tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29955673923335577692024-03-19T00:24:07.990-04:00For Whom the Belle TollsFor Whom the Belle Tollshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08392736415085934508noreply@blogger.comBlogger278125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2995567392333557769.post-7864096162443464662021-08-12T09:09:00.000-04:002021-08-12T09:09:51.312-04:00For Whom the Belle Tolls has Moved!<p style="text-align: center;"> </p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">For Whom the Belle Tolls has moved!</span></p><p><br /></p><p>Please check out the blog's new home at <a href="http://www.forwhomthebelletolls.com">www.forwhomthebelletolls.com</a> for the latest content and more!</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>For Whom the Belle Tollshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08392736415085934508noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2995567392333557769.post-19953364046262594672021-06-22T08:22:00.001-04:002021-06-22T09:08:55.143-04:00Do I Look Fat?<p>Last week, I had no less than three people insinuate that I am overweight. Chubby. Flabby. Rotund, if you will. Two of them are dear friends of mine and one is a family member, and all of them, bless their hearts, were well-meaning. It began innocently enough when I remarked to Friend #1 that I believed myself to look fat in a video that a neighbor had filmed of our dogs playing. I can't really say it was just the camera angle, as there were lots of them involved what with a moving film and all, and everyone else in this particular video looked like their usual self, so I have to assume somewhat brokenheartedly that I do look like the girl I saw. However, and this is what I have gathered you all here today to discuss, when I broached this subject with my friend, I did not anticipate that she would respond, "Have you had your thyroid checked?"</p><p>First of all, yes darling, I have had my thyroid checked. Twice. My doctor said he has never seen someone quite so devastated to get healthy test results. In actuality, my thyroid function is right on the border, which means it won't keep me slim but I can't get any medication for it, either. Such is almost always my luck. It turns out that even if you have a blazing, healthy, active thyroid, 30-plus years of yo-yo dieting will still seriously slow down your metabolism. One day you will eat a taco and your body will just hold onto that bad boy for dear life, afraid that it will never taste tacos again. One day you will see yourself in an innocent video of some pups playing and think you look like a linebacker for a professional football team. And then Friend #1 will ask about your thyroid. Lord, in your mercy.</p><p>Disheartened, I relayed the story to Friend #2, seeking encouragement. And this friend really, really tried. However, what I got was more than I bargained for, and I hope you will understand why. In his pep talk, which went into more detail than need be, Friend #2 told me that as long as my husband is still happy with the way I am, and I am still happy with the way I am, it is perfectly fine to <i>be the way I am</i>, and then he iced that cake with "you are still fabulous." Still? Despite what, exactly? </p><p>A few days after the sting of that buxom buddy conversation started to wane, Facebook memories popped up from when I competed in the Mrs. North Carolina pageant, way back in 2010. I sat on my couch in my elastic waistband and looked at pictures of a very skinny, tan, younger version of myself and did not feel great about the current version of <i>moi. </i>About that time, the phone rang and I lamented my situation to a family member who was calling. "You've always been great about getting your weight off before," I was assured. "I'm sure if you put your mind to it, you can do it again." Um, thanks?</p><p>Never mind that the girl in those pictures was more than ten years younger, worked out two hours a day, and sometimes went to bed teary-eyed because she was so hungry. I'm not sure I want to go back to a weight where I refused cough drops when I had a cold because I wasn't sure how many calories were in a Hall's mentholyptus or get back into the practice of putting Preparation-H on my stomach and wrapping myself in Saran Wrap in hopes of tightening my skin (true story). If that's what it takes, I'm not sure I still have what it takes.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidSe_f1CDLo9PxcfdFxw1xun1cqC5e4MyV_UIfDydBGQ6T4fY8q6MM7ei7CI0EQMmYel9OF5urW-p-JKULDPQIC8KPiqNALTBpzqpupdB_uqKKPffl_fMAJx1R_ubM9wXaTASXEJ3noGA/s720/Facetune_21-06-2021-18-33-04.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="478" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidSe_f1CDLo9PxcfdFxw1xun1cqC5e4MyV_UIfDydBGQ6T4fY8q6MM7ei7CI0EQMmYel9OF5urW-p-JKULDPQIC8KPiqNALTBpzqpupdB_uqKKPffl_fMAJx1R_ubM9wXaTASXEJ3noGA/w424-h640/Facetune_21-06-2021-18-33-04.JPG" width="424" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here I am, in June of 2010. <br />This June, thanks to the support of my friends and family, I'll be swimming in my t-shirt.</td></tr></tbody></table><p><br />Now that I've given you the background, I want you to listen carefully: the answer to anyone, anytime, who questions or remarks that they do, they may, they think, they wonder, that it is possible that they look fat is this: NO! You do not look fat! You look wonderful/beautiful/marvelous/gorgeous/ravishing...I'll allow you to take it from here, but my stars, people, I really thought we all already knew that. </p><p>If someone asks if they look fat, do not tell them about your great Aunt Gayle with the thyroid problem, who everyone just loves anyway, especially her cats!</p><p>If someone asks if they look fat, do not tell tell them that the Dress Barn is having a fabulous sale on caftans and they have lots of size extra larges left.</p><p>If someone asks if they look fat, do not tell them about the weight loss plan that helped you lost 22 pounds in 22 days and ask them to join your team so you can help them on their weight loss journey if they will just Venmo you the money and become part of your multi-level marketing company. </p><p>There is only one appropriate response and we both know what it is. That response is NO! It's time to channel Nancy Reagan and her 1980s anti-drug campaign and Just Say No again, because clearly we as a humanity have forgotten. I'm here for a refresher course. This is now a public service post, so if you didn't know before, now you know (or now you no, whichever). Don't say anything else, because surely you learned from my experience last week that you will just mess it up. You will step all in it. We are all our own critics. No one is seeking your fitness tips, your diet advice, your stories about some medication that worked wonders--that is not what we came for, so save it. Repeat after me that one little word: NO! You do not look fat. You look great! Wasn't that easy?</p><p>You will need to say it as quickly and as convincingly as possibly. Channel Meryl Streep and give the best performance of your life. Say it like you mean it and like your life depends on it. Say it with gusto. Because the day may come when you will need someone to say it to you, and when you ask, "do I look fat?" you will want that favor returned.</p><p>Now, if you'll excuse me, before I make my audition tape for the show <i>My 800-Pound Life</i>, I have a protein shake to make. I'm enjoying those for two meals a day now and snacking on ice water. Hey, I can lose my extra weight, and the good news is, I'll always maintain my manners. And in that department, some of you have some gaining to do.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR22Vb1cWhLs7KezCzvJbdR7H4b2MrZanDLS2w0jvXRypQa3wZ6sW4Wqz8MjHoegCIS9g5DoRvYPa5k9D3CuelAw7L4bF1_5hNBc-wW7nf47UpLrHEODe4aNDUdT3uW2MFHBP0lHrWqXE/s202/IMG_0557.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="202" data-original-width="200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR22Vb1cWhLs7KezCzvJbdR7H4b2MrZanDLS2w0jvXRypQa3wZ6sW4Wqz8MjHoegCIS9g5DoRvYPa5k9D3CuelAw7L4bF1_5hNBc-wW7nf47UpLrHEODe4aNDUdT3uW2MFHBP0lHrWqXE/w396-h400/IMG_0557.jpg" width="396" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>For Whom the Belle Tollshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08392736415085934508noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2995567392333557769.post-79295711032700740342021-06-03T07:57:00.004-04:002021-06-03T13:34:29.484-04:00Red, White, and Pool!<p>Apparently, we were in desperate need of a swimming pool. I know this because my husband began relentlessly hounding me about installing one about two years ago, when we moved into this house. I was forced to watch shows like <i>Insane Pools:</i> <i>Off the Deep End </i>and <i>Ultimate Pools </i>on an alarmingly regular basis, and as he is known to do when he gets something on his mind, the man just would not let it go. And so, the first of December 2020, some very nice gentleman appeared with some very large equipment and began destroying both my backyard and my sanity. This continued for many, many (mud-filled) months.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQCbMzRaBkXD-6fh1-tilqBJ8Hj9Y4fU_HX5w5mf4yo0gguzYwdwwXySYPouvQyEqTqS_GY6mDMmI7ejbmi6Rf_tIITPRTqYE5KkrZ1-6OFisnV30f2NdSW9-vIJcYl8GIJLkHHIR28G8/s748/IMG_0475.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="526" data-original-width="748" height="450" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQCbMzRaBkXD-6fh1-tilqBJ8Hj9Y4fU_HX5w5mf4yo0gguzYwdwwXySYPouvQyEqTqS_GY6mDMmI7ejbmi6Rf_tIITPRTqYE5KkrZ1-6OFisnV30f2NdSW9-vIJcYl8GIJLkHHIR28G8/w640-h450/IMG_0475.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here is the "before" picture of our backyard, lacking Clint's swimming pool. But wait...</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3yQSQx7uP-K4jT6LA73WMNnYt6_o4b8B8H37UpZkzpTfUbY5meoSxWH9HN51CWwA4jokvjXJk94C4bqQdpi4y_cWEbd2lXO4Lh21L3wyFnIEnOmKXFh7Pg2lDOM-8jFTeO89F00QgHAA/s1977/IMG_0395.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1482" data-original-width="1977" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3yQSQx7uP-K4jT6LA73WMNnYt6_o4b8B8H37UpZkzpTfUbY5meoSxWH9HN51CWwA4jokvjXJk94C4bqQdpi4y_cWEbd2lXO4Lh21L3wyFnIEnOmKXFh7Pg2lDOM-8jFTeO89F00QgHAA/w640-h480/IMG_0395.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I was sure I couldn't stand it another day, and then it was finished. Finally. Tah-dah!</td></tr></tbody></table><br />It only took six months and about half of our life's savings, but Clint's dream has been realized. The pool was completed just in time for Memorial Day weekend, which is the official beginning of summer. To say we were ready is a bit of an understatement. On a side note, I think there is a sequel just waiting to be made to the 1986 Tom Hanks movie <i>The Money Pit, </i>about a house whose endless renovations gobble up money at a ferocious and endless pace. I would like to speak with Hollywood to pitch <i>The Swimming Hole</i>, about a very similar fate involving, er, liquid assets. But I digress. Let's focus on the fun rather than the holes in our pockets.<div><br /></div><div>We invited our friends over for an opening day pool party and enjoyed some snacks, watermelon margaritas, and fun in the sun. We weren't really sure what the puppy was going to think about the new pool, and after giving him the long weekend to take it all in I can report: not much. He seems to think of it as a giant bathtub and he is no fan of baths. While he isn't afraid of the water, our big-haired bichon frisé has just decided he would be insane to voluntarily get in it, preferring instead to skulk around the perimeter giving us all judgy looks and then retreating to the safe shade under a chaise lounge for a power nap instead. We will keep coaxing him, but honestly, it saves me from lots of time bathing, rinsing, detangling, and brushing him if he doesn't cannonball into the deep end every time we go outside, so I'm fine if he is less than enthused with this new outdoor space at the moment.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnLHCBaxji5DUjV706nxf78Kxw-U3K2w6JDvSUj4Z0WPKjUfKyAh18dyCUVe5lt4E_uFqcq1zigW30LUyXLjFjA7A-QbN0wq4pozcvATPcz4zORNSLJtyWC3bCWOqDnjZDuHQ6HSCASXA/s1780/Facetune_30-05-2021-11-02-58.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1418" data-original-width="1780" height="510" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnLHCBaxji5DUjV706nxf78Kxw-U3K2w6JDvSUj4Z0WPKjUfKyAh18dyCUVe5lt4E_uFqcq1zigW30LUyXLjFjA7A-QbN0wq4pozcvATPcz4zORNSLJtyWC3bCWOqDnjZDuHQ6HSCASXA/w640-h510/Facetune_30-05-2021-11-02-58.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our dear friends knew that an occasion such as this calls for Chick-fil-A. <br />Make sure that, whoever your people are, they understand the importance of a nugget tray. <br />This cannot be overstated.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzNn7SHzN3ETxXP8pYx0E8Q_DAJxrVgE9VGBkLrvhk_cdAy10G0BfFgymPKE0dS2uP3D89uUb4RocL5RMEoW0XTP5CVXoJY0Bp-YBOKYW5D4MUj2GfTNK2CW21Y9HhP4Ukn3hp5n9ZYj8/s1910/Facetune_30-05-2021-10-39-38.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1910" data-original-width="1512" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzNn7SHzN3ETxXP8pYx0E8Q_DAJxrVgE9VGBkLrvhk_cdAy10G0BfFgymPKE0dS2uP3D89uUb4RocL5RMEoW0XTP5CVXoJY0Bp-YBOKYW5D4MUj2GfTNK2CW21Y9HhP4Ukn3hp5n9ZYj8/w506-h640/Facetune_30-05-2021-10-39-38.jpg" width="506" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">When your pool project takes six months, <br />you make a cookie cake that looks like a beach ball to celebrate its completion.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3DWRgV8VKYmhUHU7mQaIgiqq4wjmqyeIa0Wis1LEcJZUTnkkUUf1TYUVoggJEORWNIBDiVrF2uOOBTSN4F1AgOl8ZQvFxNxPZHB_aPFYt-IbmedjC0vGkSIkArAWglkxm5Tn3IiBr674/s1808/IMG_0369.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1209" data-original-width="1808" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3DWRgV8VKYmhUHU7mQaIgiqq4wjmqyeIa0Wis1LEcJZUTnkkUUf1TYUVoggJEORWNIBDiVrF2uOOBTSN4F1AgOl8ZQvFxNxPZHB_aPFYt-IbmedjC0vGkSIkArAWglkxm5Tn3IiBr674/w640-h428/IMG_0369.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Worth the wait!</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /><div><br /></div></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsJeb5cl_Ytfh1XuZdMBIJgIhI8-HgjxRNQfpgovA-Q2W4tUosfafVFJbBhW0aSgWjshGggtGOQjXgnYZEnRv8Z-FpHQDNi9ZEHMG8St1rjIuRDfDnxubdNMgsebaNsvxkOt-Xf6F5Yi8/s1341/IMG_0449.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1341" data-original-width="1011" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsJeb5cl_Ytfh1XuZdMBIJgIhI8-HgjxRNQfpgovA-Q2W4tUosfafVFJbBhW0aSgWjshGggtGOQjXgnYZEnRv8Z-FpHQDNi9ZEHMG8St1rjIuRDfDnxubdNMgsebaNsvxkOt-Xf6F5Yi8/w482-h640/IMG_0449.jpg" width="482" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I got Clint this special t-shirt to wear this summer.<br />After all, he wanted a pool and every pool needs a cabana boy.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkaRUaiXM5-RxuWI59jjLneNgF2T5Pno5Xkeri8JKg9bId-AOMrDyKIxy6T8Nvuod7lXMFjigzyQjoDtDfdVrz2tTavrcbyQ2vV1xHsKajlhL8krSfH0r3u0s3hl2po-NfsHTKodeIuRE/s2016/Facetune_31-05-2021-20-40-03.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkaRUaiXM5-RxuWI59jjLneNgF2T5Pno5Xkeri8JKg9bId-AOMrDyKIxy6T8Nvuod7lXMFjigzyQjoDtDfdVrz2tTavrcbyQ2vV1xHsKajlhL8krSfH0r3u0s3hl2po-NfsHTKodeIuRE/w480-h640/Facetune_31-05-2021-20-40-03.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Does this look like the face of a water lover?<br />No, thank you.<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg59xs56_vWjdTOur-nfhEw3mRbhYARdxSQaeA0sinvFE_XGIXDqbJZMUu_CqAw7sn0dnBAfFKqmlcQjhRiNROI9wIQbsaBLsh5quncHxOWmiftanfCYUmlSfcSwFpGT1uLfqPf5pCf82Y/s1817/IMG_0443.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1132" data-original-width="1817" height="398" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg59xs56_vWjdTOur-nfhEw3mRbhYARdxSQaeA0sinvFE_XGIXDqbJZMUu_CqAw7sn0dnBAfFKqmlcQjhRiNROI9wIQbsaBLsh5quncHxOWmiftanfCYUmlSfcSwFpGT1uLfqPf5pCf82Y/w640-h398/IMG_0443.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If anyone needs Charlie, he'll be here.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />Throughout this <strike>seemingly endless</strike> pool construction project, our friends, family, and neighbors have tried to encourage us that it "will all be worth it." And I have to say, it was a pretty nice weekend sunning and floating and swimming and splashing. Maybe it's slightly better than the inflatable pool from Target I told Clint I wished we had sprung for instead. <div><br /></div><div>Hello, summer. I've exchanged my straight jacket for a swimsuit and I think I'm finally ready for you.<br /><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3kBrY9XV4no9fvQokLW2keqSB8Mn36OIp984q4LPA9xr9Ry22atfggXzB4OnLc81eGl_2o6nm-aszotDWa5_hgbg5f6MEYF0VXjbgkH03AoE231TBsTjyDzZ0BWLN_yvmbSb35_wOvic/s1376/Facetune_31-05-2021-20-28-52.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1376" data-original-width="1116" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3kBrY9XV4no9fvQokLW2keqSB8Mn36OIp984q4LPA9xr9Ry22atfggXzB4OnLc81eGl_2o6nm-aszotDWa5_hgbg5f6MEYF0VXjbgkH03AoE231TBsTjyDzZ0BWLN_yvmbSb35_wOvic/w520-h640/Facetune_31-05-2021-20-28-52.JPG" width="520" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes, maybe this is slightly better than the Target inflatable pool.<br />I'll double check again next weekend to be sure and let y'all know.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div>For Whom the Belle Tollshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08392736415085934508noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2995567392333557769.post-15531478441933010832021-05-07T08:25:00.000-04:002021-05-07T08:25:13.897-04:00Don't Listen to Your Heart, Listen to Your Mama<p>I heard a commercial yesterday declaring, "listen to your heart." I don't even know what they were selling, but I can easily tell you my response: pffffft. My heart, over the years, has gotten me into some questionable places: cupcake shops when I'm trying to diet, the overdrafts of my checking account, a college guy's red Camaro when I was just a freshman in high school...oh yes, the heart will make some dubious decisions, but you know who is never wrong? Your mama. That's who you should be listening to, and I have finally lived long enough to have learned that lesson, even if it did take some trial and error along the way to figure that out.</p><p>"Susie, what is your favorite food?" </p><p>"Macaroni and NO! No, no, no, no, no! This is for a pageant application, isn't it?!"</p><p>That is literally all it would take to set me off, screaming and crying and running from a room in what we in the South refer to as a hissy fit. For years, my mother tried to convince me to enter beauty pageants and for years, I not only refused, I refused with meltdowns, tantrums, and complete and total panic at the thought. When she finally convinced me to give my first pageant a try at age fifteen, I discovered I got beautiful dresses, trophies, and tiaras! Oh, how I loved those tiaras. People will tell you that you also gain things like poise, confidence, stage presence, public speaking skills and what not, but the best part is always a bedazzled crown, let's not kid ourselves, people. As someone who has always had a competitive nature, I loved it. What took me so long? Why didn't I listen to my mama and then we could have taken the world of toddler modeling by storm all those years ago? </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyexm6qpcdf4u_-jiBa66FxnqXs0zB36wOQ184PKySbpAwV2DZTQVbt3hxUgSeCsSDwzG2ejMXaRm-rLmYa98NNgcBxK2qvENADlhGz_EQNqnW203pY4fW0umyJtwG5IIyhv6jicIqyVo/s2048/7732B328-2695-4D65-9830-F9874BB72E2A+%25281%2529.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyexm6qpcdf4u_-jiBa66FxnqXs0zB36wOQ184PKySbpAwV2DZTQVbt3hxUgSeCsSDwzG2ejMXaRm-rLmYa98NNgcBxK2qvENADlhGz_EQNqnW203pY4fW0umyJtwG5IIyhv6jicIqyVo/w640-h640/7732B328-2695-4D65-9830-F9874BB72E2A+%25281%2529.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">As it turns out, my mama was right. I didn't hate it.</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Several years later, I had turned the page on my high school days and set off to college with a brand new chapter in life ahead of me. Imagine my mama's dismay when a high school boyfriend reappeared in the picture. She all but begged me to move on and not waste good time dating That Guy again--wasn't the first time more than enough wasted time? A good rule of thumb is to never go back to an old flame, period, much less a high school heartthrob once you are in college--college is for bigger, better opportunities in every way. My granddaddy used to emphasize, "Don't look back, you aren't going that way." <div><br /></div><div> I didn't give much thought to how right my mom was about not dating That Guy again until a few months ago when, thanks to the fact that his Facebook page is public, I saw that he took his wife to Medieval Times for their wedding anniversary. Yes, that Medieval Times, the dinner attraction with the horses, sword fights, and lack of any dining utensils. After I fell off my couch laughing, I had a deeper appreciation for my mama, wanting to save me from a life of romantic outings which clearly consist of jousting tournaments and eating a chicken carcass with your bare hands. Listen to your mama, because your heart will go Medieval (Times) on you, y'all.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYMeh7M0mBi1vENibCdQK22SWzqenvK19eRr9JI8QIrw-FoJSfpmVhPV0vVHg8-Wwm7ZUcbx-BW1V7QyM9MKgk79MDqUp3aayNmcbK_R1aTeX84HvvYBA4jwYHUR5sFtRetHgsjuU6CRw/s1024/IMG_0220.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="683" data-original-width="1024" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYMeh7M0mBi1vENibCdQK22SWzqenvK19eRr9JI8QIrw-FoJSfpmVhPV0vVHg8-Wwm7ZUcbx-BW1V7QyM9MKgk79MDqUp3aayNmcbK_R1aTeX84HvvYBA4jwYHUR5sFtRetHgsjuU6CRw/w640-h426/IMG_0220.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I can do Medieval Times as a family outing, just maybe not for a milestone anniversary. <br />I can be high maintenance that way.
