How 9/11 changed my life

Ten years ago I spent the summer living at home and working seven days a week at a charter fishing lodge in Sitka. I had been living in Washington when I got the call from the manager of the lodge inviting me back for another year and since I didn’t have a particularly well-paying job or a boyfriend, I decided to return home, work my ass off for four months and return to Washington several thousand dollars richer. The summer was definitely busy but I also found time for fun, having just turned 21, and those four months went by rather quickly.

I remember about six weeks before the fishing season ended I was talking to a friend in Georgia whom I’d lived with for a year right after high school and she asked me to come stay with her for a few weeks after my job in Sitka was over, before returning to Washington. My pockets heavily lined I agreed to take a much-needed three week vacation and visit family and friends in the deep south. While on the phone with her, I looked at a calendar knowing when the season (and my job) ended and randomly chose a date to leave Sitka and fly to Atlanta. The next day I booked my flight … for September 11, 2001.

I’ve written several times about my experience on that Tuesday morning so I won’t go into detail again. Obviously, I didn’t fly anywhere. I received about 900 phone calls that day to make sure I didn’t get on that plane. It took four days to reschedule my flight. By that time, I was sufficiently paralyzed by fear that I cancelled my vacation to Georgia altogether. Over those four days, I debated endlessly about whether to rebook my vacation or forego it completely and ultimately I decided on the latter. Looking back now I regret that decision deeply.

I regret it not only because it would be six years before I would return to visit friends and family but because my reason for not going was incredibly stupid in hindsight. I was afraid. At first, I was afraid to get on another plane at all. I mean, I had to go back to Washington – my whole life was there (my car, nearly all my belongings) – so I forced myself to make that trip. But I was petrified of flying from Seattle to Atlanta and rightly so I guess. But more than that, I actually convinced myself that the events of September 11^th were a sign from God. A sign that I should not return to Georgia.

I had some very real doubts that my “vacation” to Georgia would be just that. I knew there was a damn good chance that I would never leave; that I would ask my cousin in Washington (with whom I lived at the time) to sell my car and send my things and I would start my life again in the place that I missed so much. When those towers fell, I took it as a sign that this would be the wrong decision for me at that point in my life.

I actually believed that God had guided my decision on which day to travel and that I hadn’t “randomly” chosen September 11^th at all. I believed I was being shown which path to choose – and very clearly.

Of course, I realize now how ridiculous that sounds. I picked the wrong day … period. Then I stupidly let fear and some very irrational beliefs make a decision for me. Because it was easier that way. Ten years later, I sit here wondering how different my life would be if I had chosen for myself. If I hadn’t given into the superfluous notion that I was part of some “master plan” and that I should let huge decisions be guided by events that had absolutely nothing to do with me. I kick myself every day for being so naïve. And even though there are things in my life now that I would not trade under any circumstances, I will always wonder what might have been. That’s a very unsettling feeling.

The lesson I take from all of this is that we all have the power to make our own destiny, to guide our own “plan”. Sure, there may be some truth to fate and there is always the possibility that my life will turn out exactly as it “should” regardless of the decisions I make. But my point is this: I’m in control of my choices. I can’t, and won’t ever again, allow events beyond my control to steer those choices.

It’s up to me to make my life happen. That’s what the terrorists taught me.

Summer so far…in pictures

Sleepover time

All trouble all the time

One of many injuries

The Bourgeois’

Drivin’ on a dirt road

Buddies

Chillin’

Proud mama

Shooting on the fly

What you could do

Bye, Lincoln…

EXTREME Makeover: Home Edition

I’m learning all sorts of new blogging tricks. There’s this new thing I’m doing….you may have heard of it…it’s called READING? Yeah, it actually teaches you stuff. And if I’m being totally honest, I didn’t really understand how to make a picture gallery until I watched the video tutorial. What can I say, I’m a visual learner!

A whole new world, volume 1

Several months ago, I promised my three loyal readers some hysterical “adjustment” blogs related to moving my born-and-bred Pacific NW hubby and son from one corner of the country to the other.  I’ve failed to deliver thus far.  My failure is mostly due to a lack of time (and creativity) to write but also because – if I’m being totally honest – a majority of the stories are, shall we say, “off-color” and I’m not a sensitive enough writer to be politically correct about them. 

