Category Archives: Holidays other than Christmas

May 22, 2013 · 10:08 am

Happy Birthday Darrell?

Several days ago, I received an email from a woman in my small group. Y’all. She is just the sweetest thing and I probably would have packed my most prized possessions into my little blue duffel bag and run away by now if not for Betsy. It was Betsy that told me where to find coffee and had me over for a turkey wrap when I was going straight-up stir crazy and considering burning our apartment down. She once forwarded me a groupon for local cupcakes, and for that she has my undying love and eternal gratitude.

Our small group meets every other week, and given my propensity to keep running back to North Carolina, I’ve only been in town for one. [Kellan, on the other hand, has been attending since he moved to NY last August.] Happily, the Dickens’ had no travel plans this week [Scratch that. The Dickens’ had no travel plans that would interfere with our Tuesday small group.], and we were giddy at the prospect of human interaction again.

As I mentioned, Betsy emailed Kellan and I earlier this week, asking us if we remembered that it was our turn to bring the snack to small group. Given my stellar attendance record of ONE TIME and the fact that I generally operate under a total state of cluelessness in Albany, I hadn’t the foggiest idea. Thank heavens she said something, or we would have been that couple that punts on snack and EMBARRASSING  There’s nothing like showing up to small group expecting to get something chocolate, only to be met with a halfhearted plastic cup of seltzer water and shame instead. It would be enough for me to excommunicate MYSELF.

Betsy informed me that Darrell’s birthday was this week, and mentioned that traditionally their sweet small group tries to do something special on birthdays. She suggested that I ought to conspire with Darrell’s wife Angela to figure out what his favorite dessert was, and maybe stick a couple of candles in it.

Which I would have been THRILLED to do, had I only been able to pick out either Darrell or his lovely wife Angela out of a line up. However, I assure you that for 100,000 dollars I COULD NOT.

Enter panic, stage right. The people in this small group are currently my only shot at friends in this god-forsaken city, and I’m about to make them all hate me. Who is Darrell?! Did I meet him? Why can’t I remember names? I really need to start doing crosswords and playing Sudoku. How do I get ahold of Angela? What if he has childhood birthday baggage and I just bring it all back? Maybe he wanted a piñata for his seventh birthday party but he didn’t get one because HIS MOM FORGOT WHO HE WAS.

I’m going to screw up the snack. THE SNACK! What if Darrell is allergic to nuts and I make something with nuts?! OH LORD I’M GOING TO KILL DARRELL.

I began to resign myself to a friendless existence in Albany. I would simply cower at home, living out the rest of my ill-fated days drinking bourbon and watching old Matlock reruns while Kellan went on to live his life without me. Maybe I would channel Miss Havisham and wear my wedding dress for the next fifty years, because if I was going to be a deranged recluse, I was going to do it right.

In a blinding cold sweat, I managed to feverishly peck out a secretly-panicked email to Betsy. Um, hey. YES to snack. SO pumped for Darrell’s birthday. …some pointers as to who he is and a phone number might help?

Sweet Betsy to the rescue. She didn’t make me feel stupid or guilty for my inability to remember names- and lickety-split, I had all of the information I needed to celebrate the man of the week.

You’ll be relieved to know that we made it through small group last night intact, and Darrell is not only still alive but seemed to enjoy his chocolate supreme while graciously overlooking the pink birthday candles.

To my knowledge nobody hates me yet. In fact, to my knowledge, nobody has any strong feelings about me whatsoever.

I’ll keep you posted.

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Filed under Holidays other than Christmas, My ghetto-fab life, Then I found $5.00

May 3, 2013 · 1:14 pm

Happy Halloween!

JCP_4017 bwSo, I totally lied.

Kellan did NOT leave on his business trip yesterday—instead, after weeks of bending the truth and trying desperately not to spill the proverbial beans, my sneaky husband flew to Maryland last night to surprise his sweet Mom for Mother’s day.

