polishing a piece of the past

Next Wednesday will mark one year that my precious grandmother has been in heaven. Even though she is sorely missed, I am thankful to know that she is no longer living with Alzheimer's Disease, not knowing the faces of those who were closest to her. Now all she sees is the face of Jesus and those she loved who preceeded her entry into heaven.

Over Christmas, my dad and mom, along with redhead and I, spent one night (it would have been two if it hadn't been for the dreaded stomach bug...again) at my grandparents home. The house holds many memories for me - staging childhood plays with my cousins, playing piano for a captive audience of aunts and uncles, my first viewing of "Pinwheel" on Nickelodeon (we didn't have cable when I was younger), the list could go on and on.

Once vibrant and full of life, the house now stands dark and lifeless. The two that made the house their home have passed on from this life into the next and now it simply holds their precious belongings, most of which are slowly being divided amongst their four children and 11 grandchildren.

I have been fortunate enough to receive several items of great sentimental value from my grandparent's home. My collection includes three paintings that hung in various rooms of the house, a salad plate from their everyday china that we always ate off of, a crystal serving platter and vase, and some necklaces from my grandmother's collection. All of these items hold tremendous meaning, but three items in particular are the most special - a Revere Ware stock pot and two frying pans.


I realize it probably seems a little odd for me to cherish pots and pans as sentimental items, but allow me to explain. These pots and pans are by my best guess at least 30 years old, but probably older than that. They are the only ones I ever remember my grandparents using.

I can still picture my grandfather in his bathrobe and slippers, hair unkempt from a good night's sleep, standing at the stove scrambling eggs and frying bacon in the frying pans. He always made cooking a big breakfast a priority when we came to visit and by-gosh even if you weren't hungry for a big breakfast, you were going to sit down at the table and eat something.

After breakfast was over, someone - either my grandfather or grandmother would get right back in the kitchen and scrub those pans for their next usage.

To say the pans have been well-worn is putting it mildly.

This past weekend my mother-in-law and I were in her kitchen when I noticed that the pots and pans she was using looked similar to the ones I had just inherited, with the exception being that the bottoms of her pans boasted a shiny copper color. I asked her about it and she said that her mother was meticulous about shining her cookware. And I have to say, for about 50 years old, these pans looked almost brand new. I asked about products to bring back the shine on my pans and she shared with me her secret weapon, which I immediately tried to find when I arrived home. I wasn't able to find exactly what she had, but what I did find did the trick (even if it did feel like it was singeing the top layer of my corneas).

Here is what the bottom of the large frying pan looked like before:

and here it is in a side-by-side comparison with the polished stock pot:



Here is what about 30 minutes of scrubbing and several rounds of cleaner can do (please excuse the terrible lighting):




It was a major difference.

I feel as if I have revived a piece of my past and in a strange way, honored my grandparents by loving something that was theirs, no matter how simple or mundane. To someone else, these pots and pans might be mere cooking tools, but to me they represent the passing from one era into another - the making of something old into something new again.

one fish, two fish, dead fish, new fish

Last week, Hot Tub Lizzy made mention of two little gerbils she had as pets growing up, and that got me thinking about all the great escapades my sister, brother, and I had with our own "pets" when we were little.

Dad and Mom wouldn't let us have a cat or dog for some unknown reason when we were really young. Truth be told, they knew that they would most likely be the ones tending to the lucky animal's every need and they had enough on their shoulders just raising three kids.

Our first "pets" were goldfish won by playing some dinky little game at our school carnival. You know the ones. Small, golden in color, sealed tightly in a clear plastic baggy, swimming precariously close to death's doorstep.

We were fascinated by the way they swam around their little glass home. We got a kick out of watching them poop and never really had to clean the bowl because they'd die before it got any kind of dirty.

One weekend, mom took the three of us to the mountains to visit family and my dad stayed home for some reason. He was given full authority over our precious babies. We left home thinking all was well in the world. Imagine our shock when we returned to find that our precious fishies had gone belly up over the weekend. And...as if that wasn't shock enough, we found out that Dad had flushed them down the toilet. Horror of horrors! To this day I still think he flushed them alive because he didn't want to deal with the nuisance of having pet fish.

After all the traumas of carnival fish, we moved up a step to store-bought goldfish. These babies were cool and much bigger than the last fish we had. We purchased all the necessary accoutrements and so Butterscotch (Sarah's), Satin Spot (mine), and Tommy Tonguebreath (Daniel's) came to call 531 McAlway Road home.

