The Disappearance of Thanksgiving

Hey? Where did Thanksgiving go?
Over the years, have yall noticed that Thanksgiving has become a stepping stone to Christmas? We go from Halloween decorations being put out in July, to Christmas 'stuff' being put on display before Halloween...Thanksgiving is slowly becoming a 'non-event' in our society. It is like a dance that must be done, and instead of staying on tempo, it is switched to 'double time' to just get through it---and on to Christmas.
As a Visual Merchandiser, I have seen Christmas arrive earlier and earlier...as early as 'company directives' coming in September, and pre-season 'sales' being pushed out in late October.
This makes me sad for Thanksgiving...a real celebration of Thanks...for the basic 'gifts' of life: health, family, peace, love and friendships.

Thanksgiving is actually my favorite celebrated holiday.

(Yes, I love Christmas...fond memories abound.The season of 'good will'...the celebration of Jesus being born...caroles...cookies...and sweet snuggles under the tree at night...all that.(plus my birthday is 3 days later---mark your calenders.)

However,Thanksgiving is the most heart felt 'holiday' for me. It's not about the 'stuff' but the 'gifts' we receive from this life, and living it. The memories of family here now, and those who have left this life.

When I was little, mom and I always went to Thanksgiving at a family friend's home after my dad was killed in '68.(The posted picture is my first Thanksgiving...laughing with my dad.)
Every year was the same from the time I was 3 until I was in college.I could always count on a day of wearing church clothes, tights, and my 'noisy shoes'---I hated dresses then...dry turkey, unrecognizable side dishes---which I now crave, and Mrs. MacConachie's Trifle...which had sherry in it and I thought I was big stuff eating 'grown up' dessert! It was very formal. Classical music, starched linens, real china.(Although I do remember a break in the formality one year, when their son tried to open a jar of those little tiny pickles, and somehow they flew all over the kitchen...it was spectacular!)
I learned the proper silverware usage at a young age...and to sit up straight and keep my elbows off the table...I got in trouble one year because I took off my black patent Mary Janes under the table...(they had hardwood floors, and I was big in to 'skating' in my tights.)
I am thank-filled for their generosity, love, and teaching me how to be a 'lady'.

In college, mom and I started going to another family gathering at another friend's home.(The MacConachie's no longer had the big dinner since they were getting older and their kids had families.)
This was always more laid back. (I could wear a skirt.)The kids there were more my age, and we watched TV and ate snack foods before 'dinner'.It was buffet style, and not so many forks to navigate...and yeah, they drank beer and watched football after the meal. The 'menfolk' would retire to comfortable chairs, kick off their shoes, and let the 'turkey coma' set in. The gals would clean up the meal, trade dirty jokes and nonsense stories in the kitchen---and laugh a lot.
I am thank-filled for the relaxed spirit of that family, and the opportunity to be a part of their family celebration.
My first marriage was a return to the formal Thanksgivings again...but I was 27, and I could drink wine. (just sayin') They had 'staff' to cook and clean up...it was a wee bit pretentious I must say. My fondest memories of those days, were when I would hang out in the kitchen the 'staff'(the beloved Mary Anne), and my father-in-law,'Big Stan'. He was the epitome of giving, and love. He was a big,burly man, with a booming voice and a generous heart...sitting at the kitchen counter on his tall stool,drinking his Jack Daniels (on the rocks with a whisper of water---I know, because I was his 'best cocktail waitress') He and I would sneak hors d'oeuvres (sp?) off the trays before they were 'served'...we would laugh at the dog, trade limericks, and just enjoy being together.
I am thank-filled for those times with him, my babies, and Mary Anne.
My second husband's family is a mix of both casualness, and pretense. We usually spend the day on the beach daring each other to get in to the freezing ocean, and building the season's last sand castles. The guys drink beer and watch football all day. Then we have a 'formal' sit down meal around 3...(ok, why do people have Thanksgiving meals at weird times? I vote for lunch or dinner!)It is a good mix of everything and I am thank-filled for nice in laws, and for learning when there are too many Chiefs in the kitchen, and not enough Indians.
I hope my kids will always have fond memories, and give thanks for the things in life that cannot be bought---but are shared and given as love, generosity, compassion, grace, and humility. Family.
I am not one to ever forecast in to the future because I believe one needs to 'be here now'.
However, I cannot help dreaming of a day, sitting at my table with my 3 kids, and their kids and spouses...eating a meal that I cooked, holding one of my grandchildren in my arms,giving thanks for all the blessings of my life---and yeah....we will be wearing jeans, and eating at a real dinner time....

