Three Day Prompt Service

My family.

They're kinda funny.

Kinda weird.

Kinda OCD.

And Kinda un-punctual.


The first three are fine - I can TOTALLY deal.  However, that last one? Yea, Houston, we have a problem. 

Now don't get me wrong, it's not like they all run an hour late to everything, but a few family members in particular seem to have a hard time accomplishing tasks in a prompt manner.

This post is not about them.

Instead, it's about the only member of my family who is even slightly close to my version of "on time."

To my older sister, Renee', "on time" is five minutes early.  Thank you, finally someone shares my belief.  Perhaps this is why she took me by surprise the other day. 

You see, about a week ago I was in the kitchen gathering the materials for a new cookie recipe (which is seriously the last thing I shoulda been making) when I nearly died of cardiac arrest as soon as I opened the cabinet.

To my surprise, the pound of Crisco I KNEW was in there somewhere was *suspenseful music* MISSING!

That's right.  Gone.  Without a trace.  Missing in action.  Nowhere to be found.  

Thankfully, after a few heart pounding minutes of searching aimlessly, it was recovered and returned to the proper place.  As soon as my heart palpitations subsided and my breathing returned to normal, I sent a text to my older sister who lives three hours away from Mayberry, across a state line in a land of sushi and stoplights.

Ok, after reading the conversation, do you see the problem?  I sent that message to her on Saturday.  When I got the text Tuesday I couldn't help but laugh. 

Three days. 

Do you know the types of things that happen in three days?  Jesus' resurrection, Labor Day weekend, how long you have to stay home after a bad eyebrow wax. 

Life.  Changing.  Events.

Three days, all because she forgot to hit "send."  Too bad my fat thumbs hit it too easily each time I try to type the letter "p."

That time of year again

Remember about this time last year when I told you about this thing that goes down in my hometown?

Well... it's back!

 

Yes, the Corn Festival parade was alive and well this year!  And I had the great privilege of holding a microphone during the shindig alongside one of my mentors... the station manager of the local radio station.  He's like another dad to me, and he hates to draw attention to himself so I suppose I will.  JOHNNY R IS THE BEE'S KNEES!  You should listen to him sometime.  I recommend from 8 am to 10 am Monday through Friday.

There, I told you about the awesomeness that is my old boss.  He's gonna kill me now. 

Moving on....

 

 

Here, our county's high school marching band made their way downtown as the crowd sang along to the familiar tune of the school song.

 

Yes, that's a 1958 International Corn Picker. 

Sadly, I didn't get many pictures of the floats since I was kinda busy running my mouth for the duration of the parade.  However, this is the mass chaos which erupts once the last float has passed and the police cruiser signals the end of the line.

  

And of course at the end of the parade everyone wants to know which business, organization, church or community sports team had the best float.  The winner gets to flaunt this trophy until next year's Corn Festival parade and their name will be engraved with their respective year.

This year's winner was one of the local hardware stores whose float paid tribute to our county's bicentennial celebration.  

Too bad I was too busy talking to snap a picture for ya.

362 Miles Later

Busy.

Touching.

Fantastic.

Eye-opening.

Joyful.

Refreshing.

All of which can describe the last 48 hours. 

Sure, Friday night was wonderful with it being football season in Mayberry.  My county's high school team beat a neighboring county. 41-16.  Now that's how I wish each season's home opener could go.  But, silly me left her camera in the truck so you have zero pictures of a smoky Friday night football stadium, super-spirited high school students, mid-50s radio announcers with binoculars calling play by play action and many confused concession stand volunteers.  Maybe I'll remember to take some pictures at a game before the season ends.

But, the weekend doesn't end on Friday night.  Thank the Good Lord!

 

Saturday: (n) the seventh day of the week, following Friday.

But guess what else Saturday means - it's also the day to get married!

So, yesterday I had the privilege of driving a couple or three hours southeast to see a college friend, Haven,  tie the knot.  Plight one's troth. Get hitched.  Walk down the aisle.  Take vows.  You get the idea.


The beautiful outdoor ceremony was held down by the lake about 3 hours from Mayberry.  Luckily, the directions to the site told me to drive through my alma mater, meaning two things: 1 - I can swing by and see another college friend and grab a bite to eat as we catch up on each other's lives and 2 - I can ride through campus to see what kind of construction they have going on now.  I believe that is completely do-able.  
  
Crystal and I met up for lunch at a Japanese place (completely new to me, since I don't touch ANY Asian food) because I told her I wanted to try sushi.  Yes.  Sushi.  Yes, you read correctly when I just said that I don't eat Asian food. 


It was on my bucket list. I had no choice.  Ok, really I did have a choice, so I did eat the sushi.

The verdict:  Sushi is alright in my book.  Now, I'm not saying I could eat it everyday, but it's a nice change from the ordinary.  Plus, the closest eatery with sushi from my house is over an hour away.  