Life was good in fishdom until Butterscotch began to nibble at my sweet little Satin Spot's fins. It was because Butterscotch was jealous of Satin Spot because SS was sooo much prettier. Anyway, I'm not sure who went belly up first, but eventually is happened and the parental units nixed any more fish.

After that, we decided to get creative. My sister and I had such hearts for hurting animals. Its really a shame that mom wouldn't let us have indoor pets because we could have filled every square inch of our house with something alive or mostly-dead (which we all know means "slightly alive). Some of the lucky "pets" included:

• "HD" (Half-Dollar) the tiny turtle. My friend Dusty gave him to me and I took him home, without parental consent. My mom let me keep him, but I don't think she was happy about the situation. Apparently, neither was HD - he died a week later.

• "Slimy" the worm - Found severed in half and still wriggling, Sarah and I attempted to re-attach Slimy's appendage...with a piece of red yarn tied in a bow around his narrow body.

• Baby Bird - found in our yard, the hatchling was "mostly dead" and passed shortly thereafter. We took such pity on the bird and declared that it needed a fitting burial. We buried in smack in the middle of the yard. Atop the grave we placed a small wooden cross made of sticks and surrounded it with azaleas. If only I could find the picture of it. Yes. I took a picture. Of a dead bird's grave.

Now its your turn to play along. What was your first pet and what did you name it?

bully on the bus

Recently, I saw that someone's blog was discussing bullies and I thought I would post about one particular experience I had with a bully - who shall be named (we'll have none of this "names will be changed to protect the innocent" jargain. I plan on naming him outright because he's GUILTY!)

When I was in the 4th grade, I was all about some tennis shoes. Probably because mom only believed that children needed two pairs of shoes - one for play and one for church. So tennis shoes it was because my church shoes most surely weren't going to get NC red clay on them during recess.

With my tennies, I wore these beauties...

and yes, I did own them in every color, but my favorites were the green and blue ones.

As many of you may recall, back in the day, everybody rode the bus to and from school, it was the thing to do. My sister (who was 2 years ahead of me) and I always sat next to each other.

On this particular day (and maybe many others, but I just remember this day), Scott Reid sat behind us. Scott was a year older than me, which in my eyes made him automatically superior to me, and he was also a bully. He had spikey brown hair and was a troublemaker in general from what I can remember.

So, this afternoon, Sarah and I were minding our sweet sisterly bid'ness, our little feet dangling just above the floor of the bus, as we bounced along the neighborhood streets eagerly anticipating our arrival home.

All of a sudden, I felt a tug at my left heel, followed by another tug at my right heel. Puzzled, I picked my feet up to see what it could have been and I noticed that the pom-poms were missing from my socks!

As I prepared to look behind me to see what Scott has to say for himself, I glance at the aisle and notice the pom-poms rolling toward the front of the bus.

The little snake had plucked the pom-poms off my socks and bowled them down the aisle!

Words escaped me at that moment while horror and embarrassment hit me simultaneously. My cute socks had been de-balled. What was a girl to do?

Actually, I don't recall what I did in the moments following this tragedy, but I do remember that I was terribly distraught over the loss of my "balls" and probably shed a few tears in the privacy of my room. I'm sure my mother had some comforting words and probably told me to ignore Scott Reid for the remainder of our time together in elementary school. So I did. He never apologized for his dirty antics and it took me a long time to get over it.

Scott, if you're reading this, I just want to be the "bigger man" and say that I have forgiven you. I'm sure that you've moved on to greener pastures and maybe even have a carbon copy of yourself in one of your children. Hey, good luck with that...and teach them how to be kind to others so that their names won't be plastered on someone's blog in years to come.

bringing down the eco-family one class at a time

When I was a sophomore in high school, I was placed in an experimental trio of classes that were coined the Eco-Family. English, World History, and Biology were the three components of the family. The whole idea was that the same group of students would move together to the classes, getting to know each other, and forming a cohesive unit of highly educated 15/16 year olds.


Riiiight.


What we formed was a cohesive unit of rebellion that effectively brought about the demise of the Eco-Family that very same school year.


