Family Visit

I'm laying in bed right now. I've been up since 6:00 (on a Saturday) because my mom and my aunt can't sleep in the early eastern sunlight. They're sitting in the bed with me, talking about airports. And I love it. I am getting a little sentimental now that they're leaving.

I was not going to walk at my graduation ceremony, but my mom basically made me. Now I'm so glad that I did. It has been wonderful to have family here, do a little sight-seeing, and a lot of eating. The best part was a dinner on Thursday night with my friends and family to celebrate my graduation. With my family living so far away, I don't get to see my friends and family interact that often. We had a blast, and I've definitely decided that I should have celebrations of myself a little more often. (Watch out on my next birthday!)

It has been a great week.

An Easter Carol

The Ghost of Easters Past
Easter was always my favorite holiday as a child because my entire extended family would go to my great-grandparents farm for a gigantic meal and an even more gigantic Easter egg hunt. Some of my favorite memories are from those times, though often I feel like they are just still shots in my mind: my great-grandfather walking, my granddaddy asking then-vegetarian me if I want a hot dog, being mid-spin in the pink dress my grandmother made for me, finding an egg in a thorny plant I was afraid to stick my hand in, the grandparents and great-grandparents laughing over early morning coffee while I pretended I was still asleep on the patio. I'm glad I didn't realize it when I was at the last one, because it would have tainted it somehow. I know how lucky I am to have all those years of Easters in Turrell, Arkansas.

The Ghost of Easter Present
I started my Easter with a long run. I'm not an incredibly religious person, but a good run is one of the best ways for me to connect with my soul. I have a lot of work ahead of me today, but will be having a little Easter supper with friends tonight. They are just a piece of the family I have made here in New York, and so valuable to me. Again, I wonder how it is that I am so lucky.

The Ghost of Easters Yet to Come
Teaching and being so involved in the lives of children in the past three years has made me even more aware of what I want in a family one day. I'm still not certain if I will have children, but I am certain about so much of what I want for them if I do. It's a strange dichotomy. So here, on my most sentimental of holidays, I find myself thinking about how I can create those memories for my own imaginary future offspring. I am often faced with questions about the future of any family I might have in relation to my decision to move so far away from the family I already have. It makes me sad to think that the Easters of my past may not ever be replicated in any way in the future. Not because I am longing for them, but because I might have made decisions that deny those experiences to my own children, imaginary though they may be.

I realize as I'm writing this that these ghosts aren't necessarily haunting me. The ghost of those past memories embraces me. And the ghost of my present keeps me grounded. And the ghost of the future guides me and challenges me. Either way, I have learned from all of them, and will now go about the rest of my day wishing everyone a Happy Easter.

Love for the Grandmother

Today I talked to my grandmother and she was asking me about the guy I've been dating. I got the usual questions. How old is he? Where does he work? When I named the place he works, she said, "Oh, so does he get you the inside dope?"

I started laughing, because I don't think I've ever heard my grandmother use the word dope in any context. She suddenly got flustered and said, "I didn't mean like a drug, I meant, you know. You know what I meant! Samantha, it meant something else in my day." As she continued I kept laughing harder. I don't think I've ever witnessed my grandmother lose her composure.

I told her "No, he doesn't really give me any dope. But I'll ask if he can get some for you."

Closing Ceremonies

My mom is leaving tomorrow and I am very sad, but I think a little celebration of the trip will cheer me up, much like the closing ceremonies of the Olympics. So, I offer a poem... (Disclaimer: much like everything else on the blog, this is unedited, first-draft work.)

My mom is like Bill Cosby
when she eats a dessert she really loves.
She'll hold a fork out to me
as her eyes roll up to the heavens above.

My mom is like a little kid
when we go to any bookstore.
She'll pick up lots of books and mags
then sit down to peruse on the floor.

My mom is like an athlete
Well...forget that simile
My mom is an athlete
and runs all over the place with me.

My mom is like a handyman
she's definitely up for the task
she hooks up my new dvd player
and I don't even have to ask.

My mom is like a scientist
as we travel all over the city
observing and making hypotheses
about every person that we see.

