It’s not you. Its Me.

(Ring)


(Ring)


(Ring)

Hello?

Oh…..hi blog.

Yes. It has been some time.

Well, no…..it’s just… well….I haven’t been in the mood to blog.

No, no! Its not you! I promise. Its me.

No I haven’t been with another blog! I promise! I haven’t blogged for anyone. It’s…..its just me. You know, its one of those phases, you know?

No, no. You’re absolutely right. What we have is special…..and I should blog. You’re right. You are absolutely right.

Yea, I would love to get together and blog soon.

Yea, that sounds great! Ok! I look forward to it. Ok. I’ll see you soon.

No I mean it! I promise! I promise I’ll post soon. Ok, alright then. I’ll soon. See you then! Ok, bye-bye.

(Click).

(Editor’s note: in the mean time, enjoy this entry from last Palm Sunday!)

The Word of God, in tongues.

So, a while back, I was asked to be the lector at church for the month of April. The lector leaders the congregation and also reads the scripture for that day. I was thrilled to do this! I have sung in church all my life, but reading felt different for some reason.

Nonetheless, I'm excited to do this. And April is no small potatoes, people. Its the big dance: Easter. Why, this April is a big month: there's Palm Sunday, Easter, the week following Easter, etc. Christianity is founded on these principles alone. High attendance, important scripture, its important that I don't flub up.

I talked with the church secretary and she said she would send me the verses by the end of the week. Well, the secretary got called for jury duty. So no verses. So I'm thinking I still have time and will cram during the children's sermon to look over my "lines" so I don't mess up. I might have to read something like "And Hepapel begat Zepo, and Zepo begat Sgralmel, and Sgralmel begat ........." yada, yada, yada. I wanted to be prepared!

So as I'm reviewing my lines during the children's sermon, I hear the pastor talk about Jesus riding into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday on a donkey. I look at the scripture I'm supposed to read and its about Jesus on Palm Sunday but no mention of a donkey. My version says "colt." Colt?! Holy crap!!! What version do I have? A special Baptist version? Do I say what version I'm reading from when I go up there? Ok Cope, just role with it. A bible is a bible. Word of God. No worries. A colt. Really?

"Today's New Testament Lesson comes from Mark Chapter 11, verses 1 through 11.

Now when they drew near to Jerusalem, to Bethphage and Bethany, at the Mount of Olives, Jesus sent two of his disciples and said to them, “Go into the village in front of you, and immediately as you enter it you will find a colt tied,

(Woo-hoo!! Your doing great kid!! Pure poetry. Verses are flowing off your tongue like honey.)

on which no one has ever sat. Untie it and bring it. If anyone says to you, ‘Why are you doing this?’ say, ‘The Lord has need of it and will send it back here immediately.’” And they went away and found a

(STUMBLE, STUMBLE, STUMBLE)

colt tied at a door outside in the street, and they untied it. And some of those standing there said to them, “What are you doing, untying the colt?” And they told them what Jesus had said, and they let them go. And they brought

(stumble, Laura says "Blah!" makes a weird face, eyes bug out and stick out her tongue in nervous twitch, stumble, MAY-DAY!!! MAY-DAY!!! stumble, stumble)

the colt to Jesus and threw their cloaks on it, and he sat on it. And many spread their cloaks on the road, and others spread leafy branches

(STUMBLE. OMG!! Did I really just say blah in front of the church?)

that they had cut from the fields. And those who went before and those who followed were shouting, “Hosanna! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord! Blessed is the coming kingdom of our father David! Hosanna in the highest!” And he entered Jerusalem

(STUMBLE. OMG!!! I stuck my tongue out as I was reading the Bible!! In front of the entire church?!)

and went into the temple. And when he had looked around at everything, as it was already late, he went out to

(STUMBLE. Oh, Lord, help me!! I just had my eyes pop out of my head, made a weird face and stuck out my tongue in front of the entire congregation on Palm Sunday and there are a lot of people here!! Who is that family in the back??!! Oh man, visitors. They're going to think we speak in tongues. Awe man!! )

Bethany with the twelve.