'Clear Butterfly Wings...'

My daughter, who is almost 5, has 'clear butterfly wings'...yes, it's true. She told me so.
And she is 'going to sneak out of the house when everyone is asleep and go to Maddy's house and teach her how to fly...'(she said that whole run-on sentence without taking a breath.)
I asked her if I could have some wings too because it sounded like fun.
She said,'...sure mom...I will give them to you when you are asleep.' (nodding very matter-of-factly.)
Well. OK then!
Be it known, as well, that 'macaroni and cheese keeps the wings clear...chicken nuggets turn them yellow.'
(I love my girl!)

Letting Go...for Good.

Yesterday I went to pick up my son in the little town I lived in with my first husband.
We stopped by my old house. My X had cleared out the attic, and 'there were things' of mine that he 'found.'...and I was 'welcome to look through them'. (Gee, thanks!)
When my son and I pulled in to the driveway...and I got that old, familiar, nerve wracking, nauseous feeling in the pit of my stomach.
My old house...built in 1928.
MY house. The house that had seen my newborn babies come home, gave us shelter....watched them grow.The house I had lovingly landscaped for 7 years, helped renovate, designed and installed my kitchen and checker board tile floor...My kitchen, where I had cooked many a home made meal from scratch. The trees I had planted in the yard were now 20 feet tall. My precious gardens were overgrown from neglect...another casualty of divorce.
This house had seen much happiness, but more sorrow.
I was startled by it's emptiness when I walked through the door for the first time in 8 years.It was cold...musty. Left behind. My house had always been warm, smelled good, and seemed so big to me when I lived there with my kids. My son, who was standing next to me, was not 3 years old anymore---and almost as tall as I am now.
Maybe that was it. We had all 'grown'.
I got to task with looking through boxes....dusty, broken down boxes...with my handwriting on them...'JB Baby Clothes: 6-12 months'...'C's special dresses Newborn-6 months'...stuffed animals...toys..things I wanted my kids to have for their kids.

I am a 'saver'...some say 'pack rat'...I prefer 'family historian'.

Looking through the boxes and bags was like a time warp. My sons train set he got for Christmas when he was 3.(I can still see him clearly with his red flannel robe and footy pajamas,little boy 'just out of bed' hair, making train noises.) My daughters ragged out, and dearly loved, dolls in various states of 'undress'(Why do barbies always end up half naked with only one shoe?)...her little dresses, and baby sleepers.Books I read to them in the rocking chair before they went to sleep in my arms...I could still smell the baby shampoo on their clean, warm,little heads. It was overwhelming.
I was both sad and happy remembering.
I have one of those weird brains that remembers everything---usually trivial things to an outsider. Each saved stuffed animal, book, or piece of clothing had a special memory to me. A story.My son seemed to take comfort in my memories of the good times.
Eventually, he and I carried the boxes down the 28 stairs to the driveway---(I know it is 28 steps because my mom would remind me every time she visited.)
We walked through the house one more time before leaving. I said my 'goodbyes' to the house out loud. I hope she was listening.I thanked her for being good to me and my kids.
My home was alive when I lived there...with laughter, noise, and kids...not to mention 3 cats and a dog. This house was not my home anymore...and not my kids home. It was still, quiet...asleep.
A new family has bought my old house.They will be only the fourth family to live there in 81 years...81 years! I hope they will bring her back to life.
So,yesterday,finally, I let go of my house for good. No more 'what if's'....no more regrets, or wishing things had gone differently.
Letting go, for 'good'...for better...moving forward. It felt ok...closure.
Some times it is good to let go...I am a slow learner...and I will always have the stories to share with my kids---and their kids.That cannot be taken away, or lost.
I am learning to make room for 'the here', and 'the now'...and the future.
No more dark sadness.
Just light...and love.

Yeah. I love professional HOCKEY!