My mom is like a fashionista
ducking into any random store
trying on dozens of hats with me
and finding sales galore.

My mom is like a best friend
she laughs and tells crazy stories
she can be very complimentary
but also tells me when I'm boring.

My mom is like a ballroom dancer
she doesn't hesitate a moment before agreeing
that we should salsa dance on Tuesday
To her a new adventure is just like breathing.

My mom is like a mom
she wants to me take more Vitamin B,
she makes me gigantic sandwiches
and is happy I no longer borrow her money.

My mom is like a critic
and soon she'll read this poem
she'll probably call it cheesy
right before she goes back home.

Love you mom!!

A Watched Clock

It's 12:06. My mom's plane lands in exactly six hours and three minutes. We have big plans: a tour of the Lower East Side through the 92nd Street Y, a trip to see Avenue Q, a little Chinese New Year celebration in Chinatown, dinner with friends, a night in Brooklyn seeing a man who is supposedly the greatest living improvisor on the trumpet. And that's just the first few days. I'm so excited to see her!

It's 12:08. Okay, I have to stop looking at the clock.

Waking Up

I slept on the couch last night and this morning I woke up to a breeze drifting in throught the living room window and the quiet that sometimes suprises my Queens neighborhood. That combination of the breeze and the quiet somehow took me back in time to the mornings from my childhood that I would wake up in the daybed on the screened-in porch of my great-grandparents' house. Even though I knew I wasn't actually back there, I did not allow myself to open my eyes to see the sight of my own apartment over a decade later. Instead, I kept them shut tight and let myself be transported. In no time at all, I could hear the tv replaying the scores of the previous day's baseball games for my great-granddaddy. I could smell the coffee, eggs, bacon, and biscuits in the kitchen and hear the gentle murmur of my grandmother and great-grandmother talking. I could see the sunlight pouring into the three screened-walls of the porch, stretching across the acres of flat farmland.

Don't be confused, I'm not feeling sentimental this morning. I'm feeling fortunate. I'm up now, with my present-day sprawling all around me: books and folders for class, yesterday's newspaper still mostly unread, my bag packed for today's soccer game, my friend who stayed over last night sound asleep in my room, and the city blocks spreading into the distance that I can't see through the buildings cluttering the view. And for a few moments this morning, I got to live in both worlds. I'll probably never go back to my great-granddaddy's farm since he died several years ago and my great-grandmother moved to Florida. But at least today I got to visit.

New Use for the Balcony

Last night my cousin and I were watching still more Gilmore Girls. (This is what happens when you don't have cable; you watch an entire season of one show on DVD.) It was so hot inside of my apartment that we decided to move outside.

I joked that we should move the TV outside, but that idea was quickly vetoed. So, we transferred the DVD to my laptop, set the laptop on the table outside, brought out snacks, and turned on the show.

My computer does not play loudly enough to be heard over the din of passing trucks, busses, and airplanes, so my cousin brought out her earbuds from her ipod. She put one in her left ear, I put one in my right ear, and for the rest of the night we moved in sync if we wanted to avoid any gaps in the show (except for those two times that she moved forward quickly, ripping the earbud out of my ear.)

It was so nice to be in the cool, late-night breeze, laughing at two hilarious episodes, and eating ritz crackers with cheese that it took some time for my cousin and I to realize that there were several tiny white bugs on the wall and the edge of the table. And her leg.

I don't think either one of us has ever moved so fast. For the rest of the night, we both kept thinking there were bugs on us and would jump at the slightest brush of hair across our cheek or the other's arm on our arm. This morning we laughed about it, but I'm pretty sure there won't be any outdoor showing of Gilmore Girls tonight.

A Teenager, Tourism, and Age Confusion

My 13-year-old cousin is visiting me for two weeks. I've been looking forward to spending time with her and to playing tourist here in our great city. It's day 4 now, and I've definitely had a lot of fun and learned a few interesting things along the way.

