There Used to be a "Pretty-ish Kind of Little Wilderness" Behind MyHouse

I spent my childhood in a house on the dead end of the street. No, we're not talking about a neatly groomed cul-de-sac, we're talking about asphalt that gradually turned to grass, which quickly turned to woods.

It was really idyllic - there were woods on the side and behind my house, with little trails cut into them for us to explore, and, as the neighborhood slowly lost all other wooded areas, ours stayed.

Then, when I was 12, we moved to the "real" country. We had 4-wheelers, chickens, and multiple dogs and cats, and we sometimes shared our property with other people's cows. Again, idyllic - lots of exploring outside, turning trees into playhouses with only our imagination and nary a nail or board in sight.

Now, I live in a neighborhood again, and, again, in the back of the neighborhood with a little wood behind my house. One of my favorite things about this is that I get to look out the kitchen window and see green as I'm washing dishes.

But recently, someone has bought the property behind us and built a house, and it looks more and more like they're going to develop further.

Y'all , my heart is kind of breaking about this. I realize they were never my woods to begin with, but they sure brought me joy.

It's kind of like a very mild form of torture or something - every night, I go to sleep thinking, well, surely they're done now, but every morning I wake up and they're back at it again.

But there is no great loss without some small gain, and my consolation is that, if I get up early enough, I can now see the sunrise out of my kitchen window. Along with a house and the few scraggly trees they left behind...

Such a Good Day

Baby sister is home. (FINALLY!)

Blue Bell is back, and just as good as ever.

I saw four shooting starts tonight, all while driving and not even looking for them.

And that's about all, folks!

Overwhelmed

Sometimes I get to this weird place where I feel completely overwhelmed, and there are a million things I need to do, so I don't do any of them.  Does anybody else do this?

Today, I needed to:
Buy more chirstmas lights
Finish trimming the Christmas tree
Drop off a package at Fedex
Finish knitting a hat
Clean my bedroom and bathroom
Do laundry
Buy groceries
Cook soup

But did I do any of these things? Nope.  There were other things that I needed to do that I did do, but I felt like I was only functioning on a survival level and nothing above that.

Finally, I just sat down for a minute, because I was even having trouble prioritizing - my list was just too big for me to deal with at that point.

Then, my wonderful Mom asked if she could take me out to dinner, and I said yes, and, suddenly, all was right with the world again.  It's amazing how Moms can do that!

How early is too early to talk about my birthday?

Three weeks ahead?  Too early?  Sorry - the train's already left the station...
I was on the phone with my sister earlier, and I said "Well, here we are, one day closer to my birthday!"
Can you say self-absorbed?

I don't know what it is, but I really love my birthday.  I always assumed I would eventually grow out of it, but nope.  Here we are, pretty much grown up, and I'm still going strong.  This doesn't really mean I ever throw a big shindig or do anything super memorable, but I get just as excited about it every year.  There's something special about feeling like there's a day that's actually about you...
One year in college, I discovered two birthday twins - same year even! - and I was kinda weirdly sad about it?  I don't know what to say. Im ashamed of myself, but it doesn't mean I'm about to pretend like I don't care that MY BIRTHDAY IS COMING SOON!

I guess it's kinda like Buddy the Elf and his affinity for Christmas.
Except, actually, I get just as excited about Christmas.

December, in general, is just one of the best holidays months.
Yep, I just accidentally typed holidays there instead of months, because, really, December does sort of feel like one big holiday to me.

And?  I get to go to Lights of Tejas twice this year.  I can't wait.
The things to be excited about just keep multiplying.

The Interloper

Today my subject is "a family member you dislike" - not exactly the best choice for a somewhat public platform.
*waves*
Hi, family reading this blog!

Really, though, there isn't a single member of my family, immediate or extended, that I don't like.  I sat for a little while, trying to come up with one, but I just couldn't do it.  And I'm not saying that because they may or may not be lurking around reading.  Even if I was doing this challenge in a journal, with the guarantee that no one would see it, I wouldn't be able to come up with a single family member I dislike.

When it comes to pets, though, there is one who is less than my favorite. dun dun dun.

A certain cat joined the family after I moved away.
I don't know that I really dislike her.  I just don't like her.

Actually, rewind: let's just establish that I do have a mild cat allergy, so liking a cat in the first place is rather an up-hill battle for me.  Despite that fact, though, I really have loved two of the several cats who have belonged to my family over the years.

The First One came into our family shortly before I moved to college, and he very quickly wriggled his way into my heart.  I can't spend much time with him because of being allergic, but he is so very wonderful.  He just wants to love and be loved.  He has never shown the tiniest bit of feistiness toward anyone that I've ever seen.
Ironically, the other cat whom I have loved couldn't have cared less whether or not I loved her, and would frequently box and bite my ankles just because I walked past her...

A few years ago, the Interloper joined my family, immediately adopting our home as her realm, and never minding how we felt about it.  She reigns supreme, and if her servants do not feed or pet her as required, they will know her disapproval by unidentifiable sounds and unnervingly steady eye-contact from the largest green eyes you have ever seen in the face of a petite cat.

All this, really, I could be fine with, and still like her fairly well, though probably not as much as the precious First One, but there is a portion of her behavior that is just inexcusable.

She is constantly mean to the First One, and he is too sweet and yielding to stand up for himself.

It's really the saddest thing in the world to me.  She doesn't even need provocation - he can be innocently minding his own business, and she just ambushes him to make sure he still knows she's in charge around here.  She torments his poor little heart out - as soon as he's settled comfortably in a sunny spot for a little nap, she pushes him out of it, sits in it for two minutes, then moves elsewhere, because she didn't really care about that spot in the first place.  She just wants to constantly aggravate him.

Honestly, I live in constant fear he'll decide one day that it's too much to deal with and he's just going to move in with the neighbors...

Let's discuss the fact that I'm not married.

My topic for today was "Your current relationship; if single, discuss that."
Well, I'm single, and I have a lot of thoughts about that, and I actually already had a draft all about it, so here's a long-winded post for your Tuesday:

*I wrote this a while back, hence the titles of old articles that aren't really floating around any more.  It took me awhile to decide to post it because hurting anyone who loves me is the furthest thing from my intentions. But sometimes people who love us say things with the best of intentions and still end up hurting us, so here I am, hoping that I can be gracious and make my point at the same time.*

Lately there have been a lot of articles and blog entries shared on Facebook about marriage - "5 Reasons I Got Engaged Before 23", "23 Things To Do Instead of Getting Engaged Before You're 23",  "26, unmarried, and childless", and "I Wasn't Ready For Marriage" to name a few.

