Calendar Girls: The Posts of 2007

This year, 2007, was among the most turbulent, most emotional, most awful years of my life. Amidst the chaos and the despair, there were, of course, some bright shining moments of euphoria, like Dillon's grand entrance into the world - which changed everything about our lives. And on top of that, I decided to change virtually everything about my own life.

Looking back through the posts of '07, I realized just how much I've been through, and how much I've grown. And changed. And cried. And I figured the only way to review '07 was through the posts that said it best, brought to you by the calendar girls of the year.

Right now, I'm looking at 24 more hours in the year, and I'm not sorry to be closing the books on this one. I'll be holding my breath as the clock ticks toward midnight tomorrow that '08 will turn out to be a better year. Happy New Year, y'all.

January: A Very Happy Announcement



February: My Life the Democracy


March: Georgia on My Mind


April: Leaving: Part One



May: Taking the Long Way (or the Unplan Plan)



June: The Girl Who Lived


July: (Untitled)


August: Sister Mary Sunshine Gets Sucker Punched



September: Handle It


October: Shoreline
November: On Meeting People



December: Bones

Threesdays: Radio Here

* "This NPR program is brought to you by Widespread Panic..."


* "The Paul Young Fan Club will be meeting on Saturday at the Applebee's across from Gwinnett Place Mall..."


* DJ: "I can't believe you sat in the Wal-Mart parking lot in your boxers."

Caller: "I didn't know it was her. I thought I was texting my girlfriend."

DJ: "And what did her mother do when she pulled up next to you?"

Best. Picture. Ever.

Merry Christmas!

It's Christmas Eve, and I hope wherever each of you is gathered with friends or family, that the holidays are merry and bright. For your Yuletide enjoyment, here are some photos I snapped of Dillon 'round the Christmas tree. And even though it's just me and Mom and Dad here this evening, we continued our age-old tradition of opening one gift on Christmas Eve. Since I got a Canon Eos Rebel XTi 10 Megapixel digital camera, you can expect to see a whole lot more of this sort of thing.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

A Few of my Favorite Things

* Earlobes

* Hairstylists

* Worn-in jeans

* Simmering cinnamon and cloves

* Stray cats

* Email

* Eyelash curlers

* Dandelions

* 5 o'clock shadow

* Cream cheese

* Words

*Sneezing

She is 16 Going on 17

Yesterday, I debated about whether or not to post about the ongoing media maelstrom surrounding the Spears family and its latest announcement that its youngest (and most wholesome) member of the family is pregnant. At 16. But I just can't help myself.

As everyone knows by now, unless you live under a rock, Jamie Lynn Spears is pregnant with her 19-year-old boyfriend's baby. A fact she and Mama Spears decided to disclose to the world on the cover of OK!.

All day as the headlines rotated on Yahoo! and the news tidbits appeared on Perez Hilton, I couldn't muster any snark at all about the situation. In fact, it made me almost sick to my stomach. While I don't want to sit here and judge her, I felt weird about seeing her on the cover of a magazine making her teenage pregnancy announcement and somehow making it seem normal?

When I was looking for a photo to post with this, I found the pregnancy story with a comment thread. One girl had written that she was happy for Jamie Lynn and that she thought she seemed responsible and would make a good parent. And I wondered - and it's impossible to really know - if I would've thought anyone would've made a good parent when I was sixteen. And now that I'm older, I know how very silly and stupid you are when you're sixteen. Though STGD pointed out that JLS has lived in the spotlight and probably does have a slightly elevated maturity, it can't be discounted that she still is just 16.

Maybe this is going to be the new norm. Maybe we're going to get all Victorian and go back to settling down before turning into old maids at the ripe old age of 18. Man, I am a spin-ster.

Bones

Bones are the basics. Long after the rest of a body is gone, the bones remain; hard white fragments outline the person that once was. In forensics, even the least of these slivers of a past life can indicate how life was lived and how life was lost.

***
Having my nose broken marks the most intense pain I've ever felt in my life. Not the breaking, but the resetting. The doctor took the bridge of my nose between his first two knuckles and cracked it back into place without warning. I'll never forget the sound of bone grinding against bone or the shocking pain - so immense, I made no sound.

***
Bones make up the skeleton - the framework of the body. We never think of it, this complex matrix deep inside other layers. Each bone fits to the next and so on - the leg bone's connected to the foot bone - each one, no matter how tiny, has a purpose. We never consider how essential it is - how it holds us up, holds us together.

***
For ages, whalebone was used in corsets to shape the body. The unforgiving bones molded new curves, nipped the ribcage and waist, accentuated the hips. Bones, always giving shape from the inside, created an opposite reaction on the outside, a rescultped form the result of these forces.

***
To cut one to the bone is to say that one shears through the tender flesh and strikes the very core.

***
Bone is slang for domino and dice, likely because the earliest forms of these gamepieces were carved from said substance. These bones are a risk, a gamble - a smooth white game of chance.

***
Make no bones about it - let's get to the point.

***
At the heart of the bone is the marrow. And from the marrow comes new blood cells. Bone bears blood and feeds the veins circuiting around it.

***
And so digging deeply down to the bone to find the traces of who you were and who you are, of what holds you up and holds you together, cutting past the flesh and into the rigid hollows of bone, it's no surprise that there's blood there. That getting to the bone, so unyielding, lets out a little of the life that's in there.

Dear Blogger,

I do not like the little "B" icon by my name every time I post. I know I'm a blogger. I got it. I don't need a reminder. And those little blank people for non-bloggers? A bit creepy. That is all.

Love,
"B" Ashley

The Dark Knight

Let's hope the script for this one is better. They did get rid of Katie-Holmes-as-Joey-Potter, so it's at least go that going for it. Gary Oldman is always fabulous, and the trailer actually looks pretty intriguing. And Christian Bale? Holy hot deliciousness, Batman.

