400 Wake-ups

Random Musings Friday: Champagne Toast to 2011

2011-12-30T12:55:00.000-05:00

First of all, Shana has established a link-up for Random Musings Friday. I'm not saying she has caved to heavily whispered peer pressure...but you can link up for Random Musings Friday here. As I shaved my cavewoman legs (hush it...it goes with the Paleo diet) in the shower this morning, I contemplated writing a Year in Review. And suddenly, that just seemed wickedly overambitious. Especially when there is laundry to do, Christmas to put away, champagne to purchase...y'know, the basics. So, I am simply recalling random moments from the week and leaving it at that. It's all part of my 2012 New Year's resolution to realize and embrace the idea that I can't do it all, all at once, every second of every day. I think it's going to be a good year.

Santa brought me an iPad for Christmas. I gave Santa 2 jars of handmade, organic shaving cream (because the Barbisol was making me physically ill with all of its Chernobyl-smelling puffs of foamy death) and the Pinterest craft, the "I Love You Because" framed print. Handmade Christmas was an awesome success...but there were moments of inferiority.
My new, all-time, favorite hobby is pinching the application closed on the new IOS 5 update. Pincers for the win!
Maker's Mark sends out Christmas gifts every year to its lengthy list of ambassadors. When we moved, Neal forgot to update the Maker's website with our new mailing address...which probably means the elderly snowbirds who bought our old house are wondering why the hell Maker's sent them a doggie sweater. It is not, however, a doggie sweater. It's a Maker's bottle sweater. Except when it's a cat sweater. I promise, no Lulus were harmed in the donning of this warm weather attire.

We took Mama Virgo and Anna Banana to The Whistle Stop Cafe, where Fried Green Tomatoes was filmed in Juliette, GA. Thinking we would make a day of it, we researched downtown Juliette and found a field residing there. And then checked surrounding picturesque towns that we may want to visit. Nada. Nothing. Zilcho. Barren. Oh, except for the Jarrell Plantation which is 10 minutes down the road. Mom, buoyed by the idea that it might be the big house from Fried Green Tomatoes, asked us to drive over. I assure you, it is NOT the big house. But it is open all year round...and by that, I mean Thursday-Saturday. Get it together Jarrell Plantation...you cannot advertise it both ways.
But before we visited Ruth and Idgy's old stomping grounds, we had dinner the night before at a local pizza joint in Warner Robins...Atlas Pizza. We ended up there after pulling into Cheddar's and seeing a line...out the door...in the bitter cold and biting wind...on a Tuesday night. Atlas was the much better choice, of course...being local and all. Plus they offer a military discount. However, we learned that evening that not all pizza dough is equal. Upon sitting, we were told that they were out of small and medium pizzas. These pies are not pre-made, in a cooler, waiting for micro waves to be shot through them. So...one has to wonder...how do you run out of small and medium pizzas? Did elves steal your pizza pans? Elf on the Shelf is over, y'know...
The short version of this is the clothes washer finally bit it and we ended up getting a front-loading Kenmore from AAFES, which was delivered last Monday. We did 4 loads of laundry and listened to it squeak and rock for 4 solid hours. We called Sears to request a repair man because no way, on God's green earth, did 115 reviewers and Consumer Reports say "Get this machine! It is the bee's knees!" after hearing that ear assault for hours on end. The guys arrived on Wednesday morning as I was preparing a breakfast of chocolate chip waffles for our houseguests. Mama Virgo asked for butter. I said, "sure! Would you like Country Crock or grass-fed butter?" And, according to both Mama Virgo and Neal, the repair guys turned and looked at me as if I had just said, "By the way, I've invited the Queen of England to dine with us this morning. She just called from the motorcade. They'll be here in 5." Grass-fed butter is not that uncommon. I buy it at Kroger (also, people...please stop saying Kroger's). But I guess that was a fine example of 2 cavemen who are not on the Paleo diet.
Lastly, this is my final post on 400 Wakeups. I have conducted a constant internal debate about which blog to use ever since Neal returned home. And to be quite honest, the blog's title no longer fits me, my blogging style and the life we share the way Magnolias & Mimosas does. So, I will be returning on New Year's Day with a new and welcoming post over there. My deepest apologies to your Google Reader, your RSS Feed, and to all of you who keep up with a list of blogs in the sidebar of your own blog. I'm done moving. I promise.

Thank you for reading and commenting us through the past year. When I woke on January 21st, I literally thought I cannot do this. But I put my head down and pushed through each day, one day at a time, lifted up by your own comments, thoughts, prayers, well wishes, and hysterical stories. We will always be on a countdown of some sort and we actually thrive on occasional change, but we pray, along with the rest of the country, that Neal's time in the sandbox is finished, as it will hopefully soon be for all of our troops. May God bless each of you and your families in 2012. May you find peace if this year has been tumultuous, a well-lit path if it has been dark, quiet if it has been chaotic, and new ways to love others, but especially yourself.

Signing off....

Allyson

Cheers!

The Long Way Home

2011-12-24T11:01:00.000-05:00

For a variety of reasons, we have decided not to return home for Christmas this year....we were just there for 2 weeks at Thanksgiving...drivers on I-75 have all, apparently, lost their freaking minds...it's consistently 20 degrees warmer in Georgia...etc., etc.

But the full impact of missing Christmas Eve with my family did not hit me until about 20 minutes ago, when I began to plot out my day (plotting and planning is very characteristic of Virgos...don't be alarmed). With the exception of wrapping the last of the gifts and making a last minute post office run, there is nowhere I have to be and nothing I have to do today.

That would not be the case if we were back home.

Christmas Eve activities and preparations begin in the morning. Cheese dips are assembled...turkeys are basting...children are chasing each other manically around the house while the adults pick at the last of the bacon on the plate near the stove. And, of course, there is always the curious kid shaking and weighing any gifts which bear his name. My grandparents, Daisy and Elmer, provided a home and a hub for all Christmas Eve activity. Papa even had a "one gift before church" rule. So, naturally, we always chose the largest box. One year my one gift before church was a toy piano, which I banged on incessantly while the adults prepared dinner. I'm not sure how I survived that Christmas, although I'm pretty sure that, at some point, I was exiled to the back bedroom.

Granny could be counted on to emerge from the bedroom on Christmas Eve morning in a velour suit of some kind and jewelry. Lots of jewelry. Her hair perfectly coiffed from a well-spent day at the salon earlier in the week and nails always painted in some shade of pink. She helped Papa in the kitchen (although the kitchen and the garden were his domain, he accepted the occasional helper elf) and teased us about what Santa was dropping off that night. They were a team and although they were probably unaware, Christmas at Papa and Granny's was the greatest consistency in my life. Everyone was always there. Every year. Almost without exception. My only regrettable memory of Christmas was when someone very close to me opted out of the celebration. It's the only Christmas that I wish I could forget.

My grandparents have been dead for several years now. No bank envelopes with the grandchildren's names scribbled across the top await in the tree. Sometimes the shrimp tray goes uneaten. The 8-track player, which was actually built into the dining room wall, was sold along with the house and the background music now comes from someone's satellite radio or Internet provider. We still go to church. We still eat a ham. But sometimes it's at Mom's house and sometimes everyone gathers at my aunt's place. And sometimes it's just the 2 or 4 of us. Sometimes Neal is deployed and often the parents of young children don't want to travel far from home on Christmas Eve for fear that "Santa will not know where to find them". But this year, it's us...unwilling to drive 7 hours north through Jellico Mountain and whatever weather await us there...unable to tear ourselves away from a chance to have a quiet Christmas at home. And suddenly, I wish I was there in the thick of it...shuffling a deck of cards for a spirited game of Rummy or Uno...pouring a glass of Oliver wine for Mom while she slices the ham...begging Neal to stop tickling the kids which causes them to scream as if someone is on fire...opening one gift before church.

Mom said in an email last week that this was "the beginning of new era". And, in some ways, I'm afraid she's right. The Army will move us wherever and whenever and we may not always make it back home to the Bluegrass. There could be air fares and work schedules and pregnancies to consider. We may have to consolidate Thanksgiving and Christmas or shift it all back a couple of weeks. But it's not for forever. It's a temporary and uncomfortable condition of the life that we chose in the Army. But one day he will retire and we will move home and Christmas Eve will once again be the flurry of activity that I knew growing up. Because I will make it so. We each have the opportunity to raise our children in whatever environment and with whatever traditions we choose. I may not own an 8-track player, but I can certainly croon to some Bing Crosby as I scribble names across bank envelopes and pass out the one gift before church.

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays from our family to yours. 

The Spirit of Savannah

2011-12-23T11:03:00.000-05:00

Partly because I want to share the photos (and, consequently, my Photoshop skillzzzz) from Savannah and partly because I have a million random comments from this week, none of which I wrote down...please enjoy the tour through Savannah as it is decorated for Christmas. Merry Christmas Eve Eve...

a bar on a corner...somewhere....I'm assuming on Lincoln

descending to the river

river street

observing the container ships as they chug by

from china, with love

looks like you've run aground, repunzerella....

when a woody mates with a sailboat

well, that's just mast-ive...

in city market, the carriage horses come to rehydrate

and the nutcrackers stand guard outside the candy shop...

wreaths encircle the street lamps, finished with rosy red and perfectly folded bows

while more bows tack a wreath of fir garland around wright square gates

no inflatable Santa globe or rotating and lit deer here

beautifully framed photos spring eternal at forsyth park

spit of goose into the wraps of red

it's beginning to look a lot like Christmas

and that makes us all pretty jolly

the potted poinsettias of the hamilton-turner house

the random wisps of red on everything from lamp posts

to sidewalk shop decor...

and the unexpected delight of a carousel pony straddling an apartment balcony

but always, always the jewel-tone glow of church

and the whipping stripes of state.

2011-12-22T09:14:00.000-05:00

When I pulled up the ole blog this morning, with a cup of pumpkin spice coffee by my side and a sense of free time now that all of the Christmas orders have been shipped, I gasped....have I not written anything since December 9th?? Did NaBloPoMo teach me nothing? Have I fallen back into a ragged routine of writing whenever there is free time or rain in the forecast?

Not good.

As most Americans will be making silent promises of getting fit and healthy in 2012, I must promise to stick to a regular posting schedule. If only because writing often keeps me from feeling a literal sense of constipation. And because I can...because I'm free...thank you for the reminder, Rick Perry cartoons.

In addition to pushing over 50 custom orders out the door since Thanksgiving, I've also completed the decorating process (made a little easier this year by the fact that the tree never left the living room last year), finished Christmas shopping (handmade and small business gifts were a giant success....more on that after all of the gifts have been distributed), baked and ate 2 batches of sugar cookies (and learned that 2 fully decorated sugar cookies at 10 PM is a spectacularly bad idea), and spent the day in Savannah with my sister the queen, her daughters Repunzerella and Sleeping Booty, my brother-in-law The King of Scots, and his parents.

I've also crossed a few things off of the 101 list, made a couple of Pinterest crafts/recipes, and almost finished The Hunger Games series.

I've been busy.

But so has everyone else.

Tami purchased the first Wings for Our Troops plane ticket for a Marine and his wife to go home before deployment. She is, apparently, in San Diego now presenting them with it and I'm trying to wait patiently for a blog post or pictures...or both. If you've purchased a RED Friday item and asked that your 50% be donated to Wings for Our Troops, then YOU are a part of this and you should be proud.

Shana's daddy-o has been released from the hospital and into the care of rehab facility. It's a relief and a giant step forward to getting him home for Christmas.

We are officially out of Iraq. I realize I should have addressed this when it first happened last weekend, but, honestly, I wasn't sure what to say. Almost exactly a month after Neal's boots hit American soil, the rest of our Soldiers are crossing over into Kuwait...for better or worse. Neal and the 352 spent 10 months preparing for that moment. They were actively involved in shutting down bases and transporting equipment and supplies out of the country. Their work in Balad was key to making sure that we were ready to leave by the end of the month. And yet, just as it seemed like a publicity stunt manufactured by the media when Stryker Force left Iraq a year ago, it still doesn't feel final. I know there are American troops left behind in Iraq, tasked with manning the embassies and the state department so saying that there are no troops left is unfair to the ones that are left. Just like the media blasting the end of combat troops in Iraq while Neal was packing his duffles to go to Iraq. For me, there is no closure in lowering the flag that flew over Baghdad. It's designed to make the American people feel warm and fuzzy and send poll numbers sky high. I understand the need...I just don't buy into it.

And on a completely unrelated note...I've spent almost 2 weeks thinking that tomorrow was Christmas Eve.

Until yesterday.

It's like I've been gifted with an extra day in the week and it's a little slice of awesome.

Lastly, I'll leave you with quote from one of last Sunday's politishows.
Michelle Bachman: I am a serious candidate for the presidency.

Um...honey...when you are a serious candidate for the presidency, you generally don't have to say I am a serious candidate for the presidency.

That is all.

Champagne Friday: Random Thoughts

2011-12-09T11:11:00.000-05:00

When I wrote my random last week, I mentioned that I knew there was more...I just couldn't remember the rest. Shana commented that keeping notes throughout the week was a must. Yeah...she was kind of right about that. So, here are this week's musings, in no particular order.

1. In Kentucky, we have glass shower doors in the master bath. As I was squee-geeing them, I started thinking about how I'm glad I only had to do that once a day. Because as beautiful as glass shower doors are, and as much as I've always wanted to have them, it's sort of a pain in the ass to have to clean them after every shower. And it really needs to be done after every shower because the guy who lived there before us did it...oh...maybe...once a month?? And you can tell. Which then begs the question: do professional window cleaners prefer glass doors or shower curtains? If I cleaned glass all day long, I don't think I would want to do it at home, too. Anyone out there clean glass for a living? Want to weigh in?

2. Earlier this week they had a story on CNN International about a car wreck somewhere in Europe. It was basically a pile-up on the interstate...except it only involved about 6 cars and the total damage was in the millions. Because it was a couple of Lamborghinis, 3 or 4 Ferraris, several BMWs...

and a Prius.

Neal's theory? The Prius is probably what caused the accident...going too slow.

3. The next story that morning was about a woman from Effin, Ireland who couldn't get her mail delivered because some company didn't really think she lived in a town from Effin. She exclaimed, in a huff, that "I will always be an Effin woman!"

Alrighty then. We'll just go ahead and cancel that sex change operation.

4. We are all caught up on the 5 or 6 shows we watch regularly (looking at you, Grimm...decided just to take off the week of Thanksgiving, did you?) so we've been perusing Hulu for new shows. I stumbled upon Destination: Truth earlier this week. The premise is based on the search for the truth behind urban legends. I am a freak for Myth Busters, so I thought I had hit a gold mine. Not so much. I can see with complete clarity how this pitch meeting went: Fraternity boy with his 3 frat brothers and a girlfriend walk into a meeting with the exec. They decide that getting a 9-5 out of college sounds like a drag and how much more fun would it be to travel the world and get a television network to fund it all? So, they promise to scour the earth debunking local legends and, essentially, ruining story telling for remote villages all over the eastern hemisphere. During the first episode (which is as far as we got), he traveled to Papua New Guinea and then on to a swampy village only accessible by helicopter or boat to dig up mermaid bones under a palm tree. If he can get a TV show, why can't I?

5. This conversation occurred on the way home from Michael's yesterday, after purchasing 2 of the Christmas village buildings (which, by the way, are 50% off right now).

Neal: This is great. Each year we can get a different one and eventually you'll have the whole set.
Me: But I already have a couple and they aren't from that collection.
Neal: Well you can start a new village with all of them from this collection.
Me: Don't you think that's kind of creepy?
Neal: What?
Me: Well, if you drove into a town where all of the buildings basically looked the same, you would be creeped out. Like you had arrived in a Stephen King town. Or The Twilight Zone.
Neal: hysterical laughter Yeah...I guess so...

Christmas is not about re-creating a Stephen King death village on our entry table. I win this one.

So, tell me...do you agree? Do all of your village pieces match? Do you think the villages are lame? Would you prefer to own a Prius or a Lamborghini....

Happy Champagne Friday. Here's to 2 weeks and 2 days until Christmas! *clink*

What I'm Reading: The Help

2011-12-08T11:20:00.000-05:00

photo credit

If you have been making your home under a rock for the past 2 years and have no idea what this book is about, please read a synopsis of the plot here....because I'm not covering that part.

When this book hit the shelves in 2009 and then the NY Times bestseller list shortly thereafter, I knew that it would, at some point, end up on my nightstand. But reading a book that so boldly approached the history of black help in white homes made me...uncomfortable. Revisiting that period in history seemed counter-productive. It didn't make sense that we would drag it all back up again when we are still pushing a certain portion of our population to accept a black man as president. Why not let it go, move forward, put it all behind us?

This is 2011, after all.

Except that this was a story that needed to be told.

I grew up in the middle class homes of my divorced parents. The only help we had was the house cleaner Mama Virgo hired for a short time. And she was white, well paid, and had it somewhat easy (since Mom would make me clean my room before she came...I still don't understand that). Being the brat that I was, I would sometimes refer to her as the maid, which would cause Mom to hiss at me that she was not the maid. If Mom had been living in Jackson, MS in the 1960's, she would have most assuredly given all of her help yearly raises and vacation days.

Perhaps most startling to me was that the book does take place in the 1960's...not the 30's or even 50's. And, come to find out, there are still homes in the deep south who employ help on a regular basis. So, if we open this book with the preconceived notion that we are about to read about a slice of the past, that would be quite wrong. Granted, we have integrated and the flagrant white violence against a black population is less, but this lifestyle still exists.

So...the pros...
1. It is a fast read. And by that, I don't mean the book is 100 pages of large type. I mean there aren't many words that I had to look up or sentences I had to read twice. The only stumbling block for some may be the way in which Stockett writes the maids' stories. She writes it exactly as they would say it. If I had read this book 2 years ago, I may have struggled with that. I may have even given up after the second chapter and never looked back. But I've been in Georgia for 18 months and, well, I actually prefer to read it as it is written. It makes perfect sense. She could have used the word "y'all" a little more though. Everyone knows our babies say "y'all" before "mama" or "daddy".

2. For someone who knew absolutely nothing about the life of the help in white homes, this is a decent introductory course. I believe that Stockett shows both sides fairly. There were white women who spread lies that sharing toilets with the help could result in "black diseases" and white women who fought against every one of those lies. The maids, although always subservient to their employer, were sometimes like family and sometimes considered it "just another job". It was a black and white world with infinite shades of gray and Stockett showed those shades as best she could within the cover of a 400-page book.

3. The characters are rich, complex, and completely believable. Being from a small town in (we consider Kentucky the south, by the way) the south, and being around the same age as the women in the book, I can see how life could revolve around the Junior League and an annual benefit. I can see how high school cliques would come home to nest and build their empire, working hard to raise the next generation of popular girls. Having it all in the 1960's in Jackson, MS meant marrying during or right out of college, producing 2 healthy and beautiful babies, and having help to host extravagant brunches and the weekly bridge game. For a few of my high school classmates, that still holds true today. Not judging...just saying that it's a lifestyle that some have chosen. More power to them.

But Skeeter represents a different perspective. A woman can also finish college, move (reluctantly) back home, and devote time to a cause that is going to result in a rippling effect for many years to come. There may or may not be a man. There may or may not be children. That part isn't quite so important. It's an alternate lifestyle with different priorities. So, not only is the book about the racial divide, it's also about the choices we women make and the courses our lives take as a result of those choices. We can get married or not. We can have babies or not. We can care and love those babies or not. We can create an environment of love, respect, and inclusion or not. We can question outdated beliefs and stand up for injustices....or not.

And now the cons...
1. This book does not cover the sexual harassment that, I'm sure, the help endured at the hands and lips of the men of the house. Not once does a husband make a comment or grab a handful. Perhaps Stockett, who herself had a maid growing up in Jackson, MS, didn't see that in her house. But I'm sure she is aware that it occurred. Whatever reasons she had for omitting it from the book, it is still an unfair exclusion and leaves an unfortunate gap in the big picture.

2. There is a fairly graphic, pretty disturbing miscarriage scene in the book and the movie. Fortunately, I had been warned by several people about it and could see it coming from a mile away. So, to be completely honest, I didn't read about 6 pages of this book. I just can't read that stuff right now and I'm not sure that I ever will. When you live it, you certainly don't need to read about it. And that might not be a con for many readers. It doesn't exactly fit the "con" category for me, either...but I wonder if it was completely necessary. The character's miscarriage does need to happen in order for the rest of her behavior to make sense and for the rest of her story to unfold, I'm just not so sure it needed to be in that kind of detail (because while flipping through to find the next scene, I accidentally caught a glimpse of the middle).