English

Ms. Williams. God bless her soul. A naive, soft-spoken lover of all things literary who was relentlessly teased by the boys in the class. Every time one of them would crack a joke in her direction, she would do that uncomfortable laugh - you know the one. The laugh where it is totally obvious she didn't get it, but wanted it to appear that she was wise to the joke. Once she figured out they were teasing her, she decided to use some leverage. She never let us forget that she took a $5,000 pay cut to come to us from a school in Atlanta and that she didn't have to be teaching us. If I remember correctly, we told her to return to Atlanta. Horrible.

Before taking English with Ms. Williams, the only required reading I had to do was a handful of William Shakespeare plays (very cool), and To Kill A Mockingbird (loved it). Ms. Williams introduced me to the required reading from hell in the form of All Quiet on the Western Front. All I remember is the title and that it made me uncomfortable for reasons I don't recall. My stomach feels weird, I need to stop talking about required reading. This book is the reason I never finished another required read until I met Jane Eyre my senior year.

Back to Ms. Williams. When the class would get rowdy,(which was quite often) she would break this mess out...

The infamous apple bell. It's a 1972 Fisher-Price child's plaything for crying out loud! When shaken, the bell would emit a soft jingling noise. And this was supposed to quiet us down? Yah...thanks for coming out. I think one of her remedial Eco-Family English classes tossed the apple bell out the window, only to watch it be obliterated into a kajillion pieces on the sidewalk below.

That very well may have been the last year Ms. Williams was at our school.

Eastside High (from the movie Lean On Me) had nothin' on us.


History

Enter Mrs. Stanley. My mom and I still talk about the absurdity of this class. You see, Mrs. Stanley had better things to do than teach. She was the cheerleading coach (I have nothing against cheerleaders - I always wanted to be one but could never do a Russian). Anyway, Stanley's room was one of the few with NO windows. Seriously? That really cramped my daydreaming style. She did happen to be the one teacher of the three that didn't get teased. She was the cheerleading coach...remember? And we all know that cheerleaders are all kinds of cool.

Stanley was all about some busy work. I don't recall that I learned anything in her class except how to fill 200 index cards, each with one fact about some specific topic from World History. I could have taught her class...when I was 4.

Funny story...Once during an exam I was concentrating so hard that a little foo-foo slipped out accidentally. I was MORTIFIED! In a setting where you could'a heard a pin drop, the foo-foo was like the freakin' H-Bomb!


Biology (or Bology)

The One, the Only, Mrs. P. Henry Watkins. Oh, the education I received in her class. You won't have the full effect of Mrs. Watkins without her voice. She used to purse her lips like Sean Connery when she talked and that coupled with a bit of a nasal tone caused many a laugh. She was a very smart, very kind woman, who didn't have the patience for our shenanigans. I probably should find her and apologize for being so hateful.

There were several phrases that would coax peals of laughter from P. Henry's students. I shall list them for you (Mrs. Noonzie, you'll totally appreciate this):

"Class, get out your no-books (notebooks)."

"Formaldehyde will give you cancer."

"Why don't you write HBJ." HBJ was the publisher of our Bology book and anytime we had an issue with something in the book, she would tell us to write them and complain - that way she wouldn't have to hear it."

"You will need Sex, Subject Index Finders." (Really, it was Six Subject Index Finders, otherwise known as dividers for a three-ring binder.)

"That's ONE demerit!" - when someone pushed her over the edge, she would do something that resembled jazz hands and yell this at them. Two demerits was the limit, but I'm not sure what happened after that.

"This is a feemstrip on Mollucks." - read: a filmstrip on Mollusks.

"No more Killer Statements." - Those were any unkind or hostile words toward anything or anyone. (i.e. "I hate feemstrips on mollucks" = a killer statement)

I sat at a table with Ben, Justin, and Amy and were we ever delinquent. One day, Justin recorded a toilet flushing and played it in the middle of class. She knew it came from our table and wanted to search our backpacks. I adamantly refused and played an Oscar worthy performance of "the victim". I can't recall if she ever found it, but we were definitely on watch after that. I also got one demerit one day for rocking my chair back on two legs. She must have been having a really bad day that day.

My senior year of high school, our English teacher asked us to write a poem and I chose to honor P. Henry by writing a poem about her class.

Upstairs on the second floor
Number 201 is on her door

Her class, meant to be an effective one
Is the kind of place where students have fun

Open your no-books and write down this note
But if you don't you might miss the boat.

If you have an answer raise your hand and share it,
but speak out of turn and you get one demerit.

While reading HBJ, her glasses slip to her nose
Meanwhile her class has begun to doze.