Before I moved to Hurricanes Country, I was never a fan of hockey.
My idea of hockey was the 'I Love Lucy' version, where Ricky and Fred go to a game, smoke cigars, yell at the refs, and get in fights with fellow fans. Hockey was barbaric. Hockey was 'gross'.
All that changed when the 'Canes made it to the playoffs in 2001...(I think that was the year.)
I actually had the time to watch the games as I was sequestered in a hotel every Tuesday night during my divorce--so my X could come stay in my house one night a week with my kids...(totally nuts, invasion of my privacy...a whole other story--but I digress.)
I was drawn to the quick pace of the games, and the physicality.(I wanted to body check some people too!) Hockey is like lacrosse, football, and track all rolled in to one. I am still amazed that the players can manipulate a hockey stick, chase a tiny puck, and evade death...all on ice skates! With ginormous pads, helmets and gloves...and some do not even have face masks on their helmets!
(Have you ever felt a hockey puck? Can you imagine one hitting your face at 100mph?)
These guys are tough---and may I add, very cute out of uniform.
OK, yes, the reason I love hockey is not only the sport itself, but also the cute boys. (There. I said it.)
I have a total crush on team captain Rod Brind'amore...'my Roddy'.
Reading his physical stats is enough to make a girl weak in the knees. He has a banged up 'hockey face'---scars, broken nose...beautiful! And, from the interviews I have seen, a really good person. I really want him to teach me how to skate backwards---it's on my 'bucket list.' (my kids totally make fun of me...but being the 'mature' adult, I just let that roll off my back.)
The energy of a hockey game is contagious. If you are lucky enough to sit near the glass, you will be amazed. My son and I sat close to the ice last year. It was awesome! We could hear the skates cutting the ice, the audible grunts during body checks and some of the 'colorful' conversation on the ice.
It's a party---it's LOUD! The energy is infectious! We always leave a game 'pumped up'.
(Plus, for you boys out there, the Canes Dancers are pretty cute as well.)
So, before you judge me because I love hockey---go see a game! You will be hooked too! LET'S GO HURRICANES!

