Benched

Alison is getting aquainted with frozen peas in a new way. She usually uses them to cool down and nutrition up her Ramen noodles. This afternoon they iced down her ankle, victim of her other ankle and the full weight of her body.

The CKS Tigers Cadet B Squad is 3-0. Alison was only one of the girls who got hurt today. They were all injuried by the other team, however.

She's doing fine. Kind of enjoying her time of the couch if truth be told. Jeff's liked it, too, because she finally watched a bit of football with him.

I've been helping her a bit with the laundry this weekend because even before she rolled her ankle, she'd been coughing more than I like. She's been having her meals on the "sick person's tray" in her room as often as she can. At 4 p.m. I decided she probably needed to give a little back.

So I brought her a couple loads of the latest dried clothing.

"Uh. Mom," she reminded me. "I'm injured." 

I reminded her that folding requires no use of the ankle.

In other news, she also got cracked on the head at a Halloween party. There was a little blood and there's a scab, but it didn't keep her down for long.

She's been on a roll of sorts, lately.

We were in the car and she was outraged by a commercial playing on the radio that featured something about the family turning to the mom for dinner because they were somehow unable to feed themselves.

"As if Moms are the only ones who cook," she said, full of feminist passion. "I mean, like, you NEVER cook."

I glanced at her. "I cook," I asserted.

"No you don't," she said.

"Do too."

"Do not."

"I do, too!  I make killer lasagna and sausage & peppers. I make soup practically every week," I said. "And meatloaf. I make meatloaf."

"You have never made meatloaf," she scoffed.

"Do too. You and your dad don't like it so I don't make it very often," I said.

"I LOVE meatloaf. I have it at Miss Amy's with mashed potatoes," she said, rubbing her stomach.

I stopped talking. Amy also has white bread. Jeff DOES cook most of our meals. I'm more famous for take-out, salads and cereal. And pancakes. I used to make pancakes a lot. 

I got a little freakes out at parent-teacher conference when one of the teachers volunteered that Ali is blunt, calls it like she sees it, and that it sometimes gets her in a little social trouble.  I cringed.

My lack of diplomacy wasn't wasn't among the things I wanted to pass on. My Facebook friends have talked me off the ledge, but I'm still hoping I can temper my thoughts better. And that there's time for Alison. Once  she gets off the couch, of course.

Scratch that

We went to the wedding of Josh and Cassie Lee on Saturday and it might have been the most fun wedding we've been to since 1998. 

Let me qualify that statement. We've been to some super fun weddings. This one gets special consideration because we went in thinking we'd know only the bride and groom, so it would be a bit awkward.

Annie Strahla, particularly should take note of this. And maybe you, Niki: there's much to tell your fellow wedding-planning addicts.

First, it was outside on a horse farm and deceptively simple. The backdrop was the farm, of course, which was gorgeous. So picture rolling hills with fenced in pastures, a small lake, a large and a high-roofed, open shelter in front of a gatherin of wooden chairs. Behind us was a beautiful old barn and surrounding us more pastures and hills. Overhead, an amazing, October sky that finished with a spectacular sunset.  (I stole this shot from Cassie's Facebook page.)

The wedding party stood in front of the structure.  and a small arched, trellis with a few sprays of grape vines and baby's breath. Three beautiful hand-made quilts hung from one wall of the open structure as a back drop for Cassie, Josh and the minister. It was stunning.

The men walked in from the right. The bridesmaids from the left. Cassie's dad drove to the back of the crowd in her grandfather's pick-up truck. She stepped out in a swirl of blinding white and the slight wind took her veil, which if you know Cassie, had to be a work of art. 

She laughed. He laughed. He caught the veil, tossed it in the truck, took her hand and brought her forward.

The ceremony was lovely. The music perfect. 

Inside a large white tent next to all this was the reception. As you entered, guests were asked to sign quilt blocks that will later be assembled for the couple, and to also take Polaroids of their partyto leave behind. You got your table assignment in exchange for the photo.

There was an open bar, as well as gourmet popcorn to tide you over until dinner. The decor was lovely but the thing that really got people buzzing was the fact that each of the few dozen tables was dressed held a different, guest-made (or Cassie-made) pastry.

There was flour-less chocolate cakes, 6-layer red velvet, a layered chocolate fudge, apple, spice, carrot, bundt, apple pies, large cupcakes, peach tortes, something that looked nutty. An amazing array. And of course, Alison's own brown-butter, butter-sugar mini-cupcakes topped with carmelized creme brule sugar sprinkles.

