Extended Family

In college, I worked as a tour guide at the founder's house, a great white columned house that wasn't quite Tara but close enough. I initially sought the position because of the promise of wearing an antebellum dress - and I now know how to drive in hoop skirts. Little did I know that one of the unadvertised job perks was working for Vesta. A tiny little woman with the most lovable Southern accent ever with more energy and vive the you could imagine, considering she celebrated her 70th birthday my freshman year of college. She finally retired last year.

We kept the "office" in the kitchen at the back of the house, and I spent inumerable hours at the white metal table eating vegetable soup or homemade biscuits and hot tea. Over the years, Vesta transformed from supervisor to friend to family.

As already mentioned this week, my mother's mother died before I was born, and the woman my grandfather remarried wasn't exactly a cookie-baking cheek-pinching grandma. And my father's mother died when I was 11. After a childhood almost completely devoid of grandparents, I had suddenly gone out into the world and adopted one.

Just after I graduated college, I was going to a friend's wedding in Memphis - a fellow tour guide. Vesta wasn't going to the wedding, but several of us were meeting at the college to travel together. I asked her if I could come the night before and spend the night. She welcomed me. And she cooked dinner and we sat and talked until we grew sleepy and she tucked me into the little twin bed in the guest room. The next morning, she made coffee and waffles and peeled an orange for me because I had a particular fondness for them in college. When I left, I teared up a little - because it was the first time I ever got to go to Grandma's house.

I went to see her today in the little cottage (in the picture) where she lives - as I do when I'm in town for college homecoming or Thanksgiving or a week in spring. And she listened to me and loved me and laughed with me and advised me about life. She has an enormous family - born one of seven and with three children of her own, eight grandchildren and a handful of great grandchildren. But with Vesta, there's always room for one more, blood or no blood, and so she welcomes me home every time I come.

The Ghost of Christmas Past

When my sister, the eldest of the three of us, was just six weeks old, my mother's mother was killed in a tragic accident. As a child, I knew her only from the picture in my grandparents' house of her standing behind her father as he held my sister. Over the years, my mother and I have talked about her a lot - how she made excellent cakes and loved shoes and had the kind of hair everyone envied and was just five feet tall but full of spunk. And still I do not know her, but I think of her often and love her in my own way, as an equal an opposite reaction to my grief over her absence.

This summer my mother and sister helped clean out some things from my aunt's house and stumbled upon a bag of old eight millimeter film reels from their childhood. My sister took them to have them transferred to DVD. Emptying the bag at home, she also found a lone cassette tape marked as "Elsie's Voice" which she had transferred to CD.

Tonight she presented my mother and her sister with the CD transfers, still simply marked "Elsie's Voice." Both were overcome, and I was suddenly overcome, too, at the magnitude of the gift - the chance to hear their mother's voice again after it being lost for so many years. Sometimes, we have the strange opportunity to see our parents as ourselves. See them as the children of their parents as we are the children of them. In one heartbreaking moment, I saw her crying as I would cry myself, to get a gift so great as the sound of my mother's voice after the passing of time had made it a mere whisper.

Merry Christmas!

Since it's technically Christmas Eve, and since it is unlikely that I will be able to again pry my father's dealing hand off the mouse, I just wanted to say Merry Christmas to all of you who stop in at the blog. I hope you have a wonderful holiday wherever you are - with friends or with family. Have yourselves a merry little Christmas...

Teenage Wasteland

Dear Mallrats of America:
To the teenagers nationwide, you have made it glaringly obvious to me that I am now old. Not only did I mistake some of you for middle-schoolers whilst out shopping yesterday, you also provoked me into saying things that I thought only my parents would say. But, in acceptance of my role as your older, wiser counterpart, I give you the following advice.

* You are not nearly so in love as you think you are. By that, I mean you cannot possibly be so in love that you need to make out in the Auntie Anne's Pretzel line. Or kiss and touch against one of the candy-striped pillars.

* You are naked. Put some clothes on. You may dare to wear short shorts, but we wish you wouldn't. And it's cold out. So put the hot pants away and cover up.

* I know that Hot Topic is a very important store. Please don't knock me down (as I am now an old lady) to get there.

* If you're going to purchase an item in a store and happen to be in line in front of me, please stop texting long enough to pay so that the rest of us may do the same.

* And, lastly, for those of you inspired by Insane Clown Posse and the like, I dig that you're an angsty teenager and that you're expressing yourself with the all-black clothes and the blue hair and the wallet chains. I just wanted to tell you - it does get better.

