly Southern natives. They might not all be from the Charleston area, but all but two of my co-workers are from Southern states. Everyone in my office is very polite to one another (which I am thankful for every day!), but I noticed a little difference between myself and my Michigan co-worker and everyone else. While we said "please, and thank you." like everyone else, I couldn't help but notice that we seemed a little more "cold" (if that's even the right word) than the other. I paid close attention one day when it was slow in the clinic. (Slow in the clinic means no one is there. There is no middle ground in between crazy busy and completely dead!) The biggest difference I noticed was the fact that everyone referred to one another by the term "Miss" or "Mister" before using the person's name. Whether longtime coworker or new client, older individual or younger, everyone received this treatment. Even clients who come in with bouncing-off-the-walls-throwing-toys-at-your-head children will immediately pounce upon children who don't respond with a "Ma'am" or "Sir" when addressing an adult, and the kids almost always listen! For awhile I just laughed at my discovery. Imagine addressing your co-workers by titles. I mean, at my old job I would just call my boss, "Ted" and the co-workers I liked were addressed by names like Truck, Keri Berry, Craig (Not his real name!), The Einstein Brothers, The Prince of Darkness, The Bluebird of Happiness, Sunshine, Eskimo, James Allen, and Big Head. And remember, those were names for the co-workers I liked! So like I said, at first I kind of laughed at calling my boss "Miss Kristi" in front of clients, but as I became more aware of how people were addressing one another, it became more and more like calling my best friend's mom "Sarah" instead of "Mrs. Everhard" if I didn't call her "Miss" Kristi. Maybe I could be a little more polite...
Like I said, I really try to avoid the use of most slang words. Most of the time I feel like my IQ drops anytime I have to use a slang word, especially the word "like" when used in Valley Girl context (which is something I do ALL the time!). However, it is getting more and more difficult to avoid them. I have a co-worker who "fixes" to do things all the time. I want to look at her and say, "No, you aren't fixing to go to the doctor's office. You are getting ready or preparing to go to the doctor's office." I could give a few more examples of regional slang here in SC, but I would rather just end this section on a big note. My least favorite slang word is "ya'll." Also, "ya'll's" or the very best: "all(s) ya'll's." I understand this is regional slang, but I definitely cannot bring myself to say it. That being said, this is not a "bash Southerners" section. As I mentioned before, I say "like" much to often, and I can state as fact that I am the only one in the office using that particular slang. I would venture to guess that I do not always come across as professional when I say things such as, "The doctor was like, well, we could give the baby this formula but like, what if he needs a different one?" Also, my standard greeting of "How are you guys doing?" during class times or when I have a family visiting the clinic is met with veiled amused disdain. I have resorted to an even more neutral greeting of, "How is everyone doing today?" As a result of my dislike of slang words, I have tried to use more correct grammar when speaking. However, that makes me sound like a robot, so now I am trying to walk the line between being relateable and speaking my primary language in a grammatically acceptable fashion. Oh the difficulties in my life...
Well, I have set as a goal for myself the monumental task of preparing my lunch meals and clothing for the next day on the evening before, so I am off to pull everything together before I retire to my bed to read (or fall asleep as soon as I hit the pillow!) Sleep tight and don't hate me for bragging about my 60 degrees and sunshine for the upcoming weekend!
I don't know about you, but I consider myself polite when dealing with strangers/customers/clients.
I don't know about you, but I try to limit my use of "slang" words.
I don't know about you, but lately I have been paying attention to what people around me are saying, and I feel like the country cousin who has that crazy accent, no manners whatsoever, and speaks some almost uninteligible words.
Before I came down to Summerville, I told myself that I would not allow myself to slip into a Southern accent. Not that I had a problem with an accent- I truly enjoy listening to individuals native to the coastal South and how they pronounce different words, I find the accent fairly soothing. No, I wanted to steer clear of an accent because I like my Midwest accent and figure that some day I might move back, so why lose what I've spent 23 years perfecting? (Also, I have family and friends who would pounce on an accent and tease me mercilessly!!) Day 3 on the job I almost gained my Southern accent. I had been training with my co-worker all day, a lady who is from Summerville and has lived here her entire life. After I was done working with her for the day, I was set up in my office reading my training manual when I suddenly realized that the way I was pronouncing the words in my head was exactly how my co-worker had been saying them all day. It was quite amusing. What was even more funny was me practicing that accent while I was driving home that day. It didn't sound anything like the voice that was in my head! I regressed after that, partially out of natural habit and partially out of spending almost two weeks at home during Thanksgiving and Christmas. However, the other day at church I found myself drawling out a few words and sounds while I was talking with a few people...maybe I am taking on an accent! At the very least I will hopefully start entertaining people with my bad mix of Southern and Midwest accents.
I work in an office that has mostly Southern natives. They might not all be from the Charleston area, but all but two of my co-workers are from Southern states. Everyone in my office is very polite to one another (which I am thankful for every day!), but I noticed a little difference between myself and my Michigan co-worker and everyone else. While we said "please, and thank you." like everyone else, I couldn't help but notice that we seemed a little more "cold" (if that's even the right word) than the other. I paid close attention one day when it was slow in the clinic. (Slow in the clinic means no one is there. There is no middle ground in between crazy busy and completely dead!) The biggest difference I noticed was the fact that everyone referred to one another by the term "Miss" or "Mister" before using the person's name. Whether longtime coworker or new client, older individual or younger, everyone received this treatment. Even clients who come in with bouncing-off-the-walls-throwing-toys-at-your-head children will immediately pounce upon children who don't respond with a "Ma'am" or "Sir" when addressing an adult, and the kids almost always listen! For awhile I just laughed at my discovery. Imagine addressing your co-workers by titles. I mean, at my old job I would just call my boss, "Ted" and the co-workers I liked were addressed by names like Truck, Keri Berry, Craig (Not his real name!), The Einstein Brothers, The Prince of Darkness, The Bluebird of Happiness, Sunshine, Eskimo, James Allen, and Big Head. And remember, those were names for the co-workers I liked! So like I said, at first I kind of laughed at calling my boss "Miss Kristi" in front of clients, but as I became more aware of how people were addressing one another, it became more and more like calling my best friend's mom "Sarah" instead of "Mrs. Everhard" if I didn't call her "Miss" Kristi. Maybe I could be a little more polite...