Ali and Cassie bonded early over their joint love of baking and along with our invitation to the event was a special request that Ali be among Cassie's friends who would contribute a dessert. How sweet is that?  You don't have to do much to make me your friend for life. Being good to my kid will do it. I can't describe how special that invitation was to Ali.

Reports back were that her cupcakes didn't just fit it; they were a huge hit. No hint at all that they were done by a 13-year-old who doesn't even have a Pinterest account. 

There was a traditional, but small, wedding cake, and there were other bits of lovely decor. But the shared dessert idea was brilliant. It didn't just give people a way to be personally involved in the wedding, it was an incredible ice breaker. Perfect strangers, long-time friends and family were trading treats back and forth, table hopping and sharing the night as if they'd all grown up together.

We did run into one couple friend there, and weren't seated with them --or Ali for that matter. But we made great friends with the people at our table and we fully expect to see them in real life out side of the Mr. and Mrs. Lee connection. One couple at our table turned out to be someone I'd worked with years ago so it was way fun catching up. 

In short, we went to the wedding because we love Josh and Cassie, and their inclusion of Alison was beyond sweet. But we didn't really expect to have a fabulous time. You've been to those weddings where you enjoy yourself but you're not really deep into the mix and it gets a little long. This was not that.

I need to introduce Cassie and my friend Niki. Niki is a wedding expert who dabbles in doling out advice and moderating conversations on a wedding planning site. It was amazing on so many levels.
I can't believe I didn't snap some photos. I just was having too much fun.     

Alison put a lot of work into the cupcakes and had rejected a bunch of ideas of what to make. Her work is all from scratch, of course, and she's got a bit of stuff on her plate already. 

In the midst of the wedding project homework, cheerleading, play practice and basketball for her, and  general work stuff and Book Club for me, we got late word that desserts were needed for a school fundraiser that was occurring on the night of the wedding.

We'd already offered to loan our cornhole board for the school event, and sponsored a team in our place. I asked Ali if she wouldn't mind doing an additional baking job, which I'd make easier by using a box mix as the base.  She looked askance at the box mix but given our general state of busy-ness, reluctangly agreed that this was a the smartest way. She baked the school cupcakes Thursday before basketball practice. 

There was no discussion about me making the things. Desserts are strictly an Alison job at our house.

I'd asked if I could just use excess wedding project icing for the school cupcakes to disguise the less-than-our-personal-best cupcakes.  

"Uh, no," she said.  "And if you don't mind, I would rather that you don't tell anyone I made these," she said.

I inquired as to why.

"Mom," she said. "It's a box mix. I don't want my good name tarnshed."

I informed her that she was a snob. A confectionary snob.

She loudly disagreed to the snobbery but stands by her baking standards. In exchange for her help with icing them, I agreed to let it go. And take credit for the school cakes. We further agreed that I'd buy icing for them.

Friday was wedding baking night for her; book club for me and, as it turns out, a spontaneous work fun thing for Jeff.  He had the Subaru and wasn't going to be home in time to get the cornhole boards to school. I had Book Club.

I rushed in late, gave Ali the sushi she'd asked for for her lonely dinner, along with ingredients she needed for her wedding icing and the store-bought icing. I'd planned to shower before Book Club but the shopping and work had put an end to that. 

My Book Club is great. They'd let me slide in stinky as long as I had wine, I knew that. So I collected my wine and other Book Club stuff, double checked my directions and set about stuffing the cornhole boards into my Mustang. 

They fit -- barely -- into my car by leaving the trunk open and squeezing my front seat nearly to the dashboard. We said our goodbyes and I puttered to the school in a light rain with stuff hanging out of my car.

It was only as I started out that I realized I hadn't wrapped the cupcakes, just asked Ali to toss them in disposable pans. I should have known she'd get them in there and not think about preservation. Even as she disdained her association with them, she did make them look pretty. Unprotected, but pretty.

It all worked out. I hope. We'll hear back today, I'm sure, at the football game where she'll cheer before heading out to basketball practice.

Somehow I have no pictures of any desserts or even the wedding. We had a great time though. Cornhole would have been fun, too. But I hear some of those desserts were store-bought, so we made the right choice.

Sent from my iPad

My new daily affirmation: "At least I'm not a sister-wife."

The slide into self-doubt and depression is as easy and familiar to me as tugging on a pair of blue jeans and wishing I hadn't had that extra slice of bread last night.

