Daybook

I have become acquainted with this thing called The Simple Woman's Daybook -- a diary of sorts that encourages you to slow down, enjoy the moment and record your thoughts. The lady that started it all used to do it as a sidebar on her blog, and then moved it to a regular Monday post, giving readers a glimpse into what other women were doing/facing/enjoying. (We women enjoy knowing that there are others out there in the same boat, huh?)

So, because it will make me slow down and 'smell the roses', I will participate and let you look inside my diary on Mondays. The only thing is that I won't be linking my blog posts to the 'master' page on her site (who else outside my circle cares what I'm reading right now -- really?). Maybe later.

Shout out to me about your day, too. Let's enjoy life together.

daybook {five}{ten}{two thousand ten}
i am thankful for... the cup of coffee my youngest brought me this morning -- bedside service at its best!

i am thinking... about how soon my firstborn will begin a new chapter in his life.

i am creating... a Christmas stocking for my daughter.

i am going... to a school banquet tonight.

i am reading... Redefining the Strong Willed Woman by Cynthia Tobias.

i am hoping... there is enough chocolate syrup left in the bottle for a sundae.

around the house... why is it so hard to commit to a shade of brown paint?

from the kitchen... the cupboards are bare -- the kids protesteth much.

outside my window... a deep hole in my pot of rosemary -- the neighbor's cat thought it to be catnip.

worth sharing...

Play That Funky Music, White Boy

We've been culturally enlightened in our family as of late. Whether it was the U.S, premiere of Catcerto by the ACA Wind Ensemble (Cody on euphonium -- you rock, son) or the Montgomery Youth Symphony's annual Mother's Day Concert (Cody on trombone -- you still rock, son), we have heard some amazing music this past week.

Support the arts, people.

Petals from the Past

Most of the time when I read through a magazine, there will be several things that catch my eye - a recipe, a new place to vacation, decorating tips, or a neat place to shop. I have this beat-up, red folder that holds all those things I tear out and promise to do/visit/taste sometime soon.

Not long ago, I put a page in that red folder for a little nursery up the road from home - Petals from the Past. The magazine pages made it look like such an inviting place, but I was a bit skeptical. You see, there's really not much in Jemison. Well, except for this...

Look. I hate to be the one to tell you this, but tractors cross the road here. And you must stop. You really must. The sign says so right there, smack dab on the side of the road. I wonder how often tractors stop traffic here. Probably not often, really I say, because Jemison isn't overly populated.

But Jemison does have a super duper nursery. Look.

Doesn't the sign just invite you in with its creeping, crawling vines? Once you round the bend, there are vines bearing muscasines or scuppernongs (the makings of a good homemade wine if you ask me). But I was on a mission to find something to fill a hole in the planting bed next to the side entrance at my house and some herbs to grow in containers. I found both.

(The herbs are of the legal sort, thank you very much.)

These asparagus ferns reminded me of my late grandmother so I bought two. She'd be so proud. I'll probably kill them.

Mist them daily, she'd always say, and they'll make it.

Not. For me at least.

My little helper -- who was here because I told her we were going on a field trip to watch the bees pollinate the flowers...and she bought it, bless her heart -- tugged the fluggy (flower + buggy, don't you see) through the rows and to the cashier. We bought our stuff -- plants cost alot in case you were wondering -- and made our way back home via some really winding, rural roads, with not a tractor in sight.

10 Years Ago Today

Ten years ago to the day the US government announced they would shut off selective availability of GPS systems -- instantly upgrading thousands of civilian GPS units by ten times. On May 3, 2000, the first GPS stash (geocache) was placed and geocaching became an instant hit. Today there are 3-4 million geocachers worldwide with over 1 million active caches.

What's all this geo stuff, you ask?

We take our GPS unit with us when we go on vacation for some extra fun. As Forrest says -- we never know what we're gonna get.

Head outside for an adventure today!

Bubba Land

(Okay, so I'm humming Beulah Land as I type. How appropriate.)

I read a comment recently on a blog I follow, and I was very dismayed at the commentor's apparent dislike for our regioin of the country.

I wish to move back to the beautiful Pacific Northwest and out of bubba land, she said.

As much as I wanted to say my wish was for her wish to be granted, I really wanted the green mixer that was being given away so I wished for something like world peace or whatever.

So what's keeping y'all here in bubba land, I wanted to ask. I know times are tough and you go where the work is and all, but really, we probably want you here less than you want to be here, so fly, fly away.

Then I felt bad for not extending that Southern hospitality we're known for around these parts (only for a little while, though because even though I am proud of that Southern hospitality, when you go calling my people bubbas, I get turned off real quick like.)

Look, can't we all just get along? I mean, what I love about my heritage might not be your cup of (sweet) tea, and I certainly don't agree with all your left coast ideas, but we can coexist without calling each other names like kindergartners on the playground, right?

So, DJ, if you're ever in my neck of the woods, come sit a spell. We'll get along or we won't, but it won't really matter because as much as I love my bubbas, grits, collards, mint juleps, azaleas, college football Saturdays, white sand beaches (come on, face it -- what's not to love about the South?) I'm looking to a land to which I've never been before, where time won't matter. And I'm even hoping you'll be there, too.

(You're humming it too, now, I know. Don't forget that small church choir twang, y'all.)

Boys vs. Girls - Prom Edition

Do you remember your prom? It took two sets of hot rollers (what are those, mom?) to do my hair, more hairspray than you care to know and several hours of my afternoon.

Things are different when you're a boy. You can literally shower in the morning, go about your day like it was any other, play video games with your friends, text your girlfriend asking what she's doing (having the hair done three hours beforehand, as it turns out), put on your tux about 30 minutes before you have to leave and still turn out as handsome as this...

or this...

with time left to act goofy...

or try to be cool...

while wondering if Mom will ever stop taking pictures...

and still being able to leave on time to pick up your date.

It just doesn't seem fair being a girl does it?

Happy Birthday, Cody!