3. All of the black men in this book are abusive or absent. And maybe that's how it was in Mississippi in the 1960's, but not all men are the same and that's a fact regardless of skin color or decade. While Stockett was painting both the white women and black women with a brush of redemption, she could have added a few strokes to the maids' husbands. They are men, after all...with fragile egos and all that.

There is certainly plot and character development in this book. It's not slow or boring. However, it is also predictable. But wouldn't a book about the past have to be somewhat predictable? We already know how it's going to end. It's all going to boil over with Martin Luther King, Jr. leading the way and people are either going to have to adapt or get out of the way. The best lens through which to read this novel is that of historical fiction. A lot of it happened, some of it has been embellished, and it's all entertaining. There is a happy ending, which we all know still hasn't really happened for some parts of the deep south, and you will most likely turn the last page with a warm and fuzzy feeling. It's a novel. Not a textbook.

Favorite line (when Aibileen is talking about the different variations of grits she makes for Baby Girl): That's all a grit is, a vehicle. For whatever it is you rather be eating.
Isn't that the damn truth?

Wordless Wednesday: You Can Bring Your Bike, But Not Your Children

2011-12-07T10:34:00.000-05:00

A Line Through Number 96

2011-12-06T12:51:00.002-05:00

As I mentioned last week, we spent the weekend after Thanksgiving in Chicago, with Queen Elizabeth and her crew. The trip was timed to not only see the little princess a month before her 3rd birthday, but also walk Michigan Avenue and State Street when they are dressed for Christmas. It's been a long time (too long) since I've been to Chicago for the Christmas lights and windows. It was almost an annual trip with Mama Virgo when I was in high school, but years fly by and the holidays zoom past, leaving me in a dust of boxes and bows. And I promise myself that next year we are definitely going back north for the holiday lights and festivities.

You may recall that I also had one Chicago-specific item on my 101 list. Since "the ledge" opened at The Willis Tower (which will forever be The Sears Tower to me), I have been itching to go. I am terrified of heights, but the glass looked thick and the bolts looked strong. So, why not? A "safe" way to conquer my fear! Go Team Ally! Sunday morning, we hopped a downtown-bound train for ledge-walking and window-shopping.

The weather had been uncooperative from the moment we arrived in Chicago. Drizzly rain, fog, and brisk winds had failed to move on out by Sunday morning, as The Weather Channel had promised. When we arrived at The Willis Tower and looked up, the entire Skydeck was encased in a cloud. The signs posted in the lobby said, "Visibility: zero" and the staff kept reminding us that, at the top, you could not see anything. "It's fine," I assured them. "I just want to walk out on the ledge." And every single one of them looked at me like I had 24 heads perched on top a broom stick. I guess most people don't pay $15 each to see nothing but fog. Although...The Willis Tower does have an active duty military discount so Neal's ticket was free...bringing our total to a whopping $7.50 per person, which is a perfectly acceptable price for zero visibility. Also, when you can't see a thing, there is no line in which to stand. Bonus!

When you arrive at the tippy tippy top (also known as The Skydeck), you should be greeted with:
Views of up to 50 miles and 4 states.

This is what we saw:

So, clearly we were not there for the view. I was pleasantly surprised, however, to find that there is not 1, but FOUR, ledges on which to stand! This is the most commonly snapped photo on the ledge. How could we pass up the opportunity to be common?

Oh, and then there's this one...

And the view from one ledge, looking down the row at the rest of them (you could not get this picture, all people-free, on a clear, highly visible day. Double bonus!)

This one's for you, Hutch!

Let's ignore the sensible shoes I'm sporting in this picture. Apparently my right foot got really pissed that I stuck it in knee-high boots and then ballet flats for the week before. Mama Virgo and the guy at John's Run/Walk Shop have yelled at me enough for all of you.

Goodbye, Skydeck. Thanks for the memories. And now I can cross #96 off the list!

After descending (and now Keanu Reeves and I have something in common...we've both taken a walk in the clouds), we headed to State Street...in the rain...because at some point while we were 103 floors above earth, The Weather Channel got it very, very wrong. I stopped for a few quick snaps of Chicago life. We generally do not meander around Chicago. We are usually on a mission to get to dinner/a play/a store/a museum and there's no time for photographing street scenes. But on this particular Sunday, we had nowhere to be until 6:30.

And then we ventured over to Millenium Park because, somehow, in the 4736397473 times I've been to Chicago, I've never been to The Bean. I have no idea how that even happened. So, since we were there and all...

Neal made me time this picture for when his lips were closed because his teeth were so jacked (which, ordinarily, would not be an issues...except when they are 20' tall).

The bean!

I realize that this is art and that it was intentionally positioned in a way as to reflect the Chicago skyline, but how freaking perfect! And the trees, which should have long shed their colors, were in full display on this dreary, chilly day.

Proof that the rain would just not quit. Thank goodness someone had the insight to put hoods on pea coats.

There was also the obligatory ice rink installed for the holiday season.

And a sign that reminded skaters of the rule: Absolutely no shoes on the ice. Positively no shoes on the ice. Y'know...in case either the absolutely or the positively part threw you.

When we left Millenium Park, we strolled over in an ever-increasing drizzle to the windows on State. Apparently, we passed the wake being held for Mayor Daley's wife, which was held at the old Chicago Public Library. We just saw a half dozen camera crews and people lined up all the way around the block. At the time, we didn't know what it was...just that it looked important.

The Macy's windows were disappointing, to say the least. The theme this year was the Make-A-Wish Foundation, which I fully support. Each of Macy's designers (Sean John, Martha Stewart, Emeril, Michael Kors, etc) designed an ornament and proceeds of ornament sales went to Make-A-Wish. So each window advertised 2 of the ornaments. It was a gigantic marketing campaign. And even though it was for a good cause, it looked rushed and...well...half-assed.

The most exciting window I saw was this:

which is nothing like this:

Everything in this window is made of hair. The photo was borrowed from Shana's post about the Christmas windows in NY. If you want a front-row seat to some ahhhhmazing windows, check out the rest of this post.

The Peninsula, which is home to one of our favorite Chicago watering holes, was decked out in lights and lions in bows...

as was the water tower...looking so very A Christmas Carol-y with the horse-drawn carriages and bare branches dripping with white lights.

Even Crate & Barrel looked fetching with the red awnings.

The Chicago radio station dressed a window for the musical, A Christmas Story (is it just me or is it really difficult to imagine the dad busting out into song?)

and then, of course, there was Marilyn...

Even at 26 feet tall, she still has sculpted deltoids. My goal in life is to look so good that, when magnified 22 times, I can still bring the sexy back.

As we braced for the wind and scurried across the bridge, I stopped for a few last, finger-numbing shots of the city...

and I promised sweet-n-breezy Chicago that we wouldn't wait so long next time.

Champagne Friday: A Walk on the Random Side

2011-12-02T10:45:00.000-05:00

Hooking up (it would be linking up, but I don't actually know how to do that) with Shana for Random Musings Friday today. I really love RMF...such a lovely way to end the week...with all of the tiny tidbits of crazy that has happened.

1. After Thanksgiving, we spent a day driving to Chicago, 2 days there, and a day driving back. That's sort of a lot of time in the car. And it can't all be spent jamming to holiday tunes or there's a good chance Neal will drive us head-on into a steep embankment just to make it stop. So we tuned into CNN, MSNBC, and the BBC (thank you XM Radio for not going bankrupt). But Neal had also downloaded episodes of 60 Minutes and Face the Nation on his phone. As we were listening to the most recent episode of Face the Nation, we heard an interview with Ron Paul. At one point, he was asked why he is in favor of dismantling the Department of the Interior and what his plans for the land in the national parks if that were to happen. He answered...and I quote..."I am one of many who thinks that land should be saled off."

I can't decide if I'm more appalled that he wants to sale off our parks...or that he didn't use the correct verb tense during an interview that was given to promote his status as a presidential candidate.

2. Last night, Neal and I were filling out advent calendar activity cards...another Pinterest project. Because we have some Christmas events that have to happen on certain days (like going to a Christmas play tonight and attending a black tie gala next weekend), we decided to just pick what we were going to do each day. As we inched closer to the 25th, finding creative ideas that didn't cost a lot of money became more difficult. We had already covered touring the Christmas lights around town and watching Christmas movies. Neal's next suggestion was to tie antlers to the cats and chase them around the house. The sad thing is, the girls will never properly thank me for not allowing this to happen.

3. Amazon Marilyn is currently straddled outside of the Chicago Tribune. And yes...she's wearing underwear.

More photos from Chicago and the tales of another 101 item crossed off the list coming next week!

4. If Neal is not visiting friends or family, he is lounging about in his PJs. This has been going on for about 3 weeks now. At one point, as he walked into the full light of the master bedroom closet, I got a really good look at them. The shirt was crusted with...I don't know...maybe bbq sauce and ice cream?? so I said, "Let's wash your pajamas today." To which he replied, "Why? They haven't walked off my body yet."

I didn't realize that was the goal.

5. After having ridden the Chicago rail system from the suburbs into the city last weekend, I now understand how Shana and Robyn have so much blog material from their commute. It's a free-for-all of crazy. While we were sitting in the train station, a guy about Mama Virgo's age was playing air drums with actual drumsticks (which was one of my favorite past times...when I was 14) and on the train, I listened to 2 granddaughters try to explain iTunes gift cards to their grandmother...who was about 55 years old. My mom is...er...slightly older than 55 and she definitely knows what they are and how to purchase and use them. She could probably do it with her eyes closed. I wonder from which rock this lady had just emerged.

6. The Mustache Envy necklace that I donated to Cathy's Movember Campaign went up for auction last Monday and bidding ended on Tuesday night. It was so close to $30 and I was trying to figure out how I could bump it up to that nice round number. Since I was lunching with one of my childhood BFFs and fellow drama club junkies, I knew she would be game for some stache fun. So, I suggested that if the bid hit $30, I would let my lunch companion draw a mustache on me. It totally worked. And Wonder Woman's mommy just happened to have a Halloween face paint pencil in sky blue...the representative color for prostate and testicular cancer awareness! I got a few looks, but no one said anything...mostly because that's probably not the most outrageous thing they had seen all day. Three cheers for hippy restaurants! Many thank yous to Robyn for bumping it up to $30 and to Monique for matching it! Congrats Cathy, on a successful campaign!

I think that's it. I'm sure there's more. I really need to start taking better notes. Happy RED Friday, Happy Champagne Friday, and have a great weekend!

Orange You Glad You're Free?

2011-12-01T22:02:00.000-05:00

The Long Day by Norah Jones

The long day is over and so many have worn their orange with pride and gratitude. Cheers, Chad! This one's for you! And you, Tami. You never have to look far to find a friend.

Mama Virgo

Quick pic of Neal as he got dressed this morning

Lulu asked to be included in this one

Traci

and her kiddos

Belinda

and her hubs, Brad

Tommy

some Tyson staff

Buddy (a Tyson legend)

and Donnie Smith, CEO of Tyson Foods

Thank you to everyone who participated in today's show of love and support for Chad and his family! It is so hard for me to see a snippet of a UT game and not think of Chad...perhaps the same will happen to you!

*if you have a photo of your orange today and would like to be included, please just email it to me and I'll edit the post.

Open Letter to a Fallen Hero: My Salute to Chad

2011-12-01T10:40:00.000-05:00

Dear Chad,
We have never met. In fact, I have never met anyone from your family face-to-face, but I've seen the pictures, read the stories, and already I feel the unimaginable void you left on this earth when you were killed in Afghanistan one year ago today.

When I was about 5 years old, I remember my mom looking at me squarely and saying, "Allyson, life is not fair" in response to my whining about not getting a toy or a Happy Meal or some such thing. And truer words have never been spoken. Life is not fair. The rich get richer, a government sends our military into a combat zone to protect their interest in oil, and a young man...newly wedded and a full life in front of him, dies on a battlefield in some remote corner of the world. Back home, a widow grieves for the love she has lost, for the life she faces without him. A mother pours over childhood photos...of birthdays and baseball games...of graduation and boot camp. She grieves for the laughter she will never again hear, the hugs she will never get, the family he'll never have.

It is not fair.

We, as a country, could never begin to thank or repay you for your sacrifice. The one where you literally laid down your life for every freedom that we take for granted. The freedom to shop 24 hours a day, to hold the hand of a loved one in public, to sing in any choir of any religion of our choosing. You got on a plane with weapon in hand and flew across the world, to a place that none of us can pronounce, and made a stand...you will not attack America, you will not bully the world, we are here to see that you understand that loud and clear. Crystal clear. And the price was your life. How can we possibly begin to repay your widow, your mom, your unit, your friends, the children you'll never have? Whatever we do will never be enough...and yet, we still must do something because not doing anything is not an option either.

I have been reading your wife's blog. Sometimes she's quiet, sometimes she's heartbroken, occasionally she's angry, but mostly she's surviving. She's taking it one day at a time and trying to give herself space and time to grieve. But she's so tender-hearted. She takes things personally and allows the voices of the judgmental access to her head...she begins to doubt her decisions, even though she is doing what is best for her and no one should be questioning that. This is her rocky, foggy road to walk and we are in no position to tell her what to pack or which turns to make. She must do this on her own and Chad, you would be so proud of her. She is still, I imagine, the fiercely independent and brave woman that you fell for and married. You picked an excellent life partner...if only that life hadn't been so short.

It is not fair.

As for Mama Bear, she has met the past year's vast and various challenges head-on, too. I cannot even begin to imagine losing a child during, irrefutably, the prime of life. I think, as a mother, you would face each day of the teenage years knowing that there is good on the other side...you just have to not kill them in the process. But I know that with you all, the good days far outweighed the bad and she is so proud to have you for a son. We are all proud of you, but she beams with it, it leaks from every pore. Her foundation, Wings for Our Troops, would make you proud. She is giving other Marines the opportunity that you had when you came home before deployment. She is bringing invaluable joy to families. Even as she grieves. The day Neal returned home from Iraq, she texted me asking for pictures. This is sadistic, I thought. Why does she want to see photos of a day that she'll never have? But her response? It brings me happiness and peace...to see a unit home safe. Where does a person find that kind of strength? Why can't they bottle and sell it?

As an observer in Katie and Tami's grieving process, I know that this anniversary is the end of so much and the beginning of some, too. The "firsts" are over, but that does not at all mean the sadness is gone. And I know that you would do anything to keep those tears from falling. You were just that kind of guy. But they will fall and that's OK. You are loved, you are missed, and sometime you just have to sit down and cry about it.

As a nation, we salute you today. We break out our orange (uh...you did see that UK vs UT game last Saturday, right?? First time we cleaned your clocks since 1984! BOO-YAH!) and we pray for your wife, your family, your friends, and above all, your unit...who stood beside you during those last inches. Because life is all about inches...

Sincerely and with love, respect, and eternal gratitude,

Ally

Cpl. Chad Wade

KIA December 1, 2010

*The flag flying over the capitol today is flying in honor of Cpl. Chad Wade. It was the best we could think of, to honor his sacrifice for this country, for us as a grateful nation.

A Little Help?

2011-11-30T11:58:00.000-05:00

I have a favor to ask.

And although it feels like that's all I've done recently (Military Missions, thanking our troops), I'm going to ask once more.

Because I feel like it's important.

Tomorrow is the one-year anniversary of the death of Cpl. Chad Wade, a member of 2nd Battalion, 1st Marines out of Camp Pendleton, CA. If you've been reading 400 Wakeups for any length of time, you know that I've grown close to Chad's mom, Tami of Boyette Babble Time, since I found her through Chad's widow, Katie. The money I make from RED Friday items at Daisy & Elm almost always goes to Tami's foundation, Wings for Our Troops, which collects money to buy a plane ticket home for Marines about to deploy. And we often drop each other emails throughout the day, trading jokes or concerns. Things have grown quiet over there as she continues to process her grief through the first anniversary. But we are still here....we still think about her...we still honor the ultimate sacrifice that Chad made one year ago tomorrow.

Chad's favorite team was the University of Tennessee Volunteers (I know...try to control your gag reflex). So, he and construction zone orange were BFF. I am asking that if you can and don't mind, please wear some orange in honor of Chad tomorrow. His mom and her posse (including me) will be wearing these orange ribbons.

But any orange will do. I just happen to have some orange on hand right now. Secondly, if you could take a picture of you wearing your orange and email it to me, I would like to post it on the blog tomorrow.

I know this is extremely short notice and I understand that not everyone has a Michael's or a Hobby Lobby in their back yard...but what's most important is that we continue to show Chad's family and friends that we love and support them, especially on such a dark day.

Thank you, thank you, thank you!!

Oh For Pete's Sake

2011-11-29T11:07:00.000-05:00

I wrote the below post yesterday morning, right before we left Chicago...with every intention of publishing it somewhere around Indianapolis. Except that I completely forgot. And then I was befuddled as to why I wasn't getting any comments on it. Until I just went in to write this morning's post and discovered it still sitting there....patiently waiting to be published. But both of these offers are still good. My offer for Surferwife's readers is valid until the end of the year and Cathy's Movember auction doesn't end until 9 PM CT. I believe the bidding is at $18.00 right now....which is still, y'know...super cheap! Now, off to have another cuppa because clearly I'm still a little foggy from the weekend. Happy Tuesday!

West Love Fest

2011-11-29T11:04:00.000-05:00

Today, 2 events regarding Daisy & Elm will happen simultaneously. And they will both occur in California...but will hopefully create a ripple effect across the country, radiating out to anyone with Internet access.

The first is Cathy @ Antsy Pant's posting of the very last Movember item...a Daisy & Elm original mustache necklace! Pictures always tell more than words so I'm sending you over to her world to check it out. Be the highest bidder, with all proceeds going to prostate and testicular cancer research, and you may call this whimsical and very appropriate piece yours!

The second is Surferwife's post about her favorite businesses, just in time for Cyber Monday. She is posting a new business every hour, with D&E making a debut at 2 PM, her time! And because I believe in getting just as much as you're giving, there is special offer to all Surferwife readers. So jump on over to check out all of her beloved businesses, but stay to get the code you'll need for a little extra D&E lovin'!

We are leaving in 17 minutes to make the 7-hour drive back from Chicago. As long as I'm not driving, I can still answer emails and tweets about either of these offers. And thank you ladies for asking me to be a part of them! I love being enabled to do what I adore most!

The Little Man Gets His(Her) Day

2011-11-26T18:10:00.000-05:00

As I bounced around the this morning, wiping the sleep from my eyes and burrowing down against a Chicago morning, I noticed a growing love for Small Business Saturday. After yesterday morning's absurdity in Wal-marts across the country (not the least of which was the mace-ing in LA), smart shoppers are turning to online stores for Christmas shopping. As someone said on Facebook yesterday, Black Friday undoes all of the goodwill I feel on Thanksgiving.

So what's the antidote for crossing off the Christmas list at the expense of your sanity, dignity, and basic self-decency? Small Business Saturday....where store owners are also the creators and, of course, everyone knows your name. This weekend I challenge you to spend just as much time surfing handmade goods (either online or in your local stores) as the toy aisle at Target. And, when it's all said and done, if you are not more relaxed, more confident in your gifts, and more satisfied in supporting a small business, then I'll buy you a Coke...from the cafe down the street, of course.

Random Musings Friday

2011-11-25T13:21:00.000-05:00

I was going to pimp Shana's new Random Musings Friday-specific blog button for this post, but I can't find it. So I'm going to give her approximately 24 hours to get it to me before I pick a random photo from our ShanAlly Chronicles. Although I will pick a skinny picture of the both of us....

1) As we were lying in bed the other night, me slogging through a Stieg Larrson novel on the Nook and Neal playing 80's music videos on Youtube, he turned to me and said, "This Bieber guy has a video with 6 million views in the past week. That's like 2 hits every second. It can't possibly be that good. Now here's a good band...Mike and the Mechanics. That's a video worth 6 million views in a week."

Indeed. All I need is a miracle.

2) While we were hanging with friends earlier this week, I shared the fact that the only German I remember from college is underwear in German translates to bathroom pants. Wonder Woman's daddy took this and ran with it.
Make sure you put on clean bathroom pants in case you're in an accident.
Victoria's Secret is running a sale on bathroom pants.
He was hanging from the flag pole by his bathroom pants.