But thanks to my latest Book Club book, and a random selection from the library, I have a new defense against the darkness: At least I'm not a sister-wife.  Now, I'm not one to poke fun at religion. Actually I am. I sincerely respect, even envy, those who are true believers and who live the faith they preach. It's the hypocrites who get me going.

It should be noted that "The 19th Wife" and "The Dead will Tell" are books of fiction. But the first is deeply grounded in actuality,  and it's easier to find a religious leaders gone wrong than for me to pull on my blue jeans. Each book deals with terrible actions by leaders in the Latter Day Saints, Amish reglions and splinter groups of each, and they talk a lot about the lives of the followers. 

I don't think I'd make a good sister-wife. I'd be even worse as the offspring of a sister-wife. Not sure I'd be good at the Amish way of life, either. But that's not the point. The point is that when I get down on myself, I'm going to remember a few things to make it better. You can too, should the mood strike you:

1. I'm not a sister-wife.

2. I'm not a sister-wife's kid.

3. I'm not going to jail like Theresa Guidice (she's a Housewife of NJ -- so this is not so much a stretch from my point.)

In other news of the week, I cut my hair. Not because I was rebelling against fundamentalists' love of long hair on women, but because it's approaching Halloween and I didn't want to be mistaken for a practioner of the earthly arts. I'm witchy enough naturally; I don't need to look the part, too. 

Plus, I had to move a hair appointment and my usual stylist, Julie, was unavailable to me.  Nicole is not wise to my penchant for buyers' remorse and she cannot know how hopeless I am at dealing with my rats' nest of hair. Plus, she knows Julie will have to deal with me next time.

Monday morning should be interesting. If I can style this mess after I have to break down and wash it, I'll be starting the work week off in stellar fashion. If I can't figure it out, I might have to call in sick until it grows out enough to pull back.

Speaking of Halloween characters, I ran across an old photo of Alison wearing a pirate-witch costume -- one of Donna's finest -- and it really sent me back. Ali can't decide if she wants to trick-or-treat this year.  She also kicked me out of the kitchen (with a kiss but still) because she wanted to go solo in finishing her cupcakes for cheerleading. This includes clean-up so it's not a bad deal for me. Plus, she scampered in asking a half-dozen questions throughout so I ddn't feel entirely excommunicated. (which is what you get if you can follow along with the LDS or Amish.)

Check out this incomplete reel of Alison's Halloween costumes. 

  

In order, she was a chicken (the store-bought outfit that prompted Donna to step up); a ladybug, Ariel, Nemo (hand designed, architected and made by Donna and Jaime); a fairy, a butterfly, a white tiger (so she could better cuddle with her tiny Beanie Baby Allahs); the pirate-witch (a pattern Donna used multiple times for multiple girls all of whom totally rocked it.); a ninja, Ginny Weasley, Sean White, a vampire, and last year's brush with puns, a slice of gingerbread.

I'll survive this year if she doesn't dress up, I suppose. I mean, it's not like I'm a sister-wife...

 

Going to Church

The Captain gets full points this week, not just for being a great life partner, but for being a good dad, too. Don't get me wrong. He's still not perfect but I would never, for example, hit him in the head with a shovel and then eat his body so I wouldn't go to jail. (More on that later.)

So first, Alison was a little stressed out last week. She has a lot on her plate. She's part of the 7-8 Football cheer squad which has two practices and one game a week; 8th grade basketball, two practices a week but the season has yet to start; she tutors twice a week and has acting every Saturday. 

This week has had a couple of major tests and she was fretting about how to find time to study. I told her I'd be happy to make some time to study with her. "No offense, Mom. But you always give me the answers. Dad is harder on me."

Some wives/mothers would hoard this kind of information and perhaps question their value in the homework department. I, however, passed it on. Jeff went home early from work twice to help her study.

We hosted an impromptu dinner party in the middle of the week as if we had no responsibilities at all. It was so much fun we hope to do it again even though we were having so much fun we almost forgot to get Ali to basketball practice. 

Thursday comes and it's finally the day for us to go see Eric Church. The show is in Louisville, so Alison is beside herself thrilled that she has the evening to herself. I called from work to check on her and make sure she was OK with being home alone so long.

"Now we'll be home," I started.

"Home? You're coming home?" she wailed.

"Well, yes," I said, meaning we'd be home before morning.

"Mom. I can totally do this. I will be all right. I'm just going to study," she said.

I explained that we weren't coming home before heading south to Louisville. Just that we'd not be spending the night in Kentucky. "Why are you so excited to have the night to yourself," I asked, thinking that some kids might be a little leery of so much time on their own.