</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Another long-told piece of mama advice I heard my whole life was to pretend you're pinching an aspirin between your knees when you're wearing a dress. This will help you avoid flashing your unmentionables to the world whilst give you the appearance of being a demure lady as you keep your legs closed together. Not listening to your mama on that one can be bone shatteringly catastrophic, as I discovered in October of 2016. My beloved Clemson Tigers have a football tradition that, after a victory, fans rush the field and gather on the 50-yard line to sing the alma mater and celebrate with the team. (Actually, they used to have that tradition. Now, after my incident and the ER visits of several others, we calmly wait to enter the field in an orderly fashion at a designated time so as to avoid bodily harm, but I digress). That particular evening, wearing an adorable orange and purple dress, I forgot to pinch the metaphorical aspirin between my knees, threw caution to the wind, and jumped over a retaining wall to access the field. My long-suffering but ever-chivalrous husband offered to help me and said my last words, pre-accident, were, "I can do it myself! OUCH!" And then I fell and broke my fibula and wound up in a bright orange cast for the rest of football season. Then, ironically, I could have used that aspirin for real. Mama was spot on about that one. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSCpagdNGcMHjvYgl30Yk1op5CHS71uey_DbTa_ZTMaMdDrDzvEJItXkDOszghhiULkK2Wx3PSdaDBCHjlBQYl1dc07IPl8bTYaIlYOxEVHA-EJpic2B7iERs1sXRxGK0JzZp5PB9Pnl0/s1080/IMG_0217.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSCpagdNGcMHjvYgl30Yk1op5CHS71uey_DbTa_ZTMaMdDrDzvEJItXkDOszghhiULkK2Wx3PSdaDBCHjlBQYl1dc07IPl8bTYaIlYOxEVHA-EJpic2B7iERs1sXRxGK0JzZp5PB9Pnl0/w640-h640/IMG_0217.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pinch that proverbial aspirin between your knees or you, too, <br />could get a cast in your favorite team colors.</td></tr></tbody></table><br />It has been many years ago now that I was waiting in the checkout line at the Harris Teeter with a tub of Palmetto Cheese pimento cheese in my shopping basket. Another lady approached me and, noticing that cheese product in plain sight, asked me if it was any good. To which I candidly replied, "Ma'am, I haven't tried it yet, but my mama told me it is, and she's been right about everything else so I am just buying it without question." She nodded without another word and I watched her walk over to the case and put some Palmetto Cheese in her basket as well. That lady knows just like I know about listening to mama, and now she has the delicious pimento cheese to show for it. <div><br /></div><div>Don't run with scissors, sit up straight, mind your manners, don't act ugly. Beauty pageants are fun, that boy is bad news, act like a lady even when your team has won a doozy of a football game. Your heart can want what it wants, just listen to your mama. This is coming from a woman who calls hers about important matters such as: should I get these throw pillows in khaki, cream, or gray? How long is chicken good in the refrigerator? Do I have to take a hostess gift to a party I really don't want to go to? Even if I really, really don't want to go?</div><div><br /></div><div>Listen to your mama, because you still can. Listen not only to her wisdom and her warnings, listen to it all. To the mundane and the tedious, when she tells you what she's making for dinner or who she talked to at church or all the details of her day...listen and be glad. You were once a kid telling her some very long stories yourself and Lord knows, she listened to you. This Mother's Day, if you are lucky enough to spend it with your mom, listen. I may not be a mama myself, but I'm pretty sure I'm right about this one.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlCE2Ca-_7wfjXiDyT1hZ18xu0gQwuA_Ug7dVzi2zMrTTBT6aCAOsI-4ISBncvk_PecYkxtN3zXvWxGUd5FBhUz2EGSvsGD0YZnJo8wqzLxpulYVtSNhFEdEulCc7JSdG4B1qSBxfpR8g/s1781/Facetune_05-05-2021-21-30-41.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1781" data-original-width="1424" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlCE2Ca-_7wfjXiDyT1hZ18xu0gQwuA_Ug7dVzi2zMrTTBT6aCAOsI-4ISBncvk_PecYkxtN3zXvWxGUd5FBhUz2EGSvsGD0YZnJo8wqzLxpulYVtSNhFEdEulCc7JSdG4B1qSBxfpR8g/w512-h640/Facetune_05-05-2021-21-30-41.JPG" width="512" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With my mama, and most trusted advisor, last Mother's Day.<br />Long may she reign!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div></div></div>For Whom the Belle Tollshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08392736415085934508noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2995567392333557769.post-6957580072625862382021-04-20T08:58:00.002-04:002021-04-20T10:38:02.118-04:00I Am At An Age<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirDeMFVczG6d8pvGYjbsP9I48f4P0vF56jKrrlfs54WZ5SuJ7RjdGyTXaor823_sd8-Q0RrLW237jB7DqNOCxhJAsJUAD6eLnULzOvGv1k22N1M9DA34jrID2jdtmgWz9iH9fXbh-EdSs/s2048/716F8185-B1FE-482E-9F0E-3DC2A209732E.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1907" data-original-width="2048" height="596" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirDeMFVczG6d8pvGYjbsP9I48f4P0vF56jKrrlfs54WZ5SuJ7RjdGyTXaor823_sd8-Q0RrLW237jB7DqNOCxhJAsJUAD6eLnULzOvGv1k22N1M9DA34jrID2jdtmgWz9iH9fXbh-EdSs/w640-h596/716F8185-B1FE-482E-9F0E-3DC2A209732E.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Clint found these fantastic inflatable letters, so even the pool was in on the party.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>I am at an age where I still celebrate birthday month, which means rather than confining the festivities surrounding my birthday to a single 24-hour span of time, I spread the fun throughout the entire month of April for all to enjoy at their leisure. After all, why limit yourself to one celebration when you can have a month of them? </p><p>Many of you have asked, since we are past the midpoint, how birthday month is coming along. COVID-19 invited herself to the party last year and put a serious damper on things (I am a fun, creative person, but there is only so much even I can do whilst in the throes of quarantine). Surely this year I have made up for lost time with double the merrymaking, right? Err.</p><p>As it turns out, I am at an age where I get migraine headaches more frequently. I started my birthday month with a moderate one the first week of April and then woke up the day after almost completely deaf in my left ear. I am at an age where things like that happen. I was relieved to find out that I am not at an age where the deafness is permanent--a semi-panicked visit to my doctor confirmed it was not related to my migraine but instead, an ear infection caused by the massive amounts of pollen blowing through my fair city this allergy season. I am at an age where things like that seem to really throw me for a loop. I rallied and pressed on enjoying the month of my birth.</p><p>Happily, I am at an age where my mama still makes a fuss over my birthday. We headed to Georgia for Easter weekend where she took me out for a special lunch and a girls' day of shopping, and she ordered an amazing lemon coconut cheesecake all the way from Junior's Cheesecake in New York City, just for the occasion. As we are oft to do when we visit my mama's house, we ate ourselves into a stupor and had a fun weekend getting into the swing of birthday month. </p><p>I am at an age where I asked for birthday money rather than birthday gifts, and I took that birthday money and bought myself something BIG. I am now at an age where I am the proud owner of a beautiful Chanel handbag, which may or may not have made me cry a little when I purchased. I have named her Karlie and I will never, ever be at an age when she is not a prized possession. </p><p>Having impressed the importance of all things birthday upon my friends, family, and even casual acquaintances, birthday week was filled with treats and surprises. Gifts and cards came by mail and delivery, and I took great joy in opening everything from kitchen towels to shoes. A darling neighbor decorated our mailbox with balloons and other neighbors showed up with wine and flowers. I enjoyed text messages and phone calls and even a serenade of "Happy Birthday to You" while I was out walking my dog. I will probably never be at an age where I am uncomfortable being the center of attention, so all of these things thrilled me to no end. </p><p>I am at an age where the best laid plans can and will be derailed. I am at an age where I love nothing more than getting dressed up for a fancy dinner with my husband, and very much look forward to a fun-filled brunch with my notoriously difficult-to-schedule friends the next day. These are the makings of a perfect birthday weekend for me. Sadly, I am at an age where another migraine appeared on the eve of my birthday, lingered all weekend, and refused to go away even with "rescue" medication prescribed by my neurologist. I may or may not have asked Clint at one point to kindly call the in-home hospice vet who put our ailing senior dog to sleep last year (after all, it seemed like such a peaceful way to go). He refused, but I think it was more because he was afraid she would charge us by the pound.</p><p>I still put on my new dress and even managed a high heel wedge for my birthday dinner, although Clint says I was channeling <i>Weekend at Bernie's</i> the entire meal (for those of you not familiar with this piece of fine cinema, Bernie is a corpse masquerading as a live person throughout the film). I drank water and took deep breaths and came straight home to bed, where I remained crying for much of the weekend. I am at an age where pity parties can and do still happen. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvoP0vZTn8RlG2rK87vj_okeLEqUvmxEPxdKRm6oHBPmPY3OK3vy9nShvweH-R6Cd9Ipu2cFlEtGt94UguCJfOQJ6mSYCS105SSunKg7U_zMsSRkmUUIF-RN-e_tRs9KKsLPiLE0MpjTg/s2048/Facetune_09-04-2021-20-50-44.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1131" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvoP0vZTn8RlG2rK87vj_okeLEqUvmxEPxdKRm6oHBPmPY3OK3vy9nShvweH-R6Cd9Ipu2cFlEtGt94UguCJfOQJ6mSYCS105SSunKg7U_zMsSRkmUUIF-RN-e_tRs9KKsLPiLE0MpjTg/w354-h640/Facetune_09-04-2021-20-50-44.JPG" width="354" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here we are, all dressed up for my birthday dinner.<br />I wasn't exactly feeling festive, but I am at an age where you fake it until you make it.</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Birthday brunch, however, did not happen, nor did much of anything else. Mercifully, I have recovered from that wretched headache and have now enjoyed an entire week plus stretch of good health, knock on wood, so things are looking up. I am now at an age where I do not take feeling good for granted. I now roll with the over-seventy age group in the doctor's office waiting room. We are the frequent flyers and even in our face masks, we recognize one another as brethren. <div><br /></div><div>Even though it hasn't been all I had hoped it would be, birthday month isn't over yet. And in an unprecedented move even for me, my friends couldn't get together for that celebratory brunch until May 1, so I still have that on the calendar, too. I am at an age where birthday month consists of two migraine medications, one antibiotic, a round of allergy antihistamine cocktails, and three days in bed. Luckily, it also means being spoiled by friends and loved ones, gifts and trinkets, cake and get togethers. And I am at an age where all of that means an awful lot.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim2FuF3ENqqmkAbgB8Y-V-5YbwkdCs01S33uR-B8udQSiIA8cnZJZbKH2RiCjr98tGE9DwNdeCqc6zNA1omuv98fcTMpWVnSS6ywm1DVUHdM47usKsfZoT9oOoUp0Pfq1QO3XXAmtR6AA/s2048/7A09771A-7228-4545-AAE0-E76320B5B054.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim2FuF3ENqqmkAbgB8Y-V-5YbwkdCs01S33uR-B8udQSiIA8cnZJZbKH2RiCjr98tGE9DwNdeCqc6zNA1omuv98fcTMpWVnSS6ywm1DVUHdM47usKsfZoT9oOoUp0Pfq1QO3XXAmtR6AA/w640-h640/7A09771A-7228-4545-AAE0-E76320B5B054.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I am at an age where we focus on the highlights. Happy Birthday to me.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /><br /><p><br /></p></div>For Whom the Belle Tollshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08392736415085934508noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2995567392333557769.post-50914082957861027552021-03-24T07:54:00.003-04:002021-03-25T08:05:49.976-04:00Bumper Crop<p>North Carolina just had more of our COVID-19 restrictions relaxed this week, and Clint and I were lucky enough to get our first round of vaccinations as well. It feels like the world is ever-so-slightly beginning to open up again, doesn't it? While we still can't show our faces in public or shake hands or even think about things like (gasp!) a salad bar, there is a light at the end of this tunnel, and it feels awfully good. </p><p>Do you know what a bumper crop is? (The first one of y'all to say that I am familiar with bumper crops because my alma mater is an agricultural college where we all wear orange overalls and ride tractors barefoot will incur my wrath, so cut it out. I'm getting ready to make an analogy here.) A bumper crop is a crop that produces an usually large harvest. I got to thinking that all this time we have been spending shut in, at home and socially distanced and what not is kind of like a time of sowing, and man, I can't wait for the bumper crop we are going to reap. </p><p>I've already referenced my alma mater, so let me just start by saying that it is my hope and my dream that college football--and by football, I of course mean tailgating in all its crowded glory--returns in the fall. Clemson has announced that as of now, it intends to allow 100% capacity in the stadium for the upcoming season, and while I have never been one to take those spectacular Saturdays for granted, I will have a special appreciation for them this year. I want to go early, stay late, feel the excitement from the crowd, and cheer until I lose my voice (again, these are not new things, just things I have missed doing and will be giddy upon which to return). I will not even complain when I arrive at my seat to find that, again this season, my seatmate is a 300-pound hyper sweaty gentleman who, to borrow a phrase from Buddy the elf, smells like beef and cheese. I am simply going to bask in the glory of being there to enjoy it all, in person, in all its glory. What a bumper crop that first game back is going to be after a year of missing out. Talk about a harvest.</p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7KSxOAul7m77To44U2aKndy7pdbC5R3ErH62mzp2Kf6gqB50B6Tg350-qPsBHGdqXjMl8wyfCFDbpi1A_27us2Vpf4fBqPqxm5H7MgyKRRsenWCD0oSmFRQ8bWuUSt2kvTnJcM1FEM4A/s960/Facetune_16-03-2021-10-26-29.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7KSxOAul7m77To44U2aKndy7pdbC5R3ErH62mzp2Kf6gqB50B6Tg350-qPsBHGdqXjMl8wyfCFDbpi1A_27us2Vpf4fBqPqxm5H7MgyKRRsenWCD0oSmFRQ8bWuUSt2kvTnJcM1FEM4A/w480-h640/Facetune_16-03-2021-10-26-29.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Better days are coming. They are called game days.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>I also want to go to a concert--any concert--and I won't even care if the artist plays only songs off his new album that I've never heard before. Not this time. I'll move my mouth and pretend to sing along and just be happy to be out in the world, listening to live music. Play anything you like and let me and 18,000 of my friends belt it out like never before. We will dance in the aisles and scream for encores and buy souvenir t-shirts when we finally shuffle out to our cars at the end of the night. And every time we hear those songs play, we will think about the night we were finally free again to go out and hear music and how it sounded better than it had sounded in a long time, because concerts are a bumper crop.</p><p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVCqEGLgYZPBp14ar_2vsSRrW6_E9opAWHNaTbu12IN6_TsOGaJqc5113mz7FqkCqqEVg1LekokNi6Y32cj_s5ZWzc82FL01_34M9ctYgTP5zNYPR9QigELmd1Muau8y4Fm2j1i6SVgtQ/s531/IMG_9754.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="531" data-original-width="432" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVCqEGLgYZPBp14ar_2vsSRrW6_E9opAWHNaTbu12IN6_TsOGaJqc5113mz7FqkCqqEVg1LekokNi6Y32cj_s5ZWzc82FL01_34M9ctYgTP5zNYPR9QigELmd1Muau8y4Fm2j1i6SVgtQ/w520-h640/IMG_9754.JPG" width="520" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here we are at a Dave Matthews Band concert in 2013. It poured down rain, he started two hours late, and barely played any recognizable songs at all. What I wouldn't give to go back. <br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator"><span style="text-align: left;">I have missed the movies. Not streaming movies at home, because I think we have seen <i>all</i> the movies possible to watch from our couch, but going to an actual movie theater with stadium seating and surround sound and all that. I can't wait to spend $38 on a small popcorn the size of a bushel basket and a medium Diet Coke that is really a two-liter bottle with a lid and straw attached, and head into a crowded theater again. I will watch too many previews that are way too loud and finish my popcorn before the mediocre movie ever starts and I will love every single second of it, even when someone's cell phone inevitably rings during the most inopportune time. I will revel in the sticky floor and the scent of that golden liquid popcorn butter with nine billion calories, and my seat which is always the one with the broken spring. What a bumper crop that will be.</span></div><div class="separator"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyvXyBv4ww4rWeYxNv43FGmckkMwr1Wfuh7ohOyle9MsKYlDgDGd8PItEcXQrTtprBnA0xBR_wP1JcOMr7l8yC_H4w5eQnHIBFxqRAJAjcYtx9wtCPPe_TQjXrytKQXyIdyshaT2p1qG0/s1125/IMG_9703.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="647" data-original-width="1125" height="368" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyvXyBv4ww4rWeYxNv43FGmckkMwr1Wfuh7ohOyle9MsKYlDgDGd8PItEcXQrTtprBnA0xBR_wP1JcOMr7l8yC_H4w5eQnHIBFxqRAJAjcYtx9wtCPPe_TQjXrytKQXyIdyshaT2p1qG0/w640-h368/IMG_9703.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Remember this? Oh, how good it's going to feel to be back again.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div class="separator">It has been over a year since our church held in-person worship, and oh, how I have missed it. I promise to never take it for granted again. As convenient as it is sit in my living room and watch the service on the laptop computer, I like going to the actual church. When the world goes back to normal and I get to go back, I will gladly wear shoes that pinch my feet and and Spanx up to my arm pits and sing hymns as loudly as I can manage and not look at my watch or squirm in my seat (much). When we greet one another, I might use a phrase my grandmother used to say and be so darn happy to be among people again that I tell them, "Come here and let me hug your neck." And I'll do it. Sunday church and hugging necks is a bumper crop.</div><p>When we finally get to rid ourselves of our masks, I am going to wear a bright, bold lipstick and lot of lip gloss because there will be no mask to smudge it all. I will don big, dangly earrings which won't get caught in my mask's ear loops and my hair won't get smooshed so it will be big and unencumbered and free. Okay, maybe this part of my wish list belongs more in a post entitled "Flashy Floozy" than "Bumper Crop," but it sure will feel good to look good again. In case you couldn't tell, I'm ready.</p><p>We're so close, friends. We have been through an ordeal, and we deserve all the good things that are coming our way. Hopefully, we are getting ready to end this tedious season of worry and uncertainty and enter a time to gather and celebrate and enjoy. The momentous things we loved and missed will seem even bigger and the little things won't be taken for granted any more. Our harvest is about to arrive, and I just know it's going to be a well-deserved bumper crop. I wish you an abundance of naked-face enjoyment and shoulder-to-shoulder moments of blissful, everyday normalcy. </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>For Whom the Belle Tollshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08392736415085934508noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2995567392333557769.post-73486503950093871852021-02-18T08:25:00.001-05:002021-02-18T09:22:21.293-05:00Happily Ever After<p>Sunday was Valentine's Day, and romance was in the air--well, not at my house (I had a two-day migraine, bless my heart), but I imagine it was alive and well somewhere. At least you all made it seem what way from your braggadocious postings on social media, anyway (y'all know people hate that, right?). Remember when it was possible to love each other without needing to post it online for your friends, neighbors, and sixth grade piano teacher all to see and read? The times, clearly, have changed.