Where the Streets Have No Name

I just saw the trailer for Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close.  First, what rock have I been under that I missed this novel?  Second, I cannot wait to see how this story unfolds. 

A lot of things are making me think about my papa lately, and this movie definitely did.  It's just starting to really sink in that he's not going to be there the next time I go home for a visit, and that I won't be able to call him after Big Blue Madness to talk about the new freshman class of Cats.  But my goodness, didn't we have a full life of love with him? When so many people have their time with loved ones cut short, I certainly have nothing to complain about. 

I'm wishing that I knew more about papa, that I knew more about what he thought about the world around him. It's hard to imagine how much the world changed over the course of his life, but I'm not sure I ever  really knew his perception of it all.  Of course, that was also just papa.  Nothing truly got to him, bothered him, got him riled up or upset.  Couldn't we all use a dose of his temperment and peacefulness! 

I'm so grateful that his cancer was not long-suffering.  I'm trying to forget the difficult memories of his sickness, and cling to the last good day I had with him. 

I left work a little early to take a quick evening trip to Somerset to visit.  It was a few days after his brain surgery and he was doing really good.  When I arrived, everyone was out of his room and the curtains were closed.  I was worried... but he was just getting ready to go for his evening lap around the hospital floor.  That's right--this man who had just had brain surgery days before was up and walking around!

His cheeks were pink and his face was warm with his usual smile when he came out of his room with the nurse.  "Well Amos, what are you doing here?" he asked.  "I'll be back in a minute," he said.

A second nurse came to grab his arm, but my mom suggested that I walk with him.

"Come on papa, let's go to the prom," I said, hooking my elbow with his. 

"Now, it's been a while since I've done any dancing," he replied.

We started the lap around the hospital floor and he took off like he was walking for real exercise and not just for post-op therapy! 

"My Amos is teaching at Georgetown," he told the nurse.  Well, he told her twice actually... but that was just the brain tumor.  Nothing was going to stop how proud he was of his girls and nothing made me happier to hear him say.

He flirted with all the nurses as we walked by, and told me several times how wonderful they all were. I wish he could have stayed on that floor the whole time he was sick.  He felt safe there and they were SO good to him.  I think they liked being around him even more than he liked them!

After our little walk, I hung out in his room while he took a nap--or faked taking a nap, that is.  Mom whispered that the whole day, he would NOT shut up.  He'd close his eyes, and we'd go on talking, only to catch him smiling or chuckling at something we said.  Sometimes he'd scare the daylights out of us by suddenly chiming into a conversation when we thought he was long asleep.  I left that day when he was finally dosing off, but that smile was still on his face.  I don't know if he was really asleep or not.

He was wearing that same smile the day we buried him.

It's a tough time of year because this is when papa would normally started getting fired up for basketball season.  It's been really hard on my mom, but I'm trying really hard to imagine the questions papa has already peppered Adolf Rupp, Bill Keightley, and Cawood Ledford with up in heaven.  Something tells me him and Whiter have front row season tickets to all the games this year. 

And while papaw was the most humble Christian man I will ever know, I certainly hope the Good Lord cheers for the Cats.  Papa would certainly hate to cheer against God if he's Tennessee fan...

Homework...

I'm long overdue on an update with the new house!

Lots of work has been going on... mostly in the paint department.  Here's some quick before and afters:

The upstairs bathroom is beautiful... and all white.  So, a little coat of paint brightened things up. Hard to tell because the photos are a little dar but you get the general idea. (P.S.--painting the bathroom was NOT fun!)

Unfortunately I forgot to take photos of the den (or as Sean would have it, the man cave).  We had no furniture, but needed to create a TV room and office area, so a few purchases were made!  The room was also a bit dingy as the walls, tirm, and ceiling were various shades of very deep, yellowish cream.  It made the room very dark.

So, first things first, I painted the ceiling (again, NOT fun!) and all the trim a crisp white. It really changed the whole atmosphere of the room!