I nearly peed my bathroom pants.

3) Our Thanksgiving gathering includes 3 children around the age of 5 and a bunch of adults (who mostly belong to the 3 kids). Neal, who does not have any children in the mix, was wallering (which I believe is my grandmother's bastardization of the word wallow) with all 3 of them on the couch. There was screaming and flailing. My aunt leaned over and hollered, "Neal! You won't let them hurt you, will you?" Which made us all erupt into laughter because he just returned from a war zone where insurgents were actively trying to kill him and my aunt is worried about 3 5-year olds who weigh about 100 lbs collectively.

4) We received a box of thank you goodies in the mail on Tuesday. It included the best bagels I've ever had, as well as several kinds of chocolate, smoked salmon and babka. It was my first taste of babka. Once you've had babka, you never go back.

5) I'm now logging off so that we can get on the road to Chicago. It's been several years since we've seen the Christmas decorations in Chicago and we haven't visited Queen Elizabeth since the last deployment. Also, I'll be knocking off another item on the 101 list....walking out on the ~~Sears~~ Willis Tower ledge. It's 6 hours of 4-lane roads...better get crackin'.

Happy Day After! May your pants be loose and your leftovers just as delicious.
Turkey pie...turkey spaghetti...turkey loaf...turkey lasagna...turkey jello...turkey and waffles...

Wordless Wednesday: Where I Would Like to Be Right Now

2011-11-23T23:07:00.001-05:00

Gratituesday: The Thanksgiving Edition

2011-11-22T23:40:00.001-05:00

I must first say that the blogger who introduced us all to Gratituesday is no longer blogging...due to people beyond her control (read: the over-reaction of a malicious and abusive ex-husband). But maybe she'll swing a turkey leg and raise a glass to her legacy. We are still finding the positive side of a negative situation....particularly on Tuesdays.

#10 Shana's dad was physically run down by a hit-and-run driver this week.
It's reaching to say that there are any positives to this event (we could only call this an accident if the driver had stopped, performed the ABC's of first aid and/or called 911. Apparently he never even tapped the brakes...therefore, so not an accident). But I have been bending God's ear a little more this week. While I usually mutter a breathy "thank you, Jesus" when I skirt through a yellow light or a "Hallelujah" when I receive genuinely good news, I don't generally offer much in the way of prayer requests or gratitude. That changed some this week.

#9 The drive through Atlanta was, as always, an extravaganza of recklessness and idiocy.
But we survived. And it only further justified my decision to stay put in Georgia for 9 months while I grow a human....whenever that occurs.

#8 I broke the frame on the couch in KY.
This actually happened last spring (hahaha. How ironic. I just put that together.). I sat down a little too enthusiastically and found myself clawing at the arm rest as a piece of the frame completely gave way. I am not what you would call handy or even able to use a hammer without crushing 2-3 metacarpals in the process. So, I left it...thinking I would, at some point, drive across the street to Haverty's and raise holy hell about the inferior product they were hawking to the unsuspecting public. Instead. Neal fixed it today. With power tools and everything. It was drop-dead sexy and a little uncharacteristic. I like what this mustache is doing to him.

#7 Mama Virgo reads the blog.
Which normally falls under "things that make me smile and proud to call her my mother." Except when she calls to demand a retraction. Full disclosure: she did not actually think Debra Winger was the star who played opposite Warren Beatty in the Zelda mystery movie. But she couldn't remember who she had said and neither could I, so I named the oldest actress I could think of...besides Betty White. Eventually, it came to both of us. She thought it was Faye Dunaway. Who is probably not anything like Debra Winger.

#6 I have been hobbling around like someone missing a toe for about 5 days.
Apparently, when you wear over-the-knee, pole-workin' boots for 8 hours, followed by 6 days of ballet flats and several hours of walking in tennis shoes that you've owned for over 3 years, there is a possibility that you will develop what is called a neuroma. This will make it feel like there are thousands of tiny steak knives stabbing the ball of your foot and then your toes will swell to the size of breakfast sausage. And you will seriously consider carving that bunion right off...with the ass end of a tuna can. Until your husband drags you to the local running shoe store....where they will fit you with shoes and an arch support. Four days later, you will be walking like it never even happened. Three cheers for Brooks shoes. And husbands.

#5 Neal has 50 days off.
Fifty. 5-0. I have no doubt that this influx of free time is a welcome change from the routine grind of war. But I'm about to put him to work stringing jewelry. My Christmas orders are piling up and he looks like he may need an excuse everyday to stop watching old episodes of Wings.

#4 Handmade items for everyone on your Christmas list is hard work.
Fortunately, I'm almost finished. And if you have still not convinced yourself that Etsy or some other artisan website is the way to go, allow me to share this anecdote. Last week, I purchased 3 items from 3 different shops, knowing that if they shipped immediately, we would not be there to receive the items. So, I convo'd the owners and asked them to hold shipping until our return to Georgia. Not only did they comply, they were thrilled to do so. Etsy or bust for Christmas 2011.

#3 The stairwell light burned out almost a year ago.
When I returned to the townhouse in Kentucky last April, I flipped on the stairwell light, only to be answered with darkness. And I can't lie...my first thought was "fuck. How am I going to change THAT?" So, I left it. And developed a routine of leaving one light on downstairs and one light on upstairs to counteract the darkness in between. Yesterday, Neal went to Lowe's and bought this claw on a telescoping pole that extended up to the ceiling and gripped tightly enough around the light bulb to allow him to twist it off and retract it safely without shattering a flood light on the landing below. And Neal said (literally) let there be light.

#2 We haven't visited with most of our friends in almost a year.
When he's deployed, I put on 10 more hats and lose hours of my day to washing machines that crap out and cats that can't clean their ears effectively. This week, we've eaten all of our meals with friends who have been, I'm sorry to say, neglected over the past 11 months. Tonight, we had pizza with Wonder Woman in Training, her parents, and our friend who has just been asked to be a Nielsen household. I should have asked her if it was too late to save The Unit. It is not, it seems, too late for Community...so there's that...

#1 Last year was a 95% dark chocolate kind of bittersweet.
I stood behind this turkey head

thinking that this year I would be flying solo. A typical 400-day deployment would mean that his turkey and gravy would be served by a Pakistani contractor in a pair of plastic gloves. But this is no ordinary year. Bring on the turkey toboggan....we have a short deployment to celebrate.

I hope you all have a grateful and gorge-licious Thanksgiving holiday. One more full day of feasting with friends before we head west to the family's main event. And to all of the families who will toast a turkey leg to their deployed servicemember on Skype sometime Thursday or to the ones who have to pray to talk to their loved ones, you are the wind beneath our wings. Keep on keepin' on. We love you...we salute you...and above all....we honor your sacrifice.

Screw Cowbell...We Need Mo 'Stache!

2011-11-21T16:51:00.001-05:00

There are some truly talented marketing geniuses working in the U.S. right now. Specifically, I'm thinking of the individuals responsible for the Old Spice guy, the Mayhem guy, and whomever convinced a mess of (or mess'a...depending on your geographical location) moms to meet up for sparkly vampires at midnight...without their tweens. Then there are the PR firms responsible for educating the public on their health....the condom folks, the quit smoking organizations, and the posse of PINK people (who have watched their breast cancer awareness campaign morph from pretty in pink into a myriad of sexual innuendos and baseball analogies). The newest (and most beloved to me) is Movember...brought to us by the Mo'brothas and Mo'sistas of the crusade to heighten awareness about prostate and testicular cancer.

Although, technically, Neal could get breast cancer, I am pretty safe from both prostate and testicular cancer. And because I will never have it, I know nothing about it. Which means I can't effectively nag Neal about going for exams. But when he looks in the mirror (from now until 30 November) and sees the caterpillar building a home above his lip, he will remember that there was something he was supposed to schedule.

Because I think that Neal bears an uncanny resemblance to Ron Jeremy or any mid-30's, Mario-Kart playing, cheese puff-eating man still living in his parents' basement (and I can't look at him without laughing or singing brown-chicken-brown-cow in my head), I feel the burning need to explain to every person we encounter about the bristly bro-stache. And, believe it or not, most people already know about Movember. So, to the marketing team behind this, good job! It's working!

Without further ado, I bring you 9 days of growth. We're a little late to this party, but y'know how the Army feels about hair of any kind.

This is a good example of how super sneaky I can be on the new stealth mode setting of the silentsnap app on my phone. Thank you, Hutch....and look out people of Walmart!

Because I can't pass up the opportunity to do a little charity work through Daisy & Elm (and because it was so much fun to create), Cathy @ Antsy Pants 2.0 is auctioning off a D&E original for Movember. The auction begins 28 November! But you don't have to wait until then! She has been auctioning items (with 100% of the proceeds going to research for the cancers affecting men) all month. Every item is handmade and beyond beautiful. In addition, she's accepting cash donations to her Mospace page - all to benefit cancer research. And should you want to start to following along with her own mustache experiment, Jordan (who I am going to just start referring to as Jord-ache) makes a weekly appearance with his own dash of stache.

For the record, 30 November can't come fast enough. We cannot have a serious conversation when all I can think is brown-chicken-brown-cow (or bow-chicka-bow-bow...for those of you who haven't quite put it together yet).

From the Outside, In

2011-11-19T11:26:00.000-05:00

A little peak inside a Parisian dressmaker's studio. Lexington is lovely...Paris would be better.

Happy Weekend!

Living in a Black and White World

2011-11-17T23:41:00.000-05:00

I'm going to tell this story this story on myself because I tell so many on everyone else in my family. But, when it's all said and done, I still think it's a completely valid question.

Yesterday morning, Neal was trying to find some sort of happy medium on daytime TV. Apparently, Anderson Cooper has sold his soul to Ricki Lake and is now hosting an hour of parents who abuse their children/children who are transgender/why the plastic in baby bottles is turning our boys into girls, etc. I'm not saying these are not important topics to cover, but (as Neal put it best) Anderson was more valuable in the field, dodging bullets. Now he just looks like a eunuch.

So cross off ~~AC360~~ the Jerry Springer-wannabe with the Ken doll hair and that leaves Hoda and Kathy Lee (I think I misspelled both of their names but they are collectively so obnoxious that I haven't even bothered to Google it) and Regis and Kelly (which will be playing on a continuous loop, projected on all 4 walls of a 10x10 prison cell if I happen to go to Hell). But it also leaves "MeTV", which I think is Georgia's daytime answer to Nick at Nite. Little House on the Prairie, westerns, and Perry Mason play throughout the week. Yesterday was Perry Mason....in black and white. Can I just say how bizarre it is to be watching a black and white television show on a 42 inch flat-screen, HD TV? And wasteful. Bizarre and wasteful.

As I was lying there in my PJ's, drinking eggnog coffee, and pondering the idea of filming a show that would be viewed in black and white, it forced the question...

"Do you think they wore clothes with color when they filmed these? Or just shades of black, gray, and white?"

Neal: You mean, is that woman wearing a blue sweater, or is just gray?
Me: Exactly.
Neal: hysterical, gut-grabbing laughter

I still see nothing extraordinary about the question. Why would you bother to wear a burnt orange blazer if the audience will only see gray?

Although once the color television made its big debut, it would have meant all new wardrobes for each studio and I can see how that would have been a problem. Also, now that I am sitting here typing this out, it occurs to me that when they converted all of those shows into Technicolor, that the actors were not in a continuous parade of shades of gray....which was quite insightful on somebody's part. And this is why I don't work in Hollywood.

The Fitzgeralds for $500, please Alex

2011-11-16T18:32:00.000-05:00

As I was surfing around the blogosphere this morning, I came upon a story that Shana was relaying about her mom. And it reminded me of a similar conversation I had with Mama Virgo while we were on vacation last month. Any insight you may be able to lend to this particular question would be most helpful...as we have Google'd, IMDb'd, and Wikipedia'd for hours using every keyword we can think of and we are only left with 2 possible scenarios:

1. We just haven't searched the right term.
2. Mama Virgo has lost her mind...which is a terrible thing to lose.

Mama Virgo: What are you reading these days?

Me: Oh I finally started reading A Moveable Feast by Hemingway. He focuses on his day-to-day life in Paris and all of the expats he encounters. The stories he tells on them are pretty interesting. Like Zelda Fitzgerald was bonkers. And Scott was really not much better.

MV: That's pretty much how she was portrayed in Midnight in Paris, too. Although there's a movie specifically about her. With Warren Beatty. And somebody else...Debra Winger, maybe?

Me: Really? Let me see if I can find it on Netflix. (opening the app, searching around a bit for all Warren Beatty films. Nothing about Zelda.) What's the name of the movie?

MV: Zelda, I think.

Me: Hmmm....let me look it up in IMDb. (more tapping on my phone as the appetizer of brie and a second glass of wine arrives) Are you sure that's the name of it?

MV: I think so. But definitely Warren Beatty. Look him up.

Me: OK, so it's not Bugsy, Bullworth, Bonnie & Clyde, or Dick Tracy. What about Town and Country?

MV: When did it come out:

Me: Uh...2001?

MV: Definitely not. This movie is from the 70's.

Me: So in the 70's we've got Heaven Can Wait, The Fortune, Shampoo, The Parallax View, some movie with a dollar sign, McCabe & Mrs. Miller, and The Only Game in Town. Any of those sound right?

MV: No...

Me: Well, those are your choices.

MV: Maybe they forgot a few.

Me: Mom, it's the Internet Movie Database. It's what they do. It's their thing. They didn't inadvertently delete a few. If it's not listed, then he wasn't in it.

MV: Let me check Wikipedia.

And on and on it went...through the rest of dinner and for another 2 hours back at home. Still...nothing. We can only assume that she watched Tender Is the Night and has, in her feeble mind, exchanged Jason Robards for Warren Beatty.

I have tons of readers who are Mama Virgo's age (let's say 60-ish) and you may be reading this and thinking OH! I know that movie! and if so, please share. Because I would really like to watch it and Mom would really like to start sleeping better.

Just another Manic Mon...er...Tuesday

2011-11-15T10:55:00.000-05:00

So, I missed a day. Which is completely different than skipping a day. Skipping implies that I was completely aware of the fact that I hadn't posted anything and was consciously and voluntarily not posting anything. Missed means that I thought I had put something up at 1 AM the night before, when in fact, all I had done was choose the pictures for the post. And it was 1 AM, after all. I could have been doing the limbo with Matt Lauer under the Eiffel Tower and I probably wouldn't remember the next morning at 10 AM.

This morning, I remembered. Crickets from over here yesterday.

I sat down to download the 20 or so pictures I took of Homecoming with my camera on Saturday. I selected. I copied. I pasted. I then selected them from the camera. And I deleted. Just as I always do. Except when I went back into the folder on my computer, there were 4. And none of them were of us. Crestfallen doesn't even begin to describe it. Had Neal not been standing in front of me, offering a plate of fresh-from-the-oven biscuits drizzled with Savannah Bee honey, I would have erupted into a twisted face cry.

I hate it when I do things like that. Thinking back on it, there are only 4 or 5 photos that I took on Saturday that I'm truly sad I lost. It's a lesson learned, definitely. And I'm glad I learned it when I have some back-up photos taken by a photographer and friend, rather than learning it with, say, our photos from Paris. But it's a moment in time that is vulnerable to my memory, which, unfortunately has been gnawed through by moonshine and age.

Much love and appreciation goes to Dane Cook's Baby Daddy for snapping these on Saturday. They are suddenly more precious than gold.

I felt a tiny bit ridiculous waving this fun-sized American flag around when I really just wanted to wrap the biggest one I can find around me like a shawl and go sprinting down Main Street.

You may call it Ho-tard or Hot-tard...we called it hysterical. But that may have just been the mix of insomnia and Scrubbin' Bubbles fumes talking.

First one off the bus and carrying his trash from a carry-out order of Burger King. Not exactly how I pictured this moment. Luckily, I've learned to roll with it.

I'm not sure what he's saying here but I would be willing to bet both of my beloved fur balls that it's "Woo-hoo!", which is his default expression for any situation that calls for jubilation.

I did make him set down his trash before kissing me. I do not need Burger King to be immortalized in our Homecoming photos.

ChiefHasNoRhythm and DivaVee were reunited, as well.

Although I had just seen Chief a month earlier, when he came back to Georgia for his R&R, DivaVee hadn't seen Neal since the 4-day pass at Ft. Bliss.

Chief and I exchanged a quick "welcome home" hug as I had, just a month ago, dined on his famous spaghetti (prepared with a stick of butter, thankyouverymuch. As Kallay would say, oh my thighs).

Home at last. This deployment was, apparently, a little harder on some than it was on others. The 352 was directed to retrieve their bags from the bus and then everyone was to reconvene in the drill hall. Our chaplain, who was also returning from Iraq, unleashed a little Martin Luther King, Jr. when he was asked to pray towards the end of a short ceremony. He started innocuously enough...thanking God for the beautiful day and a safe return to friends and family. But then that bald-headed, country boy bust out with, "And we are free at last, free at least. Thank GOD ALMIGHTY we are FREE AT LAST." That is a Soldier who is happy to be home.

And the people said AMEN!

In the time it has taken me to write this post, Neal, who is a cheesy appetizer of awesome, has managed to restore the deleted photos. He just handed me a memory stick and, unceremoniously, muttered, "here ya go." The man deserves a parade...a galaxy named after him...or, at the very least, some homemade cookies. Here is a just little bit of what he has managed to salvage in the past 20 minutes. God save the queen, God bless the U.S.A., and God love my husband, who fixes everything I break.

DivaVee says these boots are the very reason that everyone thought I was married to a brotha. Sorry to disappoint. Neal is basically snow white.

If I didn't think DivaVee would stalk silently in the night, all the way across base, and tie dead fish around my front door, I would show you a photo of what she looked like last Christmas. This woman is proof that a low-carbohydrate diet and daily exercise will melt those pounds right off. She greeted Chief as a more slender, much stronger, version of her former self. I just think she looks hawt!

There's very little in this world that's as delicious as a tutu'd baby's butt. Our fearless FRG Leader holds a 352 baby who was born during the deployment. Mama is bringing her up right, complete with Army tutu, ACU headband, and matching ACU shoes (notice the shoes, people. *swoon*).

Things are slowly falling back into place around here. Neal has diagnosed the washing machine, installed an HD antenna in the living room, baked biscuits, and updated his Facebook status. Having them home full time is an adjustment...don't let anyone tell you otherwise. But at least I can work all day knowing that if I want a hug, I just have to walk down the hall.

Gush. Giggle. Gasp.

2011-11-13T22:12:00.000-05:00

Thank you, Pinterest, for bringing 3G's to my life recently...

via Pinterest

Zero Wakeups

2011-11-12T22:15:00.002-05:00

Salute and Support

2011-11-11T09:17:00.000-05:00

Every time there is a military-inspired holiday...Memorial Day, Veterans' Day...well, OK that's about it (I feel like there's more...am I missing one?)...there is a blogosphere outcry over the mattress sales and car sales that eclipse the meaning behind the holiday. We encourage everyone to remember our veterans and to say thank you. And that is all well and good...except when you are paralyzed by the fear of strolling up to a stranger. Even if it is to say something nice.

Today, I'm pimping Military Missions like it's my full-time job because donating is still saying thanks without the anxiety.

I stumbled upon Beth and her foundation towards the end of Neal's last deployment. I don't exactly remember how it all started, but I think I attended a care package assembly. That's how most people find Beth. They see an ad in the newspaper or online that calls for all hands on deck to help get care packages to our military stationed in Iraq, Kuwait, and Afghanistan. Although Military Missions focuses mainly on Kentucky troops, Beth never turns down a care package request.

Over the years, Beth has added features and people to her ever-growing mission of supporting our military. Even her slogan, Reaching Beyond the Yellow Ribbon, indicates that she may begin with a box of hot chocolate and hand sanitizer, but she is also ready to assist troops and their families with any aspect of military life. Her resources for dealing with PTSD and Traumatic Brain Injury are vast and varied, as she has come face-to-face with it in her own life. Dealing with post-combat stress and injuries is a marathon, not a sprint, and she believes in having a running partner when you're on that long, lonely stretch of dark road.