</p><p>If St.Valentine's left you feeling less than warm and fuzzy toward your beloved, let me offer you some words of advice for general relationship happiness: lower your expectations. There are very few men who truly care about Hallmark holidays and if they do, they are terrible at showing it. Expecting sweeping romantic gestures from a man who uses toothpicks and considers putting the toilet seat down an act of chivalry is a fool's errand, and you are no fool. Are you? </p><p>After you lower your expectations, next I would encourage you to take all future gift giving matters into your very own capable hands. This is your chance to take charge of your fate. Seize your destiny. At the very least, get yourself something non-ugly that won't make you cry and/or depressed. If you hate the idea of shopping for yourself, present your significant other with a very detailed gift wish list. My husband and I email each other Christmas lists which contain actual web links to purchase the very items our little hearts desire. It may not make for lots of Christmas morning surprises, but it has eliminated lots of heartbreak and many an argument as well. If a list is too laborious, might I suggest cash? As my granddaddy was fond of saying, the color looks good on everyone and the size is always just right. </p><p>Our 20th wedding anniversary is coming up in December. You don't survive nearly two decades together without learning a few tips and tricks for staying happily ever after. You know that part in your marriage vows when the preacher says, "speak now, or forever hold your peace?" Keep that <i>hold your peace</i> part in the forefront of your mind. (Remember that country song that says, "Now you say it best when you say nothing at all?") If you can't manage silence, then I recommend muttering. After a while, the other party will quit asking what you said and you can pretty much get away with anything, so long as it's said in a low rumble. </p><p>In Helen Ellis's hilarious book <i>Southern Lady Code</i> she advises "separate bathrooms, and if you can't afford that, separate peanut butter jars." There is much wisdom in Helen's words. My husband uses the guest bathroom upstairs and I can't even clean it without wanting to pack a little hobo bindle and run away from home. I try my best not to even make eye contact with it if at all possible. Which is why I think eye contact, on the whole, is very overrated. If you wanted to stay happy in a relationship for the long haul, it's usually best not to spend inordinate amounts of time looking at things. Glance at each other, smile, kiss, keep moving. It leaves no time for disagreeing. Have you seen my wallet? I don't look around much. Did you see how dumb that was? No, darling, I don't gaze upon such things! Don't stare too long at the house and you won't argue over home improvements or clutter. See? Or rather, don't see where I'm going with this? You're already not speaking, you might as well dull your other senses while you're at it. What is a fulfilling relationship if not a virtual deprivation tank? </p><p>Another good rule of happiness, and a delight to the senses you have remaining: the simple but magnificent taco. Tacos will go a long way to Band-Aid a situation, and I'm not even using tacos as euphemism here. I literally mean that when the going gets tough, get some ground beef, cheese, tortillas, and serve 'em up. They're cheap, and I can't think of a single time I have made tacos that Clint hasn't forgotten his troubles. It may be impossible to stay mad while eating a taco. Who needs therapy when you can buy an Old El Paso taco kit? (You will need to personally determine if your significant other's love language is hard or soft tacos, although I believe the taco is generally a universal language). </p><p>My final piece of relationship contentment advice (for now) is to watch lots of true crime. In doing so, you will learn--as we have--that spouses kill each other, and frequently. This will give you an appreciation that the person you are coupled with has not bludgeoned you in your sleep, poisoned your dinner, or paid a hitman to take you out in all the years you two have been together. Which kind of gives your relationship a whole new kind of happy glow about it, now doesn't it? <i>Dateline</i> airs weekly on NBC and it's one of our favorites. Now, get out there and keep your mouth and eyes shut, your bathrooms separate, your taco nights plentiful, and walk with a I'm-still-alive spring in your step. </p><p>And they lived happily (for the most part) ever after.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqR97pBoXbp4K93ijvawP2PQEFm-LkWl6lS5DjDhDOBIVFXF9cVGQRFTqc7x_FTR1Sgz1FgZHu-tc0s_h0e0eMcUIQKswb7Cl9-s5DtysJ6qN-TmpOcwz2QOm_o2EYo0qS4imAuilZV3Y/s2048/2A28D2D6-FB87-43E6-A46F-772EE168C81C.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqR97pBoXbp4K93ijvawP2PQEFm-LkWl6lS5DjDhDOBIVFXF9cVGQRFTqc7x_FTR1Sgz1FgZHu-tc0s_h0e0eMcUIQKswb7Cl9-s5DtysJ6qN-TmpOcwz2QOm_o2EYo0qS4imAuilZV3Y/w640-h640/2A28D2D6-FB87-43E6-A46F-772EE168C81C.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />Just for your relationship bliss, I've created a Happily Ever After bingo card.<br />It's much smaller than a regular bingo card, because let's face it, relationships are hard enough.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>For Whom the Belle Tollshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08392736415085934508noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2995567392333557769.post-34053279846770558422021-01-26T08:23:00.003-05:002021-01-26T08:23:47.304-05:00This Thing Called Quarantine<p> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii38SDBZrIMOl6BbW11OrtcVviVirboqrW_OqY9UfhBksHFlrcohEN_eYU7SqpZlKt7s3m9hNXKMWfQ0_Hq448qeLHvPdPT3_rPCFEXnqm1DF27WeDIWTmYCmf-az53Czju1tBNqV-jQ0/s1125/IMG_7753.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="970" data-original-width="1125" height="345" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii38SDBZrIMOl6BbW11OrtcVviVirboqrW_OqY9UfhBksHFlrcohEN_eYU7SqpZlKt7s3m9hNXKMWfQ0_Hq448qeLHvPdPT3_rPCFEXnqm1DF27WeDIWTmYCmf-az53Czju1tBNqV-jQ0/w400-h345/IMG_7753.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maybe both, to be honest.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p><p>I made the mistake of watching the news this morning, and I don't know why. I heard about the more contagious strains of this virus that have now not only entered the United States, they have made their way into my state, my city, and in fact, my county. I guess they'll be ringing my doorbell by noon wanting to sell my some magazine subscriptions or new vinyl siding. Then I heard that one mask may not be enough so we should all probably be wearing two masks, which sounds positively delightful. And then I did what I should have done all along: I got fed up and changed the channel to the <i>Golden Girls,</i> which I have seen so many times I can quote all the dialogue, but it does not leave me in a state of despair, so there's that. Pass the cheesecake.</p><p>What happened to "fifteen days to flatten the curve?" I did my fifteen days. I have eaten takeout and stayed home and washed my hands and worn a mask and avoided coming close to people, and still, here we are. I know it's not technically quarantine (which involves a lot more isolation than this), but it feels like it. It's January and people are eating outside on patios, for Pete's sake. I don't want to drink a margarita on a patio in January, unless I am in some far flung tropical location--which I am not going to until the world opens up again and I can do so with my whole face exposed to the sunlight, mask free, worry free, COVID free. If you want to cut a daiquiri hole in your face mask, you do you, but I think I'll just wait it out.</p><p>We learned our lesson about trying to travel during a pandemic back in December when we attempted a little weekend getaway for our anniversary. We decided after that experience that we will pause until the vaccine has been widely distributed and things are more "normal" again before we attempt any more vacations. As Clint so perfectly summed it up, "I'm not paying full price for half the experience any more. I'll wait." You can mask up and pretend you're having fun, but I think I'll just Netflix and wait until I can actually go out and have a good time. </p><p>In the meantime, here we are in North Carolina, where it is recommended that we stay in our homes unless it is absolutely necessary that we go out (and y'all, sometimes it is just absolutely necessary, mmkay?). We have been given a 10:00 p.m. curfew (I feel like I'm in high school), been told not to gather with people outside our immediate household, and our bars and restaurants have been ordered not to serve any alcohol after 9:00 at night. Or, as someone hilariously commented online, "Our governor has challenged our state to get drunk by 9 p.m. Challenge. Accepted." You have to laugh or else you will most certainly cry. </p><p>I was folding clothes yesterday and my husband pulled a pair of navy Adidas track pants out and exclaimed, "my dress pants for work tomorrow!" Sad, but true. Athleisure is the new office wear. Adidas is the new business suit. I haven't worn a pair of high heels in so long I'm going to have to practice in them like I did in middle school when I wore them for the first time. I miss going to church in person. And going to brunch after church. And buffets. And even crowds of annoying people. I miss it all. </p><p>That said, I could have it much worse. I was chatting on the phone to a friend who lives on the west coast and her hair and nail salons have not yet reopened. We were lamenting the fact that at-home pedicures can be done, but do <i>not</i> look the same, when she dropped this bomb on me. "I tell you what I don't miss and I'll never go back to a salon for, though. Waxing." "Oh really? Which kind of waxing?" I needed to know. And then she threw down the gauntlet. Quarantine has my friend now doing her own Brazilian waxing at home, and swearing she enjoys it. Lordamercy. Not this girl. For that particular form of torture, I will gladly pay a stranger to inflict pain on my person and get the job done while I stare at the ceiling and wish it was either over or I was dead, whichever should come first. I'm adding "enjoying at-home waxing" to the alarming list of side effects people are experiencing from being shut in this long.</p><p>We were out to dinner last weekend with two friends (I know, what risky behavior!) who have daredly planned a trip to Mexico in the spring. "Do you guys have anything you're looking forward to on the calendar?" they asked. "Nope," Clint and I both replied in unison. We laughed on the way home at how grouchy we sounded, and we did explain to our companions that we meant travel-wise and not that we have nothing in life that we are anticipating giving us any joy! I mean, we have a swimming pool that will be finished in the next month or so (fingers crossed) which will provide us with some much needed entertainment once the weather warms up again. Our back yard has been leveled to total destruction, so I'm looking forward to getting rid of the red mud situation we have been living in, or as a neighbor hilariously quipped, it looks like we live on Mars, the red planet right now. We are both looking forward to getting that vaccine, even though we fall into the last category to be vaccinated, behind the felons and the group home delinquents. And most of all, we are looking forward to the time when this ordeal is behind us, when quarantine is a thing of the past, when we squeeze back into our real clothes again and take our unmasked faces out in the open world.</p><p>Until then, if you figure out a way to flatten this now infamous curve, do me a favor and stomp on it, would you? </p><p><br /></p>For Whom the Belle Tollshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08392736415085934508noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2995567392333557769.post-46830124183841101242021-01-05T08:18:00.001-05:002021-01-05T17:29:10.027-05:00Here We Go, 2021<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVG4Q7M4zJZpFbvM0qsgmDBNfkU6UG29xJilqPdxxmdOWAdBvK9szL4nRkC3QBMfwKw50NoUkJUwmjIjGGo5ICcdoZp3oezKNynp_TkNuxIur3mrKdlE6puE_owUVkKpdqQfv5HAPh5BE/s960/banner.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="792" data-original-width="960" height="528" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVG4Q7M4zJZpFbvM0qsgmDBNfkU6UG29xJilqPdxxmdOWAdBvK9szL4nRkC3QBMfwKw50NoUkJUwmjIjGGo5ICcdoZp3oezKNynp_TkNuxIur3mrKdlE6puE_owUVkKpdqQfv5HAPh5BE/w640-h528/banner.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I've never gotten this excited about hanging a banner before.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /> A new year is upon us, and I suppose it couldn't come soon enough. Although the arrival of 2021 isn't going to magically cure all our problems, 2020 was terrible for almost everyone, well, except for about three clueless people in my social media newsfeed who keep insisting it was their best and/or happiest year ever. I'll have whatever meds they're having. I think it's best for the lucid rest of us that we turn a fresh page.<p></p><p>2021 has to have the easiest job in the world: just don't screw things up nearly as badly as your predecessor. That leaves plenty of room to dance when you look at the dumpster fire of a year we just wrapped up--I will spare you a recap because you know all too well what we have been through, a completely bizarre year that redefines the word "unprecedented" and had people so out of their minds they were hoarding toilet paper and using perfectly good tequila to make hand sanitizer. Good grief.</p><p>It was a year where we were confined to our homes even for the purposes of work and school, so we baked, we binge watched, we home improved. Our dogs were the real winners, with more puppies and rescue dogs adopted than ever before and no fur baby left unattended because honestly, where did their owners possibly have to go? For walks! And more walks. </p><p>2020 took away beloved celebrities like Kenny Rogers, Alex Trebek, <i>Gone with the Wind's </i>Olivia de Havilland, Charley Pride, Sean Connery, Eddie Van Halen, and Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsberg, just to name a few. We cancelled plans, vacations, reservations, and turned it all into a big staycation as we waited for the months to roll on by. 2021, have we all been waiting for you.</p><p>I liken this past tedious year we have endured to an old episode of <i>Designing Women</i> where Julia Sugarbaker gets her head stuck in the banister of the stairs in the Governor's Mansion after being dared to pose for a silly picture whilst on a visit. Much like 2020, it all starts out innocently enough, but by the end, like our dear Julia, we were all feeling trapped and panicked and just begging to be set free already. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhSrVIq4AyGZ7a6bYtN5VQr24KjFMKELrcLUMhTIWN-nOWbHR0FW9e6kfeLpNwr29c2azc6sTOZOMWqWglgjDsqKRawgW_sBkTVqomR4_w82BiAMfBbkx8fbNzULfnbnlPgxkCTb8cDyg/s1037/IMG_9204.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="721" data-original-width="1037" height="444" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhSrVIq4AyGZ7a6bYtN5VQr24KjFMKELrcLUMhTIWN-nOWbHR0FW9e6kfeLpNwr29c2azc6sTOZOMWqWglgjDsqKRawgW_sBkTVqomR4_w82BiAMfBbkx8fbNzULfnbnlPgxkCTb8cDyg/w640-h444/IMG_9204.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We were all Julia Sugarbaker in the year 2020. Cut us loose. Set us free!</td></tr></tbody></table><br />So here we go, 2021. I feel like my head is still stuck in the bannister railing and I'm just waiting in this awkward position for someone to release me. I took a good look around the grocery store this week at all our little faces covered in masks, obeying the signage to limit our purchases of paper and disinfectant products so as not to overwhelm the supply chain and I felt like I was in some kind of apocalypse science fiction movie. (I would prefer to star in some type of old Hollywood glamorous film, given my druthers, but I am rarely given my druthers). <div><br /></div><div>I'm not sure what this new year will bring, but the good news is that our standards are low. A friend pointed out that this year is already a bit frightening--the mere sound when one says 2021 really does sound like "2020 won," now doesn't it? If that's what we need to concede to get our heads out of this proverbial bannister, then 2020 won! I consider myself highly competitive, yet I freely admit I was no match for <i>her</i>. As for this new year we embark upon, I have just this humble plea: 2021, keep your highly contagious plagues to a minimum, kindly let us out of the house now and again, and keep on keeping those murder hornets at bay, would you? Happy New Year? I certainly hope.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRSZero-beJI2BKfmKkhbdXCvR067D1Di4a1K9j4QVFqH8qeouIPMc8SiNVRo7fG-dTRN5VskZ_on-o3o8RuUyTf2Htpw1P65vnfMCh3egMheTO55Zvr5-YOS6-pTHhgsuGPqPxWzhpuU/s1280/Facetune_03-01-2021-18-44-20.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1028" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRSZero-beJI2BKfmKkhbdXCvR067D1Di4a1K9j4QVFqH8qeouIPMc8SiNVRo7fG-dTRN5VskZ_on-o3o8RuUyTf2Htpw1P65vnfMCh3egMheTO55Zvr5-YOS6-pTHhgsuGPqPxWzhpuU/w514-h640/Facetune_03-01-2021-18-44-20.JPG" width="514" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ew, 2020. Here's to a kinder, gentler new year!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /><br /><p><br /></p></div>For Whom the Belle Tollshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08392736415085934508noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2995567392333557769.post-55932915348113578482020-12-17T08:55:00.002-05:002020-12-17T11:17:58.147-05:00Frankincense, Myrrh, and Cookies?<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWI3bbP-3nCUbzcoNVW3KIcxed-jU-U9yxLEPMbsMs9kyoNZujyNfQPDdyBlr0mN0v1-ZPPxgWotXJl2RBTZXMbi9ADkFN9KUY0pIZNol368VyZj5NnjNKI3g98l5wLiZVWBCx3qvQTwY/s1440/trash.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWI3bbP-3nCUbzcoNVW3KIcxed-jU-U9yxLEPMbsMs9kyoNZujyNfQPDdyBlr0mN0v1-ZPPxgWotXJl2RBTZXMbi9ADkFN9KUY0pIZNol368VyZj5NnjNKI3g98l5wLiZVWBCx3qvQTwY/w640-h640/trash.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>I posted this picture yesterday on social media and got lots of laughs and (rightfully so) quite a few follow-up questions. I would like to explain. First, that's my trash can, and my mixer, and an allegedly "easy" cookie dough recipe. Next, the irony is not lost on me that the magazine headline reads "Peace on Earth." I regret nothing, except feeling the pressure to bake to begin with. What was I thinking?</p><p>Inexplicably, some people enjoy baking. Despite the mess it makes, the tediousness, and how time consuming it is, there are people who seem otherwise sane who tell me they find baking relaxing. I am not one of those people. I don't mind cooking, but I hate, loathe, despise, and abominate baking. As such, I refuse to spend money on the tools one needs to get the baking job done. For many years now, I have openly scoffed at those expensive KitchenAid mixers everyone has and assured myself that since I only bake on the rarest of occasions, my bottom-of-the-line Sunbeam mixer and some elbow grease can get the job done.</p><p>December's <i>Southern Living</i> was chock-full of recipes and pictures of beautiful baked goods. I became convinced that cakes and confections were a cornerstone of the holiday season. Surely my Christmas could not be complete until I baked something! I chose a recipe for something called "Santa's Kitchen Sink Cookies," promising to be fun and easy for even the kids (ha!), although the cynic in me was alerted when the recipe called for two types of flour and a special flake sea salt I had to procure from the internet. Still, Christmas baking would commence. Oh, what fun! Right?</p><p>I turned on some carols and lit up the tree, and blew the dust off my trusty mixer. I needed to make that "easy' dough because it required a minimum of an hour chill time before it could be baked. Fun! I measured and scooped and spooned and poured. The brown sugar clumped and refused to mix in; I stirred and whisked and used a pastry cutter. The recipe began by stating "using a mixer fitted with a paddle attachment...." and I swear to you I actually had the hubris to say OUT LOUD " I am the paddle attachment" as I tried to manually use a rubber spatula to make this dough come together. It refused. Fun!</p><p>I was sweaty and tired and there were tiny bits of dough all over my previously clean kitchen. The brown sugar was reduced to pieces the size of green garden peas but it did not resemble anything that I would want to bake, much less eat. I surveyed the red and green M&Ms that I had searched three stores to find still waiting to be added and realized we would never reach that step. My special internet sea salt was waiting on the counter for a crowning moment that would never come. And then I had a sort of Christmas epiphany: you know what they had at the first Christmas? I remember reading about gold, frankincense, and myrrh, but I didn't hear jack squat about any homemade cookies That's right, it was a Christmas miracle of miracles and there wasn't a baked good in sight! And I don't need any either.</p><p>I grabbed that Sunbeam and that concrete dough ball and marched the whole mess out to the trash, including the blame magazine that started it all. I never felt so free. I came inside and cleaned up my kitchen and restored it to its beautifully clean, decorated Christmas glory and stood over the sink eating a store bought Oreo cookie in defiance. </p><p>Yesterday was a learning day and I walked away with three valuable lessons. First, if you're going to do something, make sure you have the tools for the job. As much as it pains me, I'm going out and buying a KitchenAid mixer today, paddle attachment and all. I may never love to bake, but if the need does arise at least I will be able to do so without destroying my sanity and/or my kitchen. Second, Christmas isn't about cookies. If you get a package of white fudge covered Oreos from me in lieu of homemade goodies this year, you'll know why (and know better than to ask questions). And last: if you see the word "easy" used to describe a recipe, just go ahead and know that it will undoubtedly test your sanity, your Christianity, and your use of profanity. Easy is in the eye of the beholder, y'all.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>For Whom the Belle Tollshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08392736415085934508noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2995567392333557769.post-33161015292896548672020-12-07T08:07:00.000-05:002020-12-07T08:07:10.380-05:00The Bronze Anniversary<p>December 1 marked 19 years since Clint and I said I do. When I looked up the traditional gift for a 19-year wedding anniversary, I got a little laugh out of the fact that it is bronze: after all the bronze star is the medal awarded to soldiers for bravery in combat. It seem befitting, right?