Farewell 2010

Times Square, New York City 

It is that time of the year.  A time for reflection and deep thought about what the heck happened over the past year.  Since I am a glass half full kinda girl, I'd like to reflect on mostly good things from 2010.

The very best thing about 2010...drum roll please...I actually got a paying job!  Yes, it is part-time and yes, it is an iffy situation at best, but gosh darn it, I love getting a paycheck (even a small, measly one).

Just a joke y'all!

The absolute worst thing of 2010...I had to get a part-time job.  Sigh.  Small mom and pop businesses are struggling all over the country and we are no different.  We hope and pray things pick up, but we have changed our business plan in an effort to adjust to the circumstances we find ourselves in. 

Another good thing...I attended the Crossroads Writer's Conference in Macon and wormed my way into a great local writer's critique group.  I have learned so much from this group and have met some wonderful writers.  Even though I have missed some meeting recently (see above worst thing), I look forward to joining them in the new year with the revised revision of the second draft of my novel (just the first five pages...y'all don't worry).

Sweetie joined a hunting club in the next county which was a really good thing.  We have met some really nice friends and he has a home away from home during deer season.  Their covered dish dinners are yummy! Sweetie hasn't seen a live deer in his hunting area yet, but he assures me they are out there.

I discovered Myron Bolitar, Harlen Coben's amazing character quite by accident and now I am devouring Coben's delicious books.  I have also been re-reading Jane Austen and can't believe how much I had forgotten.  Every so often I re-read my favorite novel, A Woman of Substance by Barbara Taylor Bradford.  I like sweeping family dramas about strong successful women. 

Ad Hudler's novels made me laugh out loud, especially Southern Living, which is set in a fictitious Southern town suspiciously similar to my hometown of Macon.  He is working on a memoir that, after hearing him in person, I know will be a hoot!  I can't wait for that.  I'm also anxiously waiting on Mary Kay Andrews latest novel.  Rick Hutto's recent book, A Peculiar Tribe of People, about a nefarious Maconite unveiled a seamy tale of murder and mystery...can't wait to find out who and what he wants to write about next!

On the down side, a little story I wrote a few years ago about Christmas was officially rejected several times over.  I've put it aside for now because I know it needs a lot of work.  The bitter, biting sting of rejection from numerous little pinpricks slowly eased into my soul in an effort to suffocate my creativity.  But I put on my big girl panties and with the help of Chunky Monkey and booze (not necessarily in that order), I survived each assault.

I will keep writing daily.  That is my number one resolution.  I will refrain from Chunky Monkey UNLESS two rejections arrive on the same day.  Resolution number two.  There will be no mention of cocktails on my resolution list.  I will share my other resolutions on another post in the new year.

Back to the best, maybe the bestest yet...starting this blog!  I have thought about it, dreamed about it, and finally, buckled down and just did it!  I plan to make some changes in the new year to Pine Trees and Random Morning Glories, but I will continue to post. 

I continue to surprise myself by learning new ways to communicate  Who in the world thought I would ever tweet?  I love to tweet!  And I am a proud Facebook friend, happy and thrilled to find old and new friends across the country. 

I wish a Happy and Healthy New Year to all of you and I want to thank y'all for reading my posts.  My blog has been visited by folks from across the world.  I am amazed, truly humbled, and much obliged. Thank you so much for visiting with me and I do hope y'all will come back again real soon!

Welcome 2011 and please have a safe and happy holiday!

Merry Christmas Y'all!

Every day is a holiday with the Hollidays! 

My family used that phrase often, especially during the holidays.  One Christmas we received a message on the answer machine.  It was a man singing, "Happy holidays, to the Hollidays," in a deep, Frank Sinatra-style voice. We never found out who it was.

This will be a short post...Mama's here visiting and she's about to drive me crazy (and it's only been 30 minutes)!

This is my dog Presley.  I think her expression says it all...

Merry Christmas y'all!

