"Don't Stop Til You Get Enough"

A major part of my childhood past away last week. Surprisingly, I was more sad than I thought I would be. For many years, I have thought that the Michael Jackson that I grew up with had been dead for quiet a while and that the Michael Jackson of the past 20 years was just bad fake of the “Off the Wall” and “Thriller” Michael Jackson I knew so well. Yet the his tunes have been in constant rotation in my iTunes shuffle since last Thursday. Behind the plastic, the bleached skin, sequins, and the bizarre behavior lies some very powerful music. So this entry is to the man who continues to make my feet tap.

I like to think of myself as a spiritual person. Someone who has a close relationship with God. I’m a big believer in the power of prayer. But did you know that 2 people in particular taught me how to pray? It’s true. My sister Bec and Michael Jackson.

“WHAT???!! Michael Jackson??!!” you say. Tis true dear reader. Bec and Michael Jackson taught me how to pray. Here’s how it went down.

I love my sister. I lover her very dearly. She is greatest sister anyone could ever have. But, when she was a baby up until she was about 3 years old, Bec cried all the time. ALL. THE. TIME. Her favorite phrase was a sobbing “Come here, Momma” with tears pouring down her cute chubby cheeks.

One night on the way home from my grandmother’s house, Bec was in her car seat just crying away. I don’t remember what she was crying for, most likely she wanted to sit with Mom but she wouldn’t stop crying. All the way from Rockwood, TN to our home in Knoxville, Bec cried. And cried. Annnnnnnnnnnnnd cried. Looking back, I can still see the tears rolling down her face and glistening in the light from the passing cars. Right about the time we were passing the Pepsi bottling plant on Middlebrook Pike I had had enough. I threw my head back against the back seat of the car, looked up out the back window toward the stars and said the follow “Dear God, please shut this child up!” I don’t remember if he answered the prayer, but it was then that I knew I had an ally.

On August 10-12, 1984, Michael Jackson and the Jacksons came to Knoxville and played 3 sold shows at Neyland Stadium for 150,000 people. Tickets were $31.50 ($65 in 2009). Michael was just cresting at his popularity. His appearance on “Motown 25” and the debut of the moonwalk had come out earlier that spring. Truly to go to this concert one would be able to see an artist at his peak.

“Sooooo, Laura, how was the concert? Which night did you go?” you ask. I didn’t get to go. That’s right. I did not get to go. Me who had Michael Jackson posters, buttons, records - everything - did not get to go.

I remember thinking as a child that this was some sort of punishment from my parents. Didn’t they understand? Were they not kids of the 60’s? Didn’t they believe in the power of rock and roll? Isn’t this what they were all about? Sex, drugs and rock and roll. Nope. They were all about how can we make this child suffer more! I was denied the Michael Jackson “Thriller” jacket which was on sale at Merry-Go-Round for $100 ($205 in 2009) and now I was being denied going to the concert. Why was I even brought into the world if they were just going to deny me pleasure? Clearly they were hell-bent on making my 11 year old life hell.

Ah-ha!! But I had a higher source!! I would turn to my old ally Jesus. He would find a way for me to go to the concert. Because, after all, every kid I knew was going except for me. Jesus would help.

So there I sat in my hot bedroom asking Jesus to deliver me tickets to the Michael Jackson concert. And to show my devotion, I opened my bible to the book of Psalms and began to read.

I read a lot of Psalms between August 10-12, 1984. Needless to say, the tickets never came. But my relationship with God did not suffer. My prayers were not in vain. Through that experience, God showed me humility and the power to laugh at one’s self. Instead of tickets, he gave me one heck of a good story to remember.

Southern Embellishment

Pssst.

Pssssssssssst.

Hey reader. Yeah, you with the mouse. Over here.

I’m hiding behind the monitor. I know its hard to see me, cause I’m in camouflage. Yes, camouflage!!! Le grand camou, baby. It’s the latest fashion accessory, didn’t you know. Hmmm, guess you didn’t see the memo because it was in camouflage. Well, let me share the good word with you.

In our latest jaunts to East Tennessee, John and I stopped off recently at a couple of stores near Pigeon Forge, one being the BPS Experience (aka Bass Pro Shop). I loath BPS, but I love my husband, so I go. While John is foaming at the mouth over fishing lures, I pass the time by people watching and checking out what else they have in the store that doesn’t pertain to fish. I recently found this interesting number in the Women’s section (Yes Virginia, there really is such a section):



Yep. It’s a camouflage teddy. Now, my first reaction was that there are some ladies (and some men, see “Deliverance”) who really go all out for their man. Some men just might find it right purty that women would be all decked out in some sexy camou. Defeats the whole idea of the setting one’s sites on the target, but I digress. I personally found this hysterical and called John over to see it. Surprisingly, John had a different reaction that I did. He thought it was a great way for women to hide from their man. (I bought 2.) Needless to say, this teddy was the PG-13 version, there were more (or less, so to speak) on sale at BPS but my niece reads this blog so I‘m going to leave it there.