"The word of God, for the people of God. Thanks be to God."

(Ok Laura. Maybe no one heard you. Just play it cool. Beeeeeee cooooooool.)

Mary Joe - "Psst. What version were you reading from?"

(Oh, man!)

Meet Your Friends Here

Recently, I went home for a week’s vacation to spend some quality time with my family and old friends. Due to the rock slide near the Tennessee/North Carolina border, I had to take an alternative route home. My inner “Cope” decided to take a bit of the scenic way to get there.

The hubs and I used to live in the country. Whenever we went to the small town just north of where we lived, we would pass this beautiful old country home. It is a typical, early southern home, in the early classical revival style probably built around the mid nineteenth century. It has a wood frame, two chimneys on either side of the home, columns and a balcony.

(Yeah, I know. I’m a dork. What you read was “blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, chimneys, blah, blah, blah house.” But hang with me.)

What really made this home great, was that there was a family that took pride that they were its current caretakers, particularly at Christmas. Every Christmas it always looked like a Hallmark card. I could visualize grandparents welcoming their children and grandchildren into their warm and loving home with delicious homemade goodies just out of the oven waiting on them. They always tastefully decorated the home with natural garland and simple red bows hanging from its balcony. It always warmed my soul when I drove past this home.

It has been about two years since I had been out this way, so I was glad to see this old friend. I was looking forward to seeing how she looks. Sadly, my friend is not looking well. I don’t think anyone currently resides there. The house is looks very worn and tired. The yard has been eaten up due to the road expansion and the newly created, easy access road to the new Wal-Mart and Lowe’s that is now in her back yard. And when I say “backyard” I mean literally in the backyard. This sweet county home now looks as if it has cancer and I don’t know if it can be saved from roll-out prices. I was outraged when I saw this! I raised my fist in air and shook it like an old man, cursing at Wal-Mart & Lowe’s. How could this happen? Didn’t the community try to fight this from happening? Didn’t they care about this lovely home that was part of their community fabric? Was the buy-one-get-one-free sale on tube socks really worth it?

Slowly, my frustration subsided and as I was coming into Knoxville, I called my aunt and uncle to see what they were doing for the night. Mom and Bec had commitments that night and I wasn’t quiet ready for a night of solitary confinement. Rhonda and Eddie had just been seated for dinner and so they were going to wait for me. I was going to meet them at a restaurant that I had never been to, the S&W Grand - in downtown Knoxville.

Now for those of you who aren’t familiar with Knoxville, the downtown area used to be the hub of all town activity. For almost 200 years, from the time it was settled in 1780’s until after World War II, downtown Knoxville was THE center of town. My grandfather and my mom would tell wonderful stories about going downtown to shop at JC Penney‘s and Millers, have lunch at the Blue Circle, watch a movie at the majestic “Tennessee Theater” and look at Christmas lights in the shops along Gay Street. I always longed for those days because it sounded so ideal. After WWII, people began to move further out from the downtown and into the suburbs with its modern stores and malls. Soon, the downtown area looked old, dated and anything but modern. Many restaurants had closed. The shops moved out to the suburbs. We could now go to multiplex theater for the latest movies. And the Christmas lights were nothing to come see. Not an uncommon story.

I worked downtown for several years and let me tell you, the downtown then was nothing to write home about. There was little activity going on. During the weekdays, there was people downtown, but only to work. At 5:10pm on a Friday afternoon, you would think it had turned into a ghost town. My first job after I graduated from college was giving tours at Blount Mansion. My co-workers and I would joke about the fictitious tumble weeds that would pass by because that was the only thing down there. No people were to be found, except for the occasional tourist who was shocked that nobody was down there.

I longed for the downtown to be what it once was. For people to be apart of it and for it to be a active again. During my time in downtown Knoxville, it never changed. Then the hubs and I left Knoxville and we hadn’t been back to the downtown area in years. So when Rhonda told me that they were eating downtown, I was a taken aback.