You can also see the fresh, bright trim in this picture of our new couch and ottoman!  Sean wasa determined to get a set of crazy red leather furniture, but I won that fight  (without pitching a fit in the store. Same cannot be said for the day we tried to buy curtains). 

I also bought a new desk... sort of.  It came in about 7,000 pieces.

It was so complicated that Sean actually read through the directions!

After three hours... the finished product:

Last but not least: the kitchen.  I lived with the baby blue kitchen for a month, but this weekend I decided that enough was enough. The color is just not me, and it's driving me crazy.  So begins the process of painting the kitchen an Eddie Bauer paint shade called "pine needles."

So far so good, but there's a long way to go!

The list of projects is SO long, but I'm enjoying every second of making this house home!

This Old House...

Much of my crazy this summer has been rooted in the search for my first house. After looking at dozens of homes with my fabulous realtor Meredith Lane, I ended up buying the second house I looked at, on our first day of hunting (sorry Meredith for dragging you all over town!).  And here it is!

(And no, this isn't Alice in Wonderland with huge keys to a tiny door!)

I have moved three times in the past three years, so I'm really looking forward to staying in one place for a looooong time.  And I LOVE my house!

My friends and family were so sweet to celebrate with me immediately. Allyson and Sheri came by with a bottle of champagne...

And my parents drove up Saturday to check out my new digs (and thanks dad for finding my interior water valve before KY American Water shows up Monday!).

Things I have learned in my first few days of ownership:

1) Moving sucks.  Wait, already knew that one.
2) Big trees = big sticks in the yard. I spent 30 minutes getting huge branches out of my front yard this morning after last night's storm!  I'm saving the back yard clean up for Sean.
3) Painting is the greatest workout ever.  I'm more exhausted and sore than I have been in months.  Ok, maybe it's not such a great workout and I'm just out of shape!
4) Gray paint looks like peachy vomit when its wet and next to baby blue.  A few minutes of panic...

In my biased opinion, I think my house is adorable, but there were a few things that had to go IMMEDIATELY.  Number one on the list:  blue paint that looks great in the kitchen but not so great in the foyer... living room... hallway... and bedroom.  Too much blue!  So my first two days in the new house were consumed with making all that blue disappear:




Living Room Before



Scary, vomit-colored wet paint....



And after! (no longer looking like puke)

North Carolina-blue in the foyer...



Warn gray after!



Blue, blue, blue and more blue in the hallway



Much better!

 Next up on the list: the all-white bathroom upstairs.  White tile will stay (this is NOT a major home renovation!) but it's getting a pretty shade of light green paint to warm things up a bit.

Side note: super apologies to my wonderful friend and bride-to-be, Marilee Meyers.  I poured out a gallon of paint and then realized there was no way I could finish using it in time for her bridal shower today.  But in ever-so-gracious style, she was completely understanding.  I hope she had a FANTASTIC day and can't wait to see her as a bride next month! XOXO Marilee!

I realize this is not the most meaningful or entertaining post, but it's SO exciting to me! There really is nothing like having a home and knowing that it is YOURS.  I can't wait to fill it with my furniture, things, friends and memories!

Now that the house is mine and moving is underway, maybe tomorrow I can actually get my syllabus for Comm. 215 at Georgetown finished.  And go to Human Resources to set up my employment details.  And clean the apartment. And take Cassie to the groomers.  And finish putting listings on the Travel Kentucky app.  And send out the Kentucky Monthly newsletter...

Suddenly I'm tired and overwhelmed again! 

Waiting

I will always remember the day that Amy Winehouse died, because it's the same day that we found out my grandfather would have to fight a battle with brain cancer that he can't win. 

And somehow, Saturday morning, Amy Winehouse's death was a comfort to me.  Why? Well, I knew in that moment that at least my papa would live through his surgery.  There was no way God was going to put such a wonderful man side by side with a skinny crack addict at the Pearly Gates.  Come on. Can you imagine how that conversation would go?  I see papa giving her the once over and asking "what are you in for? do you think we should knock?"