On a later trip, I stumbled upon this find:



A camou duffle bag. Its not that its camou that I find amusing, but that fact that it has decorative black bows on it. Seriously, ladies? Seriously?!?

Now, y’all know that I’m a good southern women and us southern women like to embellish not only the truth but our wardrobes. We’ll monogram the dickens out of everything we own, we can wear high-heeled thong sandals with flowers on them in the dead of winter and wear a string of pearls with a workout suite. But we have officially pushed the boundaries of good taste.
WE HAVE GONE TOOOOOO FAR, Y‘ALL!!

I understand wanting to meet your man halfway and show interest in his hobbies. And I‘m all for equality, I am. But if we are going to out into the woods with our men and go get us a deer, grab your daddy‘s cameo and go. Don‘t slap bows all over everything.

Ladies of the south, I beseech you! We are known for our style and our class, our sense of decorum and good manners, our gentleness and most of all, thank you Jesus, our southern hospitality. But ladies, let us step back and think about what we embellish on our clothes. No need for camou teddy’s and camou duffle bags with bows. Let us resolve to leave such embellishments to our stories and leave the Yankees wandering if we’re telling them the truth or not. That’s a heckofalot more fun than deer hunting anyway!!

Blah! Mushy entry. Run. Run now!!

Today, we as a county are celebrating Mother’s Day. If you ask my mom, everyday is Mother’s Day and we should each treat our mother’s fantastic everyday, not just once a year. And trust me when I say this, she reminds me of that frequently.

But today is bittersweet, because essentially Mother’s Day is a celebration of the family. As you know, our family has changed dramatically this year. I like to think of it as we were once a square with 4 individual points. Now, I feel that we are a working our way to becoming a triangle with 3 individual points. We haven‘t completed the transition from square to triangle yet, but we’ll get there.

So today, I honor two very special women in my life who just happen to be mothers: my mom and my sister. I wouldn’t be where I am without either of them. I’m so very thankful that I have been able to lean on them in these past few months but also to support them when they are feeling week. Mwah! Love you, ladies!
I know, ya'll want to hear "Wind Beneath My Wings" now. But you know what, I have my limitations people. Take the mush and run because that's all you get. Going to stop now because Hallmark is going to be calling soon for me to write sappy cards. Blah. My Pop is gonna get it when I see him for making me go to such a lowly state. Blah.

Cover Your Assets

We had some excitement in Asheville yesterday, a tornado threat. Its happened once before since I’ve been here, but its very rare. We are so well protected due to the mountains, that it takes a mighty powerful storm to cause even the threat of a tornado.

Well, yesterday morning, I’m in a meeting, just watching the rain blow sideways and the trees whip in the wind. Am I thinking about getting to safety? Am I thinking about what could potentially happen if a tornado occurs? Nope. I’m thinking about tornado drills in elementary school, my rear and Troy Collins.

Remember tornado drills? We would line up down the hallways, on our knees, covering our heads. I recall it being a really serious thing and you had to be quiet. Why was that? If I tornado comes through, its going to be loud so why should I be quiet? Looking back, I wonder if the teachers met in the teacher’s lounge and decided that the students were being bad, so it became “Tornado Drill Day!!!” Oh, how I loathed tornado drill day. Why couldn’t it be Fire Drill Day? Who cares that its 15 degrees outside?! I would rather go outside than have a tornado drill.

Well, my most dreaded day came when I was in 2nd grade. We bowed on our knees to the tornado gods and lined up down the hall. But for some reason that day, another row went right behind us, and I literally mean BEHIND us. And there he was, right behind me, Troy Collins. What made it so bad that day, was that I had a dress on. And again, there was Troy Collins, right behind me. The last thing I remembered was Troy saying to me “Hey Laura, nice Strawberry Shortcake underwear!!” Its all a blur after that.

And its for that reason that I don’t wear dresses. And it wasn’t just that day. Nooooooo, dear reader. Let me take you back to 4th grade. I must have felt adventurous that day because I had on, yet again, another skirt. But this time I was a “big girl” and no mere child. Because on this day, I had on panty hose.

I was strolling from the bathroom headed toward my classroom when I hear Troy Collins (again) and other boys in the hall laughing and pointing at me. I had no idea what they were laughing at. It soon became “transparent” what they were laughing at. The back of my skirt had gotten stuck inside of my hose. And there again was my rear before God, Troy Collins and everyone. One would say that I became the “butt” of the joke that day. I don’t remember anything else after that.

So because of my rear trauma, that is the reason why you’ll rarely see me in a dress or a skirt. And if I see Troy Collins is nearby, you better believe I’m checking my assets!!

** Thanks to the good people at the Wisconsin Historical Society of the 1983 Strawberry Shortcake underwear image.

Missed it by that much

Playlist for post: "Blasphemous Rumors" by Depeche Mode

There are a few things in life that I have hang ups about, and most of them were beyond my control:

1. Not being allowed to be a baton twirler - not majorette - baton twirler.
2. Not being a Brownie. I had to mooch off my friend Tammy Spray for that one.
3. Not able to go to Washington DC on the safety patrol trip. I had a broken ankle and "the man" said I couldn't hack it. I was head safety patrol, people!!
4. Not being able to sing my solo at the Senior Chorale performance in high school. Got up to the mic, they started playing my song, then Mrs. Thomas cancelled it right before I opened my mouth b/c she thought it was later than it actually was. Actually, the clock in the auditorium had stopped. Thus Laura gets jipped.
5. Not able to see Colin Firth at work.

