Party at Our House

Matt and I love to entertain. We both love cooking, and I like making sure everyone's glass is full, all the candles are lighted, not one spec of dirt lingers anywhere, and that the music is spot on.

We're having a New Year's party, so come on over!

We had the greatest Christmas ever. It will be difficult to top in the coming years. We went to church--pretty much the entire Brooks clan, Matt, Sam and I--and allowed Sam to stay with us for the candle-lighting ceremony. It was beautiful and moving.

The Brooks gang joined us for Christmas Eve dinner and festivities, which warms my wee heart when we all can be together (but we were missing Jason's family, sadly).

Santa came, of course, and brought Sam everything on his list. Matt and I exchanged presents...one highlight is my retro Schwinn bicycle from the late 1960s - perfect!

But my favorite gift of all, from Matt, was a huge box filled with canned and dry food. I want to get involved--really, really involved--with Gleaners Food Bank. I have a plan I've been working through for a while, and when I opened the box, Matt said, "This is to help you start your mission."

I almost cried. This guy, this husband of mine, the onion...oh, I love peeling back new layers revealing what a sensitive guy he is.

So, he can't fix much around the house. That's all right. He's a good guy, and I knew that the minute I laid eyes on him.

With every great year and wonderful Christmas we have, we know that the most important part is giving to those in need. I hope to end all of my nights wide awake at 2:00 a.m. worrying about the children who didn't get dinner. And all it takes is a plan...and some serious driving around.

More to come - Happy New Year!

Say, what?

In all of my geekdom, I discovered my new favorite website: Forvo.com. All of the words in the world. Pronounced.

It has over 6,000,000 people pronouncing words that might typically throw you, like Aeschylus (that one always gets me) or Jeffrey Eugenides (also had a really hard time getting that one down).

For this website you will need:
1. A computer
2. Volume turned up on said computer

You type your word in, and then click on a little arrow icon and voila: someone says the word correctly!

It even gives you a "Language of the Day," which today is Flemish, in case you want to practice your Belgian Dutch.

I'm searching the house for words I can't pronounce...I might play on this all day!

Shrimp & Grits

I'm in the South. I've been in Charleston, SC for three days for a little break; a calm before my three writing jobs kick my ass in January. The 3rd South Carolina city I've visited, it's by far the most grand. Not quite Atlanta, GA, but for the South, it's really good. Strangely, it's a blonde town. I've met several great locals, and tonight a Charlestonian woman said, "I like you. Blondes have to stick together." She wrote down her phone number and told me she hoped to hear from me very soon. Funny, as that's something I'd probably do.

I've had some very quirky things happen since I've been here, and I'm shocked at how many 80s preppies are still living that dream. Whale and duck pants, bright green and bright yellow pants and shirts. I think the stores simply haven't restocked since 1985.

Charlottesville was chock-full of preppies with Daddy's money, seeking a degree in philosophy or poetry; The Charlestonian accent, however, doesn't give me the shivers.There was a sardonic quote once about how Southern people never sound like rocket scientists, even if they are rocket scientists.

Charlestonians deliver diction, syntax and annunciation with a soft undulating way of conveying their "inna-most" thoughts. It's sweet, sophisticated sugar. I told Matt that I could live here (if we ever move from Georgia, cough cough), and he said that Ruby Sue would likely turn over in her "grave" if he ever moved to the South. We simply won't tell her.

I met a couple last night who started off fun, but I quickly left the jazz bar via a ride from their "bike taxi" son, who'd recently graduated from the Citadel. I was afraid I'd either be sold off to slavery, or chopped into bits (worse yet, grits) if I played with this crazy group any longer. The wife, a Charlestonian, told me her "ugly" secrets and dark thoughts, her husbands miscomings, and her son's quest to marry the daughter of his dad's (her husband's) ex-wife. It was all too "Bravo" or "Oxygen" channel for my liking, so I left before they locked me in a trunk.

I had some damn good wine and mussels before I left, though. I held my arms way up in the bike taxi, laughing at the experience.

I took a wonderful walking tour of the historic downtown given by a 7th-generation Charlestonian and two dry old women from deep-Virginia, whom I could not comprehend at any corner. Although it's fascinating to learn about history--the 1860s were sure good--I noted one little thing that I don't think the rest of the group was following, something that was wearing on me like moss on a myrtle tree. The Civil War ended. There is no more Confederacy. You can talk about palmetto trees and artillery all you want, winning battles at Ft. Sumter, and decorated generals, but the Conferacy is not coming back. Charleston seceded first--and that's cool--but the Yankees won the good fight. And there's no sweet-tea-sipping glory-day-remembering under a magnolia that's going to bring it back. It just...poof! Went. In smoke, nonetheless.

But my stay at the Francis Marion Hotel (Revolutionary War "Swamp Fox") has been wonderful. My calves are killing me from walking...and I've done my share of eating and drinking. The icing on the piece of cake I did not order was Indiana beating # 1 rated Kentucky while I sat tasting my first-ever shrimp & grits.

I'm really looking forward to scooping Sam into my arms today, and kissing my husband hello. I miss them!

The Importance of Being Noticed

One of the best quotes I've heard in a long time came from my friend, Doug, who tells his dates, "Can we please not record this night on Facebook?"

Hilarious.

Today Sam had a playdate with a good friend, whose mom--a wonderful mom--is very young. She added to her Facebook page "where we are having lunch and what we're eating" and I gave earnest consideration to ever posting again.

This younger generation keeps record, by God. I'm astounded at how many accounts they need to tell and show the world just what they've been up to. Is it ego? Is it trying to fit it, or find their place in the world? Is it necessary?

I'm waiting for an answer. I'll check Twitter and see what I find out.

A Fond Farewell

We said farewell to our loving gerbil this week. Gertie died November 30 at 8:11 p.m. Her services were held under our Evergreen tree in the front yard.

Gertie spent many of her days being completely ignored. During those times she enjoyed chewing through toilet paper or paper towel rolls, hiding in one of her many "huts," and running on her obnoxious, loud, green wheel.

She leaves behind her family: Matt, who told Jill "Yes! Let's get a gerbil! Gerbils are fun! I always had gerbils when I was a kid!"; Jill, who fed her, talked to her, held her although Gertie made her sneeze, and cleaned her cage; and Sam, who once took her to preschool for Show and Share.

Gertie died with a full belly, and both Jill and Matt got to hold her for a while until that fateful moment when she decided to lie on her back. Sam seemed unphased by the situation, as it was bathtime, but he did kiss her a couple of times before she passed.

When told that Gertie was now in heaven, Sam smiled, and said, "My next gerbil is going to be name Tutu. And my dog is going to be named Fafa.

Peace Out, Gertie.