But yet the day did not go how any of us would have hoped.  Not at all.

My papa is the sweetest, most jolly, most gentle man I know.  His smile and his laugh fill a room, and just being around him puts you at peace and at ease.  He's just a happy guy.  And he should be a saint; anyone who can bear three generations of nothing but women and keep his sanity for 76 years deserves a special place in the Lord's House. 

He comes from a generation of men that are never going to be replaced in this world.  He comes from a community that is fading away. They are group of people from Ferguson who all know the same phrases--they're all "azzling around" everywhere they go.  He's from a childhood of running around farms, throwing corn cob husks so fiercely that they leave the dents of the kernels in the other boy's back (Hayden Waddle can personally attest to that!).  He's from a time when his dad could come home with a goat sitting in the front seat after a night of gambling (and we're still not sure if the goat was part of his winnings or losings)! 

I often forget that he, with his brother Max, built a business that has sustained our family for 60 years.  That he handed over to my father because he had no son of his own to pass it to--and my dad has always been like a son to him.  I forget that he was a handsome man in his day (and still is), even though I have the picture of him working in the lab as a young man, white t-shirt rolled up, hair slicked back looking young and vibrant  and mischievious and a little like Ryan Gosling in The Notebook. 

There's so much we don't know.  That maybe we will never know.  About who he was as a brother, a husband, a man, before the kids, before the grandkids and the great grandkids.   We have all kinds of stories--because he tells them well and laughs at himself the whole time like he's sharing it for the first time!  But how well do we every really know the people we love?

To me, he's just papa.  And he always has been.  He's been a constant in my life, always there, no matter how much I have cared to spend time with him... or not. And of course now we all wish we had more time.  In a family of two daughters, four granddaughters, and two great-granddaughters, some how we all feel like we are "papa's girls."  We all have a different relationship with him--that's obvious.  And yet each of us have our own special "thing" with him... our own unique and secret bond that makes each of us feel like he loves us the most.  Which of course isn't true because he loves us all in his own way and has somehow loved each of us year after year, never fading in the love he has to give.

Over the past few days, I have been humbled and honored to see that he didn't just love us; there are so many people in our lives that he has shared friendship, fellowship, and kinship with.  And those people, in return, have poured that love back to him and us in return.  Family, friends, member of his church--all have come to stand beside his family in a time of need.  Even if there's nothing that they can do to help, they are offering up their solidarity, compassion, and love. 

And it is humbling to see that those people love the same things about this man that his family does; his laugh, his smile, his warm hello, and his love for the daily pleasures in life; a good cup of coffee, a morning drive to "azzle" around and visit friends and family, and a Sunday morning with the men in Sunday school.

It is not fair.  There is not a man who deserves the things that lay ahead less than my papa does.  There is not a man who deserves less to be threatened with the loss of his speech, his memory, his laugh, his dignity.  And yet I cannot think of a man more capable of meeting the path that God has chosen for him with more grace, more composure, more peace.  Dad said that papa has always said "when it's your time, it's your time."  None of us are ready for this to be his time.  And we don't know how much he has.  It may be a few months; with his attitude and some radiation, maybe a little more... maybe a little less.

It is a fight that he has to fight knowing that he cannot win.  And we have to watch it knowing just how much we are most assured to lose.  But he has been responsible for giving this family a wonderful life. And I know that we will find the strength to stand by, spend time, and wait out this final journey for as long as it takes.  I only hope we can keep smiling his smile, laughing his laugh, and finding comfort in his peace.

This Ain't No HGTV!

Does anyone remember the really, REALLY old House Hunters shows where they actually told you how mnay houses the people had looked at along the way?  When they pulled up into the driveway and the CG at the bottom of the screen would say "House 2" or "House 8" or "House 5,421"? 

