Friendship

1991

was the year I graduated from High School.

And the year I moved out on my own.

The year I turned 18.

(All in that order)

Apparently, the fact that I paid my own way was very obvious in my ability to afford decent clothes.

And, for some crazy reason I thought that bright red lipstick made me sexier! Go figure.

Thanks for the walk down memory lane Kathy. I will forgive you for this post. How could you ever know that I’ve had much therapy trying to forget these better times of my life.

That’s what friends are for

It’s Saturday night. So, of course, I have to do the dreaded Sunday ironing before I go to bed.

There is not one chore in the whole world that I detest more than ironing.

So, while the iron heats up, I am looking at the pictures on my hard drive.
Here is a picture from last week when LG’s shirts were ironed.

I am sure that none of these shirts are in the closet now.
They have all joined new phases of the laundry cycle.

The phases are:

One – the first dirty laundry basket in the bedroom.
Two – the second laundry basket in the laundry room.
Three – pretreated or soaked.
Four – Being washed (at least I have a machine that does this, unlike my dishes)
Five – in the dryer.
Six – within the pile in front of the dryer.
Seven – being folded.
Eight – being put away or hung up. (Phase Seven and eight can differ on an average of two days)
Nine – Being taken from the hanger and worn (and ironed if necessary).

It doesn’t really matter what phase these shirts are in right this second. All we need to know, for the story’s sake is that these shirts are most certainly not still ironed.

LG wore one to work every day this week.
And he was a very happy man when he didn’t have to iron every morning, like usual.

I was not the woman who ironed these shirts.
This is where my post title comes in.
I have every reason to be worried because
my friend Valerie was.

How do you get a Valerie, you wonder?
So have I.

So, is “ironing shirts” what friends are for? I don’t recall those lyrics from the song.

I have pondered this question. What are friends for?
I will post about my answer another day.

Right now, I need to sleep so I can stay away (ha ha, just caught this typo when editing – this is supposed to say awake) at church tomorrow.

But, I will not sleep without telling Valerie THANKS.

And without leaving you this funny story.

A few years back Abigail received a shirt from one of her friends for a birthday present.
She sat down to write her thank you cards.

I was glad that I caught this spelling error before I mailed the note:

Dear ________,

Thank you so much for the S-H-I-R-T. (but the R was left out)
I loved it.

Abigail.

So, maybe friends aren’t made for interesting birthday gifts or even for misspelled thank you cards.

Maybe they are made for doing the chores you hate most.

What do you think?

Good Old Rocky Top

Cally’s latest post inspired me.

We went to the fountains last week.

Here is a peak of some Tennessee style fun just for you.

Make sure you sing a long.

You’ve arrived at your destination.

A few weekends back, we went to visit George’s home away from home. George Karnes is our good friend and his family roots go way back in a place call Ten Mile, West Virginia.

Here are some pictures of our journey. For those of you not interested in our travelogue (including pictures of our children) you must ignore the next several posts.

We arrived in West VA without too many problems. We decided to make our journey a little more adventurous and let LG navigate while I drove. Mostly, he just HAD to do the navigating because George had let us borrow his GPS, and LG couldn’t wait to use it. Trusting a GPS 100% is not just a bad idea, but a completely stupid thing to do. We should have never had that darn little evil device. We would have been better off trying to follow George’s written directions and stopping and asking locals when we were unsure. We didn’t figure this out until we drove about our 50th mile. Yep, we most definitely missed that 10th mile our first time around.

After missing one interstate connection, we wasted about 30 miles. We knew we were finally getting close when we started to see license plates like this.

hmmm….cheat Mtn….sounds like a place Mormons should not visit.

And where would West Virginia be without the coal industry?

Probably in the dark, like the rest of the country.

George had warned us that the gas prices were higher up there.

It’s a good thing we filled up in Virginia.

This is when we started to be lulled into a false sense of security.

We had reached Buckhannon with only one wrong turn.

When we finally reached Ten Mile, we were approximately one hour later than expected.

We had called George from where we should have turned off the last road of true civilization.

He expected us 10 minutes later. Oh, but how George grossly underestimated our ability to sight see.

And for our three day stay, we would all try figure out where our GPS had taken us.

Using our best detective skills, we combed through my photos on my camera.

We would all be fired as Nancy Drew. We all missed this sign. LG and I had traveled up the civilized highway about 10 additional miles before we made one very wrong turn onto Sago Drive. (Maybe this is why they call the place ten mile – you have to drive 10 additional miles in every direction until you find the place) The wrong turn made for some very fun travel on crazy old mining roads.

My camera didn’t seem to mind.

What a nice place West Virginia is. They have these little red sheltered bus stops along the school bus route. (Don’t you think a kid could get into some trouble inside one of these? – They must really trust their kids, huh? – There is no way that I would let my kids hang out in one of these, at age 6 or 16…both ages could be very very dangerous for different reasons, if you know what I mean, it only takes two minutes – and those of you that read me often, know what I am implying here.)

Here is the coal mine. The first I have ever seen in real life.

It really brings home the stories that I have heard only on the news.

I guess this is the actual mine of the most recent mining tragedy.

West Virginia is also known for it’s lumber industry.