We have taken a NYC Sightseeing bus all over the city, visited the top of the Empire State Building, visited the Dakota and walked a bit through Central Park, shopped for scrapbook supplies, tried on clothes at about fourteen different stores, taken in the lights at Times Square at night, and spent some time in Little Italy. Yesterday we walked about 8 miles. We declared today a sleep-in day (since we've gotten up so early the past three days considering it's supposed to be a vacation,) stayed up till 1:00 in the morning watching Gilmore Girls, then got up around 9:00 to prepare for our beach day.

I rarely spend time with children outside of the classroom. One thing I've learned is that children treat their teachers very differently than they do their older cousin. My favorite moment was, while shopping, my cousin had passed me, and even with her back to me knew I was a picking up a dress she didn't like and said, "Don't even think about it." I still crack up every time I think about it. If only my friends were this honest!!

I've also loved talking about the ever-so-popular subject among teenage girls: boys. Yesterday, on the 20-block walk to the subway, I got the lowdown on the boys she likes and the ones who like her, how they met, when they talk, and exactly what it means "to go with someone" since she's not allowed to date until she's 16. She told me (with an air of exasperation mixed with pride)that when she does date someone, the boy will have to go to dinner with her, her sister, her parents, and her grandparents. Then she continued on in the typical non-stop teenager fashion (which even now I can be prone to at times) and I just smiled all the way to the train. Who knew teenagers could provide so much entertainment!

It's funny, because I don't consider myself to be in between ages right now, like the twelve year old who is still a kid but almost a teenager. My cousin and her sister, however, do. At a family get together last week, they each asked me at least three times why I kept talking to the adults. Yet, just the day before, they were goodnaturedly making fun of me for being old.

Now, spending 24/7 with a 13-year-old, I find myself giggling over boys, talking about how cute the shirt with the little stars is, and watching Gilmore Girls until 1:00 in the morning. At the same time, I'm reminding her to put hydrocortisone on the enormous bug bite on her hand, making quesadillas for us while she reads a book, and complaining that she takes two hours to get ready to leave the house. To make matters even more confusing, yesterday afternoon she went through the books I brought home from my classroom and read several children's stories to me, while I laid back and laughed like a little kid or ooohed and aahed over the pictures in Red Leaf Yellow Leaf. Even I don't know if I'm old or young or just a twenty-something anymore.

All Good Things Must Come To An End?

After a week of hanging out with my aunt, uncle, and cousins in California, I am all packed up and ready to head back home to New York City. My 13-year-old cousin will be joining me, which gives me the perfect excuse to play tourist for the two week duration of her visit. Yes, you might see me on one of those red double decker buses hitting all the sights of the city in one day. And yes, that will be my cousin and I in those foam Statue of Liberty hats. Of course, we will be asking you to take a picture of us.

Before all that begins though, I got to do something I've been looking forward to all week. My uncle took me for a spin in his 1957 Ford T-bird. As we walked out the door, my aunt asked casually, "Are you taking her by the A&W?" My uncle said yes, but I thought he just planned on getting me more food after a week of seeing how happy being fed makes me. Little did I know what was in store.

Driving in a convertible on a nice California night was a treat in and of itself, (though I will own up to the fact that I couldn't figure out how to use the seatbelt without a demonstration.) After about ten minutes, we drove by the A&W. The parking lot was full, so we drove around and parked on the street. Getting out of the T-bird and walking into the parking lot was like walking into 1957.

There was music from the 50s with a young, poodle skirt-clad girl dancing. All the chidren were playing limbo or dancing, while their parents and grandparents sat in lawn chairs next to their classic cars. The parking lot was packed with all sorts of cars that I can't name, but can appreciate.

My uncle met a couple who also owned a T-bird and began talking with them. The man was named Smitty, which on any other night I would consider to be the best thing that happened. But not tonight. Because tonight, this little parking lot party was hosted by not one, not two, but THREE Elvises. My uncle refused to take a picture with me and one of the Elvises (Elvi?) which might have been the only slightly disappointing thing of the evening. Other than that, I highly recommend that if you're in Modesto on a Friday night, you get yourself to the A&W.