Beth's most extensive annual project has just kicked off. OpSend Christmas begins in October and continues through Thanksgiving, until 30 November. Her objective is to make sure that every servicemember deployed at Christmas receives a gift from all of us back home. Each flat-rate box includes personal care items, such as chapstick, baby wipes, and foot powder; snack items like trail mix, coffee, and cookies; and gift items such as travel games and music CD's. For the holiday assembly, the gift items are increased and Christmas cards are added. Military Missions tries to include at least 10 hand-written cards in each box. The goal is at least 5,000 boxes. Last month, Beth wrote an article that described the best part of a care package: the cards and letters. Our troops may occasionally fist-pump over some beef jerky and a good book, but what they anticipate most is the correspondence from us.

Today, Veterans' Day, 11-11-2011, you can make it your mission to help Beth accomplish hers. If you are currently living in the Lexington, KY vicinity, the Military Missions office is located in the Millpond Shopping Center. They have extended their hours for Operation S.E.N.D. and are available to receive donations or answer any questions about how you may best donate your time, energy, finances, or all 3. She has also included a list of drop boxes for OpSend items (ideas, suggestions, guidelines and prohibited items are listed here) on the Military Missions website. The actual packing assemblies will be held on Wednesday, 16 November and Wednesday 30, November and anyone who is available to come lend a hand is encouraged to do so.

For the rest of us, we have options.

If you would prefer to donate hand-written notes or cards (or children's drawings), details can be found here. If you would like to write a check to be used toward the purchase of care package supplies or to help pay the shipping fees for all of these flat-rate boxes (wouldn't it be awesome if the federal government would ship them for free? Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha. Yeah.), check out this page. Getting the word out to your friends is easy with this page dedicated to all of the social media where Military Missions has a presence.

Neal and I are experiencing a deployment first. He is home for the holidays at the beginning and end of the deployment. A 400-day mobilization usually means that you miss Christmas at the front end or the back. Holidays without your servicemember is a giant pot of suck and although the American public tends to be hypersensitive to military families over the holidays, it's still nice to receive some recognition for (what I consider to be) a deep sacrifice. Email a little information about your servicemember and Beth will make him or her the Hero of the Day, which gets posted on the blog and Facebook. And, as always, you can add your hero to the mailing list here.

Beth and her husband have worked with civilians in the central Kentucky area and beyond to grow Military Missions to what it is today. Through personal heartache and seemingly insurmountable circumstances, they have to continued to reach beyond the yellow ribbon to support our troops and their families back home. She only asks that we support her mission in return. I ask that you find something in this list or on the Military Missions website to assist with over the holidays. As for me, I have a few boxes of Christmas cards to buy and a Sam's Club run to make!

Trading in Housewives for Horses

2011-11-10T10:53:00.000-05:00

It's my day to preach it from the mountain tops (or as the case may be, from the laptop on my dining room table). I'm over at From the Sidelines talking about the Breeders' Cup this past weekend and how horse racing is faring in the sports world overall. Join me and give me a nugget of thought to chew on with my coffee.

Wednesday's Insanity

2011-11-09T09:13:00.000-05:00

The business side of me is getting pimped today over at Taming Insanity! Her iPhone Picture Wednesday blog post features several online shops that sell handmade goods...including Daisy & Elm! Check out the blog, check out the stores, and thank you for supporting handmade items!

Back in the U.S.A.

2011-11-08T22:00:00.000-05:00

As of 6 hours ago, Neal and the 352 were on American soil.

Their mission has ended and now all that's left is outprocessing the unit, which equates to standing in long lines to fill out packets of paperwork and receive any last parting words of wisdom that Uncle Sam feels fit to share. It's boring for him and annoying for me...as I would just like him home, please. But we have our own list of tasks to prepare for their arrival. Each one completed in hopes that it will all result in a wild ruckus of jubilation when they pull in.

And I've had the most interesting reaction to this shortened deployment. I cannot stop crying tears of happiness. I can't watch any old episodes of The Unit, listen to any Toby Keith songs, see any photos of Homecomings (much less watch Homecoming), or hear the American anthem (which they play everyday at 5 PM or Taps, which they play every night at 10 PM)...among the 3732629732 other things that bring tears to my eyes throughout the day. I know that we've done 2 full tours of 13 months each, but the fact that this one will only be about 11 months from start to finish has me leaking joy fluid all day everyday. That has never happened before. It is simply an outpouring of relief...all the way down my face.

The situation in Iraq has been unstable at best. And with the deaths of Osama bin Laden and Gaddhafi while the 352 was deployed, it created an even more dangerous living environment. I've been holding my breath for 11 months, hoping and praying and asking others to do the same. And now 352 boots are on American soil. And in just a little bit, Neal's boots will be next to our front door.

I know that I haven't always blogged as often about this deployment as I had initially planned. There was a lot that, come to find out, I couldn't post. And there was some that just sounded like whiny drivel when it was all typed out. There were many items on my deployment checklist that never got done. There are many more that got added along the way. But when I look back on the year that has passed, I know that I put it to use in the best way I knew how. If I let myself go there, I can be sad for Neal and all of the events he has missed...weddings and births, announcements and travels. He has looked through my pictures and listened to the stories, but in the end this was a year that he missed.

When you celebrate Veteran's Day on Friday, in whatever way you see fit, please remember that the sacrifices that a veteran makes are many. Neal would gladly board a plane, fly across the world, and take up a weapon to defend this country that we love, but he dreads the holidays, birthdays, anniversaries, and all of life's moments that he misses while he's away. His life has been on pause for 11 months. He couldn't bring a child into this world or congratulate a friend on his wedding day or take his mama to lunch on her birthday. Our lives, like those of so many military families, is segmented into chapters: Neal was home or Neal was at war. And I'm only reminded when I begin by saying, "remember that time we went to Savannah/Kentucky/the gym and..." and he turns to me and says, "I wasn't there. I wasn't at home."

And then there are those who have sacrificed the ability to ever come home and push "play" on their lives. They leave a gaping and raw hole in those who patiently counted down their own wake-ups. Our words and actions will never be enough, but we have to show them that the sacrifice is not forgotten, that they are not forgotten. I will make waffles for Neal next week, knowing that Tami will never again sit down to dinner with Chad or that Army Dad will never again swap Christmas gifts with his brother or the Pucketts will never again call their son. I am relieved. I am grateful. I am a hot and sloppy mess.

I know that many readers came over from Magnolias & Mimosas when we began our 400 wake-ups. I haven't yet decided what I will do or where I will go. I kind of like it over here. And, as long as we are employed by the Army, we will always be on some kind of countdown. So...I may stay. But I also may change my Twitter name back to Bubbles Friday.

Gare de Lost

2011-11-07T23:49:00.000-05:00

As I was editing photos for this post, I realized that I almost skipped our first Saturday in Paris...mainly because there aren't any pictures from that day. None. And this was an alarming awakening because it means that if I don't photograph it, I will not remember doing it. I want to stitch that on a shirt and wear it when I'm traveling so people will stop giving me nasty looks as I freeze to take a picture about every 3 seconds. Quit judging me...I'm preparing for early onset dementia.

So, to the Musee d'Orsay we go...the only museum in 6 days that prohibited all photography. That means all photos are courtesy of Google Images...which I promise to credit. (Does it mean I've hit the big time when websites go all super-stalky if I fail to credit every. single. photo. I. post?)

Photo Credit

As I think I mentioned earlier, I read Eiffel's Tower before arriving in Paris. Based on the events that surrounded the 1889 World's Fair in Paris, Jill Jonnes' book details how the Eiffel Tower came to be, as well as the relationships between the artists living in Montmartre in the late 1880's. But Paris hosted yet another World's Fair the following year, in 1900. The Gare d'Orsay...or Orsay train station...was constructed to coincide with the 1900 World's Fair and accommodated the lines from southern France, until the short platforms were no longer suitable for the longer trains. After it was closed to rail traffic, it was used as a mailing center during WWII and then as a film set. Today, it houses an astounding amount of impressionist and post-impressionist masterpieces. Basically, if you know anything about art from the late 1800's, you'll recognize something in the Orsay.

The proposed idea behind the Orsay was to bridge the gap between the 1700's art of the Louvre and the ultra-modern here and now art of the Pompidou. This also happens to be my favorite period of art history. I grew up with prints of water lilies hanging in Mom's bedroom and attending Renoir exhibits at the Art Institute in Chicago. Monet, Manet, Degas, Gauguin, Cezanne, Seurat, van Gogh, Cassatt, Toulouse-Lautrec...I don't love it all, but I recognize and respect the talent.

So...the down and dirties on Musee d'Orsay...absolutely no large bags allowed in the museum. And baggage check does not accept coats or anything of value...like cameras. So we shoved the big ass camera that we weren't allowed to use into the tiny black purse that I toted all day. And do not get too attached to the idea of where a painting should be. For example...apparently, when Rick Steves wrote his travel guide for Paris, the Musee d'Orsay had an additional floor. As in...floor 1, floor 2, floor 3. It's now missing an entire floor (I find this incredulous as we had the 2011 version of his guidebook. So either he has gotten lazy with the updates or the Orsay has nixed a floor in the past few months...). Also, after following along with the podcast and the guidebook for 2 rooms, nothing was where it was supposed to be. Admitting defeat, we put it all away and just walked aimlessly through.

You are probably mumbling to yourself something like, "that's the best way to see a museum! Stop trying to control the situation! Relax!" And that is true. However, I enjoy a museum best when I have a story to take away from what I've just seen. And although I know these artists and the work they've done, I still like to have some nugget of backstory to share with...whomever. It's not about being a know-it-all...it's about understanding the circumstances surrounding a piece of art.

Also...Neal and I can now say with absolute certainty that a train station is a horrible design for an art gallery. The platforms restrict traffic flow and you find yourself doubling back and questioning whether you've been in this room or down that hallway. It's a twee bit maddening. If it were anything but impressionist art, I would have lasted about an hour before waving the white flag and begging for a glass of wine. To complicate matters, it was, of course, Shark Week and I was soon familiar with every single bathroom. It's truly a miracle we stayed for over 2 hours.

But I was captivated both by the art and by the very idea that I was staring at the original after the postcards had hung on my walls for so many years. A few of my favorites included:

La Classe de danse (The Dance Class) by Edgar Degas

via Google Images

Although ballet dancers and Degas are practically synonymous to me, it should be noted that he mainly painted these scenes because people loved them and he knew they would sell...which did help when it came time to pay the bills.

Le Dejeuner sur l'herbe (Luncheon in the Grass) by Edouard Manet

via Google Images

Oh how Manet loved to give the cauldron of controversy a good stir. The nude female loses the angelic perfection often depicted in Medieval art...and since she's the only one not clothed at this picnic, we Southerners would call her nekkid (as in, "I had this dream I was dining on fruit and bread with 2 bearded and well-dressed gentleman and one hand maiden. But I was nekkid.")

La Danse mauresque by Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec

via Google Images

Toulouse-Lautrec was drawn to the tawdry nightlife of Paris because he sensed it was where he belonged. His parents, being first cousins, produced a child with numerous health problems and by the age of 14, he had broken both femurs. This resulted in a stunted growth of the legs but a continued growth of his torso. In addition, Wikipedia adds that he may have had hypertrophied genitalia (do you ever wonder if someone just types this crap in to see if anyone catches it?). Shrinky dinks or not, he became thick as thieves with the prostitutes of Montmarte. The underworld of cabaret is where the outcasts would gather after the average man went home to his wife and kids. And this is where you would have found Toulouse-Lautrec, drinking his signature cocktail which was 1/2 absinthe and 1/2 cognac. That right there will give you hypertrophied genitalia.

L'Eglise d'Auvers-sur-Oise (The Church at Auvers-sur-Oise) by Vincent van Gogh

via Google Images

van Gogh was a little batshit nuts...it's difficult to deny that. He attacked his BFF, Gauguin, with a knife and basically drove him out of Arles after just 9 weeks. But if you happened to catch the recent 60 Minutes story about him, then you know that researchers believe he may have suffered from a constant ringing in his ears, which eventually drove him to lop one clean off. Not quite as romantic as thinking he severed it due to the unrequited love of a woman...but much more conceivable. Also, they now believe that van Gogh was accidentally shot by 2 brothers and, instead of identifying them, lead everyone to believe that he had committed suicide. After years of depression and a couple of failed suicide attempts, that wasn't such an unreasonable notion.

La Naissance de Venus by Alexandre Cabanel

via Google Images

Here's what I can tell you about this painting...Rick Steves began describing the details of Venus emerging from the water and he droned on about how sexual this painting was for the early 1800's...basically how every French citizen would gaze upon this painting and practically orgasm right where they were standing...and we still thought he was talking about this one...

via Google Images

...right until we strolled through the gift shop and saw the postcard and realized that this is Botticelli. But I think both scream "Let's get drunk and screw" so I don't feel quite so bad about the confusion.

Le Bal du Moulin de la Galette, Montmartre (Dance at Moulin de la Galette) by Pierre Auguste Renoir

via Google Images

In true Impressionist style, Renoir depicts a snapshot of time at a district in Montmarte. Working class Parisians are shown dressed in their finest; eating, drinking, and dancing the night away. Renoir himself was a little bit of all over the place. He started out studying the French masters at the Louvre. Then he and Monet started hanging out and playing with layers of color and the ever-changing light. But after a trip to Italy and an introduction to the Italian Renaissance, he reverted to a much more severe style of painting and outlining his figures. But when it was all said and done, as arthritis crippled his hands and he had to wrap them tightly in bandages to continue working, he returned to the style of dappled light, vibrant color, and diffused lines for which he is most famous. He will always be this painting for me.

Le cirque by Georges Seurat

via Google Images

My favorite painting of all time is Suerat's A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte.

via Google Images

I don't know if it's the riverbank scene, the combination of colors, the random monkey or the incomprehensible amount of time it must have taken to place each tiny dot on this massive canvas (it hangs in the Art Institute of Chicago. I've seen it almost a dozen times. It takes up the entire wall)...but I've adored it from day 1. I had no idea that Seurat had painted anything else (although in the back of my mind I'm sure I knew that he must have produced other work). Seurat's circus scene is a glimpse at a moment in time, when performers defied gravity by balancing on a galloping horse and the clowns, dressed as jesters, weren't nearly as creepy.

Olympia by Edouard Manet

via Google Images

Again Manet shocked the public and outraged critics with his own version of La grande Odalisque. Except instead of lying seductively on a chaise, discretely covering her girldom, Manet's nude is propped up and forward while she clutches her hand protectively against her secret garden. She is anything but a goddess reclined. She is waiting on her next client. But celestial beings were hard to come by in Montmarte. Prostitutes? Not so much. You have to paint what you know, even if you are ostracized for it.

There was much more to the Orsay. A fair amount of Monet's wheat field paintings are hung there and there is an entire furniture gallery upstairs. But we were hungry, tired, cross-eyed, and ready to move on. And we still never found Whistler's Mother.

I would give the Musee d'Orsay 4 out of 5 stars and absolutely insist on going again should we ever find ourselves back in Paris...but you have been warned...make a day of it and get the museum's audio guide.

I can't quite remember where we grabbed lunch. I know we were at a food stand on the left bank, near Saint-Germain-des-Pres, and we teetered on the edge of parking barriers as we ate. It was an unusually warm Saturday in autumn and every square, park, and churchyard was packed. We were trying to escape the people...without much luck. I was feeling the evil clutches of Mother Nature and Neal was still fighting the flu, so we hopped the metro back to the hotel and then laid in the bed drinking wine until dinner time.

Dinner was a do-over with Gil & Gabrielle after I had spent my entire birthday showing how I can't hold my champagne (shameful considering I host Champagne Fridays). They are the masters of finding delightful cafes where the guests are French and the entrees are proudly authentic...and within walking distance of the hotel. Dinner at Flaubert on Rue Gustave Flaubert was nothing short of perfect. A couple of glasses of wine, an appetizer of escargot, a perfectly cooked piece of fish, and a slice of chocolate heaven for me and similarly delicious meals for my dining companions made this meal more than memorable. Somehow, it was almost midnight by the time we strolled back through the revolving doors of the Hilton. We all had big plans for the next day. Gil & Gabrielle were going to try to make it out to Giverny and we were headed to Versailles. But even with a late start to the next day, the evening before was more than worth it!

Shake a Tail Feather

2011-11-06T23:15:00.002-05:00

Well, we survived Savannah....which is nothing short of miraculous because I apparently have very little self-control in any city that allows you to roam the streets with open containers. Although our lodging and events were a drive down 516, in Port Wentworth, we spent Friday and Saturday night shopping and eating our way down River Street. After a late Friday afternoon snack of Wet Willies frozen drunk-in-a-cup (I will always wonder how they make 190 proof taste like a Frosty) and an early dinner at Paula Deen's (save your money, y'all. There's better chicken to be had in Savannah), we headed back to our hotel, with few plans but high hopes. Next door was a little honky tonk called "Silverado's" and they just happened to have live music that night...The Fig Neutrons. I'm not kidding. The entire band looked like they were suffering from a rabid case of failure to launch and were exploiting the only way they knew to get laid...to start a band. Although they were certainly talented...even if the lead singer did need to stop buying Russell t-shirts from Walmart.

But the real show of the night was this couple. We noticed them dancing the first song. We stopped and watched in amazement during the second one. I broke out the video function on my phone for the third...because, really, no one dances like this. And it wasn't as if they knew one dance and adapted it to each song. I counted at least 5 different dances, but my favorite is this one, purely for the knee-hike. I have to hand it to this couple. They may have been drinking tap water out of the men's bathroom all night, but they certainly motivated the rest of us to try a dance other than the Watermelon Crawl. It's short...like 30 seconds...and you don't even need sound. Actually it's probably better on mute, as I just realized that I busted out a little "Sha-la-la-la-la-la-la-tee da, brown-eyed girl" in the middle....and no one wants to hear that.

It Tastes Like Chicken

2011-11-05T08:51:00.000-04:00

I can only tell you that this was taken with my phone as we were hoofin' it to a metro stop in Montmartre. We had just spent 2 hours with a tour guide who talked all about Van Gogh and the Moulin Rouge and Toulouse-Lautrec...and we were starving. So, I saw...I snapped...and I barely broke stride. I don't know if "ass" is actually short for something, but I can tell you that more than once we were pretty sure the French kitchens were in hysterics over what they had just served the Americans....and what the Americans had just eaten.

Rippin' Up River Street

2011-11-04T07:24:00.000-04:00

As you read this, I'm barreling down Highway 16 with some of my comrades in camo, headed for a conference in Savannah. We fought tooth and nail to secure this workshop. Our first one, last May, was canceled due to lack of funding. And this one was slow to take off the ground. But it's a family event and the best time to host family support events is during a deployment. I had already told Neal that if this workshop got canceled, I was writing a letter to the higher higher higher higher headquarters. I don't know who the hell that would be...but they would be hearing from me. I don't think that's the threat that officially launched the weekend...but maybe we won't tell my over-inflated ego that.

Anyway, the last time I was in Savannah was over a year ago...when Shana and I braved the city during Halloween. We had our fortunes read...

adorned some fangs...

drank a lot...

saw things for which there is no explanation...

got hit on by Gumby...

and I cured myself of Yellow Fever with Paula Deen's Sunday brunch...

I don't know what the weekend holds for us but we will be running head-on into thousands of runners from the PF Chang's 1/2 marathon. But something tells me that we won't see them Friday night at Paula Deen's. At least that's still safe.

No Mo' Shaving

2011-11-03T22:17:00.001-04:00

This photo was taken when Neal returned home from Kuwait in 2009. He had been home for about a week and hadn't shaved since his boots landed on the front door mat. It is the most hair I've ever seen on my husband's face and I made him shave it shortly after this photo was taken because sand paper on my own ~~hairy~~ porcelain face hurts! But what he doesn't know (and I don't think I'll tell him until his stateside arrival) is...we are both going to have to take one for the team this month because...

It's MOVEMBER!

I was actually unaware of the campaign to raise awareness for the cancers that affect men, mainly testicular and prostate. But I think that men, more than women, should be hyper-aware of the need to schedule that annual exam. Women bitch about it, schedule it, bitch about it some more, go to it, and then bitch about it some more over margaritas and shoe shopping afterwards (and if that's not how you roll, you should definitely give it a go). But trying to get a man to book his annual exam is like trying to get Ken Burns to create a documentary featuring the Kardashians.