You can consider this blog a big middle-finger to political correctness because today I suddenly remembered that I just don’t give a damn.  Don’t get all excited to read some incredibly crude stories because I am totally over-hyping this shit.  Here are some random, not-so-off-color, you-had-to-be-there adjustments we’ve had to make since we moved from Washington to Georgia.  Yes, even me.  I’m a Georgia native but I’d been living in WA/AK for 10 years prior to moving back.

Bugs.  The Northwest knows nothing about bugs.  Dick endearingly coined the term “moped bugs” when we vacationed here in 2007 because they are LOUD.  The first night we spent in GA, Dick asked me why “that damn motorcycle” kept circling the block as we were trying to go to sleep.  It took about 10 minutes for me to realize that the motorcycle was actually the bugs.  Crickets, mostly.  And with the 13-year cicadas visiting this year we’ve been literally overwhelmed.  I really wish I would have had a video camera running the first time a cicada landed on Dick because that?  Was some funny shit!

Iced tea.  Wait.  Let me rephrase.  SWEET TEA.  I don’t know why but sweet tea just doesn’t exist in the Northwest.  Maybe it’s because the beauty of sweet tea is the incomparable refreshment it provides when it’s 98 degrees with 100% humidity outside.  There’s nothing like it.  Really.  A tall glass of iced, sweet tea will quench your thirst like no other beverage.  Except, of course, a cold beer but I’m pretty sure that’s universal.

Speaking of beverages…..Styrofoam cups.  In Washington, it was hard to find Styrofoam even if you wanted to.  But why would you want to?  In the South, almost every to-go beverage you order comes in a Styrofoam cup.  Yes, I realize it’s because Styrofoam keeps the beverage colder longer and when the temperature soars past the 100-degree mark, that’s important.  But.  Not as important as the environment.  I’ve never been a very “green” person but I believe in recycling and not littering and generally trying to keep the outdoors as clean as possible.  Styrofoam is like the Earth’s herpes.  It NEVER goes away.

This.  I mean, really?

Reverse racism.  I don’t know if that’s an actual term but Dick found out very quickly (and the hard way) that certain establishments do exist where people of our skin color are just plain not welcome.  I didn’t tell him about this beforehand because frankly I think it’s just fucking stupid (people are people, regardless of color/gender/age/education/what-the-hell-ever) and because it’s issues like these that make me want to stick my head in the sand, put my fingers in my ears, and la-la-la-la-la my way past the unbelievable amount of ignorance that still exists in this world.  Make no mistake, it’s EVERYWHERE.  Just more prominent in some places.

Porn on display.  You can’t drive 10 miles on the major interstate here without seeing a billboard for a “spa” or strippers or an “adult superstore” or something of the like.  Again, I know these places exist everywhere and I don’t begrudge them because to each his own.  But, billboards?  Could we BE anymore tacky?

Stay tuned, y’all.  This is only the first edition.

Mother’s Day Letter, Year 1

I’m starting a new tradition.  I’ve seen (and even done) the monthly “newsletters” to your children on blogs but I’m going to deviate a little from that.  Each year, on Mother’s Day, I’m going to write a letter to my mother telling her all the things that have happened the last 365 days.  I know she will never read the letters but I’m going to write them anyway.  I think it will help to fill the incredible void I have because I won’t get another conversation with her.  Here’s hoping.

Dear Mom,

Happy Mother’s Day!  Since this is the first installment of these annual letters, I can’t promise it won’t be a tearjerker.  This year was a big one, Mom.  I took the plunge, leaped into the unknown and reversed the journey you embarked on almost 20 years ago with Danny, Cody, Molly and me.  I packed up Dick and Tater (and Lady and Zeerah) and we moved across the country back to my southern roots.  It was thrilling and terrifying at the same time.  Unfortunately, we didn’t have the opportunity to drive – something I’ve always wanted to do, again – but the trip was eventful all the same.

We spent the better part of the year getting adjusted to life in GA.  I landed an amazing job just six weeks after we moved here (in fact, it was the first job I applied for!) and I’ve been enjoying it ever since.  Dick is working for DirecTV and he also really enjoys it although he’s not looking forward to a summer filled with crawling under houses and onto rooftops during the blazing heat and stifling humidity.  But he’ll get over it.