Weekend Update

Moment: Friday evening, driving home, black trees arterial against the pale peach sky, Sarah McLachlan singing "I'll Be Home for Christmas" and a beautiful sadness washed over me

Saturday: Out of bed and then back to bed. In pajamas until 3 p.m., watching A Christmas Caper starring Shannon Doherty on the ABC Family Channel.

Dosage: Up, working, chasing away the "I don't cares"

Office Christmas Party: Tasty food, warm welcomes, good conversation and another Awkward Moment with The Big Boss to add to my collection

Sunday morning: Cold dry wind whipping my hair up, my dad saying, "When it blows like that, you know you're alive."

Publix: Old home week running into parents of friends (Heather, that's you), old teachers, family friends

Lunch: Dad helped Mom make chili - the only thing he knows how to make; very charming

Nap: In the sun on the couch for two hours...ahhhhh.

Evening: Christmas music in the car on the way to meet Eva, Justin and Dillon. He was tired and sat in my lap with his head on my shoulder. That's happiness right there.

Baking: Cinnamon raisin sourdough bread...Mom's heavenly concoction. The house smells heavenly.

Carol of the Day: "Gentle Mary Laid Her Child"

Christmas spirit: Lifting?

Creativity: Low, hence another list post. More tomorrow...promise.

In the Spirit of Half Full

In light of my overly-cynical post from yesterday, I've decided to muster the spirit of the season and fill up my glass to at least half full by listing good things and good thoughts.

* I sang the theme song to Jem with support from The Violinist at the very subdued Christmas party this afternoon. It was truly, truly, truly outrageous. Also, we have a huge inflatable Santa with reindeer in the lobby because our boss felt it needed to look festive.

* Sydney White comes out on DVD on January 22 (I heart Amanda Bynes), followed closely by the breathtakingly wonderful Becoming Jane on February 12. And totally dorky confession: I'm pumped about National Treasure 2: The Book of Secrets on December 21.

* Every night, my mom's slightly stupid cat Ranger gets into the antique rocking chair and curls his body around just so he fits on the round cushion. And then he snores. And it's charming.

* Today, I called STGD and said, "I totally effed up at work! I need some emotional spooning!" And just hearing him laugh made me feel better.

* Eating peppermint bark until I wanted to barf...in a good way.

* My hair is getting long.

* If I make it through work tomorrow and the Week of the Colossal First Mishap, I'm going to treat myself by opening my Christmas gift from Pen.

* Project Runway. In general. Is delightful.

* Tomorrow is Friday.

The Tales of Beedle the Bard

J.K. Rowling's handwritten and personally illustrated leatherbound copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard sold at auction today for $4 million, which will go to benefit charity. Initial reports were that the volume was purchased by the London art agent Hazlitt, Gooden and Fox. Later today, it was revealed that the book was actually purchased on behalf of Amazon.com. It is the only one of seven created by Rowling that was made available to the public - the other six copies were gifts to close friends. And it's gorgeous.

I have to give it to Amazon...this purchase was a smart move. Four million dollars, yes, but an alliance with its top-selling product line of all time. In fact, I just read in Real Simple today that the top three products with a five star review are Harry Potter books.

Anyway, Amazon is doing two things I heartily approve of (which may make up for the Super Saver Free Shipping debacle I had with them the other night - but that's another story). First of all, they've shared the treasure with fans by creating a separate page for the book which includes numerous photographs, description and a message board for discussion. They plan to review the book and release some of the text. Secondly, they plan to tour with The Tales of Beedle the Bard at schools and libraries. I applaud Amazon for capitalizing on this (so far) only by drawing people to the site and for sharing it immediately, rather than withholding it like a corporate game of keepaway. It's nice to think that maybe, just maybe, the magic of Harry Potter prevails again. The gesture, the tone of the site, make me feel like somebody at Amazon is just like me - just an enchanted reader who wants to keep sharing the Potterverse with the rest of us. Well done, Amazon.

A Toss Up

I can't decide which was the better line from tonight's ep of Project Runway:

"When I got the wedding dress, I was like, 'Omigod.' It was like death. On a stick." - Steven

"I've made so many bad decisions at 3 a.m., I can't even name them all." - Tim Gunn

The Merry Malaise

Christmas time is here. Happiness and cheer. Or not so much. I don't mean to sound so Scroogish. It's just that the holiday season is turning into the holiday sadness, such as

* Total annoyance with the Secret Santa game at work - the complex logistics, the forced clue-dropping, having to make dip for the big "reveal" party. Yelch.

* Inability to shop. At all. I finally gave in last night and dropped a load at Amazon just to get some of it done.

* Counting down the days until Christmas...is over.

* Irritation at the onslaught of Christmas commercials with the Rockwell-esque and Courier & Ives Christmas scenes that don't exist but that I somehow feel like they should.

* Repulsion over the excess...the recent tour of a very big home with very expensive furniture, art, decor...millions invested in it all...for a family of three.

* The anticipation for the childlike wonder to flicker and flare inside me somewhere...and the simultaneous knowing that I'm waiting in vain

* Telling Mom every day that I'll help her finish decorating the Christmas tree...and not doing it

* Investigating the box of goodies from FudgeyNut that Dad brought home and thinking about devouring the whole lot in a fit of depressed binge-eating

* Having to call the doctor, ask for more of The Medicine, because, well, bah humbug

W00t: The Other Side of the Coin

So, the post following my rant against the literati will be this: the 2007 word of the year is "w00t". With two zeroes. Wha...?? According to Merriam-Webster, this term (double zeros and sometimes a 7 at the end) is used by gamers to indicate an in your face defeat. I'm sorry, but "woot"? I mean, it's more a sound than a word. And somehow, Merriam-Webster talking about the "whimsy" of woot is equivalent the New York Times waxing poetic about the deep emotional reality of Danielle Steele. Not that their runner-ups made me say woot either - conundrum, hypocrite, and quixotic. Oh, or facebook as a verb. Clearly, I'm a word snob.