Apparently 23 is a trendy age at which to get married?  I remember when I was 20, and signed up to work on Sumer Staff at camp, and a well-meaning friend of my Mom's said to me "That is such a great idea!  You could meet a really nice man there!"

I was recently asked "So, are you engaged or married?"

Apparently there wasn't a "single" option.

Once, I off-handedly mentioned to someone that three of my closest friends were married to men they'd met at camp.  She replied "And I'm sure you will be too, one day."
(Not the point of the conversation, in case you were wondering.)

Some time back, at a wedding shower no less, I ran into someone who hadn't seen me in a while, and she innocently said "I can't remember, are you married?"
Before I could even open my mouth to respond, another lady jumped in and said "No. She's still waiting."

This list could go on...

Really, though, I know that none of these women meant any harm by their words.  They were just trying to be friendly and encouraging.  Regardless of the intentions, though, it's hard to hear things like this all of the time.

If I'm honest with you, as I try to be on this blog, I have to admit, sooner or later, that The-Thing-I-Really-Want-To-Do-With-My-Life is to be somebody's wife, and mother to a few somebodies.

That's it.

Yes, I want to write and write, and write.

Yes, I want to get a Master's degree eventually.

And yes, it is a big dream of mine to someday teach college students who hate English to love it and express themselves well through writing it.

These are dreams and goals that I have, and am pursuing.

But the biggest dream is one I can't accomplish on my own.

It's one I may not accomplish.

Did you catch that?  I just said I may not ever get married or have kids.

If you think that was easy for me to say, let me tell you right now, it wasn't.

The fact is, though, that I have no assurance, no firm promise, that I will have those things that I want so much.

Jesus and I have had a lot of conversations about this, and my poor mother has had to answer her fair share of weepy phone calls about it.

And you know what?  I've received a lot of encouragement through those conversations with Jesus, and phone calls with my mother, but assurance that "my turn" will, in fact, come "one day"?  There's none.

Zip, Zero, Nada.

I'm learning that just the fact that I have a desire for something doesn't mean it's going to be a part of my life.

I may end up being the awesome old English teacher who lives in a house full of windows, where the tea kettle is always boiling, with a Cottage Garden in the front, and a yard full of dogs in the back.

(I'm allergic to cats.  Otherwise, I'd probably include "Cat-lady" here...)

Right now, as I write that image, I'm smiling.  I'm learning to be okay happy with it.

Ultimately, friends?  Jesus is enough.

I am, in fact, happy with this point in my life, with the extended (maybe life-long!) chance to invest in the girls that surround me without feeling guilty about taking time away from a family, to speak truth into the lives of many others, and be available 24/7.

I am happy to play "Auntie" to my friends' wonderful children - those who are already here, and those who are coming.

I am happy, so happy, that I have the freedom to travel whenever I like, and visit my friends who have gotten married and thus been scattered to the 4 Winds.

That has not been an easy road.  I didn't willingly rush into the arms of this new kind of happiness.

I have drug my feet, and this road has even been made a little harder by all the well-meaning women in my life who tell me things like "Don't worry.  Your turn will come."

Simply put, I'm happy here now.  I'm not worrying.

But if you tell me not to worry, I'm going to start worrying, and I'm going to fix my eyes on things other than Jesus and where He's leading me.  If you tell me my turn will come, I'm going to start clinging to a false assurance that is not from Him. 

The hard thing about all of this is that these people who love me may be fully convinced their words are true, but the fact is, at this point in my life, those words are not true for me, and are not what I need to be focusing on.

My family and my friends have never pushed me into matrimony.  They've never told me that it was my only choice, or even that it was the best choice, but, regardless, we live in a world where marriage is such a huge focus.

It's such a huge focus, that we're choosing sides about whether we should be engaged before we're 23.
It's such a huge focus, that we assume everyone who wants to be married is going to be married eventually, and we talk in those terms.

When I say "we," I'm talking to myself too.  I'm just as guilty of dishing out these platitudes as anyone else.  It's almost an automatic response in our society.

But, I want to suggest a better way.  Let's not discuss the fact that I'm not married yet.

Let's just discuss the fact that I'm not married.

Let's discuss the fact that there are lots of good things about this time.

"But that's the discussion we've always had," you may say to me.

Yes that's true, but these discussions almost always end with "And when you are married..."

Let's not do that.

Also?  Please tell me funny stories about your kids and grandkids.

Tell me about that hilarious moment you had with your husband last week.

And, if you're really ready to trust me, tell me about that argument you're in the middle of.

I have friends who are married, and who have children, and I've managed to keep up these friendships through receiving and giving this type of transparency.  It may seem weird to talk to a single, childless woman about your marriage or children.  But really, think about how boring life would be if we only talked about things we both fully understood or were comfortable with.

A dear friend of mine put it perfectly the other day when she said "Sometimes I feel like a non-person."

We're not Moms, or wives, but neither are we just waiting around or in between.
We are people, fully formed adult people with intelligence, and self-control, and understanding, and empathy.

Even though our lives now look very different, there's no reason we can't relate.  We're both human, and, ultimately, have the same struggles, just in different environments.

And when I trust you enough to bring my heart to you, handle it with care, knowing that you (and I) have no idea how my life will turn out.

I will try to give you that same respect, because, honestly, we could have this discussion about any number of life stages.

So There's This Mid-February Phenomenon

I have a friend who works at Starbucks, and last week, she expressed it quite nicely:
"On Friday, we'll be super busy, because everyone will be trying, up until the very last minute, to meet someone in time for Valentine's Day. And on Saturday we'll be super busy because everyone else will be treating their Valentines."

Every year, around this time, I get a little touchy.  I try not to offend people, because I totally support people who are happily in love and want to take a special day to celebrate that fact, provided they continue to celebrate that fact, perhaps in less elaborate ways, throughout the rest of their lives...

But, y'all, this problem of people having a freak-out or getting super down in the dumps because they don't have a "Valentine" is so troublesome to me. Let's just pause and think through the idea of a "Valentine" - he's actually a person.  Did you know that? I don't know a ton about him, but I do think I remember hearing that he performed marriages for people in the Roman army, who were technically forbidden to marry, which is, you know, incredibly romantic and all.

BUT the holiday bearing his name was not romanticized until Chaucer got a hold of it and made it a generalized celebration of romantic love.

You know what else Chaucer helped to generalize?

Yep, the fart joke.

If that doesn't help you understand my opinion of Chaucer, you don't know me very well.

To be fair to both Chaucer and Valentine, I don't think either of them really meant for people to get so incredibly sad about their lives on this day, but it is an unfortunate side effect of our Disney-saturated, Chick-Flick-watching, Diamon-ring-advertising, First-kiss-idolizing culture.