I exited off I-40 and was easily steered toward the downtown area. I made a left turn from Summit Hill Dr onto Gay Street and I was amazed at what I saw. Gay Street was filled with people, shops, lights, a new multiplex theater, and restaurants. And parking. FREE PARKING! The downtown was filled with life again. And there next to the new theater was the S&W Grand.



I had never been to the S&W. It closed in 1982, so I didn’t have to opportunity to experience this wonderful Knoxville landmark. The S&W was THE place to eat during the mid 20th century in Knoxville. The façade greeted you with a wonderful exterior than only art deco can do. When you entered the S&W, you would have been greeted by a two story restaurant with lots of open space. To the left of the entrance was a grand curved staircase that took you to the second floor dining area. At the base of the staircase, was a organ with organist to entertain you while you ate. Above the organ was a sign that read “MEET YOUR FRIENDS HERE.“ Behind the staircase was a check room for your hat and coat. Next to it, was a alcove for a special select party. The S&W served cafeteria style food, with waiters that would carry your food to your table in first or second floor dining areas.


I have memories of walking by this grand building during my time downtown. It sat empty for almost 30 years, until now.

When I walked in to the S&W Grand, I was immediately whisked back to those days that I dreamt of, but also very aware that I was in a very modern restaurant. I met my aunt and uncle and their friends at the bar, which included Stephanie Balest, co-owner of the S&W Grand.

Stephanie and her co-owner brother are from Pittsburg, PA - above the Mason-Dixon line. When her family moved to Knoxville several years ago she always had hopes to open a restaurant in the old S&W, but the downtown wasn’t ready for it. So instead, they opened the Northshore Brasserie. Few year pass by and as fate would have it, she met the man who owned the S&W.

Its not often that I meet others who share the same passion that I do for historic preservation. We are a small and dedicated tribe! But after I greeted Stephanie with the secret historic preservation handshake, I knew that I was with like people.

She shares with me that only thing that is original from the old S&W is the ceiling and floor. That’s it. Honestly, they had me fooled. It looked too accurate to be a reproduction. What I thought was wallpaper with a shell-like design was actually real shells. Real shells! A guy in Asia who made the shell wall paneling. It took over 14,000 shells!

The alcove, the "MEET YOUR FRIENDS HERE" sign, the music, the check area, the curved staircase - its all there! The staircase alone thrilled my aunt! When she was a little girl, she begged my nana to let her go up the stairs. Nana agreed but under two conditions: she could not run and she must act like a lady. Well, 1 out of 2 ain’t bad! (Kidding! I kid. She didn’t run. She walked actually)

It takes a dedicated soul to do the work that Stephanie and her partners did to resurrect of this wonderful restaurant and Knoxville landmark. Restoration demands that you to be faithful to what was, not what you would do or your personal decorating preferences. You have to seek out what did the previous caretakers did. I’m so proud to say that the S&W Grand did just that. The gathering place of my grandfather is now a gathering place for me.

I think it is within our American DNA to want that which is new, modern and particularly, convenient, in our hometowns. Too often, we travel to other cities and seek out their history but don’t have a clue about our own hometown histories. When I worked at Blount Mansion, I used to joke that I took confession from local residences. It was not uncommon to hear locals say “I’ve lived here all my life and never been here.” Sometime it takes someone with fresh set of eyes and appreciation - someone not from the area - to bring back the beauty that once was.

So to my Knoxville homies, if you haven’t been downtown lately, go. Make it a part of your life again. For those of you in other parts of the county, look and see where your history is. Run and embrace it. Make it a part of your life as well. Take some advice from the S&W Grand and “MEET YOUR FRIENDS HERE” wherever that historic "here" is in your town.

Meeting my dear friend Carrie at the S&W Grand for lunch.

Oh, and for those of you needing to confess, I still hear confession every Friday afternoon from 5-7pm.