</p><p>Our actual anniversary fell on a Tuesday, and since we are putting in a pool at the present moment and Christmas is right around the corner, we decided against giving gifts, Plus, I couldn't think of too many dazzling bronze options that tickled my fancy. Better to wait until next year for the platinum anniversary and see what we can come up with there. I did vow not to cook, so we ordered pizza and I picked up some very festive-for-the-occasion wedding cake cupcakes from Gigi's Cupcakes for dessert. After dinner, we poured some sparkling cider and trimmed the Christmas tree, which has become a kind of anniversary tradition for us.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuSRDE0AxivBW4TdZUB82z_d87T04Yrrn9e6g0akqTZKy7g0vn0NsZ_rbJIGWul-iw9aCM_8ydotK40FttgzeJONC1WpW9qj9m7D3xh8Oor_X-FO9hLjrSuw2wMggymGR7wP1eE9Kjgzc/s2016/IMG_8812.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuSRDE0AxivBW4TdZUB82z_d87T04Yrrn9e6g0akqTZKy7g0vn0NsZ_rbJIGWul-iw9aCM_8ydotK40FttgzeJONC1WpW9qj9m7D3xh8Oor_X-FO9hLjrSuw2wMggymGR7wP1eE9Kjgzc/w480-h640/IMG_8812.jpg" width="480" /></a><br /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Even though we said no gifts, that means small gifts. I gave him some <i>Christmas Vacation</i> socks and a taco Christmas tree ornament and he surprised me with flowers.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnxZmlIbMSOT2SxT4A_TlZwELu_VbqulIUjiY5gA_4wemn4FOTjxXyrP8kjA7WTqE2Bdsz4o3sNB_pPfhxPV2JRlAErfrUR_AKvadouv1adQANyRbFnyF7thp08f5x3kvhanZzmLsSxfQ/s1836/IMG_8828.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="910" data-original-width="1836" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnxZmlIbMSOT2SxT4A_TlZwELu_VbqulIUjiY5gA_4wemn4FOTjxXyrP8kjA7WTqE2Bdsz4o3sNB_pPfhxPV2JRlAErfrUR_AKvadouv1adQANyRbFnyF7thp08f5x3kvhanZzmLsSxfQ/w640-h318/IMG_8828.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lest you think I am the only creative one in the family, Clint made this and put it inside my anniversary card. He used pictures of us on floats from a vacation a few years ago and Photoshopped them onto the rendering of our pool. And added a lizard, for effect. I laughed so hard I cried.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCID4YpXI3gXAvR8FT-zN2QE_BC8UzbSHd0w6z8gxrn52KeXjtqzY1hy3rGpg6oBovCW99v6dhtBUgs4WJPxiu4o0WCU5nqR9Ojdqw1tLI6UncceZlxL78HtPonxNvSajS1TXIJtthAQ8/s2016/IMG_8853.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCID4YpXI3gXAvR8FT-zN2QE_BC8UzbSHd0w6z8gxrn52KeXjtqzY1hy3rGpg6oBovCW99v6dhtBUgs4WJPxiu4o0WCU5nqR9Ojdqw1tLI6UncceZlxL78HtPonxNvSajS1TXIJtthAQ8/w640-h480/IMG_8853.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wedding cake cupcakes to celebrate 19 years.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwn9zA6OSLoy_8cM2CMhG28kUzGeTErn4OX4iVwwoB_9kEfYJBF8A3czzVTnZtvG2QQWxngfXTgicEamC1KfP9OzjBvRPZcWZyA-WLkqFb7qF6B9bX5-jwFXMOCvEjUFM7qHTkH7Jbp6U/s2016/Facetune_01-12-2020-21-29-34.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwn9zA6OSLoy_8cM2CMhG28kUzGeTErn4OX4iVwwoB_9kEfYJBF8A3czzVTnZtvG2QQWxngfXTgicEamC1KfP9OzjBvRPZcWZyA-WLkqFb7qF6B9bX5-jwFXMOCvEjUFM7qHTkH7Jbp6U/w480-h640/Facetune_01-12-2020-21-29-34.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sparkling apple cider and tree trimming time! Cheers to wedded bliss!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5chyphenhyphenOoiVy60Xh92MhK6x_0v9-qov-rGh0sj20sMMInSjeHXtY6zWcxCDM5GADlJwWHoJe63pKHsS9QDsDn-1y0D63lgWUBNaK48OJ4qpqsGCRMBtMzsxzcRyCFFB78fy8C1unPPEp780/s1455/Facetune_01-12-2020-21-20-43.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1455" data-original-width="1307" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5chyphenhyphenOoiVy60Xh92MhK6x_0v9-qov-rGh0sj20sMMInSjeHXtY6zWcxCDM5GADlJwWHoJe63pKHsS9QDsDn-1y0D63lgWUBNaK48OJ4qpqsGCRMBtMzsxzcRyCFFB78fy8C1unPPEp780/w574-h640/Facetune_01-12-2020-21-20-43.jpg" width="574" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Charlie was happy to help decorate the tree, too. In his special puppy way.</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Having an anniversary that falls at the beginning of the holiday season means it usually gets a little lost in the busyness of the season, but this year we decided we really wanted to take a moment and get away, even if it was just for a night. We booked ourselves a reservation at the Grand Bohemian Hotel in Asheville and drove up Friday morning for a quick celebratory mountain getaway. <div><br /></div><div>Our first stop was lunch at The Gourmet Chip Company and some shopping and browsing around downtown Asheville, until the rain started to fall. Then we gladly took refuge in the coziness of the Grove Park Inn. Even though their gingerbread house competition wasn't on pubic display this year, there were still lots of beautifully decorated Christmas trees to enjoy. After wandering and enjoying that wonder, we settled in front of the fire with a cocktail for the afternoon.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQY2m6TPA0vSCgpISt-1ivo2CB85Z8TTA68PlQqAzEwiSZIloziBvK9Us7JqktilN7ypDF8EOlM0GgU4sz3mxot8AGH_k4dcOTNg5_5qSoBUTHyMDe2ccqWLfz9_SQiZmnGkN7L_wQ-9k/s1280/Facetune_05-12-2020-18-19-24.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="966" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQY2m6TPA0vSCgpISt-1ivo2CB85Z8TTA68PlQqAzEwiSZIloziBvK9Us7JqktilN7ypDF8EOlM0GgU4sz3mxot8AGH_k4dcOTNg5_5qSoBUTHyMDe2ccqWLfz9_SQiZmnGkN7L_wQ-9k/w484-h640/Facetune_05-12-2020-18-19-24.JPG" width="484" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Feeling festive (face masks and all) at the beautifully decorated Grove Park Inn.</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>We left the historic Grove Park and headed to our hotel to check in. The Grand Bohemian Hotel is eclectic--think luxury European hunting lodge--with a lobby full of leather furniture and a massive stone fireplace surrounded by rustic finishes, antiques, and art. </div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu3lVT1cIqtf37_NwRWCCMlQ-iTP6S2QZPBKJSLK5atlfop8UB3nTqxjtDtJLWbppKw73EPyzK2og4SGnMWyDjjGYZMWPd9fe8co1z3liWq3T_OGdSgr8viRfUB29C6-U4TivLT2iWAfE/s2048/Facetune_05-12-2020-19-47-51.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu3lVT1cIqtf37_NwRWCCMlQ-iTP6S2QZPBKJSLK5atlfop8UB3nTqxjtDtJLWbppKw73EPyzK2og4SGnMWyDjjGYZMWPd9fe8co1z3liWq3T_OGdSgr8viRfUB29C6-U4TivLT2iWAfE/w480-h640/Facetune_05-12-2020-19-47-51.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is Fritz, the stuffed boar who lives in the Grand Bohemian's lobby.<br />Guests are invited to bring pins from Austria and Germany for Fritz's hat whenever they visit, but since I don't have have any pins from those places, I might get him a Dollywood pin the next time we go.</td></tr></tbody></table><br />We got dressed and went out for a delicious dinner at a nearby restaurant called Chestnut (broiled oysters for Clint and crab fettuccine for myself; something about the mountain air made us crave seafood, apparently) and then we retreated back to that beautiful hotel lobby for a nightcap. We even met another couple celebrating their first anniversary and enjoyed sharing some married people war stories with those newlyweds! <div><br /></div><div>Saturday morning we got to sleep late, something our new puppy never lets us do, which was blissful. We bundled up and headed out for brunch, then stopped off at (but of course) a local pet supply store we love to buy a souvenir for the fur boss waiting for us back home. Pandemic restrictions made it a low-key trip, but it was nice to get a change of scenery and enjoy the Christmas decorations, the city of Asheville, and of course, each other. <div><br /></div></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKR_OWms8piHcjS6BWyATo00mgrKjKbvaHyOuM44wVnYbBUUY0HVHl_yluAeV_Irz-fwIQTpSehUz-bndyQ_oZjWS8MX58F-g-JvtLxQrd9NvAOr7oGVsuv7Y2EsDZFuUd-5aEOD4L_1w/s1280/Facetune_05-12-2020-18-15-48.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="818" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKR_OWms8piHcjS6BWyATo00mgrKjKbvaHyOuM44wVnYbBUUY0HVHl_yluAeV_Irz-fwIQTpSehUz-bndyQ_oZjWS8MX58F-g-JvtLxQrd9NvAOr7oGVsuv7Y2EsDZFuUd-5aEOD4L_1w/w408-h640/Facetune_05-12-2020-18-15-48.JPG" width="408" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Happy anniversary to us!</td></tr></tbody></table><br />For Whom the Belle Tollshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08392736415085934508noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2995567392333557769.post-80007226433824359052020-11-09T07:58:00.000-05:002020-11-09T07:58:06.811-05:00My Good Side<p>Saturday was not a good day for me. In fact, last week was not a very good week for me. While we're at it, and I'm sure a chorus of hallelujahs will reign in from the back, this year has not been a very good year for me. I digress.</p><p>We were scheduled to take our Christmas card pictures Saturday morning. I say morning, but the truth is the time had been scheduled and rescheduled to the point of madness even up to the night before and we had finally settled on 8:45 a.m. bright and early on Saturday morning. I am not a morning person, I rarely feel like a human much less a smiling, card-worthy version of a human before noon, but photographers always say things about sunlight and scheduling and I have a puppy who loathes sleeping anytime past dawn anyway, so why not?</p><p>I had asked an acquaintance of ours who just happens to be a pet photographer if she would take our photos. She hesitated, and explained that while she loves taking pictures of animals, she is rarely pleased with the way her people pictures turn out and therefore, rarely does photoshoots with anything not four-legged. However, I can be charming when I need to be, and I managed to guilt this poor woman into coming to our backyard to snap a few quick shots of the three of us. I knew that the ten month old puppy would, after all, be the hardest thing to capture on film--most of the pictures I try to snap of him are a white blur as he whizzes by--and even though sweet Deb the pet photographer had a jam-packed schedule, she agreed. </p><p>I had a hard time waking up Saturday morning. I wasted time making up the bed (why I deemed fluffing my throw pillows before the sun came up important, I'm not sure, but in my defense, I was not yet caffeinated and cannot be held responsible for my decisions). The puppy has bigger hair than I do and needed to be both fed and brushed, and our house smelled like garlic bread from dinner the night before and the Southerner in me could not allow a visitor in my home until I lit a pleasantly fragrant candle to mask the smell...I was, in a word, distracted. I was running late. I never run late.</p><p>I had a sample picture I found on Pinterest for our card that I planned to show the photographer, just as a sort of idea for our pose, etc. As I hurriedly dressed, I consoled myself with this sensibility: the couple in my demo photo weren't facing the camera straight on; in fact, only one side of their bodies were showing. I noticed that, per the Pinterest photo, only my left side would actually be visible in the card. Eureka! No need for full body perfection here. I took a deep breath and saved time and sanity by only coiffing one side of my hair. I focused all my effort on getting those left eyelashes perfect, and my left brow. Oh yeah, it's a shame we can't live our lives with just one side of ourselves made up. What a clever plan. I finished getting dressed and strutted my ingenious self to the door, just as the photographer arrived. Not a minute to spare. </p><p>I hope by now you know me well enough to see where this is going. We walked outside to the spot in front of a beautiful holly tree filled with bright red berries that I had scouted for our pictures. I turned my carefully arranged left side toward the camera and flashed my most dazzling smile, clean fluffy puppy and freshly showered and pressed hubby gathered 'round. And then the photographer said: "Susie, I'm actually thinking this will look much better if you guys switch sides. Can you turn to your right instead?"</p><p>I SO should have seen that coming. What could I do? I turned my barely brushed right side with the sad, hurried lashes toward the camera and gave what I hope was a smile, although inside I was wailing. Well, I'm sure the puppy will look great, anyway. All I can say is that when you get our card this year, my 2020 side is definitely showing!</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>For Whom the Belle Tollshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08392736415085934508noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2995567392333557769.post-31865608035910391302020-11-02T07:56:00.001-05:002020-11-02T07:56:37.367-05:00HalloWhirlwindI hope you all had half as much fun as I did over Halloween weekend, and if so, you are probably chock full of candy and smiles at this point. I love a holiday (or any reason to celebrate, really) and the last few days were jam packed full of just that. From the beach to the "boos, we had ourselves a Hallowhirlwind!<div><br /></div><div>We kicked off our frenzied festivities early Friday morning when we headed to beautiful Isle of Palms to celebrate our friend Jason's 40th birthday. We had just enough time for some seafood, sun, cocktails by the pool, a fabulous Halloween themed birthday party and a Saturday morning brunch on Sullivan's Island. It was time well spent. </div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlxnmrYGsE8hespXiS4rH63PydG8mIT8igk6HkwEHrxZitwBoyGCxnnPsPlDorsECEHmI34ZqGMJ44sP5BPrSPC32i3pWDFTmIgJ3zq9i1vasQZTO36smIZNfnbmRnRl7BN6MSWJjlB1Y/s1280/IMG_8534.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="782" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlxnmrYGsE8hespXiS4rH63PydG8mIT8igk6HkwEHrxZitwBoyGCxnnPsPlDorsECEHmI34ZqGMJ44sP5BPrSPC32i3pWDFTmIgJ3zq9i1vasQZTO36smIZNfnbmRnRl7BN6MSWJjlB1Y/w392-h640/IMG_8534.jpg" width="392" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our Isle of Palms accommodations. Not a bad place for a birthday bash!<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEindNXkWuladselJeQI5bsafglb-JKR40RFDHzTbFxZa6jkxn-eqH2LvpwYyihxgkjKgJA3ZzmQsSBubbJX3TwWOz8T5vgg1rhhk_smcHjm-A3p2_byM3Uo8dZVRDhicD0aB-uPJc7Y94c/s1068/Facetune_01-11-2020-11-20-09.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="632" data-original-width="1068" height="378" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEindNXkWuladselJeQI5bsafglb-JKR40RFDHzTbFxZa6jkxn-eqH2LvpwYyihxgkjKgJA3ZzmQsSBubbJX3TwWOz8T5vgg1rhhk_smcHjm-A3p2_byM3Uo8dZVRDhicD0aB-uPJc7Y94c/w640-h378/Facetune_01-11-2020-11-20-09.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Friday night's beach house party, celebrating Jason's milestone birthday with a Halloween theme <br />(our cocktails are in IV bags!).<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_vFQm5h2IK52BSoI8CeZRxVSeIeCLyNxwEK64WsChp_WjM5frl8ttq23X7gDGtomdytbSN9ItyrXF1MrL2drhlW6jpliahAbCKJhgP-CdBitLtwSHk3GMXqRis5apb-iyPlIWuXUHAeE/s1882/IMG_8508.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1882" data-original-width="1512" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_vFQm5h2IK52BSoI8CeZRxVSeIeCLyNxwEK64WsChp_WjM5frl8ttq23X7gDGtomdytbSN9ItyrXF1MrL2drhlW6jpliahAbCKJhgP-CdBitLtwSHk3GMXqRis5apb-iyPlIWuXUHAeE/w514-h640/IMG_8508.jpg" width="514" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A festive 40th pinata, filled with mini bottles and 1980s candy and toys.<br />It was a hit...pun intended.</td></tr></tbody></table><br />As much as we hated to leave, we had promised to be back in Charlotte in time for our neighborhood Halloween fun. After Saturday brunch, we got home in time to get our candy-filled goody bags ready for the trick-or-treaters, grab the puppy's pumpkin harness just for the occasion, and head out to join all the holiday action in the street. Even a pandemic didn't dampen the Halloween spirit in our 'hood and there was quite an impressive display of decorated tables in each driveway, along with bonfires, cocktails for the adults, and costumes for any and every creature. We had a hilariously good time seeing everyone dressed up and enjoying all the scary-good decorations, and then made it home to collapse on the couch with some well-earned junk food and scary movies. Nothing makes me happier than a plate full of Bagel Bites and the original <i>Halloween</i> movie with Michael Myers. <div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisxC2oW_iUa1JTIgwMyI-rl8nMOw37kPI7YqjeqOb9WpyzrZ0NESyWwZsou3IeFAlvzKw68ds43i9XH-7z84iLYEEzBUjLHLCqHOhrgYxUF-NAceg6f9Pw9wKAaSWmuZ89j6gGAitDB7k/s1280/Facetune_01-11-2020-10-26-57.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="950" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisxC2oW_iUa1JTIgwMyI-rl8nMOw37kPI7YqjeqOb9WpyzrZ0NESyWwZsou3IeFAlvzKw68ds43i9XH-7z84iLYEEzBUjLHLCqHOhrgYxUF-NAceg6f9Pw9wKAaSWmuZ89j6gGAitDB7k/w476-h640/Facetune_01-11-2020-10-26-57.JPG" width="476" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All dressed up and ready for the neighborhood Halloween haunting to begin.</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /><div><br /></div></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL559UMOcpJq9o4TsmK5jms3oCCNAH5DDfD1jUAYVzK9qKvoT70x3FaGVAP73MD7VlJ1z_08ogJoTJo4SohHfgmYkSXfIKfDY9gGAiUJ8r40tZdC3XIdA6Wz0FgLfcoCx3hK_udbgljUw/s1557/Facetune_01-11-2020-10-29-03+%25281%2529.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1557" data-original-width="1209" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL559UMOcpJq9o4TsmK5jms3oCCNAH5DDfD1jUAYVzK9qKvoT70x3FaGVAP73MD7VlJ1z_08ogJoTJo4SohHfgmYkSXfIKfDY9gGAiUJ8r40tZdC3XIdA6Wz0FgLfcoCx3hK_udbgljUw/w496-h640/Facetune_01-11-2020-10-29-03+%25281%2529.JPG" width="496" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Charlie wasn't officially in the costume parade, but don't tell him that....<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWFjtZe_qaaFAyXR-2VUHqGWw_nXk3kT_r8_0lCStM94sJPdpCwrD9je8irNl7_4hcqo6-hIsDs4ccW0acG0iyZoCEYoQeFjfIBasZaWdcxyF5EQlC03On6VlP6kn2siGF0UceuF0IyaE/s1479/Facetune_01-11-2020-10-30-34.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1479" data-original-width="1071" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWFjtZe_qaaFAyXR-2VUHqGWw_nXk3kT_r8_0lCStM94sJPdpCwrD9je8irNl7_4hcqo6-hIsDs4ccW0acG0iyZoCEYoQeFjfIBasZaWdcxyF5EQlC03On6VlP6kn2siGF0UceuF0IyaE/w464-h640/Facetune_01-11-2020-10-30-34.JPG" width="464" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Manning the treat table and ready for action.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgjkhUsrmPq9ITf6yiZY8v8SCMuHhfcAM8UFeJJvfZv75okUcG_K4GFurg5XnXKNWIhbUP7eUw12rbJbo92meCNF435QuuMPA3-x6NNK8_zjjUMmmCoVT3EGSJY8NLnNCi7ll5fgOpo2c/s2016/IMG_8514.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgjkhUsrmPq9ITf6yiZY8v8SCMuHhfcAM8UFeJJvfZv75okUcG_K4GFurg5XnXKNWIhbUP7eUw12rbJbo92meCNF435QuuMPA3-x6NNK8_zjjUMmmCoVT3EGSJY8NLnNCi7ll5fgOpo2c/w640-h480/IMG_8514.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Apple cider Moscow mules, charcuterie, and some festive desserts for our Halloween dinner.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />I love this time of year. It was a crazy, hectic, fun and frenzied weekend and we were lucky to be surrounded by celebrations. I hope yours was full of tricks and treats and spooky things and sweets as well! <br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>For Whom the Belle Tollshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08392736415085934508noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2995567392333557769.post-57834076123970446832020-10-13T07:43:00.004-04:002020-10-13T10:28:29.540-04:00Couch Season Tailgate Party<p>The pool company was slated to start digging almost a month ago, but like most things this year, they have been delayed by COVID-19. I realize a setback in the ground-breaking for a backyard pool is not a real, actual problem, but it is another frustration in a line of frustrations. When we found out it would be November before anyone was ready to begin working on our concrete pond, Clint (brilliantly) suggested we dust off all of our tailgate gear and have a backyard football party. We figured that since we can't be in Clemson this season for any of our usual game day fun, we might as well get out the tent and just recreate a game day right here at home. Sounds like a plan, right?</p><p>Some of you already know that we have a minor history with hurricanes. Hurricane Irma crashed our Bahamas vacation in 2017 and forced us onto the last emergency evacuation flight out of Nassau. The very next year, Florence caused just enough rain in the Charlotte area to create widespread power outages, cancelling Clint's birthday dinner and melting his ice cream cake as it languished in our freezer. This time, it was Hurricane Delta who found us too irresistible to pass by. If I had a nickel for every time I checked the weather last week, I probably could have bribed old Delta to find herself another party to attend. I think you see where this is headed. Let me just say we fought a good fight.</p><p>When we initially planned our backyard Clemson tailgate party, the weather forecast called for a mostly sunny, gorgeous fall day. Clemson kickoff time wasn't until 7:30 p.m., but we invited our friends and neighbors to stop by any time that afternoon for appetizers and cocktails to watch the other college football games being played at earlier times. We set up card tables and decorated the yard and patio with inflatables, pennants, and every Clemson-related piece of paraphernalia I could find. Clint hooked up two TVs outside for the ultimate viewing party. The forecast turned ominous. We set up the tailgate tent. We fretted. We bought two more inexpensive tents in the camping section at our local Walmart. The forecast got worse. Then it got better. Then, on Saturday morning, it started sprinkling rain. Our little tent city looked as if it might hold. In an effort to provide maximum comfort, Clint ran to Home Depot and bought a large swath of turf and put it down over the increasingly muddy ground in the yard. Game on.