Believe me, I'm just as subject to this culture as anyone else. In searching through my February archives, I found this gem, and I have a feeling that some of that emotional instability I was feeling may have stemmed from the surplus of romantic imagery and themes that inundates advertisements and every corner of our little world during this time of year.

It's just basically unavoidable, and really, who am I (or any of us single people who all feel a bit of "poor me" this time of year if we're honest with ourselves) to take this day away from the lovers? So what we really need to work on isn't changing, or even "boycotting" Valentine's Day (as much as I am tempted to, some years), but investing in the people that we love on this day and always.  Whether they're technically a "Valentine" or not, is really beside the point.

You know who I love?  Baby Sister. Poor thing.  She's gonna be Baby Sister even when she's old and gray...

So, I took her to a concert of her favorite musician this Valentine's weekend, and we stayed the night with an extremely motivated writer friend of mine, who inspired both of us to start writing more.

We drove up to Dallas together, and got turned around more than once, because that's the way I travel - some GPS, mostly I-know-better-than-that-machine... She may or may not have thought I was about to drive off a cliff at one point, and also may or may not have been pretty close to correct.

She made us a road-trip cd, which was missing 5 songs, mysteriously, and gave us a good chance to listen to other music we both love.

We got to the concert early, and had 45 minutes to waste running around the cutest downtown you ever did see in Wylie, TX. (So many places were open, even after 8!)

We made some new friends in this little combination Coffe Bar and Antique Shop.  And, wouldn't you know, they were camp people too, so we had lots to talk about.  Of course they were there for the concert too, so we stood together.

After getting to my friend's house way too late at night, we went to bed and woke up to a homemade breakfast and 20 acres of woods, just begging to be explored.

Do you see what I'm saying? I refused to be quietly down in the dumps, and also to loudly protest.  I simply made memories with someone I love on a Saturday that could have been any Saturday, but happened to be February 14th.

I think this may have been the first time I got Valentine's Day right.

A Tale of Three Tires

I have never been the kind of girl who is particularly comfortable with car maintenance, so, from the time that I knew my car needed new tires, it was at least a month, if not two months, as well as at least 4 phone calls to my dad, before I got it into the tire shop.

I'm sort of embarrassed to admit this, but I also pulled into the parking lot and sat in my car for about ten minutes, observing my surroundings, then left, at least twice before deciding to brave it.

I'm sure part if this has to do with the fact that I had really just gotten comfortable with my other mechanics before I decided to up and move, and now, here I was at a new place, and feeling very small and gullible, and insignificant.

However, I did finally make it into the tire shop one lovely friday.  I came in very confident, asked all the right questions, had a super-helpful-customer-service-guy assist me, and got my car in to replace the rear tires.

The paper-work at the end of my visit was a breeze, and I left feeling totally confident and much better about vehicle maintenance in the future.

Then, on the following Tuesday, I got into my car, and it gave me a low pressure warning for one of my tires.  I got out, checked on them, and found the culprit - the right rear tire - it was at 20 psi, while my tires were all supposed to be at 35 psi.  I assumed that the folks at the tire shop would have aired up the tires to the proper pressure when they first installed them, so there could be no reason the pressure in this one would be this low already, except that there was a problem of some sort.

Basking in my new-found confidence, I immediately called the tire shop, and explained the situation (including the fact that I had just purchased the tires) to the guy who answered the phone.  he said something along the lines of "No.  There shouldn't be any problems.  You can just take it anywhere and air up the tires, then keep an eye on them; but if you really want to, I guess you can come in and we'll air it up for you."

That was not exactly the answer I was looking for...

So, of course, I called my dad and asked him what he thought I should do.  I also mentioned a squeaky sound I'd been hearing, and he recommended I take it in and have them look at the tires and the belt.

So, of course, that's just what I did...

I walked in, and, when it was my turn (they were pretty busy) I began to explain my situation to the-man-at-the-counter.  He literally interrupted me mid-sentence and said "Are you the one that called earlier?" COMPLETE WITH AN EYE ROLL.

I maintained composure and said "Yes" in my sweetest voice, adding that there was also a squeaky belt I would love for them to look at if they had the time.

He said "Yeah, sure, just pull your car around to the back of that bay right there." Then turned to the next person in line and began talking to them.

That was that.  I was not very appreciative of his idea of customer service, and wished very much for super-helpful-customer-service-guy to come to my rescue.

There was nothing for me to do but pull my car around to where he had indicated, so I did, and waited, since I had received no further instructions.  After about 5 minutes of waiting, and being approached by absolutely no one, I went back into the tire shop, and waited in line for my turn.

When I got up to the counter, I said "Hi.  I pulled my car up, and didn't know what to do next."
He interrupted me again with "Just wait a minute," and again turned to the next customer in line.

At this point, I was beginning to feel very much not valued in this place, but I stepped to the side, and waited patiently.

A moment later, a man poked his head in the door and asked the-man-at-the-counter if he could help out in any way.  The-man-at-the-counter (looking very relieved) said "Yes!  Just go check the pressure in her tires over there," waving his hand in the general direction of my car.  The other man headed out the door, and I began to add that there was a squeaky belt situation, but he was already beyond ear-shot.  The-man-at-the-counter added, in a normal tone (without bothering to open, or even turn toward the door through which the other man was already completely gone) "Oh yeah, and check on her belt."  He completed this incredibly unhelpful addendum with a shake of his head, as if to indicate that I was being utterly ridiculous and demanding...

At this point, I may or may not have just stormed out of the door to take matters into my own hands, since the-man-at-the-counter was apparently not at all interested in actually being helpful to his customers.

I was so upset, I literally had to stop outside the door to compose myself before going around to the bay.

Fortunately the man who had offered to help was much more kind and helpful.  He even checked all of my tires to make sure they were at a uniform pressure, and was happy to look at the belt when I told him about it.

Of course, the belt didn't make a noise when I turned the car on for him, and fortunately it hasn't made a sound since.

The tire, on the other hand, was an entirely different story.

The real reason I had finally decided to get the new tires was because I was about to do a whole lot of driving: the following weekend, I home based at Camp Tejas (staying in a beautiful, newly re-modeled motel room, by the way), and travelled to Austin for a wedding on Friday, then to San Antonio for a graduation on Saturday.

Well, Friday was lovely, and Saturday was lovely, until we were leaving the graduation.  No sooner had I gotten settled into the far left lane of traffic on the San Antonio loop, than I suddenly saw the truck in the lane on my right run over something and send it toward my car.  I had no time to react, and before I knew it, I definitely had a flat on my right rear tire.

I'm truly thankful for three things:

1. It wasn't a blow-out
2. I was able to maintain my composure as I pulled across all three lanes of traffic, into the shoulder, and off onto a road which looked little-used
3. Sarah's boyfriend was in the car, and was able to help us with changing the tire

Also, Baby Sister (who's learning to drive) and another friend of hers who is also learning to drive were in the car, so we got to have a little tire-changing lesson, which was fun, apparently...