The Ice Age Cometh

When I was in the 2nd grade, I remember learning in science class about the Ice Age. That thousands of years ago, the world was very cold and there was these HUGE glaciers that came deep into North America. I so clearly remember my teacher, Ms. Handley, telling us that another Ice Age could happen again. This was one of my fears when I was a child. That during my lifetime, I would have to live in an Ice Age. Do you have any idea how much this would affect my life? You never know when those pesky ice glaciers would attack!! When I was older, I realized that an Ice Age COULD happen, but it would take thousands of years for this to happen. Glaciers move slower than I do going to a gym. Fears, schmears.

Well, my fears came true two weeks ago. The ice age had finally cometh.

Just days before Christmas, I had 12” of snow at my door. TWELVE INCHES!! If you aren’t from the south, let me explain one brief fact to you: we don’t get snow. If we get half an inch of snow, schools close. Heck, schools have closed just for the mere threat of snow. So imagine what our lives were like here since we had twelve inches of that stuff.

When we did have snow, my experience growing up in East Tennessee taught me two things:

1. You need the snow storm survival food group: milk, bread and eggs.
2. Darwin’s theory of survival of the fittest is actually fact.

In East Tennessee everyone runs to the grocery stores to stock up on the snow storm survival food group. I recall the first time it snowed just months after the hubs and I just got married. I immediately rushed out of the office and headed to Kroger’s for Rule #1: “the snow storm survival food group.” As I stood in the long line, I realized that back home we had plenty of the “the snow storm survival food group.” Why was I getting stuff we already had? It wasn’t going to snow that much. Dare I leave the store without milk, bread and eggs? Everyone else in Knoxville was getting their “snow storm survival food group” so something MUST be wrong with me that I didn’t need any. My thoughts were the only parts of me that were rebellious. I clutched onto my “snow storm survival food group” but also applied Rule #2: survival of the fittest. I rushed ahead of others to the video counter that had just opened and had the clerk there scan my milk, bread and eggs. Ha, ha, suckers!! Sorry grandma!

So as the snow fell last week, the hubs and I take off for the grocery store.
The hubs sees the last snow shovel in the store window. You would think we were on Supermarket Sweep. Quickly, he grabbed it and held the prized snow shovel close to his chest. Later, a mother with her child in a stroller made a derogatory remark about us and our snow shovel. Say what you will lady, but we still have a snow shovel and you don‘t. I don’t care how many kids ya got. You and your kids keep away from our snow shovel! No glacier is going to eat my house!

As we maneuvered our way into the store (snow shovel in hand), the hubs motions that we go to produce first. Produce? Yeeeeesssss. Produce would be a good move. We could be in the house so long that there could be a threat that we might develop scurvy. However, the dairy section implores us! “To dairy” I say. So with snow shovel in hand, we fight our way into dairy section. We reach the milk. The hubs venture in and surfaces with 1 gallon of milk. He sees me shaking my head. He goes back in. He soon surfaces yet again with two gallons of milk. He puts them in the cart, but alas, he can tell that two gallons isn’t enough. Three, I tell you!! Three gallons of milk!! We don’t know how long this storm is going to last. Its man versus nature.

Fighting off the natives to protect our snow shovel and milk and we successfully grabbed the eggs and the bread. We still have time for more supplies. So we gathered cookie dough, ingredients for chili, chips, some frozen pizzas and a several day of supply of Cheerwine. I think we will survive this Ice Age.

Later on that night, a neighbor, we will call Mr. Crazy Neighbor, was trying to leave and got his car stuck in front of our house. Mr. Crazy Neighbor came very close to hitting our car. The hubs grabs the snow shove and digs the guy out. But the snow was too much for Mr. Crazy Neighbor, and he parks his car on the side of the road and hangs his head in shame and walks back home.

The next morning, Mr. Crazy Neighbor, knocks on our door and ask to borrow the snow shovel to try to get his car out one more time. Feeling safe from glaciers, a moment of weakness came over me and I let him borrow our snow shovel. He said that he would return it as soon as he got his car out. Three hours later, his car is long gone and so is our snow shovel. I was no longer the fittest. Survival was not looking good. The glacier was coming after me.