So get your hand out of your boyfriend's pocket, put on some pants and get out of my way. I'm older and have better insurance.

Happy Holidays,
Ash

P.S. Hot Topic is having a big sale day after Christmas. Just a tip.

Day-Old Potter

I know Kim already posted the thrilling news that the title of seventh, and last, Harry Potter book has been revealed. But I thought it would be remiss of me not to post Potter news, as it is one of my obsessions. One friend even pointed out to me that I had not been able to post before receiving the news in an email. So here goes.

J.K. Rowling announced Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows as a Christmas gift to fans. My problem with the title is that it doesn't inspire the conjecture of the other titles. What was the Sorcer's Stone, we wondered? The Chamber of Secrets? And who was the Prisoner of Azkaban and the Half-Blood Prince? Good or evil? Deathly hallows doesn't give me any questions to ask.

Hallows isn't a word you hear often - I think of All Hallows' Eve. Which made me think of ghosts, but, according to dear old Webster, hallow actually has to do with consecration, sacredness. So, deathly sacredness? Hmmm. Maybe I'm missing the meaning here. Although, we can mince words all we want about hallows. The real question is to whom will it be deathly? Egads!

I'll Be Home for Christmas

Tomorrow morning, I'm loading up the Rav and headed to Georgia for the holidays. I've been given next week off as a holiday gift of sorts, and I can't deny that I'm sorely in need of some time away. I'm looking forward to shopping with my mom and sister on Friday - accompanied by my dad who has promised to carry the bags and sleep on all the benches. Unlimited access to piles of delicious rich food. Sleeping in my bed with the lace curtains on the window. All good things. Wherever you may be gathering around the Christmas tree or yulelog and waiting for good ol' Saint Nick, be safe and happy. I'll update the blog as I can - read: when my dad gives up his relentless computer solitaire play and goes to bed.

In Case of Emergency

Dear Mom:
If something unforeseen happens, please excuse the state of my apartment. You know, the fifty-something pairs of shoes in the floor. Whatever's left in the fridge that's unidentifiable. The partially scooped-out litter box. Piles of clothes waiting to be hung up. And the bathroom. Let's not even go there - it's a bit mildewy. But rest assured, the house may not be clean, but at the very least, the underwear I'm wearing tomorrow will be.

Love,
Ashley

Holiday Garland

Driving home from the office Christmas party tonight, I saw the lights from what Wilmywood claims is the world largest living Christmas tree - at least I think that's what it was. And then I had a sudden memory of going to Port City Java with Kim one night right before Christmas when we were in grad school. We were in her Camry with the blue fuzzy steering wheel cover listening to a mix of Christmas music that included the world's deepest bass voice singing "Go Tell It On the Mountain", which I believe Kim said was from a very famous gas station Christmas compilation.

Classes were done, and we were both getting ready to go home and leave our sadly decorated apartments behind for real trees (and real food - as I recall we were living off Chic-Fil-A and Burger King). And Judy Garland's version of "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" came on as we drove down Front Street through the Christmas lights. We started out singing it, and I think by the end of it, we were both crying for wanting to go home. Don't be fooled by that "merry" in the title - that song is sad. And once again, I find myself trying to muddle through somehow until I can go home to a real tree and real food. And sadly, no Kim to sing me Judy Garland.

Bringing Hysterical Back

In case you missed Justin Timberlake on SNL this weekend, please watch the following video. Please. Because then you, too, will have "Dick in a Box" stuck in your head.

Stork Incoming

Eva's doctor visit yesterday revealed that she is already starting to dilate! She's already 1 cm dilated, however, the doctor assured her that she could easily walk around in that state for some weeks. That being said, he also said she could go any time in the next three weeks and anticipates that she will go early. The projected due date was January 16th, but it looks like Dillon may make his arrival before then. This certainly changes the odds for the betting pool at Justin's office...

There are Starving Children in China

With the holidays approaching and a week away from here to look forward to, I thought it best not to leave my fridge stocked with all manner of gross and nearly-unidentifiable things. As I started to tackle the task, grimacing at the fuzzy leftover lasagna from Elizabeth's Pizza from weeks ago and a package of hotdogs whose origin cannot be traced, I wondered why it is that I cannot simply throw things away when the time comes. I've known for some time that those hot dogs were mouldering in the "crisper", but I've been unable to dispose of them until now - when they are truly toxic.

