Grill Girls

There are five daughters in my family, plus my mom makes six Wise women. We are a mostly independent bunch, though I guess I can't speak for everyone.

But I like to think of us as having a strength unique to women, solidified for us by years of hard living and the necessity of grit.

So it comes as no surprise to me that most of the women in my family are Masters of the Grill - the outdoor cooking space most often designated for the men in the unit, a place for them to gather and guy-talk while handling big hunks of meat because, for some reason, cooking outside is much more maucho then slaving over a hot stove confined by four walls.

In true Wise-fashion, the Wise women push those boundaries.

Naturally, it was born out of necessity, as most traditions-turned-lifestyles are. There really weren't men around to fire up our grill. So when our lives gained some sense of normalcy and we wanted a cookout, we had one.

And the girls grilled.

We still do.

I think sometimes it baffles the current men in our lives. I was getting ready to put steaks on the grill the other night and Lucas took the plate from me on my way out the door.

"I've got it," I said. And he handed it back, maybe a little despondent. Maybe the grill is his terrority - I don't know. But I grilled the steaks.

Katie thinks nothing twice about grilling chicken (herself) instead of putting it in the oven or on the stovetop.

Over the Fourth of July, Mom grilled out and she cooked the hamburgers. Though she has been known to say at friends-and-family cookouts, "I need a man to grill the hamburgers for me" and either one volunteers or she designates one - one who may need to feel a moment of manliness.

Personally, I'm a master of both charcoal and propane grills. Last summer I bought a $17 charcoal grill at Wal-Mart and assembled it on the beach at the lake. Thirty minutes later, about twelve friends and I were enjoying hamburgers and hotdogs. That grill lasted all summer, too.

My realization that we Wise women had arrived at being grill masters was yesterday when Katie got back to the house from shopping.

"I got two things today," she said. One was a bamboo silverware seperator for the silverware drawer.

The other?

A grill brush.

"I got this for us," she said. "So we can clean the grill."

I think that means that,despite our gender, we've arrived among the many, the proud, the men...of grills.

Time

I'm not a mom.

But I know what it feels like to enjoy eating dinner without having to cut up someone else's first.
I know how it feels to get out of the car and not get in the backseat immediately to help a little person out.
I know how it feels to walk into a store without having to worry about the little hand grabbing yours. And whether or not that little hand is running off.
I know how amazing it is to have a conversation with an adult and not be interrupted.
I know how intelligent it is to watch a movie with a rating above G.
I know how serene the kitchen feels when cooking dinner in silence.

I'm not a mom.

But I know how absolutely vital (essential, really) it is for moms to step outside their mom-role for an hour, a trip to Wal-Mart, a dinner, the drivethrough...just a second...to reconnect with reality - the reality of being a woman.

I grew up with a phenominal mother - the one who loved being with her kids, who rarely took time for herself, who missed us when we weren't there. She is still that mother, to this day. And I will most likely be a lot like her.

I love the kids in my life - the ones who's lives brush mine, the others who are more a part, the others who I take care of regularly.

I love their honesty.
Their creativity.
Their love of life.
Their thoughtfulness.
Their reasoning.
Their chatter.
Their snuggles.
Their movies.
Their compliments.
Their dependance on me.

But last night, I was me, a part from them.

Me = single. Childless. Not a mom.

"I know I'm not a mom," I told Katie in the women's restroom of the Grand Ole Opry. "But it feels good to be out with just us - no kids."

And for five hours, it was nice.

But now back to the cuddling. Who can say no to that?

(but for the dads and other people involved in the lives of their women - they need a break sometimes. Even just a little one.)

Grand Ole Opry

Grand Ole Opry?

Mission accomplished.

I've lived an hour and 45 minutes from Nashville for about 6 years and have never been to the Grand Ole Opry. A shame, really.

But no more shame, as of last night!!!

The idea of going has been swirling in my head (as many things are!) for awhile now and when I found out that the Eli Young Band was going to be performing there this Tuesday night, I texted Katie and said, "Make no plans for Tuesday night. We're going to the Opry!"

So we did.

I'm not a big fan of tourist-trappy places because I don't like to contribute to the hype of a PLACE just because someone says I'm supposed to like it.

BUT.

The Grand Ole Opry is where it's happening. Everyone should go at least once in their lives, especially people who live as close as I do.