Her voice has a nasal squeaky sound
Which makes everyone fall laughing to the ground.

Fifty-five minutes on task is her theory
But working for that A will make you quite weary

Killer statements are not her thing
So if you say one, the apple bell will ding
(oh yeah, she had an apple bell too.)

Sometimes she is a complete bore
But when she does something funny, you'll be laughing some more.

I think that sums it up well, no?

It really is a shame that we successfully launched and crash-landed the one-year reign of the eco-family. It could have provided many more laughs for our successors. Oh well. It did succeed at providing many wonderful high-school memories for me.

a tribute to my childhood blanket

Mama Kat over at Mama's Losin' It came up with a brilliant idear. She is hosting Writer's Workshop Wednesday and suggesting a topic or two for people to blog about. In the wake of much blogger's block, this is a fabulous solution. Go on over and check this out if you need a little nudge.

One of this week's suggestions was to write about your favorite childhood blanket or toy.....

So, here it is: A tribute to my favorite and only childhood blanket


Dear Boobie,

I do not recall our first moments together. In my defense, let me just say I was a week old. You were a baby gift from dad and mom's neighbor who worked for Nationwide Insurance, hence the "N" in blue stitching and the white eagle on one of your corners.

Word has it that we were inseparable from the get-go. I'm not sure how mom and dad felt about this, seeing as how I always referred to you as a "boy" blanket. I mean, they let me sleep with you every night for goodness sake. Talk about permissive parenting. AND they let me name you Boobie too? Sheesh, how did I ever make it to adulthood? I digress....

I named you Boobie before I had any understanding of what boobies actually were. Even when I did understand, I still didn't change your name. It was cemented by then.

Every so often, Mom would try to pry you from my kung-fu grip to wash you. She said that you stunk. Like Rose and Jack of Titanic fame, I never wanted to let go. It was Mom, Boobie, who would steal you while I was sleeping to let the spin cycle have its way with you.

You were the perfect compliment to the two fingers that I sucked on, only you didn't cause me to need braces like they did. Oh well, you live and learn.

I sacrificed a lot for you Boobie. Sarah teased me about having a blanket, and Daniel, well, I'm still bitter about the quarter-sized hold he cut in you (with a pair of kitchen shears) while we were watching cartoons one morning. I have to admit that I smiled quite smugly when he got spanked for that one. Serves him right for messin' with you. And when we would travel, they would always threaten to throw you out the window. The chiding was relentless. Where's the love?

When I went to college, I pondered whether or not to take you. The dorm was female only, but we got away with it for 4 whole years! You slept under my pillow most days, staying out of the public eye.

When I got married, you weren't really replaced, just no longer the first "man" in my life. Thank you for understanding and knowing that your place was between the mattress and the headboard. Several years ago, you did talk me into upgrading your housing to the lingerie drawer. No thanks are needed, it was the least I could do for all the years you'd been faithful to me.

We've had some wonderful times together, Boobie. And now the world knows I had a blanket named Boobie. See, I'm still sacrificing for you, and you're still folded up perfectly in the lingerie drawer.

Thirty one years have passed since I first laid eyes on you. Your edges are a bit more tattered, you've gone gray and your washings are less frequent as you can't handle the dreaded spin cycle anymore. You have earned your place with the bras and other unmentionables in the delicates bag. You will always hold a special place in my heart as being my first and only blanket. There was none other in this heart of mine (that is until Mr. Baseball showed up).

Boobie, thanks for the memories!

Love,

Your Dearest Caroline

fun on the fourth, fifth, and sixth

Over the fourth, we traveled to Waynesville, NC to have a reunion of sorts with the Owen family (my dad's side). As long as I can remember, we have met for the fourth at a farmhouse in Brevard. As we began to graduate high school, attend college, and get summer jobs, our annual reunion fizzled out. After my grandmother's death in January, the family decided to revisit the family reunion idea. My dad is one of four children, and I am one of eleven grandchildren (5 girls, 6 boys, born in that order). We always have such a great time together, and now that the family is expanding to include spouses and the "great-grands", its even more fun. On Friday, we got together in my aunt and uncle's backyard for a cookout. Now, those of you in the mid-west and west coast may refer to this as a "barbecue". That's all well and good, but we southerners know that barbecue isn't a verb (as in "to barbecue"), its a noun, and its very tasty, especially with slaw and hushpuppies.