Like I said, I really try to avoid the use of most slang words. Most of the time I feel like my IQ drops anytime I have to use a slang word, especially the word "like" when used in Valley Girl context (which is something I do ALL the time!). However, it is getting more and more difficult to avoid them. I have a co-worker who "fixes" to do things all the time. I want to look at her and say, "No, you aren't fixing to go to the doctor's office. You are getting ready or preparing to go to the doctor's office." I could give a few more examples of regional slang here in SC, but I would rather just end this section on a big note. My least favorite slang word is "ya'll." Also, "ya'll's" or the very best: "all(s) ya'll's." I understand this is regional slang, but I definitely cannot bring myself to say it. That being said, this is not a "bash Southerners" section. As I mentioned before, I say "like" much to often, and I can state as fact that I am the only one in the office using that particular slang. I would venture to guess that I do not always come across as professional when I say things such as, "The doctor was like, well, we could give the baby this formula but like, what if he needs a different one?" Also, my standard greeting of "How are you guys doing?" during class times or when I have a family visiting the clinic is met with veiled amused disdain. I have resorted to an even more neutral greeting of, "How is everyone doing today?" As a result of my dislike of slang words, I have tried to use more correct grammar when speaking. However, that makes me sound like a robot, so now I am trying to walk the line between being relateable and speaking my primary language in a grammatically acceptable fashion. Oh the difficulties in my life...
Well, I have set as a goal for myself the monumental task of preparing my lunch meals and clothing for the next day on the evening before, so I am off to pull everything together before I retire to my bed to read (or fall asleep as soon as I hit the pillow!) Sleep tight and don't hate me for bragging about my 60 degrees and sunshine for the upcoming weekend!
Sunday, January 9, 2011
See: Resolution #10
At the end of each one of my client sessions, I have to ask the client to write a nutritional goal for themselves. Not just any goal, but a specific goal like, "I promise to eat okra." It has to be measurable too like, "I promise to eat okra every day." And there needs to be a time frame like, "I promise to eat okra every day for the next week, beginning at my lunch meal." It gets to be a painful process.
In any case, between two of my nutrition classes in college and my job, I have gotten REALLY good at writing measurable, specific goals. So I decided that I would take this talent of mine and write some super incredible goals that will help me become a super-duper person in 2011. (I cannot believe that I just wrote 2011.)
1.) I resolve to teach my dog to find a place to sleep other than the one 4'x4' area that connects the kitchen, living room, and hallway by the end of January. I REALLY hate tripping over him. Really, really hate it.
2.) I resolve to not eat out of Tupperware at any point during the year. Another way of reading this: I resolve to keep all my plates and bowls clean so I don't have to resort to eating out of Tupperware.
3.) I resolve that beginning in the month of February, I will stop using the chair by my front door as a dumping ground when I come home. I mean, it's the ONLY chair that directly faces the T.V. It's REALLY frustrating to have to keep cleaning that chair off when I want to watch T.V.. Hmmm...maybe I should just dump all that stuff on the table instead... (Life is so hard, right?)
4.) I resolve to go grocery shopping each week, if for no other reason than it means I will have an abundant supply of plastic bags, which are useful when you have a dog, if you know what I mean.
5.) I resolve to drink or use every drop of milk I buy before the milk expires. Milk is expensive down here and I think I've used maybe a quarter of what I've bought the entire time I've been down here.
6.) I resolve to vacuum the floor every time I see my dog shed. I want to apologize now to my neighbors for having to listen to my vacuum running 24/7. Maybe I should change this resolution to, "I resolve to shave my dog."
7.) I resolve to spend at least one weekend a month at Sullivan's Island during the spring, summer and early fall, maybe more. Because it's just not right to live close to a beach and not visit regularly.
8.) I resolve to write a post for this blog at least once a week, because you know you are all interested in the mundane happenings that make up my life.
9.) I resolve to learn how to make pancakes. More specifically, I resolve to learn how to make pancakes that actually resemble traditional pancakes when I'm done cooking them.
10.) I resolve to stop procrastinating. You know, like waiting to write my resolutions until the middle of January when I really wanted to write them on, you know, the first!
Well readers, it is getting later in the evening and time to start staring down the barrel of another Monday. I should practice resolution #10 and stop procrastinating the entire process of getting ready for bed/preparing for work. Sleep tight and keep an eye out for the freezing rain that's coming! (For me anyways, might have an ice day tomorrow!)
In any case, between two of my nutrition classes in college and my job, I have gotten REALLY good at writing measurable, specific goals. So I decided that I would take this talent of mine and write some super incredible goals that will help me become a super-duper person in 2011. (I cannot believe that I just wrote 2011.)
1.) I resolve to teach my dog to find a place to sleep other than the one 4'x4' area that connects the kitchen, living room, and hallway by the end of January. I REALLY hate tripping over him. Really, really hate it.
2.) I resolve to not eat out of Tupperware at any point during the year. Another way of reading this: I resolve to keep all my plates and bowls clean so I don't have to resort to eating out of Tupperware.
3.) I resolve that beginning in the month of February, I will stop using the chair by my front door as a dumping ground when I come home. I mean, it's the ONLY chair that directly faces the T.V. It's REALLY frustrating to have to keep cleaning that chair off when I want to watch T.V.. Hmmm...maybe I should just dump all that stuff on the table instead... (Life is so hard, right?)
4.) I resolve to go grocery shopping each week, if for no other reason than it means I will have an abundant supply of plastic bags, which are useful when you have a dog, if you know what I mean.
5.) I resolve to drink or use every drop of milk I buy before the milk expires. Milk is expensive down here and I think I've used maybe a quarter of what I've bought the entire time I've been down here.
6.) I resolve to vacuum the floor every time I see my dog shed. I want to apologize now to my neighbors for having to listen to my vacuum running 24/7. Maybe I should change this resolution to, "I resolve to shave my dog."
7.) I resolve to spend at least one weekend a month at Sullivan's Island during the spring, summer and early fall, maybe more. Because it's just not right to live close to a beach and not visit regularly.