And then I realized it comes from those words, spoken by mothers across the nation attempting to force compliance with broccoli or spinach or some other offending vegetable: "There are starving children in China." It's not like I think about it when I'm considering whether to toss now or put off til later, but subconciously, I think that I can't let it go until I am certain that the food is truly beyond the pale.

This could also explain my need to clean my plate in restaurants. Aside from the fact that I'm paying for the food, I feel that it's wasteful to have ordered it and not eaten it. At a business luncheon on Thursday, several of the other ladies demurely pushed the remnants of their chocolate mousse cup toward the center of the table, unfinished. I ate every bit of mine - including the garnishing raspberries - even as I felt myself getting uncomfortably full because I could not stand the thought of it going to waste. (And maybe in that case, it had something to do with it being chocolate as well.)

Don't worry, though. Not even the starving children could make me eat the hot dogs. They'll be curbside tomorrow.

The Cold Hard Truthiness

"We know Iraq is not the president's fault. George W. Bush was appointed to the presidency by God himself. And God don't appoint no junk." - Stepen Colbert, The Colbert Report

Runs from the Border

Investigators are now pointing the finger at lettuce as the culprit in the Taco Bell E.coli outbreak. Has anyone considered that just maybe the diarrhea simply came from eating at Taco Bell? I'm pretty sure anything on their menu could potentially cause abdominal cramping and kidney failure. Blaming the lettuce? I smell a red herring.

Hair It Is

By popular demand, here's my faceless hair - taken at the office open house last night. Believe me, the face doesn't really improve the hair. I think it looks darker in person, and the front-facing picture shows that more but, alas, includes my face. The light shining on it brings out the "velvety blonde highlights" (Crazy J's words, not mine). But it's brown! I promise! Penelope will vouch for me, right, Pen?

Yuletide Redux

Dear Movie Industry People in Charge:
I've seen the trailer for Unaccompanied Minors several times now. I just wanted to let you know, since you seem to be unaware, that this movie has already been made. Three times, in fact. It was called Home Alone and it starred MacCauley Caulkin - you know, before he started hanging out with Jacko, divorcing his parents and getting married (then divorced). And then it was recycled for a second go around. And then a third.

Now, as plausible and, say, universal, as the oops-we-forgot-the-kids plot line is, I think we can safely say it's been addressed. Overaddressed even. I mean, this time of year inevitably brings up those forgotten-kids-at-the-holiday stories at the office party or the neighborhood get-together. So you may feel like people are hungry for another serving. But we're not.

No matter how starved we are for entertainment, we're not starved enough for this. Not even the promise of the wackiness that ensues after the telling line, "We forgot the kids" could entice us to the theatre. So please. No more.

Season's Greetings,
Ashley

Neighbor Interrupted

When I parked behind the house tonight, I noticed that the interior light in my neighbors' Honda was on. Being the good Samaritan I am, I knocked on their door on my way in...no response. With the car out back and the lights I'd seen on in the kitchen, I knew someone was home. I thought maybe they hadn't heard me. So I rang the bell. After waiting a few more moments, I started up the stairs. Then their apartment door creaked open and shut. I went back and tapped lightly on the door. She opened the door, hair rumpled, wearing a men's shirt, not all the way buttoned. "Oh," I said before I could think about it. "I just, um, wanted to...to let you know that, uh, the light's on in your car." I finished rather breathlessly, laughed a little nervous laugh. She thanked me in this awkward, overly appreciative way and closed the door. That's the last time I do a good deed - when someone else is doing the deed.

Identity Crisis

Yesterday brought round another trip to Crazy J. As I like to do from time to time, I decided to make a dramatic change to my hair. I've been blonde pretty much all my life - by nature and by Garnier Nutrisse. Once, in college, I dyed my hair so blonde, I looked a little Marilyn Monroe-ish (minus the innate sex appeal). But all in all, I've bought into the old adage that blondes have more fun, and I've fought the brunette-ing of my roots for quite some time.

My last trip to Crazy J, I took a step in the darker direction, but in the end, it was still blonde. So yesterday, I settled in the chair with a couple of photos to give him an idea, and in a couple of hours time, I became a brunette.

I like it. But it's a bit confusing. For the rest of the day yesterday and all day today, every time I pass a mirror or see myself in a window reflection, I have to pause. I look totally different - I've never had hair this dark. It's like a whole new identity. If only Crazy J could work his makeover magic on my overly-large hips and thighs.