So we ate, ate some more, and then ate some dessert. Meanwhile the redhead and his cousin MC were just happy to be outside. Here's MC and the redhead. I forgot to tell him it was a little early for the fireworks.

Our family in front of the apple tree. Notice we are quite color coordinated in our red, white, and blue. Totally not planned. We just roll like that.

Here's Mr. Baseball demonstrating his magnificent whiffle ball skills. I know, I married a good-lookin' and athletic man. Rrroooowww.

The redhead loves anything with wheels, including MC's baby doll stroller. He was so cute and so in touch with his sensitive side. I think he tossed the baby right before this picture was taken. Like I said...sensitive.

Thought I'd throw in a piece of family history for you. This is a picture of my great-great-grandparents, Robert Lafayette Owen and Margaret Elizabeth Murray Owen, born circa 1830. She has great eyebrows. I did notice, however, that she looks really peeved - probably because of something he did. He is totally oblivious to this fact. He's probably thinking about how he needs to feed the hogs and milk the cow.

So, I didn't explain that much of our weekend was spent at my grandmother's home. It is quite spacious (several of us stayed there) and holds an infinite amount of memories for all of the "tuzzins" (cousins). My dad and his siblings are facing the difficult task of going through the house and dividing up the contents among themselves and the grandchildren. Thankfully, there has been no strife, only fun. The pictures below are what transpired after my Aunt Mary brought out some of Nana's old jewelry, gloves, scarves, and the ever-popular "dicky".

(L) Jennifer sports the belt
(R) Tyson sports the "dicky" with some lovely beads

(L) Laura shows off her "jazz hands"
(R) Erin strikes a pose after she's gotten all gussied up

Here's Erin and I with all our goodies. The purse and the gloves are a good addition, don't you think? I actually got to keep those.

(L to R) cousin in-law Laura, Erin, me, Jenn, Tyson, and Sarah
**Please disregard the fact that I look gi-normous in this picture. Remember, the camera adds 10 lbs. I think three people had their cameras on us.**

You'll notice that we are all wearing our "dickies" and sporting lovely beaded jewelry courtesy of our lovely Nana. She had very good taste - well, except for the dickies - and we will get good use out of the necklaces.

Just so you know, no dickies were harmed in the making of these photographs, but many a joke was made about the dickies. Jenn had a "dusty dicky", someone's dicky got in a twist, and so on and so on. It just went downhill from there. I think I peed myself a little laughing so hard. Yes, I did just admit that.

Owen family, thanks for all the memories. I can't wait until next year.

flashback friday

Happy Fourth of July! And Happy Birthday to me!!! Yep, I am privileged to have a birthday that falls on a major holiday. Just in case you're wondering, I'm celebrating the second anniversary of my 29th birthday **cough**I'm 31!

I've never done a Flashback Friday before and this may be the only one I ever get around to, but I thought it would be fun to take you back through some pictures of my life. It was hard choosing which ones to share with ya'll.

Walk with me if you will down memory lane.

This is where it all began. I am the bun in the oven of my glowing mother in her lovely maternity frock. The little yellow bit of preciousness is my sister, Sprout Cultivator. (btw you should check her out, she's a great writer - but do that after you finish this awesome post)

Here I am at 4 1/2 months of age. Aren't I cute? Compare this to the pictures of the redhead below and you'll see who he looks like!

I love this picture. This is me my first time as a bride. I married my brother when I was 7 and he was 4. Now, before you go making all the comments about how you think you've see this story on Lifetime Movie Network, I must tell you that we had great imaginations and my brother was just a stand- in for my childhood boyfriend named Danny who left me at the altar. I think you should also know that my cute little bro wore a blue trench coat and looked absolutely adorable. My sis was the flower girl and my dad was the photographer. My sister actually used this picture as one of my bridal shower invitations.

I thought I'd throw this one in for a good laugh. Check out the glasses I'm wearing. Uh huh...we have seen the fashion circle complete itself. I think it was Kanye that sported these recently. FYI Kanye...I had them first...you probably weren't even born yet!

On March 22, 1986 my brother and I competed in the Orthapaedic Hospital Spring Thaw Footrace. I wish I still had that t-shirt. Once again, we see fashion come around full circle. Am I really old enough for that?

High School Graduation - 1995. Adios Providence High School...onto bigger and better things!