Germ Warfare

With all the stuff flying around the media recently regarding swine flu and various other germy type illnesses it got me thinking about germ warfare.
(No, not the type where some freak drops the small pox on Minnesota, and suddenly there is a pandemic...)
I mean, my own personal war against germs.
Sometimes people get carried away.
My mom is a certified germaphobe...and I say this lovingly. She is the type now, that won't let me---her own daughter---take a bite of something she is eating without first cutting whatever it is away from what she is eating....and good Lord, I would never think of using her fork! There is a guttural sound of disgust that she emits when my kids drop something on her super clean floor, and then they eat it anyway. Her mantra is 'did you wash your hands?' (which I understand...because people in general just do not.)Luckily my 5 year old is a big hand washer...another excuse for her to say,'I can do it MYSELF'...my older kids, 11 and 14, still have to be reminded---and I still have to say,'if I smell your hands right now, will they smell like soap?' Of course this does backfire at times as they shove their hands in my face to prove a point!
I guess I never really thought much about it before I had kids.
The first baby drops her pacifier, and that one cannot be used again until it has been boiled in scalding water, air dried and sealed with some hermetic device. The second child drops a pacifier and you may rub it on your jeans, pick off some dog hairs, and then it's good to go. The third child drops a pacifier, and you might blow on it...and back in it goes.
Being in public with a new baby is always fun.
Why do people who you do not know, and do not ask if they can, want to touch newborns faces and hands...hello? New human here, building immune system---do NOT touch the baby...please. People! Do NOT touch the baby! (as you smile sweetly through gnashing teeth.)A friend of mine even had a woman---she did not know---stick her FINGER in the baby's mouth to see his teeth---now that would have deserved a roundhouse kick to that woman's head from me!
I guess my germaphobia does come out in a public restroom though.
I travel with my kids a lot...so, there are 'pitstops' on the road. I can tell you all the clean restrooms along my routes.Even still, I use my elbow to turn on/off the water, and I am teaching the girls the craft of 'hovering' and flushing with your foot.(I can also open doors with my foot---years of dance training.)My mantra with little people in luscious places like that is 'DON'T touch ANYTHING!' which draws snickers from stalls nearby...and yes, I have used the facilities holding a crawling age baby and hovering...what mom has not? Port-a-johns at public events are a lot of fun with children as well. Not only are they 'cozy', and smell delightful, but my kids are always afraid they will fall in to 'that hole'...(actually, so am I. Can you imagine?)For occasions like these it is best to just fumigate them with Lysol spray and dunk them in antibacterial gel...it is alcohol based, so, the kids do dry pretty quickly.
I am teaching my kids to cough in to their elbows...Dracula style...and to sneeze the same way. I get squirrelly when I see a kid at preschool with green snails hanging outta their nose. I can spot a fevery kid a mile away---and do not think that I don't know that that 'allergy' is really pink eye!
Preschool is a playground for the germs, however I can't send my child to school in a little hazmat suit. I mean really, it would severely impede her movement on the playground...and all the kids would want to try on the respirator for sure.Kids lick, bite, chew on everything, and each other. One must accept this and pray that no kid came to school with a case of flu.
After having food poisoning on more than one occasion, I am wary of food that I personally have not prepared or have seen being prepared. I have been a waitress...I know what goes on in the kitchen...and may I remind everyone, it is in your best interest to treat your wait staff kindly.
'Pot luck' dinners are hard for me now. If I know everyone who prepared the food, then I can call them the next day and see if they were hurling all night as well from 'Aunt Ginny's famous chicken salad'...and no, I do not buy stuff at bake sales outside of grocery stores.Some people seem to have cast iron stomachs and are not effected by anything. I can look at mayonnaise based potato salad sitting in the sun, and get ill...a trait I hope my kids do not get from me.
So far, so good this season...we have not started the cycle of illness. One kid gets sick, then after passing it on to the second, feels better while child three starts getting symptoms...then child one gets well, child two is really sick, and child three is going down hill. Then child one gets sick again, child two is better...you get my point. ('Who's on First'.)
I am just keeping my freshly washed fingers crossed that we survive another season, illness free...and that my germ warfare does not send me over the edge...and I won't let you use my fork...!!!

Learning To Trust 'Girls' Again...(maybe)

Raising girls is scary....period.

I have 2...one is 14 and the other turns 5 in December.
My 4 year old is a 'pistol'! She is the embodiment of joy.
I watch her on the playground with her other girl friends...
I cringe when they all do not get along. My heart sings when they do.They are such a juxtaposition of wide open innocence and inborn modesty and femininity. They love bugs and baby dolls equally right now.

My 14 year old rocks!
She is beautiful...with a Spirit to match. She is an athlete, and seems to have a lot of good friends....so far. She is not one of the 'mean' girls---thank God. Beneath the eye rolls and the 'gosh MOM!'---she digs me. She and I have a really open and honest relationship. She knows she can talk with me about anything...I hope she never forgets that!
Neither of my girls are 'girly girls'...but I have raised them that way.
Don't get me wrong.
We have our share of princess wands, baby dolls, and lipgloss around the house....and they both enjoy smelling nice.
However, they can both hold their own when playing rough with the boys, or sprinting to a soccer ball...no doubt! When they fall...they get up. The do not linger over the dirt on their knees. They move forward. No worries. (Yet.)
I was never a 'girly-girl'.
I guess I was a 'tomboy'...building forts in the dunes, playing tag football or riding waves.
My 'girlfriends' surfed and played lacrosse. Over the years my 'girls' were in musicals with me (some of those boys were 'girlfriends' too),in the design studio with me at all hours, and, even later in life, were not 'tickled pink' over birth and breast feeding either.
My 'girls' were independent thinkers,spoke their mind, a bit edgy, feminine---to a point--and not scared of a dare or getting dirty.
I did not join a sorority in college because auditions for the musical 'Peter Pan' were the same week as 'Rush' at ECU....(which actually turned out in my favor as I made the cast and became good friends with Sandy Bullock---but I digress.)
I have always had friends who were girls...no, we did not hug, and say,'love you, boooo!'....and we NEVER jumped up and down squealing and clapping when we saw each other.