Actually, people who lives as close as I do, should go like, um, once a month. At least. When we left last night,Katie commented that we should go back every week.

It's that good.

So your question may be - what makes it so good??

And my answer(s) are:

1) It's deeply historical, for both Nashville and the whole of country music. Even if you don't like country music, you can't deny the influence these legendary artists have had on music in general.

2) The Opry House is beautiful and very old. The Grand Ole Opry used to be performed at the Ryman Auditorium but was moved to its current location in the '60s, I think. Our seats were in the balcony (because those were the only three seats left together) and the stairs up to the seats were barely wide enough for two people to walk side by side. The seats in the balcony were pews and our view to the stage was nearly vertical. The auditorium is tall and deep so it felt like we were sitting on the top of a cylinder looking down into the stage.

3) The Grand Ole Opry provides an entertainment line-up like no other. We saw Jimmy Newman, Sarah Buxton, a Bluegrass band, the Eli Young Band, Bill Anderson, the Charlie Daniels Band, Lil Jimmy Dickens and Trace Adkins. We went from the legendary prowess of Jimmy Newman, Bill Anderson , Charlie Daniels and Jimmy Dickens to the newbies in Sarah Buxton and the Eli Young Band to the superstar-ness of Trace Adkins.

To be honest, I had no idea who Bill Anderson was until last night. He's a country singer and entertainer, in his 60s, probably. But he's my grandpa - he just doesn't know it. He was the type of entertainer that made you feel like YOU were the only reason why he was there. I love him.

Jimmy Dickens is 88. And when his guitar is standing on end in front of him, it's nearly as tall as he is. His quote of the night was: "My wife said to me the other day, 'let's run upstairs and make love.' I told her, 'I can't do both.'" And when the full Opry House erupted into laughter, he said, "Been there, done that."

4) The stars aren't being paid to impress - performing at the Grand Ole Opry is an honor to them. So it takes away the superficial mask of entertaining. Sarah Buxton made a mistake while performing her hit song "Innocence." Trace Adkins looked like he'd just finished dinner, put on his hat and walked out to the door to sing to us. Jimmy thanked the audience for his house. Bill gave the audience a hug. Trace made fun of a Dollar General commercial about toilet paper's performance. Charlie Daniels threw his fiddle bow into the front row and hit a litle girl in the face. Anyone was welcome to walk right up to the stage and take pictures. Since the Grand Ole Opry is a live radio show, there's a host and tons of people walking around on stage, and even commercials.

5) The format of the show is exciting. Each performer sang like three songs and talked about life, made jokes, talked about the Opry and favorite memories of being there. There was no mention from the stars of new CDs or tour dates or paraphenalia that we should buy.

6) The radio host, Andy, I think, was a guy who looked older then he was and he announced people's birthdays from the audience and soldiers who had just returned from Afghanistan. He introduced the entertainers without a script and each one either shook his hand or hugged him when they were leaving the stage.

7) For what you get, you can't beat the price. Our balcony seats were $38, which yeah, sounds expensive. But we were entertained for 2.5 hours. And entertained well, by famous people (really famous people.) We decided, though, that the next time we go, we'll pay the $53 to have seats on the main floor. Trust me, the additional $15 would be worth it.

We were pumped up when we left.

And it was only 9:30 p.m. - in Nashville...with no children! That's kind of a big deal for us.

I'd never been to the Wildhorse Saloon so we decided to venture downtown and indulge in more live music and maybe some dancing.

It was karaoke night at the Wildhorse, a nice family environment restaurant/bar, with a huge stage and dance floor. Mindy and Katie got there with some other crazy line dancers and before long, it was closing time.

As we were leaving, we asked one of the waiters if he knew of any other good places to dance that Mindy could get into to - she'll be 21 in September. The waiter/bartender had been talking to a couple younger guys so they were all like thinking of places and explaining that on a Tuesday night, we'd be hard pressed to find anything.

Mindy said it had to be a place that would let her in. And one of the younger guys said, "Well, you could always try the carousel at the mall." We basically told them him that the conversation was over and that that was a really rude comment.

We walked up and then back down Broadway, which is just fun to do at night because of the music and the people.

Then we came home. And it rained HARD nearly the whole way.

It felt good to collapse into bed at 1:15 a.m. being dog-tired but having had so much fun.

Go to the Grand Ole Opry.