As Sarah's boyfriend was putting on the spare, Sarah and I inspected the damage.

There was a good-sized gash in the side-wall, where, presumably whatever-it-was had just hit the tire.  And, wouldn't you know, there was also a screw imbedded in the tread of that tire.  As you may recall, this was the tire that was lower than all my other new tires, and which the tire shop so begrudgingly aired up for me, without inspecting it at all...

Once we were set with the spare, which was in desperate need of some air, we hobbled to the nearest gas station for air, and onward to the nearest branch of my tire store, which was actually something like the swankier, higher-end version, owned by the same corporation.

At this point, I was (understandably?) more than a little upset, and stormed into the store with slightly less confidence than last time, and much more need to feel vindicated.

I was almost immediately greeted kindly by a man behind a counter.  Before he even greeted me, though, I noticed three things:

1. This store smelled nice
2. People smiled here
3. There was prominent signage indicating everything you could need while you were waiting for your car

I began explaining our situation to the kind man behind the counter, perhaps too eagerly, as he kept calmly asking me to wait until his computer could catch up with the information I was giving him.

The tire was, unfortunately, clearly beyond repair, and was definitely going to have to be replaced.  The first thing he said to me when we realized this was, "It appears that you did not purchase a warranty on this tire..."

You guys.  My jaw probably hit the floor, and this is why:

Back when I was originally purchasing the tires, during the "breezy" paper-work process at the end, I had paused to question a section where the super-helpful-customer-service-guy asked for my initials.  I don't remember what it said, but I distinctly remember asking him something along the lines of "This says something about discussing a warranty with you, and I don't remember doing that..." and him responding with something like "Oh, that isn't really related to your purchase today."

Turns out, I had initialed a spot that said that I had been given paper-work regarding a warranty, and made an informed decision not to purchase it, when really, none of that had happened, and I certainly would have purchased that warranty if given the chance.

That warranty being an eleven dollar purchase that meant they would cover the entire cost of a new tire if mine was damaged as a result of road hazards.

Yes.  You read that right.  No wonder they weren't particularly interested in selling it to me.  You can imagine my thoughts at this moment were not particularly kind toward previously-considered-super-helpful-customer-service-guy.

Well, the current, kind man behind the counter gave me one look, without actually hearing any of that story, and said he would cover the cost of a new tire for me, just because.

I'd like to think this was because I looked like a customer-demanding-vindication-for-wrong-doing, but Sarah's boyfriend said it was because the kind man behind the counter had a crush on me...

Either way, I felt a little bit better about my life, and made sure I got a warranty on my new right rear tire.

And friends, the saga continues...

The first chance I got after coming back into town, I went to my tire store to demand nicely ask that they warranty my tires as atonement for their past wrong-doing since there had been some sort of glitch in the process of informing me about the warranty at the time of my original purchase.

I hope you guys believe me that I really was on my best behavior in the tire shop, regardless of how really indignant I was on the inside.  I'm a Southern girl.  We don't lose our cool in public...

Anyway, I went in, and who should be inside but previously-considered-super-helpful-customer-service-guy and the-man-at-the-counter?  Yes.  They were both right there.

The-man-at-the-counter was apparently busy, so previously-considered-super-helpful-customer-service-guy, who seemed to not remember me, asked how he could help.  I began to tell the nicest version of my story that was possible while not excluding any important details (including the screw in the tire), ending with the request to go ahead and have a warranty for the tire, which I had already driven around for a week and a half or so.

At about the point in my story where I came back with low pressure in one of my tires, the-man-behind-the-counter began edging toward us, evidently remembering me.

Next thing I know, previously-considered-super-helpful-customer-service-guy turns to the-man-behind-the-counter and asks if it's possible to do what I'm asking.  And before previously-considered-super-helpful-customer-service-guy is even done with his question, the-man-behind-the-counter says "Of course we will.  I am so sorry that happened, ma'am."

You guys.  The-man-behind-the-counter was the manager of this store.  The MANAGER!

I'm telling you, it was all I could do to keep a straight face.

I mean, what?

He promptly took over the conversation and was SO polite and helpful, but, by this point, I was totally over everything about this store.  Of course, I was polite in return, and gave positive one-word-answers to his attempted small-talk instead of glaring daggers, but, really, I was truly done.

When he was almost done processing the warranty, he started telling me excitedly that they were soon upgrading to a store like the one I went to in San Antonio, and by the time I needed my next tires, the upgrade would be finished.

Guys, I'm super ashamed of this, but my first thought was "Well, I hope they'll upgrade the management too!"

Of course, being a sweet, Southern girl, I gave him two true words - "That's wonderful!"

Well, if the upgrade is indeed done by then, maybe I'll give them a second chance...

Small Town Saturday: Picnic Edition

My family and I recently decided to try out a new picnic spot.  We headed out to Lake Naconiche, which has been in the works for as long as I can remember.  It is now a thriving fishing destination, but picnicking?  Not so much.



When we discovered that was not going to work out, we headed up to the ever-reliable arboretum at the University.  This is a trusty spot we've frequented for many years, which boasts plenty of seating spots and spring blooms.  In fact, the arboretum is in bloom practically all year round, but I'm particularly partial to it in the Spring.

The arboretum is generously populated with pines to give shade to the plants that live there, and the humans who visit.  This makes me quite happy.

One of my favorite things about East Texas is the gorgeous forest full of Pines.



One of my least favorite things about East Texas is the gorgeous forests full of Pines.

Yep.  You read that right.  I love 'em and I hate 'em.  They are by far one of the most beautiful species of tree I have ever come across, but I am so so so allergic to the pollen, and I'm just miserable for most of the Spring time as a result.  I clearly haven't tried too hard to escape the misery, though...

Nacogdoches is pretty proud of it's plant life, and I can't say that I blame it.  Azaleas are the undisputed favorite, and I can say that I blame that.  Wait, it doesn't work very well to turn that phrase around like that, but you know what I mean.

Azaleas have just never been my personal favorite flower, though they probably should be since they're apparently impossible to kill, and I pretty much have the opposite of a green thumb...

I just really like more delicate, less in-your-face plants.  Take. for example, the plant commonly called the "Wild Azalea" around here.



I may be wrong, but I don't think it's actually related to what we call an azalea at all.  Sort of like how we call a "Tulip Tree" by that name, even though it's not related to a Tulip at all.  Somebody *ahem* maybe an Abt? *ahem* correct me if I'm wrong, please.