This pic here was actually taken on my birthday - 7/4/2000
My 23rd birthday. My sweet girlfriends had enough of my complaining about how I never get my own party - its always lumped in with the cookouts and fireworks. Unfortunately I quit believing that the fireworks were for me many, many years ago. They were so sweet to throw me a birthday brunch. That's me in the center in the black dress in case you were wondering.

I had to throw in a picture of my Annual Estrogen Fest girls. Every year since college graduation we have reunited at various locations for a little r & r. This was at my wedding and all but one of them was able to make it.

I will never forget this day. This is one of my first pictures with my leetle redhead following his birth. I wasn't going to post this one because I can't stand to see my 47 chins, but I wanted to show you the good, the bad, and the ugly, and this picture actually embodies all three. All I can say is thank God preeclampsia is cured with the birth of the baby - and I should give a big shout out to Weight Watchers - bye bye baby weight!

This is a 4 generation picture, taken in June, 2007. Wesley had just turned 8 months old. I am so thankful we got this picture because we lost my Nana 7 months later, this past January.

So, there's a little peek into the life that is mine. And what better day to talk about me and post pictures about me than my birthday! Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to eat some cake.

for the thousandth time...thank you

When I was younger my mother insisted that we always write thank you notes for gifts we received. I was never excited about writing said thank you notes, but always did it - and most begrudgingly. Most of the thank you notes were to my grandparents for Christmas and birthday gifts.

Several years ago, my parents were cleaning out my grandparents homes and found some old thank you notes I had written. They put them all in an envelope and gave them to me. Oh, let me tell you, it made for one interesting - not to mention funny - read. I'd like to share some snippets with you.

The first note, written on paper made to look like a piece of cheese, has a little gray mouse in the bottom left corner. I wrote the thank you note in a pen very close to the color of the yellow paper. I can only imagine how my grandparents and their failing eyes had fun with this one. There's no date on this note, but it was probably sometime around 1984 when I was 7. It says:

Dear Mama Sease and Papa, Thank you for the dress. I wear it alot. I wear the Easter dress too. I hope I get to see you soon. I hope we have a safe trip to the beach don't you. I miss Pepe (my grandparents' dog) don't you. I like when Papa said Pepi went to happy Hunting Ground.

Love, Caroline

The next thank you piece was written a couple of years later, and its only written to Mama Sease.

Dear Mama Sease, I just loved my skirt and blouse. I wore it for when all the graded chiors sing and twice to church. I can't wait to see you a Christmas. I bet Timothy has grown. Mom and I just loved the material for the blouse. We looked all over the cloth store for material for the blouse, but I glad you found it. Friday was our last day of school, and we had a party. We have this new thing we play outside, it is called Harry's and we play auto repair shop. It's really called Harry's Hardware and Car repair shop it's really fun. I hope you have a Merry Christmas.

Love,
Caroline

Could I say any more about that blouse? Geesh. If the writing wasn't indicative of a fourth grader, you'd think I was 85 years old and going to meet grumpy old men at bingo night. I wish I had a picture of "the blouse". Okay, and what the heck is "Harry's"? I do not recall that one at all, but it sounds like a smashing time - maybe the redhead would enjoy it.

The third note was from July 1989. I had just turned 12. Here's what this little gem says:

Dear Mama and Papa Sease,

Thank you for my pajamas. I love them! I wear them a lot. What are you doing? I get my braces on Thursday, Aug. 3. I'm not very good at writing long letters. This is no exception. My favorite rock group is coming to Carowinds on August 20. I'm exited. Hope to see you soon.

Love, Caroline

Obviously, at this age, I wasn't one for a lot of detail. And I love that I say, I'm not very good at writing long letters ...pashaw...look at this post! The favorite rock group?...NKOTB baby. Check out how I spelled excited.

Alright, here's the best one, at least to me. If you don't think so, leave your comments to yourself. It was written in July of 1990. Here we go...

Dear Mama and Papa Sease,

Thanks so much for the PJ's you sent me. They are perfect (underlined twice)! Has it been nice up there where you are? How is everybody? Did you hear about Riley? If you didn't, Riley is our new kitten. I can't wait until my birthday! I want to see what I got. Hope to see you soon.

Love, Caroline

P.S. Please (underlined twice) tell Bill and Marylee that I don't like New Kids on the Block any more. Thanks.