Big News: The Girls are Back in Town

Yesterday, while reading an issue of In Touch from a couple of weeks ago (the one with all the details of TomKat's wedding) I found out that Sex & the City executive producer Michael Patrick King is rounding up the ladies for renegotiations on a feature-length film. On the first go-round, there was a lot of discussion about whether it was truly a scheduling conflict or a conflict between Kim Cattrall and Sarah Jessica Parker over being at the forefront. But this time around, it sounds like some plot points are already being revealed - the film will center around Big & Carrie's wedding, bringing all the girls back together for the celebration. No details on when this film will make it to the silver screen, but I'm already tingling with anticipation - and celebrating by watching Season Six.

What's My Job Again?

I spent part of my morning tying fishing wire to glittery plastic snowflakes. Despite my resistance to decorating my apartment, I've been designated to the decorations committee for the holiday open house at the office. And I know decorations committee sounds inherently prom-ish, but there will be balloon columns outside, so it's not too far off the mark. (No word yet on whether we will be forced to take awkward pictures in front of a pre-fab background that will inevitably turn out badly and cost us $50.)

Unfortunately for me & S., graphic designer extraordinaire & fellow decorations committee member, we did not purchase enough snowflakes in our first trip out. We were thinking flurry, but word's coming down from the top that the vision is more along the lines of blizzard. And so we had to journey out into Wilmywood in search of more (and BIGGER) glittery plastic snowflakes because the first 20 or so we hung simply didn't coat us thoroughly enough with tiny silvery flecks.

A complete tour of the town's party supply hot spots left us empty handed in the way of glittery plastic snowflakes that have size and impact. But we were able to experience the holiday magic of the Dollar Tree and Dollar General. And found something at Rose's that was like a mystic dry-ice water fountain - very classy. And I got to hear S. do his best version of the high note in "Clocks." And say "owie" every time his dreadful cold made him cough. It may not have been full-fledged Christmas spirit that had us suggesting horrid pink Christmas tree-shaped candles and cross-stitched Noel table-runners instead of the elusive glittery plastic snowflakes, but it beats doing TPS reports.

Cinco de Grammy

Grammy nominations were announced today, and even though no one seems to be counting him among the top nominations, John Mayer garnered five nods for his work in the past year. He's up for the following

* Album of the Year - Continuum
* Best Male Pop Vocal - "Waiting on the World to Change"
* Best Pop Vocal Album - Continuum
* Best Solo Rock Performance - "Route 66" (featured in Cars)
* Best Rock Album - Try!

Also getting a handful of nods was Justin Timberlake. Unfortunately, none of them were for Best Clean-the-House Album. Other great bands that got a nomination or two were Keane, Coldplay and Sarah McLachlan for Wintersong. You can check out the full list of nominee here. Come February 11, I'll be hoping to see John taking home some trophies - and looking less like Marc Anthony.

Baby Talk

I received an official phone call this morning from the expectant father letting me know that he is not, in fact, going to refer to his first son as Sprout or Percy O'Dell or Coocoochawia (which means "man who likes to eat meat from a spit"). They've finally settled on a name, because Justin said it was that or get divorced. And so, without further ado, I'd like to announce my nephew, Dillon Bradley. Dillon is being spelled in the Irish tradition and means "faithful and loyal" and Bradley is my father's and Justin's middle name.

Dillon Bradley, I'm going to spoil you rotten, starting in about 40 days. Love, your Auntie Ashley.

Pick Me Up

Apparently what I needed to lift my spirits was the Best. Episode. Of Stuido 60. EVER. Brilliant show. "I went to that place called 'say it.'" And man, oh, man...the O Holy Night tribute to New Orleans by the horn players made me cry. I LOVE THIS SHOW!!! And its coconut snow, too.

In the Holiday Dispirit

I decided not to decorate my apartment for Christmas this year. Something about having to haul the decorations down out of my parents' attic - because an old house equals no closet space to store it myself - plus the reality of having to tote it up the many stairs into my apartment made it all seems so exhausting. And so my apartment is as it always is - untidy and decidedly unfestive.

Which may explain, in combination with the uncooperative weather, why I simply seem unable to get into the spirit of the season. I tried unsuccessfully to dream up wonderful gift ideas for family and friends on Saturday, but I drew a blank at every turn. With only so many shopping days left, I've got precious little to put under the tree - about which I seem to be alternately awash with guilt or indifference.