The Wild Azalea is really a diminutive tree with tons of blossoms in little circular sprays all over it.  They are just lovely plants, and come in a great array of colors.  Someday I'd like to have them all over my backyard.

Well, let's get back to the subject at hand - the Arboretum.  Our arboretum has an entire section called the Azalea Garden which really has much more than just Azaleas, and is truly wonderful all throughout the year, but imagine my joy when I discovered that the section across the street from the Azalea Garden is populated by wild azaleas, and other such woodland plants that suit my fancy much better than the big, showy ones of the Azalea Garden.



I took the opportunity to practice with Manual focus on my camera, and am feeling a little better about my photography skills again.  Every photo on this post is completely unedited, and I am semi-happy with all of them.

Also?  If you're lucky enough, upon arriving at the Arboretum, you may get to park next to one of these...


Probably the closest I'll ever get to one.

Any suggestions for Small-Town Saturday?  Anything locals or non-locals are interested in seeing featured here?  I welcome your input.

Going Crunchy

Back in early February, or maybe even late January, a friend posted this link on facebook, and I decided to check it out.

A few years ago, my mom started to follow the "no-poo" method of washing her hair, and seemed quite satisfied with it.  I, on the other hand, was not.  I tried it as a way of being supportive, but I just could not stand the way my hair felt while I was washing it.  I've always felt the need to have my shampoo lather dramatically in order to feel like my hair is really clean.

Turns out, this link was a new method of doing the same thing - washing your hair with baking soda and conditioning with apple cider vinegar - which looked like it might actually work for me...

Wait, what?
Did I just say that washing my hair with baking soda and conditioning with apple cider vinegar might work for me?

Either I was turning into a crazy person, or her way of presenting evidence was actually convincing.
Seriously.  You should go check out what she said, because I'm not about to try to one-up her by explaining it all again.

Also, while I was busy being convinced about natural hair care, I decided I might as well jump into the natural skin care world as well, so I clicked on her "beauty" tag and found this.

I was immediately interested in the idea of exfoliating with coffee grounds, since I've always felt like there must be something else to do with them other than just throwing them away after one use.

One thing led to another, and I wound up devoting almost an entire day to looking into natural skin care ideas, especially the one known as "Oil Cleansing."

Again, I'm not going to go into the whys and wherefores and with whats of oil cleansing, because so many people have already done that before me.  What I will tell you about is my own process with the natural hair and skin care I have settled on, and how those decisions have affected my body.  If you're interested in more info, I found quite a few things which appeared reputable (and more which did not, of course) by googling and pinterest...ing.

Two disclaimers before we really get going on this discussion:

1)  Throughout the whole process, I kept coming across people describing themselves and their lifestyle as "crunchy."
I eventually went and looked it up on Urban Dictionary.  While I would not, by any means, call myself "crunchy" to the same extent as most of those other folks, I do have a bit of that back-to-basics attitude built into my personality, and I welcome any chance to work something less processed and more natural into my life.
Also?  It just made me laugh, because, when Baby Sister was small, she said "crunchy" instead of "country."  Ever since then, I've loved the word.

2)  I am not advocating anything that particular girl I've linked to has to say in general.  I don't follow her blog or anything, but I do feel like what she had to say about natural hair and skin care was spot on (not to mention easy and entertaining to read), so I've linked to those posts.

When I first read her baking soda and apple cider vinegar method, it really resonated with me for some reason, and I just knew it was going to work.  Don't ask me how.  I just knew.

And boy, was I right.

You guys!  Let's talk about my hair before this change.  I've always had slightly thin, pretty oily hair with some texture.  I've never dyed or permed my hair, nor do I use a large amount of products in it.  (In fact, I probably use hairspray an average of once every six or eight months).  I've tried quite a few products over the years - mostly ones that say they'll "add volume"- but I never can seem to get any of them to do what they say they're going to do.  I've used the same treatment on my ends since I was 16 or so, and have no interest in ever doing anything different, but I was never able to find any other product that I was interested in using consistently.  I even flitted around to different shampoos very regularly, never settling on one favorite.

I've always had a love-hate relationship with my hair's texture.  It just wasn't consistent - generally coarser and wavier on one side, and limp on the other.  Also, it tended to curl out on my right side, and in on my left.  I place a very high value on symmetry and consistency, so this incongruity threw me off all the time.

Then, when I started this baking soda and apple cider vinegar method, all of that went out the door.  I had no idea how much natural body and uniformity my hair could have without all the gunk from shampoos and conditioners full of extra chemicals.

Now, I'm not saying that I naturally look like a southern beauty queen every morning.
In the first place, I'm not blonde...

But really?  I'm in love with my hair lately.  I would venture to say that I haven't had a bad hair day since February.  My hair is fuller than it has ever been, and the texture is so even!  Also, it just obeys me better in general.  I'm happy, and don't intend to change anything any time soon.

The thing I'm still trying to figure out is the deep conditioning with coconut oil.  I think last time around was my first "good" turnout.  But only "good," not "excellent" or anything.  I took a teeny amount (like maybe a teaspoon and a half) and just put it on the ends, then washed with regular shampoo and conditioner.  I'm not in love with that, though, because I feel like my hair misbehaves whenever I wash it with that stuff now.  It seems, though, that theres no other way to get coconut oil out of hair.

That's the only thing I'm not entirely satisfied with about this baking soda and apple cider vinegar thing - it sort of dries my hair out on the ends so that it does need a deep condition at least once a month.  Other than that, though, I couldn't be happier.  In fact, I'm so happy with how my hair dries naturally, I rarely even blow-dry it anymore.  It's incredibly low-maintenance!

***UPDATE - I eventually became very unsatisfied with how dry my hair was after months of this method.  My current hair routine can be found here.

Now, about that oil cleansing I started.  It's been quite the journey, and not nearly as simple as the hair care.

I really started it on a whim.  The very day that I did all that research, I got a bottle of castor oil and one of jojoba oil, as that was what I'd seen touted as good for sufferers of acne.  I started out with equal parts castor and jojoba, knowing full well that it was probably too strong (castor oil is very drying), but wanting to find my own blend.

The first night and following day, I loved it!  I discovered, about a week in, that I needed to increase to two parts Jojoba and one Castor Oil, because i was drying out my skin more than I would have liked it to.  It's kind of crazy to think of oil as drying, huh?  But it sure can be.

My process was as follows:

1. Wet my face with warm water
2. Pour a quarter sized drop of the oil blend in my palm
3. Rub my palms together
4. Massage the oil into my entire face (sidenote:  It doubles as an excellent make-up remover, so no need to do that first!)
5. Wet a washcloth with HOT water so that it will steam, wring it out, and lay it over my face 2 or 3 times in a row. DON'T BURN YOURSELF!
6. Wash oil off with rag and warm water

This whole process is so luxurious with the steam and the smooth oil, and it leaves my skin feeling super soft and moisturized - not at all oily like you would imagine.  I know it seems intimidating, and possibly gross, at first, but I would recommend it to anyone!  Also, it's kind of a long process, but the good news is you only have to do it once a day (some people do it even less than that, but I think once a day is best for me).