Santa's Coming!

I worked for Belk-Matthews at the Macon Mall in the mid-1980's.  I started in the visual merchandising department as a temporary Christmas employee and went on into their management training program.  I became a buyer in the Vidalia store, then a department manager in the Macon store.

Working in retail means working a heck of a lot during the holidays.  It means working at night and weekends right up to Christmas day, then back again the day after.  But this is not about the hours or the weird customer problems encountered.

This is about Santa.

As a treat during the holidays, I would splurge on lunch or supper at the mall, usually going over to the Macy's store when there was a restaurant in the department store.  A group of us would meet there and relax for a while until it was time to face the shoppers in our store.

As I crossed back over to Belk's one day, I noticed the mall Santa walking toward us, headed for his throne which that year was on the lower level between Belk's and Macy's.  I smiled and waved to Santa, laughing with my friends.

"Hey Santa!  I've been a good girl this year," I grinned as he waved back to me.

"I know Fran, I've been watching you," Santa called out as we all stopped in our tracks, my friends staring at me.  He kept going toward his area where the elves and a long line of parents with excited children waited.

Was it a case of Santa stalking...or...is he real?

Road Trip - Part 4 A Nice Ending

Beautiful, huge, pine trees

Oregon is a beautiful state.  The interstate scenery is quite majestic.  We finally made it to Oregon City, which is a suburb of Portland and is where Chuck and his wife live.  Our first stop was to his workshop to unload the big truck then on to his home decorated for Christmas.

Oregon City was also the end of the Oregon Trail, the trail that many settlers took across the country.  We had a couple of days to tour Portland and we thoroughly enjoyed the visit.  Chuck took us to a vibrant, bustling shopping area which reminded me of the way Ingleside Avenue used to be in Macon.  This busy area was several blocks long, filled with shops and restaurants.  We saw many sweet refurbished, older bungalow-style homes on the small streets surrounding it.

Portland, Oregon skyline

There were several antique shops and as we checked them out, I found my Christmas present.  In one of the shops, there was a salesman's sample of an Empire chest.  Sweetie and I collect Empire furniture and I immediately knew I had to have this. 

Sweetie agreed, but asked how was I going to get it back to Georgia.  No problem, I assured him, I'll carry it on the airplane.  Now, let me add, I had just spent fifty plus dollars at UPS to ship my books, pillow, and additional presents I had purchasedduring our trip, in a really big box to ship to Georgia. We planned to travel lighter on the flight home.  Really.

Sweetie paid for the chest and when we got back to Chucks, I gently wrapped bubble wrap around my little chest and slid it into a large Boston Market tote bag with handles that Chuck's wife found.  Perfect fit!  I was good to go! 

And ready to go.  I'm a home body and we had been away from home a long time.  Hello Delta, take me home.

Not so fast.  First thing, we were flying standby on a 6 AM flight from Portland to Atlanta.  Which meant we had to get to the airport by 4 AM.  Which meant I had to get up at 3 freaking AM.  We are not morning people.  Since we were running slightly late, I did not have a chance to get my coffee.  Yikes!

Chuck said not to worry, Portland's airport is not really large and usually is not so busy.  Well, he was wrong.  When he dumped us out at the Delta check-in, the line was out the door.  We finally made our way to the kiosk, figured out how to validate our tickets, checked our suitcases (thank goodness this was pre-bag fee), and rushed to go through security (pre-revealing x-ray and/or touchy-feely search).  As our coats and my pocketbook, briefcase, and Boston Market/Empire chest went through the x-ray and Sweetie and I stepped through the metal detector, they called our flight.

We grabbed our things, shoved our feet in our shoes, and headed for the gate.  Then Sweetie asked if I had his boarding pass.  No, I did not.  He had it when he went through security, but somehow had lost it.  Great.  We turned around and dashed toward the security desk.

