Remembering What it was Like to Stare out the Car Window

I'm down in Florida with my hubby and his family, glad to be escaping the great snow of the century in North Carolina (and beyond). It's pretty chilly for Florida, even this time of year, but I'm glad to be soaking up the sun under palm trees and beautiful, lush flowers. Being down here is the best kind of vacation...an instant relaxation mode that reminds me of trips to Myrtle Beach to visit my grandparents over the years.

Last night on our way to see The Fighter (great movie, by the way), I looked around the car and noticed that everyone was on their smart phones - mainly playing games or looking up the random fact on Google (quote of the night, "those things can make an idiot out of anybody," which is true. I'm sure one thing the smart phones are good for is eliminating those "know-it-alls" - you know who you are and I bet you think twice before throwing something out there that can be contradicted in a click of a button. However, in terms of reducing the "know-it-alls," it's probably exponentially increased the number of "I told you so-ers," of which I subscribe).

I decided not to bring a purse, which meant going cell-phoneless. So there we are, in about a 15 minute ride and I got to thinking (most likely because I was not on my phone) about how we are obsessed with our smart phones. I will be the first to admit that I love my iphone. I feel as though I could run the world with that thing - shopping, facts, books, news - anything I want with one swoosh of my finger.

But, I got to thinking about all the years I've lived without a smart phone. Thousands of miles of car rides to and from Myrtle Beach and Charlotte and when I lived in Europe, endless train rides of silence from country to country. That was even before the ipod. Of course, I had a walkman during those days, but they say that music fosters the imagination. And as someone inclined to written and verbal communications, I like to think I have a big imagination, or at least, I used to.

If you are listening to music, but not sleeping, reading or carrying on a conversation (or my favorite, eavesdropping), the only other thing to do is to look at the window. I think of all those trips up and down the state and county highways on the way to the beach -- at least twenty years worth of beautiful scenery passing me by - the elegant rustle of Spanish moss, the sharp, dry cotton fields, old farm houses abandoned - charred from better days, and acres and acres of farm land, kudzu and forests. When you live in the city, it's hard to imagine that most of this country is still farm land or forest, undeveloped - a place where at night, the longer you stare at the sky, the more stars appear.

I can recall a great many stories playing out in my mind during those trips. Memories of days and people past, hopes and longings for the future, the occasion chuckle or tear, thinking of things that happened or fretting upon bad fortune that could come. Will my children ever think like this - just totally disconnect and let their minds wander? I hate to think that I myself have lost the know-how, lost the ability to let my mind wander and sit idly for hours upon hours, doing nothing but staring out the window as streaks of yellow and green pass me by. Each trip, we would pass these large satellite conductors - I still don't even really know what they are, but they stand about 30-40 feet in the air, reaching to the sky. They looked like four big thrones - thrones for two kings and two queens, I imagined. I thought of them holding court up in those towers, high above flowing fields of cotton and tobacco. I'm sure I knew what they were ruling, perhaps I imagined them as gods in the sky, commanding us below.

Back in the day when my parents listened to Motown on the cassette deck and I didn't have to think - what did I do, I thought and dreamed and imagined. Perhaps the smart phone is helping us be more accurate, helping us train our minds or fight boredom, but how I long for those days when my mind ran wild and my first instinct wasn't to pull out the phone and slide to unlock the latest app. My first instinct was to simply open my mind and stare out, taking in the whole wild world and taking it on in my mind.

A Perfect Christmas Eve Tailgate

'Tis the Christmas season and just when you thought the family gatherings in South Carolina couldn't get any more interesting, along comes this year's celebration.

In the good old days, it was potlucks with grandmommy's and Aunt Dora's homemade cookin (complete with all the cut pies you could eat). Then it moved to meat-and-three restaurants or K&W-type cafeterias. But this year completely takes the cake (or pie)...