8.) I resolve to write a post for this blog at least once a week, because you know you are all interested in the mundane happenings that make up my life.
9.) I resolve to learn how to make pancakes. More specifically, I resolve to learn how to make pancakes that actually resemble traditional pancakes when I'm done cooking them.
10.) I resolve to stop procrastinating. You know, like waiting to write my resolutions until the middle of January when I really wanted to write them on, you know, the first!
Well readers, it is getting later in the evening and time to start staring down the barrel of another Monday. I should practice resolution #10 and stop procrastinating the entire process of getting ready for bed/preparing for work. Sleep tight and keep an eye out for the freezing rain that's coming! (For me anyways, might have an ice day tomorrow!)
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Kate's Crazy Christmas...
Ah Christmas. So many traditions, so many memories! As I sit here, in the midst of finally decorating my apartment, one by one my favorite Christmas memories are returning to me.
The first memory of Christmas past came to mind when I opened up my Christmas tin of decorations. I was greeted by the aroma of cinnamon. Now, to many of you this is a "warm" scent, one that reeks of Christmas and the cold weather/warm house, boughs of holly, blah blah blah. When I smell cinnamon, I gag a little, then laugh. Why? Well, it all stems back to one cold day about 14 years ago, when I was a poor child of only 9. I know that I was 9 because I was wearing my Christmas sweater with the stocking on it, and the stocking made a pocket. I don't remember ever having any other themed Christmas clothing, but I really liked that sweater.
Anyways, I digress. (Greg and Keri, stop laughing at how I tell my stories!) We were at Kooks' house making all sorts of Christmas goodies. I can't remember all of what was baked that day, but I do remember the cinnamon hard tack candy. As all good cooks will do, the recipe was being followed to create a masterful work of confectionary bliss, when a certain family member decided that the two drops of cinnamon flavoring called for was not enough. I am not 100% sure of all the events that followed, but I do know that extra flavoring was added to the mix and the house was filled with the overpowering aroma of cinnamon. I couldn't take the scent, so I kept moving around the house trying to find just one place that didn't reek of the strong scent that was plaguing my nostrils. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore and I went to an open window and pressed my face against the screen so that I could inhale the cold, crisp air coming from outside. Obviously I survived this traumatic event, and my mom tries to convince me that it wasn't as bad as I make it out to be. But to this day, whenever I smell cinnamon anything I can feel the metal screen pressing on my nose and an overwhelming urge to get away from the offending object. I do laugh too, because, let's face it, it's just a funny situation, and ultimately it reminds me of all the fun times I have had with my mom and my aunts.
It is freezing cold in Summerville right now, so it finally felt right to turn on some Christmas tunes. As the same old songs started playing, they sounded so nice! Finally, for the first time in over two months, something familiar that made me feel like I was "home" and not a stranger in some far away place. Heck, I don't even mind the super annoying versions of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer and Jingle Bells as sung by Dean Martin and Frank Sinatra, respectively. (But if I hear Dominic the Donkey, I WILL go insane!) The second song I heard tonight was a lovely piece by Kenny Loggins entitled, "Please Celebrate Me Home." Now, I wasn't particularly touched by the message or anything. On the contrary, I laugh all the way through this song, or more specifically, my version of this song. I am not a good singer by any stretch, so I never sing in front of other people if I can help it. I don't even sing in my apartment on the off chance that my neighbors should be able to hear me through the walls. But this song, I sing. Always. And like I said, it is MY version that I enjoy singing.
Once upon a time, when I was 16, I was in Medina with my mom and siblings. We were in the van (I loved the van. Kacy killed it.) driving by Farmer's Exchange when the song came on the radio. All through my life I had in mind what the song was about, but at 13, I decided that the lyrics I sang had to be incorrect. (This was the time before the Homonai's had an internet connection, so I had never thought to Google the lyrics.) Finally at 16 I knew that I had to be wrong and it was time to set the record straight. So I spoke up and said, "I know what I am about to say is wrong, but I can't help it. I know he's not singing, "We celebrate meatballs," but that's all I can hear. What is he really singing?!" Being the loving, supporting person that she is, my mom did not snicker at my comment. She gave me a "What the heck?" look and started laughing very loudly! When she stopped laughing, she explained the actual lyrics as the song continued. I accepted her explanation of the lyrics, but to this day when I hear this version of the song, I sing happily "We...celebrate meatballs. Give me a number one....." I know I am wrong, but I am content in my wrongness. (Which surprisingly, Google spell check is accepting as a word!) As a side note: It only sounds like this until the choir starts singing. They have better enunciation than Mr. Loggins, so I understand them. Also, Reuben Studdard released his version of this song, and it is horrible, because there is no imagining lyrics about meatballs when he sings because he too has relatively good enunciation.
There are many more Christmas memories that I could write about, and want to write about, but Cooper is apparently having difficulty chewing his rawhide and I need to assist him before he chokes. That reminds me of another good story about Kacy's psycho cat eating almost three feet of ribbon one time. In any case, sleep tight, and tomorrow when you wake up begin lobbying your local radio stations to replace Harry Connick Jr.'s cheesy renditions of Christmas songs with the heavenly sounds of Michael Buble's Christmas songs. Because we all know that Michael Buble is the best singer ever.
The first memory of Christmas past came to mind when I opened up my Christmas tin of decorations. I was greeted by the aroma of cinnamon. Now, to many of you this is a "warm" scent, one that reeks of Christmas and the cold weather/warm house, boughs of holly, blah blah blah. When I smell cinnamon, I gag a little, then laugh. Why? Well, it all stems back to one cold day about 14 years ago, when I was a poor child of only 9. I know that I was 9 because I was wearing my Christmas sweater with the stocking on it, and the stocking made a pocket. I don't remember ever having any other themed Christmas clothing, but I really liked that sweater.