Right when we arrived back there, someone had turned his boarding pass in.  Hallelujah!  We high-tailed it back to the gate.  Everyone had boarded except us and eight others flying stand-by.  The ten of us huddled around the gate agent while he perused his computer.  Then he told us to have to seat while they did a head count on the plane.  Very scientific, I must add.

By now, I'm fine with taking a later flight.  I knew the next flight left around noon.  I envisioned a big cup of coffee, maybe a Cinnabon or even a real breakfast. Sweetie paced around the waiting area.  He was really ready to get home.  Well, we were called and inched our way through the plane packed with people.  We found an empty overhead bin and stuffed the chest inside with our coats around it. 

A few minutes later, a flight attendant, looking for additional overhead space, pulled the Boston Market bag down and loudly asks who did it belong to.  I raised my hand and she handed it to me, nicely ordering me to slide it under the seat in front of me.  Well honey, it would not fit.  So it sat on my lap while they made their final walk-through.

"Ma'am, your bag will have to go under the seat," the flight attendant stopped at our row and frowned.

"It won't fit," I smiled nicely as the man sitting on the aisle rolled his eyes. 

"Let me take it," she demanded as I handed it over.  "What is it?" she asked, realizing it's not a bag of food.

"It's a salesman's sample of an Empire chest," Sweetie explained.  I knew he was thinking he might sell it before we touched down.  Wrong.

"It won't squish down," I added nicely, again.

"No problem," she whisked it away and I craned my neck to see it go into Business Class.  Damn, we're stuck in the back, packed in like sardines and my little chest is riding home in Business Class.  What's wrong with this picture?

We arrived in Atlanta, no worse for the wear, and we waited while the pack of other sardines made their mad dash off the plane.  We gathered our belongings and headed toward the exit where several flight attendants and one of the pilots anxiously waited for us to leave. 

"Bye-bye," one said blandly.

"These are the ones," another said as she handed Sweetie the Boston Market bag.  "The nice ones," she  said, "our best passengers today!"

"Thank you!" I smiled my most charming, Mama raised me right, smile. 

We finally made it home!

Mr. Itty Bitty posing next to salesman's sample Empire chest

Road Trip, Part 3 California Dreamin'

California is a really big state.  Well, duh!  It took our small caravan three days and two nights to transverse the state, heading for Oregon.  Sweetie Pie and I in the big Budget truck following Chuck in his truck pulling a small enclosed trailer.  Somewhere near Los Angeles, Chuck calls to say he needs to pull off Interstate to refuel. 

Since we had just been inching along in late afternoon California traffic, it was time for a potty break too.  We exited into a business area that had seen better days.  By the time Chuck found a filling station that sold diesel fuel too, I had changed my mind about leaving the truck.  Potty time could wait.

He pulled into a very small station and Sweetie squeezed the truck past a woman sitting in a car blocking most of one side who glared at us.  We had to wait for a pump, so Sweetie tossed me the keys and told me to move the truck when the pump was available.  Yikes! 

I jumped down and dashed around to the driver's side.  A bevy of young men standing behind the small store were yelling at someone, hopefully, not me.  Since I couldn't understand yelled Spanish, I sat there and waited to inch forward so we could fill up. 

Sweetie came out and motioned to me to go around the building.  The young men had been trying to tell me the diesel pump on the other side was open.  Ohhhhh!  Boy oh boy, was I embarrassed by my instant, wrong judgement call.  Proves the point that people are nice just about everywhere, if you pay attention.  I smiled my best and charming, little ol' Southern lady smile as I waved and backed the big truck up and pulled on the other side. 

We finally made it through suburban Los Angeles and headed North on Interstate 5 where we stopped for the night at one of the nicest Ramada Inn's I had ever stayed in.  Comfy mattress, nice, thick towels, and a working television.  What more could I ask for? 

Day two in California found me amazed, simply amazed at the vast agricultural acreage that stretched for mile after mile.  I had forgotten that California produces a lot of the fruits, vegetables, and nuts we see in our Kroger in Georgia.  We also followed the aqueduct system that serves most of Southern California as we headed North. 

