around these parts

 

 

 

1. on the way to study scripture by the lake. pablo had just woken up, so excuse his bedhead.
2.  springtime, everyone loves you already. you can stop showing off now. 
3. hotel room in the middle of the afternoon, in the middle of nowhere, north carolina. getting ready to see a community play that ended up blowing us away.
4. one of many pit stops on the way home this weekend. cliffs of the neuse state park. a playground in the fifties, it sits empty in these cool spring months. perfect for frolicking and wasting time.

i love weekends, and getaways. and weekend getaways. life is moving slow these days, and that's good by me.

thankful today

i came home yesterday morning at an hour more atuned to morning than night. only two before i usually wake. from a night on the town with my best girlfriends and my new high heels. celebrating the end of her singlehood. there were pink feathered boas, a diamond-encrusted goblet, and a chocolate cake with fondant tassles.

you were asleep, as i imagined. the old blanket curled at your feet. pablo greeted me at the door and fell to his little knees with joy on the hardwoods, stretching out beneath my hands.

i pulled up the blanket around you and left you peaceful on the couch, your arm above your head as i've come to expect. i thought you'd sleep as late as i did, and we would ring in the morning together. it was with a little sink of disappointment that i awoke at ten and remembered your weekend work assignment.

but then i drug my sleepy self into the kitchen and found your surprise. a crock-pot full of fiesta chicken, with the recipe still pulled up on my ipad.

i am thankful for nights out. i am thankful for girlfriends that knew me when i still had the gap between my teeth and my stutter was invariably worse than it is now. for the beauty they bring to my life. the femininity.

and i am thankful, too, for you. for your trust and lack of interrogation. for the evidence that you tried to stay awake for me. and for the humble act of love you left me yesterday.

i'm just very thankful today, for all of it.

our plans, and His

sometimes, your best laid plans get washed.

sometimes, you pay out the ears for a groom and a haircut for your pup.

you put your own hair in one of those "i'm so hippie and free yet this took me quite a while to do and required more bobby pins than a real hippie probably owns" topknots.

you wear your new shoes handed down to you from your mama. the ones that didn't quite fit her feet and came along on the exact evening the tennis shoes you've had since high school decided to shed themselves  as you walked down the driveway.

you wear your favorite shades and your t-shirt with a pickle on it, and you're feeling pretty fabulous as you start out for the dirt road, just a pretty sunday evening in june.

then, the heavens open up and from nowhere at all black clouds spin into view.

you start walking fast, then a little faster, almost to a power walk (because even in the most dire of circumstances, running must be avoided)

and you realize you're still a good half mile from home and the rain is pounding furiously

then, you look down and see your fluffy, manicured, pampered, prissy pooch

soaked to the bone with his held thrown back

taking the water square in the face

jumping up and down and wagging his tail harder than you've ever seen
happy as a lark

deliberately jumping in every.single.puddle on the way home

and you realize that sometimes
God's got better plans in store than yours.

back from the beach

 

 

 

it's a funny thing, leaving the ocean. shaking the sand out of your shoes and hair and getting into a hot car to ride the hot miles back home. this reddening of skin and lightening of hair. there's a physical and spiritual transformation that happens on those shores.

somewhere between riding bicycles at sunset and trudging our sore feet to the italian ice shack to eat a pint a day of the delicious, creamy treat, between helping grandparents up the stairs and sitting around an old table with them, between the late mornings and midnight movie screenings and long walks amid shells we find ourselves kinder. gentler. our hard, stressed, working, maxed-out bodies eroded like the old houses on the far end of the island, with sandbags against their bases and wind-decayed shutters.

but nothing sleeps like your own bed, and nothing feels as sweet as walking barefoot in your own kitchen, even when juggling piles of laundry from a weekend away.

p.s. that picture of robert's grandparents just melts my heart. that's what this life is about. more than anything else. that right there.