Tater is well on his way to redneck status.  You should hear his accent.  Lots of people have told me that my southern drawl has returned and I can recognize it most of the time but it in no way rivals Tater’s.  Dick and I have spent countless hours laughing silently to ourselves about the way Tater pronounces things.  It is comedy gold! 

Tater was also diagnosed with ADHD this year.  A condition I knew he had for years but I think I was too afraid to admit it.  What I feared most is being told that it was my fault, that my bad parenting had led him to develop this condition.  I know it’s irrational but you know as well as I do that logic means jack shit in terms of being a parent.  And no matter how much his doctor protests that bad parenting doesn’t cause ADHD, I still feel responsible.  We’ve been through several medication regimens and I’m still not convinced that the latest dose is working properly but it’s a learning process.  His behavior has improved significantly since we started treatment and we’re hopeful.

Tater learned to swim last summer spending almost every day in Dad’s pool.  After about two weeks he just got tired of wearing a life jacket so one day, we let him take it off and he swam around like a little fish.  No practice, no false starts, no near-drowning….he just swam.  He is totally in love with the water now and it’s pretty incredible to watch the pure joy in his face when he’s swimming.

Swimming wasn’t the only thing your grandson found joy in.  We signed him up for football (full contact football!) and he absolutely loved it!  Even though he spent a good bit of time flirting with the cheerleaders, he also proved to be pretty damn good at knocking other kids down.  He led his team in defensive tackles and sacks last season and he talks about next season almost every day.  Oh, and he looks like an adorable bobble-head doll in his uniform. 

We also found our own little piece of paradise in Georgia – a 3-bedroom, 2-bath home on four acres!  We still don’t know what to do with all the room (Dick wants a pool table!) and we are pretty much in disbelief that we actually live there.

The year wasn’t all joyous though.  We lost Papa and as much as I loved him, I ached most for Dick and Tater.  For Dick, because I know all too well what emptiness comes after losing a parent and for Tater, because this was the second grandparent he lost before the age of seven.  It’s not fair that he has to go practically his whole life without knowing you and Papa.  It’s not fair that in 10 years he will barely have memories of either of you.  It’s just….not fair.

In other sad news, All My Children is being canceled, Mom.  No one reading this will understand and I’m sure they all laughed to themselves about it already but I don’t care.  Our show!  Our show is ENDING.  Erica Kane will be no more.  When I first read about the cancellation, I cried.  Mostly because before I could stop myself I was reaching for my phone to call you and tell you about it so we could cry together.  I remember how we used to watch together every night (on VHS, even!) and I remember how after I moved away we used to spend a good 10 minutes every Sunday discussing what was happening.  Since you died, watching All My Children has been the one thing that makes me feel closest to you.  And now it’s going away.  The end of an era.

I hope that you don’t worry about us, Mom.  Losing you was devastating but you should take comfort in knowing that you taught us the strength we needed to get through it.  I have, and continue to, struggle with your death.  I think most of all it’s the anger that consumes me the most.  I’ve tried to work through it and get past it but I haven’t been able to yet.  To be totally honest, I’m still incredibly pissed off about what happened to you.  I know that you wouldn’t want me to dwell in the anger and I do try very hard to live my life in a way that honors you and everything you taught me.  I think you’d be proud of most of the decisions I’ve made over the last year (except you would have given me HELL for moving to Georgia….with the cockroaches and the humidity!). 

Of course there is much more that’s happened over the course of the year but I’ve rambled enough.  I love you, Mom.  And I miss you every single day.

Love,

Moops

P.S.  I totally stole the idea to do this letter from All My Children.  Erica wrote to Mona on New Year’s Eve last year and talked about how she wrote to her every year.  I thought Mother’s Day would be better.

That supermodel may have been right

A couple of weeks ago a co-worker asked me what size pants I wear.  I was a little taken aback at first but after I remembered that I have lost a pretty significant amount of weight in the past year I proudly told her that I wear a size 8.  Her face fell a little bit and my ego was sufficiently deflated to see that but it turns out that she was asking because she had several pairs of dress slacks in a size 6 that she was trying to unload.  I told her I’d give them a shot because, who knows, right?  And if they didn’t fit, I would keep them as a “goal” until they did.

Yesterday she brought the slacks to me and I was excited to find that they all looked comfortable and were super cute and machine washable.  Yeah, I buy clothes based on whether or not they are machine washable.  I’ve got very little free time and I’ll be damned if I’m going to spend it going back and forth to the dry cleaners.  Gas is expensive!