Yeah, those need to come back.  Becuase the three houses and oh one is perfect! crap that is on today is misleading.

I have been casually house hunting for much of the year, but the pressure of a lease ending a need to put in my notice to vacate has made things official.  So, with the guidance of my fabulous realtor Meredith Lane (check out her blog Home and Nom!), we set off through the streets of Lexington to find my perfect house.

Now, I will admit, I'm not an easy customer.  I gave her many specifics, including a fireplace, fenced backyard, and an extra "den" space or basement. 

Little did I know how hard it was going to be!  We have seen: great houses in crappy neighborhoods, crappy houses in great neighborhoods, crappy houses in crapp neighborhoods, and so so houses in ok neighborhoods.  We have seen beautiful fireplaces, great backyards, nasty tubs, cheap laminate.  And there have been some funny moments too! 

I have quickly learned that the old addage of location location location really is true.  Lexington real estate is hard to target, especially in newer areas of town.  It is scary to buy in a new area because you have no idea if that subdivision is going to be run down in a few years.  I look at so many communities that were "new" when I was in college... and now they look gross!  I can't get stuck in one of those places!

So, we have struck on a house in an older, established neighborhood.  And it's an older house.  It will need some updates in a few years, but for now a little paint and fixtures will go a long way.  Most of the major things have been updated.  I went through it again today with Sean and it passed his inspection...

So... I might make an offer! Stay tuned!

Who's Going to Show Them?

"asdfjkl; return"

There are generations of Somerset High School graduates who know exactly who said that and why.  And I know to credit that phrase for much of my career success to the teacher who said it over, and over, and over.

Mrs. Vanhook taught keyboarding, and every freshman at Somerset High School was required to take it.  Because of that one class, I was able to finish tests and papers on deadline in college, write scripts for newscasts seconds before they needed to hit the air, and type press releases as fast as my brain could come up with the words. 

My co-workers laugh at how fast--and aggressively, they say--I type.  But just as thankful as I am that I can write and communicate clearly, I know that my ability to type efficiently has been a key factor in getting ahead.

And guess what? They don't teach that class at Somerset anymore.

Do they teach it anywhere?

Do kids even use real, fully-spelled out words anymore?

Who's going to teach them? Who's going to even tell them they need to know how? And will they listen?

Someone commented to me recently that school today is not so much about a child's ability to retain, absorb, and recall information; rather, it's an exercise in researching and finding sources successfully.  Between Google, academic search engines and practically everything available via cell phone, how can you make the case that memorizing facts, history, math and knowledge is even necessary anymore?

Who's going to teach them? Do they need to be taught?

I went to get my oil changed last Sunday, and Sean said to me "have them run your transmission fluids while you are there."  I asked why.  "Because," he said matter-of-factly, "you have 60,000 miles on your car."

How did he know that?  I knew how many miles were on my car, but had it been left to me I never would have known anything NEEDED to be done to my transmission.  No one ever told me.

People used to work harder to learn--by experience, by trial and error.  My mom spent years trying to make my mamaw's mashed potatoes until one day she noticed the secret: put the potatoes back on the stove after you drain the water to cook off the little bit of water that remains.  She watched, she learned, she was shown how.

My dad has built his entire career from the bottom up at his lab, learning along the way, getting certifications, and managing his business well.

Some days I barely feel like I know how to keep my house clean! And at least I recognize that there are so many things you just can't learn without experience--or at least someone showing you the way, and why it is important to know.

So... years from now... who's going to show them? Is there going to be anything left to show? Will anyone even bother making homemade mashed potatoes anymore?  And does it matter?

Lessons

This past Tuesday I was sitting at a Starbucks in Bowling Green, post- local morning show and pre-9 a.m.-meeting.  Hunched over my computer as always, sipping an iced vanilla latte (venti--I'm addicted and it's bad). 