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirXV9iWKTZ4buzOUudxKwrQgK5aiy_Va14upPQyt9VCPy96cfxiCcuAUeBMfXcOae0euld_Qs4Jj7AwQdBbmKcqzrRvV-KTX223oaG9hPywR-24K7UXbz7xadjONSU0qhIn1Gjw1DE770/s1862/IMG_8379.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1510" data-original-width="1862" height="520" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirXV9iWKTZ4buzOUudxKwrQgK5aiy_Va14upPQyt9VCPy96cfxiCcuAUeBMfXcOae0euld_Qs4Jj7AwQdBbmKcqzrRvV-KTX223oaG9hPywR-24K7UXbz7xadjONSU0qhIn1Gjw1DE770/w640-h520/IMG_8379.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A friend asked, "Is your patio covered?" I replied, "It is now." <br />Welcome to Tailgate Tent City.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />Around 3:30, we began taking all of the game day goodies I had made for us to munch on outside to set up the buffet. The weather app on my phone declared an afternoon of "drizzly rain" and we thought that, while it wasn't ideal, it would still work. Believe me when I tell you that as soon as we set the very last platter of food on the table and arranged the last bottle on the drink table, the drizzle turned to downpour. We huddled under the safety of those highly-rated Walmart tents, which lasted for about four minutes before they began to leak. The puppy made eye contact with me, threw a longing glance at the rain coming down in sideways sheets, and dashed out into the storm to run around in the wet yard.<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs-0hdtV8E67xaY3dvPSPLRn71vqp5EuG0gSXtWqfc2LTEQUwcs3Ga0TLDHq7kC32Ro-qep1NT8AvQOsljZ0RuAXtvSFpitjTFWOanuBzzy-AL21hpQdHW56I9BTTvWn7r-LlpA5FSDvo/s1977/IMG_8383.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1977" data-original-width="1483" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs-0hdtV8E67xaY3dvPSPLRn71vqp5EuG0gSXtWqfc2LTEQUwcs3Ga0TLDHq7kC32Ro-qep1NT8AvQOsljZ0RuAXtvSFpitjTFWOanuBzzy-AL21hpQdHW56I9BTTvWn7r-LlpA5FSDvo/w480-h640/IMG_8383.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was a fun minute or two, I have to say.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsKNl37OQ5QvlfvmVgpJGza1EdI6JiGnzgFBRyhM3YAWmkaw7BTt9Wn0QbQJAgXs5-V_aCja5S73uTgEjU16q7GObg4xZCMkDYkxBtDiKbRG1bm2tnAlt8kCi6l2Z7jp0Hk8MKB-uEqYA/s2016/IMG_8377.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsKNl37OQ5QvlfvmVgpJGza1EdI6JiGnzgFBRyhM3YAWmkaw7BTt9Wn0QbQJAgXs5-V_aCja5S73uTgEjU16q7GObg4xZCMkDYkxBtDiKbRG1bm2tnAlt8kCi6l2Z7jp0Hk8MKB-uEqYA/w640-h480/IMG_8377.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our food buffet, which apparently served as a very effective rain dance.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjalkKWocvdMI4rA3nBWK-rTnWSnZzCv-SkXt7PxQbMjvucbI5gjsTdPm2V3KD1DicZMqFZB5R3RSjAsFIUtJpuEzxr4tmDKKZbVIj95_fvoxTqLKu8h0u5_9R1SzO5DOH1g9_SB6WtRBc/s2016/Facetune_11-10-2020-18-14-23.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjalkKWocvdMI4rA3nBWK-rTnWSnZzCv-SkXt7PxQbMjvucbI5gjsTdPm2V3KD1DicZMqFZB5R3RSjAsFIUtJpuEzxr4tmDKKZbVIj95_fvoxTqLKu8h0u5_9R1SzO5DOH1g9_SB6WtRBc/w640-h480/Facetune_11-10-2020-18-14-23.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The bar setup, with apple cider Fireball sangria and just a hint of tropical storm.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Sometimes, you have no choice but to admit that your best laid plans have failed. Our friends, who had just arrived, kindly helped grab all the goodies and rush them inside. We were drenched but not defeated. I rearranged all the snacks and libations, we toweled ourselves off, and we continued that tailgate party from the dry security of the great indoors. </div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjalkKWocvdMI4rA3nBWK-rTnWSnZzCv-SkXt7PxQbMjvucbI5gjsTdPm2V3KD1DicZMqFZB5R3RSjAsFIUtJpuEzxr4tmDKKZbVIj95_fvoxTqLKu8h0u5_9R1SzO5DOH1g9_SB6WtRBc/s2016/Facetune_11-10-2020-18-14-23.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkppKLm_vBaTwnEgB5X0nj9I1AFNP5eI8MA3ChS1iGui_XHnWuhJZIG4TBFieQV83ccLQiZYIhFhYh3Eu7uLKfGk335faNQiwJwMufSCLIHCkzT2gsj-zOSirGpa1HN9AhyojfBLYrErs/s2016/Facetune_11-10-2020-17-58-50.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkppKLm_vBaTwnEgB5X0nj9I1AFNP5eI8MA3ChS1iGui_XHnWuhJZIG4TBFieQV83ccLQiZYIhFhYh3Eu7uLKfGk335faNQiwJwMufSCLIHCkzT2gsj-zOSirGpa1HN9AhyojfBLYrErs/w480-h640/Facetune_11-10-2020-17-58-50.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Well, at least one of our decorations survived the weather.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-4_77RM6JBfiVhd-wHwuz1KQU-wrnCxZEK31zL0O-BO-ZdDmNpK9ILKSXNd6FyG8BMIE_eJhANmUrfTjQnkLH-r2Nukgw1grnmjEw46dmWNlagnUNywyvfa0WGMVf2qyyGJmc9rSuoKs/s1966/IMG_8345.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1966" data-original-width="1394" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-4_77RM6JBfiVhd-wHwuz1KQU-wrnCxZEK31zL0O-BO-ZdDmNpK9ILKSXNd6FyG8BMIE_eJhANmUrfTjQnkLH-r2Nukgw1grnmjEw46dmWNlagnUNywyvfa0WGMVf2qyyGJmc9rSuoKs/w454-h640/IMG_8345.jpg" width="454" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Tiger Rag" is Clemson's fight song. I had these hand towels made for the powder room.<br />They were great for mopping up after getting caught in a torrential downpour.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisdOmJ7Pux7URk0S_o9RqpS33K_Ys_0mZ-wyTPG1C4_4dP1nPIHuU98Tc5Rn40CKm9kIGwRpgj8Bm4WjC3q3I_liGp-N5JoaD0KWzhmDGXldh7qQEFgfmGUTIrC8vNpJNCX5S03sKHJ58/s1842/Facetune_09-09-2020-15-54-06.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1326" data-original-width="1842" height="460" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisdOmJ7Pux7URk0S_o9RqpS33K_Ys_0mZ-wyTPG1C4_4dP1nPIHuU98Tc5Rn40CKm9kIGwRpgj8Bm4WjC3q3I_liGp-N5JoaD0KWzhmDGXldh7qQEFgfmGUTIrC8vNpJNCX5S03sKHJ58/w640-h460/Facetune_09-09-2020-15-54-06.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Charlie in his Clemson jersey is always a good pick-me-up.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>Around kickoff, we set up a build-your-own nachos bar. Clemson won against (ironically enough) the Miami Hurricanes 42-17, and even though the party didn't quite go as planned, I have to say a good time was still had by all. I'm still recovering from the exhaustion of setting up not one, but two parties--one outdoor and another indoors--but several of our friends have already said it was so much fun we should do it again. I told them just to let me know when we need more rain and we will plan the next party!</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>For Whom the Belle Tollshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08392736415085934508noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2995567392333557769.post-52278096040243300932020-09-29T08:02:00.005-04:002020-09-29T10:14:13.732-04:00Pace Yourselves<p> I noticed something a bit odd while we were walking the dog this weekend: about a third of the houses in our neighborhood already have Halloween decorations in their yards. Oh, I'm not talking about fall decor in the form of pumpkins or scarecrows, either. It's officially fall and by all means, stack your gourds to the Lord and enjoy that pot of mums on your front porch. I mean ghouls and graveyards and gore. It seems a bit strange to me, given that it's not even October yet, and I commented as such to my husband, who told me (as he typically does) to calm down.</p><p>Don't get me wrong, you know I love a holiday. My bins of Halloween decorations are down from the attic and at the ready for Thursday, because according to my trusty calendar, that is October 1st (I can't help myself, I'm a consummate rule follower). October has thirty-one whole days in it, and I would argue that is more than enough time to enjoy all the all-hallows spookery your heart would desire without getting a September jump start. At this rate, y'all are going to be sick and tired of those fake spider webs in your shrubbery by the middle of the month and your plastic Santas and Christmas lights will be up by October 15th. I guess we'd better go ahead and carve the Thanksgiving turkey tonight for dinner and hang the stockings up after dessert. Pace yourselves. There is fun to be had, but we don't have to rush it.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMQETMkNRYSpx5DEjW_zUT2pGNPgZgy7fJJAA-YBw8aOBEvhPCKby_KNGEeGJCgjxuVr-E9wjvUX4_jCcqhsHPzmf-nFYR4qPkS7Icw-ho-Qfnabtzcxa5DzzgmBrQeHLbpLIOtvuB3nc/s1000/halloweenhouse.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="1000" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMQETMkNRYSpx5DEjW_zUT2pGNPgZgy7fJJAA-YBw8aOBEvhPCKby_KNGEeGJCgjxuVr-E9wjvUX4_jCcqhsHPzmf-nFYR4qPkS7Icw-ho-Qfnabtzcxa5DzzgmBrQeHLbpLIOtvuB3nc/w640-h480/halloweenhouse.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's not that I don't love it. It's just that I love it more in October.</td></tr></tbody></table><p><br />It's been a rough year and we are all desperate for any kind of fun and distraction any way we can get it. I just want to point out that the Halloween decorations look fantastic during their appropriated Halloween month, but any other time of the year it kind of looks like your home is the site of some kind of Satanic cult ritual. I know it takes a lot of time and planning to plug in that eight foot tall red inflatable winged demon with the hissing sounds, but maybe he can wait until trick-or-treat month to make his hell-hath-no-fury appearance in the cul-de-sac? Just a thought. All these faux graveyards and severed limbs and fake rodents certainly add curb appeal, I wanted to maybe hold off a smidgen longer on festooning my house with them. Maybe a few more days? No?</p><p>I read that Reese Witherspoon threw a New Year's Eve party last week, because "we're ready for this year to be over." Reese, honey, we are all right there with you, and if that would work, I would had the confetti and streamers and champagne out about three months ago, ready to usher in a whole brand new year that is anything but this one. I think we are going to have to muddle through this 2020 thing just a little while longer, so we might as well not do it at some kind of strange breakneck holiday speed pace. Now, I'm sure some of you have Valentine cards to make and Easter eggs to die, and I've said my piece. Happy Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year!</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT4W4dGEk2rON0p6TumwulAkl27GlbPPU7TxpVVrN9f6svVnATy6GzJW7Z9ZV6vrj7fYrGZz910geT81E7R1SxdmPI6pXV_GS8r-iEu67r8lSZH-a-0gRlGvQjjTgmVqOffOpI8ZwEAEQ/s1080/nyeparty.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT4W4dGEk2rON0p6TumwulAkl27GlbPPU7TxpVVrN9f6svVnATy6GzJW7Z9ZV6vrj7fYrGZz910geT81E7R1SxdmPI6pXV_GS8r-iEu67r8lSZH-a-0gRlGvQjjTgmVqOffOpI8ZwEAEQ/w640-h320/nyeparty.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Reese's New Year's party last week. If only it were that easy.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>For Whom the Belle Tollshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08392736415085934508noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2995567392333557769.post-86688230551660413092020-09-17T07:45:00.000-04:002020-09-17T07:45:16.862-04:00Restitution<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4jI_WHe9PiA4PN8IeobfE9GrQjUAbDj0Nz8fVCDtkUDfHyMsVdCTWfm_98o2qh4UIPqWNF4II4ffdvU75HCqsFDzUmmtUsZMMCJVb660iL1JVjDzw4nS4z9LBOyHtO0bJSEtLqxoFEic/s388/IMG_8170.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="190" data-original-width="388" height="196" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4jI_WHe9PiA4PN8IeobfE9GrQjUAbDj0Nz8fVCDtkUDfHyMsVdCTWfm_98o2qh4UIPqWNF4II4ffdvU75HCqsFDzUmmtUsZMMCJVb660iL1JVjDzw4nS4z9LBOyHtO0bJSEtLqxoFEic/w400-h196/IMG_8170.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>As I type, a discussion about conduit is happening via Zoom (of course) behind me at my breakfast room table. I am not in the market for conduit at the moment, nor is conduit or the elaborate planning of electrical rooms a particular hobby of mine. No, this is 2020 and our lives have all been <strike>dismantled</strike> disrupted, and so here I sit, listening to another of my husband's conference calls. He's been working from home since mid-March, and while most of the time it's tolerable, there are days when I long for what used to be my normal life. There was less conduit talk then. </p><p>I am a housewife, and so, I was already working from home before the pandemic. My home <i>is</i> my work, and as a creature of habit, I had a comfortable routine and a relatively quiet and happy existence before COVID-19 came and crashed the party. I suddenly found myself quarantined with a new puppy and my beloved spouse, which has not left me with much time for quiet (and I'm taking the happy any way I can get it). At any point during the day, one of the living creatures in my house is looking for me and curious about whatever it is I am doing and how and why I am doing it.</p><p>So here's the deal, 2020: I want restitution. I'm going to need something to pay back these months of masks and distancing and general the-whole-world-has-lost-its-mindness. Time is something we can never get back, so I'm not going to bother asking for that; in fact, let's just rush full speed ahead and get this whole plague situation over with, shall we? I heard our infectious disease fearless leader Dr. Anthony Fauci say last week that this coronavirus situation could quite possibly last through 2021. A headline today--and I will clarify that I blatantly refused to read the article with the details--warned that we could be wearing masks and social distancing for two or three more years. Well, if that's the case, I will probably go stark raving mad. I would rather drink a 32-ounce Thirstbuster of Diet Pepsi than continue this COVID confinement any longer...and if you know me and my feelings about Pepsi, you know that is a bold statement.</p><p>Until this mess is resolved and we can all quit having nightmares about the toilet paper shortage we lived through, we've earned a few things from this ridiculous year. 2020 has taken away so much, here is what I'm thinking it can give us back:</p><p>For starters, no one is getting older this year (with the exception of those who were eagerly awaiting milestone birthdays to drive cars or buy booze). We can barely find ways to celebrate since we can't go out or come within six feet of each other, so these birthdays clearly don't count. I think most of us feel like we have aged ten years since March anyway, but the least 2020 can do it give us a mulligan on aging.</p><p>In much the same way, calories don't count right now. The grocery store has become a <i>Hunger Games</i>-style gauntlet of angry people and empty shelves. If I'm going to endure that experience, the odds are pretty high that I'm going to come out with some tasty comfort food. Week after week I have attempted to buy rabbit food, only to see the long lines, the directional arrows creating a maze I have to navigate, the out-of-stock signage and just gone and bought kettle chips instead. Crunching is great stress relief, and a release not provided by protein shakes and steamed vegetables. While I'm at it, a serving of ice cream is now one pint. No need to measure, you're quite welcome. I'm sure that calcium staves off coronavirus--hey, it's as reliable as any of the other virus information we've been given, am I right?</p><p>In related news, pants are now optional. I mean, you do need to cover your, er, assets when you venture out and about, but I think it's time that we adjust our tolerance for leggings. Judge not, lest ye be forced to button a tight pair of jeans just go to stand in line with your upper lip sweating under your face mask as you wait to buy the last Clorox wipes in the entire universe while standing six feet apart, separated from mankind by plexiglass dividers. 2020 owes us a more relaxed dress code. It's the least she can do.</p><p>Do you remember when that organization guru, Marie Kondo, was all the rage? She said if an object does not spark joy, you should get rid of it. Well, this is 2020 and I say it's time to Kondo your life. The world around us is not sparking joy, so fill it with anything good and fun and joyful that your little heart desires. Want to go ahead and put up the Christmas tree? Go for it. Buy matching pajamas for you and your dog? You deserve it. Bake that bread, buy those shoes, read a book that's way below your IQ level, watch some trash TV. I've got 2020 on my calendar, and I'm trying to, as the vacation bible school song always said, get that joy, joy, joy, joy down in my heart. When all else fails, I recommend tacos.</p><p>I hate when people say "this is the new normal." Bless their hearts, there is nothing normal about these times we are living in. I say it's high time we started turning the tables on 2020 and demanding a little something back in exchange for our troubles. Get off your computers and go get yourself a little restitution. And if that includes dog pajamas and kettle chips, I promise I won't judge.</p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="908" data-original-width="960" height="379" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkJMOCZgKOh4QZp1PMYc45tbLLqCC_7gNedRyfd_n-ocjLORFl1NPb9rzeM3r_6k61EqwpMY36nkO3Od48TfOTbNRa7huvvPzNFJ1gOrB5XcgEOB2yqvmNXMlbLPQFw6gtmB31oAQQJfw/w400-h379/IMG_8172.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This woman has clearly found ways for 2020 to bring her joy. Well done!<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>For Whom the Belle Tollshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08392736415085934508noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2995567392333557769.post-72785752080805722042020-08-19T08:09:00.001-04:002020-08-19T08:09:38.996-04:00Life's A Beach<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Life's a beach. Well, it was for a few days last week, anyway.</span></td></tr>
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I've had the words "Hilton Head!" written in big, bold letters on my calendar for a couple of months now. Counting down until our little vacation gave me something to look forward to as a break in the monotony of this current virus life we are living in, a much needed hiatus from reality and a chance to get away and relax. Sometimes you just need a breather: not a fancy, sightseeing trip to a far flung location, but a good old beach trip where you throw your trusty lounge chairs and cooler in the car and head down the highway for salt marshes and sandy bluffs.<br />
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Our trip was probably much like many of your vacations: filled with sunshine, downtime, and lots of relaxation. We spent three days laying on the beach reading and people watching, enjoying cold drinks from our cooler and afternoon snacks from the comfort of our chairs. Our exercise came in the form of walks to and from the beach bar, dips in the ocean, and strolls around the Harbour Town Marina in the evening reading the names of boats and their home ports as we ambled.<br />
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We enjoyed every kind of seafood prepared every possible kind of way: fried, broiled, steamed, stuffed, chilled (no raw oysters for us on this trip, however; they aren't in season and this did not seem like the year to try our luck with something like oyster poisoning). We ate crab, shrimp, scallops, clams, mussels, oysters, fish, a few more handfuls of shrimp, and made sure to include that all-important vacation food group at every possible meal: hushpuppies! There were daiquiris and mojitos and a couple of rounds of dark and stormys, too.<br />
