Holiday Cheerleaders

I love the Holiday Season from Thanksgiving through New Year's Day--the sights, sounds, smells, and traditions of all cultures, the general feeling of goodwill toward men. There is something about the feelings of warmth and comfort inside while the weather rages outside, bidding you to stay in.

There is one thing that fills me with rage, however.

That thing (and I say this every year) is the retail push for rampant commericalism and consumerism. How am I supposed to cherish this "time of year" when it's shoved down my throat year-round? Hobby Lobby begins selling Christmas trees in August. The garden center in Wal-Mart is transmogrified into a Santaland freakshow of Toy-Department Spillover in early November. Stores begin playing traditional Christmas Carols in October as if they should actually mean something to you. To me, this last transgression is by far the sacrilege of the whole issue. I can understand playing Santa songs and winter songs to promote gift-buying feelings, but leave my Jesus songs out of it. It is an insult to my religious sensibilities to have the Prince of Peace advertising for Guitar Hero 3.

...So I've been baking. Specifically, chocolate cranberry oat bars and marbled chocolate treats I found in my Kraft magazine. Baking has revealed itself to me as a way to focus and relax and gain about 25 pounds.

...So I've also been dieting. And exercising. Hopefully, being in better shape will help me to combat the Evil Forces of GimmeGimme during this 4-month-long Holiday Season.

Songs About America

Today we drove through Tennessee from Nashville to Knoxville, up through Kentucky, finally coming to rest at an overpriced Days Inn (after checking about sixty jillion other hotels--but that's another story altogether).

Y'know how sometimes you're riding down the road and the perfect song comes on the radio? That happened to me today. I was driving as we were coming out of Nashville, and, if you know anything about Tennessee you know that every 9 out of 10 radio stations are Country and Western. So, we decided to skip the radio and play our iPod through the radio transmitter. One of my Ryan Adams songs came on from the "Cold Roses" album, Let it Ride. He sings a nice little Country/Bluegrass ditty about the Cumberland River and Tennessee--just as we were driving through that area. It was nice.

So, as we set out this morning, we were discussing famous items and persons pertaining to Tennessee, such as Davy Crockett, former U.S. Representative from Tennessee and hero at the Battle of the Alamo. I learned a lot about Davy Crockett today. For example, did you know:

1. That Davy Crockett was born on a mountaintop in Tennessee?
2. ...that he killed him a bar when he was only three?
3. ...that he was King of the Wild Frontier?
4. ...that he was portrayed poorly and inaccurately by Billy Bob Thornton in the movie The Alamo (2004)?
5. ...that he had a giant blue ox named Babe and that he loved flapjacks?
6. ...that he wrote the Declaration of Independence and discovered electricity?

I know! Impressive resume'. Davy Crockett is also known to have worn an upside down pot on his head and carried a bag of apple seeds, sprinkling them across the land.

Today was a good drive. The countryside was absolutely beautiful. I love driving in the mountains. There's a surprise around every corner. Tomorrow we'll drive a short distance to Cleveland for my friend Megan's wedding, and then we're headed quickly over to Grand Rapids to go to Mars Hill for church Sunday morning. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that we get free Church Picnic Lunch!

Brother, Can You Spare Some Common-Damn-Sense??

Okay, so I haven't really heard the entire story, but I did hear the audio clip. Whoopi Goldberg defended Michael Vick's dog fighting/gambling habit because it's "part of the Southern culture?" I am not from the Deep South. Perhaps I am not understanding the culture so good (imagine Slavic accent). I'm from Texas, though, and we do share some common Southern traditions with GA, AL, MS, and LA. Among some of these shared traditions are the culinary delights of iced tea, cornbread, and grits. We follow our dessert with coffee. It's the home of Southern Baptism and some remainder of gentility.

Among these, setting starved, beaten, angry, scared animals on each other for pure enjoyment IS NOT.

It's like saying that if you come from a lower-class neighborhood where developing a crack or crystal meth habit is "part of the culture" then it is permissable and perhaps encouraged for you to also develop a crack or crystal meth habit.