Anyways, I digress. (Greg and Keri, stop laughing at how I tell my stories!) We were at Kooks' house making all sorts of Christmas goodies. I can't remember all of what was baked that day, but I do remember the cinnamon hard tack candy. As all good cooks will do, the recipe was being followed to create a masterful work of confectionary bliss, when a certain family member decided that the two drops of cinnamon flavoring called for was not enough. I am not 100% sure of all the events that followed, but I do know that extra flavoring was added to the mix and the house was filled with the overpowering aroma of cinnamon. I couldn't take the scent, so I kept moving around the house trying to find just one place that didn't reek of the strong scent that was plaguing my nostrils. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore and I went to an open window and pressed my face against the screen so that I could inhale the cold, crisp air coming from outside. Obviously I survived this traumatic event, and my mom tries to convince me that it wasn't as bad as I make it out to be. But to this day, whenever I smell cinnamon anything I can feel the metal screen pressing on my nose and an overwhelming urge to get away from the offending object. I do laugh too, because, let's face it, it's just a funny situation, and ultimately it reminds me of all the fun times I have had with my mom and my aunts.
It is freezing cold in Summerville right now, so it finally felt right to turn on some Christmas tunes. As the same old songs started playing, they sounded so nice! Finally, for the first time in over two months, something familiar that made me feel like I was "home" and not a stranger in some far away place. Heck, I don't even mind the super annoying versions of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer and Jingle Bells as sung by Dean Martin and Frank Sinatra, respectively. (But if I hear Dominic the Donkey, I WILL go insane!) The second song I heard tonight was a lovely piece by Kenny Loggins entitled, "Please Celebrate Me Home." Now, I wasn't particularly touched by the message or anything. On the contrary, I laugh all the way through this song, or more specifically, my version of this song. I am not a good singer by any stretch, so I never sing in front of other people if I can help it. I don't even sing in my apartment on the off chance that my neighbors should be able to hear me through the walls. But this song, I sing. Always. And like I said, it is MY version that I enjoy singing.
Once upon a time, when I was 16, I was in Medina with my mom and siblings. We were in the van (I loved the van. Kacy killed it.) driving by Farmer's Exchange when the song came on the radio. All through my life I had in mind what the song was about, but at 13, I decided that the lyrics I sang had to be incorrect. (This was the time before the Homonai's had an internet connection, so I had never thought to Google the lyrics.) Finally at 16 I knew that I had to be wrong and it was time to set the record straight. So I spoke up and said, "I know what I am about to say is wrong, but I can't help it. I know he's not singing, "We celebrate meatballs," but that's all I can hear. What is he really singing?!" Being the loving, supporting person that she is, my mom did not snicker at my comment. She gave me a "What the heck?" look and started laughing very loudly! When she stopped laughing, she explained the actual lyrics as the song continued. I accepted her explanation of the lyrics, but to this day when I hear this version of the song, I sing happily "We...celebrate meatballs. Give me a number one....." I know I am wrong, but I am content in my wrongness. (Which surprisingly, Google spell check is accepting as a word!) As a side note: It only sounds like this until the choir starts singing. They have better enunciation than Mr. Loggins, so I understand them. Also, Reuben Studdard released his version of this song, and it is horrible, because there is no imagining lyrics about meatballs when he sings because he too has relatively good enunciation.
There are many more Christmas memories that I could write about, and want to write about, but Cooper is apparently having difficulty chewing his rawhide and I need to assist him before he chokes. That reminds me of another good story about Kacy's psycho cat eating almost three feet of ribbon one time. In any case, sleep tight, and tomorrow when you wake up begin lobbying your local radio stations to replace Harry Connick Jr.'s cheesy renditions of Christmas songs with the heavenly sounds of Michael Buble's Christmas songs. Because we all know that Michael Buble is the best singer ever.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
White Elephant Exchanges....
I decided today at my office's White Elephant gift exchange that this is perhaps the least effective way to give gifts to one another. Allow me to explain.
First of all, no one ever really knows the rules of a White Elephant exchange. God bless the first person to ask, "How do we play?" because you know that upon uttering those words, that poor person will be trying to keep track of what five people around them are saying. My favorite is the person who explains the game by saying, "This is the game we played last year. Do you remember?" Ummm, no. If they asked you how you play the game, I would venture a guess that they do NOT remember. Then you have, "My family calls it Yankee Swap. So it's just like that." (By the way, I had a co-worker say to me "We call it a White Elephant exchange, but since you're from the North, you probably call it Yankee Swap." She was amazed when I told her no, I didn't.) This answer has the potential to be helpful, but often it is just like telling the person that they should remember from last year. This period of temporary insanity has the potential to take up ten minutes of your party.
In any case, one person will eventually start talking more than everyone else and louder than everyone else and be deemed "THE PERSON" to explain the game. As this person explains their particular version, the other four people will be chiming in as well. At this point, all hope of an orderly game is lost. After a lengthy and often confusing explanation, the person who asked for the explanation will attempt to silence all the talkers and say, "I think I get it. Why don't we start, and I'll just figure it out as we go." This never ends well. Keep this in mind and I'll revisit this point in a few paragraphs.
Now it's time to start the game. If you have a smart person leading the game, they will have already prepared all of the number slips needed to get the game going. If not, then there is the head count, the second head count after someone moves, and the third headcount when someone starts talking during the second head count and the counter loses track of what number they were on. Numbering the paper slips used to run the game as you go is also fun because if you're not prepared, inevitably you will end up not being able to find the paper you need or a container in which to hold all of the little slips. Also, no one ever remember to designate whether the number is a 6 or a 9. That adds some spice to the game!
Drawing the number slips is another entertaining segment of the exchange. There are the people who complain about their numbers, "I don't want to be number 1." "Ugh, I'm number 10 out of 20? I'll only be able to see half the gifts at that point." "Can I switch with someone?" Then you have the people you just want to smack upside the head. These are usually the people who sit there and try to peek at the slips to get the best number possible, or the people who will sit there and swirl the numbers around and around like they're stirring a pot, hoping their fingers will become magnets and attract the most perfect number.
Finally we reach the main attraction. It is finally time to start opening gifts. Honestly, this is my least favorite part of the game. If I am the one picking a gift, I hate looking at a pile of gifts and try to quickly decide which one to open. There are too many variables for me. What if the big present actually is a small present wrapped by someone who is trying to fool me? What if that little present is a really valuable gift card? Is the shoddily wrapped present one of those, "I forgot until about ten minutes before and so I just grabbed a candle?" I am always afraid I will get the "cool" gift too, because I know it's only a matter of time before it leaves my hands, and I hate getting all excited about a gift only to have it snatched. It also makes me nervous to watch other people open gifts too. I always want to give a gift that someone will like and not make the, "Oh, that's so...cute..." statement. Plus, my gift is always one of the last to be chosen, and that bugs me. I have tried decorating it all pretty pretty, putting it in a bag, wrapping it in a box, and even leaving it in a low-key packaging. All this effort is to no avail, it always gets picked during the final rounds.