OK...that is not true for all men. Neal, for example, gets a lovely written reminder in the mail from the VA letting him know it's time. And then he gets additional mail and then phone calls. I guess the Army likes to know what they're dealing with regarding their active duty Soldiers. But it's time to create a catchy marketing campaign to encourage men to get their "pen and bubbles" checked (sorry, I'm a glass of wine in and just saw the new episode of "New Girl"...which...if you aren't watching, you should be. Zooey Dascheaenael and I are going to be BFFF soon). So, out with the pink and in with the sky bleu for the boys!

I will not be hosting a Blue Campaign over at D&E..I'm doing the butterfly stroke in Christmas orders currently. BUT I will be creating one lovely item for this chick (that's not derogatory...she's a "From the Sidelines chick" too):

She's Cathy @Antsypants and she's hosting an auction with handmade goodies through the month of November to raise money for prostate cancer research. This makes her a MoSista, helping her MoBros in need. This makes me a MoSista, too, because D&E is donating something to the cause! I can't tell you what it is, but every MoSista I know is going to need one.

So, head on over to check out the auction rules and get ready for a hair-raising good time (I'm thinking of challenging Neal to a hair growth contest by refusing to shave my leg hair. That would make it a hair-racing good time!).

And if you would like to pimp this cause on your own social media sites, I'm sure Cathy would be down for that. It's for the boys, after all! Let's hear it for the boys.....

Fashionably Late

2011-11-02T23:14:00.000-04:00

Today is 2 November...which makes me officially late to the NaBloPoMo party...also known as that month where bloggers ~~work feverishly~~ strive to post once per day, everyday, for a month. This is an ambitious goal that I have set for myself, during one of the craziest months of this year. The only one that has been slightly more ridiculous was January. But over a bottle of white wine and under the setting sun, I was reminded of how much I love to write...how upside down I feel when I don't write regularly. And it's been sporadic over here lately, to say the least. Partly it's because I want each Paris post to be perfect with pretty little Photoshopped pictures and links to the museums we visited...but that takes time. I know the Paris posts are lengthy and I have one friend who has admitted to reading them in installments...but they take 3 times longer to write. And with The Pink Campaign running during October, I simply ran out of hours in the day.

November is not going to be much better. This weekend there is a Yellow Ribbon event in Savannah (where we and thousands of P.F. Chang's 1/2 Marathon runners will battle it out for dinner tables on River Street), Neal returns home, and then we're headed to KY and up to Chicago. Pile on that the Christmas orders that are rolling in and the fact that I'm contributing to Cathy's Movember event...and well...it's hairy. But maybe hairy is exactly what I need right now.

I sort of feel like I'm coming apart. And I always feel better when I write it out.

The date for Neal's arrival has changed about a 1/2 dozen times. And it has changed drastically. Even though it's fairly firm now, it could still change. And it's more than just annoying, it's frustrating...because you can't make any plans. In a fit of tears and anger I asked him why it's always like this (re-deploying has been a hot mess every time) and he said it's because sending units home is like a puzzle. And if one piece is put in the wrong place, it throws everything else off. And not only are pieces being put in bass-ackwards, they are missing pieces altogether. Want to understand the ripple effect? Talk to someone in the military.

So you get a date. An hour later something changes. The next day something else changes. Add to that the spouses and family members on Facebook and email who have "heard" things about what's going on there, about how it's all going to go down and are spreading what I can only define as rumors. I was never a cynical person...until our first deployment. If it did not come from the commander's very own lips, then I don't believe it. Even Neal, who is in the know most of the time, doesn't know the whole plan. I have made plans based on his intel, only to find it fall apart as I opened an email from someone who knew more.

Foolishly, I did it again last week. I got a date, I made a plan, I almost bought tickets to an event from my 101 list. $120 tickets that I would have never been able to sell. And then everything changed. And I did the only thing a girl could do...sit down and have an ugly face cry about the whole thing, then pour a glass of wine, and pull my big girl panties up. Because this is how it goes. I'm certainly not the first milspouse to deal with it, nor will I be the last.

It has also been pretty quiet around here since they've cut communication. I know that not every spouse in our unit got to talk to their Soldier everyday, but Neal sacrificed his after-work time to call as often as he could. He could do that because he wasn't on the road this time. Although, we did that deployment once...where he ran missions and I got a phone call when he got to a place with a phone. Sometimes it was a few days, sometimes it was a few weeks. But desk jobs, however boring, have their advantages. So, I'm certainly spoiled to a phone call everyday. And this evening, the washing machine died. I did everything Neal has taught me to do...I Google searched until I found the right forum with a relatively reasonable answer...which is basically "the control panel is fried." That's a $400 fix to have a Maytag guy come in and do it...or a $200 fix for Neal to do it...which he totally can. So, I'll wait. And try not to spill anything on myself. But I really miss relaying the story and getting his advice.

I am certainly not lacking for topics. I need to finish Paris, talk about my amazing weekend with Hutch and Shana, post the pictures from "Sit Down Lexington" and a million other tiny posts that are sitting in the notes section of my phone. I just need a reason to stop during my day and write. And now I have it. A day late...but better late than never.

When My Team Makes It Worth It

2011-10-27T09:05:00.000-04:00

Last weekend, I was with these lovely ladies

watching this football game

and doing this cheer.

Read all about it here, at From the Sidelines! And then it's back to GA for me tomorrow to get ready for a travelin' Soldier to c'mon home!

Update

2011-10-19T17:53:00.000-04:00

We interrupt this regularly scheduled Paris post to say that Neal will be home before Veteran's Day!
SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Deep Breath

2011-10-15T09:35:00.000-04:00

Today is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day. It has been deemed so by Congress. Smack dab in the middle of PINKMANIA, we stop and remember all of the mamas who have outlived their babies...which, to me, feels unnatural and unjust. Although many moms have gone on to deliver healthy babies, who are growing up to be delightful children, it doesn't detract from a pain that is always there and will always show...if you scratch hard enough.

Aunt Becky, of Band Back Together, has established a Wall of Remembrance on her blog today. Shep is listed, but so are many, many, many more. If you, as a grieving mother (or father), ever feel alone, pull up this blog post and read it aloud...and know that you are not. It's a devastating club to belong to...but we will band back together.

Love, light, and prayers for a peaceful day.

Champagne Friday: a break from Paris and the mother of all lists

2011-10-14T10:50:00.000-04:00

Last year, Shana posted a "101 Things to Do in 1001 Days." Her trip to see me in Savannah last Halloween was all the motivation she needed to finish and the post the list...since there would be some crossing off of this list while she was down. Well, I find myself in a similar predicament now. I have been working on my own 101 things to do for almost a month...adding ideas or projects as they come to mind. However, one of the big ones, Do a Trash the Dress Photography Session is TOMORROW! And I decided that I should publish the list before there is something to cross off. So, I sat down with my cup of coffee yesterday morning and added those last 30 items.

The Rules: Tasks must be specific with a result that is either measurable or clearly defined. They must also be realistic and require some amount of work. I have 1001 days to complete these tasks...or roughly 2.75 years. And for some of them, that might be just enough time.

Deadline: July 12, 2014

(Also...tomorrow is Pregnancy & Infant Loss Remembrance Day. I will be posting a link to a blog that is doing a Wall of Names. But on Sunday, we're going back to Paris!)

1. Do “The Best Thing I Ever Ate” in NYC.

2. Arrange a traveling dinner (either from home to home or restaurant to restaurant).

3. Make glass beads from scratch. (Thank you, ATL Groupon for making this one possible.)

4. Learn how to bead weave.

5. Make a sheet music wreath.

6. Knit/crochet a scarf.

7. Do a 52-photo project. One photo per week for a year.

8. Go to an NFL game.

9. Create a Paleo Friendly cookbook for our kitchen.

10. Attend Breakfast with the Works at Keeneland.

11. Attend night racing at Churchill.

12. Attend Picnic on the Porch at Woodford Reserve.

13. Do a Trash the Dress photo session with my wedding dress.

14. Move the business completely off of Facebook.

15. Learn to make an alcohol (either wine or beer).

16. Floss everyday for a month. (in hopes that it will become a habit. Not do it for a month and then stop)

17. Take the picture framing class on base.

18. Cook every meal for a week on Sundays…for a month.

19. Participate in the Athens Food Tour in Athens, GA (do it on Saturday morning and get a trip to the Farmer’s Market).

20. Attend art exhibit at High Art Museum in Atlanta.

21. Take a month off from buying beads and use only the ones I already own (can buy more findings).

22. Go to “School”…the sushi conveyor belt restaurant in Lexington.

23. Learn how to give myself a proper pedicure.

24. Attend VooDoo Fest in New Orleans. (Thank you, Shoes, for the idea!)

25. Plant Shepherd’s rose bushes.

26. Attend the Stanislaus Christmas Tour of Homes in Macon.

27. Read something by James Joyce.

28. Do a boudoir photo shoot.

29. Do scrapbooks for London and Paris.

30. Wash my sheets every week for a month. (again, in hopes that it will become a habit instead of something I remember to do when they start to feel crusty)

31. Get back down to my pre-pregnancy weight. (SOOOOO close)

32. Go through all of our CDs and donate to the on-base library anything we don’t want to keep.

33. Go through all of our DVDs and donate to the on-base library anything we don’t want to keep.

34. Phase out all household cleaners and replace with “green” cleaners.

35. Ice skate at Rockefeller Center.

36. Learn how to do smoky eye makeup.

37. Do a day of service every 3 months for a year (but if it became a habit, that would be fantastic).

38. Make my own wrapping paper.

39. Buy dinner for a servicemember (anonymously).

40. Take a train trip.

41. Submit writing to Real Simple.

42. Go to the KY Derby.

43. Do NaNoWriMo.

44. Hire Eli Rose to revamp Magnolias & Mimosas. (just 30 more days and I'm going back!)

45. Purchase a sewing machine and classes.

46. Finish the wedding scrapbook.

47. Begin linking up my results from Pinterest crafts or recipes.

48. Have Yoga Fridays (like when I was in high school!)

49. Make the business completely self-sustaining.

50. Find God. (OK, I know God but I just think we could have a better relationship. Something that involves more than just me praying for the people who need praying for.)

51. Write my will and funeral wishes.

52. Give everyone on my Christmas list something handmade...but not necessarily handmade by me.

53. Go for a ride in a hot air balloon.

54. Do a difficult corn maze.

55. Go geocaching.

56. Reinstate date night on the 22^nd of each month.

57. Purchase a brick to honor Shepherd.

58. Attend a Josh Groban or Norah Jones concert.

59. Compile all of the photos from mine and Neal’s childhood and put them into a scrapbook for our children to have.

60. Begin clipping newspaper articles that I think are representative of a change in history.

61. Host a Halloween party.

62. Establish an “answer all emails and messages within 24 hours” policy. (already doing for business. Need to do it for everything).

63. Create a line of upcycled jewelry with pieces from estate sales and auctions.

64. Watch Firefly.

65. Watch Breaking Bad.

66. Attend a taping of Saturday Night Live (which, I’ve discovered, is no easy feat).

67. Go to the gun range with Neal.

68. Make a stack of cards for Get Well, Happy Birthday, Miss You, etc so I’m not always rushing out at the last minute for a card.

69. Landscape the front yard at the townhouse.

70. Contribute enough money to Wings for Our Troops to buy a plane ticket for a servicemember to fly home.

71. Participate in at least 1 care package event at Military Missions per year.

72. Have another baby.

73. Spend all of the gift cards I have.

74. Purchase beads from free trade organizations.

75. Allow myself to read blogs and not feel the need to comment every single time.

76. Go to the Farmer’s Market once a month for the week’s fruits and veggies.

77. Keep Poppy’s ears clean (which means cleaning them at least once a month).

78. Update all virus software on my computer every Sunday morning.

79. Buy the Sunday paper and clip the coupons.

80. Reply back to every comment I receive on my blog.

81. Go through all of our photos on my laptop and the hard drive and delete any that I don’t want to keep forever and ever and ever.

82. Back up all of my photos on my laptop.

83. Back up both blogs.

84. Redesign my business cards with the new logo.

85. Read “Wine for Dummies” book.

86. Delete a bunch of Facebook “friends”.

87. Spend at least 30 minutes/day playing and brushing the girls.

88. Install our dream master bedroom closet in the townhouse.

89. Install a skylight in my office/nursery.

90. Visit Canada.

91. Create a signature drink.

92. Take a photography class.

93. Take a Photoshop class.

94. Take a cake decorating class.

95. Grow and maintain an herb garden through the summer.

96. Walk out on the Sears Tower’s floating window.

97. Print and live by the 10 Simple Steps to Staying Organized (from Pinterest) for a month (at least).

98. Complete a Christmas craft with the glass blocks I bought last year.

99. Participate in a community garden.

100. Take the horse farm tour of Lexington.

101. Make another list.

The Day After

2011-10-11T10:23:00.000-04:00

It was a rough start to Friday morning...with me having caught a nasty case of The Wine Flu and all. I was so overcome with my...er...symptoms...that the only breakfast food going down was bread, nutella, and coffee. Neal volunteered to lounge around the hotel until I began to feel a little more human, but there's just no time to waste when you're on a Museum Pass, people...the clock is ticking. Besides, Neal was already showing signs of the actual flu and he was still willing to attack the itinerary...dripping snot and achy joints be damned! I hardly had an excuse...on account of mine was self-induced.

So we started moving toward The Rodin Museum, which was actually high on my list considering I had written a 5-page paper on Rodin in high school. And how do you visit Paris without making a stop to see the original Thinker? Museum pass holders skip right to the front of the line, which was fortunate as people stretched out the door and halfway down the block. Even on a Friday. Even in autumn. You can carry a purse through the museum, and you may carry a backpack, as long as it's strapped to the front. I assume they don't want you to get distracted and, while spinning to answer your wife when she says, "Honey, look at this! What do you think it is?", knock a priceless work of art from its freestanding pedestal with your NorthFace hunchback.

The ticket office/baggage check building empties out on the gardens. It's worth a walk around, especially when the Parisian weather is cooperating. You'll see a pensive The Thinker...

Rodin once declared that this was a statue of himself...evolving beyond an animal nature, to think the first thought, to reinvent the self into something better. Sitting still with the mind moving faster than the speed of light.

Then there's Balzac...as he finally came to be in Rodin' repertoire...although there's an earlier version of Balzac in the museum that I like much better (all I'm saying is...penis...).

and then there's the occasional blonde...

Be careful....she bites.

While the gardens do wrap around the house, to the back, we decided to meander on in to the museum and then finish with the back gardens on our way out. In the Rick Steves book, he details the main pieces of each room and there are 2 floors to the house. We decided the best place to start was Room 1.

As the story goes, when you are a fresh-faced artist in Paris, you are generally poor. And live models cost money...especially the pretty ones. So, when deciding where to spend your money, it makes total sense to eat well and hire the ugly people. Such is the case with this gentleman who, although hard to see here, had some sort of nose deformity. Rodin sculpted him anyway. After leaving the finished product in his studio overnight, he returned to find the back of the head had frozen and broken off under the bitter cold conditions. Rodin loved it and kept it....the critics freaked out and demanded he fixed it. So there are 2 heads on rotation at the Rodin museum. This one happens to be the original. The titles are all in French so I'm calling this one Lobotomy.

We could truly appreciate this sculpture, The Bronze Age, after having seen Michelangelo's "slaves" in the Louvre. So similar in pose and realistic features. Rodin created this while he was living in Brussels and was accused of not sculpting it, but instead simply casting it from a live body. Pft! Critics! Nope...he was just that good.

This always has been (and probably always will be) my favorite Rodin sculpture...The Kiss. It's like sitting on the jagged rocks of a California beach and, just as the sun sets, turning to wrap your arms and your lips around the person you've chosen to see it with. Er...except for the whole nudity thing. Although...in California...This was the first of Rodin's work that the public actually adored, but he came to hate it...claiming it was too simple and sentimental. Silly man. We love sentimental!

These 2 hands, which form The Cathedral, are actually 2 right hands. I don't know the story on this piece, I just know that sometimes I enhance our photos with Photoshop and sometimes I butcher them all to hell. This would be the latter. On my screen it looked amazing and haunting so I hit "save and replace" and got this...which looks like a skin disease. So, my apologies to you...this is such a breathtaking display of art that you really do just have to see it for yourself.

Although it is primarily Rodin's work in the Rodin Museum, they also feature pieces by Camille Claudel...who began as Rodin's muse and ended as his lover (of course. And this is why the only nude Neal will ever paint is me. I've seen How I Met Your Mother...I know how this all works out in the end). This sculpture, titled Maturity, depicts a scene (probably more realistic than we realize) of Rodin ultimately choosing to stay with his wife (who stands behind him and whispers into his ear that if he sees that skanky little bitch one more time, she will cut off his balls and feed them to him) and Camille, just as he breaks free from her desperate clench. Somehow, I found myself both rejoicing for Rose who has won her husband back, and feeling utterly heartbroken for Camille as she loses the only thing she loves.

Camille was quite talented and this room is full of her art...which does sort of look like Rodin's. But Rodin returning to his wife ruined her and her ability to create anything at all. She went mad with jealousy and grief and spent the rest of her days institutionalized...probably sculpting the most beautiful mashed potatoes.

This version of The Thinker was created for a massive project Rodin began but never finished (you see a lot of that in here. Mama Virgo would not approve), titled The Gates of Hell and filled with characters from Dante's Inferno. They are outside in the gardens...beautiful but ultimately unfinished.

The Thinker(s). I couldn't help it. He is most handsome when he has no idea I'm hiding behind art and taking pictures.

And this brings us to my favorite sculpture Rodin did of Balzac...headless and holding an erection. I wish there was a series of these...say...with all politicians.

These are all pieces that I loved and wanted to remember. I don't know the stories or even the titles. But they speak to me all the same.

The garden view from the second floor of the museum. I did very little tweaking on this one. It truly is that green. Maybe they should hold The Masters here.

This is looking at the back of the museum...in the opposite direction as the above picture. When you come out and walk around the side of the house, you will pass several food carts as you stroll to the back. The area is also littered with sculptures and fountains. I'm sure if you were starving, you could eat here, but we had plans to grab something on Rue Cler.

The Gates of Hell...as seen in the garden.

As we exited the museum and started toward Rue Cler, I realized that I should have peed back at Rodin's place. We were fairly close to the Army Museum and still on our Museum Pass so we decided to stop at Napoleon's tomb so I could use the bathroom. And, of course, to see the tomb...which Mama Virgo insisted we visit. If you make a pit stop at Napoleon's Tomb, you should know that it's in the cafe, down the stairs, and it costs 40 cents to use. I just saved you a lot of hassle at a time when you'll be needing less hassle and more privacy. You can thank me later.

So, while we were there...

OK...yes...it's several nested coffins inside of each other (oak coffin holding an ebony coffin, housing 2 lead ones, then mahogany, then tinplate). But really?? Is this necessary? He was like 5'2". And this thing was freaking huge. I mean compare it to that chick standing to the right and it will sort of give you an idea of the scale of his final resting place. Although if you want to preserve anything, ask the French. When they exhumed him to move him here in 1840, he was still perfectly preserved...even after 19 years of being 6 feet under.

And because it's the Army Museum, there are other famous military leaders entombed here.

You can visit the crypts and view it all from downstairs, but by this point we were starving. And we still had to walk the 6 blocks or so over to Rue Cler and search out food. So, we blew a kiss to Napoleon and head out the gates.

If you are going to piece together a picnic while you're in Paris, Rue Cler is the place to go. The marches (imagine there is an accent mark over that e, will you?) put out delectably fresh fruits and vegetables everyday, the charcuterie displays delicious cuts of meat, and of course there are the boulangeries for all of your bakery needs. We decided to grab a sandwich, dessert, and drink from one of the takeaway stands in the middle. I think this was the first time we had eaten lunch outside of a cafe...and we were hooked. There is not a single meal at a cafe that can compete with picnicking in Paris when the weather is nice. I don't believe we lunched in another cafe (except at museums) after that. With plastic bags of goodies in hand, we headed over to the Eiffel Tower for an afternoon of people watching and relaxing.

As everyone knows, chocolate lava cake is the perfect cure for the wine flu.

The entire day had been warm, but overcast. Heavy clouds threatened eventual rain. But in the late afternoon, after we had seen literally busloads of tourists flock to the tower for pictures and picnics, the clouds finally started to break apart and the tiniest patch of blue shown through.

