A few weeks ago, I saw one and plucked it from my scalp. Then, a few days later, I saw more. Tonight, I could swear they’re everywhere. Grey hairs.
I thought I was too young to go grey, but apparently not. I asked Lee to look at the hairs tonight. He said he possibly saw some light blonde, but it was hard to tell if it could be grey. Good answer. Good answer.
The night of the first presidential debate, Lee and I sat on the couch with anticipation, tuned in early, and watched every bit of the 90 minutes. It was exciting and interesting and important.
We watched the vice presidential debate with the same rapt attention for a while. I finally grew weary of the back-and-forth, and took a break. But Lee filled me in on the juicier details.
The night of the second presidential debate, we were in the car on a 5 hour trip. It was very different, listening to the debate on the radio. I think on the one hand, you miss out on seeing their body language and reactions. On the other hand, you’re able to concentrate more on what is actually said without the distractions. I listened intently for a little while, then my mind wandered and I fell asleep (thank goodness Lee was driving).
Tonight, I had the TV on when the debates began, but I changed the channel before the first question was answered. I feel a little guilty, because I still think the debates are important, but it’s beginning to seem so repetitive. I’ve heard the lines before.
Even before the first debate, I knew who would get my vote. That hasn’t changed – my position on it has only grown more solid. So maybe I’m not a bad voter for not listening tonight. It would take an earth-shattering, shocking revelation to get me to change my vote now – and if that happened, I’m sure I’d hear about it in the course of regular news. So I don’t feel too guilty. I’ll just watch the Daily Show tomorrow so I can get the real highlights.
The first time I saw the red target symbol appear on the southside, I got very excited. It was on a sign for the construction entrance to the new Target store – the first one in Savannah.
Lee and I love Target. The nearest one was in Bluffton, SC – a good 45 minutes from home. But we’d drive there sometimes on a Saturday to shop, to browse, to get ideas. I know, it sounds sad, but we just really like the store.
So we were delighted to hear one was opening in town. Unfortunately, it’s on the complete opposite side of town -but our Target distance has been cut from 45 to about 20 minutes. Tonight, Lee and I had our maiden voyage inside the shiny new Target’s doors. I got some boots. And some sheets. And face wash. All very exciting.
A Home Depot is being built less than a mile from my house. Now if I can just get an Ikea down the street, flanked by a Chic-Fil-A and a Zaxby’s, I’ll never leave.
It was Sunday afternoon, and Mom, Dad, and I decided to spend the beautiful day driving up into the northern Tennessee mountains (Lee was in Cincinnati, and was sorely missed!). We were pretty hungry when we left the house, but opted to wait and find food on the road. Unfortunately, all the roads we took led us around towns, not through them, and food was scarce.
Until we got to the top of Clinch Mountain.
There was a little road-side haven called the Clinch Mountain Lookout and Restuarant. It looked a little dive-ish, but we were hungry and it was open and the view was rather beautiful.
Inside, there were about 6 booths and maybe three or four tables, and the place was probably half full. The decor was very plain, and everything was showing age. Everything on the menu was fried. I ordered chicken strips, mom got the shrimp, and dad the fried pork chops.
While we waited for our food, I admired the non-edible items for sale — like the Nascar memorabilia, the hand-painted ceramic crucifix, and several ceramic woodland creatures. Our food arrived, and the waitress noticed dad’s pork chops looked overdone, so she brought him 2 more. Four deep fried pork chops. Yummy.
The best part about the meal was the live entertainment to help soothe the soul and aid in digestion. A man strummed his guitar while a woman banged out old-time melodies on her synthesizer. Each song started with a pre-set drum beat, and I think she had the synth sound set to “dog bark.” I had a Casio growing up that had 99 sounds, and this sounded like “dog bark.” She regaled us with favorites like “Old Rugged Cross.” The whole experience was so stereotypically hill-billy, that it bordered on surreal.
Unfortunately, we ate too much to order their signature dessert – vinegar pie. According to the menu, vinegar pie was born during the depression, when women ran out of lemon for lemon pie. So they substituted vinegar. Nowhere on the menu did they say it was tasty, just that it was famous.
Too bad we couldn’t eat any. But hey, that leaves us a good reason to return to the Clinch Mountain Lookout. To eat some vinegar pie, and listen to old hymns barked out on a synthesizer.
This hurricane business is out of control. At least Savannah has been lucky so far this season, with several storms to watch but no hits. Hurricane Jeanne will likely cause some wind and rain for us tonight, but we don’t expect massive damage or anything.
But the threat of tropical weather means I have to work extra days and longer hours, and the storm messed up plans to visit with my dad, too. My dad (Gene) was coming to the area for a conference and was going to spend Tuesday with us, but the conference was cancelled thanks to Hurricane Jeanne. But that’s okay, I’m going to see my folks this weekend anyway. Still a bummer though.
Time to check my email again and see if I have to work tonight. Hurricane season – what a joy.
I woke up this morning with a sinking feeling because I knew I had to shove Luca unwillingly into a cat carrier, drive to the vet, and leave her there. It was hard, and I was still conflicted about the procedure – but I was determined.