Rest

It's easy for me to get caught up in the details of how things possibly could work out that I forget the steps to get to that point.

Perfect example:

I'll start worrying about the logistics of a job (i.e. where I'll live, moving expenses, visiting family, is it the right decision?) before I even apply. So by the time I think, "should I apply for this job?" I've already fretted, stewed and worried about every possible thing you could fret, stew and worry about in a new job and I end up not applying.

Or, for a second, I say to myself: you haven't even APPLIED for this job, much less been interviewed, much less been offered it, MUCH LESS ACCEPTED THE JOB.

And then I yell at myself.

"STOP IT!!!!"

Rest.

And rest well.

Rest well in His plan.

Remember? He's writing the story.

So why is the pen still in my hand?

Um, need sleep

In the last 48 hours, I've worked 37.

And slept 8, which is really the number to note.

Basically, this means I'm susceptible to crying over, well, pretty much anything and the smallest problem is pretty huge through my sleep-deprived eyes. I've been able to stave off such episodes while I'm doing what needs to be done but when the right moment comes and I'm actually able to STOP, that's when the emotion comes rushing in.

That event happened when I was about 10 minutes from home from my last 6 hours of work. All I wanted to do was get home.

But suddenly I was stopped (or at least slowed) in the middle of the road, reduced to 10 mph in a lonnnnngg line of traffic because the state highway department decided that today (of all days), this road (of all roads) needed its lines repainted at this time (time of all times) when I happened to be so close to bed.

Evil conspiracy, I tell you.

I'm sitting there, putt-putting away, stewing.

Stewing about the stupid highway department.
Stewing because the SHD didn't put up signs letting people know they were going to come to a screeching halt behind a 10 mph moving truck with a blinking sign that said WET PAINT.
Stewing because the SHD could've caused an accident.
Stewing because the SHD never puts up signs when they're doing work.
Stewing.

I tried to access the KY Department of Transportation's phone number on my Blackberry. The page was too large to load.

Naturally.


In the meantime, I sent Katie a text message:
"I got behind the WET PAINT truck"


Her reply?
"Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha"

Without any sympathy from even my sister, I really wanted to cry.

But instead I made it home (jerked my car off onto a side road and got home that way), came in the house, a little shaky from not having eaten anything all day and my nerves racked from weariness.

I may have told Katie hi but then mumbled something like, "I swear..." and got on the computer...

...accessed the department of transportation's website, the highway department, and dialed. Transferred to someone in charge of the project.

I proceeded to tell her, as kindly as I could at that moment, that I thought it was irresponsible of the department to hold up traffic for "seven miles" and come around one of those curves going 55 mph only to be slowed down by 10 mph traffic.

Furthermore, I informed her it was "stupid" for them to be repainting stripes "on a road that's about to be tore up anyway."

"Do you want me to take your number and have someone call you back?" she asked.
"No, just pass along the message that I think this is really dangerous," I said.

I hung up the phone. And felt so much better.

Then I collapsed in the hammock first and then later, bed!

Creatively Blessed

Creatively, I feel like I'm on a roll.

I've been having....thoughts...that I've been thinking (revelation!) for a few weeks now. Nothing huge or anything I've been obsessing over but they've just been there, gaining momentum, gaining credibility in my brain, until the past few days when they've started to become more alive and then last night, when they exploded in my brain in Spectacular Brain Explosion fashion and kept me up till 12:30.

They're really great thoughts culminating into (what I think is) a really great idea. I'm going to spend a few more days letting them marinate and a few more nights writing furiously in my notebook, scribbling lines, illustrations and words...then, I shall let the creativity see the light of blog.

Kids III

"Holly, sing me a lullaby."

So I sang Jesus Loves Me over and over and over again...

...until, for the umpteenth time, while I was swinging in the hammock and she was examining the cherry tomatoes and I thought she'd quit listening, she joined in the chorus:

"Yes, Jesus loves me, yes, Jesus loves me, yes, Jesus loves me....the bible tells me so."

We continued to sing Jesus Loves Me alllllll the way to her house. Silence would come over us in the car and she'd pipe up from the backseat:

"Yessssss, Jesus loves me...." and we'd start at the beginning.

Again and again...

...until she was sitting in her living room and her dad was helping her with a movie.

"Yes, Jesus loves me," she sang. He hummed along but lost the melody.

"Holly, sing me a lullaby..."