Blue Ridge blog

Introducing.... "What's her name?"

And so it begins.
Quite suddently there is a new baby in our family.
I wasn't quite sure I was ready to have a puppy so soon after Harley's death. And honestly, I'm still not so sure I'm up to the task of puppy training, but this little girl needed a good home right now, so ready or not. Here we are.
The gal is easy to love.
She turned 12 weeks yesterday and is a delightful bundle of chewy, bouncy fluff. A strange cowlick travels from the tip of her nose to just in between her eyes. She likes tennis balls, sticks, rocks. Pouncing in piles of saw dust and chasing wind blown leaves are her favorite activities so far.
Mister Man, our cat, has let pup know he is the Alpha Animal in the household.
I would like to tell you her name, but we are not all in agreement. I think she looks like an 'Annie,' and have been calling her 'My Sweet Annie," but youngest is opposed.
I must say goodnight. It is almost 10 p.m. and I'm sure I'll be up a couple of times during the night trying to get baby adjusted to her new home. But rest assured. You'll see and hear much more about my new little buddy.

Dance this mess around...

If you paid any attention to my Twitter, you may have noticed my youngest daughter's dance team received first place awards for all three of their dances--ballet, lyrical and clogging, in the senior category. Youngest was delighted, but you would never know it unless you were her mother and you catch her shy Mona Lisa smile. Upon returning home, I loaded the dishwasher when youngest called me from a friend's house:

"Guess what?" she asked.

"What?" I asked.

"We won the Judges Choice Award for lyrical," she said.

"Oh that is awesome darlin'. Congratulations. You must be happy, " I gushed.

"Yep," she replied then said, "Bye Bye."

I call her "My Little Miss Effervescent."

That's my youngest, the one dressed like M.C. Hammer in the top photo. This is my favorite dance she's doing this year only because I can relate. It is called, "I love the '80s" Boy George, Cyndi Lauper, Joan Jett, M.C. Hammer, Jennifer Beal, Jane Fonda and others make guest appearances. It is a hit with the "Mom" crowd. Of course, these poor kids had to research their characters. Funny. And lest I forget: She takes dance from Northwestern Dance Studio. Northwestern Dance Studio. Northwestern Dance Studio. Northwestern Dance Studio is run by the area's best dance professionals.

The hole story...

On the work front:

Most work mornings I walk to the top floor of the library parking deck and survey the Appalachian Kingdom. I am attracted upward because the early light has never been the same and because I can be alone for just a few minutes. It is a new ritual.

On the home front:

"Would you completely hate me if I got my tongue pierced. I'm going to do it anyway no matter what you say."

That was the text message my youngest daughter sent me yesterday.

I did not freak. Instead, I whipped around my chair and asked my Google Guru, Gnumoon, for help.

"Quick, find a rational reason why my youngest should not get her tongue pierced," I pleaded.

Gnumoon made quick magic on the keyboard and blurted, "Brain Abscess. She might get a brain abscess," she reported.

So I text messaged my daughter back and in the same tone that the adults tell Ralphie why he shouldn't get a Red Ryder BB Gun I typed,

"You'll die of a brain abscess, kid. Just google it for yourself."

Later in the evening, youngest did do some internet searching on the subject and the horrifying  images of infected tongues and brain abscesses convinced her to reconsider.

Whew. Another bullet is dodged.
She turns 18 in a week and longs to get something pierced to, ya know, like make a personal statement about being an adult  <eye roll>. I asked her to get her ears double pierced, but she wasn't buying it. The belly button is out because she has to dance for the next couple of months and it will chaffe 'neath a tutu. And any facial piercings may make her father and dance teachers' heads explode.

I reckon we'll just have to wait and see what she comes up with....

...BTW, I don't have a problem at all with piercing or tats on anyone but my daughters. It is a parent thing, I reckon.

A different kind of Super Fly...