"Well I'm going to be in charge of myself!" she said. "I'm going to eat when I want, what I want and where I want."

So we go to the show. As I've reminded you all many times, Jeff isn't a country music fan. I'd told him that Eric Church isn't your typical country artist. I don't think he believed me. Plus, Dwight Yokam was the opening act. Terrible traffic kept us from the first act.

Dwight Yokam was just what you'd expect -- great, but vintage country. He stood, he twisted about in his painted on jeans and peered out at you from beneath the lowered brim of his white cowboy hat. When Eric Church hit the stage, it was a different sound altogether. 

While I soaked in the sound and live appearance of an artist I've really liked for a long time, Jeff kept talking about arpeggio runs and power chords and dueling lead guitars and yammering about how many guitars were in play. He kept shaking his head and saying, "That's not a country band." Appreciatively.

I don't know much about power chords and arpeggio runs, but it was a great show. Well worth the four-hours of driving to get to it. On his own, Jeff wouldn't drive across the street for a country show. This was totally a gift to me. Seeing him enjoy it was just icing on the cake. 

We both took Friday off work. He got Ali to school (and her tests) and I woke up at 11. Research man discovered Eric Church's lead guitarist used to be the lead guitar player for the Black Crowes. Whoever they are.

Jeff played poker Friday night while I chaperoned at the Chatard High School football game. I was prepared to read a book in the car but Lisa Vielee saved me by letting me join her group.  Saturday, Ali and I finished up three cakes we'd made to help celebrate Aunt Shirley and Uncle Larry's 50th wedding anniversary while Jeff put the finishing touches on a playlist for background music.

It was a four-hour event. Jeff found 18.5 hours of music that might be appropriate. He didn't want to miss anything. We like these people a lot and were excited to see them.  Ali had acting, so she and Jeff came down later while I went early to help set up.

We got to spend time with Allyssa, who we treat as a niece even though she's really a cousin. She's a newlywed living in California where she serves in the Coast Guard. That didn't stop Ali and me from beating her and husband Ryan at euchre.

It was fun to see them not just with family, but also with the friends, some of whom they've known even longer than they've been married. 

Today started with Alison making cupcakes for a football game, driving to a country school with the top down on fall day that couldn't have been nicer. We scrammed back home in time to get Ali to a basketball scrimmage. Jeff and I had used our day off to get most of the chores done so besides carting Alison around it's been a lazy day.

Which is good because I'm seriously worn out. Oh! That thing about killing and eating your spouse.  I had Ali at the library last week and we took longer to get the book she needed for school and I ran out of time to get my own stuff. So I grabbed a few books that were out on display and I ended up with a book called, "Season to Taste" by Natalie Young.

I took it to the gym Friday. And when I clambored up on the elliptical machine, I had nothing to keep me there but the book. Which is a about a British woman who kills her husband and proceeds to carve him up so as to get rid of the evidence.  I had a long workout planned because I'd gotten busy at work and was behind.

It's a TERRIBLE book. Will likely cause the opposite effect of my sex-charged vampire books. Which is a terrible thing to do to a guy who took me to a country show and was so good to my daughter.

I'm about half-way through (it was a long workout) and now I need to know if she was crazy before she smacked the guy in the head or if she had a psychotic break after. And does she get caught? She's leaving a diary that's part recipe and part how to get away with murder, which is a really bad idea if you're going to get away with it. 

You'd think I would skip to the end, but that's against the rules. 

Jeff and I are closing in on 17 years together and it's not all been as lovely as this week. Some have even been better, but there have been days when neither of us were all that happy to be in the other's air space. Now, I've never actually seen my aunt and uncle have a bad interaction, but she is my mother's sister and he is my father's brother. They have it in them. And if some of those stories were true....

But if my Aunt Shirley can make it 50 years without killing and eating my Uncle Larry, I think Jeff and I will be OK.  He's way taller than me so doing him in with a shovel would only bruise his shins. Plus, I'm not a very good cook even when the ingredients are pre-packaged.

If I thought I could trust all my Book Club friends,  might have to pick that book when I host next...

Whee!

We were down at the neighborhood park the other day for a gathering.  As is her wont, Alison ended up on the playground.

She was likely skulking for babysitting gigs, but there's a pull from that place that I think will always be there. She loved that little collection of plastic slides and ladders and tubes. She scared the life out of me a hundred times by jumping from a platform to a pole or going up the slide backwards when she still testing out those chubby legs.