I vote for fugly. Can I get a w00t?

Atop the Soapbox: Thoughts on the Literati

"But reading was never dead with the kids. Au contraire, right now it's probably healthier than the adult version, which has to cope with what seems like at least 400 boring and pretentious 'literary novels' each year." --Stephen King in an Entertainment Weekly article about Harry Potter.

The Growler posted a link to the New York Times Notable Book List. And while the Growler feels tremulous excitement reviewing the NYT's who's who, I feel, well, a bit annoyed. Aside from the obvious kudos to the seventh installment of the Potter series (how could they ignore the fastest selling book of all time?), most of the books sound like absolute snoozefests. And perhaps it's me and my narrow window on the world, but I'm not enticed at all to pick up most of these titles. The exception might be Rebecca Barry's Later, at the Bar, but for the most part, the descriptions sound positively...pretentious.

And I know, I know - it's the New York Times book review. What did I expect? But, I guess I wonder: what happened to good stories? Why is the notable list chock full of maudlin tales of Libya in 1979 and another Martin Amis book that recounts the painful tragedies of World War II that sound dry and boring? These could be good stories. But at first glance, it sounds like the authors are trying too hard. Trying to be smart. Trying to break into the literati. Trying to be the kind of book that people get told they should read.

Should read...the only time I want to hear that I should read a book is if it's an amazing story that I should read. That it's so hilarious that I should read it. That it's so unforgettable and I will fall in love with the characters so I should read it. But if you just think it's going to make me smart...just going to be something that will sound good if I say I've read it...well, I'm not interested. Most of the descriptions give little impression of great characters or page-turning, can't-put-it-down, stay-up-late-to-read-it excitement. And isn't that what we all want? To go back to that place when you were ten and trying to read Encyclopedia Brown under the covers with a flashlight?

A certain professor I had in grad school referred to himself as an "immortality queen". He also referred to my writing as a donut: all sweet and delicious on the outside and hollow on the inside - but that's a story for another day. And his point was that writing wasn't worth doing unless you would be remembered for generations.

I guess I'm a little more here-and-now than that. I read to enjoy...to be taken away and to escape. I hope that if I ever write a book that it will be enjoyed by people while I'm still alive. Because, generations from now, I'll be mouldering in the ground somewhere. Maybe that's why I have such mad respect for Stephen King. The literati sort of shun him - he's like the establishment's bastard son - but he knows good story. He knows how to tell a story that engages the reader, that gives them characters that last forever in their minds. And that, my friends, is far greater than any notable designation by the book snobs at the NYT.

I suppose I balk at the idea that books are being written and delineated in this way, gathered up into a tight circle and pushed toward that immortality level. Like those of us reading right now don't even matter.

All of these thoughts, of course, come from a woman with an MFA who hasn't read a "notable" book in about 3 years and devours pulp romance novels. So maybe this really is all about my own insecurity. Still...who is breaking their neck to pick up this one? Knots, by Nuruddin Farah. (Riverhead, $25.95.) After 20 years, a Somali woman returns home to Mogadishu from Canada, intent on reclaiming a family house from a warlord.

Yeah. That's what I thought.

You Don't Have to Watch This

But you should. On Friday, The Goofball, The Rockstar and me watched it until we wept. But maybe that was just us.

Such a tease...

I'm It

Pen tagged me because she doesn't know enough weird stuff about me, so she needs to know seven new things. Here goes:

1. I have a nearly photographic memory. In a recent meeting, I was able to recall (and name out loud to the group) the first and last names of 20 people I had just met. I used to be able to remember answers on tests by visualizing the location of the answer on the page in my notes.

2. I almost always pick a good wine from the wine list. I know almost nothing about wines, but I can usually look at the list and know which one will be good.

3. Sometimes, I find reading a book jacket as satisfying as reading the book. I love book jacket copy. I like to get on amazon.com and troll around, reading the book descriptions. It's like speed-reading.

4. For the longest time, I refused to eat olives. I swore did not like olives. Recently, I rediscovered olives. The other day, I was eating kalamatas out of a jar with a spoon.

5. When I was little, I had an imaginary friend. He looked like Johann from the Smurfs. And I'm afraid that his name was Gaddy. I have no idea why. Also, I had Holly Hobby wallpaper that I talked to - and grew so attached to, that I would not let my parents remove it, even when the glue failed and the paper would fall down on me in the night. I kept it held up with thumbtacks.

6. We have a feral cat that lives in our house. Inside our house. No one can touch her. We see her; we talk to her; we feed and water her; we love her. But, for all intents and purposes, she is like a wild animal. We never, ever pet her. (Except for occasions like the other day when we trapped her in the bathroom to cut matted hair off her back.) And her name, appropriately, is Shadow.

7. I abhor Pepsi. And Diet Pepsi. If I order Diet Coke in a restaurant and the server asks, "Is Diet Pepsi okay?", I will say no and order water. Diet Pepsi is like getting Patrick Duffy when you ordered Patrick Dempsey.

Passing on the weirdness...I'm not feelings so tag-a-licious about this. If you're jonesing to share seven oddities - you kids over there on the right, I'm talking to you - go for it.

Somebody Fed the Mogwai After Midnight

So maybe it wasn't after midnight. Maybe it was around 4 o'clock on Saturday afternoon, and the culprits were a giant Coke Icee and an entire bag of Reese's Pieces. But whatever the case, The Panic made a resurgence right in the middle of McDreamy's fairytale adventure in Enchanted. Right there in the Mayfaire Cinema, the acid poured into my stomach, the heat rose up into my face, and there was a vague ringing that was probably caused by the incessant beat of my pulse against my eardrum.