It's the perfect relaxing night-time ritual.  In the morning, I just get up, put on a little moisturizer, and sometimes makeup, and I'm ready to go!

Everything that I read said things would get worse before they got better but my skin was immediately better than it had ever been before!  I'm not a terrible sufferer of acne.  I'd say mine is mild to medium, and I've never considered taking medication or anything, but I'd be lying if I said having it consistently from my teens into my mid-to-late twenties hasn't been pretty discouraging.  So, to find something this simple that actually worked was beyond exciting.  I even had friends and family making comments about how fantastic my skin was looking.

I think I went through a little honeymoon phase, then reality hit:
Jojoba oil is not cheap.  It's not necessarily expensive, but it is not, by any means, cheap.  So, when I ran out of my bottle of jojoba, I decided to try sweet almond oil, which I had seen listed as a substitute for people who are allergic to jojoba.  It was literally less than half the price, so I thought I had hit the jack-pot.

*Spoiler Alert*  I had not, in fact hit anything like a jack-pot.

As soon as I started using the sweet almond oil, my skin went back to it's original condition, if not getting a little worse.  Also? Sweet almond oil smells strange - not sweet - almost bitter, actually.

I gave sweet almond the benefit of the doubt, and decided to use up the bottle, then see if I needed to switch back to Jojoba - maybe my skin was reacting to the change, and would straighten out (hopefully sooner, rather than later).

Well, sooner and later both came, and no dice.  My skin was still breaking out pretty consistently.  I wasn't to the end of the bottle, but I had HAD IT with this stuff.

Finally, yesterday, I went into my local natural foods store, and...

THEY DIDN'T HAVE ANY JOJOBA OIL!

I may or may not have acted like a 14-year-old drama queen, but they took my name and phone number so they could notify me as soon as the shipment comes in.

Now you may all proceed to wait expectantly on your tip-toes with me.

SO, verdict is:  I love oil cleansing, but only with a very specific blend of oils.

Strangely enough, Baby Sister (who tried it right along with me, like a doll) found that she liked sweet almond better...

Small Town Saturday: Kite Festival Edition

Sorry for my recent disappearance!  The combination of a mini-vacation/reunion/birthday event with dear friends, and some mean shoulder tension, and, you know, life, meant that, once again, this little blog was left behind for a little while.  I'm working on some life adjustments right now, that hopefully will lead to somewhat "regularly scheduled programming" around here.  I'll let y'all in on the details soon(ish)...

In the meantime, enjoy Small Town Saturday, c/o the Kite Festival, which was not this past Saturday, but the Saturday before:




There were rows of these guys around the field to show when the wind was blowing - such a cute little detail!


Yep, that's me, flying kites with the best of 'em.

You guys, there were so many people there!  I know these pictures don't really express that, but, trust me, there were.

Mostly, it was young families and grandparents, but there were a few adults who were serious about their kite-flying, and even a few people who got their kites up in the air, then tied the strings to camp chairs and disappeared.
I did not understand those people, especially since, when there's only a chair there, and no human beings, you don't automatically assume you're going to have to tangle with a kite string, so you run blindly into near catastrophe... or maybe that was just me.

There were a few "special" kites flying around, i.e. a giant caterpillar, and his flying friends much higher above the ground.



The kiddos had such fun running around under that thing.  I wished the two little guys I nanny could have been there to join in the fun.  There had been a huge storm the night before, though, that had done some significant damage to their property, so they were at home.



Actually, the majority of people there named the storm as their reason for coming out - about half the county was out of power, and when it's sunny outside and there's a kite festival going on, why stay in a house with no electricity?
My family had long planned this as an intentional outing - (Why yes, I did just say "outing"...) - when you have all the sisters in town, why not go to the Kite festival even though you do have electricity?



Even Grandma enjoyed watching everyone's kites from under her parasol.

Of course quite a few of Baby Sister's friends were there, and I got a chance to have freak out moments over the fact that people I used to baby-sit are in their late teens, and some even 20 years old...





Not to mention interacting like grown up people (and looking like them too)!



Seriously.  Look at these people.
Not to embarrass her, but I started baby-sitting that girl on the left when she was being potty-trained.  POTTY-TRAINED, people.
Please tell me I'm not that old.
How did they get to be these beautiful, grown up people giving me thumbs-up after a good run with a kite?
I. Do. Not. Understand.

Speaking of a good run with the kite, I was pretty proud of myself.  I probably hadn't flown a kite since I was 7 or something, but it came right back to me as soon as I got it in my hands.  It was almost all the way to the end of its reel at one point...



Yep, these are the kind of accomplishments, I'm proud of lately.  Maybe you call that perspective? Five years ago, I might have been embarrassed to be seen flying a kite, now I run madly through the public with one...

As did my sisters.




So casual and relaxed as she flies her kite with one hand like a pro...



We literally stayed in an open field for 4 hours before we decided to go home.

Well, with a small break to rest on our picnic blanket and stare at the kite(s) in the sky...


... and get thoroughly sun-burned.  Yep.  It was painful, my friends.  Someday, I'll learn to apply sunscreen, I hope.

Oh, and a few trips to the food trucks.



It was lovely.

Small Town Saturday: Volkswagen Edition

My mom grew up in a family that always drove at least one Volkswagen, so she has a special place in her heart for them, and they figure in almost every story she tells us of her youth and college years.

Maybe as a result of that, or maybe just as a result of the fact that they are ridiculously cute little cars, I wanted one so bad when I first had the opportunity to buy my own car.  Well, one thing led to another, and I wound up not driving a Volkswagen.  But I'm not mad about it, and I am still absolutely in love with the little car that practically fell into my lap.

And now Baby Sister is barking up the same tree I did, and we'll just have to see where it gets her...


Mom tells us the smaller the tail-lights, the older the Volkswagen.  This one was from the late '50s.

Needless to say, when Mom, Grandma, Baby, and I got the chance to check out the local Volkswagen festival, we were all pretty happy about it.  Mom reminisced about "Things," "Rabbits," "Doon-buggies," and "Bugs," and Grandma reminisced about the Volkswagen van she and Grandpa used to drive, where they just threw a play-pen in back for the kids while they were going on long road-trips.



We all enjoyed the vans most, I think.  They all had such personality!  Most of them were out-fitted like campers, some with themes (Peace signs & Tie-dye, Coca-Cola, Flower Power, and Jamaica, to name a few), but the one I liked best was this little Country Chic one.  Seriously, I could probably live in it and be happy.