I had downloaded several of Rick Steves podcasts of what I guess is his radio show. Who knew?? And the guests were 2 French gentlemen who discussed everything from off-the-beaten path walks in Paris to cafe etiquette to the history of the Eiffel Tower. During one of the call-in segments, they discussed how Parisians have a lot less personal space than Americans. When an American walks up to a sidewalk cafe and sees maybe 1 or 2 empty tables, they deem it too full for dining and look for something emptier. French walk up, see a lively joint with just enough space for them..how lucky! And they pop a squat to join in on the madness. And, I must admit, we had been choosing our cafes like that. The quieter, the better. Well, when in France...

As we strolled back to the hotel, keeping an eye open for a cozy dinner place, I spotted a cafe across the street that was happening. Tons of tables out front were full of young Parisians, smoking, drinking, and eating the most delicious looking salads. We stuck a pin in our personal space bubble and crossed the street to grab the last open table on the sidewalk. The waiter quickly came over to take our drink order ("Happy Hour" over there starts at like 3 and goes all night...but I would not consider the prices to be anything similar to back home...where 2 for 1 is the ideal. Most beers were still $5-$6 for a pint...) and explain some of the menu items. He was quite pleasant and easy to understand. We waited patiently for our drinks to arrive and discussed how glad we were that we had chosen such a bustling cafe. This was the way to eat in Paris...why hadn't we done it sooner??

Not 2 minutes later, our charming waiter got into a screaming match with his co-worker over a table of his guests who had skipped out on their bill. Hands were flying, curse words (I'm assuming they were curse words...apparently today's young Parisians have moved past "Mon Dieu!", which is what I learned in the 8th grade) spewed forth. Our waiter stormed inside the restaurant, leaving us a little puzzled but not concerned....until he clopped back outside, man-purse in hand and headphones on his head. He was ranting and waving with his free hand and headed off into the sunset.

"What are the chances that it's shift change?" I asked Neal.
"Not great. He was awfully mad about something. I think our waiter just quit."

Now we were concerned.

We had been waiting almost 20 minutes for our drinks to arrive and had seen the tables around us served drinks and dinner. A lovely managerial-looking woman appeared outside and began waiting tables. She flitted about, checking on drink levels and how dinner was tasting. It was time for action. I followed her into the cafe, to the register and kindly asked if she spoke English. Of course she did. I explained that we had given our order to our waiter, but not had received drinks or dinner yet. She nodded in understanding and then spouted, "My waiter! He just....PSH!" and made a dismissing motion with her hand.

"He quitter??"

"OUI!"

He had managed to quit after taking our order but before actually putting it in the computer. What are the odds?? So they had no record of us at all. She was so frazzled and seconds from having a full come-apart in my presence that leaving now seemed inhumane. I gave her our order again and returned to Neal to confirm his suspicions...he had just PSH!

They didn't comp our meal or really even apologize...like they would have (or we would have insisted) in the states. But the salad and burger were divine and the story is priceless. I would say, in the end, we might actually owe them.

Tres Tres!

2011-09-28T13:01:00.000-04:00

So this brings us to the morning of my 33rd birthday and only the 3rd birthday that Neal has celebrated with me in the 6 years that we've been together. The Army hates birthdays. And anniversaries.

Breakfast was a delightful spread of nutella crepes, nutella slathered on a croissant, nutella dripping from a baguette, and eggs. And a cappuccino to wash it all down. Also a healthy dose of water to bring my electrolytes back into balance from the evening before. Neal managed to keep all peanut gallery comments regarding my very non-caveman diet to himself. It was, after all, my birthday. I will make myself ill on hazelnut spread if I want to.

The weather in Paris on 8 September left a lot to be desired. Low hanging clouds and a mist that evolved into a drizzle only affirmed our initial plans of being inside all day.

To the Louvre!

I had been told by numerous people and had read in numerous guides that the only way to survive the Louvre is to pick your top 10 (15 if you're ambitious) pieces and save the rest for your next trip to Paris. Rick Steves has, of course, a podcast available on iTunes that will ensure you hit all of the museum's highlights (read: the art that even your hillbilly cousin saw when his John Deere convention came to Paris). But if you want to venture off of the main drag and away from the swarms of people who would like nothing better than to walk directly in front of your camera as you are firing off a quick picture of the Mona Lisa, then you better do a little research ahead of time.

The museum itself is simple enough with 3 wings, or spokes, leading off of it...the Richelieu wing (Oriental antiquities, French, Dutch, and Northern art), the Sully wing (French painting and ancient Egypt collections), and the Denon wing (the one you hit if you have 8 hours in Paris and an hour of that is dedicated to the Louvre). Here's a little tip about French art museums...they are constantly in flux. Paintings are moved, loaned out, being restored, etc, etc, etc. If you have not at this point in your life learned to roll with it, Paris is happy to give you a crash course. While allowing Rick to guide us through the Louvre, we were often in the wrong room, at the wrong end of the hallway, and once...in the wrong wing. Sometimes we eventually stumbled upon the piece he was discussing, sometimes we had to admit defeat and walk away (I still don't know where the Musee d'Orsay is hiding Whistler's Mother).

There is a possibility that after seeing The DaVinci Code 3 times while packing for Paris, I may have had a bit of a moment here.

The podcast started with Greek art, circa 500 BC, but we couldn't find it. He said "climb the stairs and make your first left"...which would have lead us straight into the restrooms...and while that is certainly considered art when you are at the Pompidou (Modern Art Museum), it hardly qualifies here.

Next up were the Parthenon friezes...actual stone fragments from the Parthenon (which is in Greece and not to be confused with the Pantheon..in either Rome or Paris). This particular panel shows a centaur sexually harassing a woman at a party and, consequently, being thrown out...just as Greece conquered its barbarian neighbors and became civilized.

Don't you kind of wonder if centaurs are hung like a horse?

Many statues of famous Greeks filled the next 3 rooms. I got some stellar photos of Caesar and Tiberius...on the other camera. So...we'll just fast track it to Venus de Milo (I assure you that you're getting the best end of this deal...as you're reading this on your couch and not walking upstream against the hordes. Also, there is no good time to go to the Louvre. Just put on your comfy shoes and your game face and go).

Oh Venus...with her 6 pack abs, perfectly even breasts, and...missing arms. Yes, well...no girl can have it all. Great abs, no arms. Purposely sculpted to resemble no woman in particular, she represents every woman. Grace, style, beauty, and perfectly balanced from left to right. She is actually created from 2 pieces of stone, which were sealed at the hips. Although most Greek statues are simply copies of earlier Roman work, this one is a Greek original. She is exactly how the Greeks imagined Aphrodite would look in human form...the epitome of keep calm and carry on.

And if Venus is keeping calm and carrying on, Winged Victory is kicking ass and taking names. This winged and scantily clad woman once stood on a hilltop to commemorate a naval victory. She forges forward into a hurricane-force wind. She is a pillar of strength, standing firm even as everything whips around her. When she was first carved, her right arm stretched high, waving a "#1" finger. The finger was found in Turkey in 1950. Considering the number of treasures French had looted from Turkey in the past, they're lucky that all they got was the finger.

One quick look up at the sky, as we passed from room to room, showed us Icarus, falling out of the sky as his melted wings gave way to the sun's heat.

Shuffling along the last couple of rooms before emptying out onto The Grand Gallery, you begin to appreciate the Italian Renaissance and how vastly different it was from Medieval art. Although there are stories to be told about each of these paintings, as we walked, I just observed them with a larger lens...taking note of how perspective in painting came to be used and how the subject matter evolved from idyllic religious figures to the realistic fight for freedom.

St. Francis of Assisi Receiving the Stigmata by Giotto

The Madonna of the Angels by Cimabue

La Belle Jardiniere by Raphael

And this brings us to the mother load...the belle of the ball, the star of the show...Mona. If you aren't sure where it is in the Louvre, just follow the mass of tourists with Canon Rebels already aimed in anticipation. 20,000 extra bonus points to anyone who can take a picture without someone else's head in it.

See her? She's waaaaaay down at the end of the hallway and the only painting enclosed in bulletproof glass. What's really amusing about this room is that directly opposite of her, is a painting that takes up almost the entire wall, from floor to ceiling. Talk about an inferiority complex.

Yeah, she's tiny...at least in comparison to most of the other work hanging in the Louvre. But she comes with a lifetime of questions, mystery, and myths. Should you want to achieve your own photo where the eyes follow you...just turn your head in one direction and your eyes in another. Works every time. The brain, like the heart, is so easily fooled.

We said au revoir to Madame Mona and pressed our way back out the door. I feel bad for the other paintings in there because after about 3 minutes with 100 tourists, the last thing you want to do is stand at look at other art. You really just want to get the hell out.

After exiting, Rick brought us around to French Neoclassicism (1750-1850) and then French Romanticism (1800-1850) before ending at Michelangelo's Slaves from the Italian Renaissance. I recognized almost every painting he brought us to, including Veronese's The Marriage at Cana

50,000 points to anyone who can spot Jesus in this orgy of wine, food, and beautiful people. Another 50,000 to anyone who can spot me.

The Coronation of Napoleon by David

If only that guy was 2" shorter...aghgh!

David has my undying respect because he straight up painted himself into this portrait of Napoleon crowning himself emperor...here...

Sometimes...you just have to do it.

Last of the French Neoclassic stops was La Grande Odalisque, which I studied at length in my first college art history class, and was somewhat mocked later by Manet.

Onward and forward to the French Romantics, who were painting the heart and soul side of the 1800's while the Neoclassicists were playing it cool, calm, and balanced. Two of the best examples of the grit and passion of the romantics are The Raft of the Medusa by Gericault...

and Liberty Leading the People by Delacroix...

A far cry from cherub Jesus in the arms of the Virgin Mary and angels with pie plate orbs hanging over their heads, yes? I freaking love art.

The noon hour had come and passed and all of that nutella had run its course. We had not yet made it to the Dutch painters, but we were starving. Our 2 options were to either leave the museum to eat at a cafe somewhere along rue de Rivoli and then return, or stay at the museum and eat at a cafe inside. And trust me, I am the last person to advocate dining at museum cafes. I'm still paying off a lunch we once had at the Chicago Art Institute. But standing in line for 20 minutes just to eat a cold sandwich and chips was, at the time, a better choice than leaving and then having to come back through security into the museum. The Louvre is not a "we'll come back this afternoon" kind of place. It's a process.

So, lunch was a chicken sandwich for each of us, which was not even disguised as handmade. It was served in the triangular box it came in...the same box you see in the marches and gas stations everywhere. A bag of chips and a plate came with the box, as well as a beer (for an extra 1.20). For 15 euros we were refueled and ready to go on.

The last of the day's sculptures, Michelangelo's Slaves, stood unassuming in a hallway and if I had not been on the lookout, we would have probably walked right by them.

The Rebellious Slave

The Dying Slave (or Sleeping Slave...whichever)

And one that has nothing to do with slaves but that I loved anyway.

Last stop before heading into Napoleon's ~~lair~~ apartment was The Code of Hammurabi. I am certain that this means nothing to anyone but me and the rest of Mr. Roach's History class...but here it is, boys and girls. I walked into the room expecting a palm-sized stone with hieroglyphics and instead got a 7' tall pillar of rock.

I guess if you are going to establish a code of conduct for a new civilization, you need bigger stones.

It was tempting to skip Napoleon's apartments altogether because by this point, our eyes, brains, and feet were all aching simultaneously (which is probably how you feel right about now if you've made it this far...minus the feet, of course). It's just so much to take in. But we persevered and wound our way around (read: looked for the swarms of tourists and followed them).

We didn't get the audio guide for these rooms and Rick doesn't cover them so I will only say...Holy opulent wealth Batman.

Suddenly, I want a dining room table big enough for two chandeliers...

The final stop was at the Dutch painters because I had studied Vermeer and his pals in college. And...I had seen The Girl with the Pearl Earring. Our photos of the Dutch art are dark and blurry because, for whatever reason, the Louvre has seen fit to hang them in what amounts to a cave. I'm not sure if that was a specific artist request...citing they were meant to be seen that way, or they just don't deserve the lighting that Mona gets. Either way, without a tripod, it is practically impossible to take a clear photo.

I have always loved this painting. It's playful in a way that only girls can be. In my mind, they are sisters who are up to no good, creating controversy for their poor mother who is slaving away at her sewing in the background.

And, with a few exceptions I have chosen not to include merely out of sheer exhaustion, that was it. We sortie'd (the French word for "exit" is sortie and it is posted everywhere...so we were constantly making jokes every time we left a building, metro station, cafe, etc). The rain had stopped but the sun never quite broke through. So we paused for a couple of quick pyramid pics...

strolled under the arch marking the entrance to the Tuileries (or Louvre gardens)...

paused for a caffe and a flaky apricot snack...

indulged Neal as he toasted art and the good life...

photographed the statues...

and then, seeking refuge from a day of self-absorbed tourists, we fled to the gardens behind the Palais Royal, where the rest of Paris goes to do the same thing.

And here we sat until it got late and it was time to dress for a birthday dinner with Gil & Gabrielle. On the way back to the Hilton, Neal suggested we walk by La Duree, home of the mouthwatering, multi-flavored macaroons...just on the off chance that they would still be open at 6 PM on a Thursday evening. As luck would have it, they were! I purchased my tiny box of assorted macaroons (I believe my exact words, "a mix of whatever. How could you possibly go wrong?"), took about a dozen photos inside the shop (with the other camera), and climbed on the metro. It was somewhere between La Duree and the hotel that our Cybershot found a new home. Whether I laid it down in anxious anticipation of colorful, sugary goodness...

or it encountered someone with sticky fingers on the metro, we'll never know. And we didn't even realize it until 2 days later.

Our dinner spot was handpicked by Gil & Gabrielle. They made the reservations and invited us up to the Executive Lounge for a pre-dinner drink. Or...in my case...four pre-dinner drinks. I accidentally inhaled 4 full glasses of French sparkling wine before putting anything on my stomach. As it usually happens, they were just going down so well. I stumbled with my entourage to Neva Cuisine, where I then proceeded to dump tampons on the sidewalk as I pulled the saucy red heels out of my purse and stick the ballet flats in, offend (I'm sure) the wait staff with my butchered and drunk French, and visit the bathroom at least once. The room spun, I could not bare to eat a single thing, except for a little of the chocolate dessert. Neal ate both of our entrees and maintained excellent table conversation with our guests while I sat in my chair and tried not to think about how miserably drunk I really was. Happy Birthday, Allyson...you dumbass. I will neither confirm nor deny that I eventually threw up an 80 euro dinner. Well, I only ate the chocolate and a tiny bit of beef so maybe it was closer to 10 euros. Neal managed to keep the other 70 euros down and enjoyed them immensely.

I remember very little from the night, except that in my birthday celebration, I continued to announce that I was "tres tres!" Gil, being the gentleman that he is, let it go until the end of the evening when he finally turned to me and asked, "Why do you keep saying you're very very?" I stopped, thought and screamed, "I'm trois trois!"...3-3 in French. Because I'm classy like that.

My wish for each of you is that you have a spouse like Neal and sweet friends like Gil & Gabrielle who will agree to dine with you later in the week so that you can prove you are not always as asshole. Just on your birthday.

If you go...

There are multiple ways to gain access to the Louvre (legally, anyway). If you are going on a museum pass, I HIGHLY recommend coming in through the underground mall entrance, the Carrousel du Louvre. Get off at the metro stop, Palais Royal-Musee du Louvre and exit at the end of the platform, following the signs to Musee du Louvre-Le Carrousel du Louvre. We were second in line through security. The entire process took about 2 minutes.
Large bags must be checked and they will not check coats unless they are stuffed into a bag.
Photography without a flash is allowed (obviously). And there is always a museum staff member close by to remind you of this rule.
Neva at 2 rue de Berne is, Neal tells me, an excellent place to dine. Just don't tell them I sent you.

The Rive Gauche and Flambe Meat

2011-09-26T11:49:00.001-04:00

"Honey....it's 9:30...." Neal whispered in my ear on Wednesday morning.

"Huh. I guess we should get up then." My well-laid plans for an early start to the day had vanished while I was still dreaming.

Neal slid back the black-out shades and opened the window. Paris was waiting.

We pulled on the stale and sweaty clothes from the night before and stumbled down to breakfast.

Now, it's common knowledge that Parisians don't eat breakfast...at least not in the American sense of the word. A croissant and a tiny cup of coffee at the neighborhood cafe and they are on their way. So, hotels like the Hilton try to make up for this by offering a fairly large continental breakfast. On the buffet each day was a variety of freshly diced fruit, a sideboard of meats (including smoked salmon, turkey, ham, and an unidentified white fish...basically a Cavegirl's wet dream), scrambled eggs, sausage, bacon, stuffed tomatoes, hashbrowns, baked beans (yeah, I never understood that either...nor could I bring myself to eat baked beans before noon), cereals, oatmeal, crepes (with a healthy dose of toppings), and 2 tables of pastries and breads. On day 1, I stuck to my Hunter/Gatherer diet...fruit...eggs...meat...a little smoked salmon..all washed down with a cafe au lait. Approximately 30 minutes later, I realized that au lait is French for Hey lactose-intolerant lady....that's WHOLE milk in there!

Our first stop after breakfast and...er...les toilettes...was Notre Dame Cathedral on the Ile de la Cite...or the island between the left and right banks of the Seine. Let me stop and say that when you look at a map, the right bank is north of the river while the left bank is south and in my tiny, American brain, rive sud and rive nord make a lot more sense than rive gauche and rive droit....but apparently they are named according to the direction the river flows...which I guess is as good a reason as any.

Technically, our first stop was at a souvenir store a block north of Notre Dame to buy Neal a hat. He started shaving his head in Iraq when the contracted barbers packed up shop and left town. In the breezy, misty Paris mornings, the dome de Neal was exposed and cold. We settled on one, said our s'il vous plait's and au revoir's and headed to the spires in the distance.

"You read The Hunchback of Notre Dame in high school right?" I asked Neal on our way past the Hotel de Ville.

"I don't think so. I don't remember. There was like a short, ugly guy as the main character?"

"Um...yes...a hunchback."

"That's not very politically correct."

"OK."

"Oh...and wasn't it like a love story or something?"

"Never mind." My apologies to all of Neal's high school English teachers as he seems to have retained nothing.

The line to climb to the top of Notre Dame stretched down the side of the cathedral, approximately 50 people deep. We weighed our desire to climb stairs and get a 3 story-view of Paris against our desire to stand in line after eating smoked salmon and diced pineapple.

We did not climb to the top of Notre Dame.

We did, however, cruise right on past the line with our Museum Pass. There are not a ton of inside photos from the big camera because most were, unfortunately, taken with our other smaller Sony Cypershot (the one that seems to have crawled out of my purse on the metro). But here are a few...

And who would have thought that the rose window, with all of its pie wedges of vibrant color...

looks like this from the outside?

Further proof that more often than not, breathtaking beauty is on the inside.

By the way, Notre Dame...or Our Lady...is dedicated to the Virgin Mary who is depicted front and center of the rose window, cradling a baby Jesus and flanked by angels. Notre Dame was completed in (just) 2 centuries and as the Rick Steves joke goes...the Parisians did much of the grunt work themselves, creating the real hunchbacks of Notre Dame. Hardy...

har....

har.

Now let me direct your attention to the row of kings directly below the rose window...

The French Revolution was an often bloody and sometimes confusing time where the motto of the day was "behead now, ask questions later." These Biblical kings were mistaken for the despised French kings (which, of course they are French kings...because including Biblical kings on a cathedral is just lunacy) and the citizens attacked. They lopped off the entire row of heads, leaving a disturbing scene of headless statues for decades. Fortunately, a schoolteacher who lived nearby, collected the heads and buried them in his backyard...y'know...just in case. In 1977, they were accidentally unearthed and stuck in the Cluny Museum for viewing and safekeeping. It does beg the question...where did these heads come from?

Notre Dame is also known for her (are buildings considered "feminine"...or is that only for boats?) gargoyles, protruding from the balcony. They represent the lost souls, caught between heaven and earth. They also serve a secondary function as handy little rainspouts during the occasional French downpour.

I look at this and all I can think is Carol Anne announcing, "they're heeeeere."

If Notre Dame published an annual yearbook, this little guy would win "Most Photographed" every year.

Walking around the side of Notre Dame, you see a series of green men...some apostles...some evangelists...and one is the architect, looking up at the spire and admiring his own work.