Later, the hubs gets up and needs to shovel his way out so he can get to work. He comes to me looking for the snow shovel. Frustrated by my weakness, I explained what happened. We put on our snow clothes and plow our way through the foot of snow, and walk to Mr. Crazy Neighbors house. I was told to remain at the end of the driveway so that I don’t scare off Mr. Crazy Neighbor with my eyebrows of doom. Mrs. Crazy Neighbor answers the door and quickly realizes why we are there. She informs us that Mr. Crazy Neighbor was just a few minutes away, helping get a friend out of the snow, WITH OUR SNOW SHOVEL. This was not part of our contract! The contract was for car only. Not car and friend. She graciously offered us her garden shovel until Mr. Crazy Neighbor returns. With my eyebrows of doom, I shake my head “NO” from the end of her driveway. The hubs gently tells Mrs. Crazy Neighbor that he needs to get to work and needs the snow shovel as soon as possible.

So you ask, am I still scared of living in a Ice Age? Yea, I still have my fear, particularly with global warming. It MIGHT happen. Don’t even get me started on the Little Ice Age that ended in the 1850s. But even if a glacier does appear at my door, I have milk, bread and eggs in my kitchen. Oh, and our snow shovel? It is now back home and has a nice warm spot near our front door….inside! With the threat of glaciers everywhere, you can never be too careful.

Church of our Lady Scarlett O'Hara

Lately, the subject of tradition keeps coming up, particularly southern traditions and our kooky, southern ways. I think Ouiser from Steel Magnolias summed it best

Ousier: Here. (Throwing a bag of homegrown tomatoes at the ladies in the salon) Tomatoes. Somebody’s gotta take em. I hate em.

Arnelle: Then why do you grow ‘em?

Ousier: Because, I’m an old southern woman. We are supposed to wear funny lookin’ hats, ugly clothes and grow vegetables in the dirt. Don’t ask me those questions. I don’t know why! I don’t make the rules!

How true! We don’t know why we do them, we just do. Recently, I was going to a potluck and a dear friend of mine asked if the people coming to the potluck made normal food. I wasn’t sure what she meant. She said “Do they mess up food, like deviled eggs? Deviled eggs are not supposed to have smoked salmon and capers on them, Laura! Good southern women don’t mess up deviled eggs!” Now I’m not a fan of deviled eggs, but my friend has got a point. There are just some things we southerners just don’t do.

When I got married, a sweet Southern Lady gave me a deviled egg dish. She said “Laura, every good Southern women needs one.” Graciously, I accepted this sweet gift (without telling her that I HATE deviled eggs). For some reason, I could not get rid of the dish. For years I had this deviled egg dish sitting in my cabinet, just taking up space, but couldn’t let it go. I kept asking myself “Why I’m holding on to this thing?“ The only reason I could come up with is because you never know when you MIGHT need it. What if I needed to do an Easter Egg display? Shabam! Deviled Egg dish to the rescue. So after many years of struggle, I finally gave up the deviled egg dish. But gave it to another true southern lady, my sister, who loves deviled eggs.

Often, I take for grated the reason we do things and our southern heritage. I just assume that the rest of the world does things like us to. A good friend of mine, who will remain nameless because she is a Yankee, is always asking me why we do the things we do. She thought that all southerners were evangelical Christians. Not true. There are many degrees of the Christianity in the south. So I explained to her the degrees of evangelical Christians in the south, based on denomination. Your list may vary, but here’s mine, from least evangelical to the “bible thumping, snake-handling, you ain’t going home till your right with God” Christians:

Catholic
Episcopalian
Presbyterian
Methodist
Baptist
Church of God or Church of Christ (tie)