**today is the last day to enter my mixed tape giveaway project. i'll start compiling the songs this week and pick a winner by monday!

to see it again

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there are few things i enjoy more than seeing someone experience afresh and anew something i've long taken for granted.

it happened with the song "passing afternoon," when i made my sister three iron and wine cds just so she could fall in love with them. and in love she has stayed.

it happened again when i gave robert a collection of short stories by gabriel garcia marquez. we'd lie together on his twin bunk bed in the middle of the afternoon, his head propped up against the wall and mine against the window, reading out loud to each other as college kids trampled outside in the hall.

it happened also to robert when he took me up into the little alcove on the hilltop that overlooked the lake. the little nest of bushes and shrub that he used to immerse himself inside as a child. his hiding spot no longer secret.

tonight, we are taking robert's grandparents to the beach. armed with a pair of new culottes for her and bullfrog sunscreen for him, as well as a supply of homemade chocolate pound cake for us all. to see them walk on warm sand toward a cerulean sea for the first time in many, many moons.

because yes, they've seen the ocean. but when there are years between visits, when there are babies and grandbabies and gardens and three meals a day and cancers and needlework and bluebird mornings between the first and last time they've walked on a pier,

it's time to go again. time to dip again. dance again. feast again. and not take one minute of drenching sun for granted. like us beach bunnies and teenagers and lovers of the forever summer tend to so often do.

a burial and a burr patch

this weekend was beautiful. we sent nanno off with a full military funeral, some special big band music, and a slideshow that didn't leave a dry eye in the room.

in other news, pablo broke his leash on saturday, ran into the woods, frolicked in a burr patch for five minutes, and came out looking like this.

when it's a weekend and no vet or groomer is available, parents have to do what parents have to do.

we shaved him with my dad's beard trimmers.

hope your weekend was equally lovely!

a life on main street

robert and i spent the day in lexington on saturday. a place with people! after being quarantined in our cottage after my bout with a cold that just wouldn't quit, to be among the living again was a sheer blessing.

the thing i love about lexington is this: it is frozen in time.

it's like the downtown portion of main street that's filled with old storefronts that, when the sun hits them just right as it sets, fill you with nostalgia and make you want to walk among them for hours.

but the whole town is a little main street. with old evening gown and tuxedo rental shops, reminiscent of a time when people got dressed up more. an old hardware store right in the middle with millions of aisles filled with little knick knacks and farm tools only desired by red-faced men in overalls.

i swear, there are times i wish the whole world was a main street, and all we did was hop from one cute little shop to the next as we lived out our days among the concrete.

but life's pretty sweet, if not downright delectable, where the concrete ends.

but to sit at an old pharmacy soda shop and sip a sour limeade isn't a shabby way to spend a saturday morning, that's for certain.

dear abby

i'm driving to virginia today to spend the weekend with one my closest friends.

the one i met my first night of college, when she poked her head into my dorm room to introduce herself. hours later, i wrapped up in a blanket, walked across the hall and talked with her into the night. the one who sat with me as i laid on my twin bed in misery, two days into a break-up with robert. who put up with my late night study sessions, my part-time job at the newspaper, and my penchant for extra-fizzy cheerwine that would spew across our futon. who sat in the dorm basement with me every monday as we dove into the Bible, and slipped notes of faith and encouragement under my door in our apartment.

who rode overnight with me to the beach in robert's van, with the music too loud, sleeping on the sand, and two years later, made the trek to my hometown to be there when robert proposed.

she stood up with me at our wedding and i'm beyond honored to stand at hers in march.

congratulations, abby. let the bachelorette weekend commence!

blind as night that finds us all

is there anything more still than wheels on a black, empty highway? than streetlights and billboards dancing with energy, doing a silent rumba for weary late night travelers? like a shopping mall at closing time, or a grocery store in the wee hours of morning, where everyone, everywhere, has not yet charged to day-mode. i rumbled down I-40 on monday night with a coffee in the drink well and my arm against the robert.