Last night we arrived home after going to a friend’s house so Dick could repair the satellite cables that he had run over with his lawnmower (go ahead, make a redneck joke!), I decided to try on the pants.  The first pair was actually a size 8 and fit alright….a little saggy in the crotch but all women’s pants are like this on me because I might as well be a boy from the waist down.  Wait.  Maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration.  The truth is, I have absolutely NO hips and NO ass.  Never have…at any weight.  And I’ve come to terms with it.

The other two pairs were a size 6 and as I pulled on a pair I prepared for the inevitable sucking in to get the button done.  If you haven’t guessed where this story is going by now, you may want to take a course or two in reading comprehension.  Those size 6 pants zipped right up…and so did the other pair.  I unbuttoned and unzipped each pair twice just to button and zip again with no effort.  I just put on a size 6.  A SIZE EFFING SIX, YO!

I can’t remember ever in my life wearing a size 6.  Ever.  I can’t even remember the last time I wore a single digit size!  I wanted to open the windows and shout down the street, HEY!  I’M WEARING A SIZE SIX!  AS IN ONE LESS THAN SEVEN!!  DID YOU HEAR THAT?  SIIIIIIIXXXXXXXXX!!!!! That’s half the size I was a year ago. 

I used to hate when people said this but I really don’t know how I did it.  I love food.  When I heard Kate Moss quoted as saying “Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels” I came up with about 100 foods off the top of my head that would qualify.  But the feeling I had last night?  Awesome….hence the title of this post.  Of course, I did make changes in my lifestyle but none of them were really driven by a desire to lose weight.  Let’s see: I moved a family of three (plus dog and cat) across the country; I live in THE STICKS so fast food is hardly ever an option anymore; I went from three sodas a day to maybe three a week; and I spend twice as much time outside.  In the sun.  And heat (and, yes, the humidity).  I’m thinking I could create a helluva campaign for the Georgia Chamber of Commerce.  Something like: “Screw Weight Watchers.  Move to Georgia!”

Resilience

My four-legged children, Lady and Zeerah, have been through a lot.  Lady was a pound puppy whose previous owner (an elderly gentleman) had died and she was left alone in Texas until her owner’s grandchildren brought her back to Washington…..where they raised Bernese mountain dogs.  Eight of them to be exact.  After living her whole two years of life as a companion to an older man, she did not adjust very well to this new lifestyle so she was sent to the animal shelter.  Enter, us.  We fell in love with her the minute we saw her tiny, malnourished frame and those sad, puppy dog eyes.  Two days after we adopted her, we found out she had heartworms.  After a long and difficult treatment and recovery, we fattened her up and she was a happy (somewhat lazy) dog.

Then, we got Zeerah who was originally a Christmas present for Tater but never really took to him the way she did me and Dick.  She was only six weeks old when we brought her home on Christmas Eve and she was the most adorable kitten I’ve ever seen (yes, I’m biased and proud of it!).  Zeerah and Lady made fast friends and I honestly think Lady was very grateful to have a companion while we were at work and school.

Three months later, we packed them both into crates and put them on a plane (two planes, actually) from Washington to Georgia.  I’ll never forget how Lady’s frantic panting shook the entire cart that I used to push their crates around the airport or the pure excitement they both showed when they saw us again after arriving in Atlanta.  They were both very timid at first about living at my dad’s house but they adjusted quickly and quite well.  Lady immediately fell in love with the huge fenced yard and puppy doors that allowed her 24/7 access outside and Zeerah quickly discovered that she, too, could use the puppy door and enjoyed many adventures outdoors but always, always, ALWAYS spent each night cuddled in our bed.  They also both reveled in having two more playmates in my parents’ schnauzers and much preferred their food prepared by Grandmother….who always warmed their meals (yes, really) and included plenty of “extras” in the way of people-food. 

When we started packing last weekend, both animals were none too pleased.  Zeerah inspected every box and followed us around persistently.  Lady hung her head low every time she saw a box or bag or anything remotely suggesting another move.  When we brought them both to the house on Saturday, neither of them were very enthusiastic.  Lady spent about 30 minutes inspecting everything and then laid in the middle of the dining room floor and patiently waited to be taken “home”.  Zeerah found the farthest corner in the house and hid for 12 straight hours.