And I may have pushed it to the side, shoved it to the back, tried to forget about it as I chased K.Lo through the living room as she squealed to be tickled and listened to her charming performance of the ABCs (often sans T, U and V, but who needs those letters anyway?) and held the Sesame Street book while she reverently pointed out Elmo and Grover and The Count (who she will tell you says, "ah ah ah"). But all that time, they were loose in my brain - cutting the wires and crossing them, revving the engine and leaking the chemicals into my system. I persevered - held tiny baby N. Lo who is very darling -chatted, had dinner.

And then there was later...there was the gagging. But as promised, the gloves came off. I battled back for all I was worth. Through Saturday night and Sunday brunch - and I pushed through and had a great time. And I gave it the old one-two in the car...Sunday evening...I was winning. Until Monday morning. And then, I gave in and let it all go. I sat on the cold bathroom floor with my back against the tub, sweating slightly, and somewhere in the distance, I think I heard someone count me out.

Visualize

Today in the office:

The Rockstar: Hey, Ashley. I met a girl this weekend.

Me: Really?

The Rockstar: Yep. I met a girl, and I made it happen.

Me: How so?

The Rockstar: Well, we talked about it on the way down to the gig. And we visualized it - like that Oprah book The Secret. We wanted a big crowd that was into the show, and two cute dark-haired girls.

Me: Wow. You unlocked the secret.

The Rockstar: We saw it. And it happened.

Me: I'll work on visualizing my novel.

NaBloPoMo

Fin

Tomorrow, Tomorrow, I Love You, Tomorrow

Truth be told, I've had this photo sitting in my blog pics folder for over a year. I found it when searching for a Wilmywood photo, but at the time, the season was all wrong. I've held on to it, thinking I'd have an opportunity to use it. And now I do it.

This is how I remember Wilmywood. This stretch of the riverfront park where they put lights in the trees. And in the fall, when the leaves changes, those lights make the park look almost surreal. I love the hexagonal pavers there, and the thick black chains strung between the pylons. And I love the Cape Fear with its fierce murky current moving swiftly along the edge. That's where I'm going tomorrow.

I've been calling it my Cheers Weekend - saying that I need to go where everybody knows my name. I need to fall softly back into that place where I have my bearings. I need to see STGD, Sus, and Miranda and the rest of the folks at the Old Job and Pen and Baby N.Lo. And the river and the city and, yes, Grace Street, too. You're only a day away.

The Two Faces of Wednesday

Right now, I kind of see my new job like a surveyor. I'm taking measurements and sizing up the landscape. Getting a feel for the terrain and compiling a list of areas that are pleasant, dangerous, under construction.

Today, the ATown office gang had our own little retreat at a rustic and charming farmhouse in a neighboring town. We talked about the past, present and future of our motley little crew. And I was operating in my space: comfortable in thinking and talking and envisioning. This kind of conversation is what I'm good at...what I suspect they might have hired me for, this ability to do this for other companies: assess, strategize, imagine. I felt a surge of belonging - not because I suddenly feel like my life is falling into place - but because in the moment, I felt like I belonged in that arena. And after so many months and so many moments spent on treacherous footing, it was a relief to find a ledge to stand on for a few moments and breathe.

And then I got home...only to go back to the office virtually. I spent a couple of hours reinputting my time from the past month in the wake of a massive data loss by the accounting program. And then I spent another hour or hour and a half working on documents and strategy for the Client Who Cannot Escape Crisis Mode. And at 9:30 when my mother went to bed, I was still working on these things. All the warm fuzzy feelings I felt earlier started to recede, and I wondered...can I keep doing this? Can this become my work schedule? And in this odd period of my life where I have no life, how frighteningly easy would it be to fall into this pattern and never have any sort of life?

I'm taking a vacation day on Friday to go to Wilmywood, and for a second, I thought about what an inopportune time it is...how clients have expectations, how things need to get done, and I thought--. But no. I'm not going to start that. I'm going to take my day. I'm going to have a life. Warm fuzzies be damned.

Ash's Must-See TV

While I'm not usually one for regularly scheduled programs, particularly the network fare, I find myself parking it in front of the boob tube on a regular basis these days. It's a commentary on the gripping life I lead...but you know, if you're looking for something to watch, and Pen's regularly scheduled programming hasn't let you to what you seek, check out these prime-time gems.

Monday - 8 p.m., GPTV, Antiques Roadshow
Okay, so I know it's kind of lame that I watch Antiques Roadshow with my parents every Monday. But it makes them happy and it appeals to my nerdy love of odd history and such. Plus, it's always a bonus when someone from the bowels of south Georgia comes up with a piece of pottery they bought for a quarter at a garage sale that's worth $20k. I'm getting really good at spotting which ones are going to be big-tickets.

Tuesday - 9 p.m., Fox, House
I love this show. I love this man - this odious, cynical, unjust, brilliant man. I want to be verbally and emotionally abused by Gregory House. I can't get enough of the wicked humor and quirky relationships on this show. (And I missed it tonight because I erroneously thought it was a rerun - egads!)

Wednesday, 10 p.m., Bravo, Project Runway
Tim Gunn alongside a cardboard box would entertain me. The fact that he's surrounded by 15 catty designing divas and the caricature-ish Michael Kors and Nina Garcia really ups the ante for me. Carry on!

Friday, 8 p.m., Men in Trees
Think of this show, now in its second season, as Northern Exposure meets Sex and the City. Other than the fact that I sometimes space out for a second or two thinking about how odd Anne Heche is in real life, I love her character Marin, a relationship coach jilted by her high-profile fiance who then retreats to Alaska. She hosts a radio show, and her monologue is often very Carrie Bradshaw-esque. The scenery is gorgeous and the supporting cast is equally charming - including Orlando Jones as a very persnickety gay man partnered by Mario Cantone of S&TC fame.