we made our way down to raleigh only moments before the flood gates of rush hour let loose and a million sedans and pickups came barreling our way. we got there early, and ducked into one of our old college haunts, a little seafood shack at the farmer's market. but no one wants seafood on a cold, rainy monday in january. so it was deserted, save a few tired waitresses and an older gentleman waiting for his take-out order.

we drove around campus and looked at the buildings. oh remember when you would meet me there and we'd walk to class together? remember that time you brought me tacos in the middle of the day, and i left class and ate them in the hallway? remember that night we fought under those shade trees? and the morning we met there again to make amends?

it's a four-hour round trip to raleigh from our house. for my night classes. i skype typically, but i wanted to be there in person for our first class of the semester. and he went with me. just like he has before, and will again. because he's good and kind.

it was only when i got to my classroom door that i realized my class wasn't meeting until tuesday.

all that way for nothing.

but on the way home, we stopped for more coffee. and we played music into the heavy fog and made a list on the back of a post office receipt of all the trips we wanted to take this year. and somewhere between myrtle beach and the lake superior circle tour, i stopped and looked at him, hands on the steering wheel, mouth gaped open, laughing.

and i understood the purpose, the divine order, to our ill-planned trip.

can't take him anywhere

last time we took pablo to the park, he spotted another dog. it went a little something like this:

oh, hi. would you look at that? another bichon.

oh wait, he's coming closer.

mama, he's coming CLOSER.

MAMA!!!!

needless to say, we left. 

this weekend, it was in the high sixties and sunny in our little corner of north carolina. so we tried again.

we left early and excited, with the promise of a day spent by the water, under the shade trees.

but every other dog owner in the surrounding 99 counties must have had the same idea, and there were dogs, huge dogs, everywhere.

this time, pablo didn't even make it to the ground, content to stay in my arms. 

and not until we found a greenway where there were more walkers and bike riders than canines, did he his little heart still.

so maybe i have a sissy dog.

maybe he was in an abusive home for five years where he was picked on as the runt, until one evening in november we rescued him.

maybe he's more comfortable lounging on a microfiber sofa eating treats and receiving excellent belly rubs than running in the dog park. 

maybe (absolutely) he needs to be properly trained by cesar millan.

maybe i shouldn't have gently pushed him down the slide at that elementary school playground we passed.

but an extra half hour with my baby in my arms? if it's all right by him, it's all right by me.

the rock candy's melted, only diamonds now remain

 

 

let it be known that i love sleeping in. this is a new-found phenomena, one gently and slowly revealed to me through marriage to a man who relishes his rest. who, with one arm draped over his head, will sink into the mattress and soak up all the deliciousness that cool sheets and a warm quilt can offer. and for a girl used to going to bed with the sun still draping himself over the countryside, and rising before he pokes his head up over the hills, i have truly learned the beauty and importance of a deep, sound sleep.

but sometimes, oh sometimes. there's just nothing quite like a morning in the country. with shed lights peeping on with the wind and oak branches spinning outside. with frost on the ground and over the lampposts.

this morning, i woke at five and made country ham. i sat in an old farm kitchen and warmed my hands on a coffee mug as the meat simmered and spat in the skillet. and i drug mr. sleepyhead himself into the bright yellow chairs. the morning still black, we talked and ate. and slowly, ever so slowly, we awoke. to the day. to ourselves, to each other. and i declare, it was almost better than a late morning snuggled next to the window. almost.

an adultnapping

robert and i are leaving in a few hours to take my brother to the carolina mountains. a weekend spent in the heart of the blue ridge, with early morning pancake house visits and late night walks around still, black lakes. of a lykki li and first aid kit concert inside an old, echoing music hall.

i first wanted to title this post "a kidnapping," because that's what we're doing--stealing him away from life for a few days to breath in air that's a little colder, a little more filling.