Don't forget, that during all this gift-opening, you still have the person who isn't 100% sure what is going on. This will inevitably lead to someone breaking a rule set by the loud talker. Most times this violation will be unnoticed the first time it happens. The second time a rule is broken, it will always be noticed because there is another player whose turn is upcoming and you can be sure that they are keeping a VERY close eye on every little detail so that their chance at a "perfect" turn is not jeapordized. This will bring up another lengthy discussion about the rules. It will be discussed that participants have broken the rules multiple times already and then there will be even furthur discussion about people returning gifts, replaying a turn, etc. until one brave soul shouts out, "Let's just play by the rules from now on and forget the last few turns!" This upsets most of the people whose turns were affected by the first rule-breaker, but if you're lucky, you have a room full of people who will silently sit and suffer the indignity of it all. And if you do have someone who wants to campaign for justice? Throw eggs at them. That'll make them clam up.
Finally, after all the gifts have been stolen and restolen several times and long after you get tired of the "salesman" who keeps trying to offer up their gift (which no one else will EVER want), the final brave soul grabs the final gift on the table. At this point, the game is over. Unless you want to have an argument about (note: read to the end of the sentence as quickly as you can in a feminine tone with only one breath) how your family has always played the version where you give the first person a chance to steal because that's how my mom always wanted to play it I don't care that you didn't say this was the way to do it when you set the game up today this is how it should be played it's not fair to number 1 yes it's the rule all the time even though it is pretty convenient that I was number 1 this time. The person with the "cool" gift proudly shows off their treasure, people who have stolen from another person "joke" about the other's person's facial expressions when the gift was stolen. Generally, no matter what the outcome, it is mutally agreed upon by all to find a new way to exchange gifts next year. A smart person will always know that no matter what, this vicious cycle will continue forever and ever.
At today's game, we also had a woman who was very happy with the gift she received. Not that this is unusual to be happy with a gift, but as we were discussing what we had all brought for the exchange, through process of elimination we discovered that she had purchased that gift and placed it in the exchange with the intention of stealing it back for her own use at home. In her words, "I don't want anything I don't want, so I got something that I did want and it was my plan all along to take this." I am not entirely sure how I feel about this, but I am leaning towards not liking this...oh well. I ended up with some nice Christmas decorations that I enjoy!
Having written this, I must say...while the least effective way to exchange gifts, it may also be the most hilarious. I am looking forward to many more White Elephant Exchanges (or Chinese gift exchange, Yankee Swap, etc.) in the future.
I can't say goodnight yet, as it's still only mid-afternoon, but I will say: Drive safe and know that 'palmetto bug' is just a fancy term for cockroach. (Someone fooled me with that and I am not too pleased!)
First of all, no one ever really knows the rules of a White Elephant exchange. God bless the first person to ask, "How do we play?" because you know that upon uttering those words, that poor person will be trying to keep track of what five people around them are saying. My favorite is the person who explains the game by saying, "This is the game we played last year. Do you remember?" Ummm, no. If they asked you how you play the game, I would venture a guess that they do NOT remember. Then you have, "My family calls it Yankee Swap. So it's just like that." (By the way, I had a co-worker say to me "We call it a White Elephant exchange, but since you're from the North, you probably call it Yankee Swap." She was amazed when I told her no, I didn't.) This answer has the potential to be helpful, but often it is just like telling the person that they should remember from last year. This period of temporary insanity has the potential to take up ten minutes of your party.
In any case, one person will eventually start talking more than everyone else and louder than everyone else and be deemed "THE PERSON" to explain the game. As this person explains their particular version, the other four people will be chiming in as well. At this point, all hope of an orderly game is lost. After a lengthy and often confusing explanation, the person who asked for the explanation will attempt to silence all the talkers and say, "I think I get it. Why don't we start, and I'll just figure it out as we go." This never ends well. Keep this in mind and I'll revisit this point in a few paragraphs.
Now it's time to start the game. If you have a smart person leading the game, they will have already prepared all of the number slips needed to get the game going. If not, then there is the head count, the second head count after someone moves, and the third headcount when someone starts talking during the second head count and the counter loses track of what number they were on. Numbering the paper slips used to run the game as you go is also fun because if you're not prepared, inevitably you will end up not being able to find the paper you need or a container in which to hold all of the little slips. Also, no one ever remember to designate whether the number is a 6 or a 9. That adds some spice to the game!
Drawing the number slips is another entertaining segment of the exchange. There are the people who complain about their numbers, "I don't want to be number 1." "Ugh, I'm number 10 out of 20? I'll only be able to see half the gifts at that point." "Can I switch with someone?" Then you have the people you just want to smack upside the head. These are usually the people who sit there and try to peek at the slips to get the best number possible, or the people who will sit there and swirl the numbers around and around like they're stirring a pot, hoping their fingers will become magnets and attract the most perfect number.
Finally we reach the main attraction. It is finally time to start opening gifts. Honestly, this is my least favorite part of the game. If I am the one picking a gift, I hate looking at a pile of gifts and try to quickly decide which one to open. There are too many variables for me. What if the big present actually is a small present wrapped by someone who is trying to fool me? What if that little present is a really valuable gift card? Is the shoddily wrapped present one of those, "I forgot until about ten minutes before and so I just grabbed a candle?" I am always afraid I will get the "cool" gift too, because I know it's only a matter of time before it leaves my hands, and I hate getting all excited about a gift only to have it snatched. It also makes me nervous to watch other people open gifts too. I always want to give a gift that someone will like and not make the, "Oh, that's so...cute..." statement. Plus, my gift is always one of the last to be chosen, and that bugs me. I have tried decorating it all pretty pretty, putting it in a bag, wrapping it in a box, and even leaving it in a low-key packaging. All this effort is to no avail, it always gets picked during the final rounds.