Laura, I know 1-4 but what are you talking about for #5. Well, dear reader, let me be very clear when I say this: Colin Firth aka THE Mr. Darcy was at my place of employment last week. Where was I, you ask? On a romantic get-away with my husband.

I have few fantasies in my life. But I have had this one fantasy since 2000, right after I saw "Pride and Prejudice." Being were I work, celebrities have been known to come by from time to time. Its interesting to see them, but for the most part, its never people that were high on my list to meet. However, I have dreamed that one day Mr. Darcy would be in the area, filming somewhere and pop over for a visit. Being that I would be the only member from my department on hand that day, I would have to give Mr. Darcy a tour. Guess what? It happened. I just forgot to make sure that I was there in the fantasy.

John and I haven't been on vacation with just the 2 of us since our honeymoon, 11 years ago. After the death of my father, I decided that it would be good for the both of us to get away.The one time I go away, Mr. Darcy come to town. Without his wife, I might add.

For those of you who don't know, John and I work at the same place. He works in Security. He usually gets the heads up when VIPs are coming. He SWEARS he didn't know anything about this. Nope, he just whisks me off to Pigeon Forge, pumping me with pancakes, caramel apples, and taffy. Keeping me occupied buying bargain basement priced jewelry and purses, all the while Mr. Darcy is walking right past my office door!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I am convinced that God has a sense of humor. Its a very warped sense of humor, but one none the less. But then part of me think he did it so that I wouldn't attack Mr. Darcy and force him to reacted the scene from P&P where he says:

"Miss Cope, you are too generous to trifle with me. If your feelings are what they were last April, tell me so at once. My affections and wishes are unchanged. But one word from you on this will silence me on this forever."

Then I would say "My feelings? My feelings are quiet the opposite."

Then he would smile and respond "Dearest, loveliest Laura."

Then we would hightail it to Pemberly and live happily ever after. Of which I would be mistress of.But noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo. I was off celebrating my marriage with my husband. I have a sneaking suspicion that my father is in heaven laughing his butt off over this one. Laugh it up, old man, I'll get you back.

Still Married and No One's Dead

John and I recently celebrated our 11 wedding anniversary. I know. I can't believe it either. It seems like just the other day that I was doing that weird thing with my wrist dropping my hand down so people can see my ring. Yeah, after you get married that stops. Other things that stop are the gifts. It was so nice to come home and have gifts waiting on me. Now, I just have bills waiting on me. All those wonderful towels I got at wedding showers. Well, they have lost their "fluffiness" factor and no one has come to replenish them. resh my towel supply. Nope. We have to take care of that ourselves. Gees, talk about in good times and in bad. Times are tough.

I was talking with a friend the other day about my honeymoon. Two words: it sucked. Oh yeah, I said it. It sucked. I was so excited to be a bride! I was obsessed with our wedding: the right dress, the right colors, the right flowers, beautiful pictures, yada, yada, yada. In all my preparation of the wedding, I left out the honeymoon. We went to Charleston, SC. Both John and I had spent our summers there, so we were familiar with Charleston. Too familiar with Charleston.

We stayed at "2 Meeting Street Inn" right on the Charleston battery and White Point Gardens, overlooking Ft. Sumter. It is a beautiful Queen Anne home. I used to get my picture made in front of it with dreams of a romantic honeymoon. By the time the honeymoon came around, we had a very limited budget, but who cares, right? We're staying at 2 Meeting Street Inn, wedding bliss will be had! WRONG! No disrespect to Anne Frank, but she had a much bigger room than John and I did. The bed took up the room, so that when you walked around the room you had to turn side ways to get by. I have clear memories of John turning on the tv only to find no cable but rather bunny ears. Check out their website. Our room was the "Granite Room. It hasn't changed in 11 years. In the pic, you can still see the top of the bunny ears: http://www.twomeetingstreet.com/rooms-lodging.htm. We now refer to it as the "Anne Frank Room."

This was not the honeymoon I had envisioned. It looked nothing like a Sandals Beach Resort commercials. No beds on the beach with sheers blowing in the wind. No horseback riding on the beach. No, it was me turning sideways in our Anne Frank room to get to the bathroom because one I stepped in horse poo outside of the B&B. By the time we got back to Knoxville, I was so sad. Gone were the bride-to-be dreams. Instead, life had given me a quick taste of reality....and it tasted bad.

Well, dear reader, I'm happy to report that our marriage is nothing like our honeymoon. Oh, our marriage is funny for sure but we always have a good time. Actually, we just got back from a mini-vacation in Pigeon Forge and had a great time! We rented a cabin and had 2,000 square feet of space, glorious space all to ourselves. Hot tub, pool table , jacuzzi and a beautiful view of a landfill. Ahhhh, wedding bliss!