Lady refused to eat for two days (probably because I don’t warm up dog food or “enhance” it with leftovers) and we had to search for Zeerah every couple of hours only to find her hiding in the closet in the spare room or under all the covers on Tater’s bed.  Needless to say, the cat was simply pissed off.  She spent Sunday wandering the house and meowing constantly and not in a cute way but in a tone that so obviously said, “This right here is some bullshit, y’all!”  She was also none too pleased about having to relearn how to use her litterbox since she had been going outside to tinkle for nearly a year but our new home doesn’t have a puppy door…or a fence.  This also did not make her happy.

Hunger finally got the best of Lady and she started eating regularly again and has pretty much settled in.  Zeerah has stopped hiding and is also eating but she has taken up the incredibly annoying habit of abhorring closed doors.  If you go into a room and close the door, she paces and meows and tries to climb the door until you come out.  This is especially fun for me when Dick gets up at 5:00 am and goes in the bathroom to take a shower.  She also continues to follow us around constantly meowing in that bitchy tone.  Drama queen.

Slowly but surely, I think they are getting used to it and eventually they will adjust completely.  But after all they’ve been through I can’t really blame them for getting sick and tired of all this moving and changing.  I did point out to both of them that at least this time we didn’t put them in a dark, cold cargo hold for 6 hours.  They were not amused.

A moving story

Friday night when I got home from work (over an hour late!), we started packing.  On Saturday morning, we woke up to light rain which quickly became hard rain.  After 10 years in the soggy Pacific Northwest, we were undeterred by the “liquid sunshine”, and with warnings of harder storms picking up around noon we hauled ass and had everything moved into the new house by 11:00 am.  At noon, the sun came out.  Ah, irony.

Dick and I unpacked nonstop for the next seven hours.  Since nearly 2/3 of our belongings had been in storage for close to a year, unpacking was a little like Christmas, only better, because we had long ago paid for things like our George Foreman grill but completely forgotten that we had one!  We finally both hit an energy wall and even though it seemed we were so far from finishing, we just couldn’t unpack another box.  Fortunately, when we started early Sunday morning, the empty boxes far outmatched the full ones and we had everything unpacked and put away within a couple of hours.  Well, we still had a seemingly bottomless pit of laundry and dishes but they weren’t in boxes. 

After a very expensive trip to Walmart (where we surprisingly found that we could buy a toaster for a fraction of the price of freaking bathroom mats!), we returned to put the finishing touches on our home.  Once we had everything washed, folded, stacked, and put away my brother and sister-in-law came over with their kids.  They stayed for dinner and the house really started to feel like home.  We were comfortably settling in.

Then Murphy’s Law kicked in.  The toilet in Tater’s bathroom started to overflow….and kept overflowing.  We used every (clean!) towel in the house sopping up the water while a much nastier version it bubbled up in the bathtub.  A quick call to the landlord’s son provided no help as he said there was nothing he could do until the next day.  This was okay with us at first because we had our master bathroom.  Until, of course, the same thing started happening in there.  I called the landlord this time (who lives in Michigan) and when she tried to brush it off until morning I politely but firmly reminded her that we have a six-year-old so just “holding it” was not an option.  We found a 24/7 plumbing service and the amazingly helpful and accommodating owner of Rescue Plumbing came out to help.  It was 11:00 pm.  For the next two hours, he snaked our plumbing (after first cutting into the mainline because there was no cleanout), cleaned out the “debris” and then informed us that the septic tank was full.

The only fix for this is to empty the septic tank…a service the plumber did not provide.  Our only option was to leave the mainline open and let the system drain in the backyard until we could schedule someone to empty the septic tank.  On Wednesday.  Luckily, the yard is extremely unfinished (mostly trees and brush and sticks and briars now) and we weren’t planning on tackling it until late Spring.  The good news is that the plumbing works inside the house now.  It was damn near 2:00 am before Dick and I went to bed and 5:30 came incredibly too soon.

It was a pretty terrible end to an otherwise exciting and awesome weekend and even though we were both pretty frustrated and disappointed last night, that has passed and we are back to being totally giddy over all this new space.  We have nearly 2,000 square feet and four acres (minus that patch of backyard which I’m sure will never be the same) to spread our wings in and we don’t have nearly enough belongings to fill it up.  Feel free to send us some stuff, y’all!