Up for Interpretation

I awoke this morning from a dream about my brother's wedding, which was last weekend. But in the dream version, he and his wife were having a wedding with another couple on a stage in an auditorium. I was in my typical jeans and tank top, happily talking to the many people in the audience who I knew. Suddenly, there was music signaling the beginning of the wedding. I could see the bridesmaids stage right,and I was not even in my dress. In the excitement of everything, I had forgotten that I was a bridesmaid!

Before I could do anything, though, the bridesmaids for the other bride were taking the stage. They weren't wearing bridesmaids dresses. Instead, they were dressed in absurd costumes and had created a robotic choreographed entrance for themselves. The bride followed them, wearing a denim jumpsuit reminiscent of the 1970s and acting completely unbride-like.

It was at this point that I woke up. My first conscious thought was something along the lines of "What the hell..." Throughout my day, (reading, grocery shopping, catching up with my best friend from college, repeatedly checking the score of the Mets game, leaving the house to meet a friend for dinner,) my mind continues to return to the strange images from this unsettling dream. Like Scrooge, it's possible that something I ate last night from dinner is causing such dreams, but even Scrooge realized that wasn't the case. Where does this stuff come from?

It's Official

I am reading the paper, and listening to country music. Listening to country music! It means I'm homesick, which seems to hit hard whenever I'm creeping up on the time of departure to go back and visit family and friends. This morning (and yesterday) I've been listening to Sara Evans, which is your basic Introduction to Homesickness (a.k.a Homesickness 101.)

Fortunately, I'm leaving on Thursday morning which means I probably won't have time to go through all the stages: Sara Evans to Garth Brooks to Statler Brothers to the most advanced stage of Reba (no last name necessary here.)

There is some country that you might hear coming out of my speakers at other points in the year, but those listed above are the artists that I would never have listened to while I was living in Arkansas, let alone once I left! Yet they're perfect for a little solo sentimentalism on the Saturday before I go home to see my younger brother get married.

As I'm listening to Sara Evans, I think to myself, "She is just like me." She is talking to scarecrows and looking for a brown-eyed boy to love, her momma is steady as the sun, and she is born to fly.

Okay, I've probably said enough. Pretend like I never mentioned it.

Direct Correlations

DC #1: Beautiful weather and decreased amount of time spent on computer, and therefore blogging.

DC #2: New outdoor table and increased amount of time spent on balcony.

DC #3: First-time spectator at lacrosse game and increased amount of time spent looking for a lacrosse team for beginners.

DC #4: Brother's approaching wedding and increased amount of time spent avoiding future purchase of clear shoes bride requested all bridesmaids to wear.

DC #5: Purchase of cheap books at a thrift store in Indio, California and inability to stop reading Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe, researching Fannie Flagg, and being shocked at the fact the book is nearly 20 years old.

DC #6: Broken cell phone screen and decrease in contact with all friends coupled with increase in time spent organizing teaching materials.

DC #7: New cell phone coupled with loss of all phone numbers stored in old phone and reading almost the entire Sunday paper this morning...which usually doesn't happen because I feel the need to make use of those last free weekend minutes.

DC #8: Spending five minutes creating list of direct correlations and desire to stop blogging for the day.

Reappearing Act

Since I last wrote (a shocking ten days ago) I have run my first half-marathon with my mom and taken a flying trapeze class. I am tired at the moment, and trying to do about fourteen things at the same time (one of which is baking a cake...very important not to forget that's in the oven,) but I think it's important I get back to the blog again.

The half-marathon was not as hard as I thought it would be, but left me in more pain the next day than I imagined possible. If you decide you want to do one, please please pleasepleasepleaseplease learn from my mistakes: FOLLOW THE TRAINING SCHEDULE, and wear slightly broken-in shoes (as opposed to shoes that you discover have a hole by the pinky toe when you're on the train on your way to the race.) Yesterday, the bottoms of my feet hurt so much that I was walking like an old woman. Actually, that's not entirely accurate, because at one point an elderly woman with a walker actually bypassed me. So I don't actually know what I was walking like. Even with the painful feet, though, I can't wait to do my next one. I can see how this is addictive!