Southerners are religious people. We come from a long line of Protestant, Scotch Irish, English and German stock. Mention revival to a southerner, and they know that that means a week of church, usually in the summer time, often under a tent and there is a empty KFC bucket being passed down the rows for the offering. Whereas in other parts of the world, a revival could mean to them the reopening of a beloved Broadway play like “Fiddler on the Roof” or a furniture style like “Oh, Brad, I love that Greek revival settee” But in the south, revival means your going to be praying. All. Week. Long.
When my dad died, I learned more about us southerners. We are good people, but in times of crisis, we shine. We will supply you with more casseroles, sandwiches, cole slaw, fried chicken, pies, cookies, cakes, cokes, lemonade and sweet tea than you will ever need. Then we will follow up with a note, usually on our personal stationary, just letting you know that we are thinking of you and keeping you in our prayers. Do you know that mother personally keeps all the Hallmark stores in her town going? As long as my Mom is around, they will do great business. When Mom realizes that she forgot to send the sweet lady at church a card because it’s the 39 anniversary since her husband died, she runs out, gets a card, fills it with meaningful, thoughtful words and puts it in the mail by the end of the day and then says “Whew! That was close! I almost forgot! Thank goodness I put it on my task reminder!”

I kid you not, the week Dad died, someone was reorganizing the refrigerator at Mom’s 2 times a day, trying to fit the wonderful gifts of sympathy into it. And when John and I got home, for 6 weeks, our mail box was full of sympathy cards and notes just letting us know they were thinking of us.

I could go on and on. Yeah, I know, we are kooky group of people. But y’all keep moving to the south, so we must be doing something right! And we’ll be by your house later on this week with a green bean casserole and some deviled eggs to welcome you to the neighborhood! Did you know we have several church in the neighborhood? First Methodist, First Pres, First Baptist and the catholic church - the Church of our Southern Lady Scarlet O’Hara. Yep, they are just a few blocks down…..

Inner Beauty thy name be Truth

This past summer, one thought has continued to swirl around in my head. Many times I’ve thought about posting it, but thought ”Nah. They don’t want to read about that. They want witty commentary and goofy antics about my life.” But alas, this swirling thought continues, so it must have something to say. This summer, I have been pondering the merits of inner beauty. When someone is truly being themselves, it is a beautiful thing - warts and all.

Earlier this summer, I saw my dear old friend Michael and his husband Roger. I hadn’t seen Michael since about 1992. I was exited to see him, but at the same time, shameful to say, I was hesitant about seeing him. What would he think of me? What will happen when he sees me and sees that I have gained weight? For a few minutes, I actually thought about canceling our visit. I was actually going to let my weight hold me back from seeing an old friend who had such an impact on my life. How silly! So I bucked up, and went to see Michael and meet his lovely husband. I’m so glad that I did! The look on Michael’s face when I walked around the corner and when our eyes meet melted away any fears that I had. I could see nothing but friendship and love in Michael’s eyes and I am pretty certain that he could see it in mine as well. Throughout our visit, we must have given each other a thousand hugs! We laughed about the past and caught up with the present. We were both thrilled so to see each other!

After a while, I confessed to both Michael and Roger that I was worried about seeing them and my battle with my weight. They each assured me that I looked fine and it was my inner beauty that made me who I was, not my outward appearance. All was good from that moment on. It was a beautiful day!

(Michael and I celebrating a beautiful day!)

That day was very freeing for me and I took away a lot from their visit. I have know Michael since 1988, and in that time, Michael has always been himself. I have never known him to be fake or false. I applaud Michael and Roger for both of them being true to themselves.

There is something to be said about the openness of the gay and lesbian community, about the freedom to be themselves. I think being out is more than just saying “I’m gay” but rather it is a statement of “This is me.“

So I have been wondering: can the same thought be put to other ideas?

As long as I can remember, I have weight issues. I have been up and I have been down. I’ve been happy at both weights, and sad at both weights. However, I will say that I was more stressed when I was skinner because I became obsessed with what the scale said, and that made me miserable.

So the question I have been asking myself all summer is I should come out of my own closet? While the everyone around me knows that I’m overweight, sometimes the last person to admit it is the person closest to it. Myself. I think the time is right to step out of my own closet.

So here I am. I am a 36 year-old overweight woman. I struggle with my weight and I will until the day I die. The world might judge me by my outward appearance, but I would hope those who know me would judge that which is on the inside. My physical heart might not be as strong as a tri-athlete, but my true heart is a strong as ever and has many more miles to go.