Don't forget, that during all this gift-opening, you still have the person who isn't 100% sure what is going on. This will inevitably lead to someone breaking a rule set by the loud talker. Most times this violation will be unnoticed the first time it happens. The second time a rule is broken, it will always be noticed because there is another player whose turn is upcoming and you can be sure that they are keeping a VERY close eye on every little detail so that their chance at a "perfect" turn is not jeapordized. This will bring up another lengthy discussion about the rules. It will be discussed that participants have broken the rules multiple times already and then there will be even furthur discussion about people returning gifts, replaying a turn, etc. until one brave soul shouts out, "Let's just play by the rules from now on and forget the last few turns!" This upsets most of the people whose turns were affected by the first rule-breaker, but if you're lucky, you have a room full of people who will silently sit and suffer the indignity of it all. And if you do have someone who wants to campaign for justice? Throw eggs at them. That'll make them clam up.
Finally, after all the gifts have been stolen and restolen several times and long after you get tired of the "salesman" who keeps trying to offer up their gift (which no one else will EVER want), the final brave soul grabs the final gift on the table. At this point, the game is over. Unless you want to have an argument about (note: read to the end of the sentence as quickly as you can in a feminine tone with only one breath) how your family has always played the version where you give the first person a chance to steal because that's how my mom always wanted to play it I don't care that you didn't say this was the way to do it when you set the game up today this is how it should be played it's not fair to number 1 yes it's the rule all the time even though it is pretty convenient that I was number 1 this time. The person with the "cool" gift proudly shows off their treasure, people who have stolen from another person "joke" about the other's person's facial expressions when the gift was stolen. Generally, no matter what the outcome, it is mutally agreed upon by all to find a new way to exchange gifts next year. A smart person will always know that no matter what, this vicious cycle will continue forever and ever.
At today's game, we also had a woman who was very happy with the gift she received. Not that this is unusual to be happy with a gift, but as we were discussing what we had all brought for the exchange, through process of elimination we discovered that she had purchased that gift and placed it in the exchange with the intention of stealing it back for her own use at home. In her words, "I don't want anything I don't want, so I got something that I did want and it was my plan all along to take this." I am not entirely sure how I feel about this, but I am leaning towards not liking this...oh well. I ended up with some nice Christmas decorations that I enjoy!
Having written this, I must say...while the least effective way to exchange gifts, it may also be the most hilarious. I am looking forward to many more White Elephant Exchanges (or Chinese gift exchange, Yankee Swap, etc.) in the future.
I can't say goodnight yet, as it's still only mid-afternoon, but I will say: Drive safe and know that 'palmetto bug' is just a fancy term for cockroach. (Someone fooled me with that and I am not too pleased!)
Monday, November 29, 2010
The joys of office life...
I have my own office, and it is quite nice. I would guess that the office is probably 12'x10'. On the east wall is a window. My desk is quite large. It takes up the southeast corner of the office, and is probably extends 6 feet from the wall in one direction and 5 fin the other. It has a lot of overhead storage space and there are a number of drawers. I have a scale and height measure in my office, as well as a bulletin board and a pamphlet holder. To complete the ensemble, I have two adult chairs, one child's rocking chair, and a little play area for the kids.
Sounds like the typical office, right? It really is, but I am the one writing this entry so I will give it my own spin and make it sound like some freaky little place!!
The window lets in a lot of sunlight in the morning, which means that even with the blinds shut it gets toasty in here. I am kind of dreading what summer is going to be like in here. Sometimes in the afternoon I will open the blinds for some natural light, which allows me to have a terrific view of a fenced-in yard...that has three heating and cooling units which are constantly running.
Did I mention that directly across from my office are the two employee bathrooms? My supervisor and fellow co-workers call this the "initiation office." Everyone who starts here works out of this office first. You can only imagine the smells that waft in here on occasion. Mostly they are "covered up" with a lovely mango-scented spray. Now, I have a pretty bad sense of smell for a lot of things, which is very helpful in this situation. That being said, some dummy here thought that the mango-scented air freshener was a good idea. On the other end of my "smell spectrum" are the scents that give me instant headaches. Apparently, among these select scents is mango. Sooooo...either way I hate it when I hear people heading into the bathroom. Also know that the window in my office does not open, so there is no chance of me ever airing this place out.
I do like my desk. I like that it is super large and I have tons of space to spread all of my paperwork over the course of a day. The only problem is, the areas that would be inaccesible for the small children to reach is also inaccesible to me, since I am not allowed to turn my back to the client during the certification process (It's mean to not look at them!) This means that I can't hide the phone and it's tempting cord from the grasp of little fingers. My office was used as a spare until I got here, and it became THE office site for storage. This includes the 8 cans of chemicals in the overhead drawers. Until I made my supervisor relocate said chemicals, I had the ability to sanitize every flat surface, kill roaches (ewwww!) and scent the world with, you guessed it, mango. Also included in these bins were a few chocolate pretzel bars from Special-K. They were pretty darn good, they made for a nice snack on a few days that I forgot breakfast. I also have 800 packs of Splenda in that Special-K box. I don't know who put them there, but they had a serious coffee/fake sugar problem!
The scale and height measure in my room are each of the offices for the "just in case" situation that has never happened. I wouldn't have any issue with this, except every child that walks in this room heads right for the scale and tries to use it as a trampoline. They will look up at the height measure and will try to reach for the perpendicular metal bar used to get the final height. Looking up at the bar combined with the jerky motion of their hands and the bars penchant to stick and unstick within seconds makes this a great eye-poking hazard. As you can imagine, when the parents don't see this/heed my warning, I just want to look at them and ask, "Do you really want to have to explain to your child why the other kids are teasing him and calling him 'Cyclops?" But, since I am a professional, I don't. On the outside.
At some point the the past, someone took it upon themselves to determine what colors make people feel certain emotions like happiness, tranquility, hunger and disbelief it isn't time to go home yet, etc. Apparently, blue is a happy color. I call it "health care blue." It is everywhere: The walls are blue, the chairs are all blue, the carpet is mostly blue, I signed my travel logs in blue pen, the dividers on the WIC charts are blue, blue, blue, blue.