Once around the back, the well-known flying buttresses of Notre Dame are visible. OK...maybe the flying buttresses are only well-known to me...but I vividly remember a high school teacher ranting endlessly about the importance of their design. Neal looked, nodded, and then went to look for a bathroom.

From the left bank, the cathedral is even more impressive...it's not until you cross the Seine do you really grasp the size and complexity of this Gothic dedication to Mary.

The Pont Archeveche, the bridge behind the Notre Dame that crosses over to the left bank, is littered with an array of hand-scrawled and etched locks. We later learned that lovers of all ages will scribble (or in the case of serious love...engrave) initials, dates, and messages on locks, attach them to the fencing, and toss the key into the Seine.

And, as luck would have it, for those unprepared travelers, there is a roadside vendor just a block away who sells a variety of locks with keys. We decided against the 10 euro lock and vowed to do this next time.

As we found ourselves officially on the left bank, we plugged in the headphones and fired up the Rick Steves left bank walking tour that I had downloaded from iTunes. It's starting point? Notre Dame...of course...at the other end of the island. We held out, listening to details of Notre Dame from the Pont Neuf bridge, before finally caving in and sauntering back to the cathedral as he discussed points of interest that we hadn't initially noticed (like the Point Zero...the tiny inset medallion in front of Notre Dame that serves as the origin point for all distances in Paris. Apparently, a popular photo op is to stand with your feet on the plaque and take a picture. Sidenote: I have determined there are no more original photo ideas. We do have photos of Point Zero...on the other camera).

Thirty minutes later, Rick brought us back around to Shakespeare & Company. Although it is not the original bookstore that was opened by Sylvia Beach in 1919 and hosted the likes of Ernest Hemingway, Ezra Pound, and James Joyce...it was a charming tribute to the once-famous haunt that never re-opened after the German Occupation.

The bookstore/reading library specializes in English literature and, I have to say, is a welcome reprieve after strolling past stall after stall after stall of French literature along the river. To glance at a stack of books, scanning the spines and reading the titles without struggling for a translation is liberating...if the brain could sigh in relief, it would. There is, according to Gabrielle, a sweet little reading nook upstairs, but with Neal's protruding backpack and the crush of American students waiting for a signing to begin, we had hardly made it past the first shelf before Neal declared it too crowded to browse and carefully squeezed back out the door.

He also declared it lunch time.

So, you can approach eating in Paris in a variety of ways. You can venture out each day, armed with suggestions from friends, family, the hotel concierge, and Trip Advisor (I would not rely solely on Rick for this one as his dining chapter is skimpy and sad) or you can pick a cafe based on number of patrons who look French and/or the name of the cafe and/or the location of the cafe. We did a little of all of this. Sometimes it worked out well. Sometimes it all went horribly wrong (as in dinner that evening). The amount of research we put in to finding our next meal was directly related to how starving we were when we decided to look for food (read: "Let's go there. It's on a busy street, those men are all wearing scarves, and his food looks really good."). This was our first lunch in the city and we were on the left bank, much further south than I realized. After wandering aimlessly, we picked a cafe on the corner of everything and had a seat.

Two things I should note here about dining al fresco at Parisian cafes. 1) There is no need to hunt down the hostess and ask to be seated outside. Just pop a squat at your favorite table. They will find you. The French wait staff know everything that goes on at their tables all the time. It will take approximately 45 seconds for someone to appear with napkins, eating utensils, and menus. 2) The smokers have been kicked out of all of the cafes in Paris. So, be willing to contract a little lung cancer during drinks or opt to be inside.

Lunch at Cafe du Metro (clearly chosen for the name) was pretty divine, actually. I had my first (and sadly, only) croque monsieur of the trip and Neal had poulet basquaise, a tender chicken dish that I can only assume hails from the Basque region. When my sandwich was delivered, Neal did mention that I had basically ordered a Kentucky Hot Brown. I beg to differ. When restaurants begin adding bechamel sauce to their hot browns, then we'll talk.

As you can see just over my right shoulder, there's a dome. Neal captured it in this photo although I think it was by accident. After lunch, we strolled on with Rick and my iPod, twisting down streets and passing famous landmarks (the Sorbonne, anyone?) all along the way...until we emptied out into a intersection, or place. And there sat the Pantheon...which just happens to be the dome behind me in the photo.

Looking out from the Pantheon. All roads (seemingly) lead to the Eiffel Tower.

If this building looks vaguely familiar to you, it's probably because you've seen it before...like...say...in Rome. It was originally constructed by King Louis XV in tribute to St. Genevieve, but the time it was finished, religion was out and the age of man was in. It was revamped into a mausoleum honoring the "Champions of French Liberty"...including Voltaire, Rousseau, and Descartes. Inside is a who's who of the French Revolution...murals of Joan of Arc, paintings of St. Denis, and...of course...Napoleon. In 1851, Leon Foucault first demonstrated the rotation of the earth with his pendulum...and here it swings at the end of a 220' cable suspended from the dome.

It is appropriate to "ooh" and "ahh" here as Neal was very proud of himself for capturing it in the millisecond that it held at dead center.

Buried in the crypt is stars like Marie Curie, Victor Hugo, Alexandre Dumas, and Louis Braille (of the Braille script). There are pictures of the crypt...on the other camera.

It was getting late...time to go in search of a noisette (hazelnut coffee) or a kir (shot of creme de cassis...or blackcurrant...and topped with wine). But first, I am going to bore you with several photoshopped versions of the same photo. Because I can.

Our last stop of the day was at St. Chapelle...which is, essentially, a cathedral of glass. It was built by King Louis IX to house the (supposed) Crown of Thorns (which are now kept at Notre Dame). He paid 135,000 francs for the crown and 40,000 francs for St. Chapelle. He was clearly concerned about erecting a home worthy of the relic.

We actually kind of stumbled upon St. Chapelle while we were looking for the Conciergerie, the former prison that housed Marie-Antoinette. We stood in a line under a sign that was all in French. Everyone seemed to think that we were queuing for the Conciergerie. We went through security and a hellacious metal detector that beeped at my bra hooks, and proceeded down a vast corridor with marble floors. We made our first right...into, what we discovered was, the French Supreme Court. We sat on a bench outside the court room and listened to Rick talk about the Conciergerie while French attorneys strode across the room, heels echoing all the way.

We were in the French Supreme Court. And no one asked us to leave.

We decided not to take pictures here...considering it was a court of law and all. And then we determined that we had definitely taken a wrong turn somewhere. A little backtracking, down a stairwell, and across a courtyard and we were finally at St. Chapelle (for the record, I have no idea where the Conciergerie is).

When you first enter St. Chapelle, it is sort of a letdown. The alter lays in ruins and the painted columns with rows of the fleur-de-lis are peeling. It's dark and damp and you think "I'm so glad we saw this on the Museum Pass because no way in hell would I pay 11 euros to see this." Humble is a gentle and kind adjective for the lower room. But climb the stairs and prepare to lose your breath over the walls of stained glass.

This is where the royalty worshiped. Climbing up from the dark and depressing chapel of the staff and commoners, it is impossible to not feel elevated to queen status just by standing in this room. The 15 separate panels of stained glass depicts over 1,100 different scenes, mostly from the Bible. From the Creation in Genesis to the end of the world, shown here:

the entire effect is overwhelming. You have to sit down. Fortunately, they have provided chairs just for that purpose.

I realize it looks like I'm playing on my phone here. In reality, I'm reading about the stained glass...because I'm not a moody teenage tourist....

As we were preparing to leave, they opened up the 15' doors at the rear of the chapel, the doors leading to the passageway the royalty used to enter the church. The palace and passageway are long gone, but the effect from standing outside, looking in, is still inspirational.

It had a been an exhausting day, full of French history and magnificent architecture. Dinner time was approaching and we needed a plan. As we were miles from our hotel, we hopped the metro back to our room and searched Trip Advisor for a dinner spot.

Let's say there are 4000 rated restaurants in Paris on Trip Advisor. Our hotel was situated squarely around many that were rated somewhere in the 3000's. This did not bode well. Neal found one, about a mile from the hotel, that was rated in the 300's. We'll take it! Standards, be damned. We dragged our weary, blistered feet the 1+ mile to a cramped and crowded cafe. Not a table to be had. We had 2 options...stand at the bar and wait for a group of Parisians to give up their wine and table to a couple of tourists (hahahahahaha) or stroll across the street to a deserted restaurant with plenty of tables and a staff that was camped at the bar.

Option 2 it is.

So into Le Paris-Madeira we walked and were shown a lovely 2-person table by the window. I urged Neal to order the steak tartare, as the French are famous for it and he thrives on the intensity of an experience. What could be more intense than raw beef with a side of fries? And on the eve of my 33rd birthday, I threw caution to the wind and ordered the same. To which the waiter declared, "NON! It is BAD! No order! Order dis!" A steak that was priced 5 euros more. Imagine that. Fine. Who are we to argue with the man in his own restaurant? So we ordered the steak. Then he firmly suggested the "chourico flambe" which I could only translate as sausage flame. It's meat on fire....what could possibly go wrong?

As he returned with our flaming appetizer, I was mesmerized by the fire and the smell of roasting cognac. He set it on the table, without a word of caution or advice, and left. I looked at Neal, who in turn looked at the fiery pork.

"What now?" I pondered.

"I don't know. Is it cooked?" Neal answered back.

"I have no idea. I'll cut into it." As I ripped my steak knife through the middle of this sausage, and then again on either end, sawing to get through the tough outer layer and into the rubbery center, the waiter came running and screeching across the dining room. "NON! Dis not DONE!"

You brought a raw sausage to our table? Are you freaking crazy? How do you say e. coli in French?

He then turned the sausage to encourage roasting on both sides...except instead of flipping the meat in one suave move, he had to turn it in the 3 sections that I had chopped it into. I had butchered his mojo. And then he left.

It was about that time that we heard cackling at the table behind us. A mother/son duo on vacation from Utah had ordered the same dinner, told "NON! It is BAD!" then ordered the same steak and the same flambe appetizer. They had then proceeded to hack into their raw sausage assuming that no sane waiter would ever serve uncooked pork to the table. We had a good laugh and quietly questioned why they hadn't said something earlier...preferably before I defaced the sausage sculpture.

As we dined on the toughest, chewiest, saltiest sausage I have ever had (Neal: "It's like summer sausage!"...yeah! Except...NOT.), we noticed that this passionate waiter of ours had talked at least 3 tables of Americans and French alike into ordering the flaming starter. And each time, he had to halt his diners from contracting worms from an uncooked slab of pork.

He must love his job.

As we sauntered back onto rue Caumartin, rolling our meat-laden selves back to the hotel, we saw him sprint across the dining room, yelling "NON! Dis not done!" to yet another couple perched at a window table that looked out onto the street.

The dinner cost 60 euros but the entertainment was priceless.

I may never eat sausage again, though.

If you go....

Notre Dame, we've heard, can have some wicked long lines. We went at 10 AM on a Wednesday morning and walked right in. But this is not something to save for the weekend.
The audio guides are 5 euros each. They don't take credit cards or break large bills. There is a Rick Steves podcast that covers Notre Dame under the Historic Paris Walk title downloadable on iTunes.
Climbing to the top (400 steps) is covered by the museum pass, but you don't get to skip to the front of the line.
The church still holds mass and you will not be allowed to take pictures during the service. Also there is an understood "dress appropriately and use your inside voice" guideline here.
Included in the Historic Paris Walk is a stop at the Deportation Memorial behind Notre Dame. It is a memorial to the 200,000 French victims of the Nazi concentration camps. It was under renovation when we went, but I would highly recommend stopping for a few minutes if it's open.
St. Severin, another stop on the Steves walking tour, has a lovely playground behind the church. It is a perfect pause in the day...as long as that day isn't Sunday, when the gate is locked, we discovered.
St. Chapelle offers concerts throughout the summer and fall. Although the posters and brochures hung all over Paris to advertise them may mislead you, know that the tickets are about 30 euros each and you need to make reservations in advance.

Perfect Timing

2011-09-22T08:24:00.000-04:00

Today begins my rather lengthy and certainly wordy recap of our 2 weeks in Paris. I don't expect everyone to read every word or even every post. There will be pictures, travel advice, friendly suggestions to fellow Paris-bound travelers, and details about our days. Mostly, I'm doing this for me. Because in a way, my blog has become my journal that documents our history (this is totally legit, by the way, as I have never revealed anything too personal in my written diary either, for fear of it being found...which it was...once...and then used against me...in a court of law).

So whether you have a printed boarding pass with "Paris" at the top, or just wish you did...here it is: the good, the bad, the amazing, and the delicious....for several days.

I used no less than 6 blogs, a Rick Steves Paris 2011 guidebook, 2 Lonely Planet guidebooks, and a Frommer's Guide to Paris to plan this trip. Even with all of that, the itinerary was not completely filled in until 48 hours before we left. The task of planning a Parisian vacation, even a 2-week trip, seemed insurmountable. Dozens of major museums, parks, statues, castles, day trips, shopping, eating, and *gasp* relaxing. To complicate matters, some attractions are only open 6 days/week or 3 days/week and some are just swarmed on the weekends. Most museums are free the first Sunday of the month, but we missed that by 2 days so it hardly mattered. And then there's the Museum Pass. 3 days, 5 days, or 6 days...you choose...but choose wisely because once you visit that first museum, your clock has started. I wanted to knock out most major tourist hot spots, include a few "off-the-beaten-path" walks, take 2 day trips, and still allow Neal to feel rested when he headed back to Iraq.

It was a giant, 14-day puzzle.

And I hate puzzles.

So, I scheduled the most important places first. I wanted to forever be able to say that I had been at the Louvre on my birthday and I needed a good distraction for the 2nd anniversary of Shepherd's death (Versailles, anyone?). Also, our friends, Gil & Gabrielle (not their real names...totally stolen from Midnight in Paris), were there for a week and willing to dine with us in celebration of my 33rd birthday. Piece by piece, it fell into place...exactly as it should. It was 13 days of walks, tours, sightseeing, shopping, and eating...there was no way we would get to it all. I quickly saved it to Word, emailed it to Mama Virgo and Neal and prefaced the whole thing with "don't worry...this is more than we could ever do."

And then I made some notes in case we did it all.

Timing our coinciding arrival in Paris took a bit of planning on Neal's part and a great deal of patience and flexibility on mine. We only used 10-12 of the 14 available days for our past 2 R&Rs so he was always able to meet me at baggage claim when I arrived in the country. This time, however, we were using all 14 days and he wouldn't get his plane ticket to Paris until he arrived in Kuwait. Verizon doesn't work in Paris (it's actually impossible to make a phone call once you arrive, unless you are on wi-fi and it's through Skype). The worst case scenario? I would arrive at Charles de Gaulle airport on Tuesday and he would arrive at Orly on Wednesday and I wouldn't know any of this because it would be decided while I was 30,000 feet in the air.

So we set our meeting point at the hotel....the Hilton Arc de Triomphe on rue de Courcelles.

And I booked a shuttle service to get me from the airport to the hotel because I am prone to panic attacks when forced to figure out a train system completely on my own. Also...taxi drivers in Paris are infamous for grossly overcharging trusting tourists. Neal, however, took the train...because he's a trailblazer like that.

Super Shuttle, which Gil & Gabrielle also used to get to the Hilton, allowed for online booking and pre-payment of services. It was not long after our friends arrived in Paris, however, that I received a Facebook post from Gabrielle..."Super Shuttle is not so super." Awesome. She gave me some very helpful tips and a word of warning about how long the entire process would take. At least my expectations were managed.

The flight over, with a hellacious tailwind, only took a little over 5 hours and since I was already on Paris time, I slept for most of it. In fact, sadly, I slept straight through dinner and the free wine they serve with it. I woke up in time for a light Delta breakfast and de-boarding. Passport control was pretty painless and retrieving my baggage also went swimmingly well. I had a slight pang of regret as I walked past all of those loved ones waiting outside security, knowing that Neal would not be among them this time. Seeing him again in the airport after many months apart has sort of become a thing for us. Not this time. I searched out a France Telecom phone and dialed the number for Super Shuttle to tell them I had landed.

A recording played. "I'm sorry. The number you are trying to reach is busy. Please try your call again later." *sigh* Fine. So I waited about 10 minutes (which in reality was closer to about 30 seconds). I tried again. Same message. Another 2 minutes passed. I tried again. Same message. My palms started to sweat, my heart began to race, my worst case scenario (stuck at the airport with no phone, no Internet, no way to contact Neal, no way to know if he was even IN Paris) ran on a continuous loop. I was trapped in that Tom Hanks movie, Terminal. I had 50 euros and an address. Now what? I tried again. Same message. I began to walk towards the RER, which I knew from Neal was the train that would take me to the Metro. I had no idea how to buy a ticket or what to do once I got to the metro...but I needed a Plan B. As I walked through Terminal 2, I stopped at every toll-free phone and called the number again, which I had memorized at this point. Same message.

Finally, at the last toll-free phone before I got to the RER, Super Shuttle picked up. I practically had to lean against the booth to keep from collapsing in relief. We set a pick-up point outside by the curb and I headed in that direction.

The shuttle itself was fine, although it is certainly not the quickest way to get from the airport to your Parisian home. I was the first of 4 pick-ups for that driver and we went to 3 different terminals for the rest of his passengers. Some of them were waiting on him, some were not...in which case he had to go looking for them. Gil & Gabrielle said they circled Terminal 1 for about 30 minutes on their shuttle, waiting for a passenger who never showed up. But it was only about 30 euros each way so I guess the adage holds true for this one: you get what you pay for.

Three hours later, I walked into the Hilton's lobby and asked if my husband had checked in yet. She called, he answered, and he gave me his room number.

I'll not....uh...bore you with the details of the next 5 hours or so....but I will say that it included a bottle of wine that he had chilling upon my arrival, the first CNN that I had seen on an actual TV in about 9 months, and a lovely 3 hour nap. I am, however, quite adorable in the fact that I had scheduled stuff for that day....like a Rick Steves self-guided walk down the Champs Elysees and a climb to the top of the Arc de Triomphe. Hahahahahaha. Yes, I'm cute. Unrealistic and over-ambitious, but cute.

So, that didn't happen. But when we finally woke up, we were starving. We stumbled down the Champs Elysees to an Italian cafe with a few early diners...mostly Americans. Yes, our first meal in France was Italian. And it was divine. I had a margherita pizza and a half a bottle of wine. Neal had some sort of pasta thing with a simple, yet flavorful sauce. Then we split the absolute best tiramisu I have ever had. Very light, not too rich, and absolutely zero lady fingers involved. (When I start going through receipts, I will add the names of the cafes for future travels....right now they are in a stack on the floor next to my desk).

After dinner, it had gotten dark, but not too cold, so we walked awhile...until we turned a corner and was unexpectedly greeted by the Eiffel Tower. We stood on the bridge in front of the Trocadero, snapping pictures of a well-lit, well-known French landmark.

Suddenly, it began to twinkle! In all of my research I had never once read that at 9 PM, the Eiffel Tower sparkles.

The crowd ooh'ed and ahh'ed for 5 minutes as the lights danced like flames. It. was. mesmerizing.

And then...it stopped.

I turned to Neal. "I want to see it again! Do you think they'll do it again?" He consulted our trusty Rick Steves book, not yet well-thumbed or wet, and declared, "at the top of the hour!" We crossed the bridge and strolled directly under the Eiffel Tour, to the other side of the Champs de Mars. Walking the same path millions of 1889 World's Fair attendees walked as they entered the exposition between the 4 caged legs of this "Parisian eyesore," I felt nothing but delight and pure, whole, contentment.

We hopped the fence to the grassy area of the Champs de Mars and joined dozens of other couples and friends who were popping champagne corks, toasting their good fortune, and waiting for the next light show.

At all of the major tourist destinations in Paris, there are a group of men trying to sell you Eiffel Tower replicas and a group of women trying to get you to sign their petition for....whatever. It's obnoxious but once you say no, they generally don't return. A stern "non" pretty much fixes it. And they keep to the Eiffel Tower, the Lafayette Galleries, and Notre Dame....so it isn't as if they are everywhere...but they were certainly out that evening.

At 10 PM, it began again and as Neal sat cross-legged on the grass and I laid my head in his lap, it felt like we were finally, officially, in Paris.