When I lived in Atlanta, after college, I became 'one of the boys'...I was the token chick who hung with about 10 guys...cute ones, mind you....as in all-American, UNC Lacrosse player cute boys. 'We' were a pack. I was the 'wing man' for a lot of them---checkin' out chicks in the ladies room to see if they were 'worthy'...
Of course, I, personally, never had a date.
Well, I take that back. I had 10 dates (when we all went out) but none were interested in ME...although they were fiercely protective. All the 'girly girls' who wanted to date 'my dates' were always ridiculously jealous that I was always around. It was hilarious how many 'sucked up' to me, to get to my 'guys'. Whatever.
Thus began my mistrust of all 'girly girls'.
When I got married, the first time, my (now X) husband told me 'I love you because you're NOT like all the girls in this town'...and I was cool with that.(hahah!)
The girls there were 'girly girls'...ex-sorority sistahs(the squealy jumping clapping kind), Junior League-ers(who chatted about birth stories at meetings instead of getting their hands dirty with something notable like helping homeless mothers),social climbers(hanging with the 'right' people and keeping up with the 'Jones's was key). Back stabbers. The kind of women who only have sex with their husbands to get a new piece of 'bling' or a kitchen remodel.
(Hey, I know how harsh that sounds, but it was reality in the tiny town I lived in.)
The 'girly girls' all circled the wagons around my X when we were going through the divorce. (I was an 'imported wife', they were all married to other wealthy hometown boys---their social standing was at stake, by God! and what is more important than that? Certainly not truth and the well being of my small kids.)
They all testified against me...purgering themselves...and I lost my young children.
(Apparently, while I was staying home taking care of my 2 little ones---and even theirs at times---I was 'doing drugs, drinking, and not concerned for the welfare of her children because she is so narcissistic, and has a skewed perception of reality'...Man, I must have REALLY been 'wasted' because I don't remember any of that!...if you really know me, that should give you a giggle.)
My very very best friend even turned against me...5 years of close friendship---'poof', gone because she 'did not want to upset' her husband who was my X's childhood friend...??? Really?
My trust in women flew right out of the window, and up came my very high stone wall.
When I moved to where I live now, I was very wary of making friends with women.
Slowly, but surely...my wall started coming down. My new sister in law is actually nice to me...and I have neighbor women whom I adore.
My new 'girlfriends' here have helped me develop trust again...I watch our girls play together. We talk about real social issues, as well as the latest funny stories about our families...I am so grateful that I have had a second chance to learn to trust 'girls' again...hopefully this will last a long time!
(But, sorry yall, I still won't jump up and down, squealing and clapping when I see them!)

Love and Tenderness

The other day I was waiting in the line at the grocery....blindly perusing the latest headlines of the tabloids.
I noticed an older couple in line ahead of me.
He was quite dashing and had a white beard... a beautiful 'old world' profile. His kind eyes were gazing upon his wife with such love and admiration---it took my breath away.
She was a petite, 'well put together' beauty. You could tell when she was younger, she must have been a 'knock out'.They both easily had to be in their late 80's.
I know I was staring...and I tried not to...but they were so beautiful together...and SO in love! He kept leaning in to talk to her---he was very tall. She would gently touch his hand as they spoke, looking up at him. He tenderly put his arm around her with such pride...and protection.
She was his...and he was hers.
I wondered how long they had been married. I wanted to know their story. They both had foreign accents...maybe French? I knew they had made it through the journey of life together...and were there, now, as each other's soul mates. There was such mutual tenderness and respect.
When I left the store, I noticed them in the parking lot. She was gently putting the groceries in the back seat...he was holding the door open for her...his hand on her back.
He then shuffled around to the other side of the car, opened her door for her, held her hand, and helped her in to her seat...How many times had he done this for his beautiful girl?
He walked around, and got in to his seat. As he started the car, I saw her lean over and kiss him.

'Baby you can drive my car...'