The lovely blue walls are being painted right now, one at a time on the weekends by "good behavior" inmates from the local jail. They are such a wonderful crew. They carefully paint around all of the artwork hanging on the wall. While this is stupid in and of itself, it really shows here in my office since they painted around a 5'x4' painting that was eventually deemed "offensive" because of the feet of the children in the painting. So now I have a 5'x4' spot that is a lighter shade of "health care blue" than the rest of the office and I noticed today that it was replaced with two 8x11 sheets of paper with the WIC foods on them. Yep, covers that spot right up! Needless to say, when I have the time, I do a lot of redecorating in here.
The play area is a nice feature, it keeps the kids busy while I am playing "800 Fairly Inane Questions" with the parents. The only problem is, the only toys in the office are the only ones that are allowed to be in the office. This includes the number puzzle that is missing number 5 and number 1 pieces but for some reason includes the letter G. For the slightly older children, we have a battery operated toy that has something to do with reading, but the batteries don't work and all the buttons are jammed from years of abuse. Needless to say, unless my clients have really active imaginations, they aren't going to have much fun in my office.
Well, it is now time to move on in my day. So until the next time, have a safe drive home and please- don't ever paint the walls of your house blue!
Sounds like the typical office, right? It really is, but I am the one writing this entry so I will give it my own spin and make it sound like some freaky little place!!
The window lets in a lot of sunlight in the morning, which means that even with the blinds shut it gets toasty in here. I am kind of dreading what summer is going to be like in here. Sometimes in the afternoon I will open the blinds for some natural light, which allows me to have a terrific view of a fenced-in yard...that has three heating and cooling units which are constantly running.
Did I mention that directly across from my office are the two employee bathrooms? My supervisor and fellow co-workers call this the "initiation office." Everyone who starts here works out of this office first. You can only imagine the smells that waft in here on occasion. Mostly they are "covered up" with a lovely mango-scented spray. Now, I have a pretty bad sense of smell for a lot of things, which is very helpful in this situation. That being said, some dummy here thought that the mango-scented air freshener was a good idea. On the other end of my "smell spectrum" are the scents that give me instant headaches. Apparently, among these select scents is mango. Sooooo...either way I hate it when I hear people heading into the bathroom. Also know that the window in my office does not open, so there is no chance of me ever airing this place out.
I do like my desk. I like that it is super large and I have tons of space to spread all of my paperwork over the course of a day. The only problem is, the areas that would be inaccesible for the small children to reach is also inaccesible to me, since I am not allowed to turn my back to the client during the certification process (It's mean to not look at them!) This means that I can't hide the phone and it's tempting cord from the grasp of little fingers. My office was used as a spare until I got here, and it became THE office site for storage. This includes the 8 cans of chemicals in the overhead drawers. Until I made my supervisor relocate said chemicals, I had the ability to sanitize every flat surface, kill roaches (ewwww!) and scent the world with, you guessed it, mango. Also included in these bins were a few chocolate pretzel bars from Special-K. They were pretty darn good, they made for a nice snack on a few days that I forgot breakfast. I also have 800 packs of Splenda in that Special-K box. I don't know who put them there, but they had a serious coffee/fake sugar problem!
The scale and height measure in my room are each of the offices for the "just in case" situation that has never happened. I wouldn't have any issue with this, except every child that walks in this room heads right for the scale and tries to use it as a trampoline. They will look up at the height measure and will try to reach for the perpendicular metal bar used to get the final height. Looking up at the bar combined with the jerky motion of their hands and the bars penchant to stick and unstick within seconds makes this a great eye-poking hazard. As you can imagine, when the parents don't see this/heed my warning, I just want to look at them and ask, "Do you really want to have to explain to your child why the other kids are teasing him and calling him 'Cyclops?" But, since I am a professional, I don't. On the outside.
At some point the the past, someone took it upon themselves to determine what colors make people feel certain emotions like happiness, tranquility, hunger and disbelief it isn't time to go home yet, etc. Apparently, blue is a happy color. I call it "health care blue." It is everywhere: The walls are blue, the chairs are all blue, the carpet is mostly blue, I signed my travel logs in blue pen, the dividers on the WIC charts are blue, blue, blue, blue.
The lovely blue walls are being painted right now, one at a time on the weekends by "good behavior" inmates from the local jail. They are such a wonderful crew. They carefully paint around all of the artwork hanging on the wall. While this is stupid in and of itself, it really shows here in my office since they painted around a 5'x4' painting that was eventually deemed "offensive" because of the feet of the children in the painting. So now I have a 5'x4' spot that is a lighter shade of "health care blue" than the rest of the office and I noticed today that it was replaced with two 8x11 sheets of paper with the WIC foods on them. Yep, covers that spot right up! Needless to say, when I have the time, I do a lot of redecorating in here.
The play area is a nice feature, it keeps the kids busy while I am playing "800 Fairly Inane Questions" with the parents. The only problem is, the only toys in the office are the only ones that are allowed to be in the office. This includes the number puzzle that is missing number 5 and number 1 pieces but for some reason includes the letter G. For the slightly older children, we have a battery operated toy that has something to do with reading, but the batteries don't work and all the buttons are jammed from years of abuse. Needless to say, unless my clients have really active imaginations, they aren't going to have much fun in my office.
Well, it is now time to move on in my day. So until the next time, have a safe drive home and please- don't ever paint the walls of your house blue!
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Twas the night before Thanksgiving Eve...
...and all through the State of South Carolina it was almost 80 degrees. Now don't get me wrong, I enjoy warm temperatures just as much as the next person, especially when I'm used to being freezing cold this time of year and already sick of the gray skies. (Which, except for that one day of snow, it sounds like you Ohio people don't have too much to complain about right now!)
That being said, two very traumatic things happened to me this week. First, I was driving through downtown Summerville and since it was late enough for it to be dark out, I was able to see all the pretty Christmas lights that they have decorating all of the oak and pine trees in the city center. It was absolutely gorgeous, they really went all out. But...I opened the window a crack to hear the concert that was also starting at that time and heard Christmas music. With that window opening I was able to feel the warm breeze blowing through my car. At that moment in time it ceased to be a beautifully decorated holiday scene and turned into those times when you're driving around in July and you find that one person who STILL hasn't taken down their Christmas lights (And no, they usually cannot claim the "Christmas in July" excuse. It's freaking July, you were too lazy!)