Friday, 9 p.m., Women's Murder Club
I know, I know. I virtually just assured myself a spot in the Single Cat Lady Hall of Fame with this admission. And Kim may no longer be my friend because the lead, Angie Harmon, just happens to be the sister of the sinister and much-hated Mark Harmon. (Ask her, she'll tell you the story.) But it's a good show. And it also features Rob Estes, who starred in the USA Network Original Series Silk Stalkings, of which I was a big fan. I never quite got over the death of his character Sgt. Chris Lorenzo, so I'm really just happy to see him alive.

Addendum: After consulting IMDB, I have discovered that Angie Harmon is actually no relation to Mark Harmon. Kim, consider yourself cleared to join the Women's Murder Club.

Prom Night

I didn't go to my senior prom. It wasn't that I didn't want to go, but no one asked me. Don't feel too sorry for me though - Anna took pity on me and took me and Niki and Heather to Six Flags instead. All the same, I must admit that I was rather excited when I heard the work retreat would include an 80s prom. I mean...the opportunity to recapture a missing piece of my youth plus the greatness of the 80s? And it did not disappoint.

And so I do not disappoint you, dear readers, I give you this photo of me in action. The PROOF stamp obscures some of the greatness of my outfit from your view, but I believe you get the idea. I would like you to know the following: my mother made this dress; Anna wore it to her senior prom; no items were purchased; these are Anna's earrings and mine and Anna's jewelry salvaged from around the house; I am wearing a banana clip and false eyelashes; there is a bow WITH a rosette on my dress; the shoulder pads extended roughly two inches beyond my shoulders. Other highlights of the evening included:

* My immediate boss sporting a Top Gun flight suit

* A coworker's husband dressed as John Cusak from Say Anything, complete with a boombox that played "In Your Eyes" which he climbed on stage at one point to play - yes, aloft, over his head, Cusak-style

* My Big Boss sporting a mullet wig, black suit and gold bow tie

* An A-Town 80s cover band that rocked it

* An ATL coworker's spot-on dance performance to "Billie Jean" in his killer white Member's Only jacket

* A half-drunken group sing-along to "Total Eclipse of the Heart"

* The Violinist's unbelievably mad skills on the dance floor

* The Rock Star relenting after many drinks to hit the floor for a couple of songs

* The prom king graphic designer who was the spitting image of The Cure's Robert Smith

* Me, not having The Panic at the disco

The Pressure of a Post

NaBloPoMo is drawing to a close - today marks the beginning of the end - the final week of my commitment to a post a day. If I stopped right now, I'd have blogged 83 percent of the month. That would earn me a B - a respectable passing grade. And while I'm not going to stop posting (unless there are unforeseen dire circumstances), I have to say that I am utterly without inspiration. I considered, and discarded, a number of post ideas:

* Another photo of Dillon, this time pushing one of his walker toys through the kitchen (I can almost hear your relief...)

* Feeling the creeping tendrils of The Panic after overdosing on people time and underdosing on Ashley time

* Reluctant sadness trimming the tree this afternoon, even though Dillon was fascinated by the lights...and inevitable feeling that I'm not a kid anymore

* Finding a dead cat under my car Friday afternoon. The neighbor's cat, who apparently died of old age. But it brought back very bad memories and made me stand in the driveway repeating, "I did not run over this cat" Rainman-style.

* A diatribe about how I'm failing miserably at the photo game and likely to only get a third of the pictures posted, by which I would segue into how I'm very good at signing up for things and very lousy at finishing them.

* A list of things I got done this evening, some of which included paying bills, addressing cards, sent a few emails.

* A list of things I did not get done this evening, some of which included putting the address on Kim's wedding gift (sorry, Kim!!), getting my finances in order (house downpayment not materializing on its own), Christmas shopping online

* An outline of my weekly TV-viewing schedule, which is quite packed at this point. Pen, you'd be so proud - I have must-see TV on Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday! Three days a week! I learned it from watching you, all right?

But none of these things seemed totally post-worthy...or perhaps it was just that I'm am not post-worthy this evening. Regardless, this post is what you're getting. Five more days of this, and you'll be off the hook with reading my daily drivel, and we'll be back to our irregularly scheduled programming.

We've Created a Monster

Tonight Dad met YouTube.

He literally just watched a kid play Pachelbel's canon on an electric guitar.

Yipe.

Thank You: Part Two

I have possibly been usurped in greatness by Aunt Anna who allowed
Dillon to clean up the Cool Whip spatula when she was done with it.
And yes, his shirt does say, "Baby's First Thanksgiving." And the sleeve says, "Gobble."

Thanksgiving included quality time with all my nephews - four-legged variety included.
Eli and I caught a break on the kitchen rug.

Laura asked me the other night how old Dillon is. I said ten months. She said, "Oh, so he's not very fast yet." Enter the Elmo walker. He can make tracks. And get very agitated when he runs into the fireplace.

Three generations of the family - something to be thankful for.

Thank You

* Family, for letting me live at home, for understanding the place I'm in, for trying hard to recognize that I am different than I was, for loving me even when they don't understand me, for supporting me and being there.

* Friends, for knowing when to ask how things are and when not to, for calling and emailing to check in, for reminding me that -whether here or elsewhere - they are there for me, for encouraging me to do what I need to do, for telling me I'm not crazy, for making me laugh

* Rain, which fell fast and hard this morning making puddles, which I hadn't seen in months

* Good books, which take me anywhere I want to go, and writing, in which I can take myself anywhere I want to go

* Health, both the kind The Medicine seems to be giving me and the general kind - I really do forget just how lucky I am

* Kudzu, dear sweet furry toilet-paper-strewing creature who warms my heart

* Dreams, the kind that entertain me - sometimes inform me, scare me, thrill me - while I sleep and the kind that give me hope for the future, anticipation of what Could Be.