but the problem is, he's not a kid. before i could gather him in my arms and ask time to slow down, he grew. from riding his skateboard, to driving to applying for college. he leaves this spring. so, adultnapping it is.

on a semi-related note, adult napping is exactly what i want to be doing right now. filling my veins with lots of black coffee after last night's premiere of the latest twilight installment. yes, i hopped on that bandwagon. and yes, i thought this movie was one of the best. chugging through today with the tree-topped peaks soon on the horizon.

what to do when it rains in carolina

 

this weekend was spent under a cloud of mist. like a warm blanket straight out of the dryer, the haze hung against us, cocooning us. in our beds. our homes. our shopping malls.

and when it rains in north carolina, especially after a particularly dry patch of sunshine that lasted into the evening, there are only a few things left to do. we beat the sludge by staying indoors, ushering in a new season by letting our senses go amok, wild even.

we went to the local county fair. this fair is small. the kind where you don't even want to think about how quickly the rides were put up and you can easily tell the hoops on the basketball toss are ovals, skewed so no child can win that illusive inflatable baseball bat. we ate country ham sandwiches as the sun set, and learned way more than we ever needed to know on the art of beekeeping from our local chapter.

then, on saturday, we indulged in live music. in .75 iced lattes sipped in a dark bookstore basement. listening to a band who wore flower garlands in their hair and on their mics. we ate frozen yogurt too heavy to finish, with hot fudge like i haven't had in years.

it was a good weekend, this rainy one. a good scrubbing of september to make way for the wash of october.

a southern girl meets soul food

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there were a few times i thought we'd found it.

there was that little mexican diner on the outskirts of town, with the pineapple pork sopes. that time we ate in the rain after work, pablo waiting in the car. then there was that pizza joint right by the house, with the lotto machine against the dark back wall. the dim lights and the waitress with the ruby lipstick. after a horrendous day at work, the greasy dough went down like manna.

but two weeks ago, we finally found that little hole in the wall we've so desperately sought for so long.

it's called becky's and mary's. there is no sign out front and the only way you wouldn't just drive right past it is by word of mouth. oh, and this article. becky and mary are sisters and together, along with their brother dennis, they have been dishing up soul food in high point since 1961.

the first time we went, we discovered the fried chicken, with its crispy golden crust and buttery meat. there were black-eyed peas and collard greens. homemade potato salad and rice with a deep brown gravy. on saturday, we went back, for candied yams and more rice. moist cornbread. sweet tea with a splash of lemonade. robert tried the juicy porkchop.

the sisters write orders on post-it notes and the food comes out on styrofoam plates with plastic utensils.

it's become a weekend tradition, our new little spot. where people say bless your heart and there's no such thing as an empty cup. i think we found our little soul nook beside the worn out church. it's not fancy, but then again, neither are we.

camping with an eagle scout, on his birthday

 

i married an eagle scout.

i'm reminded of this every time we take an evening walk and he points out the constellations. when he tries to teach me the cardinal directions, only to grow frustrated when i insist that north is always the direction right in front of me. he's thoughtful, considerate and most of all, prepared.

when we first went camping, the packing took days. he thought of every last detail, down to a funky light that hung from the tent and cast a pretty glow. he brought pots and pans for boiling pasta, a tarp in case it rained, and a lantern that stayed in the box the entire time.

so for his birthday, i surprised him. when he picked me up at work for our "dinner date" i showed him my car. i rose with the sun on friday morning and packed everything we would need for an impromptu camping trip at the local park. with the floorboards sighing with morning, i got his clothes and toiletries together and packed a bazillion blankets to shield us from north carolina's weekend cold front. i told him to bring pablo.

and together, we set up camp in less than half an hour. and i zipped us three up inside and held them both close as rain bounced off the tent. we talked and ate lunchables deep into the morning.

happy birthday, babe. you're the best, scouts honor.