Second, as I was driving home from church on Sunday I turned my radio to the Charleston equivalent of 102.1 and heard Christmas music. It might not have been so bad if it had been a song I like, but it wasn't. So instead of singing along to my radio like I normally do, I got that "getting into a hot, stuffy car in the middle of June" feeling. I don't know about you, but whenever I hear Christmas music during June/July I get that nasty feeling like when you climb into a hot car and it makes me not even want to think about anything Christmas at all. That was the feeling I got Sunday. So instead of being excited for the coming season like I usually am...I just wasn't.
Ironically, the song on the radio was "Do They Know It's Christmas?" I despise that song. I just do, and always have. (note: I figured there was a deeper meaning, so I read up on the background. Having read what I did, it almost seems mean to be comparing relatively affluent people with starving Ethiopians, but I am going to anyways.) Once I thought about it a little more, I started laughing to myself. Obviously people around here know what Christmas is and they celebrate it just like we do in Ohio (the term "we," including myself as an Ohioan is still appropriate. I still have an Ohio license, so that makes me a dual citizen at the very least!) But the idea of celebrating Christmas in shorts and a t-shirt made me sad. "The Reason for the Season" aside, I want to know...can Charlestonians truly enjoy the Christmas season with the lack of snow? Is the viewing of Christmas lights less pleasurable when it isn't cold outside? Does caroling produce the same amount of cheeriness when you aren't bundled up in heavy winter coats and brightly decorated scarves and gloves? This remains to be seen!! Obviously, I know the answers to the above questions is yes, no, and yes, respectively. Christmas and the surrounding season is what you make it and ultimately we are celebrating the birth of a Savior and not decoratively frozen raindrops falling from the sky or hypothermia-inducing weather.
Everything about Christmas is going to be different for me this year, and I look forward to it. It will be different knowing that there is no chance for snow. It will be different when I turn on my AC and my Christmas lights at the same time. I would say it's going to be different to see palmettos decorated with lights rather than pine trees, but here in Summerville the "pine is sacred" according to the city motto, so I don't think that will change! In any case, different isn't bad, just a chance to experience the everyday aspects of life in new ways.
Well, my life is going to be incredibly busy for the next 30.5 hours and it is time to get some work done. What I want to know is why we are obsessed with cleaning our homes before we LEAVE. Is it just because we want to be able to say our homes were completely clean for 5 days? I don't know. All I know is that I am one of those obsessed people and there is work to be done.
There are a number of you that I will be seeing while home for Thanksgiving. If I don't see you, it's not because I don't want to. It mostly has to do with the fact that I will only be home for a little while. In any case, if you don't see me at Thanksgiving, find me around Christmas. I'll be home for awhile then!
Sleep tight and don't let the foxes bite!
That being said, two very traumatic things happened to me this week. First, I was driving through downtown Summerville and since it was late enough for it to be dark out, I was able to see all the pretty Christmas lights that they have decorating all of the oak and pine trees in the city center. It was absolutely gorgeous, they really went all out. But...I opened the window a crack to hear the concert that was also starting at that time and heard Christmas music. With that window opening I was able to feel the warm breeze blowing through my car. At that moment in time it ceased to be a beautifully decorated holiday scene and turned into those times when you're driving around in July and you find that one person who STILL hasn't taken down their Christmas lights (And no, they usually cannot claim the "Christmas in July" excuse. It's freaking July, you were too lazy!)
Second, as I was driving home from church on Sunday I turned my radio to the Charleston equivalent of 102.1 and heard Christmas music. It might not have been so bad if it had been a song I like, but it wasn't. So instead of singing along to my radio like I normally do, I got that "getting into a hot, stuffy car in the middle of June" feeling. I don't know about you, but whenever I hear Christmas music during June/July I get that nasty feeling like when you climb into a hot car and it makes me not even want to think about anything Christmas at all. That was the feeling I got Sunday. So instead of being excited for the coming season like I usually am...I just wasn't.
Ironically, the song on the radio was "Do They Know It's Christmas?" I despise that song. I just do, and always have. (note: I figured there was a deeper meaning, so I read up on the background. Having read what I did, it almost seems mean to be comparing relatively affluent people with starving Ethiopians, but I am going to anyways.) Once I thought about it a little more, I started laughing to myself. Obviously people around here know what Christmas is and they celebrate it just like we do in Ohio (the term "we," including myself as an Ohioan is still appropriate. I still have an Ohio license, so that makes me a dual citizen at the very least!) But the idea of celebrating Christmas in shorts and a t-shirt made me sad. "The Reason for the Season" aside, I want to know...can Charlestonians truly enjoy the Christmas season with the lack of snow? Is the viewing of Christmas lights less pleasurable when it isn't cold outside? Does caroling produce the same amount of cheeriness when you aren't bundled up in heavy winter coats and brightly decorated scarves and gloves? This remains to be seen!! Obviously, I know the answers to the above questions is yes, no, and yes, respectively. Christmas and the surrounding season is what you make it and ultimately we are celebrating the birth of a Savior and not decoratively frozen raindrops falling from the sky or hypothermia-inducing weather.
Everything about Christmas is going to be different for me this year, and I look forward to it. It will be different knowing that there is no chance for snow. It will be different when I turn on my AC and my Christmas lights at the same time. I would say it's going to be different to see palmettos decorated with lights rather than pine trees, but here in Summerville the "pine is sacred" according to the city motto, so I don't think that will change! In any case, different isn't bad, just a chance to experience the everyday aspects of life in new ways.
Well, my life is going to be incredibly busy for the next 30.5 hours and it is time to get some work done. What I want to know is why we are obsessed with cleaning our homes before we LEAVE. Is it just because we want to be able to say our homes were completely clean for 5 days? I don't know. All I know is that I am one of those obsessed people and there is work to be done.
There are a number of you that I will be seeing while home for Thanksgiving. If I don't see you, it's not because I don't want to. It mostly has to do with the fact that I will only be home for a little while. In any case, if you don't see me at Thanksgiving, find me around Christmas. I'll be home for awhile then!
Sleep tight and don't let the foxes bite!
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