* Today, it's all we get. All we're promised. I recently heard someone say that worry is using today's energy to carry tomorrow's burdens. I should pay heed to that advice. Say thanks today. Say I love you today. Laugh today. Eat well today - make sure you have dessert.

Happy Thanksgiving, y'all.

The Tipping Point

Several people asked me over the weekend how long I had been back in Georgia. The first time, I looked to the left, calculating in some empty space above my head. "Almost seven months," I said. And then I said it again and again. Oh, wow, I thought, almost seven months.

After a few times, it occurred to me that this is a tipping point. No matter what, this year will be one in which I spent the majority of the year in Georgia. It can no longer be a North Carolina year. As though some proverbial scoring has been tallied, I realized that I'm mostly Georgian now and less of a Carolinian. And I'm not sure how I feel about this shift in the balance of things...this dive toward more of one and less of the other. It's an odd feeling, particularly because this time last year, I was announcing The Big Move to my family. And that alternately feels like yesterday and years ago. It was a tipping point then, to move forward with something I had been thinking about, and, now, it is that uncertain feeling of the slightest movement working in concert with gravity to pull me in another direction.

Giving Thanks

I've been somewhat overcome by the "woe is mes" over the past few months. And it's true that I haven't been feeling up to snuff for a greater part of that time. But lately, through six degrees of separation or less, I've been touched by some tragedies that remind me what a delicate balance life is. A friend lost a baby at eight months - a baby boy he was excitedly expecting. And Vesta lost a very dear friend, who was also a person for whom I held great affection. And then today, I found out one of my new friends from the Atlanta office lost her father last night.

The office visited the hospital today as a service project to celebrate the Thanksgiving season. We were providing lunch to the nurses and staff on the oncology unit. The Boss and I went to visit one of the patients: an 86-year-old blind woman whose breast cancer surgery site had become infected. And she was hoping to go back to the nursing home for Thanksgiving. She had no real family to speak of, but she told us that she was doing alright for 86. She said she still had her mind and her independence and she was doing real good and she was blessed.

Later in the day, one of the patients called the office to thank us for the leave-behind goodie bags which included a hand-crafted paper-and-yarn turkey made by The Violinist.

A few words and a paper turkey are blessings to some. And I should remember that - when I focus too much on the challenges and forget to be gracious about the opportunities, the good things...the moments I slip away from disaster or illness or even death without even know it. All those moments when all I see is cloud and just behind is a beautiful silver lining.

Monday Math

2 days until Thanksgiving

+

6 days' worth of work

=

11 o'clock, clocked in

He Said/She Said/They Said: Company Retreat Version

At dinner Friday night

Me: "It reminds me of Max Headroom."

The rest of the dinner table: "Who?"

Me: "Max Headroom? He was...wait. How old are you guys?"

A chorus of 22s and 23s.

____________
Standing outside of a very chic shoe store in Savannah.

Possible Connection Person: I wish...I wish I could stomach spending that much for shoes. They were really cute.

Me: Yeah, me, too.

Possible Connection Person: Sometimes I hate being so responsible.
____________
On the elevator

ATown Coworker (to The Rockstar): "Hey did you know you're the only single guy at the firm?"

The Rockstar: I guess I'd never thought about it...

Me: What about (ATL coworker)?

The Rockstar: Well, um...yeah. I mean. He's...he's single. But he doesn't like girls."

(How did I miss this??)
_____________

At lunch at Lady & Sons, Paula Deen's restaurant

ATL Coworker: I'm disappointed. I can't believe the menu. This food is so bad for you.

Me: Do you know who Paula Deen is?
____________
In the lobby, preparing to depart and a female coworker from ATL who sat with me at breakfast approaches. She holds out one arm.

Her: Hey, Ashley!

Me (leaning in slightly awkwardly to hug her): It was great to meet you this weekend.

Her: Um, yeah. I was hoping you could take me and my husband to the airport.

Oops, I hugged a coworker.
___________
Yesterday out shopping, we run into one of the two owners of the company. The rest of the crowd with me goes into the Marc Jacobs store. I stand on the sidewalk talking to The Boss.

The Boss: We sure are glad you joined the company.

Me: Thank you. I'm excited to be here.

(I know for certain this is at least the sixth time I've had this conversation with him.)
____________
Friday night at the 80s prom

ATown Coworker: You say you're an introvert, but I'll never believe you after tonight.

Me: Liking to dance and liking people are two very different things.

tidbits

late for happy hour * another spectacular sunset * lunch @ lady & sons * boutique shopping * my genius face * encounters with possible connection people * new shirt * $400 shoes (i didn't buy) * lots of coffee * up til 1:30 a.m. * dancing machine (watch me get down) * old buildings * cobblestone streets * laughing * group sing-along to "total eclipse of the heart" * fabulous 80s prom * gotta dash

Moment of Acceptance

Right now, I am sitting alone in a hotel room with a king-sized bed on the sixth floor that overlooks the Savannah River. Right now, darkness is squeezing the last of the color down to the horizon so that the skyline is black as charcoal against the blush of pink. Right now, I am looking down at a river, flowing fast past old buildings, new buildings, boats docked at its edge. Right now, there is a bridge in the distance. Right now is a very odd reflection of my old life looking back at me. And fittingly enough, I am on the other side of the Savannah from the city...so it really is like looking at my old life across the Cape Fear from a different vantage point.

Earlier, I sat in a meeting where people said "we" a lot. And about halfway through, I realized that I'm included in that we. I am part of the we. I am a cog in this machine. I stand under their umbrella. And when they talk about the company as a family, they consider me part of that tree. At first, it was odd. And then someone said something funny, and I got it because, after three months, I finally sort of understand how we work. And I laughed and looked around me, and thought, Okay.