Between old mining and lumber roads, West Virginia is the perfect place for four wheeling.

This adventure will be in another post.

And, the cows.

All of the family was moaning and groaning because I just HAD to take their pictures.

These pictures would be a HUGE part in piecing the puzzle together of our GPS backwoods tour adventure.

Here was another piece of the puzzle.

Notice the reference to the”red man”.

There is something very liberating about visiting a place that hasn’t been forced to catch up to the rest of the politically correct world.

Sure tale sign that we were REALLY lost.

The wild life turns from domesticated cows to undomesticated dear.

The hubby and kids in the car are also turning into wild life at this point.

And, at some point, our GPS decided to tell us that we had “arrived at our destination”.

There was one problem, we saw nothing. I mean absolutely NOTHING but trees.

Could George and Lanette’s hideaway be THAT hid away?

We started asking locals where to go.

They were able to look at us crazily and question how we had gotten so far off track.

One very kind man was able to direct us back.

He read our directions and said,

“Oh honey, you are looking for ten mile. How did you get way up here?”

He said, “When you see the tunnel (well it’s kind of a culvert – note to self, look up culvert) you will be close.

This is the tunnel that George told us not to travel under on the way in.

We never saw it until our way back. We were so happy to drive through it.

Side note: a culvert is a drain or waterway under a road.

We should have just followed these tracks in.

Ten Mile got it’s name by being the tenth mile on the tracks.

Knowing our sense of direction, we would have followed the wrong set of tracks.

Oh, wow, look at this. The tracks do go RIGHT to George and Lanette’s front porch.

That’s our car. We had finally arrived.

Don’t you think the view alone was worth our hour long adventure in the back woods. (You can all sing along now….a one hour tour, a one hour tour.) Oh, wow, we could really take this Gilligan theme song through the whole story….

Just sit right back and you’ll hear a tale, a tale of a fateful trip
That started from this K-ville port, aboard this tiny Ship.
The mate was a GPS trusting man, a driver brave and sure

And, there is nothing like, joining up with the family at a campfire.
Of course, there was a campfire. It was dark outside, duh?

This picture was taken the next day.

George and Lanette wanted us to forgive them for that stupid GPS.

They sure know how to flatter.

Impressive.

Indeed.

Check out Kristie’s blog.

She should be posting a picture of this very cake really soon.

She hopes her friends won’t feel inferior in any way.

If every day were field day

If every day were field day,

we could sit outside and smile at each other.

Everyone would love themselves and wear fancy hats.

We could pop balloons with our butts just for fun.

We could let out all of our frustrations by pulling on eight kids on the end of a very large rope.

Everyone would get some kine of award, and be very happy and proud of their hard work.

Our teachers would cut us a break when they had to replace the paper that they told us to be very careful with. They would forget that they told us to place it in a very important place instead of losing it out of our pocket on the playground.

Even though they said they would not reproduce our list of events, they would.

Why?

Because it is field day, and no one can go home disappointed, even if they tend to misplace things because they are too busy thinking about more important things.

(The little genius Abigail is just like her father. He needs a field day every day too so that when he loses that fourth wedding band [which is not a matter of IF but WHEN], I, too, will cut him a break.)

We could just hug our friends.

We would not just cheer on our classmates but the opponents from the “other side” also.

And, we could run just for fun.

(Man, I really need an adult version of a field day.

I haven’t run for fun in approximately 15 years)

And, last but not least, if we could have a field day every day,

everyone would take a moment to enjoy the vastness of the sky.

And, like me, they would know God is up there somewhere.

And they would know that he’s watching over all of his children.

And on field day, everyone would be happy because God would be happy.

Why?

Because his children are all getting along, enjoying each other and encouraging each other.

And that is the most important reason that even if every day isn’t field day,

we should act like it is.

And, if you can’t be nice like it’s field day…

…go and pop a balloon with your butt.

It will put you in the mood.

Friends are the best.

I don’t think I posted this yet, but if I did, forgive me.

My friends, Rita and Wendy, and I went out to lunch a few weeks ago.

They surprised me with this darling Rita handmade card, a gift card to a restaurant, and a coupon for a night of babysitting.

They did it just to say congrats to LG for passing the bar. How sweet is that?

I love surprises, especially unwarranted ones.

I have made it a goal to be a better friend.

Welcome Wendy

I told you that my blogging influence is vast!

Wendy has joined our world. Go over and tell her hello.

I know she is going to love it here. I mean seriously, she cannot possibly NOT love it here.

Every mom needs a break from motherhood once in a while, even if it is to just take a few minutes and write about our kids.

What is more enjoyable to you, nursing your kid’s boo-boos away or blogging? C’mon, be honest!

Tell Wendy thanks for the lovely photo. This is her daughter Taylor’s scraped knee. I captured the photo at soccer a few weeks ago right after the original scab had been ripped from it’s home. I am posting it in honor of Wendy joining our escape from mommy reality. What better than a scraped knee to symbolize motherhood?

Taylor is quite the athlete…I don’t even think she flinched when this happened…just kept right on playing. That’s my kind of girl…I am so glad to have her as Abigail’s friend and so glad to have her mom as my real friend and my newest blogging friend.