Tater is just as excited as we are but the animals are another story.  Literally.  Lady and Zeerah’s (fairly hilarious!) reactions – and photos – coming soon to a blog near you.  Stay tuned!

No heel-clicking required

So I’ve been busy.  That used to mean a lot less than it does now.  Before I had a job that I actually can’t do in my sleep – a job that takes focus, dedication, skill and hard work – “being busy” just meant that I was too apathetic to blog or that there just wasn’t anything interesting happening to me.  Now, though?  I have to actually work at work.  And at home.  And even in the car.  And I’m totally loving it….even though it does mean, at times, neglecting all three of my dedicated blog readers. 

In addition to work keeping me busy, we’ve finally found a home of our own!  It’s been nearly a year since we moved here and we had planned to stay 4-6 months with my parents (little miscalculation….but I’VE BEEN BUSY!) and we now have our own little corner in middle Georgia.  A 3 bedroom/2 bath house on four acres.  Shall I go on?  Maybe not but I’m gonna.  Let’s see….favorite features include the separate walk-in closets in the master bedroom, the separate sinks in the master bathroom, the huge living room, the huge “utility” closet, adorable kitchen cabinets and island, long driveway that’s circular up near the house, oh and did I mention the FOUR ACRES????  This means no neighbors.  After living in that duplex in Washington for five years, four acres might as well be four hundred acres.

There are some not-so-favorite features too: fireplace (just….no), no real yard on account of all the briars and bushes and trees, train tracks run pretty close to the property, wallpaper in almost ever room (again, just…..no), and the fact that we are just renting instead of buying.  So I’d say that the pros definitely outweigh the cons especially considering we are staying in the same county, it puts me closer to work and Tater gets to go to the same school (a MAJOR PRO since this county’s schools are some of the best in the state and his teacher is UH-FREAKING-MAZING!).

We get the keys on Saturday.  Undoubtedly, Dick and I will have some kind of misunderstanding and fight throughout the entire moving process (we ALWAYS do!) but I absolutely cannot wait to start making this place home.  With two great jobs and now a great place to call our own, it’s damn satisfying to look back at all that anxiety I had about moving across the country and decidedly give it the finger.

There and back again

Invariably, no matter where I lived I’ve always received the wide-eyed stare of disbelief from anyone who foolishly asked me the simple question, “Where are you from?”  Most likely because my answer starts with, “Well……” followed by a long pause.  The short version is: I was born and lived in south Georgia until I was 12 years old and then we moved to Sitka, Alaska.  After graduating high school, I lived in central GA for a year, back to Sitka for a year, then to northwest Washington for several years (interspersed with a summer or two in Sitka) where I met my husband. THEN, we moved up to Sitka for a year and then back to Washington for seven years before moving here to central Georgia.  Still with me?

See, I have family and friends in all those places and each of them feels like “home” to me in some way.  Georgia was my birthplace and home to many generations of relatives, I did most of my growing up in Alaska, and I started my own family in Washington.  How could I choose just one place to call home?  In a lot of ways I consider myself lucky to have lived in such geographically and culturally different places.  They each have their pros and cons and I thought it might be fun to do some comparisons.

WEATHER:  GA wins, hands down.  Yeah, yeah it’s humid and muggy in the summer but I’ll take that sticky, thick air over being soggy or dripping wet 90% of the year.  This past Thanksgiving, Dick broke a sweat when he was deep-frying the turkey and it wasn’t because of the hot oil.  It stayed in the 70s well into December.  And when it does rain, it RAINS (I love me a good thunderstorm)…..but only for a short time and then the sun comes back out.  I remember one summer in Sitka, we had EIGHTY-EIGHT STRAIGHT DAYS OF RAIN.  Veto.

SCENERY:  AK wins, by a mile.  NW Washington is beautiful, of course, but the mountains are too far away compared to Sitka where I could literally walk out my back door and be at the base of one.  On those rare, clear-blue-sky days the stunning backdrop of snowcapped peaks and the sparkling sea will take your breath away.  Even after 10 years there, I found myself paralyzed by the majestic beauty on more than one occasion.