It all started over Thanksgiving, when we held our family gathering at my grandmother's assisted living center in Greenville. We had a nice private room reserved for our group, complete with table service. Lunch was, shall I say, a bit on the salty side (and I love salt, so it was really, really salty), but it was definitely eatable. Eatable? Is that a new word? Definitely edible. Would I have preferred the K&W cafeteria? Probably yes, but again, the point is to visit with my grandmother. The homemade delicious meal comes the next day when my mom cooks back in Charlotte.

But, apparently, others in the family (one of my uncles to be exact), declared that we would no longer eat at the assisted living place. So, the hunt was on for a new location. Keep in mind that we are actually looking for a place in Greenville, which I think of as a fairly big city (as opposed to where my grandmother lived before, which was in Williamston, a very small town). I thought - this should not be difficult.

A week or two passes and my mom receives the new location for the Christmas Eve extravaganza - "K&W," I thought? I had also heard mention of a steakhouse, or maybe a Quincy's (are those around anymore?) or even a Denny's. Let's not be picky - anything mainstream should do just fine.

The verdict is returned and we're to go to a restaurant in Anderson County. For those of you who don't know South Carolina geography - this is the next county over from Greenville, this is not in the city of Greenville, and quite a long ride for my grandmother (the point of it all was to go somewhere close to where she lives). To start with the football analogies (hey, getting into the spirit of bowl season) -- fumble!

So, my mom decided that she would offer up some alternatives that she found in Greenville. When she emailed this suggestion to her brother, this did not go over well. First, he and his wife pulled the old stalling technique. That's where you wait to respond for about seven days, making it harder to change the plans because now there is a time crunch. (We'll equate this to taking a TV time out).

Then, they followed up with the best play of the game. A perfectly mastered plan, like a successful on-side kick run back for a touchdown. They decided that the best option was to stay at the assisted living facility, but since the food wasn't up to snuff and no one wanted to eat there - everyone would bring their own food. Score!

A potluck - so you say? Christmas is just the perfect time for sharing. Gets you into that holiday mood, feeling warm and fuzzy inside. Listening to children join hands and sing; all is right with the world.

Insert record scratch. Ooooh no...this one is "for each his or her own." We were instructed that everyone would be responsible for bringing their own food. The assisted living facility would provide drinks, but we had to bring cups. My dad has a brilliant idea: we'll have a tailgate.

I must admit that it was a a bit on the awkward side, seeing what everyone pulled out of their coolers and containers. Our family, masters of the tailgate - had a perfect meal of fried chicken from Price's Chicken Coop, southern slaw, bean and corn salad from the Laurel Market, and to top it off, banana pudding from Southern Barbecue in Spartanburg. A very delicious meal indeed.

My grandmother was definitely enjoying the tailgate theme - she managed to get samples of all the desserts at the table, so she was very happy! It was another great family visit and it seemed as though both teams won. We'll always be able to talk about the Christmas Eve tailgate, but I definitely don't anticipate it will ever happen again. My mom's already scouting new locations for next year and I think she'll be team captain for this one.

Trying to Escape the Newlywed 15

About a month ago, I was at the doctor's for my annual exam. After a hand prick to test for iron deficiencies and the blood pressure reading, it was time to step on the scales. Ah...the scales. I wasn't quite sure how this scale reading was going to go - they really never went that well my whole life (as anyone who is 5'1" and weighs more than 115 pounds would tell you). After taking a look at my weight on the scale, the nurse smiles and exclaims, "you haven't gained any weight since last year! You weigh exactly the same!"

My response was less enthusiastic, to say the least, because a lot of literal blood, sweat and tears had occurred over the past 12 months and now I was at the realization that I had nothing to show for it. Absolutely nothing - except maybe fabulous wedding pictures.

Walk (or maybe run) with me as I take you back to October of '09. The countdown to the wedding was on. Deadline: June 19. Goal: lose weight, lose inches and look my best on the biggest day of my life!