I told her good-bye, and left. All day she was on my mind. I didn’t know what time she’d have surgery, so I’d constantly wonder what was happening to her at that precise moment. Each time I hoped the surgery might already be over and I was about to get that phone call from the vet saying everything went well.
Around 2 p.m., my cell phone finally rang. It was the vet, and she sounded chipper, which I took as a good sign. But instead of telling me everything was over and fine, she said, “I’m about to go in for the surgery, and just wanted to talk to you one last time to confirm everything.”
While I appreciated the double-check, I felt awful. I felt like the governor on the other end of the line when the warden calls from the jail, asking “will you grant a stay of execution?” I could picture the vet standing over my limp, lifeless cat, scalpel gleaming, with a phone to one ear waiting for my affirmation. Should I say no? Last chance! Last chance!
But I said yes. Go ahead.
The vet called me again a little later – the phone call I’d really been waiting for. The one that said Luca came through okay.
I still feel guilty. She has to stay at the vet’s for two nights, but I’m already looking forward to getting her home. I’m sure she’s scared, being in a strange place with strange things happening to her. Actually, I’m sure she’s asleep right now, because they said they’d knock her out for a while. But I think she’ll be glad to get home. I just hope she forgives me and I hope our relationship can be better now without the fear of an impending attack.
This time tomorrow, Luca will no longer have front claws. I have mixed feelings about that.
I feel sorry for her. I know it will be hard to leave her at the vet’s office tomorrow, knowing she will go through a painful, life-altering surgery that I chose to put her through.
On the other hand, I’m already looking forward to playing with her without fears of getting mauled. I’m looking forward to a new couch one day that doesn’t double as a scratching post.
As I was wrestling with the decision – to call the vet or not to call? – my friend Andy sent me an email telling me about his girlfriend’s recent experience with declawing her cat. She had the same fears, but the cat did very well and the owner is quite happy with the results. That same evening, Luca attacked me for no reason. That sealed the deal.
Tonight, I looked at her sitting on the couch and decided we’d have a talk. I’d pick her up, hug her, tell her I loved her and that I was sorry she was going to have to have surgery. When I reached for her, she turned around and bit me. She’s so ornery. But – sigh- I still feel sorry for her.
I guess I’m oficially used to the southern heat, because today it must’ve been in the 60s, and I actually shivered. True, there was a cool breeze blowing across all the hairs on my arm as they stood tall and goose-pimply, but I was a little embarrassed about the shivering.
I was visiting a school about an hour and half away, and it is a bit cooler the farther you are from the coast. When I got out of the car, I couldn’t believe how cool it was. I stood there, holding a paper program someone handed to me, and as I read it, I realized the paper was shaking. Because my hand was shaking. I wanted a jacket, and it’s only September.
But I’m not complaining. The cool air feels wonderful, it was just a bit of a shock. Here in the south, we do things slowly. Including change seasons. But suddenly, here we are, feeling fall weather.
It could very well be a tease, and the 90+ degree temps could return. But for now, I’m very excited that our forecast calls for a stretch of sun and mildly cool weather. After all the hurricanes and rain and on and on, it’s a welcome change.
Of course, Tropical Storm Lisa is supposed to turn into a hurricane soon. I wish she’d follow Jeanne’s path – looping around like a drunk dog chasing it’s tail. Here’s hoping.
There is a pot on my front porch. In it are some beautiful plants. If they could talk, they could tell me more about the criminal who boldly took what was not his/hers Friday.
A few months ago, Lee and I bought an iron plant stand. We placed it to the right of the front door, and put the plants on top. They helped create an attractive entry to invite people inside our home.
When Lee got home from work Friday, the plants were still there. The pot was sitting on the floor of the porch. The stand was missing. Stolen.
In reality, the stand was not expensive and can easily be replaced. But I’m mad at the idea – that someone would wander up onto my porch in broad daylight and walk off with our plant stand. Who just waltzes down the street with an iron plant stand? Who would want our iron plant stand that badly?
Our stone Uga still fllanks the left side of the door. His glassy eyes saw the crime, but he’s not talking. I hope no one decides to take him next. Or our bench. Or our swing. Lee asked Mr. Clanton if he’d seen anyone on our porch. He hadn’t, but had similar stories to tell. Someone took four ferns and 2 plant stands from him a while ago.
Who are these people?
I’m beginning to feel weather weary. Yes, the girl who loves weather stories is beginning to tire of them. That doesn’t mean I’m not still watching. I’m tuned into the weather channel right now, watching the Destin area – one of my favorite vacation destinations – get pummeled by Ivan.
And as it has seemed with every hurricane this season, as soon as Savannah finds out we’re out of serious danger with a storm, another one starts churning in the Atlantic. Now we have to watch Jeanne. She doesn’t sound like a monster with a name like Jeanne, but you never know.
I’m surprised I haven’t heard the conspiracy theories yet. With so much tropical activity back-to-back, I wouldn’t be surprised if someone out there thought the terrorists were behind it. They’d somehow figured out how to manipulate the atmosphere and send storms our way. Or maybe it’s the media. If there’s always a storm brewing, the media can hope more people will tune in.
Whatever the cause, enough already!