Another thank you note, another pair of pajamas. And Riley...RIP lil' buddy. You never really got the chance to live. Thankfully, Sprout, Dan-O, and I had nothing to do with that one. WHEW! Notice the post script. That's a nice touch Caro, send the message through the unassuming grandparents. Bill and Marylee are my aunt and uncle and they would get us cool concert paraphenalia (that word just upped my reading level a tad). Evidently in the ONE YEAR since I attended my "favorite rock group's" concert at Carowinds, my allegiance to them waned. Guess they didn't have "The Right Stuff". **sigh**.

Thus ends this installment of my little trip down memory lane. I'll personally write a thank you note to each of you who comment. But it won't be long because I'm "not very good at writing long letters".

This picture has absolutely nothing to do with this post, I just don't like posts without pictures, and this picture was the first one I thought to add. Meet "Edison Wise Wings". When you press his tummy he says..."Remember my friends, be grateful for what you have."

See, grateful...thank you notes...it actually does have to do with this post! HA!

Dear Diary...

Alright, I promised you some childhood diary entries, so here are some of the best ones I could find.

I believe these were written when I was in 4th grade (1986). They are presented in original form (i.e. grammar, spelling, etc.)

January 5 - Today is a school day Yuk! Well it is probably not going to be so bad after all. It wasn't so bad. I have a nice teacher sort of. Well I am having a nice year now. School is not so bad. I am having a wonderful time.

I'll take indecisive for 600, Alex!

January 15 - Dear Diary, I went to school and had a good day exept for one little part of music class messed me up! The teacher asked us to write our schelue of the day on a sheet of paper. Now do you really think thats part of music class? The rest of the day was probably uh...fair I'd say. I usually have good days at school.

These entries are from 1991 when I was in the 8th grade:

(This entry is from our trip to to Washington DC for my uncle's inauguration into the U.S. House of Respresentatives)

January 3 - Today we went for donuts at Uncle C's office. There were all these hicks that voted for Uncle C there too. They just got in the way. We watched Uncle C get sworn in. For supper we went to Hogate's. By the time I got my hamburger, I was ready to barf. But it was good. After supper, we went to the Lincoln Memorial and the Vietnam Wall.

I can't believe I wrote that about my uncle's constituents! That's really embarrassing!

February 15 - Today, Mrs. H (my science teacher) embarrassed me and Chris (guy who sat beside me who I had a crush on). I also asked him if he was going to the dance. He's not, he is going to a hornet's game (Charlotte Hornet's NBA team). I would love to dance w/him. Not anybody great was at the dance. I had fun. After it, we went to Susan's house.

February 22 - I'm bored with school except for 6th period because Chris is in there.

March 4 - Today was an ok day. I had a bad headache. Nothing much went on today. I always look forward to 6th period. Chris H. is in there. He is so fine!!!!!! (actual number of exclamation points) I just look into his eyes and about die of overwhelmness. Tell you more about him tomorrow. Talk to you tomorrow. Chow.

Then, there are no more entries. In case you were wondering, things didn't work out with Chris. He was a really nice guy though. I love how I made up a new word - overwhelmness. Pretty creative. Well, there you have it. I'm sure I just bored you to tears. I live such an exciting life, what can I say?

buried treasure

Several years ago, my mom bequeathed to me my old baby book. It actually isn't just a book, but a box filled with the baby book, old pictures, birthday cards, and various memorabilia of my earlier years. There were several precious (and hysterical treasures) in it. Walk with me, if you will, down memory lane.

Exhibit A: Diploma

Not just any diploma, but my diploma from Santa's Land. What's Santa's Land you ask? Well, Santa's Land is the home of Santa and his helpers. Isn't that in the North Pole? Well, no. Its actually in Cherokee, NC...duh. The certificate I have certifies and I quote:

"Caroline has visited Santa's Land and completed in a satisfactory manner the good conduct standards Santa requires to make his next Christmas visit and is therefore awarded this diploma."

Santa himself signed on the line as a witness.

About those good conduct standards...

There would happen to be photographic evidence to the contrary. All the polaroids we have of this glorious trip to Santa's mothership document either Sarah (my sis) or I in tears. One in particular (I wish I had it in my possession) was of Sarah and me (ages 4 and 2 respectively) standing basically in the crotch region of this gi-normous Santa (I keep typing Satan accidentally). In the picture, I am crying and trying to run away and Sarah is sweetly waiting for the Kodak moment to end.

Apparently Santa's back was turned during our visit.