Moving on, the second stop on my passing-through-college-town-day-trip:

Ahhhh....

It smelled like a grilling festival (because there was a some serious tailgating going on for game day) and looked like it had back when I was the one in stands waving the red towel.  I realize you might not understand the red towel part unless you went to this school.  Maybe you should google it.  

Wow, I feel so much better!

Where was I?  Oh yea, my friend's wedding....

She's beautiful.  Inside and out.  And he's lucky.

Don't worry, he knows how lucky he is.  I told him.  58 times.

 

There she is with her Dad walking her down the aisle.  My eyes may or may not have gotten misty right about now.  Ok, I can't lie to you.  They got misty.  I turned to my friend Heather's boyfriend who was sitting next to me and told him that crying doesn't count for weddings, funerals and during any church service.  

I'm tough, and tough girls aren't permitted to cry except for those places.  Yea, I made that up.  I'm really a sentimental chicken, not a tough girl.  But I still hate crying.

A few passages of scripture, a couple of vows and one smooch later, bada bing, bada boom! We've got a married couple on our hands.

The happy couple begins their new life together!  But let's not get ahead of ourselves.  There's still food to be eaten and people to mingle with.

Oh, and Haven had to drive the houseboat.  She's so friggin cute like that.

My camera blurred.  Dang flash.

 

Many photo ops were taken.

 

Oh, and we might have eaten cake. 

It happens.

Thank you Haven and Broady for tying the knot and for allowing me to be there to help share the special day with you!  I wish you many, many years of happiness and know that you two will make it.  Like Heather said: you have the love that fairy tales are made of.

From the backroad

 

 Do you ever need to clear your mind?
 

Get away from people.

Take a drive.

 Lose cell phone reception.

 Make people wonder if you'll be back in 30 minutes or 30 hours.

Blast the radio as loud as it can go.

Sing along to every single song to the top of your lungs.

Make the fish jump when you laugh.

Simply enjoy the peace and quiet as you sit with your toes in the water.
 

Point your truck back down that gravel road and head back to the real world

Only to feel exactly like this sad looking tree in the bean field: a little random and misshapen yet still in the absolute perfect place.

Bambi's Momma

Warning: Don't read this post if you're one of those people who can't stand to see a dead critter on the side of the road or if you cried when you realized where hamburgers come from.

It all started Saturday night around six o'clock when I realized I had no plans whatsoever for the evening.  To rectify the situation, I sent a text to my friend Samantha asking her what was going on in the county.  She informs me that she, her husband Stephen (who has literally known me since my diaper days) and our friends Cori and Jake were hanging out at there house where they were grilling burgers and hotdogs on the bonfire. 

Game on.

It had been a couple weeks since I'd been down there and figured that was just what I needed for the funk I had found myself.  So I climbed into my truck, fired it up and headed 15 miles south to the one-stoplight town where Sam and Stephen live.  After a few hours of girl talk inside on the couch with Sam and Cori while the guys sat outside listening to music, a couple of us jumped in the pool for a bit and Cori and I even attempted a game of one on one volleyball while the guys sang along to old school and outlaw country music on a local radio show.  Before I knew it, The clock said it was 1 am.  That left three of us sitting outside talking, carrying on and having a little fun texting someone who mistakenly believed my cell phone number belonged to someone else.  We are an easily entertained bunch. 

But next is when the fun began.  Well, actually, it wasn't fun at all.

Around 2 am I decided it was time for me to head home since I had to be at church in 5 and a half hours.  AS I'm leaving Samantha and Stephen's house, Stephen tells me at least 4 times to call him when I got home so he knew I'd made it in one piece.  "There's a front coming in and those deer are gonna be moving!  I know how you drive and you need to slow down!"  I couldn't argue with him - a cold front was moving in, the wind was picking up and I do have a lead foot.  The last thing I needed was to mack a deer.

I pulled out of his driveway and waved goodbye as I reassured him that I'd be fine. 

Thirteen miles later, on the rural highway where I learned to drive with the windows down, radio on and a speed of 40 mph (I promised Stephen I'd go slow), something happened.

A big bodied doe came running across the highway from the corn field to the east.  Sure, I was able to slow down some, but he went splat.  Immediately, I stop the truck and grab my mag-lite to check on the damage, but the deer is nowhere in site.  I ran it over!  I felt the thump!  It has got to be dead.  Upon further examination, its fate was realized as my light hit the edge of my grandfather's corn field down an embankment.

Poor girl!  (Yes, she's a girl, I just covered up her girl parts since you don't wanna see those)  But check out those legs.  Dadgum!

But I know what you're really concerned about....

 

 Bubba the truck is on bedrest.

 

He's got a busted up lip

 

And a big ol shiner on his eye.

But it seems his nose is gonna be alright.  

Thank goodness for insurance and a good auto-body repair man, huh?