With the greatest of ease, a member of the Extreme Team goes for a basket at Apps home game against Western Carolina yesterday. I used my D300 yesterday to test it's ability to work under the gym lights. This shot is at ISO 3200 and the noise...what noise?
The D300 makes me wanna go to a night time high school baseball game just to test it's capabilities further.

For my Mom and Dad and anyone else interested in what I am doing in my new job:
Here's a site which posts some of my campus grab shots. Be sure to click on the view more feature photos option.
Gnumoon and I worked the Polar Plunge together. This is our future and it makes me happy.

On the home front:
Sweet husband is sewing an MC Hammer costume for my youngest's upcoming competition dance season. He's doing it because I basically refused. He's a better mother than I. Youngest is helping him, but she is a bit overwhelmed with a massive English project, math, AP exams, dance and other teenage life torments. Last night as she toiled over writing a paper, she suddenly stopped what she was doing and said in almost a pitiful tone, "I really hope these aren't the best four years of my life."
Later, she read her paper to me and all I could think was, "Wow, that's powerful." She has a gift for writing and communicating, whether it is through body movements or the written word, she has a quiet, unpretentious way of getting her point across. I pray she never loses her demeanor.
I'm gonna keep her.

S'no news and good news....

And I looked out the window this afternoon and it was snowing quarter-sized flakes. Just as suddenly as the white deluge started, it ceased.

So probably the biggest news around our house these days is that I can now breathe through my nose sans the aid of my beloved Afrin Pumpmist. I'm less snuff-ly and that makes everyone in close proximity to me a bit more comfortable...

In other delightful news:

1) My eldest is 100% committed to transferring to ASU next fall. The deposit is in the mail and she is
deliriously happy to return up the mountain. "I can't wait to play in the ASU orchestra, join the ASU
cycling team and take classes with less than 300 people in them," she told me this weekend.
2) My youngest has now been accepted to her 2nd, 3rd and 4th choice colleges. She's still waiting to
hear from her 1st choice. Her first choice, which rhymes with 'Bapalachun,' is a stretch given her SAT
scores and the lateness her high school transcripts were submitted to the university (NOT her fault). Yet
youngest is in a good place with her fate and is now pondering her possibilities. Her 2nd choice
school is 7 long hours away from home, and in another state. It is a small-ish, yet growing university,
ideally suited for her personality and academic goals. "I'm so over high school and can't wait to meet
new friends," she confided this evening as we talked about upcoming visits to her 2nd and 3rd choice
schools.
3) My new job is going great. Of course, I'm in that all important probationary period so I still have to bite
my tongue;) regarding the fine folk I'm working with. JK don't ya know? I've never been a part of a
creative 'dream team' before and well, this feels good.

Whatcha lookin' at?

Welcome to my fish bowl. I'm not sure you really want to peer too closely as you might see the crusty corners in my glass house as well as a fair amount of mirrored illusions, germ-y creatures and felons lurking within.
The weekend has been surreal, like a dream, but not.
When I finish swimming through the murky waters of my toilet, err, fish bowl, and see more clearly, I'll tell you all the slimy details.

But first: John Doe is fine. He just went for a Valentine's Day excursion. Last I heard, he refused tell his tale, but he was indeed still waggin' his tail.

Next: Mom, I'm ok. But boy do I have a doozy of story to tell you which will make you sick with worry. But don't worry. I'm o.k., now. Let's do the cell thing tomorrow so I can horrify you with all the details.

And sadly, my youngest daughter has the flu--poor child. I told her today, as she shivered 'neath 5 piles of blankets, that no matter how much she begged me to go to school tomorrow, there was no way I was gonna allow her to go. No way, no how. She clung to her 'big pillow' and offered me a pitiful grin.

What's that on Marie's horizon?