The day after the half-marathon, my mom and I took a class at the Trapeze School New York. It was absolutely amazing. I am now pretty comfortable with jumping off a platform several feet up in the air, and can do a backflip off the trapeze to land in the net. My mom tried a catch a couple of times (where a trained trapeze artist was also swinging and tried to catch her in the air,) but I wasn't quite ready for that. Maybe next time, and there definitely will be a next time!

There are about 47 funny incidents that happened over the course of the past few days that I would love to share, unfortunately, there's no time. The cake smells like it just might be ready...

Early Riser

It's 7:30 in the morning on my first of two days off. I must learn the art of sleeping in! I wouldn't mind sleeping past 8:00 from time to time. In reality, there's little chance that I will ever sleep late. I spent too much time as a child with my grandmother, who would wake up around 4:30 to begin cooking a huge breakfast. (This is my grandmother who cooks breakfast for her entire church every Sunday morning.)

I usually love the fact that I wake up so early. I am incredibly productive in the early morning hours, and really enjoy the intense quiet that is so rare in my neighborhood. But there are moments when those hours are lonely. I usually find some way to occupy myself, such as reading, writing, or cleaning. But when the early morning loneliness is too much, I can always call my grandmother, the only person who I know will also be awake. Some of my best conversations with her have taken place at 5:00 in the morning.

She updates me on all the family news, and if she has time, all of the Arkansas news as well. She is the kind of grandmother who will say, "Someone in Little Rock died yesterday. His name was such-and-such. Did you know him?" This used to drive me crazy, but now I can laugh at it. This past Saturday, my young cousins (ages 5 and 3) were at her house during our conversation, playing in the background, and every now and then running into another room, getting on the other phone line, and yelling "Samantha, Samantha we're goin' to a pumpkin patch. Gettin' a big pumpkin." Of course, I only understood this after my grandmother translated.

It's entertaining to hear my young cousins living the life of mine that is gone: sleepovers at grandmother's house, rides in my granddaddy's 18-wheeler, going to Children's Church without having to think about what being Nazarene really means. But my favorite conversations with my grandmother are when no one else is at her house. These have been pivotal in bringing us closer together. During one such conversation I found the reason my grandmother put so much pressure on me when I was younger to be more girly: always making me dresses, spending a half hour curling my hair, asking me to cross my legs at the ankles, requiring my assistance in the kitchen, and not allowing me to play basketball in the driveway with my boy cousins and brother. This pressure was the source of many arguments and tears, but in one a.m. chat with her, I discovered that my grandmother did this because she had been such a tomboy growing up and always felt like she wasn't accepted because of it. She was trying to save me from some of the embarrassment she had felt as a child. Of course, it was also during one of these conversations that, after I joked that I was falling behind since all my other cousins are married and/or having kids, she said "Oh, you're not going to get married. You're a working girl." And this was spoken in a tone of such consolation...

Anyhow, my roommate just woke up. She asked what I was blogging about, and when I told her, she said, "No, you can't sleep in, it would ruin you for life." Maybe it wouldn't ruin my life to sleep in, but those early hours have, in many ways, made my life what it is. And I wouldn't trade that for a few extra hours of sleep.

The Care Package

I hope I am never too old to receive a care package from my mom. I love the moment when I first see the package. I try to take my time, to extend the process, and wait a while before grabbing scissors to cut through the heavy duty tape. Opening the box is the best part: lifting the flap slowly, and taking each item out individually.

Today, I received a stack of magazines, some with specific articles dogeared, two Battleship games, and two Connect Four games for my classroom. These days my care packages often contain things for my classroom. I have been wanting to buy Battleship and Connect Four for my classroom for so long, but I always have to buy more essential things, such as pencils.

During college, she once sent a package which included Model Magic. This provided hours of entertainment for my friends and I (and to think the package recommended it for children ages 8-11!) After college, I was unemployed for a short time. My favorite care package ever was actually a care envelope that I received while desperately searching through the Memphis Commercial Appeal job ads. It had a $20 gift card to Kroger with instructions that it should only be spent on chocolate ice cream, junk food, and maybe a magazine.