cabins, floral sheets and rockers

driving through the country this weekend, robert and i stumbled upon this little campground. robert used to visit here with his family when he was younger.

for two weeks in the heat of summer, people congregate here. they worship and feast and fellowship under the big tents. cabins are passed down through generations, and every cabin has a front porch rocker.

and i was a bit in love with the whole place.

a date with two boys

there were two sets of puppy dog eyes staring at me when i awoke on saturday.

one set was attached to robert, snuggled in the yellow blanket, hair damp from a summer night in the country. the other was attached to pablo, nestled between the folds of the sheets, half closed from a lingering dream.

and for the life of me, i just couldn't chose one set. couldn't leave one behind to spend the day alone. so we all three went. on the saturday drive intended for only two. to a little diner hours away where we could get BLTs and sky-high peach ice cream cones. we drank sweet tea out of styrofoam cups and sat under umbrellas. and suddenly, a date turned into a family affair.

one day, i know there will come a time when romance is planned out, and something will happen to interfere. a baby will cry. children will have bad dreams and want to snuggle. it's inevitable. and honestly, after this weekend, i kind of can't wait. we've got plenty of love to go around, it seems.

lobster tacos and people watching

robert and i have a little game we like to play called "it's a day that ends in y, wanna get mexican food?"

it's quite a fun game, really.

we found ourselves deep in the city on saturday night. with a sleepy pup at home and nowhere to be for hours. we sat in deep booths and ate lobster tacos, lapping up a long supper. then we got coffee and sat outside and people watched. i used to think the airport was the best place to do this. but really, anywhere with a bench and a close proximity to wal-mart is a sure bet as well.

there's something about mexican restaurants that makes me never want to leave. i can't tell if its the spunky decor, with the sombreros on the walls and the vibrant tiled floors, or the divinely decadent food. the guacamole is the deciding factor for me. i once loved a mexican restaurant until i was served a bowl of entirely creamy, totally smooth guacamole. no thank you.

we ended the night driving through back roads all the way home, sinking into the couch to catch up on E! news before bed.

a man who loves salsa and lets me indulge in celebrity gossip? did i make a good choice or what?

good ol' volks

like the colors of bubble gum pink and baby blue swirled on my tie-dyed top, so the people of the high country bus festival blended. there were past-the-glory-days hippies walking around with dream catchers and headbands. there were sweet mamas and papas bathing their babies in the river. there were great danes and labrador retrievers swimming in the warm water and teenagers sitting in a circle on the great big rocks that broke up the current.

and then there was us. my bearded husband, intelligent brother and his devastatingly fashionable girlfriend. just a couple of kids from the triad, deep in the heart of the carolina mountains. we hopped on intertubes and spent two hours floating lazily down the river, warming our faces in the morning sunshine. we listened to live music (you've got to check out the honeycutters--a delicious blend of patti griffin and emmylou harris and all sorts of good folksy roots).

on the particularly balmy saturday afternoon, we drug our air mattresses onto the riverbank and slept under the shade trees. we woke to raindrops.

then, from 4 pm. until midnight, the sky let loose in a thunderous, dramatic and loud display of prowess. it absolutely poured. so hard that our little tent shook. we crammed ourselves inside and dove under warm blankets. then, for the next six hours, we stayed there. we ate pop-tarts and drank bottled water. we read books and my brother played his mandolin. we talked and told stories and stayed awake long past quiet hours, the next night's live music, an old bluegrass band, playing in the distance.

then, when night fell on the camp and the bluegrass started to fade, we got out some speakers and played cat power in the darkness. and lying there, three people i love to the left of me, listening to cat's deep rasp float between us, i closed my eyes and finally slept.

it was a fabulous weekend, and integrating myself back into reality has proved quite cumbersome. yes, for many it was a weekend of parties. for some, it was a weekend of children and animals and music. but for me, it was a weekend of beauty. of God's great nature and man's great machine. co-existing and cohabitating the same blessed space.