I barely noticed anyone around me. Then, quietly, someone near me says "have a nice day."  I looked up to see a young girl dropping napkin on my table and walking away.

Inside the napkin was a note: a verse from Philippians, and a testimony that God had blessed her by providing a way for her to have her college paid for, and for helping her father through a terrible sickness.

At first, I wanted to be a little offended.  Why of all the people in Starbucks did this girl single me out?  What made me look like such a sinner who needed her witness?

Calmer--albiet over-caffienated--thoughts prevailed.  This girl was feeling happy and blessed, and just wanted to share those blessings with someone else.  And who can blame her for that? If her witness was about happiness and peace, it was surely a message I could use.

Over the past few months I have felt extremely restless, like something just wasn't settled or should be happening for me... but just wasn't.  And this girl pointed out to me exactly what I wasn't doing right.

I tend to focus on goals that I am working toward, things that I want to have or to make happen, instead of stopping and enjoying the things that I have.  And that's no way to live!  All of those things that we work so hard for aren't worth it unless we enjoy them.  It's high time I focus on my blessings in life.  So:

1) I come home every day and "feel" home. Sure it's just an apartment.  But it has my piano and my furniture and my dog.  And I love every inch of the space. 
2) I have a dog that curls up with me without me asking. And early in the morning that is such a cozy thing.
3) I work with the BEST people in Kentucky. Hands down.  They are already like family and I can't imagine what I would do without them around to give me a good laugh and wise advice every day.
4) I have a boyfriend who helps with laundry and takes out the trash.  That, in my world, is priceless.
5) I have a family who loves me unconditionally and who are so much fun to be around.
6) And... (sound trumpets)... I have been given an answer to my restlessness! It seems as though I will be teaching a communications class at Georgetown College this fall.  Again, I work with the best people in Kentucky who are totally supportive and willing to work this into my schedule... and I'm so excited to have the opportunity to teach! It is DEFINITELY going to keep me busy this summer... restlessness gone!

Sure, I have so many goals yet to be attained, and SO many unknowns about my life and the turns that await me in coming months.  But... I am choosing today to be happy in the things that I have now.  Because there's a whole lot to be happy about.

Freedom.. and Forgiveness

Last week I finished Freedom, and its ending has been stewing in my head for the past several days.  The second half of the book seemed to drag a bit... but I think that was the point.  It's a story about a seemingly ordinary family and the ways they hurt each other, and the ways they endure each other.  And even if you can't identify personally with what they do and the things that happen, the occurrences are not out of your realm of understanding or possibility.  

When I started Freedom, I thought it would be a story of self-discovery and finding a new path through life.  Halfway through, I thought it would have a tragic, depressing ending.  And I was wrong on both counts.  It is a story about forgiveness.  And at first I couldn't believe in it.  After all the things that had happened, how could this family still have such a capacity for forgiveness and love?  Is is really possible for two people to look at each other after so many years of hurt and angst, and still find love?  It's a very humbling thing, forgiveness.  I think about too many bad afternoon TV shows with families ripping each other apart on Dr. Phil or Oprah, and how many times I've said "I would NEVER forgive someone if they did that to me."  But is that really true?  Because isn't it true that we hurt the ones we love the most because we CAN?  Not that we set out to be hurtful, but the people that care about us are the ones who can absorb our hurt, our anger, our disappointments in each other...and continue to be there for us.  The opposite of love isn't hate; it is apathy.  So if we hurt over someones actions, the love is still there.  I think it takes a terrible amount of energy to hate; and when you add the physical and emotional history that tie our lives to our family and friends, it would take so much energy and emotion to truly severe that tie.  To me, the message in Freedom was that this family's capacity to forgive and to love was greater than their desire to spend any more energy on hate and bitterness.  It took years, it took time, but the love was always there, waiting to be rekindled, waiting to reconnect. 

So, here's to forgiveness, and choosing love.

What's So Great About Me Anyways?