I love farmland, farms, and anything to do with farming.  I guess that's why my major at the University of Georgia was Agriculture-Journalism.  I bet y'all didn't know that about me!  There is something about freshly plowed dirt and acres of green pastureland that speaks to my heart.  Can't explain it.  I was not raised on a farm, so no one can explain why I can get teary when I drive past a beautiful farm.

Later that afternoon, we took a slight detour and drove toward San Francisco.  We followed Chuck across a bridge as he called back and told us to look to our left.  The Golden Gate Bridge in the distance was on our left.  The thing was, well, it was foggy that day on the water, so we didn't really see it.  I guess we took about an hour or two and who knows how much fuel to not see the Golden Gate Bridge, but that's alright.  It was fun seeing how the houses seem to grow out of the hills and mountains around the city.  There were lovely flowering vines spilling over walls and down the mountains as we rumbled past.

We made it back to our planned route and kept truckin' on North.  The landscape had changed in the course of two days from the arid, desert area of Southern California to a lush, green, heavily wooded Northern California.  It was breathtakingly beautiful!

We finally stopped for the night in Yreka which is almost to Oregon.  It was FREEZING.  Literally.  The small swimming pool at the motel was frozen over.  We were in the mountains, dark, looming mountains that I knew were right outside of our motel window, but I couldn't see in the darkness.  Then the motel clerk said they were expecting snow in the next few days.  SNOW! 

More to come...

Road Trip, Part 2 - Signs of the Times

Texas is a darn, big state.  Two years ago this week, Sweetie and I drove a big Budget rental truck across this country, headed for Oregon.  There were two things in Texas that stood out.  First of all, in the rest stops along Interstate Twenty, there were tables set up around the restroom area where American Indians were selling jewelry.  Not just one or two Indians, but a dozen or so.  Entire families at some tables.  Several generations, babies to grannys.  But the jewelry, and I am no expert, looked to me like any jewelry you might see at Smiley's Flea Market in South Bibb County.  I'm just saying....

Of course, Sweetie and Chuck did not let me linger too long for my research.  It was back in the truck and keep on driving.  Interstate Twenty dead ends into Interstate Ten and before I knew it, we were in New Mexico.  Here's my second thing about Texas.  I did not see a single cowboy riding the range as we drove through mile after mile of open range.  I did not see a cowboy anywhere, and believe you me, I looked.

I love cowboys.  My life-long romance began when I first saw Roy Rogers on TV.  It was love at first sight.  I guess it's something about a man on a horse or maybe I fell in love with Trigger.  I've always loved horses too.  My parents always believed I would out-grow my obsession with horses.  That did not happen, sorry folks.

By the time we got to Phoenix...yes, I'm a big Glen Campbell fan but Sweetie made me stop singing out loud in the truck.  I started looking for something a little different.  We stopped at another rest area on the interstate.  (With the big truck and another truck pulling a trailer, we rarely left the interstate other than fuel stops.  The easy off and on rest areas worked best for potty breaks.)  I had just jumped down from the truck when a small sign next to the sidewalk caught my eye.

"Please watch out for rattlesnakes"

"What?" I pointed to the sign, as Sweetie and Chuck dashed toward the men's room.  "Y'all, look!"

Needless to say, it was hard for me to enjoy that bathroom break.  My head rotated back and forth as I searched the stall, under the sink, behind the trash can, and around the rocks for a snake.  It was probably the fastest bathroom visit in female history.  For once, I was thrilled to climb back up in that truck!

We finally made it to California!  It was a rocky, desert, deserted desolate stretch, not the swimming pools and movie stars I expected.  As we headed toward the Los Angeles area, where we would pick up Interstate Five to go north, I noticed a sign.  "Chuckawalla Valley State Prison, next exit".