Which would have been precious and perfect if we’d ONLY GOTTEN THE DATE RIGHT. Imagine our utter astonishment this morning when we learned that Mother’s day is, in fact, NEXT Sunday instead of this weekend.

What year is it? What country am I in? And why did none of you tell me this? I thought we were friends. Here I was all “What about Cinco de Mayo!?”, when apparently there was really nothing to worry about at all. The margaritas are safe! [Of course, approximately 84% of the time when my Mother and I say we’re “out running errands”, we’re really out drinking margaritas so chances are my margaritas would have been safe either way. Please don’t tell her I told.]

It was a sweet attempt—both of us flying home to be with our Mamas. Unfortunately, I believe we did more harm than good as both Mothers are now left pondering where on earth they went wrong raising two adult children that have no grasp whatsoever on the socially-accepted calendar. But it’s too late to apologize, and can’t be helped now. Like using WiFi at Starbucks, they’re going to have to celebrate on OUR terms.

Besides, we’ll be busy passing out candy for Halloween next weekend.JCP_2624 bw

I am thankful for my Mother-in-law for a myriad of reasons, and here are three:

  1. I hear that most girls have to pretend to like their mother-in-laws. I have a wretched poker face, so this would have been a disaster of apocalyptic proportions. Thank heavens, mine happens to be the kindest person that I’ve ever met. Period.
  2. She is my saving grace on family game night. The Dickens are a competitive lot, friends—so family game night is NO JOKE. Unfortunately, I have this unhealthy propensity to burst into tears if I think someone is angry with me during a game of Monopoly. TAKE PARK PLACE I DON’T WANT IT ANYMORE!! I’m not going to lie, I think every single marital problem that Kellan and I have can be traced back to one fateful game of Settlers of Catan. Though come to think of it, battling another couple in Wii bowling didn’t help a thing. Baby, I need you to TRY. I AM TRYING!!! Thankfully, Gina approaches game night with the same “Why can’t we just be FRIENDS!?” giggly attitude that I do. In fact, we often team up together, and the first time she helped me cheat I almost peed myself laughing. [Never fear—our underhanded tactics have yet to win us a thing. We pose approximately zero threat to our competitive compatriots.]
  3. She’s a dark horse. Is Gina the sweetest person I’ve ever met? Hands down. But she’s also one of the funniest! I’d divulge details if I COULD, but let’s just say a conversation that she, Keri and I had about my bachelorette party STILL makes me laugh out loud every time the story dances across my mind.

Happy Mother’s day, Moms. Whenever on earth it is.

6 Comments

Filed under Family, Holidays other than Christmas

March 21, 2011 · 3:04 pm

Of Holy War and Hope.

The boys watching me clean yesterday. Please. Note. The outfits.

And so it begins. Corn-yellow sun streaked afternoons with the windows rolled down, fireflies and lemonade on endless twilight evenings. Sweet, salt air and crashing waves. Time to turn up the radio and air conditioning, and toss those shoes to the wayside in favor of scrunching your bare feet in the sand. The oven breathes a happy sigh of relief and relinquishes her duties to the charcoal grill-and Lord knows we won’t be eating inside for a month of Sundays!  Cheerful green lawns and blissfully cool sprinklers, baseball caps and outdoor concerts, half-melted chocolate ice cream cones and scorching hot pavement and stars and stripes and fireworks.

 

Oh, the fireworks!

It’s almost summer time, kids. :) [Calendar dates are more like guidelines, mmm?]

Not that the weather in Dakar has changed since I first stepped off the plane two years ago, but I do a rather excellent job of imagining Christmas weather. Sleigh rides in the sand and whatnot. However, my imaginary winter has come to an inauspicious end, and spring is here in Dakar! And really, springtime is practically summertime, if you think about it. And while I’d rather have Christmas than anything else any day of the week, we’re all about loving exactly where we are, no?

Absolutely. Not another word until we crank up a summertime jam.