That's all...just...right now...okay.

Project Runway: My Two Fashion Cents

It's back. It's time to gather round, people, and make it work. And last night's premier of Project Runway promised all the drama, cattiness and fashion that make it so magically delicious. So here's how the competition stacks up.

Carmen - I like her, but she also has that sort of aggressive Laura-vibe about her. I thought her design last night was interesting even if I didn't love it. Prediction: A strong contender to make it through to the late stages unless overconfidence or bizarre design get in her way.

Chris - A wild card. I liked his dress last night - I thought the purple fabric was gorgeous. He could also teeter toward one of those whose designs never have the wow factor. Prediction: Must wait and see.

Christian - The New Austin Scarlett. Love him. Love his wacky haircut. Love his sass. Love all of his interviews. And liked his design - didn't love the fabric, but I thought the design was interesting. Prediction: Strong contender for the final three.

Elisa - Totally bizarre and over the top. I think she's the new Vincent. And not in a good way. Prediction: Auffed over extreme creative differences with the judges (but great television while she's still around).

Jack - Beautiful dress. I thought was lovely and wearable. Which may get him into trouble for not establishing a stronger point of view. Prediction: A strong contender, although from the previews, it looks like something horrible will be revealed by him at some point.

Jillian - I think Jillian has potential, but for some reason, I can see her being one that has a challenge where she totally flips out and doesn't get it done. Prediction: Auffed in the later part

Kevin - He's trying to be the new Jeffrey/Santino with his elegance-with-an-edge. Didn't love his work last night, but I reserve judgment here. Prediction: Another wait and see.

Kit Pistol - I like Kit Pistol (just because I think that's an awesome name) and I think she has a strong and different POV. I could see her hanging in there into the late game. Prediction: Contender.

Marion - I noticed last night that Marion was largely ignored in the storyline, which made me wonder how important he'll be. I felt totally blase about his garment a la Robert last season. Prediction: (Yawn) Auffed early

Rami - Fabulous. Beautiful garment. I hope he doesn't get drape-obsessed like Uli did with the billowy dresses. Could be my one sticking point with him. Prediction: Definite contender for top three.

Ricky - Three words: What happened to Andre? Prediction: Auffed, but not before a spectacular meltdown

Simone - Boring. Auffed. Reminded me of the first one to go in Season 2, who, sadly, was from Georgia.

Steven - Steven, Steven, Steven. Could be fabulous. Or take a total turn for the worst. I think, if Steven keeps his head together, that he could be a contender. Prediction: Possible maniac, possible fashionista.

Sweet P - Hmmm. I get a bad feeling about Sweet P - like she's going to annoy me to no end and produce clothes that she really likes and believes in and will justify til she's blue in the face even though we can all tell they're ugly. Like Angela last season? Prediction: Auffed at the halfway.

Victorya - She definitely got the Kara Saun/Chloe Dao vibe about her. She's very together, less eccentric than the other designers. I'm expecting elegant, chic work from her that I totally love. Prediction: Judges will coo over her consistency. Final three contender.

Thoughts, fellow ProRun aficionados?

Ever Felt This Way?

I know this is kind of a cop-out post. But, hey, I'm bringing a blog a day and Project Runway was on tonight (I heart Christian!) - I get a Get Out of Blog free card every now and then. Make it work, people. And please, try to see the humor.

Note to Self

Throughout the day, I tend to write down an ongoing list of things to remember on a post-it note stuck to my desk - some are things to do, some the beginnings of blog posts and others are mysteriously vague. Inevitably, these notes end up stuck in the bottom of my purse or in pockets. Here's a sampling of those sorted through this evening:

* Jeans
* Prom jewelry
* War with the rock star
* Olives
* Knitters
* Shred credit card bills
* Check out Heatmiser
* The Gates of Hell
* Jenny Ray's birthday (see? I didn't forget altogether...)
* Bathroom stall
* Call STGD
* International Delights
* "Wide Unbroken Skies"
* Don't forget Mel
* 8:30 sharp, out by 9:30
* House is on tonight
* Mom - side dish, insurance
* B Spears new album?

On Mrs. Cleaver (or Why I Need a Wife)

Today at work, I was ridiculously busy. Which is not surprising, considering I put time in on both Saturday and Sunday to keep a project moving forward. I left the office at six, returned to the office "virtually" at 6:45 and left again at 8:30. But I still had a square meal - crab-stuffed tillapia, stir-fried vegetables, cous-cous. And when I go to bed, my sheets will be clean. Tomorrow, I'll put on freshly-laundered clothes.

These perks come with living at home. Mama kindly fixes dinner every night - and it's usually balanced and nutritious. And I confess - and here, I admit how very spoiled I've become - she packs my lunch. She does the laundry - and she's a fanatic about it. Even though she showed me how to use the new washing machine, she doesn't want me to use it. Because she likes the laundry done a certain way. If she goes to Wal-Mart, she calls to see if I need anything: shampoo, mascara, granola bars.

And so, since I've moved home, I'm eating better - not that it was hard to surpass Cheerio's and Alfredo Broccoli Lipton Noodles most days. I'm clean and pressed - an improvement over not having a washer and dryer and trying to get by with wearing that shirt onemoretime. I'm stocked up and haven't been to Wal-Mart in weeks. And I figure, this is how men have it all. It's not because they're men. It's because they have wives.

Don't Call It A Comeback

Quietly, cautiously, I mark off the fifteenth day. The incessant hum in my brain seems to be lessening...a distant buzz. My heart is calm, its regular steady pulse instead of an erratic skid. Slumber goes on uninterrupted, and my biorhythms seem to have time to sink into the dark quiet instead of dancing around while I have my eyes closed.

