Tuesday, November 29, 2011

Hooray Christmas!

If you're trying to get in the spirit to make the inside of your house to look like this:


It helps to have the outside of your house look like this:


Hooray Christmas!!

Friday, November 18, 2011

Home.

Today is my day off.  I had intended on sleeping the morning away, but after an unfortunate turn of events last night (a nail in a tire) I was charged with the duty of getting said tire fixed.  I'm ok with that...I'll take it as a trade-off since I didn't have to change it last night out in the gale-force winds and twenty-something degree temperatures.

So, this morning, I rousted myself out of bed at my usual time, rolled into town at my usual time, and meandered my way into B&T, where Bob (the B in B&T) greeted me warmly and already knew all about my flat tire.  I can only assume my husband called him this morning to tell him I'd be in, or that someone saw ARay on the road last night fixing it and told Bob about it this morning already.  After some friendly teasing about why Aaron Ray likes to run around in my vehicle rolling over nails and such, he asked me how work was going and how my vet truck had been treating me this fall.  I told him I'd probably be in for some new snow tires soon, and with a smile, he sent me on my way - it was $10.00 to fix the tire, but since I only had my checkbook with me, he just told me to come by sometime when I had some cash.  "I don't see no reason to write a check for $10.00, Michelle." He said.  "We'll see you again soon, I'm sure."

Bob's a nice man.  What's even nicer is that he knows who I am without me reminding him.

I hopped across the street to G&B oil after that to talk fireplaces with Travis, who greeted me with a handshake and told me his dog was doing just fine after I had given her vaccines last week.  "I'll be in to see you again soon, though I guess.  I forgot to bring my cat in when I brought my dog."  I told him I'd be glad to see him whenever he came back.  Ben who works at G&B, who I know from church, hugged me on my way out and said he and Kay (his wife) hoped to see me at church on Sunday.  I told him we'd be there.

I left with a spring my step, feeling that I had friends all over town (or at least that section of Hwy 21).

Then I went to the register of deeds and asked if I get a copy of my Marriage license.  "When did you all get married again?" Debbie asked me.

"June before last," I replied with a smile.

She handed me my copy and asked me to tell Aaron Ray she said hello.  I hadn't reminded her who I was either.  She just knew.


This is a small town.  Well, as it turns out, my small town, now.  My kids will grow up here and everyone will know who both of their parents are.  We'll go into the grocery store, down the street, or even three counties over, and people will remember me and tell me how their pets are doing, and ask what Aaron Ray is up to these days.  It's a magical feeling, especially during this wonderful time of the year, to know you have a hometown and that people know you and genuinely care about how you're doing. 

I hope you all feel that way this Thanksgiving and Christmas, too.

photo credit

Saturday, November 12, 2011

I suwanee!

Depending upon where one lives, one can call it something different:

swearing
cussing
foul language
cursing

Also, depending on where one lives, one can use such words in different contexts.  My parents grew up above the Mason-Dixon line, and therefore, the idea of swearing was not only a common mode of communication, but the use of a swear word was commonly defined by Webster as, "the act of declaring something as true."

"That pie is effing delicious!"  is just something you say.  You're not denouncing the pie, you are declaring it to be truly wonderful.  Ask any Yankee.  They'll understand.

By the time I was in middle school and had moved down south to North Carolina, purely by listening to my aunts/uncles/grandparents/parents speak, I had accumulated a repertoire of curse words that would make any sailor jealous.  For instance, I had no idea that the word "bastard" was considered "foul" until one of my 7th grade classmates informed me that I wasn't supposed to say that word in common conversation. 

Oops. 

Anyway, all it did for me was create a dialogue that was formed in my mind, which was then translated into southern-appropriate speech before I spoke.  Only on very rare occasions did I slip (ahem, calling our 9th grade teacher an asshole.  I still maintain that he was.  Unequivocally.).

At any rate, around here, people occasionally cuss, but they do it like my husband does - in a whisper:

"So as it turns out, that woman was a real bitch."

Or, they fall back on the list of words that can be used to express one's dismay without offending their grandmother:

dadgum
queer (pronounced "qwar" meaning: strange, odd, freak-like)
hateful (southern for bitch and/or asshole, as in "you are just the hatefullest man.")
sam-hill (southern for hell, as in "what in the sam-hill?")
tarnation (see above)
suwanee (apparently saying "I swear!" is also faux pas.)
dad-blamed
gosh-darned
blessed (southern for f******, which I find to be a very ironic use of the word.)

And of course, the only time your granny will be alright with a person saying "damn" is if they're referring to a Yankee.

Well, I spent some time pondering this geographical use of cuss words when ARay and I went to a high school football game on Friday night.  The parents/spectators were into this game, and where I was used to having my dad with me at any kind of sporting event (read:  my soccer/basketball games as a kid and/or my brothers' hockey/soccer games growing up) and hearing all kinds of expletives, I was shocked to hear nothing untoward at this particular game.  Everyone was keeping their mouths clean.  It was hilarious, since most of the already listed words were being used in the most oxymoronic ways:

"OH GOOD LORD!  HIT THE BLESSED KID ALREADY!"

"What in tarnation?!?!  What is this, a football game or a dad-blamed hoedown???"

"REF!  START CALLING THE DADGUM GAME!  MY STARS!!!"  

"Shoot.  I dunno about that there boy-cheerleader.  That seems mighty qwar to me."


See what I mean?  Culture shock will get you whether you're on a different continent or just 45 minutes from the nearest metropolis.

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

What a dog will eat...

Dr. T:  "So is there any particular reason you brought Lexie in to the office today?"

Client:  "No, not really.  I mean, sometimes she has diarrhea and sometimes she's constipated, so I'm a little worried she might have worms."

Dr. T (mid-exam):  "Okay.  Well we can check a stool sample for intestinal parasites here today.  How is she doing otherwise?  Any vomiting?"

Client:  "No, no vomiting."

Dr. T:  "What kind of diet are you feeding?  Does she get table food on a regular basis?"

Client:  "No, no table scraps.  I mean, well...there isn't anything this dog won't eat.  Wait!  No, actually, the only thing I've ever seen her spit out is a 2 days dead bullfrog."

Dr. T:  *uncontrollable laughter*


Tuesday, November 1, 2011

As Promised:

We played cowboys and Indians at work yesterday.  I was not nearly the best dressed, but I was the most comfortable!