Perfect. In the spirit of the season, my toes are painted that cheeky summertime standby: Cajun shrimp. The windows are rolled down to

Given the minor detail that I'm slightly prone to exaggeration, I took pictures of the grime to back my story up. Welcome to Africa.

welcome the lazy, cotton breeze and yesterday, I decided to do a bit of spring cleaning. Something about the warmer weather compels me to fling the doors and windows open wide and make everything inside sparkle. It’s something about the hope of a new beginning the spring has to offer. Hope.

I was, however, feeling slightly less than hopeful when I returned to Dakar and found all of my earthly possessions covered by a thick layer of dirt.

I kid you not-it took less than four seconds of careful inspection before Guantanamo started sounding like the Hilton. There was so much filth that I briefly contemplated ripping out my beard and donning sack cloth and ashes.

But my sack cloth was just. so. dirty.

My next idea had a little something to do the fetal position and approximately seventeen hours of bad daytime television. However, I mercifully do not have a TV.

How to make Irresistible Apple lotion...resistible.

Thus began my indignant holy war against the grime. I threw my hair up into an “I-mean-business” pony tail, cranked up Matt Wertz, and spent the better part of my yesterday wiping down every book, shampoo bottle and bobby pin with that trusty standby we hoard from the Land of the Free: Clorox wipes. My good man. My disinfection rampage looked a little crazed to my team [all of whom came in to observe the madness ensue while they enjoyed oatmeal Sunday. We’re rather short on entertainment in Dakar.] -but it was me against Africa. And I was determined to prevail! I confess, my resolve faltered momentarily when I discovered the nest of baby spiders that had made their home in my t-shirts during my absence, but twenty-seven tiny bites and more than a couple shrieks and swats later, I had exorcized them from my room.

Well, most of them.

Filth and spiders be darned, they can’t stop spring and they can’t stop hope! With every foot slip and bruised knee, hope promises much in return if only you’ll just keep moving.

And hope never disappoints. 

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Filed under God's faithfulness, Holidays other than Christmas, My ghetto-fab life, Senegal

February 16, 2011 · 3:51 am

Hey, Julian.

My a-DORABLE twelve year old little sister received an “anonymous” heart shaped lollipop at school for Valentine’s day yesterday.

Anonymous.

I find this to be slightly suspect for a myriad of reasons. You might want to sit down-the emotion is still rather raw for me. I have, in fact, only recently stopped hyperventilating. But the paper bag is sitting right here for just-in-case purposes.

  1. She. Is. TWELVE. When I was twelve, I didn’t have the foggiest idea as to what a boy was!
  2. Well, that’s what I’ve told Emily. And I would consider it a personal favor if you’d be a dear and go along with it.
  3. Because to me, she is still four. With pigtails. And an incessant giggle. And chocolate shoved up her nose. We’re similar like that. I am in denial.
  4. But really, twelve is still positively infantile.
  5. Excuse me, my paper bag and I are going to need a minute.
  6. Now. Given the fact that Emily happens to be the most wildly intelligent twelve year old baby on the face of the planet, the little savant knows precisely from whence the lollipop in question came. It’s from a boy named Julian in her band at school. Apart from having a horridly pretentious little name, he apparently can’t play the trombone even a little bit, has a bad attitude, a worse cowlick and is altogether entirely unimpressive. If it had been anything other than a heart shaped lollipop she would have marched her baby butt right over to his gym class, hurled the thing at this head, and told Julian to fugghedaboutit.
  7. But really, who can resist a heart shaped lollipop?
  8. Me. They’re like diabetes on a stick.
  9.  I don’t like candy.
  10. Like me, Emily is impossible to surprise. Thus, anonymous Julian was not so anonymous.
  11. Julian is currently sobbing into his trust fund.  

Emily always has a crush on somebody or other. But at this point, I’m rather unconcerned-given the simple fact that

Em and Dad before a dance at her school. She looks like she's 25. Waaah!

 the Jonas Brothers still trump every other male in her life.

But the day some unfortunate male trumps Joe Jonas, we’re all in for a wild ride.