About a half mile past that sign was a small sign along the road.  "Do Not Pick Up Hitchhikers".  Really.

To be continued...

Road Trip

Our backyard in Blue Ridge, 12/01/08

December the first, two years ago, it snowed in Blue Ridge.  I remember that because that was the day Sweetie Pie and I were leaving on a cross-country trip.  I was so excited, I had not slept the night before.  I had never driven across the country in my life.  I was thrilled.

Ok, it wasn't a vacation or anything fun and exciting.  Sweetie Pie and a buddy had been helping a guy, I'll call him Chuck (not his real name) move to Oregon from Atlanta.  Sweetie had already made two cross-country trips, driving trucks to move him.  One trip they flew back, the second they drove a motorhome back.  Sweetie warned me that it was work, hard work, up at dawn, driving all day, and repeat it for the next four or so days.  I was still excited about going.

Chuck and his wife had driven the motorhome from Atlanta to Oregon to move their pets, two elderly dogs and several cats.  Sweetie and his buddy drove a big Budget truck with their furniture.  That was the second trip.  Each time they had gone the Northern route and I heard how beautiful the countryside was. 

On the first trip, they drove through mountains, looking down on fields of sunflowers in the valleys.  The second trip the mountain tops had snow.  That is why we were going the Southern route.  And this time, I was the tag-along, extra driver (I am a good truck driver).

So we climb into the cab of the huge Budget rental truck, in several inches of snow.  My suitcase was squeezed on the back of the truck and my carry-on full of books, cross-word puzzles, maps, and snacks, plus my pillow, my heavy coat, gloves, scarf, hat, and what have  you were shoved on my side of the cab.  Oh, and we had a small cooler for refreshments between us (I used it as an arm rest).  I do not travel light.  Sorry.

Chuck was driving his truck, pulling a small enclosed trailer and we are following him.  Our first stop was in Montgomery, Alabama to pick up some furniture he had in an antique mall there.  Of course, I found some things to buy.  I had to do my Christmas shopping!  So my small box of things were crammed into the back of Chuck's truck while the two guys grumbled about my shopping.  Get over it, please, we still have a week or so to go. 

We spent the night in Montgomery at a Drury Inn.  I don't want a big breakfast, but at the Drury, it is included.  Sweetie and I usually stay in more modest accommodations when we travel and are lucky to get a muffin in plastic wrap for breakfast.  This was a deluxe breakfast buffet and I swear to you, the very best scrambled eggs I have ever eaten were on that buffet.  They were fluffy and light and seasoned just right.  Yummy!  Note: I have just started eating scrambled eggs in the last few years.  Most of my life, I did not eat any kind of cooked eggs, scrambled, fried, omelet, whatever.  Anyway, these scrambled eggs were divine.  I had to find out what the cook did to make these so delicious.  I found the cook in the kitchen, ignoring the employee's only sign, and asked her.  She would not tell me.  I begged and pleaded, in my best charmingly way.  No luck.  She followed me out to the dining area and watched me heap another helping of scrambled eggs on my plate.  I gave it my best, I won't ever tell another living soul, spiel as I daintily shoveled the eggs into my mouth.  I complimented her cooking ability.  I really laid it on thick.  I made Sweetie and Chuck get third helpings.  Nothing worked.  Oh well.  Some mornings I still dream about those scrambled eggs...

The Southern route that we took, Interstate 20, is not very exciting, but I was thrilled as we passed from Alabama to Mississippi to Louisiana.  I had never driven through Louisiana, so that was a first for me.  Plus I got them to stop before we crossed the Mississippi River, so I could sight-see.  They gave me five minutes.  It was muddy that day.

By day three we were still crossing Texas.  We hit Dallas-Fort Worth at rush hour and Sweetie made me drive that portion.  It felt like we were in Atlanta traffic.  We stopped in Abilene that night and found a really good Tex-Mex restaurant that served late.  We were back on the road early the next morning.

To be continued...