My mom taught me well how to always have what I needed to survive. And at any point when I've been struggling, she has helped with those little luxuries. So I'm going to curl up now with my magazines and relax after a loooong day. Thanks mom:)

Home and Back

I am back in my little apartment in Queens, half-heartedly trying to make myself realize that vacation is actually over and I have to go back to work tomorrow. After an internet-free week, I have decided that updating my blog is the perfect way to stay in vacation mode for a just a wee bit longer. So a few highlights from my Arkansas trip:

Wednesday Arrive in North Little Rock around 9 p.m. For the first time in my entire life, I was actually met at the airport. For some reason, people are always late or lost when they are supposed to pick me up. This was a huge turning point for me! I was ecstatic to see my mom, and almost as ecstatic to meet her new dog, Charlie. If you've kept up with my blog, (or have known me for more than five minutes,) you already know that I think my mom is the coolest mom in the world. I have now come to realize that she has the coolest dog in the world.

Thursday Wake up early, go for a five mile run with my mom in Emerald Park, where I am reintroduced to hills and humidity. Later in the day, my mom had to go to work, so, left to my own devices, I allowed myself to be reintroduced to the television. Who knew watching stupid tv could provide such bliss? The people my mom work with covered her shift so we could hang out more. She came home early, and we got Chinese food - Arkansas style. I love eating in New York, but sometimes you want something that is as far away from authentic as possible. I have come to terms with the fact that people in China don't eat crab rangoon, but I still say it's my favorite Chinese food!

Friday Wake up early, go for a six mile run with my mom and a few of her friends. This time I am better acquainted with the hills and humidity. My mom had to go to work that afternoon, so I let myself get better acquainted with the tv. (I have come to the conclusion that this little contraption is quite dangerous. I don't understand how it can just suck me in like that!) That night, my brother took me to Carlisle, Arkansas (about the furthest you could get from New York City) to show me his new house and take me to a Carlisle High School football game. I was bitten by at least 147 mosquitoes while my brother and I played our favorite game of "What Do We Have in Common?" We have yet to come up with an answer, so if anyone would like to pose a guess, you're welcome to do so!

Saturday My mom and I go volunteer with Katrina Assistance and Relief Effort. It was amazing to see so many people working so hard to help those who have been displaced after the hurricane. In the few days that I was in Arkansas, I saw countless groups who were raising money, collecting donations, and opening up their homes to refugees from Louisiana and Mississippi. There were many families and children helping out in our location alone. In just one hour that we were there, we unloaded at least 30 cars filled with all sorts of supplies and received over $1400 in donations. And that's just in one small location in Little Rock! There is so much good being done that is not being covered in the media right now.
After working for a while, my mom and I decided to go and buy supplies that seemed as if they were being overlooked. We loaded up her Jeep with dozens of bags of pet food and feminine products. My favorite comment from volunteering was a little girl (she couldn't have been more than five) unloading a box of pads from our car, and turning to her mother "Ooohh...baby stuff." Unfortunately, I didn't get to hear her mother's entire explanation.
Afterwards, we ate lunch at Corky's (oh, how I've missed pulled pork,) then two of my friends from my Memphis days, Eve and Katrina, came for a visit. We spent the rest of the day laughing, eating, and exclaiming over Katrina, who will be a new mom in five short weeks! Favorite quote from that evening comes from my very sweet, non-drug-using friend Eve: "If I was a drug addict, I'd be a huffer. I love the smell of bleach." Close second came from Katrina, who was responding to Eve telling us about a book she read in college where the women withheld sex so that men would stop going to war. Katrina: "Oh, no no no, not me. There would just have to be war."

Sunday We take Charlie for a hike up Pinnacle Mountain. I took a ton of pictures so my friends (all Arkansas virgins) could get a little peek at what it's like down there. Later, my mom and I spent much time laying around the house. After spending so much time in the one bedroom apartment that I share, I was really loving having so many choices for rooms to sit in. So we migrated from room to room, and talked nonstop. That evening, we went to a Hash House Harriers run. I don't even know how to describe it, but it was a blast. Let's just say that after three miles of running around (somewhat lost), we ended the run by drinking beer, singing the most sexually explicit songs I've ever heard, and dodging water being squirted from one runner's penis-shaped watergun. It was a unique experience all-in-all.