Thanks to a friend of mine from my supper club, I learned about Ultimate Crossfit. I describe it as group personal fitness, but uses a combination of weight lifting, endurance and challenging (understatement) workouts of the day (WADS) to build strength through muscle confusion (or muscle exhaustion). After suffering through the intro class feeling winded and like I just completed the toughest workout of my life, I decided it was for me. For three to four times a week I completed various Olympic weight-lifts, threw around a kettle bell, and managed handstand push-ups on my own (well, up against the wall). I felt like Rocky as I ran around the warehouse district of the South End - doing one-armed push-ups. I was hard core! A Crossfitter baby!

So, the months ticked on until it was June. My progress was incredible - the weight was falling off, but better yet, I was getting strong and lean - no more wimp. My dress fitting came, and the seamstress took it in two inches! I looked great, felt great and had lost a fair amount of weight and inches. I built back muscle and was well on my way to a size 4! Rockin' an awesome bod for the honeymoon!

With a week to go before the wedding, I think I got a little bride-psycho with the workouts. I have a tendency to over it do it a little (exhibit A: ran the Cooper River Bridge 10K once and then didn't run for a year). I went to the gym and wouldn't you know it, pushed myself not just a little, but waaay over the edge on a God awful amount of pull-ups and burpees. End result - I shredded the palms of my hands. They hurt tremendously and now I had man hands. The blisters turned into calluses that were scratchy and felt horrible (oh yeah, I would be shaking lots of hands in a few days). Probably should have thought about that earlier. Duh. I stuck to yoga during the wedding week.

When I returned from the honeymoon, I made several really intelligent decisions as a newly married woman. First, I decided the thought of going back to Crossfit was just too much for me to bear. I needed a break. So, I took a month break off working out completely. Who needed that?!? Plus, I had lost all this weight, right? I could keep it off by eating sensibly. Um-hum.

I also decided that I didn't need to be afraid of carbs for some reason - after years of not eating pasta, suddenly, this was a good idea. And oh, desserts - perfect for after lunch and after dinner. Is there candy in the break room? Give me some of that! I totally ate the hubris pie on this one - and them some.

So, now I'm back where I started...literally! But, I have a feeling that the scales would tell an even sorrier story a few months later. And, we all know that I really didn't net a "0" in the weight loss category.

I have coined this the Newlywed 15 and I'm stuck right in the middle of it! I must take action before I fulfill the "15" part of this destiny, before it gets totally out of hand and I have to buy a new wardrobe (which given the amount of Trina Turk dresses I own, that is not an option).

I played witness to this phenomenon several years back. I remember my mom leaning over to me in church one day as someone walked by, remarking..."wow, he's really puffed up like a balloon ever since he got married." I gave a smirked laugh - as if inviting karma to eventually track me down. It was the Newlywed 15, an omen of what was to come to me years later. Oh my...I have got to get it together. I cannot be a puffed balloon!

So, what I am doing? As they say in yoga, I am setting my intention. I'm back at the YMCA (no, it does not even remotely compare to crossfit and you'll only see me in classes; machines don't work!) and I've got a fresh pack good for 10 classes of hot yoga at Yoga One. There's also a site my workout buddy discovered, Daily Burn. You can log your workouts and nutrition. I even downloaded the app to my iphone.

We'll see if I can keep myself motivated. So far, I've only found one place that was truly successful for me - Ultimate Crossfit. I wish I could go back, but right now, it's not the in the cards (and truly not sustainable if I get pregnant). So, I'm off to figure out what I can do to keep the weight off and be strong once again! I will beat you Newlywed 15!!!

A Slice of Pie is Born Every Minute

Pumpkin pie, cherry pie, pecan (that's puh-can to you darlin') pie, the dreaded mincemeat pie (yuk!) and, of course, the requisite peach pie (real peaches, real pie crust or we're not true southerners honey). These pies, as well as a plethora of cakes, ambrosia and other baked goods, made quite an appearance at countless family Thanksgivings and Christmas Eves in Greenville, SC during the 1980s and most of the 90s.