Today was a big day!
I finally got a new (to me) car...a 2007 Pacifica...Navy blue---(GO NAVY!)
It was weird and refreshing all at once to drive a car that actually had a working gas gauge, a driver's seat that did not lean to the left...and did not smell like foul milk. I have a 'grown up' car.
My 'new' car is 'mac daddy'...to me at least. Granted, my mother owns it, and bought it...so, once again,at 43, I am driving 'my mom's car'...visions of being 16 again dance in my head. But, whatever...it will get me from point A to B in leather wrapped style.(I did not want leather seats because they make me hot, and my legs stick to the leather when wearing shorts...plus when you move around it sounds like you are passing gas...but I will deal with that!)
I miss my 10 year old Blazer though.
I have always had a love affair with my cars. My first car was a VW Golf...ah, college in a city, parallel parking expertise, and all the fun that college life entailed...
When my first daughter was born, I traded that one in for a smokin hot Teal Ford Taurus wagon...then, when my son was 18 months old I got my Blazer.
I loved my truck! Living in the mountains, on the top of a very steep hill, my 'Blaze' could handle ice, snow and all the slippery leaves. I could throw mulch in the back, transport a muddy slobbery dog, and still feel good about it. Men admired my 4 wheelin' style, and I NEVER got stuck in the mud...plus, being a tomboy, I always wanted a 'TRUUUCCKKK' anyway.
My X father in law---one of the kindest, most wonderful men ever to grace this earth---bought it flat out for me. He wanted me to be safe---I was transporting precious cargo! (me,(he adored me) and his 2 grandchildren!)
In my divorce settlement with his son, I had to chunk out $11,000 to my X for it. My father in law had passed on by then, and I KNOW he was twirling in his grave knowing I had had to repay his gift to me...
Anyway...my Blaze and I went through a lot together in 10 years.
Moving to a new city,picking up and dropping off my kids, being 'hit and runned'...but I always took comfort in it's safety and durability. It was indestructible. Liberal bumper stickers, surfing stickers, Navy stickers, Moms Rule! stickers...Save the Bay...you name it. It was my rolling testimonial that we all needed to get it together!
This summer I had a radiator leak, and the engine flat out cooked on me.(I hate to think that the really deep puddles I drove through to create a huge wake may have contributed to the leak...but it was fun!)
I was driving home from the beach,with 2 of 3 kids, and it just started steaming...I pulled off and put more coolant in. A homeless guy helped me out, and I gave him $20 for his help. My son was like, 'MOM! I can't believe you just GAVE him $20!'...hey, he was down on his luck, a really nice person...and perhaps an angel in disguise. I hope I set an example for my son...he still talks about 'the homeless guy you gave $20 to'...
We got a little further down the road, and the engine got hot again...and just went. I was on I-95,it was getting dark, and was NOT going to pull off there! (They would have found our dead bodies in Missouri in a shallow grave...95 is notoriously dangerous, and with 2 gorgeous blonde children, I was NOT going to advertise to the next 'Bundy' that we needed aide!)
So we rolled in to the 'Oasis' Travel Park.(Yes, I sang, 'midnight at the oasis...send you camels to bed...')
We did not make it all the way in...so, my son, who is 11, had to sit in the drivers seat and steer while I pushed my truck. I was putting all I had in to it, and the car was NOT budging...my son had forgotten to take his foot off the brake. (Thanks, dude!) Two men came and helped me push it...checked the engine...and went,'ahhh'...(not a good 'ahhh'.)
'Yer injun eeus cooked, ma'am.'
Huh?
'It ain't gonna do nuttin for ya, eeits deeuhd.'
Oh, SWELL! I was about an hour from home, in the dark, 2 kids...S#^%!T!
Called AAA...and they sent a tow...I was relieved when the guy got there...and really enjoyed 'Derby's' Satan tattoo on his neck. He was cool though...and we waited for my H to get there to pick us up. I think my kids ate 4 donuts each---but at that time, I did not care...'here! look at the sparkly object! No we are not in peril, do not freak out...we are fine!'
Nothing says togetherness like being a one car family. It is like being 16 again---'hey, can I take the car? I gotta go to bank and the store...'

3 months later I have a new handsome Navy man in my life...my 'mac daddy'...
I wonder what will transpire over this next 10 year relationship?
A Navy man never let's his girl down...right?

(Now, I did have a '59 Edsel...Ed. He was a knock out...but that is another story...)