Especially if he brings Em a bouquet of heart shaped lollipops.

Hey Julian. I know how to kill someone and make it look like an accident.

Na, na na nananana.

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Filed under Family, Holidays other than Christmas

January 2, 2011 · 10:21 pm

Of Forest Fires, and Chocolate Covered Anti-Depressants.

This has nothing to do with the story-I just miss the mountains today.

As promised: a recap of our New Years celebration in Dakar.

Given that I was still stuck on that blasted couch, the New Year’s Eve dance party that we’d had planned…didn’t really pan out. [Though Michelle and I DID invent some wildly impressive upper-body moves that you’ll probably be seeing on MTV in the near future.] Midnight found my team and I on the rooftop of our apartment building surveying the panoramic of fireworks displays illuminating Dakar’s skyline. I love fireworks [cannot emphasize that one enough]-and it was breathtaking. Breathtaking, that is, until wayward flames from fireworks-gone-wild fell into trees and buildings, and actual fires erupted all over the city. We watched in fascinated horror as a palm tree burned clear to the ground an uncomfortably close distance from my bedroom window. At one point, a rather panicked Michelle suggested that we call “ les pompiers” [firemen]-…and it was at that moment that we came to several rather startling realizations:

  1. We’re not sure if there even ARE pompiers in Dakar.
  2. If said pompiers do in fact exist, we certainly don’t have the foggiest idea how to get a hold of them.
  3. If by some miracle the stars aligned and there were pompiers and we did get a hold of them, …we’re still in Senegal. Senegal, where everything takes approximately 83 times longer than it ought to. Thus, by the time said pompiers arrived, the entire city would be a smoldering ash heap. Truly, only WE can prevent forest fires.

Dakar is not exactly crisis-friendly.

I ventured out into the great wide world again yesterday-for the second time in what feels like a month of Sundays. [Unless we’re counting the excursions made on my “No Doctor Left Behind” tour. And everybody knows that those are no fun.] The warden Christy finally took pity on me and let me out of the house. Granted, it may have had a little something to do with my repeated threats of flying to Sea World for the express purpose of throwing myself into the shark tank if I spent so much as another second in my living room. [In my defense, the walls were closing in, and I’d started having detailed discussions with one of the roaches currently residing in the kitchen regarding the current political upheaval in Korea. That is one opinionated little bug.] Yes, it’s official: all of this bed rest nonsense has robbed me of the few remnants of sanity I had left.

After listening to Christy lecture me extensively on the perils of “over-doing it”, I was free. Free! I ran hobbled away to the beach and sat on the most beautiful cliff in Dakar [my favorite place in Senegal] and watched the waves crash

Craig and I. And the bear. From that same mountain trip. This was right outside the Rocky Mountain chocolate factory, which according to the study that I just referenced, functions as a pharmacy...

on the rocks for about an hour and a half,  at which point my pansy-little-legs gave up on me and sent me straight back to the couch from whence I’d come. [The couch that I am rapidly becoming progressively more concerned is starting to self-graft to my epidermis. Give it a couple more days and I may need to be pried off with a spatula.]

It was glorious. Glorious, that is, until I came home and discovered that Dayton had taken advantage of my absence and had sneakily done away with Charlie Brown Mohammad Jose.

Take-down-Christmas-decorations-day is the most depressing day of the entire year, I think.

If it were up to me, I’d keep the full regalia of Christmas decorations up in all of their glory until…well, at least Valentine’s day, anyways. [I have a serious aversion to all things heart-shaped. Heart-shaped decorations make me want to gouge my eyes out with a hot poker.]

In an effort to cope with my post-Christmas anguish, I turned to chocolate. I recently read the results of a study that stated that for mild to moderate depression, eating .4 oz of dark chocolate every day more successfully regulates serotonin levels than many serotonin-inhibiting medications. I’m not depressed, but I went ahead and inhaled a pound and a half just to be on the safe side.
A girl can never be too careful.

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Filed under Christmas, Holidays other than Christmas, Team