Have I given up on living a healthy lifestyle? Absolutely not! I come from a long line of people who of died from heart attacks. But I am done with trying to meet a certain weight requirement. Only my body truly knows what is right for me. My life goal is to reach a healthy weight and maintain that for the rest of my life.

But while our culture is obsessed with physical health and appearance, I would like to encourage all of us to work on our inner health. What will it take for all of us to make our inner selves happy, healthy and beautiful? For me, I would like to think acknowledging who I truly am and stepping out of this closet puts me one step closer. This is one small step for me, but could be one giant leap for mankind.

There is no one on the planet to compare with moi.
- Miss Piggy

Karma thy name be Rick Springfield

Let me preface this entry with a few points:

1. I was not a fan of Rick Springfield. I am now.

2. My husband has no interest in meeting celebrities.

3. My husband loathes the spotlight. LOATHES it. Why he married a woman that carries around her own microphone and spotlight is beyond me.

4. My husband has a …well, let’s call it a “talent” to make fun of, pull jokes, pranks, etc on others. It gives him deep satisfaction, followed by a deep evil laugh. The more he loves you, the more fun he has at your expense. I speak from lots and lots of experience.

But karma is an interesting mistress. And she came to see John the other night in the form of Rick Springfield.



Our employer does several concerts in the summer and my husband helps oversees the security at these concerts. He has been doing them for years. He has meet B.B. King, Chris Isaacs, Isaac Hayes (for which he got a bruise from “Shaft“ himself), Bruce Hornsby, Mary Chapin Carpenter, Clay Akin, and Rev. Al Green. Even Robert Redford (not in a concert). None of these people phase him. As he says often “They put their pants on just like everybody else, Laura. Its no big deal.” I think that is why karma came in the form of Rick Springfield. He didn’t expect it.

Before the concert Rick Springfield‘s manager told John that Rick would be coming down into the audience during the song “Don’t Talk to Strangers” and needed security to follow him to ensure his safety. John was all over this like white on rice. Mission accepted.

Out comes Rick Springfield and the women go nuts. They have signs. They have bouquets of roses. They all try to give him their bouquets which he then strums with his electric guitar. The rose petals go everywhere and the women scream. I sure that there is some sexual meaning behind this, but I digress.

And there is John. Standing post at the base of the stairs leading from the stage. Not listening to the concert, just watching the audience. The only thing he is paying attention to is for “Don’t Talk to Strangers” begin.

Rick and the band begin “Don’t Talk to Strangers” and John is waiting for him to come down the stairs to make sure that he doesn’t fall.

He waits…….

and waits…………….

and waits……………………….

Then he feels something drip on his head.

(Cue karma)

John looks up and Rick Springfield is standing over him, smiling. With his 80s icon sweat dripping on John.

“Hey man!! What’s your name?”

John looks at him with a look of disbelief and says curtly “John.”

“Well, John, I need you to help me sing the chorus.”

“No.”

“Hey, women love it when guys sing! Your sure to get laid tonight!”

John looks at him. His answer still hadn’t changed.

“Why is it that all the big and tall security guys never want to sing and shirk running off.”

John digs in his heals.

“Audience, I’m going to need your help to get John to sing. Everybody tell John that he sucks. And flip him off too!”

Then 2,500 people proceed to tell my husband how much he sucks, all the while flipping him off.

“John, I’m going to ask one more time and if you don’t sing, I’m going to take off my pants and drop my jockeys.”

This puts the women into orbit and the chanting changes from “You suck, John!“ to “Don’t sing! Don’t sing! Don’t sing! Don’t sing!”

John then looks over to his buddy Brad. Brad has an intent look on his face. They are both aware that these women could now rush the stage. Brad looks at John and says:

“You better sing like a f-ing songbird!”

And there with the spotlight on him, 2,500 people chanting his name, and Rick Springfield holding a microphone to his mouth, John takes a breath and says:

“Don’t talk to strangers.”

And karma went “Ch-ching.”

Grease is the word. Really?

