People of Arkansas

I hate it when people make judgements about me based on the fact that I live in Oklahoma.  I have had actual people look me right in the eye and ask if there are still buffalo, Indians, and teepees in Oklahoma.

And in case you're wondering, the answer is no.  There are skyscrapers, and freeways, and golf courses.  I've seen buffalo IN THE ZOO. 

So today, when I traveled to Arkansas for the first time, I was determined not to paint the state with a broad brush.  I did NOT want to judge.

And yet.

So far today I have encountered MANY people with FEW teeth.

Now granted, I've only been to gas stations and (even worse) Walmart.  So I'm STILL determined to withhold judgement.

But I swear, I'd better see a LOT more teeth tomorrow, or I might have to believe the rumors.



BTW, have you seen People of Walmart?  My goodness, it makes me weep for our future.

Sixth Sense

My family and I have been invited to stay with some friends in their lake house in a few weeks.  Four days of boating and (more importantly) catching up with long lost friends.  We are all so excited.

Since the trip is approaching, I called my friend to find out the specifics (will we need sleeping bags? how much food should we bring? Is there a washer/dryer?).  After we discussed the nitty gritty, we moved on to chatting about the drive time (SIX HOURS. Eeep!), and the lake itself (which is, apparently, beautiful).

The conversation eventually got around to their lake home, about how excited they were to buy it a year ago, about what a steal of a deal it was. 

And that's when she said it.

"Well, have I ever told you why we got such a good deal on the house?".

*Gulp*

Apparently, someone committed suicide in the basement.  AND GUESS WHERE MY FAMILY AND I WILL BE SLEEPING?

Yes.  The basement.

And when she told me, I LAUGHED! And I found myself saying "oh PLEASE", and "that's no big deal".  And the truth is, it ISN'T a big deal.  It really isn't.

And yet.

I've had more run-in's with The Spooky than I'd care to admit. 

Once, about a year after my dad passed away, my son (then only 3) turned to me one afternoon when we were alone together and said "why is that man crying?".  Since we were alone, I asked "what man?".  And he pointed his wee finger at a photograph of my father as a little boy.  He was smiling in the photo.  Not crying. Smiling.  And yet William kept insisting that it was a MAN and he was CRYING.

Freaky.

And then, about 6 months ago, Paige (who has never known my dad, and rarely even hears his name) asked me if Grandpa Noble would be at my weekly lunch with my Aunt Susie.  Which was odd on many levels since 1) how the heck did she know his name? (if I *do* talk about my dad, I certainly don't refer to him as "Grandpa Noble") and 2) my dad had lunch with my Aunt Susie every single week until he died. 

Probably nothing.  But still.  Freaky.

Does this mean I've had encounters with actual, what? GHOSTS? Just typing that WORD makes me feel like a lunatic.  And does sleeping in a basement where a person lost their life mean that I will have a personal encounter with an angry spirit who is unable to cross over to the, um, OTHER SIDE and will therefore haunt me and my family until we run screaming from the house in the dead of night only to be murdered by a man with a chainsaw wearing a hockey mask?

Of course not. 

Right?  OH MY GOD PLEASE TELL ME I'M RIGHT.

Surface of the Sun

.

Remember how I started off the summer complaining about the unbearable heat?

Yeah.  About that.

Turns out, the month of July was not only the hottest EVER on record for our state, but it was the hottest on record FOR THE ENTIRE NATION.  EVER.  In the history of record keeping (going back to 1895).*

See?  I TOLD YOU IT WAS HOT.

*Source: http://www.tulsaworld.com/news/article.aspx?subjectid=100&articleid=20110808_100_0_GaryMc463051#

Weekend Lessons

Things I learned on my ski vacation*:

1. I learned to take my back foot out of my ski.

Skillz.

2.  I learned to take my back foot out of my ski WITH someone else next to me.

Skillz: They're multiplyin'.

3. I learned to ski with no hands. 

Look Ma! Fat Thighs ARE good for something!

4.  I learned that you have to watch my SIL veeeery closely while skiing.



She's sneaky.



5. I learned to ski on the disk BACKWARD.



I also learned that my hiney is HUGE. 



6. I learned that building a pyramid can lead to bruising.

My legs look like I took a hammer to them.

7. I learned that when my SIL says "lets build a knee board pyramid!", that it might not turn out as cool as we'd hoped.

He looks like he's riding on two turtles.

8. I learned that even a three year old can ski if properly motivated.

And with the right teacher.

9. I learned that a seven year old is harder to motivate.

This right here?  Cost me ten bucks.

10. I learned that, when holding on to the back of a knee board, you should not position your nose near Paige's, um, crack. 