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Clint got a little sunburned and the humidity destroyed my hair once or twice. We had sand in our bathing suits and shoes and in the car and we could not have cared less. We never set an alarm clock and we never thought about getting in a hurry or running late. Aside from one half-hour semi-emergency conference call, Clint was able to leave work behind and our puppy was, from all the pictures and videos his pet sitter sent, having the time of his life while we were out of town. All in all, it was a low-key, laidback, much needed, restful respite. Now, let me share a few pictures from our getaway that I hope you'll enjoy (if you don't enjoy them, please let me know and we will venture back to the beach to try again...I aim to please).<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Our patio overlooked the Sea Pines Harbour Town Marina and famous Lighthouse.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Hudson's Seafood is one of our favorite restaurants in Hilton Head. <br />Please stay six feet away from my hushpuppies.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnLtQfmBmmFSkwJ0oCtRCDBrlc8NvFgOznLBvvUfgyn_YA6ERAGePmSs4QPenK3qXFWzH94m6PFCvaolUCYQ9DUxj4O9Uu_0eHmO9GDnuOTbNSNqC-tHxF9PQnXuOpg7goG67KLesajdI/s1600/Facetune_16-08-2020-21-37-19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1318" data-original-width="972" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnLtQfmBmmFSkwJ0oCtRCDBrlc8NvFgOznLBvvUfgyn_YA6ERAGePmSs4QPenK3qXFWzH94m6PFCvaolUCYQ9DUxj4O9Uu_0eHmO9GDnuOTbNSNqC-tHxF9PQnXuOpg7goG67KLesajdI/s640/Facetune_16-08-2020-21-37-19.JPG" width="470" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">No trip to Hilton Head is complete without listening to live music <br />out on the deck of the Salty Dog Cafe.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFj1iVbWTFDQnyGFceucL58UlfR34A-xnq-uowZC5H_LlhGurmok8x4NsUE3AIxRLuL-zUzRqrCOw-tBn6hE3aM5RNNS-IO6idb78D48gvItkc48pHnoh46SbQHL1eywSCNAJtEnMJLHc/s1600/IMG_7820.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFj1iVbWTFDQnyGFceucL58UlfR34A-xnq-uowZC5H_LlhGurmok8x4NsUE3AIxRLuL-zUzRqrCOw-tBn6hE3aM5RNNS-IO6idb78D48gvItkc48pHnoh46SbQHL1eywSCNAJtEnMJLHc/s640/IMG_7820.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">And speaking of dogs, Charlie was back in Charlotte having the <i>most</i> fun<br />with his pals Oliver and Fresca. He seriously barely noticed us when we came back to get him.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoxP8dWiOr7VvmkY8ZYuPx4N_DOqlYbL_ai99eJMPQd-liYwj83G7MQgwEt04_GLLyv-RRn570R-nyTR2kcTRjKgRAhv3a6FDbJMsCFaTcZGDpyCyOiSAUKCwS9_WkUQAQq3U7lsOhbsE/s1600/Facetune_16-08-2020-21-40-59.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1103" data-original-width="1125" height="626" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoxP8dWiOr7VvmkY8ZYuPx4N_DOqlYbL_ai99eJMPQd-liYwj83G7MQgwEt04_GLLyv-RRn570R-nyTR2kcTRjKgRAhv3a6FDbJMsCFaTcZGDpyCyOiSAUKCwS9_WkUQAQq3U7lsOhbsE/s640/Facetune_16-08-2020-21-40-59.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">We made sure to get a picture with our masks on, for posterity. What a weird time.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYHt2g6ONNWxLg9BqjLn2RXT5cKKOVK_-rBE2kGTEXeC7OACOyhoTTtmWqvpTB695AwWfN79bQMIhSroufm35QNGLHsHsvxi75gcKg6OizuvwgZJxyUxGSePrhwo3Xed9UY8K_ydhWoXM/s1600/Facetune_16-08-2020-21-41-43.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1458" data-original-width="1016" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYHt2g6ONNWxLg9BqjLn2RXT5cKKOVK_-rBE2kGTEXeC7OACOyhoTTtmWqvpTB695AwWfN79bQMIhSroufm35QNGLHsHsvxi75gcKg6OizuvwgZJxyUxGSePrhwo3Xed9UY8K_ydhWoXM/s640/Facetune_16-08-2020-21-41-43.JPG" width="444" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">For those of you wondering what life with me is like, it's clearly very relaxing.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx31-yWdDhiSG3vowBLKi9cqkRxo-c_J6SA-8JrizPGAqOHIUw8hQytNXfbTNC6PaRmxzLYV7OqzzsACHqsNGNeM6ZZFrxsyMWqEH1oWM75fuuZqQJQ-XMEmW9lmVTOBb0wh26zNYw8mM/s1600/IMG_7822.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx31-yWdDhiSG3vowBLKi9cqkRxo-c_J6SA-8JrizPGAqOHIUw8hQytNXfbTNC6PaRmxzLYV7OqzzsACHqsNGNeM6ZZFrxsyMWqEH1oWM75fuuZqQJQ-XMEmW9lmVTOBb0wh26zNYw8mM/s640/IMG_7822.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">The shrimp nachos at the beach club had been on my mind since the last time I ate them, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">two years ago. I wonder if they had been thinking about me, too?</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP4nD4MAx4SnIgZvfSy4ghe94zAmjXp_XsAH8u5A0Qh_fSiHFpHp56xs2v0hU05zrLaaVVVsb26jS8CblQn4Pa5vTmR9h_7F7Jn66GrVpE7ff2BKJ493deTRq2Aq-VkHMPRus7xHLFd8Q/s1600/Facetune_18-08-2020-16-45-54.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP4nD4MAx4SnIgZvfSy4ghe94zAmjXp_XsAH8u5A0Qh_fSiHFpHp56xs2v0hU05zrLaaVVVsb26jS8CblQn4Pa5vTmR9h_7F7Jn66GrVpE7ff2BKJ493deTRq2Aq-VkHMPRus7xHLFd8Q/s640/Facetune_18-08-2020-16-45-54.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Here we are at Shelter Cove Harbour and Marina, all cleaned up for a nice dinner.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6Uu6se0s2wz_rixAehzNz2C1WWhnlzxiEmb6SiBoTwjFPk50bii-NkhErAf-82W3-Piwjuk1GozV7iKkXkUhA7vJmeA5TOMuSx_Lamg4dGbb_0x82lDvBsecudhP8qZar5e_6sykwLQE/s1600/Facetune_16-08-2020-18-48-38.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1112" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6Uu6se0s2wz_rixAehzNz2C1WWhnlzxiEmb6SiBoTwjFPk50bii-NkhErAf-82W3-Piwjuk1GozV7iKkXkUhA7vJmeA5TOMuSx_Lamg4dGbb_0x82lDvBsecudhP8qZar5e_6sykwLQE/s640/Facetune_16-08-2020-18-48-38.JPG" width="556" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">We tried Ela's On the Water for the first time and it will not be our last.<br />We started with the crab stack appetizer (jumbo lump crab, avocado, mango and cucumber) and then feasted on seafood scampi and scallops with crab risotto. </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisU-wSp3Zky9gAaS3PQ_qwZfAZO8je_nuYSfYjjcj1T7l804rRw2S2yj8W0oNVxoLPXEoFc347LTLPCl8RcXg6eKa6TZaNUDWgv4gx824yDcN2VPvo7TModQyE_39Askb4sQ_Px2kBcXo/s1600/Facetune_16-08-2020-19-58-44.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1370" data-original-width="1124" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisU-wSp3Zky9gAaS3PQ_qwZfAZO8je_nuYSfYjjcj1T7l804rRw2S2yj8W0oNVxoLPXEoFc347LTLPCl8RcXg6eKa6TZaNUDWgv4gx824yDcN2VPvo7TModQyE_39Askb4sQ_Px2kBcXo/s640/Facetune_16-08-2020-19-58-44.jpg" width="524" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">All smiles for our last night in Hilton Head.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4YUXYiKT1b8cFBp1A8n4IjN1oMjejKwQx8nOyPjeq1E9MyRjw8jOZ3T8ScMLBJvU0_xRxq4YtnHhspPUV6zmUTwmJUsp6daei5Kvd-q_Xnx6J9MNZnLqkjDvagc2rdqvIpEhbL9238FI/s1600/Facetune_16-08-2020-21-26-20.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1588" data-original-width="1192" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4YUXYiKT1b8cFBp1A8n4IjN1oMjejKwQx8nOyPjeq1E9MyRjw8jOZ3T8ScMLBJvU0_xRxq4YtnHhspPUV6zmUTwmJUsp6daei5Kvd-q_Xnx6J9MNZnLqkjDvagc2rdqvIpEhbL9238FI/s640/Facetune_16-08-2020-21-26-20.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">You know Clint is rested and refreshed when he starts agreeably posing for pictures.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjASki3GR1FzniNEjg58NUTtH80HqtL4_DHVJvTzse4JAYAv_Sh0bVvzZ6rPI6kfOzcr5FdMHknq3R0BkwZieUn5KxtTDQndOKBXK1yqeWQVoGWQzkSN___wp2xTmHOSIHu0iaYbIC9WI8/s1600/Facetune_16-08-2020-19-41-26.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1314" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjASki3GR1FzniNEjg58NUTtH80HqtL4_DHVJvTzse4JAYAv_Sh0bVvzZ6rPI6kfOzcr5FdMHknq3R0BkwZieUn5KxtTDQndOKBXK1yqeWQVoGWQzkSN___wp2xTmHOSIHu0iaYbIC9WI8/s640/Facetune_16-08-2020-19-41-26.JPG" width="524" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Or maybe he was just giddy because he was on his way to eat this crab boil at the Crazy Crab?</span></td></tr>
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The time went by too fast, as vacation time tends to do. We always think the hallmark of a perfect trip is when you leave wishing for just one more day. We may have wished for just one or two!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNR9aNu6X0EyT7fVCsRAnXizsZPIOHsZciXH4CHBW6gI6IIe_ZPVEORwtgILvdqEyh7UBcCtQbgjPMSX9bi4GnopvPQVjk8_EXRjOhSyB_jYmvQ2i2FjY0W5r6JfV_zGGbr-x6jzb1Fyc/s1600/beach-quotes-robert-wyland-1560355974.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNR9aNu6X0EyT7fVCsRAnXizsZPIOHsZciXH4CHBW6gI6IIe_ZPVEORwtgILvdqEyh7UBcCtQbgjPMSX9bi4GnopvPQVjk8_EXRjOhSyB_jYmvQ2i2FjY0W5r6JfV_zGGbr-x6jzb1Fyc/s640/beach-quotes-robert-wyland-1560355974.png" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Ahh. I needed that.</span></td></tr>
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For Whom the Belle Tollshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08392736415085934508noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2995567392333557769.post-83826457957078951422020-08-05T07:45:00.000-04:002020-08-05T07:52:12.128-04:00Sweet EmotionA few years ago, I made the mistake of going to a big, beefy bodybuilder for diet advice. BBB, let's call him for the sake of anonymity, swore to develop a customized plan that was <i>not </i>a body builder plan, but rather a science-based approach to burning fat, building muscle, stoking metabolism--all the things we all want desperately but rarely achieve. To my dismay, my allegedly custom plan made me feel like I was training for the Mr. Olympia competition. After finishing an hour of fasted cardio each morning, I enjoyed a breakfast of egg whites before moving on to strength training. When I was done with my weight lifting, I could reward myself with some oatmeal or half a sweet potato, and then look forward to scarfing down some whey protein in shake form around lunch. It. Was. Not. For. Me.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHGXcp_cEwbj8_6nI4NkCWHybp0JiaOhGt8T0KqT6vbLFFF_KST6KmeXGId8NTD_pVWfRjgAblq7aQZSagIxOaBkbmINp1Tr8PT-SsOWypkPe4Jh2cLGXs6wGhPiIqV_iIAo9UWw9YQ2Y/s1600/IMG_7621.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHGXcp_cEwbj8_6nI4NkCWHybp0JiaOhGt8T0KqT6vbLFFF_KST6KmeXGId8NTD_pVWfRjgAblq7aQZSagIxOaBkbmINp1Tr8PT-SsOWypkPe4Jh2cLGXs6wGhPiIqV_iIAo9UWw9YQ2Y/s640/IMG_7621.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Some call this a diet plan. I call it a recipe for misery.</span></td></tr>
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When I tried explaining this, BBB said I was thinking about it all wrong. I lamented that the biggest problem was that I didn't particularly <i>like</i> any of the foods I was being forced to consume on a daily basis and that every meal and snack felt like torment. Food was becoming drudgery. This super buff, chiseled man then uttered that phrase we've heard so many times from health and fitness zealots, "Food is simply fuel."<br />
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To that, I have but one (emphatic) response: phooey. Yes, food is fuel for our bodies, but to most normal or semi-normal human beings, food is a little more than that. It is virtually impossible to remove the emotional component from eating, and truth be told, I'm not sure I want to. Robotically consuming steamed broccoli and baked chicken may make you look amazing, but I'm almost certain it will also kill your soul. There is emotion attached to our food, sweet emotion.<br />
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When I was growing up, any time we passed through the kitchen and saw my mother slicing overripe bananas and a box of Nilla wafers on the counter, we would gasp and ask, "Mama, who died?!" You see, banana pudding is for the bereaved. It tastes like comfort. The pudding helps mend broken hearts, I'm sure of it. The Nilla wafers will soak up your tears. We make it for other occasions besides funerals--picnics, family reunions and the like--because it is delicious, but when you have lost someone you love, banana pudding and the love of your community will fill the void.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKo7LSt1wel7-wx5-3wWMs_ufIekwozEgITrqKHrPnkTrh8OemoML2iIElzFtUWJH6AydisbI-2EGo_0S2voR07_F0gESjGRfJQ_6KFaxvAId0v-cQHuSjSpURP63qteYqIsRUV9Y-quU/s1600/IMG_7447.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKo7LSt1wel7-wx5-3wWMs_ufIekwozEgITrqKHrPnkTrh8OemoML2iIElzFtUWJH6AydisbI-2EGo_0S2voR07_F0gESjGRfJQ_6KFaxvAId0v-cQHuSjSpURP63qteYqIsRUV9Y-quU/s640/IMG_7447.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Banana pudding, for the bereaved, the hungry, or both.</span></td></tr>
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Years ago, a book which outlined the five love languages became a bestseller. I've never read the book, although I've certainly heard a lot about it, but I can tell you that I believe there is one universal love language and it is this: carbs. When in doubt, carbohydrates. Macaroni and cheese is a hug, tacos speak to my soul, and if chicken and dumplings aren't what love tastes like, I don't know want to know about it. A college friend of mine once cornered my mother and whispered that she needed her peanut butter pie recipe to help turn her boyfriend into her husband. They broke up a year later, but I think the reason the relationship lasted another twelve months was that pie. It's hard to walk away when you're well-fed.<br />
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Sure, food is fuel, but it can also be medicinal. When is the last time you didn't feel better after a bowl of chicken soup? My mother and I have both been brought back from the brink many times over the years by egg drop soup as well. The answer to my problems does not lie at the bottom of a basket of chips and salsa, but I always feel much better after I go there looking for it. In the years that I have known my husband, I have found that a pint of Ben & Jerry's ice cream goes a long way towards making him forget about whatever care is weighing him down (and I'm happy to imbibe along with him, as a loving, supportive spouse). </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinCFzc-Sc7-KPKSAN70TRVBt0jRANpQBjINFrHi0uYpGmKP2XQLyp92fqUkrYsSC3vMQFjRg08aOThv7u0RQ2vmfTSYQvgp3grlCugyUvRahFDGTjNhXLM9AtAHjDJEQLX0XJ8te9jgdA/s1600/IMG_7450.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="476" height="638" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinCFzc-Sc7-KPKSAN70TRVBt0jRANpQBjINFrHi0uYpGmKP2XQLyp92fqUkrYsSC3vMQFjRg08aOThv7u0RQ2vmfTSYQvgp3grlCugyUvRahFDGTjNhXLM9AtAHjDJEQLX0XJ8te9jgdA/s640/IMG_7450.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5QkFf8UWsdFz-P4EU6O3QM3PMELmt7H7fOcWd2bE0Az3qJKWM5EzqcY2DdZggoRAOy5kv-a0iWMrbz6FdgP3V9r_KHy0vBqSQHK6z4fIFOiKdlrYe_jGzup0k0RDg_qYA7lgsGE-dBq4/s1600/IMG_7475.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1260" data-original-width="1280" height="630" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5QkFf8UWsdFz-P4EU6O3QM3PMELmt7H7fOcWd2bE0Az3qJKWM5EzqcY2DdZggoRAOy5kv-a0iWMrbz6FdgP3V9r_KHy0vBqSQHK6z4fIFOiKdlrYe_jGzup0k0RDg_qYA7lgsGE-dBq4/s640/IMG_7475.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">The answer may not lie at the bottom of the tortilla chip bowl. But I should at least check.</span></td></tr>
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Food is love, it is comfort, it is nostalgia and celebration. What would happen to our seasons without the food we crave to mark the occasion? Can you fathom a summer without vine ripe tomatoes or watermelon? A Thanksgiving without turkey and dressing? Birthday cake, Christmas cookies, anniversary dinners...our emotions are all wrapped up in what we eat, so we might as well admit it. It's the reason we bake, mix, assemble, and devour. My granddaddy used to have a saying that you should eat to live, not live to eat. He was right in the perfunctory sense, and I really do want to agree with him...it's just that my neighbor brought over some warm banana bread this morning, and it tastes like life itself.<br />
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For Whom the Belle Tollshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08392736415085934508noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2995567392333557769.post-17885112133310307252020-07-15T07:48:00.001-04:002020-07-15T07:48:25.615-04:00Still Got It: Pandemic EditionWell, I'm just going to come right out and say it: 2020 is no one's friend. She's mean-spirited, hateful, spiteful, rude, and tacky. Every single time I think there is a light at the end of the tunnel, 2020 comes along and snuffs it out. I'm pretty sure I read months ago that COVID-19 didn't like the heat, however, it's a balmy 92-degrees in Charlotte this week and our daily number of cases continues to rise. Face masks are the (literal) hot summer accessory--because in my state, they are required if you're out in public. Concerts and events are cancelled, and we've spent the first half of the year being "safer at home."<br />
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But all of that is okay. It's completely out of our control, so it's time to put on a happy face (under your properly fitted face covering, of course) and focus on what we do have going for us. There are just some things that even COVID can't kill. Some of our most beloved things about good old summertime are eternal, pandemic or no. Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to present just a short list of things we've still got, fabulous as they be:<br />
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The lake, the pool, and the ocean are all ready and waiting. You may have to stay further apart from your fellow sunbathers than usual, but is that even a bad thing? Maybe now I can enjoy the breeze from the water and my toes in the sand without being downwind from some idiot haphazardly spraying aerosol sunscreen (it happens every summer--people spray that stuff around like they're throwing confetti on New Year's and it winds up in my face, my eyes, my throat). The water is still cool, the days are still long, and I still love working on my tan. Come on in, the water's fine. We've still got it.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo1EcGcAt-QrKbrhUxCEsUgv3Z4j3ViBufKHsQp2jNrxgFRjMWtB3i1aI1Y1hdLLNR4whCV8oflUKfVPI-YSF2PGanZbiRVfm_76sQCQ-li3XoziIoCcbk_vVSyDyDA1jkcfD01I2AyhE/s1600/sunscreen-spray-1024x682.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="682" data-original-width="1024" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo1EcGcAt-QrKbrhUxCEsUgv3Z4j3ViBufKHsQp2jNrxgFRjMWtB3i1aI1Y1hdLLNR4whCV8oflUKfVPI-YSF2PGanZbiRVfm_76sQCQ-li3XoziIoCcbk_vVSyDyDA1jkcfD01I2AyhE/s640/sunscreen-spray-1024x682.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Six feet away with the sunscreen, too, people. </span></td></tr>
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Summer food is still delicious. This pandemic hasn't ruined the watermelon or tomato crop, thank heavens, so fill up the salt shaker and get the party started. We had our first tomato sandwiches of the summer last weekend--white bread, Duke's mayo, farmer's market tomatoes--and it was even better than I thought I remembered. Yesterday, I took the lazy way out and bought some pre-cut watermelon at the grocery store and the package didn't have a bar code...so the cashier gave it to me for free. Watermelon sprinkled with a little salt is the unofficial taste of summer. Yep, still got it.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxwObCbBhDmEuKcFiNv93IoBF7dNHoShqZXQJ0p0XsjS2VHss5zKHcIuwnSBxT425G8pnGLfUDq3dWRh9bfuSkXY5Yw1WkEsXh26QJ4MrdkPHVkqwCl6hxGVzU0AmWoK5A4IFJ4iARnY0/s1600/IMG_7411.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="253" data-original-width="317" height="510" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxwObCbBhDmEuKcFiNv93IoBF7dNHoShqZXQJ0p0XsjS2VHss5zKHcIuwnSBxT425G8pnGLfUDq3dWRh9bfuSkXY5Yw1WkEsXh26QJ4MrdkPHVkqwCl6hxGVzU0AmWoK5A4IFJ4iARnY0/s640/IMG_7411.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">A summer still life.</span></td></tr>
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Last I checked, an icy cold Coca Cola in a glass bottle remains a delicious way to quench the July heat, hot dogs off the grill were still one of the finest meals around, lightning bugs dancing in the yard still remind me of catching them in Mason jars as a child, and coming into the wonderfully chilly air-conditioning after a walk still revives my hot, weary, Southern soul. Sorry to tell you this, 2020, but we've still got it.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIDAWqhWjk9d8zzea3Jx3k-ptO0KJM2nnhg-MWmVztGx35HNIHugwh6SRchZWKVC0Tf9FFtUopNVFRfJd1oojueqcqMraIdP4-bc91GCwCa2XdC1THZkV8rYoAwn6YvGhPbOR1knT0Ka8/s1600/IMG_7413.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="199" data-original-width="268" height="475" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIDAWqhWjk9d8zzea3Jx3k-ptO0KJM2nnhg-MWmVztGx35HNIHugwh6SRchZWKVC0Tf9FFtUopNVFRfJd1oojueqcqMraIdP4-bc91GCwCa2XdC1THZkV8rYoAwn6YvGhPbOR1knT0Ka8/s640/IMG_7413.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Some things are just eternal; like running through a sprinkler in the summertime. </span></td></tr>
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Hammocks still swing, socks and shoes are not part of the dress code, and our porches and patios are still open. Ice cream is still melty and delicious, water balloon fights are highly encouraged, and there's no need to change out of your t-shirt or fix your hair. Sure, some things are different this year, but so many of the things that we love about this season will always remain. So throw on your flip flops, fire up the sprinkler, and enjoy a Popsicle out on the porch. Tell that hussy 2020 to stick her finger in the Bug Zapper or take long walk off a short pier, because summer is here, and we've still got it.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT0oFJ7FxnCHNEYj5u3Rnqd29WVDd7e3g694vmJm8kbxTQi3SHsHUa_9caiCaNjECu2p6WNEvFES-Fkz5XKY_ILIRpokCeDteVqB5uiTyE5R9fYAFLX1wqQx1cX197dPmqjY333IsVu_o/s1600/Facetune_14-07-2020-16-24-11.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1261" data-original-width="1181" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT0oFJ7FxnCHNEYj5u3Rnqd29WVDd7e3g694vmJm8kbxTQi3SHsHUa_9caiCaNjECu2p6WNEvFES-Fkz5XKY_ILIRpokCeDteVqB5uiTyE5R9fYAFLX1wqQx1cX197dPmqjY333IsVu_o/s640/Facetune_14-07-2020-16-24-11.JPG" width="598" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Happy summer!</span></td></tr>