In fact, there were some folks who looked kind of like they did just that - lived in their VWs, and travelled all over to these shows.  Several people brought their pets, and, evidenced by this dog snoozing away, this wasn't much out of the ordinary for them.



What a life!

I'm pretty sure that my little town has more "festivals" than anywhere else.  Some are big, and others are not so big.  This was a small one, but there were people from far and wide (Even as far a Nevada!), because it was tailored to such a specific demographic.  There were lots of fancy restored cars, as well as people doing a booming business in selling parts for Volkswagens of all descriptions.





This is the interior of the purple one Baby was posing with earlier.  It looks brand new, right?  Somebody definitely treasures that car.  Also, can we talk about this completely uncluttered dash?  I was sort of in awe of it.

There was even a short row of Porsches.


Were they a Volkswagen product at some point?  I was really confused as to why they were there...

Basically, there was every type of VW you can imagine.  It was lots of fun.



Stay tuned for the Kite Festival next week!

Yep.  I'm serious.

Small Town Saturday: Farmers' Market Edition

This weekend was crazy.  I had no idea, when I moved back home, that I would have so many plans pop up!  On Friday night, I went to an event on campus, called Pen and Pigment.  It's a wonderful collaboration between the Creative Writing department (a division of Liberal Arts) and the Art department (a division of Fine Arts).  I had the privilege of participating in this event twice during my time at SFA, and loved it both times, so, of course when I heard that it was happening this Friday, I wanted to go.

Well, then a good friend decided to come through, and wanted to have dinner on Friday night, then another friend invited me to Movie Night at her house to watch Frozen (ummmm, YES), then my college basketball team became the Cinderella team of the NCAA championships and had their second round game on that very night...

Yeah, I had to sort of laugh at myself, as I dressed up and went to an art event, while everyone else on campus was going crazy in the Student Center, where the game was being shown on every screen...

Somehow, though, I managed to fit everything into the night including watching our crazy over-time win and screaming with the best of them about it.

And then I fell into bed at something like 1:30 am, with plans to get up for the Farmers' Market at 9 am...

I waffled significantly the next morning about whether or not I should go, but I did, and, boy am I glad I did.  There is nothing like a small town on a Spring Saturday morning.


Be aware, I'm testing out larger pictures to see if they'll fit in my template, so things my be a bit wonky for a little while...

You guys, It's been so long since I picked up my camera, I'm afraid I may be losing my touch!  My two favorite pictures from the farmers' market were blurry, and I wasn't particularly impressed with the ones that were focused either.







I guess this means I'd better pick up my camera more often.

I ended up getting to the market toward the end of the time that it was open, so most of the booths were closing down by the time I got there, but there was still quite a bit of fun stuff to check out.  We got to chat with a local peach farmer, and he told us this year was shaping up to be a bumper crop because of the crazy long winter, and there was a man selling home-made cheese.



Also, someone was selling Kale.  I've never actually used fresh Kale in anything, so I had no idea it was such a lovely little plant.  I love the contrast of the yellow against the green.



Also, did I mention this was the "Spring Fling", so there were added attractions, like american flag themed pony rides...





My favorite part about living in a small town?  Views like this, even in the middle of town (literally two blocks from Downtown...)



Then, as we were leaving the Farmers' Market, we realized the Volkswagen festival was happening just down the road.

Nope.  You can't make this stuff up...

Photos from that event coming soon.

That time I went to New York and back in 10 days.

If you follow me on Instagram, this trip is old news (It happened in November).
However, if you follow me on Instagram, you didn't get the whole scoop or all the pictures, so here is (in the words of Paul Harvey) "the rest of the story."

As I've mentioned in the past, my dad did the same thing for all of my growing up years, then changed careers just recently.  I really can't remember a time when I didn't have a pretty solid idea of what he was doing at any given point in a day, even if he was far away.
Our family was always very close, and having a good idea of what Dad was up to at work helped to tighten that bond, I think.

Then he threw us all for a loop, and decided to become a truck driver - an over-the-road truck driver, no less.  That means he could be anywhere in the U.S. at any given time. (Within the first six months or so of his career, he had been in 47 of the 48 Continental United States!)
Not to mention that he was now driving an 18-wheeler, and hauling who knows what (anything from copper wire to New York City's trash - literally).

I hadn't expected this, but it felt downright strange to not know what he was doing day in and day out.

So, of course, when the opportunity arose, I jumped on his truck with him to find out.



Oh, did I mention that I stayed on that truck with him for 10 days?

Do you see the size of that cab, ladies and gentlemen?

Let me just say, I have a hero in disguise as a dad.  That wonderful man slept on a mattress topper (not a mattress - just a topper!) on the floor for 10 nights so I could have the bed, bought me coffee every morning (I'd brought a coffee maker and coffee with me, but it turned out his power converter wouldn't support the amount of amps or something required by my coffee maker), and generally treated me like a princess.

We had a fantastic time, just driving down the road, sometimes talking, sometimes listening to music (his good old southern rock that Mom doesn't really listen to, some folksy stuff, and my Needtobreathe and Coldplay), and sometimes enjoying silence and pointing out interesting things along the road to each other:


"Look, Es" he said, "it's a coffee truck!"
And "Man, those poor horses without the blankets sure must feel discriminated against..."

Dad is a "moderator" on a truck-driving forum for new truckers, or people who are interested in getting into the career, and it just so happened that he had committed to write a "journal" of his time on the road that coincided with our time together.  He really enjoyed having me along as a "photographer" to record various parts of his job that he could share on the forum.  I had fun helping him understand a little more about blogging/getting photos on his blog and the forum.



As a flat-bed driver, as opposed to a dry-van driver, Dad has the responsibility of securing his own loads.  He says this is one of his favorite parts of the job as it keeps him active.  From what I've observed, this love for securement is pretty rare among truck-drivers.  It totally makes sense to me that he would love it, though.  There's a certain satisfaction that comes from doing something yourself and knowing that it's done right.
Every once in a while, I'd help him with securing one of the loads (and, of course, he went back over everything I did to make sure it was correct) and it was pretty cool to know that I'd had a little part in making sure that load stayed on the back of his truck through wind, snow, and high speeds.



Our first stop on this crazy journey was in Vidor, Texas, where we picked up a load of steel coils headed for Cincinnati, Ohio.
(Cincinnati, by the way, is one of the few words that I can NEVER remember how to spell...)

We spent the weekend at a truck stop on the border of Kentucky and Ohio.
That was quite the experience.  A truck stop is like it's own little world.  It was actually much cleaner and pleasanter than I expected it to be.  Our weekend consisted mainly of doing laundry in the truck stop, watching movies in the truck, and taking lots of walks to enjoy the Fall foliage.