Exhibit B: Self-Portrait

Now this I really wish was small enough to put on the scanner. I'll do my best to describe it to you. The date on this masterpiece is April 1982 - I was 5 years old. This "Piece" was painted, with actual paints (probably that powder paint you add water to - remember that?). I guess I live in the land of perpetual sunburn as my face is RED. I have big bug eyes and long blonde hair reminiscent of the Rapunzel braids. Just for the record, I have never had hair past my shoulders. My neck is basically a square painted yellow. Underneath my neck is my body (reminiscent of a semi-circle), painted blue. The legs are brown stick legs and to finish it off, my shoes are black circles. So, to sum up my self-portrait, I am a sunburned Rapunzel on wheels who happens to be wearing a blue "dress". Lovely.

Exhibit C: Dear Diary

My old journal entries! This will have to be a whole other post. This post is getting too long and I don't want to lose you as the best is yet to come!

Exhibit D: Senior Class Rank

For some reason, I still have the index card indicating my class rank in high school. I think they put this one out during our senior year. I was pleasantly surprised at my academic prowess. I was 43rd in a class of 456. Top 10%! I remember being a little disappointed when I saw this at first, but time has a way of putting things into perspective. There were only 42 people smarter than me at school! WOW. I didn't think I was that smart compared to all those people who took a billion AP courses per semester. I impressed myself!

Exhibit E: Youth Basketball

In 7th grade , I took a gigantic risk and tried out for a basketball team. It was a rec league and I don't think they cut anyone, otherwise I wouldn't have had to play. I had absolutely no idea what I was doing - clearly - I only scored a whopping 4 points all season (8 games)! In my defense, there were a couple girls who, as my dad would say, were "hot dogs". These girls liked to hog the ball and show how much game they had. Thus, the little people like me were ignored and never got the ball. Its quite humorous now that I think about it. Also humorous is our team picture.


That's me in all my 7th grade awkward glory, holding the ball (#13). Funny that Adam was always #13 in baseball. It must have been fate (Ha)! Anyway, I was reminded that one of my bloggy friends also played on this team. See if you can find her. If you do, you'll win the prize.

Just in case you were wondering, the "hot dogs" of the team were #20, #10, and Demi Moore on the back row.

butter me up!

My friend Katie over at wilson ramblings asked a great question regarding one of the fun facts on my fifty-one is tons of fun post.

Her question: Why did your mom smush bread and butter in your face?

Well Katie, it just so happens that I was quite the whiner when I was little (probably around 6-8ish). I came home from school one day and wanted a snack. For some reason, that day I really had a hankering for a piece of bread with butter spread on it. Let me state for the record that I do not know why I would eat this and that to my knowledge I have not eaten a piece of plain bread with butter since this event occurred. A roll with butter...yes, I will eat it. A breadstick with butter...yes, I could and would eat it. But a plain untoasted floppy piece of bread with butter...no. I would not, could not eat that now. I wouldn't eat that with a cow. I wouldn't eat it on a boat. I will not eat it with a goat. Okay, you get the picture. I digress.

The best I can remember it, the exchange between my mother and me probably went something like this:

Caroline: (in a whiny tone) I want a piece of bread with butter

Mom: (in a calm voice) Alright, give me just a minute and I'll get it for you (getting the bread and butter out)

C: (whinier) I wanna piece of bread with butter!

M: (more flustered) okay, okay, I said just a minute (buttering the bread)

C: (really whiny) ButIwannapieceofbreadwithbutter!!!!!!!

(Ending #1) - Not really how it happened

Mom: Caroline, #@$%&*$#@$*$###$%#$!!!!!!!!!!

(Ending #2) - How it really happened

Mom: (with a frustrated sigh, smashes the piece of bread with butter into my face)

C: (with a look of shock, mouth wide open, and whining) WAHHHHHHHHHH! Why did you do that?

That's all I remember. Did I deserve it? Absolutely! Do I constantly remind my mother of this moment? I don't have to because now that I'm a mom, she loves to tell the story to others. I think it was told at my baby showers and anytime that our family gets together. She's smiling on the inside now that I'm dealing with a whiner.

Payback's a b*$#@!

Remembering the Days

As I was looking for pictures to place under my blog name heading I came across this little gem...


Look at him...a 3 day old baby burrito. Wearing his tiny little gown that still managed to swallow him whole. All fresh and clean with the fuzzy red hair that we still adore. It brings tears to my eyes to think that 17+ months has come and gone so fast. I will treasure every moment. Except for the flash flood of spit-up that followed the taking of this picture. Yum.