I saw an old friend the other day and it was so refreshing to see him! We have been friends since I was about 5 years old. We would sing, laugh, dance and even race together. Every time I saw him, I would always have a good time. And this friendship was one of those that made a lasting impression on me and how I viewed the world. I’m talking about my friend “Grease.”



I clearly remember seeing the movie trailer for “Grease” and desperately wanted to see it. It looked like such fun: dances in the gym, car races, boys, singing, hanging with friends. Its everything that a 5 year would want to do. I remember being in kindergarten and we would play “race” with the boys. They would run and race against each other and we girls would fight over who got to play the part of Cha Cha DiGregorio and start the race. What a role model for a young girl!!

“Grease” was one of the first movies that I remember seeing on cable - which was brand new then. Bec and I watched “Grease” all the time. We knew all the songs, we could hand jive, we loved that movie!! One year for Christmas, my Aunt Rhonda got me the album and a “Grease” logo cardboard cut out from the theater. I had reached maturity!



Years passed and I didn’t see my friend much. We didn’t reconnect until I was an adult. He looked the same, said the same words but the words didn’t have the same meaning. Things sounded ……different. Like he had a different tone in his voice when he spoke to me. He said things like:

“Well, she got friendly down in the sand!”
“It broke.”
“Yeah, well what are you supposed to do with them for the other for the 23 hours and 45 minutes of the day.”
“Hey! A hickey from Kenickie is like a Hallmark card.”
“Do your parents know that I come into you bedroom every night?”
“What’s your name?” “Marty. Maraschino. You know, like the cherry.”
“Hey, Rizzo’s got a bun in the over!”


Ohh.

MYYYYY.

GAAAAAAAWD.

Well, ok then. Moving on.

So, as I reuniting with my old friend, I was reminded of the “lessons’ that I had learned from my friend and how they made an impression on my life and what I thought high school life was like. This is the honest truth. So, here we go:

1.Summer love is a magical thing. Once you part, you will miss the person desperately. However, it is ok to break out in song at lunch or the football bleachers at school to sing about it.



2.Pink Ladies are fun and they rule the school! But you can’t be too pure to be pink. So, you need to get a cool pink jacket, wear tight skirts, get diamond eyeglasses, pierce your ears and dye your hair pink.

3. Pink Ladies have slumber parties. You are supposed to eat Twinkie’s and drink a dessert wine. You will need to have your ears pierced, learn how to smoke and not be like Sandra Dee before your first slumber party. You don’t want to be sung about and made fun of at the slumber party.

4. Every high school may not be on National Bandstand, but when they have dances, it will involve a big piñata-like person thingy and fancy decorations.

5. You want to be a good dancer, but not the BEST dancer at your school. The best dancers have the worst reputations, so be careful!!

6. If you wear a dress to school be careful!! Guys will look up your dress or worse still, raise your dress and show your underwear to everyone at the big dance.

7. Be careful drinking the punch at the dance, because it will have something weird in it.

8. When you graduate from high school there will be a carnival with rides on the football field.

9. In order to get the guy you love, you have to change. Good girls finish last. So you need to dress “fancy”, tease your hair, smoke cigarettes and wear Dr. Scholl’s high heeled sandals to get your guy in the end. Be prepared for all the guys to look at you and whistle. Then proceed to the “Fun House” and sing with your new boyfriend. It will be electrifying!



10. At the carnival, everyone will get along, start dating again and sing together for one last time. Annuals will also be distributed here. Get into your new boyfriend’s hot car and drive off into the sunset. Happiness will be had by all.



True story, I asked my dad where they had their high school carnival when he graduated. He tried to explain to me that they didn’t have a carnival and I just looked at him like he spoke a foreign language. Which he did. It was called “reality.” Wop-bob-a-lu-bop! A wop-bam-boom!

So this raises the question: what impressions are being made on my niece as she grows up watching “High School Musical” or “Twilight?” If she brings home a pale guy who doesn’t eat and is super hot, I might have to fight her for him. I do after all have my pink jacket and Dr. Scholl’s high heeled sandals. I think I can take her!!