When Dad stopped in Cincinnati to unload, I was still asleep.  I woke up and looked out the window to find this charming old brick building with various international flags hung along the roofline and a beautiful Holly full of red berries.



After this stop, we headed across the border into rural Southern Indiana to pick up some sheetrock bound for Syracuse, New York.

While driving through Indiana, we saw lots of these lovely, bare, almost wraith-like, white trees - Sycamores, right, Indiana friends?



On our way to New York, we started seeing a bit of snow.  I was so impressed at the way they know how to maintain roads in the North! (In Texas, or the South in general, I guess, everything would have been closed for even this tiny amount of snow.)



Now, before we go any further, let me acknowledge that these are not really the quality of photos you are used to seeing on this blog, but please keep in mind, I'm taking a lot of these through the windows of a truck moving at approximately 65 MPH...

This particular day was a long, long, long one.  By the end of it, we had dropped off one load, and were picking up the next at about 11 PM.  I was sitting in the truck and feeling very sleepy, and possibly a bit delirious if I'm honest.  I looked out of the windshield and saw this little fork-lift staring right at me:


I may or may not have taken way too much time trying to decide if he was friendly or not...

I was so tired that I decided to sleep in the next morning while Dad got on the road, but he wisely woke me up, knowing I would want to take pictures of the snow-covered houses in this precious little town that we drove through.



Let's just be honest and say that I was FREAKING OUT the entire time I was taking these pictures, because this was The Most Snow I'd Ever Seen.
I know.  I'm a little bit pitiful...

I don't remember the name of this town, but I remember thinking how really it wasn't that much different than being in the South.  That house looks like it could be my next door neighbor's, in fact.

Well, that thought quickly changed when we made a stop in Walmart.

We walked into this New York state Walmart like the normal Southerners that we are, me chattering to Dad about something and him laughing at something funny I said, and slowly it dawned on me that no one, NO ONE, else in this store was talking.
No one smiled back at us as we passed them in the aisles.
Someone looked at me like I might be an alien when I said "excuse me" because I had to walk in between them and the shelf they were perusing.
Everyone just kind of walked around in their own little worlds and totally ignored each other.

You guys.  That was one of the weirdest experiences I've ever had.  Come to think of it, I have a long list of weird experiences in Walmart, and I guess we can just go ahead and add this one to it.  Maybe I should just never go to Walmart again?  It always seems to unnerve me.

I have to admit that I was a little sad we ended up in New York and I didn't even get a chance the see The City.  Honestly, though, I wasn't too sad.
Seeing New York City has never been on my bucket list.
I mean, I always figured if I was ever anywhere near it, I would at least look at it a little bit...
But who am I kidding?  I was more than comforted by those adorable snow-covered houses, and the best peppermint mocha ever (Trust me.  I'm a peppermint mocha connoisseur.) - at a random little chain in a rest stop!

You did good, New York.

That load we picked up in the middle of the night was headed down to Alabama, so I bid the snow goodbye a little sadly, and we headed back the way we'd come - through Cincinnati.  On our way there, we saw the most fantastic sunset graced with an "airplane spaghetti bowl" as Dad said.



I'd kind of wanted to photograph Downtown Cincinnati (it was the only city we drove through - we skirted around all the rest), but it was dark by the time we got there.  I got one semi-good shot, but that was it.



Dad warned me before we got into the city to be prepared for a tunnel.  In other words, he told me I should have my camera ready.  Unfortunately, I was too busy trying to get night skyline pictures to really prepare my camera for the tunnel, so all in all, it wasn't the most rewarding night for the little perfectionistic photographer that hides inside of me...

It was lovely going through that tunnel, though.  Tunnels always make me think of my Pop.  I don't have too many clear, specific memories of him.  I have lots of everyday knowledge, but as far as particular memories outside the norm, I only have a few.  One, though, involves the tunnel that crossed the Ship Channel in Houston before the Fred Hartman Bridge was built.  I think of him every time I go through a tunnel now, because of that one memory.



At our stop in Alabama, I sat in the truck and knitted.  I did, however, take a moment to enjoy the lovely fall foliage that was beginning to appear here in the South.



After that stop, we wound our way home through the Smoky Mountains.
Now, the Smoky Mountains are another thing that I have never had any great desire to see.
I know, I know.  I'm probably crazy.  But, honestly?  Mountains just aren't my thing.  Give me an ocean and a coastline, and I will sit and stare and take it in all day.

I was pleasantly surprised by the Smoky Mountains, though.  They really were "smoky" - sort of veiled in a constant blue haze - and so peaceful.  I did take pictures, but none of them turned out very well (65 MPH, remember?).  So, mostly, I just sat back and enjoyed the scenery.

When I saw these bridges coming up, though, you can bet I whipped out my camera and took as many pictures as I could, hoping I'd get at least one good one.



There's just something I really love about bridges.  I probably wouldn't make any sense if I tried to explain it.






Sometimes there are just things that you love for no good reason.

I have to admit, by the time we got home, I was really grateful to be back in Texas and on solid ground.  A tiny part of me had gone on this adventure thinking how crazy cool it would be if I could team-drive with Dad, so I'd been analyzing whether this would be a good idea or not.

Hey.

I know you're laughing right now, so I'll just give you a minute to laugh.

There.  Are you back with me?  I am being perfectly serious here.  From about the time I was 18, I've had secret thoughts that I might enjoy the truck-driving life - exploring all over the country, and seeing the sights.  However, the fact is, I'm a girly girl, and ten days out on the road was enough to convince me that, no matter how pleasant and clean they are, I don't want to spend any majority of my time taking truck stop showers.  Nor do I want to be always getting my hands dirty doing load securement.
I'll stick with my pencil skirts and phone etiquette, thank you.

Another thing?  It was so hard to drive past these three things and not beg Dad to stop.


Clockwise from left:
1. Poplar Avenue - the road in Memphis that Mom travelled down every year of her childhood to visit her Grandmother
2. Elizabethtown and 61 - Need I say more? (It's one of my favorite movies.)
3. Niagara Falls - I  WAS THAT CLOSE TO NIAGARA FALLS AND DIDN'T GET TO SEE IT!

I cannot imagine all the other things around the U.S. that I would get this close to and just miss.
For a short jaunt, I was fine - quite happy, in fact - but I now know for sure that truck driving is not the life for me.

I have to say, though, it was the best decision to go with Dad and learn more about what he does.  I feel so much more educated now about his daily life, and, just the other day, he was able to call me and tell me that he'd stopped in a spot that I remembered from our trip.  How wonderful is that?!