My friend Ashley convinced me to start going to a personal trainer with her twice a week for the next several weeks.  Since I have yet to motivate myself this spring, I figured a good friend and a scary person to make me work out might be worth the try.  I came home today, put on my gym clothes, and headed to the gym, expecting to be mortified at how out of shape I am. But it was far worse; we didn't even work out--we just took BODY FAT and MEASUREMENTS!  Yikes.  And let me tell you, this trainer stuff is serious.  Our trainer is a big burly Brazlian dude with tattoos down to his wrists.  He talked to us a lot about our fitness goals and gave us "homework" to bring back tomorrow, when we really start training.  But, it does seem like it will work.  At the very least, my wallet is going to be lighter!

This is the first time in a while that I feel like I'm setting a concrete, measurable goal for myself, and it feels good.  I've been feeling a bit restless lately; not unhappy with anything particular in life, but just feeling like something is missing.  I can't put my finger on what it is. I'm generally an overachiever, and let's face it, I have functioned for the past several years now under a high level of stress.  Maybe the abscence of that stress has just thrown me off?  Or maybe now that the stress is gone, I don't know what to do with the time.  I am really enjoying reading more (ALMOST finished with Freedom!) and of course there's the personal trainer now... but is that enough?  What is enough to make you feel happy and fulfilled with just you?  Sometimes I feel like I'm good at a lot of things but not really great at anything. And is that a good or a bad thing? Is it better to be ok at a lot of things or to be incredible at one or two things?  And if so, what am I so great at? Or at least so good at? 

Update on the visit--I took Sean's family to Woodford Reserve, to lunch and shopping in Midway, and to Ashland, the Henry Clay Estate with a quick drive by Keeneland, the Castle in Versailles, and through Georgetown thrown in between. I think they had a good time--and if not, they did a magnificent job of pretending to have fun and tolerating my driving!  I don't expect that they will get here very often, so it was really nice to have them see where I'm from and hopefully get to know me a little better.  Thanks for all the suggestions on where to take them!

What's Kentucky to You?

I'm lucky to spend nearly every day at work traveling through--or writing app listings for--destinations around Kentucky.  (Shameless plug--download the Travel Kentucky app! It's free on iPhone AND Androids).  I'm a tried and true Kentucky girl, and I wouldn't have it any other way.  Sure, it's a little too conservative and sometimes a little too behind-the-times.  But I have yet to visit anywhere else in this world that rivals the diversity of Kentucky's countryside and landscapes.  Rolling horse farms, mountains, "city" living, charming small towns--we really do have it all.  Throw in our local culture, style, food, and special traditions and you have a place beyond comparison.  And its easy to forget that most people don't grow up with all of this right in their backyard.

Sean's family is coming to visit this week, and I want to be sure they get a real "Kentucky Experience" while they are here.  His mother was here for WEG last September, but didn't get to visit anything other than the event. His dad and brother have never been here.  We only have one full day to be tourists, and I want to be sure they get a widespread look at what our state has to offer! 

I know this state backwards and forwards, and yet I am somehow overwhelmed by making the right choices on the key things they should see and do while they are here.  Sean's mom wants to visit Berea, and I would love to take them to a distillery.  But what else can we squeeze in? Breakfast at the Keeneland Track Kitchen?  A quick stop at Shakertown?  And where, oh where, should we EAT? These places all seem iconic Kentucky and at the same time, I feel like I'm missing something. 

More than anything, I want them to leave here with a fond and affectionate impression of the place I call home.  Sean and I have very different upbringings and that's largely due to geography.  Growing up in California brings a widely different perspective than growing up in Kentucky!  It has been so much fun to experience Kentucky through his eyes, and see his fondness for this place grow over time (I think we may be making a resident out of him!).  And yet he will never quite understand what it's really like to be "from" here.  I just hope that we can give his parents a whirlwind taste of our state... so they will want to come back and see more.

So... what should we do? What is Kentucky to you? 

HELP :)

What Am I Doing Here?