Monday Leave North Little Rock at 5:30 a.m. For the first time, as I'm flying into NYC, we actually fly over Manhattan. It was great to see the five burroughs from 39,000 feet. I could see the Verrazano and Hell's Gate bridges, both landmarks near places I've lived. I flew over Central Park, and directly over the Hudson. It is remarkable how small this city actually is! And, I was two for two...my roommate was at the airport to pick me up. We went directly to lunch, at Himalaya, a restaurant that's been open for all of eight days and serves authentic Tibetan food. My first hour back was fabulous!

This is my longest blog, and if you made it through it all, congratulations! I could write a lot more, but I'm going to take my hands off the keyboard for now, and get to work preparing for the new school year.

Home Is Where the Heart Is?

In my case, home is where the lungs are. I'm getting ready to head to North Little Rock for five days and one of the things I will be doing is running with my mom. For many, many miles. My mom and I used to run together when I was in junior high and high school. We'd take a meandering run through Overbrook and talk nonstop the whole time, or go out to the high school track and let the stopwatch and each other push us to go faster. We share a love for the outdoors and anything athletic, so it's wonderful when we're actually in the same city to enjoy it together.

Of course, the flipside of this for me, is that home is also where the stomach is, at least where my grandmother is concerned. I will go to her house and often find homemade macaroni and cheese, rolls, chicken, green beans, monkey bread, a casserole or two, and last, but most definitely not least, an entire plate of deviled eggs set aside just for me. (Nothing can beat my grandmother's deviled eggs. And yes, I always eat every one on the whole plate.)

When I lived at home I took these and other things for granted. Sometimes the predictability of being there would drive me crazy. Now it's that very predictability that I am looking forward to: the runs, the food, watching First Wives Club with my mom, sitting in my grandmother's front yard while she tells me all about the different birds that are eating at her birdfeeders at that particular moment, listening to my brother talk about cars and not understanding a word of what he's saying, going to the Nazarene Church in Beebe and smiling through exclamations of how much I've grown (there must be an age limit on this one), grocery shopping at the Kroger and running into people I haven't seen in years, playing with my little cousins and their John Deere tractor toys...

Okay, maybe my heart is there a little bit, too.

The Element of Surprise

I accept it as common knowledge that my mom is one of the most amazing people to walk the planet. In less that two weeks, she will be travelling to Colorado to run the Pike's Peak marathon. It is her third marathon, and the first one I won't be at to cheer her on, a fact that is disappointing for both of us.

Then, a few weeks ago I read a blurb in a magazine about a recent study that showed that receiving flowers significantly elevates your mood for four days. I thought it would be the perfect surprise for my mom, and a great way to keep her spirits up and nerves down in those last days. So, of course, I ordered flowers immediately.

For anyone who knows me, it goes without saying that I have a very difficult time keeping my mouth shut about anything that I am excited about. So the fact that I didn't slip up and tell my mom for almost two weeks is reason enough to pat myself on the back. Then yesterday she calls me to say she received the flowers! Mind you, it is not within the four-day time span prescribed in the magazine, and it is not on the day I scheduled them for. What surprised me, though, is that it made me angrier than anything has for quite some time. I live in New York City, where people routinely try to run me off the road while I am driving, curse at me for ridiculous reasons, pee on the train platform while I am standing next to them...and I am mad that flowers arrived early?

My mom said it was no big deal. I said, "Mom, I wanted to surprise you. It's like receiving a Mother's Day gift in April." Which got me thinking about social conventions. The expectations we set around gift-giving are fascinating to me. And those conventions seem to go along with well-wishing. Is someone's "Good Luck" less meaningful if spoken too early? In a way, I feel like my mom doesn't even have her game-face on yet, but the everything-happens-for-a-reason side of me thinks maybe she needed those flowers earlier for a reason neither of us will ever know.

In the end, I complained to the company and got a 50% reimbursement (and an offer to resend the flowers on the appropriate date.) And, though this is still too early for conventional well-wishing, I know she'll do awesome, flowers or no flowers. She will always be one of the most amazing people around...and that voice of reason who tells me I'm thinking too much about these flowers.