Why defend the guy? Is it because he's a celebrity? Is it because he's African-American? Is it because he's a bazillionaire that can get away with whatever he wants because he's got bazillions of dollars to cover his tracks?

Yes.

See: "Justice" for Paris & Lindsey

I know, I know...

I haven't written a single thing since January!! I've been busy being a newlywed...Although I don't know really to whom I am apologizing. I'm not sure who really reads this blog religiously, but I'm sure there's someone out there. So I'm sorry already!

July 29th is my Grandmother's birthday. She's now 79 years young. She lives over on the other side of town by the Exxon-Mobil refinery(ies). She's been living in the same house that my Grandfather built for the past 37 years. My grandparents (Memaw and Papaw) moved into that pink-brick house after moving from the home my mother grew up in--a wood-frame house over natural gas lines that has since been torn down. Occasionally, in a fit of nostalgia, Mom will drive us by the site and say wistfully, "That's where our house used to be, and there's the tree my Daddy and I planted."

Papaw planted the plum and pear trees that are now in Memaw's backyard. The pear tree has always borne fruit since I can remember--big hard pears that were crunchy like apples and difficult to peel--but Memaw always struggled to get plums from the plum tree. This year she had her biggest yield ever: 10 plums. There's also a weeping willow tree where my Papaw built a swing for me. I was the first grandchild for my mother's parents, so I was Papaw's pride and joy until my brother Andy came along. Then we were both his pride and joy. My cousins weren't born until after his death in 1986.

I remember when my mother got the call that Papaw had passed away. She was very calm. He had been diagnosed with melanoma some time before. I don't remember when he got sick, or how long he endured chemotherapy, but I remember seeing him waste away. He changed so much that I remember being a little afraid of him. What was left of his hair fell out from the medicine, and Memaw asked me if I liked Papaw's hair and I said "No, but I still love Papaw." I think I was four or five years old.

After Papaw died, my brother and I were the only grandchildren for a couple of years until my cousin Madelen was born in 1988. Weekends at Memaw's were joyous. We would stay Friday night and wake up on Saturday morning to watch cartoons--Smurfs, He-Man, Thundercats, Garfield, Ghostbusters, etc., etc.--and eat the junky cereals that our parents wouldn't allow. I went through a Froot Loops and a Cookie Crisp phase, while Andy was pretty much steady on Lucky Charms for the longest time. Memaw would usually take us to the mall on Saturday afternoon where we would see a movie and she would buy us toys when we were younger and clothes once we got older. Memaw's house was AWESOME.

Memaw announced in the last week or so that the oil companies were making an offer to the people in her neighborhood. They would purchase homes from each resident at three times the value listed on the tax rolls. She was not contacted by the companies directly, but rather she saw an article in the newspaper and read documents on the internet. She decided to go ahead and take the offer, although she hadn't been asked yet. She said that it would be foolish not to, and she's right. She's already found a new house as well. She put down a small deposit to hold the house until she can pay for it in full with the cash she'll be getting, which I'm sure she plans to distribute, in part, among her grandkids and new great-grandson.

With any luck, someone will buy her house and move it from the concrete slab that it's on to a new location. If not, the purchasers will level it. That's it. Memaw's house is just...gone. All of the numberless memories of Christmastime and sleeping on the mattress in front of the TV and climbing trees and bedtime stories and junky cereal and playing with Papaw no longer have a place to be...they're just a concrete slab and some fruit trees.

Only memories in the aether of my mind's eye.

Married? Me?

Yes, in fact, I did get married, though I, Abby (Conner) Thomas did at one time swear off marriage. Not permanently, I just declared that I probably wouldn't--nor did I care to--marry until my thirties. I was about 20 years old and already knew everything there was to know about the world and myself. Clearly.

Now to the part that "they" refer to as "marital bliss." I'm so excited! I can't wait for the future!!

I thought that since I have been away for so long, I would post some eye candy: pictures of our honeymoon! We went on a Western Caribbean cruise to Jamaica, Grand Cayman, and Cozumel. These are just ones of Jamaica. That's us trail-riding.