Let me start by being very honest--I've always thought blogs were kind of pointless.  In a time where we are bombarded with news, follow Facebook all day, Google chat on Gmail and text... I just didn't see the point.  Who cares about anything beyond my Facebook status... and do I want you reading it all in the first place? 

But, here I am.

I'd like to say that this is really a work experiment.  After all, I'm in PR/Marketing (working for the fabulous Kentucky Monthly magazine which everyone should read... end shameless plug) and I spend far too much time working on and researching social media trends.  We have several bloggers for the magazine that are expanding our online presence and developing quite a following.  So I NEED to see what this is all about, right?

Not true.  Because the cardinal rule of a successful blog is having a specific purpose, a topic that attracts people to your posts and keeps them as your followers.  Isn't that how the chick from the Julia Child movie ended up making millions, after all?  Well, I don't have a purpose. I have no idea why I'm doing this at all! 

So, let's start with the process of elimination.  This blog is definitely NOT:

1) Your guide to quick tips for shopping, recipes, or general advice.  Sadly, I fall somewhere between my grandmother, who is a fabulous natural chef, and my mother, who Lord knows is lucky to have kept from burning down her kitchen.  I can cook but don't like to.  I love to shop but don't obsess over deals (although I did discover couponing recently and admit I got a nerdy thrill out of saving $33 at Kroger this week).  And I'm not thrifty, crafty, or creative. So that's definitely out.

2) This blog is definitely not dissertations or lengthy opinions on political topics or moral views.  I rarely see things in black and white; most things in life come in shades of gray--at least for me.  Live and let live, be and let be.  I'm rarely going to give an opinion unless you ask.  And then I'll be honest. And you can take it or leave it; I'm really not interested in some incredibly prosaic debate.

3) It's not going to showcase that I have the best relationship/dog/family/job/life in general.  Nor is it that I have the worst relationship/dog/family/job/life in general.  All of these things are pretty wonderful but no one cares about the day to day minutia of their existence in my life. Unless of course they do or say something really interesting.  We'll amend this rule in that case only to allow them a cameo appearance as a topic.

So...that leaves little--or maybe everything--to the imagination! 

Right now I am reading Freedom by Jonathan Franzen.  Sean's dad got this book for him as a Christmas gift, but I'm the first one to crack it open.  I'm only 100 pages in but already find it fascinating.  Franzen creates a character portrait in such a subtle, gentle way, albiet through jarring circumstances and experiences.  There is so much more to read and yet I am already developing an understanding of this family, this neighborhood, and a curiosity for how a young woman who was an awkward student athlete grows into the mold of "model" wife and mother, and through those very efforts somehow ruins that image and her family.  It speaks to a view that I struggle with--and I hope other women my age do--of somehow wanting it all and not wanting it all in the traditional sense, simultaneously.

I'm also finding after a hiatus from reading how much I miss a scholarly discussion on books.   Where's Dr. Coke and Dr. Allen when I need them?  Where's Katie to review crazy notes with me in the Grille at Georgetown? And why, more than six years later, do I still miss college so much?  Well... I have some theories on that one...

Maybe that's why I chose to name this blog Southern-ish. I find so many of my opinions to be colored with the life experiences I have had growing up in a small, Southern town.  I wouldn't change that for anything but I realize the impact that has had on me--good, bad and in between.  I feel disconnected to those roots, and yet I can't escape them.  The "way I was brought up" stands in contradiction with my thoughts on so many things today, as an adult, and I think I'm still learning how to reason through those things versus what is best for me as my own person.  I want that "home" in a very true, Southern sense, but that home has to be truly mine, and to fit the me I know and who I am.  And that's hard when you are raised to make everyone else proud from your Sunday School teacher to your grandfather...old habits don't need to die but they do need to adapt!  I can only make me happy.

So... here's to making me happy.  Wow that sounds selfish... but I suppose that's a topic for another day.