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<br />For Whom the Belle Tollshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08392736415085934508noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2995567392333557769.post-77978917356011301972020-06-18T07:42:00.002-04:002020-06-18T08:18:38.307-04:00Myrtle Beach or BustThe world seems to have gotten awfully chaotic and complicated lately, doesn't it? It feels like all the news is bad news, and collectively, there is an awful lot of frustration and irritation. Last week, I was busy avoiding any and all news for fear of hearing more horrible/terrible/upsetting things (and who needs to know about even more of those kind of things? Personally, I have reached my quota), when I heard a commercial for Myrtle Beach--the one with that jingle, "Let go and unwind, on Myrtle Beach time." It put a huge smile on my face. Not because I have plans to visit Myrtle Beach any time soon--I haven't been in at least two decades--but because of all the childhood memories I made there on our family vacations over the years. Before we traveled to more far flung locales like the Caribbean, the Myrtle Beach Grand Strand was our annual summer trip. And for a small town Georgia kid in the 1980s and 90s, it was absolute heaven.<div><br /></div><div>Depending on the level of holiday traffic, the car ride to Myrtle would usually take us somewhere around six hours. To keep us occupied and happy, my mother would take a grocery sack filled with candy bars and kid-adored snacks and put it between my brother and me in the back seat of the car. We giddily sang along to songs on the radio, played the alphabet game and I Spy, and munched our way to our most wonderful, blissful destination. As I got older, it became more fun to make signs for passersby as an added form of entertainment: "Myrtle Beach or BUST" was a natural choice, and one year "Honk if OJ's Guilty" created quite a timely flurry of activity along our drive. </div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZbL6kTzgM3IMNwNibdbXu2HBIVCmSRdGDiagtkwLXhyphenhyphen73w5I-2kI2tvJNluHfZlTsYhZAi8b0fXbqaom4lS25jyGGA95tfcnrl6II8wv6QCOcQ97hDG18augyxF3x1NyQQocrOLosWUk/s1796/IMG_7146.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1347" data-original-width="1796" height="469" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZbL6kTzgM3IMNwNibdbXu2HBIVCmSRdGDiagtkwLXhyphenhyphen73w5I-2kI2tvJNluHfZlTsYhZAi8b0fXbqaom4lS25jyGGA95tfcnrl6II8wv6QCOcQ97hDG18augyxF3x1NyQQocrOLosWUk/w625-h469/IMG_7146.jpg" width="625" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here we are in the back seat of the car, all smiles on our way to Myrtle Beach!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>We stayed in hotels that seemed like palaces to my ten-year old self, resorts with names like Coral Reef and The Captain's Quarters. I remember the first time I ever saw a lazy river, with all those inner tubes being self-propelled along in a wondrous, chlorine-scented loop. Mind blown. Our Myrtle Beach vacations were days filled with riding waves on a red and blue canvas raft, making sand castles on the beach, and swimming in my t-shirt after inevitably getting a sunburn on day one. Planes would buzz overhead flying banner ads for Wings, the one-stop-all-your-beach-needs store with glamourous and exotic merchandise like shark's tooth necklaces, tiny bottles filled with real beach sand to buy and take home, seashell wind chimes, and all those magnificent t-shirt choices. I would stare at that wall of decals for what seemed like forever before carefully choosing the number for the design I wanted heat stamped onto a shirt. </div><div><br /></div><div>Myrtle Beach was a place filled with endless possibilities. This was the place where I first tasted a dill pickle flavored potato chip,--clearly, a land where any good thing could happen! Along the strip, I saw bikers on motorcycles sporting black leather and arms full of tattoos. I was frightened and fascinated all at once. We ate salt water taffy because we thought it was made with actual ocean salt water. You could see oddities like the world's tallest man at the Ripley's Believe It or Not! museum, or wander off the hot and sunny sidewalk into a cool, dark room to see alligators and sharks on display right before your eyes (well, swimming slowly in three feet of very murky water as you walked above them on a strange, fenced-in catwalk, but still). Yes, magical, mystical Myrtle Beach was a wonder of the world to us.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7MoFJInhGMs5JSK8pLyK-UX31cTUQn1Dqa1CiLR-MRv4d442HUUm7C8ECcU3ZFKCgq4FByosYdJcO84aSk4rX9JNaqEbTMEEqX713hBYrsxbxpOWd95Igmkc_X_ccS7C-_vBsn2-f5tc/s1512/IMG_7142.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="1126" height="625" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7MoFJInhGMs5JSK8pLyK-UX31cTUQn1Dqa1CiLR-MRv4d442HUUm7C8ECcU3ZFKCgq4FByosYdJcO84aSk4rX9JNaqEbTMEEqX713hBYrsxbxpOWd95Igmkc_X_ccS7C-_vBsn2-f5tc/w466-h625/IMG_7142.jpg" width="466" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My brother's shirt said "My First Myrtle Beach T-shirt." <br />And believe me, it was the first of many.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh74o1tjyOcMNM_Bshj0C_pV5kBrPMgJjtorIYOvGS7OLnCh0FwR1K8AB4QPXNdKvbZweZqro863U_Yzey53fGw_Xh3_UtgHREw36ujOupH-D1NTFLCf8qWlPc4ccA7lzdGMJfHive9rvU/s1748/IMG_7138.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1400" data-original-width="1748" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh74o1tjyOcMNM_Bshj0C_pV5kBrPMgJjtorIYOvGS7OLnCh0FwR1K8AB4QPXNdKvbZweZqro863U_Yzey53fGw_Xh3_UtgHREw36ujOupH-D1NTFLCf8qWlPc4ccA7lzdGMJfHive9rvU/w500-h400/IMG_7138.jpg" width="500" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Those Myrtle Beach summers were as good as it gets.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs89EFIRRNPibS9u-kZAwXUPOBwWmg-fTZLaWYxXgqd0IjpQnoL9wUKxiEwcgSSIKWsz3faVOlEbeEpjtHpmDiv_xjkHTpbvFLygRFwb3R6EFggQqb814BsyUzmO5eLmuNjQJH4SkS9Dk/s1930/IMG_7140.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1448" data-original-width="1930" height="375" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs89EFIRRNPibS9u-kZAwXUPOBwWmg-fTZLaWYxXgqd0IjpQnoL9wUKxiEwcgSSIKWsz3faVOlEbeEpjtHpmDiv_xjkHTpbvFLygRFwb3R6EFggQqb814BsyUzmO5eLmuNjQJH4SkS9Dk/w500-h375/IMG_7140.jpg" width="500" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That's me, dressed to the nines in (undoubtedly) a new shirt.<br />I had to laugh at the two coolers behind me in our hotel room: we have always been a family that believe in having a bevy of snacks on hand. <br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkQmrHOoFw0BDlwYPJCrVfqrjXjxiJtZ7evx8L12FDFoQnLoHIr8In2q8XrzY7CT83anSJF2oIbnY4BS8ZPiBZbJ2cU7ZhHMfvpDzFs9c1Wh45r7c_eDFANYtbHkTmdrrxLpAHoJSyNMA/s550/IMG_7155.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="361" data-original-width="550" height="329" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkQmrHOoFw0BDlwYPJCrVfqrjXjxiJtZ7evx8L12FDFoQnLoHIr8In2q8XrzY7CT83anSJF2oIbnY4BS8ZPiBZbJ2cU7ZhHMfvpDzFs9c1Wh45r7c_eDFANYtbHkTmdrrxLpAHoJSyNMA/w500-h329/IMG_7155.JPG" width="500" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Souvenir heaven.</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I miss those simpler times, when we hopped in my mom's car to cruise the strip and pick up a dozen fresh Krispy Kreme doughnuts for the next morning's breakfast (doughnuts for breakfast! The vacation diet was everything a kid dreamed of). I loved going to the boardwalk for a foot-long hot dog, watching the Klig's Kites employees fly their wares down by the shore, and nervously waiting in line for the Scrambler ride at the Pavilion Amusement Park. We had days filled with surf and sand, seafood dinners, and then carnival rides, souvenir shopping, and wildly competitive games of putt-putt (some may refer to it as miniature golf, but we as a family have always prided ourselves on being fun, not fancy, so we play putt-putt).</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMcMK7fmC_-opJti8aQ1mBStKHVswk_etBxTXZHKioEAhSpt06PcSmwoeaGjUg9-BHySQ81Z9DcKbJczEh_LOTIy5-9ZtCroicjtF044J0_h6aPY1cvAqOyFQFcySA1Uzo_YHyPsbqCGg/s1860/IMG_7143.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1396" data-original-width="1860" height="375" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMcMK7fmC_-opJti8aQ1mBStKHVswk_etBxTXZHKioEAhSpt06PcSmwoeaGjUg9-BHySQ81Z9DcKbJczEh_LOTIy5-9ZtCroicjtF044J0_h6aPY1cvAqOyFQFcySA1Uzo_YHyPsbqCGg/w500-h375/IMG_7143.jpg" width="500" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Taking in the thrills at the Pavilion Amusement Park.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipPjvJ9s6ZuMLzT33_JizQlWvMiELScSvVa7DN1XqAzwR2T8PT82vvSJW0zkrpA-Cgyc6OtkLh9ejyZMcsYi-HH61Q_jgdnIePuQZTWumWUndtEICfP-CAoialH9XMUNOUPCnCZoKhuqA/s1806/IMG_7157.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1355" data-original-width="1806" height="375" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipPjvJ9s6ZuMLzT33_JizQlWvMiELScSvVa7DN1XqAzwR2T8PT82vvSJW0zkrpA-Cgyc6OtkLh9ejyZMcsYi-HH61Q_jgdnIePuQZTWumWUndtEICfP-CAoialH9XMUNOUPCnCZoKhuqA/w500-h375/IMG_7157.jpg" width="500" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I have no idea what arcade game this is, but look at our faces. <br />New technology can't even compete with that.<br />(Also, yes, my hair is a work of kinky, curly banana clip art. It was the style...I'm sticking to that story.)</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"></div><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7sl_vnEpjv6DXMFQ_f96v3qB8svVAwMfXCEzmehCPgZhyWBjhtiaduRzzcJK0eK33TrQKDitMEuJI1TCD273c-bnEuLIQpj3cXjbQVTI_SG-4eFeT-qfUBK_S-r7yJUpGtBmqHNN1cTY/s1714/IMG_7144.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1460" data-original-width="1714" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7sl_vnEpjv6DXMFQ_f96v3qB8svVAwMfXCEzmehCPgZhyWBjhtiaduRzzcJK0eK33TrQKDitMEuJI1TCD273c-bnEuLIQpj3cXjbQVTI_SG-4eFeT-qfUBK_S-r7yJUpGtBmqHNN1cTY/w500-h426/IMG_7144.jpg" width="500" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another favorite vacation past time, <br />putt-putt at some place I'm reasonably sure had a pirate theme (didn't they all?)</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><font color="#0000ee"><u><br /></u></font></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLgkBS4vMVNKbmKEk-iUPipQYO8fLRS7a1vHjJPB5uRyo4DDFrOq2jwfEyKlDahsqu_Iy1iH48U028jgiQvYTFZAYzlLRm-DH-UW6XIiBQAoudKUAvmd13EwjHUxWruw_UPKii_zzzXSU/s1768/IMG_7148.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1326" data-original-width="1768" height="375" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLgkBS4vMVNKbmKEk-iUPipQYO8fLRS7a1vHjJPB5uRyo4DDFrOq2jwfEyKlDahsqu_Iy1iH48U028jgiQvYTFZAYzlLRm-DH-UW6XIiBQAoudKUAvmd13EwjHUxWruw_UPKii_zzzXSU/w500-h375/IMG_7148.jpg" width="500" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm not sure which Myrtle Beach restaurant this was, <br />but I bet there was a sign outside promising "Calabash Seafood."<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSznXcf7hVMn7xjVISwO6DrrgDzBbNvIvb1nWPqiO5jiA3mSGgMoYNWgPMFymBA9NhAk03urAEO9GP6MNm1NgH1ZDj4IbaQRgsx4TZsCTdrhSH9U1wuLdzDxLEWwrB0JFtVrpAtd1OIsg/s1873/IMG_7145.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1873" data-original-width="1465" height="500" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSznXcf7hVMn7xjVISwO6DrrgDzBbNvIvb1nWPqiO5jiA3mSGgMoYNWgPMFymBA9NhAk03urAEO9GP6MNm1NgH1ZDj4IbaQRgsx4TZsCTdrhSH9U1wuLdzDxLEWwrB0JFtVrpAtd1OIsg/w391-h500/IMG_7145.jpg" width="391" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Even before the days of smartphones and social media, <br />I never missed the chance for a photo op.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">That annual trip to Myrtle Beach was something we dreamed about all year long. Our beach vacations meant the biggest worry was what to eat, ride, or see next. Tough decisions were choosing between the ocean and the pool, or what color golf ball to use for the evening round of putt-putt. Things got complicated trying to pick between fried popcorn shrimp or fried clam strips, and nerves got frayed watching the Flying Dutchman ride zoom higher and higher while waiting our turn to get on board. So during these summer days when the talk turns to pandemic or politics and the topics of conversation get heavy, I'm going to let go and unwind, back to those good old Myrtle Beach times. From the Bowery to the boardwalk, and the Magic Attic to the Gay Dolphin, those were the days.<br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzXIBNgMZbKeaRzJoov231gnYn1U9GmrzqGSY-5GnIPphapSDNut73UaSvNH-qGv2BJANgxvRSoOnEe6pxigK6jYnIN5SRPMLglJXF70UVxY266bd7GfxhcooV6Qu25YueTmv_WNsF_yo/s1666/IMG_7147.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1265" data-original-width="1666" height="380" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzXIBNgMZbKeaRzJoov231gnYn1U9GmrzqGSY-5GnIPphapSDNut73UaSvNH-qGv2BJANgxvRSoOnEe6pxigK6jYnIN5SRPMLglJXF70UVxY266bd7GfxhcooV6Qu25YueTmv_WNsF_yo/w500-h380/IMG_7147.jpg" width="500" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm not sure we knew how good we had it back then, but we sure know now.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div>For Whom the Belle Tollshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08392736415085934508noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2995567392333557769.post-14338157724679984062020-05-14T07:39:00.004-04:002020-05-15T13:24:54.019-04:00Why Southerners are Terrible at QuarantineIt feels like day one zillion of this whole COVID-19 situation, doesn't it? And while states are reopening and we are starting to slowly emerge from our isolation, it looks like it is going to be quite some time before we get back to any kind of normal. I'm in North Carolina, where we still haven't gotten our restaurants or hair and nail salons back (among other things). Meanwhile, my family and friends in Georgia and South Carolina are dining out again to some degree, getting highlights and pedicures, and generally praising the Lord this ordeal could be coming to a close.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Hunker down and hold on, y'all. 2020 is taking us for some kind of a ride.</span></td></tr>
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Southerners, more so than anyone, were not made for quarantine. This is for a number of reasons, not the least of which is the fact that we can't communicate without touching. We are huggers--we hug hello, goodbye, at the end of a good story, you name it. You can't attend a proper Southern gathering without hearing the phrase "come here and let me hug your neck"--and if you don't hear that tossed in your direction, you need to immediately set out to figure who you have majorly ticked off and why. Southerners are squeezers, back slappers, hand shakers, cheek kissers, and arm touchers. To say social distancing is not our forte is like saying we aren't great at driving in snow...it's an extreme understatement.</div>
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Quarantine is also miserable for Southerners because admittedly, we are a pretty vain bunch. We like big hair, "teased to Jesus," and lots of sparkle and shine from our makeup to our wardrobes. Suddenly, we are forced to shelter in place, and getting dressed to the nines to watch <i>Wheel of Fortune</i> reruns seems a little over the top, even for the most Southern of belles. Spring has sprung, and our seersucker and patent leather is gathering cobwebs in the closet. This coronavirus dress code is pandemic casual, and it's not great fashion. It's a waste of good mascara is what it is, when the only thing to bat your eyelashes at is the family dog. My dog is precious, but he is not worthy of department store cosmetics.</div>
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This pandemic has also caused a ban on mass gatherings. Church has been canceled (my very Southern mama paid a wistful tribute Easter Sunday morning to all the beautiful outfits that never got to make their debut this year, but I suppose that falls under my previous point about vanity). We have been told not to congregate in groups of more than ten people, which again, causes some issue for us in the South. Have you seen the food we love? Do you know how many people a quality casserole will feed? We have now been confined to our homes with nothing to comfort our souls but delicious food, and we can't even share it with fifty of our closest friends. COVID has nixed our potlucks. Our good clothes are going to be uncomfortably snug when that glorious time comes to get them out again.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFKO28BlvbRoVj-UfWngkv9RroTRoOemz9Dv3MlGQ0z1tnAPrgbdK56FnMNqcWvu7EN71lYzKCVi8SFuaGByyLGHltSGTwYGt9XpSSozFVS-DaGK8LlDUV_2pI0z_wnKXHOSsJTplCARM/s1600/potluck.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFKO28BlvbRoVj-UfWngkv9RroTRoOemz9Dv3MlGQ0z1tnAPrgbdK56FnMNqcWvu7EN71lYzKCVi8SFuaGByyLGHltSGTwYGt9XpSSozFVS-DaGK8LlDUV_2pI0z_wnKXHOSsJTplCARM/s640/potluck.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Southern folks excel at potluck, not pandemic.</span></td></tr>
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Southerners pride themselves on being social people. Our big front porches were made for gathering, and it's hard to sit in a rocking chair sipping a cold beverage and chatting while wearing a face mask. Quarantine goes against even the smallest ways of Southern life--we live in a place where the grocery store or a trip to Walmart is more than an errand, it's a meet up. You never know who you may reunite with in the frozen food aisle, and you're certain to get more news than the local paper can print when you run into the head of the Baptist church's hospitality committee on aisle eight. If we have to stay six feet apart, how can we <strike>gossip</strike> keep each other informed?<br />
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The end of this crazy time cannot come soon enough for anyone, but down South, we feel a specialized sense of loss. We're all just bumbling around trying not to hug, wearing our pajamas or (in the event of a dressy quarantine occasion) a souvenir t-shirt from a beach vacation all day, eating casseroles straight out of the Pyrex dishes. I bet we never take a good dinner party for granted ever again after this, y'all. And to those folks trying to say they have enjoyed this simpler time and the seclusion it has demanded, I'm not even going to bless your heart: you keep talking like that and I will force feed you a big batch of unseasoned collard greens. This is not the way the world was meant to work, and I have the party clothes and potluck recipes to prove it. As my grandmother would say, you hush your mouth (and wash your hands). I'll see you on the other side of this, and you better believe I'll be teased to Jesus!<br />
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For Whom the Belle Tollshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08392736415085934508noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2995567392333557769.post-3458198452853994252020-04-27T08:21:00.001-04:002020-04-27T08:21:04.340-04:00Party Like It's COVID 19-99I don't know about you, but having reached the one-month mark of the stay-at-home order here in North Carolina, I'm getting more than a little stir crazy. We haven't been able to go out for dinner, to a movie, or out for much of anything except walking the dog and all of our social plans have been cancelled. Sure, we have enjoyed some outdoor chats with neighbors, and we have been staying in touch with friends by phone, but it's just not the same. Mercifully, two of our friends came over Saturday for some much needed quality time. We kept a reasonable distance and made sure to be cautious about spreading germs, but having a sense of normalcy again was amazing.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgomt4Lca6bo1XZpwQIAqMDduPkjwnDxZxzjT5aP2NojM638MyjLOYoTqjopRf1b_bq-WOX7BajeyRwqgkVZYuQWCTcckQjgsXWbFCsS46sWAOBqk7mzB2Y52lGmFdtUxJ7AlxogqGVJGk/s1600/IMG_6563.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgomt4Lca6bo1XZpwQIAqMDduPkjwnDxZxzjT5aP2NojM638MyjLOYoTqjopRf1b_bq-WOX7BajeyRwqgkVZYuQWCTcckQjgsXWbFCsS46sWAOBqk7mzB2Y52lGmFdtUxJ7AlxogqGVJGk/s640/IMG_6563.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Just to be on the safe side, I divided my Mexican layer dip into individual serving dishes. <br />Ain't nobody got time for cross contamination.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxSbzw_stWrEgPmwdBWJkMf_vqIvcz5q5ukLua9QdLTJQ8d9BXL5iNz18TuaAvrb-hX_B4RgF4WF-QKqQ67q-vLsV4d6_rcXge_OjrwBssx1CaE66qr3xPG1inDsiD66Lx501klrAVO6M/s1600/IMG_6564.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxSbzw_stWrEgPmwdBWJkMf_vqIvcz5q5ukLua9QdLTJQ8d9BXL5iNz18TuaAvrb-hX_B4RgF4WF-QKqQ67q-vLsV4d6_rcXge_OjrwBssx1CaE66qr3xPG1inDsiD66Lx501klrAVO6M/s640/IMG_6564.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Personal size charcuterie plates, anyone?</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibx2nts31aqGgBKCITlT3ZDCBlXl38F6JmE9iWNs0e7lxBEVQLeBfcjgSI9WvuG2L49ADZ_NzXUeoLmBP5wdSv-hmpS_NcCUoAVD6pIlan3DgaEo_nmgWuIcvwuXodNVErJdKE0pxvTqg/s1600/IMG_6566.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibx2nts31aqGgBKCITlT3ZDCBlXl38F6JmE9iWNs0e7lxBEVQLeBfcjgSI9WvuG2L49ADZ_NzXUeoLmBP5wdSv-hmpS_NcCUoAVD6pIlan3DgaEo_nmgWuIcvwuXodNVErJdKE0pxvTqg/s640/IMG_6566.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">All set up for a fun afternoon with actual other people! Company's coming!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">I made sure to leave plenty of pandemic elbow room.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXNX_jyQ9c8_JT6hDYLunvztM1LdPiMQMjerPqu8D2Hp0jmsHWssn1UeaqaCPZzvC308FNHYLSOhkRwVG95mwLOYXfql6oLiXvETCs7h_yFcnM2f2R1lV8vFBAiGjAzmzCwxYrHgHRje4/s1600/IMG_6569.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXNX_jyQ9c8_JT6hDYLunvztM1LdPiMQMjerPqu8D2Hp0jmsHWssn1UeaqaCPZzvC308FNHYLSOhkRwVG95mwLOYXfql6oLiXvETCs7h_yFcnM2f2R1lV8vFBAiGjAzmzCwxYrHgHRje4/s640/IMG_6569.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">A pitcher of margaritas and, in the spirit of the occasion, some Corona beer.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYzJ2z5zqonrG2l94-zPazwij_FJKjxeSeuUBDEBsVbzhi1O_V7NiEGTHo56PDfWDo-bPj5-92xsADjjF7tjqzUVOLsW7oBQT_FMf9gM5YMNPrViQLWY0NHYtZyfZaZQnN4r_yXxA6YnM/s1600/IMG_6572.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYzJ2z5zqonrG2l94-zPazwij_FJKjxeSeuUBDEBsVbzhi1O_V7NiEGTHo56PDfWDo-bPj5-92xsADjjF7tjqzUVOLsW7oBQT_FMf9gM5YMNPrViQLWY0NHYtZyfZaZQnN4r_yXxA6YnM/s640/IMG_6572.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Let's party like it's COVID 19-99.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqGwzkZO3uDvKH0S0ssx-A9ykbGXKdJyzUfQ9ItRIkeaaQ76u45H6oNd5nLhW_jEfQe15v6KllZbeOiLHtwqqc8JHegHIQskLSvNyNUljaqRnGmjmo_tqHzf7EPQocAjR5ISRq6-0q9LY/s1600/IMG_6594.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1135" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqGwzkZO3uDvKH0S0ssx-A9ykbGXKdJyzUfQ9ItRIkeaaQ76u45H6oNd5nLhW_jEfQe15v6KllZbeOiLHtwqqc8JHegHIQskLSvNyNUljaqRnGmjmo_tqHzf7EPQocAjR5ISRq6-0q9LY/s640/IMG_6594.JPG" width="454" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">The dogs don't do social distancing...thank goodness. <br />At times like these, we need all the puppies we can get.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi29qtP9V_HYneNIjLduoR-J5DKPzWC2xiFbTR27l0Lg_DUAJGcqu8czrpiunCOUAG04j8Yy8rYDdo06RHU_Zw7QT5ekubK2-C4N6pA22WUAOsTWY_xnyHVyFVaPertHLVgo8AtxPPycw/s1600/IMG_6595.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1201" data-original-width="1280" height="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi29qtP9V_HYneNIjLduoR-J5DKPzWC2xiFbTR27l0Lg_DUAJGcqu8czrpiunCOUAG04j8Yy8rYDdo06RHU_Zw7QT5ekubK2-C4N6pA22WUAOsTWY_xnyHVyFVaPertHLVgo8AtxPPycw/s640/IMG_6595.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">This is Charlie with his friend Barkley. These two provided us with lots of entertainment.<br />Believe me when I say that a good time was had by ALL.</span></td></tr>