The sky had begun to cloud over and the winds turned chilly so we started back to the hotel, exhausted and a little giddy with anticipation of the 2 weeks ahead. It was going to be an amazing trip....

All Good Things Must Come to an End

2011-09-19T13:38:00.000-04:00

....including 4 euro wine, fois gras burgers, stinky cheese, chevre chaud (hot goat cheese, also known as orgasm on a baguette), nonchalantly walking past the Eiffel Tower, getting lost in tiny alleys located off of other tiny alleys, nutella crepes, and hours spent lounging in the park or at a sidewalk cafe people ~~judging~~ watching. It's been confusing/fabulous/hectic/exhausting/non-stop/historic/enlightening/fulfilling and now it's over. We are sitting in the compact living room of our Marais apartment, listening to Snow Patrol, finishing off a bottle of rose, and procrastinating the inevitable. Packing. The rolling of clothes...the sifting of receipts and brochures...the last hours before he goes in one direction and I, the other. Stories, photos, and travel advice will follow in a couple of days. Au revoir for now. There's a Samsonite that flat out refuses to pack itself.

Third Shift

2011-09-01T15:55:00.001-04:00

Somewhere in the genius department of my mind, I decided that getting on Paris time before actually arriving in Paris next week would be a stellar idea. No more zombie-walking through cobblestone streets in impractical attire. I will arrive alert and functioning!

Groovy!

Except I went to bed at 7:15 last night and slept until 2:30 this morning...which is 8:30 AM Paris time. Right on schedule. But I missed our From the Sidelines Fantasy Football draft at 10:30 PM last night and had to allow my team, A Few Good Men, to auto-draft. Hop on over to From the Sidelines to find out how that worked out for me!

Also? Third shift workers? You have my undying respect. I never realized how bff the sun and I are until this week.

Space Cadet

2011-08-24T18:01:00.001-04:00

I wish I was leaving tomorrow. It's been a long 6 months since Ft. Bliss. An even longer 8 months since I came home to a quiet house, an empty bed, and dinner for 1. Thinking of where we've been the past 6 years only makes me long for our next adventure.

Rome from the vantage point of St. Peter's Cathedral dome.

Looking through the portal of a ship in the Baltimore Inner Harbor.

The grapes in a Sonoma vineyard where we were wine club members for almost 2 years.

Riding bareback in the ocean off St. Lucia.

9 adults gathered on the trunk of a tree in The Redwood Forest.

St. Paul's Cathedral, London, with a background of ominous skies.

Watching the jets take off over lunch at Hickam AFB, Honolulu.

The view from Camelback Mountain, Phoenix.

Charleston, SC on our 4th wedding anniversary.

Hot springs on the bank of the Rio Grande.

Wedding Day, September 22, 2006.

Oh, the places we'll go.

This is seriously the longest 2 weeks of my life.

Champagne Friday: Passing Myself Coming and Going

2011-08-19T17:09:00.000-04:00

Happy Champagne Friday!

I am especially jubilant today because my schedule just became a little less redonka-freakin-lous. When I returned from Kentucky at the beginning of the month, my calendar looked like this:

Home for a week

Jacksonville for 5 days (babysitting the wee me's)

Home for a week

In Chicago for a week

Home for a week

In Paris for 2 weeks

Home for a week

Hilton Head for a week

Kentucky for 3 weeks

Back to Georgia and for everyone keeping score at home, that brings us to the first of November.

That is particularly important because, as Neal informed me this week, they have begun their 60-90 day re-deployment briefings/teleconferences with the post that they'll be returning to. This means that we are (in theory anyway...it's the Army, it will change approximately 58473837282 times before he walks through the front door) 60-90 days from FINISHED.

I think my eyes just rolled back in my head out of sheer happiness.

Also, it's a little ironic that the one time I decide to blog about our 400-day deployments, the deployment is actually far less than 400 days.

However...

Dear Universe,

This is NOT me complaining.

Love,

NOT COMPLAINING

But in true bff fashion, I was excused from the Chicago trip in an effort to take a little of the stressure (yeah, that's pressure stress) off. God love her because now I'll be in one place until I leave for Paris. And I can actually think clearly again. There is a lot to be said for that.

To recap the last 3 weeks, though, here it is in pictures. Then I must get my workout on, followed by the tallest glass of bubbles ever...because this week, I sort of deserve it.

The Queen, Sleeping Booty, and Repunzerella's trip to Kentucky began with a trip to the Louisville Children's Science Museum...where Army Dad taught us about momentum...or motion...or something. Anyway, as long as the wheel is spinning, you can balance it on your hand. (Bonus cool photography points: the wheel is actually spinning in this picture.)

This is the Louisville Slugger Museum, where they make the Slugger baseball bats (and first choice of weapon for many military wives). We didn't actually go in, but something tells me it can't compare to the awesome on the outside of the building.

At the Salato Nature Preserve in Frankfort, we saw the UK wildcat, Blue, up close and personal. And hiked 2 miles in flip flops and linen pants.

GO BIG BLUE! OK...he doesn't look so fierce here, but I assure you, he can take down a Florida gator without thinking twice.

And...of course....we fed the ducks. Because that's what you do. And then you cuss like a redneck sailor when they crap all over your car and deny any responsibility in the whole thing.

Lunch was at Gatti Town, where the pizza is greasy, the drink refills are unlimited and the games are 8746356% more spectacular than they were when I was a WeeAlly in 'Da Fort. Not an air hockey table in sight. But there are motorcycles and bumper cars. Hutch and Shana, get your game faces on...we are SO going back.

I refuse to feel any sort of inferiority complex simply because these bumper cars are bigger than my Prius.

Friday brought horseback riding at The Kentucky Horse Park, which was home to the 2010 Equestrian Games (Horse Olympics, basically. But Lexington rocks extra hard because we hosted the first games ever held outside of Europe. Yep, we know a thing or 2 about horses...or...er...they do).

We didn't get the same memo that Army Dad got. He was ready for a cattle drive. We looked like we were hitting up Abercrombie and Fitch.

Saturday was rum by the pool and s'mores after dinner. Sunday morning, we convoyed back to Georgia so the girls could crash at my place and then finish their drive on Monday morning.

I was home for about 6 days before it was time to head out again to my sister's for babysitting duty. As my sister prepped her library for the first day of school next week, we were frequenting McDonald's, the pool, and the movies. Oh, what movie, you ask?

The Smurfs, of course! According to Neal, the Smurfs are an 80's thing and anyone born around 1968 has an innate aversion to them. My sister and her husband had been putting off Smurfs since opening night. I, on the other hand, had been looking for some small children to accompany me so I didn't look quite so much like Kyle the Pedophile, rolling up into a movie about little blue people. But first...we had to make a McDonald's stop so the 3 of us (yes our total age is 45...your point??) could get Smurf figurines in our Happy Meal.

Yes, that would be Grouchy Smurf, sandwiched between 2 Vanity Smurfs. The fact that I got Vanity Smurf is hysterical to Neal and my mother, as they both hold the belief that I'm incapable of passing a mirror/car window/any shiny, reflective surface without looking at myself in it.

They might be right.

There may have also been a bit of beach time thrown in for good measure.

But now I'm back to work...creating, writing, and of course...reading. Good thing I have a trusty sidekick to remind me of what's really important.

Cheers to you on this beautiful Friday. My pre-pregnancy pants fit again, champagne is on sale at the Class 6, and the cats have their legs hiked up and licking their asses...all is right with the world.

Follow Me Down the Yellow Brick Road

2011-08-18T11:10:00.000-04:00

....and right over to From the Sidelines. My sister and I are compiling our Fantasy Football team based solely on strong, Christian morals and good looks. And we only have 2 players so far. Suggestions wanted.

A Soldier's Coming Home

2011-08-13T13:44:00.000-04:00

I often get my panties in a knot about the lack of attention we show our service members when they arrive home in a casket instead of a plane seat. Occasionally you will hear about a funeral procession and, if people get the news in time, they will line the street waving flags to show respect and appreciation. But, in general, a Soldier's remains returning home earns a 20-second news spot and a paragraph on the second page of the paper. It happens more than we realize. It happens almost everyday. Last week, it happened 30 times.

Army Specialist Mark Downer returned home on Friday. A 2005 graduate of Northside High School in Warner Robins, GA, he was just a baby, 24...25...when he was killed in Afghanistan last week. His body was flown into Robins Air Force Base yesterday. Living so close to the flight line, I hear every plane that takes off and lands from this base. I know I heard that plane, but it sounded just like any other. No fan fare or special effects to alert me that this cargo jet was carrying someone precious. I went about my day as any other Friday. I posted my 2 RED items. R.emember E.veryone D.eployed. I titled one of them "Sacrifice." How ironic. As I was photographing "Sacrifice" in the shade of my front yard trees, a plane carrying Spc Downer was most likely flying low over my roof, preparing to land less than a mile away. Sometimes the coincidences are too great to dismiss.

But I didn't know. I don't watch the news (ignorant, perhaps, but I learned in June that it's better for my sanity). I had no idea that as I was posting my items, pricing them and writing descriptions, that Warner Robins streets were lining with people preparing to honor a fallen hero. I am so sorry....to Spc. Downer and to his family, that I was not there among them. You deserve to know that his sacrifice is not in vain, your grief is not ignored, and he will never be forgotten. We are proud of Spc. Downer and I salute him today and every day. And I pray for you and your family for it is a long road ahead without the sound of your son's laughter, the joy he brings you just by being here. Thank you, Spc. Downer and thank you Downer Family.

via Google Images (Freedom Remembered: Remembering Our Troops)

If you are interested in supporting the Downer Family financially, the MJD Memorial Fund has been established at all 8 Mid-South Federal Credit Unions to support Downer's 1-year old daughter.

Blogbragging

2011-08-10T23:19:00.000-04:00

I just have to raise the roof a bit over here tonight. Neal was awarded the Army Achievement Medal for providing excellent mentoring to Soldiers while deployed. The awards ceremony took place yesterday and I hope someone took pictures in my absence.

Congratulations, handsome! I am so proud of you!!

Accountability

2011-08-09T17:23:00.000-04:00

Even though I have been on a countdown since 21 January (hence the name of the blog), I have not been physically crossing days off of a calendar or ripping dated pages from a stack on my desk. I've just been sort of keeping track in the back of my mind. One month down...11 to go. Or 2 more months until we are at the halfway point.

Except that we don't exactly know when "halfway" is. Which is different from every other deployment. Because we don't know for sure that the Iraqi government is going to stick to a 31 December deadline and we don't know for sure if the U.S. will send troops home from Iraq or just shift them over to Kuwait, we don't really know how long the deployment will last. Probably less than the typical 400 days. But how much less? There's no telling...which, admittedly, at times makes me want to sit on the kitchen floor and bang my head with a ladle. But as Army Dad has taught me, I hope for the best, but expect the worst.

The best possible outcome would be a November Homecoming. It would be about 6 weeks after I last saw Neal in Paris and just enough time to scoot back to the house, deep clean it, and prepare a week's worth of meals like I had been cooking for the past year (and not, as he probably suspects, playing Wheel of Restaurants for 10 months). Worst case? February. Which would be a 400-day deployment and, unless he was stop-lossed, the longest his tour could possibly be. And if you believe everything the government tells you, stop-loss no longer occurs.

Either way, we crossed the half-way point on July 21. I was knee-deep in townhouse brick on the 21st and completely missed the significance. And now I'm on the downhill slide.

When I sat down this afternoon and realized how close to November we actually are (and if you haven't noticed that the end of the year is justaroundthecorner, then head to a craft store where Christmas has thrown up in at least 5 aisles), I started to think about my Deployment To-Do List (and consequently, the fact that I had never quite gotten around to blogging the list).

Janet over at We Four Explorers has just seen her husband off for another year-long deployment and decided to create a list of books that she would like to read in his absence. We are all in agreement that compiling any sort of list will help the time pass. Putting your time and energy into checking things off will make the time at least march, if not fly.

So, here is my list of what I wanted to accomplish this year. I have about 4 months to finish it up. And if there are items left uncrossed? Well, that's OK too. I didn't get around to learning how to pair food and wine last deployment, but Neal and I are enjoying that to-do together.

~~Fix the townhouse brick - whatever that means.~~ (at the sake of my sanity, but whatever. It's done.)
Re-learn French
Cook a whole chicken (unless there is removal of innerds involved. Then I'm out.)
Blog about the deployment
~~Get those last 25 lbs~~ off my ever-expanding ass (14 down...9 to go)
~~Try the Paleo~~ Diet for at least 6 months (off and on for 6 months now and really love it. Especially the "on" part.)
~~Workout everyday~~ (or at least 5 days/week) (or at least 2 days/week...or at least twice a month. Quit judging me.)
Read The Hunger Games series
~~Launch the business website~~
~~Get the business logo redesigned~~
~~Spend a week in NYC~~
Create a line of jewelry from upcycled materials (read: yard sale mania every Saturday)
Master my sangria recipe (I know, disappointing. You'd think this would be the first item I tackled.)
~~Keep a plant alive for more than a month~~ (related: thank God for the hardiness of rosemary.)
Check out the historic homes in Macon
Go to the Farmer's Market on Saturday mornings
~~Plan a romantic and uberly awesome R&R with Captain Handsome~~
Practice my grill skillz
Visit friends in Chicago
~~Decorate the guest bathroom in KY with sweet little photos from NYC~~
Finish the wedding scrapbook
Find a church
Read the growing stack of non-Nook books...including Paula Deen's autobiography and Jen Lancaster's new one and Kartography
~~Watch "Castle" from start to finish~~
~~Watch "Grey's Anatomy"~~ from start to finish (I'm a little over half way. I really should not have waited until like season 7 to start).
Learn how to make my own mayonnaise
Go through my digital photos and delete the ones I don't want to keep forever and ever
Create some sort of water concoction that I won't mind drinking instead of diet soda when I'm pregnant
Make a huge stack of greeting cards so that I can stop buying them all the time

And that's where I left off. Some...like the 30 episodes of "Castle" and blogging about the deployment, have gone fairly smoothly...while finding a church (which is particularly difficult when each one is compared to the church I grew up in) and learning how to make mayonnaise (which I tried once and was disastrous) has proven more difficult. But I've made a fairly decent dent in my list and must credit that with completely missing my halfway point celebration.

Champagne Friday: The Inner WeeAlly

2011-08-05T11:52:00.000-04:00

My sister and 2 nieces arrived on Tuesday afternoon. Since then, it's been hiking, playing pool, playing ping pong, going to a science museum, and eating pizza. And maybe taking advantage of "adults ride free" on the bumper cars at Gatti Town. Headed out for horseback riding. Be back soon!

Happy Champagne Friday!

It's Go Time!

2011-08-04T00:41:00.000-04:00

I'm bringing Jungle Fever to From the Sidelines today. Heeeeeeere kitty, kitty......

Will the Real Neal Please Email Me Back

2011-07-28T09:02:00.000-04:00

For right now, my only somewhat constant link to Neal is email. And even that is not so consistent. For example, they are 7 hours ahead of us...so before I dash off an urgent email with lots of exclamation marks and capital letters, I have to compute the time difference. There is no point in me chaining myself to my laptop, tapping my fingers and waiting ever so impatiently for a reply if it's 3 AM in Iraq. As attentive as he is to me and my needs, he is not going to get that email for another 4 hours or so.

But sometimes you come across a family of 3 walking the bike path behind the neighborhood or you watch "P.S. I Love You" (again) and just need to send an "I love you a google" email. Sometimes you accidentally gulp down a bottle of Georgia peach wine and then deem that the perfect time to send off several erotic emails about his manhood in comparison to the Eiffel Tower and what you would rather do with the honey than put it in your coffee. (note: GA wine did not immediately precede honey in the coffee....that was just me being...well...y'know...)

Here are some of the tamer emails I've sent to Neal in the past 6 months:

"These chocolate chip cookies are warm and gooey....just like your kisses. I miss you."

"Y'know what I need right now? Naked waffles in bed. That always makes everything better."

"It's a good thing there is still velcro on the uniforms because I'm gonna rip it off. With my teeth. What Eiffel Tower??"

"How did you ever get to be so awesome? Lucky, party of 1."

"The only thing that could make this steak taste any better is if I was eating it off of you."

And those are the tame ones.

About a month ago, I got this email:

"Hello. I have been receiving emails from you, but I am not who you think I am. I don't think these emails were intended for me."

And that's what happens when you insert one teeny tiny period in the wrong place on an email address.

Some guy in Fargo thinks you want to lick syrup from his naval and shower until the water runs cold.

You're right, dude. They were definitely not meant for you. Lesson learned about the importance of accuracy and details.

WW: 40 Wake-ups!!

2011-07-27T08:50:00.000-04:00

2nd row seats @ The Producers

Theatre Royal, Drury Lane

London, England

Deployment #1

Roman Ruins (Coliseum in the background)

Rome, Italy

Day 4

Deployment #2

Google Images

Deployment #3

40 Wake-ups to go

I love a countdown!

Overexplainer Should Have Been One of the 7 Dwarfs

2011-07-26T12:54:00.001-04:00

I was going to link up with Amy over @PBJ Dreamer for another Gratituesday today...but I feel pretty grateful as it is. And these posts have been sitting in my queue for almost a month. Time to get 'em out there so that we can move on to other things...like Paris, oui?

In case you have been living in a cave or held against your will by leprechauns or kidnapped and dropped into a hole with a bottle of lotion, you know that I launched my new D&E website a couple of weeks ago. To do this, I had to have said website designed. I tried to do it myself once. It ended in tears and Shiraz. Then I tried to design it with Army Dad, who retired after creating all sorts of slick and dynamic websites for the Army. That also ended in tears and Shiraz. And a tiny bit of hard-earned education in writing code. So, I let my domain forward to my Facebook fan page until I started receiving emails from potential customers who didn't have Facebook accounts. I couldn't be all Facebook elitest...after all Mark Zuckerburg is sort of an egotistical prick and doesn't deserve to have my entire business on his site (and I'm not even Googling him to make sure I spelled his name right. Ha!). Even if it is free. So I emailed Monica to see if she could pull something together. Most of her expertise is on GoDaddy...which is not a problem for me...except that I am so over the use of sex in advertising and I think that Danica Patrick should have a little more self-respect...she is, after all, a supastar in a man's world. Why perpetuate the stereotype? But all in all, GoDaddy is a decent business with some proven longevity.

Except that my domain was hosted by Inmotion Hosting. I'm not even sure how I found Inmotion...through a forum I think. And it's very possible that the forum started with a thread about auto repair or candle crafts and ended with "and if you are looking for someone to host your website, I highly recommend Inmotion Hosting!" They very effectively redirected my website to Facebook for 2 years and they had 24-7 technical support. I had zero complaints. But Website Tonite is a product that is exclusive to GoDaddy. Hence, I had to transfer my domain name.

The process was a little tricky and it involved steps like getting an authorization code and calling an Australian IT company to get that code. (Although, it was tempting to keep my domain at Melbourne IT just to have 24-7 access to the technical support and their delicious accents.) In the thick of the transfer, I got horribly confused and was receiving emails from both GoDaddy and Inmotion Hosting. One Saturday morning, after receiving two particularly urgent emails requesting payment from both companies, I called the number at the bottom of Inmotion Hosting's email. They needed to understand that they were not going to get any further cash monies from Daisy & Elm.

And this is how I proceeded to make a complete ass of myself that day...

IH: Technical support. Can I help you?

Me: Yes, I received an email about my credit card expiring. Except that I need to transfer my domain name, actually. I am really very sorry. I love you guys. You have the best customer service and I've been really happy with you all...but I need to transfer out.

IH: OK. No problem.

Me: I mean...I am going to GoDaddy and I'm terribly sorry. I don't even really like GoDaddy. What's the deal with their lame teaser commercials where you have to go to their website to get the rest? I've never gone to the website...I don't like to be taunted. They are all about taunting over there. And I swear, if their customer service or technical support screws the pooch just once...I'm coming right back over. Which they are bound to do...considering they are all sitting around looking at life-size posters of Danica Patrick in a skin-tight tank top. That company has no self-respect. But alas, my web designer used their proprietary product for my website. I am so, so, so sorry I have to leave. Please make sure the higher-ups know that I am only switching because I absolutely have to.

IH: That's no problem. And...ma'am? This is GoDaddy.

Of course it is. Because I can't take 2 seconds to look at the from line of an email to make sure I'm doing it right.

My apologies across the board. I'm an idiot.