CUISINE:  GA wins, WA is close second.  This is totally subjective of course but being someone who doesn’t eat anything that lives in the water (with the exception of deep-fried catfish), the South definitely has an advantage in food.  Fried chicken, mashed taters, cobblers, pound cake, fresh peaches, pecan pie, hot wings, venison, catfish, sweet tea, boiled peanuts, and a stepmom who can turn any cut of meat into a mouth-watering delicacy makes Georgia the clear winner.  WA is a close second but only because of Lori’s cooking and drive-thru coffee stands.

PEOPLE:  GA wins.  Not counting friends and family on this one so don’t get your panties in a twist if you don’t live here.  Southern hospitality is not just something you read about….it’s real.  And it’s fabulous.

EMPLOYMENT:  GA wins.  I’ve had some amazing jobs in all three places but up until I started working for my current employer, I honestly thought all great jobs came with either downright WACKO bosses or excruciating schedules where every day was Tuesday.  I guess I paid my dues because I’ve finally found a career I love….and no psycho supervisor in sight!

SPORTS:  WA wins, GA is close second.  Okay, so I added this one on at the last minute after realizing that Washington didn’t win anything else.  But, it’s true.  The Seattle Seahawks made me a football fan.  There’s just something about an underdog team that makes you love to root for them.  And their history-making foray into the playoffs with a losing record coupled with the phenomenal win over the Saints last weekend is, simply put, inspiring.  Georgia is a close second because football is a way of life here and there might not be anything cuter than six-year-olds playing a full-contact sport.

There you have it.  Sure, we’ve had some major adjustments moving across the country and yes, there are parts of that move that continue to be very, very difficult.  But hearing Tater’s increasingly adorable southern accent and looking forward to this summer when my husband will (for the first time in his nearly 31 years) swim in the ocean, makes it more than worth it.  And there are plenty of hilarious adaptation stories to come….y’all.  Stay tuned.

They may talk slow, but they drive FAST

We were “snowed in” for two days.  By, at most, two inches of ice.  Two.  Inches.  Go ahead and laugh at the ridiculousness of it, I did….but honestly, I wouldn’t have gone anywhere even if work and school weren’t closed.  Maybe it’s because I used to work in injury prevention and I know the statistics of crashes or maybe it’s because I’m a parent and we tend to look at the world as a more treacherous place when it’s our children out there roaming around in it, but I consider driving to be one of the most dangerous things a person can do.  Not necessarily because of your own abilities or techniques but because of others’ inability, or more precisely, inattention.

I would have felt fairly confident driving in the icy conditions of the past two days even though there were no snow plows or sand/gravel trucks for miles.  I remember taking (and passing!) my driver’s test in about four inches of snow on the streets of Sitka.  If you didn’t drive in the snow and ice where I grew up, you didn’t drive for half the year.  So I learned.  I learned to be cautious.  I learned to drive slowly.  I learned to approach stops carefully and begin slowing well in advance.  I learned to feather my brakes.  I learned to turn into a skid when every instinct tells you to jerk the wheel in the opposite direction. 

However.  You couldn’t have paid me to get out on these streets.  Ever since we moved here it’s been made abundantly clear that the culture of driving is completely different on this side of the country.  Speeding and recklessness are the rule rather than the exception.  At first I thought there might be something wrong with the speedometer in my car.  Seriously.  I’m driving 60 MPH in a 55 zone and every other car is FLYING past me.  Swerving, passing in no-passing zones, tailgating, talking on cell phones, putting on makeup, eating, texting…..drivers here do everything EXCEPT pay attention to the road.  And this is in perfect weather!

It just seems absurd to me that the majority of the population takes such unnecessary risks.  It was no different yesterday, in the ice and snow, when Dick & Tater ventured out to the pharmacy.  People were passing him left and right (pun intended), he said.  I just don’t get it.  What’s your hurry?  Did you not know you needed extra time to get somewhere when you saw the sheet of ice on the road?  Do you not understand that crashing will cause you to be even later (at best) or to seriously injure yourself or someone else?  I just don’t get it. 

I heard somewhere once that the one thing that unites all Americans is the general self-belief that we are all above-average drivers and while I giggled at the time, I can now see the more macabre undertone of that statement.  A little better self-awareness and more attentive driving could go a long way towards making the streets safer. 

So I meant for this post to be something else entirely….with one throwaway line about the driving here in the deep South but my preachy side just took control.  That sound you just heard?  Was me jumping off my soapbox.  Rant over.

P.S.  GO SEAHAWKS!!!