When I was growing up, there were quite a few things I could be certain of happening during these family get-togethers: my uncle Steve, standing tall and lanky in his cowboy boots, would launch into entertaining stories sprinkled with conspiracy theories (the greatest being his intention to launch a line of emergency bomb shelters); my great aunt would greet everyone with "sugar" (pronounced "shuug-gah"),  leaving her pink Coty lipstick for you to wipe off your face; my great grandfather would take a nap in the family room immediately following lunch (in the same room as everyone else talking at very high volumes), and, oftentimes, my uncles would cap the festivities off by scurrying up the pecan tree to make the nuts rain down upon all of us (so we had some pecans for next year's pie). Oh, and I cannot forget, my great grandfather (prior to the nap and food), would take out his ancient camera was shaped like a box, hold it to his waist, look into the view finder and snap a family photo.

But the greatest of all events that I could count upon to happen without fail each and every single time, would occur at the dessert table. You would see beautiful cakes and pies, just sitting out so innocently on the table. They looked delicious - glimmering, trusting, yearning, just waiting for someone to eat them. Like pictures straight out of Southern Living magazine. But, the plot soon would thicken...little did they know that quickly after their arrival, something unsuspecting, something devilish, something that may be considered the antithesis to southern hospitality would happen to them -- they would meet the knife!

When I say knife, it wasn't just a few starter slices, a few slices designed to prod the bashful "I don't have room for desert" family member over the edge with easy access. No, no, no, these babies were sliced until there were no more cuts to make! Who was responsible for this desecration, you may ask? My grandmother participated, but was only a minor conspirator, an accessory to the battery being inflicted. It was my great aunt Dora who "took the cake" (of course pun intended). It was she who would attack those pies and cakes. And, she showed no mercy. She did it proudly.

My grandmother and her sister were of the Cox family clan, which has got to be one of the largest families in all of South Carolina. There was never a pie or cake that family met that it didn't like (or cut). I remember traveling with my mom out somewhere in the depths of the South Carolina heartland to a Cox family reunion. I can't remember much about the visit, but I will always remember the dessert table - there must have been about 20 desserts (all homemade mind you) - cakes, pies, delicious delicacies -- and not one was unmolested! All were cut as if to say, "if the house happens to burn down any minute and you can take just one thing, grab yourself a piece of pie for pete's sake!" Let's just say that love of slicing and dicing the pie was definitely in the Cox blood.

As being an ancestor to the Cox family and a non-picky eater, I must say that the cake and pie slicing didn't bother me. Sometimes the slicing got messy, so it was hard to get the exact slice you wanted (and let me just tell you there were no "diet" sized slices, it was like being at the Cheesecake Factory!). But, again, I wasn't bothered, and I don't think most of the family was either. But, it wasn't so for an outsider.

One holiday my great grandfather (who was in his 90s and widowed) brought the latest lady he was courting to the family gathering. She showed up with the most beautiful homemade peach pie with a perfectly brown and flakey pie top. She marched in the house, with her head held high and wearing a very pink skirt suit. She cozied up to my great grandfather and presented him with her pride and joy - the pie. In a flash, that pie was out of her hands. Aunt Dora, sensing a change in the dessert atmosphere, had commandeered the pie and whisked it off to meet its inevitable demise. In a matter of minutes, the pie resurfaced on the dessert table - sliced up clear and through in about 12 pieces. The look on the lady friend's face was priceless - she had too much southern charm to say anything unladylike to any one's face, but let's just say that we never saw her again.

I can't claim that the sudden urge to slice into a cake or pie has gotten into me yet, but I'm sure as sure as the Cox blood of my ancestors burns through my veins, this desire will manifest itself one day. I probably won't even be aware of it, until I look down and see the purty pie all cut to pieces! I will know it to be one of my Cox ancestors, bringing the hand of God down from heaven to cut that lovely pie.