OMG...is that Tricia Yearwood?

Once upon a time, I was uninhibited and liked to perform. I begged for the right to sing on the morning announcements in elementary school and wowed my classmates with songs like "If," "Yesterday" and "Cats in the Cradle." Somewhere along the way, though, that went away. I always played guitar and played flute and other instruments through my school years, though hated things like solo competition because I ALWAYS messed up in some way (fly in my face, a friend's curious dad popping in during my time, nervous because my grandfather was accompanying me live). I even applied to and was accepted to college as a music major, but fear of an audition had me change majors before I ever started.

All that to say that there's a performer in me that never really got out. A couple of summers ago, I bought myself a few guitar lessons at the local music store so I could get better. I went in and told the guy that I knew how to play, I just wanted to sound like James Taylor...could he help me out? I think having an older woman who already knew how to play kind of threw him off and he really didn't know what to do with me. So for 3 weeks, I paid my $20 and he and I played and hung out together. He told me he thought I had a closet need to play publicly and I should find some open mike nights to play. "Yeah, right," I scoffed at him.

But the idea did take hold. At a restaurant in Weaverville, near my parents' & sister, they have Open Mike nights on Wednesdays. The night before Thanksgiving is a Wednesday, the only likely Wednesday we could be there. Last year, I planned to do it, but as we left for dinner, I "accidentally" forgot my guitar at the house. This year, nobody let me do that.

My son wanted to play piano, too, which I was fine with, though there was no way I'd follow him. I mean, really...44-11/12-year-old woman vs. cute, talented 12-year-old boy? I don't think so.

So we lugged in all our gear. We were signed up to go 1st and 2nd, which really meant 2nd and 3rd because the host had to warm up the crowd with 7 or 8 songs. Then it was my turn.

And you know what? It was fun! I've been playing and singing at school events for the past few years, and that still makes me a bit nervous. But last night? Yes, I was scared before...I couldn't decide if I should do the songs I'd planned or not. But as I got started, I didn't even feel any of the anxiety I normally feel before playing. Other than giving up on my Indigo Girls song after the first verse & chorus, I just played on.

I thought it would be weird and even intimidating to play with my family staring at me, but it actually was fun and I could feel their encouragement as I played.

My husband later told me that as I got up on the little stage, a guy at the bar behind him said, "Oh my G-d...is that Tricia Yearwood?" How funny is that?

So... yay me!


(here's video of some of our songs...feel free to watch some, all, or none if you prefer!)

Just Your Average Sunday

My husband took my youngest to ride rides at Carowinds for a few hours. Said they'd be home by 1. At 11 or so, he called and said his keys had fallen out of his pocket on a ride and they couldn't sweep looking for lost things till they closed. I'd need to find his extra key and bring it down and there was no guarantee that it would work anyway (he's had a hard time with his spare key before).

So I went into his drawer and grabbed the Volvo key that I saw along with mine and my eldest's Carowinds passes (so I could get in without paying to park) and left. It's about 30 minutes to there. On the way down, there was a torrential downpour and I almost hydroplaned on the interstate.

I got to Carowinds and handed the attendant my son's gold season pass (gold pays for your parking; mine is silver because I hardly ever go). The guy scanned the card and looked in the car and said, "Is he with you?" And I said, "No," (clearly he wasn't), "But here's what happened. My husband lost his keys on the Borg and I just came down here to give him another key. Here's my pass, the one you have is my son's. Trust me, I had no intention of coming to Carowinds today and I'm not trying to pull anything over on you. I just want to find my husband's car in the parking lot." The guy said, "I want to help you, so you can pull out here, turn left and park in guest parking. You'll then need to cross the pedestrian bridge and give the key to the worker over there." As if. So I paid $10 to park and pointed out that with all the money we've given them over the years, they should be thanking me and not making me pay when I'm not going into a park that I don't want to be at and really don't even care for. He gave me my receipt and said brightly, "Have a great day."

I went down every aisle of the parking lot and finally found his car. I parked my own a few down (people were leaving because of the rain), got out with the key and went to open it. It didn't work. That's when I got a little nervous and walked over to my own car and pushed the button and it instantly unlocked the door to MY Volvo. Uh. Oops. With a feeling of doom, I walked to the gate to look for the two of them, debating whether I should try and go all the way in or not.

I finally saw them coming out and was gearing up to confess my huge mistake when I realized that he had keys in his hand! Turns out that because of the rain, the only ride they closed was that one, which meant the attendants could do their sweep and found his keys and key fob (which had all imploded). We walked over to the cars, he tried it all out to be sure it worked.

I gave him my parking receipt so he could demand a refund from within at Guest Relations and then I left them to ride more rides in the rain.

Good times.

Just for you, Marianne

I'm clearly a very sporadic blogger. Here's this year's blog post.

Filled with excitement for our high school's big ribbon cutting event last night, my family and I headed to the Egg in Davidson for dinner first. We figured that, since we were asked to park away from school and walk, we'd just eat, leave our cars and go to the school. Very sad to find that the Egg is no longer open for dinner. Bummer. So we headed for the high school (knowing they were grilling hot dogs there and had ice cream), my 15-year- old was booking it, walking around 200 yards in front of us, his brother ahead of us, too and then the two of us taking up the rear.

We turned down the street when suddenly, my foot felt, well, weird. And wet. And gross. I looked down and saw that there was some sort of poop thing on my toes; and because we were out (in the wild!) and had nothing with us, I picked up a leaf and wiped my toes off. All was well, except my hand was kind of wet feeling, so I wiped my hand on the back of my shirt; realizing as I was doing it that my hand might not be clean.

As we kept walking, I got a bit in front of my husband, when he said, "My G-d, Jennifer (not Jen, which denotes irritation on his part), what did you do to your shirt? And something smells bad, too." So I turned to him and whined, "Well, what am I supposed to do now?" He pointed out that the sports boosters would be selling spirit wear, so I could probably find something there.

We got to school, where a crowd of around 500 was gathering. I ran up to the booster's booth and asked a friend if I could grab a shirt, noting that I had no cash, but was good for it. She said it was fine and I ran inside, where the air was blissfully cooling things off.

I got another friend to help me pick out a shirt and we found one that was cute. There was a stack of mediums and one large and I really would have preferred an XL. I took the shirt and went to the bathroom, where I stripped off the dirty shirt and, without thinking, turned on the sink and started scrubbing out the spot with soap & water. It was then that I realized I hadn't yet tried on the shirt. Oops. I looked at the shirt, scared it wasn't going to fit and did what all respectable women do when they are sure a shirt won't fit: Put my hands inside and stretched like crazy! I put it on and it fit well enough.

I thought all was well and went outside to join my husband, who was talking to another couple. As we were chatting, she pointed out that she liked my sandals. I thanked her as I looked down at my feet to tell her where I got them, when I noticed that my toes were brown and, yes, a bit poopy still. I looked at them and said, "Uh...I think I need to go back to the bathroom now," and bolted back inside, where I basically gave my foot a bath in the sink.
I'm realizing as I've been typing right now that out of 5 or 6 blog posts in the past 3 or 4 years, this is my 2nd post about poop. Says a lot about what I find interesting in my life.