And aside from that, life is getting, perhaps, easier? It is easier to breathe. And to laugh. And to make it through the day without thinking about purposefully stepping out into oncoming traffic.

At the same time, I'm afraid to consider this thing knocked out. Is it just wishful thinking? Is it just a blissful placebo effect? Or is it truly down for the count? One thing is for sure - if it comes back at me, the gloves are coming off.

Father Spice

Dad: "Ashley, are the Spice Girls still together?"

Me: "Well...actually, yes. They just reunited...why?"

Dad: "I just wondered."

Me: "Wow...questions I never thought my dad would ask me."

Dad: "Why not? That's who we're listening to."

Me: "No, Dad. This is the Dixie Chicks."

Unsolved Mysteries

Yesterday morning I read this article in the Wall Street Journal about the "7 Missing Wonders." It outlines seven missing treasures - some from the ancient world like Nefertiti's tomb and some from history as recent as World War II with the disappearance of The Amber Room. It could be my recent ruminations on Choose Your Own Adventure books that piqued my fascination or it could be the fantastic interactive treasure map that accompanies the story.

For the rest of the day, I thought about those missing artifacts, possibly somewhere in the world, possibly hidden by someone and shuttled from place to place to keep it so. Or resting quietly fathoms below the oceans, moldering on the ocean floor. Or simply nonexistent figments of a fictioneer's imagination. In some cases, the answer would probably be disappointing; in others, the answer could be even more sensational than we think. Whatever the case, I found it sort of thrilling that there is still real mystery in the world - delicious, treasure-hunting mystery that seems the stuff of good novels but is out there, a question mark followed by an ellipsis, keeping us all hanging wonderfully unsatisfied.

Nostalgiaism

Today I went to a meeting with a local organization that advocates for and preserves historic buildings in ATown. The office is located in a renovated fire station, a corner block brick building with the firepole still in the far corner, massive glass-globe chandeliers, and the pale green fireman's lockers lining one wall. As soon as I entered the building, I was accosted by nostalgia. The smell of an old building - aged wood, old paint, and history (it smells, I swear). And when I reached the top of the stairs, I was almost speechless at the tall arched windows whose frames were painted almost the very same pale blue-grey shade as the ones at Grace Street.

The whole time I was there, I couldn't help noticing how suddenly I felt at home. Like I wanted to spend the whole afternoon there. I belong in an old, rickety building. I need the splintering wood and the creaking boards and the drafts and the echoes and the ghosts. I left feeling a little bit renewed, like I'd had some sort of spiritual transfusion.

And then I had a fairly good day at work, which included a brief meeting with my boss about several projects I have been working on that needed his input, one being an interview with an intern candidate. "She's got enthusiasm," I said. Like you, he responded. "Me? Are you serious?" Yeah, he said. I hear that banter going on down the hall. And I laugh and say yes.

But later, I'm thinking about banter, and I'm thinking about sitting at my old desk at my old job with my old coworkers. I'm thinking about shouting ideas to my boss next door. I'm thinking about eavesdropping and answering everyone's questions. I'm thinking about fake arguments with STGD about when he's going to get a job done. I'm thinking about raucous lunchtime chats and late afternoon staff meetings and brainstorms where everything goes downhill quick but you can't stop laughing. And I think, That's banter.

Right now -just right now - all the good is rushing into the sad and the past is haunting the present and my heart is creaking against the memories. And I am lonely and struck down with nostalgiaism.

TomCut

Tom Cruise's hair cut makes me irrationally angry with its dangerously close approach to an early '90s bowl cut and sweeping feathered bangs. I can't get over it - I mean, I posted a comment on Daisy's blog weeks ago, and anyone I've talked to in the last few days will attest that I'm still extraordinarily bothered by it. I will even lecture you on how it diminishes any ounce of hotness he still possessed after...well, he went crazy. It's just enraging. Seriously. Flames on the side of my face.

Leftovers

Too tired for a full post, and so you get the leftovers, a potpourri of mental miscellany that will have to satisfy for NaBloPoMo:

* a small red book

* repetitive piano music

* not one, not two, but three cups of coffee

* mistaken for 30

* grape salad for lunch

* sharp reminder regarding health that it could be worse

* demanding client, sudden deluge of deadlines

* haircut and the smell of hair product in the evening

* dark drive home

* slim white envelope, unexpected sad news

* tears and laughter because you must

* missed calls (sorry, mel!)

* kudzu, wedged between my ribcage and my spleen, warm and fuzzy

* promise of sleep (uninterrupted?) between soft dark green sheets

Choose Your Own Adventure: The Blessing and The Curse

My favorite choose your own adventure book was about searching the pyramids for treasure. At best, you ended up with the Pharaoh's riches; at worst, you ended up trapped in a dead-end tomb with no escape. But the best thing about ending up in that tomb with no escape was that you could simply go back to the beginning of the book, try harder not to lose your map and your flashlight, take the right tunnel instead of the left, and at least walk out unscathed. Over and over, you could choose until you found the right permutation of choices to achieve the best possible ending.

Perhaps it's this early love of revisionist choices that cripples me now. It's not so easy to go back to the beginning of the story and retool the choices to configure a better ending. There are professional, financial and personal implications for every "do-over." The threads of life get all tangled up during the criss crossing.

And yet, today, I was reminded on more than one occasion that choose your own adventure is still possible. The implications are there, yes. But if I shift my focus away from the details of what will happen, I realize that I can go back - or go forward - and find the right ending. I realized that I'm in the incredibly lucky position to have a supporting cast of characters at the ready, whichever way I choose. So that even if I end up in the dead-end tomb, there will be people who love me, who support me, who will have a flashlight handy to lead us out of the dark. And now that I know the ending, the curse of trying to determine how we'll get there.