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The weather cooperated, our dogs played their little hearts out, and we sipped and snacked and talked and laughed. It was good medicine. I feel like we are starting to see a light at the end of the tunnel, and I can't wait until afternoons like these happen more often than not. In the meantime, I recommend that you invite a few people to come over (but not too close), make up a self serve drink station and some safely plated appetizers, and party like it's COVID 19-99!<br />
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<br />For Whom the Belle Tollshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08392736415085934508noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2995567392333557769.post-25295324872548526372020-04-15T08:01:00.002-04:002020-04-15T13:40:31.531-04:00Birthday Queen: Quarantined<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I freely admit; I like to make a big deal out of my birthday. I am known for parlaying the event into an entire birthday month of celebrating, in what I like to describe as my generous attempt to give my family and friends plenty of time for festivities without feeling rushed. This year was a bit different from my normal revelry, what with the coronavirus showing up as an unexpected guest, but I'm pleased to report that even confined to home, without the option of going out on the town and unable to gather with friends, I still had a pretty good birthday. I guess all this practice has made perfect?<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">This calls for a tiara. Then again, most occasions do.</span></td></tr>
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I think those who know me best were a bit worried that all this stay-at-home-order business might put a damper on my birthday, and as a result, everyone lavished me with attention (which, if you have known me for a millisecond, you know I'm perfectly fine with). Over the course of the month so far, friends mailed gifts, cards, envelopes of confetti; I had wine delivery and cookie delivery, and a few of our neighbors even arranged a small (less than ten people as required by the President) driveway happy hour on my special day to help celebrate. Don't worry, we sipped our cocktails at six feet apart.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Just a few of the fun gifts I got this year: everything from Clemson socks, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">not one but two <i>Golden Girls</i> books, a kit to make your own slippers, my drug of choice t-shirt, and a beautiful pair of Tory Burch sandals (apparently, footwear is the traditional gift for this birthday, in case you noticed a pattern).</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_4WarxuAeU9O6BHbd-lY3o6ry3SQQWEVTWKsDc_RUtqPwWD_GHv-8_DP1005i2jWjpmjborODKD0A6uquHdI-zUjYOmM1o6FyfTtK8ygO2cJ8Z7AVS1pqKBsEGDZNgSVsfoEKWxI9D-Q/s1600/Facetune_10-04-2020-13-01-24.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1401" data-original-width="1429" height="626" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_4WarxuAeU9O6BHbd-lY3o6ry3SQQWEVTWKsDc_RUtqPwWD_GHv-8_DP1005i2jWjpmjborODKD0A6uquHdI-zUjYOmM1o6FyfTtK8ygO2cJ8Z7AVS1pqKBsEGDZNgSVsfoEKWxI9D-Q/s640/Facetune_10-04-2020-13-01-24.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Once, after losing a pageant, I threw myself a pity party and ate an entire Boston cream pie in one day. Clint reminded me of that when he presented me with this one and said, "I knew you must really like them after that." Ah, thanks for the memories.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie2qBpXr2Zl5jFiCrOsLAfb3rfbN6TaoiYq8WXSbNmSfdpDk2qGncwVZCsbSOhcESig2iI5OuG69kgflwANXq5x8ODbpe4lvjALa8zHxXXalV_OJluyBs2_r5h_myj_tbYf9A-Zg_T_YA/s1600/IMG_6248.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1201" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie2qBpXr2Zl5jFiCrOsLAfb3rfbN6TaoiYq8WXSbNmSfdpDk2qGncwVZCsbSOhcESig2iI5OuG69kgflwANXq5x8ODbpe4lvjALa8zHxXXalV_OJluyBs2_r5h_myj_tbYf9A-Zg_T_YA/s640/IMG_6248.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Even Charlie the puppy got in on the good times.</span></td></tr>
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We obviously weren't able to go out for a birthday dinner, and the idea of fancy food in a takeout container was not appealing, so I chose pizza delivery from a great brick oven pizzeria here in Charlotte. The weather was gorgeous, and we sat outside and enjoyed a pistachio pizza (it sounds weird, it tastes delicious) and a spicy salami pizza while the dog ran and played in the yard. An episode of <i>Ozark</i> followed, and then I was ready for my <i>Golden Girls</i> pajamas and a good night's sleep. The next day was Good Friday and we had Easter weekend ahead of us!</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">A dirty martini while waiting for birthday pizza to arrive.</span></td></tr>
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I know we are supposed to avoid travel, but Easter is always a fun celebration for my family (and a continuation of birthday activities as well), so we headed to Georgia and spent the weekend with my parents. I deemed it essential. Even though we didn't leave the house, it was a much needed change of scenery--and as Clint so sweetly pointed out, "it was nice to have people to interact with besides each other." Love you, too, dear.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjduq6zsaD0Tboog0szNdAZyGPxoCz47CI_N2KOI2OtXWp_VWItk-a2IIxjE2v5nZQPgwW_S_L9JRVw69c0Z4nSOSULgSmONRFq4LC0IL_DubUOPX7UwnTg5NdZim22xWvflbnQdk2LdkU/s1600/IMG_6419.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjduq6zsaD0Tboog0szNdAZyGPxoCz47CI_N2KOI2OtXWp_VWItk-a2IIxjE2v5nZQPgwW_S_L9JRVw69c0Z4nSOSULgSmONRFq4LC0IL_DubUOPX7UwnTg5NdZim22xWvflbnQdk2LdkU/s640/IMG_6419.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;"><span style="font-size: small;">Of course my mom had decorations and another cake waiting for me!</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA-sVg2diXI1t0-LXSoT3CWNxrJ7m3LurNDBBSfLGAaKNIs7Kmm42Jrk6NviaIXpLSnOH-W2_nDAnIToYaumTx19m2KQY-7HLmNd9GQwq009UIuNv8sdguH6GPN4yPCFMEpZ0BLnZSg0g/s1600/Facetune_14-04-2020-15-08-56.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1470" data-original-width="748" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA-sVg2diXI1t0-LXSoT3CWNxrJ7m3LurNDBBSfLGAaKNIs7Kmm42Jrk6NviaIXpLSnOH-W2_nDAnIToYaumTx19m2KQY-7HLmNd9GQwq009UIuNv8sdguH6GPN4yPCFMEpZ0BLnZSg0g/s640/Facetune_14-04-2020-15-08-56.JPG" width="324" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">More cake? More celebrating? If you insist.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Mom's Easter table--who needs to leave the house when it looks this festive?</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Easter ready!</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">I found this adorable butter bunny at the grocery store and new he was a must-have. <br />He was *almost* too cute to eat.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">It's not Easter without deviled eggs <br />(bonus points if they are served on a deviled egg tray older than you are).</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCRLs3R-CFWkoNozveOo_QMc5M38ZHTNtPOgyUejcmAjdjYQadNcTxpRRcBMxCJjOD15f62M-QELjdBgUcyUd7e_LgFoAWzHcH4weVyPktoOU4Qe0AFdMfUE-_NazGmVVbJrg6kKFwR1c/s1600/IMG_6369.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="881" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCRLs3R-CFWkoNozveOo_QMc5M38ZHTNtPOgyUejcmAjdjYQadNcTxpRRcBMxCJjOD15f62M-QELjdBgUcyUd7e_LgFoAWzHcH4weVyPktoOU4Qe0AFdMfUE-_NazGmVVbJrg6kKFwR1c/s640/IMG_6369.jpg" width="440" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">In case you couldn't tell, this little guy had himself an egg-cellent Easter.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGUaa-6RHdNEoaKM5leWvZ7WjcWi0t9pnPxqeYIJ1uwvnQIt8XEYQvxkMIQPa_EpN8_zoWBN4NJjacHdl3CuS8Iri6o1Vb6pQsOiPrbQ1BmoXOf4Wq5B6yhwEudWslQuCZP3Tyld7dGRc/s1600/35270E1F-12C9-4338-9FAD-F5057B394391.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGUaa-6RHdNEoaKM5leWvZ7WjcWi0t9pnPxqeYIJ1uwvnQIt8XEYQvxkMIQPa_EpN8_zoWBN4NJjacHdl3CuS8Iri6o1Vb6pQsOiPrbQ1BmoXOf4Wq5B6yhwEudWslQuCZP3Tyld7dGRc/s640/35270E1F-12C9-4338-9FAD-F5057B394391.JPG" width="512" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">It wasn't our usual celebration, but it was a happy Easter, indeed.</span></td></tr>
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I'm sure you can tell, we managed to have ourselves a fine time, even under quarantine! A little pandemic can't keep us down. I won't lie: it's been a quieter kind of celebration so far...but I have been happy to inform everyone that this is really just a warm-up. The real birthday shindigs are simply postponed until the world goes back to "normal." Until then, I'm happy to keep practicing.<br />
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And if you are one of the many who helped make me feel celebrated on my special day, thank you for the birthday love! A belle never forgets.<br />
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For Whom the Belle Tollshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08392736415085934508noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2995567392333557769.post-5381091489537494662020-03-25T07:45:00.001-04:002020-03-25T07:47:42.488-04:00QuarantineI'm wearing jeans today. Normally, I don't consider that an accomplishment, but in these times of social distancing, staying home, sheltering in place--whatever you want to call it--donning any pair of real pants that don't have an elastic waistband feels like dressing up. It hasn't even been two full weeks yet since North Carolina began closing down and isolating, but it feels like this strange way of life has been going on forever. I'm feeling pretty mean, not so lean, and very much in quarantine.<br />
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This coronavirus pandemic has changed all of our lives to some kind of surreal alternate universe. People are working from home, schools are out indefinitely, and toilet paper has become the hottest product of the year. 2020 has officially gone off the rails. As you may know, I'm a housewife, so the working from home part was already part of my norm. Only now I am joined by my hubby and of course, our new addition to the family in the form of a five pound furball of puppy fury named Charlie. We're circling each other like angry sharks up in here.<br />
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So far, we are coping moderately well. There has been a fair share of eye-rolling, deep sighs, and plenty of prayer...and that's just on my end. I'm doing my best to stay in some kind of routine, although a pretty pathetic one at that. Most days are low ponytail days (I save my flat iron for special occasions like Friday or a super fun trip to the half-empty grocery store). I'm still wearing makeup, but I switched to my backup, drugstore stash because I can't bear the thought of wasting good mascara on a quarantine. (I had a friend tell me she hasn't worn makeup in days. For me, it's at least some way to distract and entertain myself, so don't be surprised if you see me out for a walk with a smoky eye and winged eyeliner...I'm bored). Clint, on the other hand, has gone the opposite route: although he still gets up at his usual zero dark thirty time, his work attire frequently consists of his decade-old Homer Simpson pajama pants and the ever-growing "Corona-beard" he is growing in honor of this occasion. He aims to shower by lunch. To each their quarantine own.<br />
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Desperate to entertain ourselves, checking the mail has become quite the fun outing every day. If I keep online shopping the way I have been, Clint is going to need a second job to support my COVID19 buying. As of this point, I <i>am</i> the economic stimulus. I've bought outdoor patio cushions, a fireplace screen, a pair of Golden Girls pajamas (those are clearly a need, not a want), and lots and lots of puppy supplies. Clint has installed a brand new mailbox and is designing (more) custom shelving for his side of the closet, plus there has been talk of aerating and seeding the outskirts of our yard. We may add on to the house just for something to do. Maybe we need a third story?<br />
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Speaking of puppy supplies, Charlie, on the other hand, is living his best dog life. He has both his humans confined almost all of the time and no shortage of attention for all his antics. We are walking him at least once a day to keep the walls from closing in and to feel some sunshine on our down-turned faces. The neighbors, who are as stir crazy as we are, can't get enough of the little guy so he is gaining quite a collection of friends as well. Who wouldn't want to be shut in with a nipping, biting, chewing, frenzied, crazy puppy? Ah, these are the days. And I have the bite marks to prove it.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJVLkSxTxjyCrBgW28p5GUZ9Qfd-5b-2zL_sCcc3DY_CsLR1ANGuxDcAJlc5Di3aFqLceevKXQ0emPsWtycDssBIXwueTu8Ho0SyzInMBs1hkIZjCMGwoMApHc-KlzUCxIu3HVGGz-4HA/s1600/IMG_6048.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1261" data-original-width="1600" height="504" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJVLkSxTxjyCrBgW28p5GUZ9Qfd-5b-2zL_sCcc3DY_CsLR1ANGuxDcAJlc5Di3aFqLceevKXQ0emPsWtycDssBIXwueTu8Ho0SyzInMBs1hkIZjCMGwoMApHc-KlzUCxIu3HVGGz-4HA/s640/IMG_6048.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">This guy is fully enjoying the effects of social distancing.</span></td></tr>
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We have worked on puzzles, organized closets, cooked, cleaned, and watched some really questionable TV shows and movies (<i>Tiger King</i>, anyone?). I'm exercising every morning just for something else to do, although I'm not sure it can hold off all the snacks we are using to self-medicate. Oh, the snacks. I've decided if there is ever a need to ration our food supply, we are goners. We buy bigger sizes of snack foods and lie to ourselves "this way it will last longer." Hint: it does not last longer. Cheetos and Chex Mix and candy, oh my. All of a sudden, it's Reese's Easter egg season and the gyms are all closed. Summer is going to be quite a sight to behold, y'all.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQwNwkJ0W-RkA2uYEsrbZRE1U0FdNVeQtdFK-LF7oL_Xg1OkLdbt2T4gZdGQFNhLiniH0vsqXHH9io_pueOJBA1Q0ichNGiu6Rpdmv47GKZTHaICdLh4My5-hlCe8lYZSUI1lLM8P2D5g/s1600/IMG_6030.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1367" data-original-width="1600" height="546" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQwNwkJ0W-RkA2uYEsrbZRE1U0FdNVeQtdFK-LF7oL_Xg1OkLdbt2T4gZdGQFNhLiniH0vsqXHH9io_pueOJBA1Q0ichNGiu6Rpdmv47GKZTHaICdLh4My5-hlCe8lYZSUI1lLM8P2D5g/s640/IMG_6030.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">How to spend a spring Saturday, coronavirus edition.</span></td></tr>
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I read a preacher's thoughts on our current situation and he intimated that we are being taught a lesson in slowing down, not depending on busyness, and learning to spend quality time together again. To that, I would say: I'm a quick learner! I get it. I'll slow down, I'll be less busy, I'll stay home more. Just don't make it mandatory. I am an extroverted face toucher and these times are not my forte. I miss the mall, the nail salon, and running errands. I am a creature of habit and routine and the coronavirus has wreaked chaos.<br />
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This too, shall pass. In the meantime, I'm trying my best to wear real pants on occasion and keep my kitchen snack visits down to once an hour, or I might not fit through the door when we are able to leave the house. I wish you health, good fortune, and plenty of binge worthy shows in the meantime. I'll stay six feet away from you when I see you in the toilet paper aisle. Stay well!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5nEZXfwJZUzrtMbv47RIbrpxm-wEzX2wpZFsx6gIKw4DkcVfUugI2jtLSG2CVubQ70BMnn71zC7oBuAmuS5JAtDdJchU56mdtJ-dCHBKBA6tHXRXXqqt_7icYNw3Yq27rLxErIM1JgDU/s1600/IMG_6053.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="736" data-original-width="960" height="490" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5nEZXfwJZUzrtMbv47RIbrpxm-wEzX2wpZFsx6gIKw4DkcVfUugI2jtLSG2CVubQ70BMnn71zC7oBuAmuS5JAtDdJchU56mdtJ-dCHBKBA6tHXRXXqqt_7icYNw3Yq27rLxErIM1JgDU/s640/IMG_6053.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Just a helpful quarantine guideline.</span></td></tr>
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<br />For Whom the Belle Tollshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08392736415085934508noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2995567392333557769.post-47924351807400647152020-03-13T10:00:00.002-04:002020-03-13T10:14:38.464-04:00For Whom the Belle Tolls COVID-19 ResponseI've gotten a slew of emails from any and every business I've ever so much as glanced at sideways about how they are responding to this COVID-19 epidemic (or the coronavirus in case you're lucky enough not to know) and so I thought it might be time for me to let you all know how this belle is reacting to the situation. Eye. Roll. I turned on the news this morning and the only things discussed for the entirety of an hour were the weather (more rain coming, no surprise there) and the virus outbreak. It got so monotonous I had to put on a throwback episode of <i>Beverly Hills, 90210 </i>and drink my coffee viewing simpler times. (Kelly got shot and had amnesia and it was still less dramatic than all these health updates.)<br />
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People are panicking. Schools are closing, events are cancelled, sports are on indefinite hiatus, spring break is in shambles. I went to a cocktail dinner last night when a man (I cannot bring myself to call him a gentleman because of what I will tell you next) refused to shake hands but insisted on something he called an "elbow bump" as a form of greeting. When it seems like the world around you is losing its collective cool, let me remind you of this: Southerners do not panic (well, except in cases of snow, but I digress). Southern belles, in particular, do not let their fear get the better of them. Ask yourself, what would Scarlett do? She would tear down those velvet drapes and make herself a ball gown! Or a face mask...whichever. My point is that at no time would she cower in fear to a disease whose symptoms include a runny nose and sneezing.<br />
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We have all been encouraged to wash our hands frequently, avoid touching our faces, and to use good personal hygiene. Well, honey. I hope for the sake of your upbringing that you were doing these things already, and if not: coronavirus be damned, do it in the name of manners and common sense. Wash your hands like you've just finished eating barbecue ribs at a picnic and now it's time to smooth the wrinkles out of your white sundress. Don't touch your face because it will make your lovely skin breakout. Don't stand too close to strangers because frankly, that's weird. Surely we didn't need a pandemic to teach us that.<br />
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I'm also baffled as to why toilet paper and toothpaste are being hoarded? In the event that we all come down with this sniffling, sneezing, coughing, aching plague and go into quarantine, what are you going to do with 517 rolls of Charmin? Roll your own yard for entertainment? Brush your teeth into oblivion? If you must hoard, at least get the good stuff that can be used to keep occupied and content while you're confined to your quarters: hoard junk food, gossip magazines, cocktail mixers, booze. Better yet, hoard some common sense because it is in exceedingly short supply.<br />
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We need clarity in these crazed days. Cleanliness is next to godliness, we are above hoarding practices, and if you look good, you feel good. Which brings me to my next point: if you must don a protective face mask, help ease the suffering in the world around you during this precarious time by at least putting on a little eye makeup. Give them something else to look at besides your surgical face equipment. Try a statement earring, or if you are too weak to exert any real type of cosmetic effort, draw a pair of lips on that mask and put your best corona-face forward. After all, as every Southern woman knows, "everyone looks better with a little color."<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfVozkIeFMgew71gFsMcs6PDighE-zGmath-kV1gir-gFXzhByGmzQK5m5A6d7s5y5zlrWDiu19Lrvkl10w23wjIhnpP8eOUxJ2EXFLPhHBMn9j6WpRtjlRLcj6Wj1TCTKp3CCugx8bwc/s1600/IMG_5913.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1042" data-original-width="1000" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfVozkIeFMgew71gFsMcs6PDighE-zGmath-kV1gir-gFXzhByGmzQK5m5A6d7s5y5zlrWDiu19Lrvkl10w23wjIhnpP8eOUxJ2EXFLPhHBMn9j6WpRtjlRLcj6Wj1TCTKp3CCugx8bwc/s640/IMG_5913.JPG" width="614" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">This is me, two years ago, seeing my doctor because I had the flu. <br />While it's not my best look, you will note I did at least compensate with an attractive earring and two coats of mascara.</span></td></tr>
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And so there you have it. While the rest of the world wrings their hands and attempts to turn tequila into hand sanitizer (such a waste of good margarita ingredients), act like a belle and stand strong. If we can survive ebola, anthrax, and three years of the tv show <i>Jersey Shore</i>, we can get through this one, too. After all, in case you haven't heard: tomorrow is another day.<br />
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For Whom the Belle Tollshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08392736415085934508noreply@blogger.com1