Last night, I went to Wal-Mart. And it was packed, as always. But last night, it was packed with holiday shoppers - mothers who had left the kids at home with dad whose carts were laden with action figures and Barbies; a couple who hustled past me with a little-girl sized pink armchair that read "Princess"; and the family who checked out in front of me with a fake tree and ornaments and two little boys who could hardly wait to get it all home. I bought one little candy-cane striped candle - not really because I was inspired but because I thought maybe the gesture would imbue me with some holiday spirit.

"Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas" is playing. And as much as I'd like to let my heart be light, it seems heavy. And though my troubles should be far away, they seem near. And, for whatever reason, I'm caught between being the Grinch or Scrooge or just plain lonely. And the candle is burning, but somehow, it seems even more sad - one lowly little decoration swallowed up by the emptiness of the apartment.

Zombiefied (or Separated by J. Lo)

A few weeks ago, Kim mentioned that she had seen John Mayer on the cover of a tabloid and mistaken him for Marc Anthony. I was totally appalled that something like that was being said about my dear sweet John. Until I saw this picture on his blog yesterday. John, sweetheart, eat a cookie or something. You're looking a bit drawn. And greasy. And ditch the pseudo-facial hair. What happened to my All-American rock n' roller?

More Potter Teasers

ABC Family is running the Potter films this weekend and enticing viewers by showing clips of the Order of the Phoenix during each film. Each clip is about 0:30 - definitely worth watching. Some of these cuts are in the HBO clip I linked the other day, but there's also some new material in here. Gary Oldman is so fantastic - I love how they've styled him for this film. Best comment comes from Daniel Radcliff in The Kiss clip when he says that he did a lot of courtesy gum-chewing beforehand.

The Story
Harry
Hermione
Ron
Professor Umbridge
Bellatrix LeStrange
Luna Lovegood
Director David Yates
Dumbledore's Army
The Order of the Phoenix
The Kiss
Sirius Black
Wands

This is a Little More Like It

Dear God,
Since it's Sunday, and I complained so heartily the other day (see below), I thought I should say thanks for the weather. Which seems a crazy thing to do as it is utterly grey and dreary outside. But I'm inside wearing my very favorite around-the-house sweater and my fuzzy blue socks and Kudzu is piled up in the blankets in the bedroom, and it generally feels quite cozy. I'm hoping this turn in the weather will inspire me to think of magnificent Christmas gifts for my family. Now, about that peace on earth...

Love,
Ashley

I Hate...

...cleaning hair out of the drain in the bathtub.

...the feeling of finishing a book I've been reading like mad to finish and realizing that it's over.

...the point in the late afternoon when I realize Saturday is over.

...trying fruitlessly to surf the internet for ideas for Christmas presents.

...never having anything worth eating in the kitchen because I am too lazy and inept to go to the grocery store.

...deciding I need a haircut and not being able to get an appointment for a whole week.

...computer problems.

...listlessly trying to decide what to do next.

A Question for the OC Kids

I was sitting here surfing around the internet when a random word descended upon me: Ferngully. Followed by the word was a vague string of memories. Did we or did we not go to see this movie as a class field trip? At first I thought it was in 5th grade, but, y'all, this movie came out in '92, meaning we were in 8th grade. Did they really take us to see an animated movie in 8th grade? I think they did. And then we were supposed to have a picnic at Herman C. Michael but some boys got in trouble for throwing rocks or fighting or something and we had to go back to school early. I just remember Heather and me being all a-twitter about this movie because Christian Slater was one of the voices, and I was madly in love with him for his stellar performance in the well-acted classic Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves. I have always had a discerning taste for fine films.

Songs for a Winter Night

I was going to post this last night, but alas, another side effect of dial-up is that I simply cannot use youtube properly. I posted awhile back about the release of Wintersong, a new holiday album from Sarah McLachlan. Now that it's officially post-Thanksgiving and December 1 to boot, I thought I'd share a little review.

On Wintersong, McLachlan's voice sounds as rich as ever, hitting shivering high notes and resonate low ones. The original content is worth picking up the disc for, and her covers of the standard Christmas fare are interesting and different like the plucky, jaunty version of "O Little Town of Bethlehem." Standouts are "I'll Be Home for Christmas" whose husky pleading tone is a little heartbreaking. For me, the album has an overall melancholy, ending with "Christmastime is Here Again", which makes me feel just as forlorn as Charlie Brown in the Christmas tree lot. Check out the performance of "River" - McLachlan at her best when she hits that last "fly" - perfection.