Living with 'The Dead'

The summer of '87, I moved off campus to a house on Biltmore street.
A dingy little brown 1940's style bungalow, behind the Tri-Pigs...oops, I mean Tri-Sigs...sorority house. (Sorry, but they were little rich girls with really bad attitudes.)
My house mates included:
Sue, (a psych major...who was a huge fan of the Grateful Dead...Mother Earth type of girl,drove the VW van and seriously looked like a younger, prettier, Janice Joplin.)Marty,(an art history major/violin player, who looked very straight-laced, but was a lot of fun.Marty used the enclosed back porch for her 'room' as a decoy so her parents would not find out she was sleeping with her boyfriend... she was NOT a 'Dead Head'.)
Annie,(an art major,willowy and pale, big huge Dead Head.)
...and then there was me,(advertising design major, wholesome, innocent,extremely studious, and solely dedicated to summer school...(hahha)...and NOT a Dead Head.)
Don't get me wrong...I was a hippy chick with the flowy skirts and the wild long hair...and I wore patchouli...but I was more of an artsy-gypsy-hippy...and I never ever did the drugs. (THAT I am serious about.) I never dropped acid, or any of that stuff, because I was so afraid someday one of my kids would have a ear growing in the wrong place...or something horrid! Never did 'ecstasy' because it apparently messes with your spinal fluid---I was a dancer...hello! I needed my back to function properly.(I did make some yummy cheap sangria though.)
I also disliked the Dead. *gasp*! I liked the percussion jams because they were fun to dance to...but Jerry's voice was like nails on a chalk board to me. (sorry to degrade St. Jerry...)
All 4 of us were there for Summer School, so people were in and out of our front door continuously...and then, Marty would be practicing her violin, Annie would be weaving anklets in her spare time, and Earth Mother Sue...well, I'm not really sure what she was working on back in her room.
I was taking a painting studio class and a dance class...so, I was in my studio a lot....I never knew what or who I would find at our little house.
My boyfriend at the time, was in a band...he played rhythm guitar and was soooo cool.The rest of the band consisted of a drummer, a smelly german singer, and a guy named Tracy, who played bass.
Tracy was hilarious. He was super smart, and extremely talented---but not motivated in the least. He was working the summer at Burger King, and would come over to the house to practice with the band in his BK outfit. He was the first person I ever saw smoke a cigarette without holding it, and play guitar at the same time...I was fascinated by this.
Tracy and another Dead Head girl, who lived across the street, drove totally buck naked back from DC to Greenville...(I KNOW!)...and could not stop laughing about the truckers reactions.
I had a pet miniature rabbit at the time, named Winfield, and he LOVED Tracy...he would sit on Tracy's shoulder and let him walk around. (Winfield was killed by someone who fed him drugs when I was away that summer in San Francisco. Nice.)
One morning after a long evening downtown with the boyfriends band, I woke up and almost tripped over...Jesus? It was the Lord, laid out on my floor...and look, he brought apostles...and fair maidens! (Sue had invited some people back to the house.)
They ate our food and left around 3pm.
We never knew who--or what--Sue would bring back from her latest Dead Show. Mainly fellow Dead followers who apparently had not showered in years...hence they would decide they would shower off the lovely sludge in our one shower...and again, would eat all of our food and leave.
(I think this may have been when my affair with Clorox started.)
We had Indecision stay at our house...but those guys were cool. Shep, the lead singer from Awareness Art Ensemble was a staple in the menagerie. He was the first rhasta dude I ever got to know. He was really really great---and he smelled like incense...I was fascinated by his dreadlocks.
My boyfriend's family lived in Richmond, so, when the food supply got low, we'd go to his parent's house for the weekend. His mom was an angel and sent us back with food, and canned goods.(I only had $75/month to eat off of, so this was a blessing!)
Our neighbors across the street raided our pantry as well. This guy named Shane would always eat my cereal, and drink all the milk. I finally had to have an 'intervention'...and he stopped.(Which led to his frog gigging, and the BBQ-ed frog legs he would cook on the sidewalk.)
Annie's cat had kittens that summer, and my boyfriend adopted a dog named 'Ripple'...we had fish...and a rabbit---(until he was murdered.)
All in all it was a pretty good summer. It definitely opened my eyes to some things---good, and bad.

That Fall, my mom made me move back to the dorm.