Why, of COURSE she tooted.  I TASTED it.  And it was also HOT. *GAG*

*There are not enough words to properly thank our hosts.  Mike and Donna, we are SO grateful.  Truly.

Preview

We went to the lake this weekend.

And I was able to cross something off of my bucket list.

Item #28: Build a water ski pyramid.  *Check*

I'll tell you all about it tomorrow.

Tonight I'm laying in my own bed wondering how much ibuprofen I can legally take.

BPFSS

Last Friday night we went to the movies.  Just the four of us. 

iPhones do not take good pictures in the dark. FYI.

Going to the movies was a first for us.  Up until now, we'd thought Paige (barely 3) was a bit too young.  But, the animated movie "Rio" was playing at a nearby dollar theater (which is a misnomer, as all movies are TWO dollars. Ahem).  We figured if Paige couldn't sit still for the duration of the film, we'd only be out $8.

Well, that's not entirely true.  We all know the ticket is only PART of the price of admission to the movies.  Then there's the popcorn.  And the drink.  And maybe some Milk Duds (which I only eat while watching a movie... otherwise they are totally unappealing.  Why IS that?). 

And since we were not quite sure how this whole going-to-the-movies-with-a-toddler thing was going to pan out, we decided to do the old Big Purse Full of Smuggled Snacks Trick.

You do this, right?  Pack a big purse with items bought (for a MUCH cheaper price) at a convenience store so as to avoid giving the movie theater approximately one arm and one leg for the exact same stuff?  Please say I'm not the only criminal one.

As I was packing my contraband (juice boxes and crackers) I was reminded of a story my husband and his brothers LOVE to tell from their childhood about their mother.  And before I tell you, I should remind you that Dave's mother is a very fine, upstanding, respectable woman.  She would no more steal than the man in the moon.

At the time this story takes place, Pam had THREE boys (two of them teenagers) to feed during a movie.  That, my friends, is a LOT of popcorn and candy and cokes.  To buy such things at the movie theater would have required her to take out a second mortgage on her home.  And perhaps sell some plasma.

And so it was that Pam decided pack herself a Big Purse Full of Smuggled Snacks.  She stopped at a convience store prior to the movie and allowed the boys to pick out candy and drinks.  And I suppose she had smuggling on her mind, because she began ripping things off the racks AND SHOVING THEM INTO HER PURSE.  Like a common shoplifter!

I'll wait here while you clutch your pearls.

Dave swears if he hadn't noticed what she was doing and yelled "MOM!" (which snapped her out of it right quick), we'd all be visiting her in prison to this very day.

Blush. Blanche. Bliss.

Yesterday afternoon I escaped the heat for a few hours by attending a play in downtown Oklahoma City.  The performance was held at our Civic Center.  The "big", "fancy"auditorium in our city.  The one where you go to hear the symphony.  The one that hosts The Nutcracker at Christmastime. 

Yesterday, I saw A Street Car Named Desire.  And I sat in the best seat in the house.  Right up close.  Right in the middle. 

You see, the leading role (no, not Stella, the other one - the one who goes crazy) was played by my dear friend, Alissa.  And she had a special ticket set aside just for moi.  I know! I'm very special.

Alissa was (is) a Real-Live Bonafide Actor.  She moved here from LA (because of family) and now teaches acting at my Alma Mater (the University of Oklahoma.).

I agreed to go see her performance on the premise that I'd never really seen her act.  I wanted to! I was looking forward to it.

Until it happened.

When she walked out onto the stage, I felt awkward.  Like I do when I stumble upon my kid pretending to be Thomas the Train (complete with British accent).  I was a little embarrassed.  Like I was witnessing my friend up there pretending like a 4 year old.

I squirmed in my chair and wondered if I'd be able to endure the entire show.

And that's the last thing I remember.  I got lost in the show and the character and I soon forgot it was even Alissa up there. I was simply watching Blanche.  In New Orleans.   I was swept away in the story so much that I found myself frowning at the main actor when he struck Stella.  As if he would somehow feel my scorn.  And when Alissa Blanche gazed out into the audience pretending to see a streetcar passing by, I totally bought it. 

I suppose that's what makes an actor a Good Actor.  My reality was completely suspended.  She was really good! The show was really good! (which was a relief, because, I mean, she could have totally sucked, right?).

After the show I waited for Alissa outside the theater.  She wandered out only minutes after the curtain fell.  There she was in jeans and a tank top looking, well, just like her.  No more Blanche.  Just my friend Alissa.

And then I felt awkward again.  What does one say? "My GOSH that was good pretending!".  That's what I felt like saying. 

Because she is.  She's a really good actor.