Hmmm...Look right over yonder hill?
See it just 'fore the horizon?
What's it?
If'n I was to make a guess, I would call that a big 'ol heaping mess of change.
Yep. Sure 'nuff, that's what it is.
I'll spell it out for ya. That is my new J.O.B.
I decided to throw caution into the wind and apply for a position as the low photo flunkie on the ASU totem pole.
Silly them.
They hired me.
I start Monday and am deliriously happy.
So in my copious amount of spare time, I've been working extra hard to complete my regular obligations as well as my work in projects for my day, night, weekend job.
I think I've been busy and not posting anything this past week partially because I don't want it to slip out that I might, just might, miss some of the folks I work with at my day, night, weekend job. Alot. There are aspects and habits of this 15 year long community newspaper job that are going to be tough to push aside.
That, and I'm just a wee bit anxious about screwing up this new gig...
Too late.
It is a done deal.
So there you go. That is my news.
What's news with you?
(Don't you worry, my little blog is gonna stay right where it is...BRB ain't gonna change--just perhaps the times I'm able to post, that's all)

Nesting...

Something must have gotten into Marie as she spent her entire Sunday cleaning the main floor of her house--baseboards and all.

And what happened next was people freaked.

"I knew something was odd when I went downstairs for a cup of coffee and she shimmied up to me half singing, half saying: 'Sing with me, sing for the years, sing for the laughter, sing for the tears,'" recounted her loving, yet confused husband who retreated upstairs to the safety of his man cave.

Aerosmith's 'Dream On' song was not the only tune Marie would belt out as she furiously folded laundry.
Marie pushed and shoved furniture, vacuuming spaces that hadn't seen the light in 3 years or more. Suddenly she encountered green rat poop.
"Those rat bastards got into my Coumadin," she shrieked." She then remembered the exterminator had recently planted green blocks of poison around the house to combat a growing field mice population.
Living amidst filth and vermin irritated Marie and she needed to vent on a human.
And that someone would be her youngest child.
"It was a 'Shock and Awe' moment when she burst into my room at 1 p.m. this morning, errr, afternoon, and demanded I bring my laundry as well as a molded bowl of oatmeal upstairs for cleaning. I was scared. I thought she might actually insist I hand over the keys to my car. It was a horrible, unbelievable nightmare--worse than seeing 'Saw 4' ," said Youngest.

After hours of hand scrubbing floors while listening to ANTM on the t.v., Marie worked out her little problems and took realistic stock of her housekeeping.
"I need three months and nothing else to do on weekends. Then maybe, just maybe, I'll be ready to invite the Valle Crucis bourgeoisie over for petite dejeuner. Until then, ain't no one seein' my hillbilly ghetto trailer," she said.

Oh Yes, this is a hot dog in the snow....

I know this is weird but bear with me. This is the sort of post that only my almost three year old nephew who has never seen snow would understand. PeDab looks at my blog and because I have the mentality of a three year old, I used up a perfectly good wiener and a sat down for a couple of minutes on ice just so little PeDab could see a hot dog in the snow. I think the photo of John Doe beside the pot belly stove in the previous post may have confused him when his father pointed out that roasting wierner....
"That's not a hot dog in the snow," he said to his dad in an eyeroll tone of voice.

Dear PeDab,
Here's your hot dog in the snow. I would have made you a snowman as well but this white stuff was too crunchy. I'll try to remember to make you an extra special snowman soon. Or better yet, why don't you come up here to Aunt Re Re's house and play with me in the snow? Oh Yes, that would be wicked fun.
Love,
Aunt Re Re

A bloggy morning...

I've had a difficult time solving the "Time + Photos = Blogging" equation this week. Indeed, this photo was taken two mornings ago as a windy front blew through. This morning a heavy frost coats my world.

I'm waiting this moment for my eldest to holler at me to help load the car as she heads down the mountain to college. She went Columbia earlier in the week, but returned home for a day or two to collect a couple of vital items--her cello and a teapot. USC has some funky rules about who is allowed to play in their orchestra (only music majors and minors) so she is going to bite the bullet and declare music as her minor. She has also developed a newly acquired taste for tea, particularly chai. So I polished an old tea kettle, threw in a couple of matching mugs, a pot holder and tea bags into a box for her. She may not be a rich college student, but hopefully as she sips her tea while studying this semester she will feel more civilized.