I was chattering away with someone when I glanced over to see her stretched out on the tube that connects the little kid slide to the big kid slide. Right next to her was a little kid perched at the top of big kid slide looking like he regretted being there.

And I flashed back to Grammie Reed and Jeff putting her up there in that same spot, letting her go down on her own. They were delighted. She was beside herself with her swhoosh of independent flight.

When I saw the pictures, I was outraged.  "You let her do what?! She could have flipped over and fallen off the side!"

Marian just smiled. Jeff grinned. Had she been able to form a sentence, Ali would have likely said, "Chilll out, Mom. I got this."  At the time, she probably screamed with delight and demanded, "Again, Grammie. Again!"

But last week, she was stretched out the length of the tube that she used to crawl through, stopping in the middle and giggling because we couldn't reach her. Too big to play but not so big she didn't feel the need to stake her claim.

It just goes so freaking fast...

Sins of omission or just good marital relations? You decide

So here's a marital/partnership riddle for you:  If Party A does a dumbass thing but rectifies it without damage and only slight financial effect, Does Party B need to know?

Before I tell you that I believe, with my whole heart and wallet, that the answer is "No," let me give you an example. Hypothetical, of course.

Let's say Party A was distracted. Lot of stuff on her mind when she went to pick up Chinese take-out for her daughter. Not only was her routine out of whack because she had the pick-up time wrong for an after school activity and was running late, but someone else had parked in her normal spot at the restaurant.

Also, this restaurant borders a very busy street and if you're used to where the curb cut is from your million times pulling out of the place, it's only natural to assume it's still there when you pull out this time, right?

Somehow, in this hypothetical situation, Party A might have pulled out into traffic when her muscle car did what muscle cars do: it jumped right over the curb heading to the street and got stuck on its frame, teetring its front half over the sidewalk three feet down and its back half on the parking lot three feet up.

Gulp.  Initially Party A would have sat there contemplating options and wondering how long it would be before Party B pulled through the intersection on his way home where the spectacle of a cobalt convertible suspended over space would likely catch his eye. And if it didn't, the people pointing and gawking might have tipped him off.

I would imagine Party A would get out of the car, crawl around a little bit on the asphalt looking for a way out. Backing up would scrape the frame. Pushing forward would surely scrape off the exhaust system and probably fracture the bumper.

About this time, I'd imagine a passerby would stroll over to help assess the situation. He might even shake his head and wish Party A luck with her situation as he walked away, stifling his laughter until he was not quite out of earshot.  

Party A would likely turn to her trusty cell phone -- nearly out of juice -- to turn to her employer for help in finding a reliable tow truck. Should Party A then discover that she needed to update her Angie"s List app and can't because she hasn't enough power, she might kick some dirt and mutter a few curse words.  She might have had this conversation in her head:

-- I could sit in the car and charge the phone to get the app updated, but it might also tip the car down to the sidewalk and it will take some time and I need to scram before Party B comes through.

-- I could call Party B for help. We ARE partners in life and love. He DID swear to stick around in good times or bad. Damn I should have added a dumbass-actions line in there...

-- I could take a chance and call for a tow without checking reviews first and get home before anyone knows anything is amiss. Well, other than all the people who've already seen me.

My bet is she'd call a tow truck, explain the situation and get them to come right away. She'd probably also shoo away the second random guy who stopped in his pickup offering to just pull her off the curb. Because she's not the kind to leave a tow truck guy hanging after making the emergency call from her traceable cell phone. She'd explain she had it all under control when the Chinese restaurant owners came out to see what was going on in the parking lot.

And when the tow truck guy comes, she'd be relieved that he agreed it was best to lift the car up and roll it back rather than try any other option -- something that only a professional tow truck driver with a lift on his truck could do. She might even start thinking she was pretty smart to have handled the situation so well.

When he said he's done this a time or two in that very spot, she'd feel even less like a total dumbass. When he said he'd do the job for $50 cash she might remember that she HAD extra cash in her wallet because she'd been so thrifty on a work trip the week before.

And when he said, "It's OK. Not too many people even saw you stuck up there," she'd laugh and smile and not kick the truck as it pulled away.

Now, she might think about her actions as she pulled into traffic with the Chinese food still hot and steamy, the car no worse for wear. She might decide she'd handled that just as well as it could be handled and there was no need to tell ANYONE, let alone Party B.

And that's where the story might end had Party A not been among the worst liars in the history of fibbing. Escaping blame is worse than getting away with something scot free. At least for me. I just can't take it.

Beside the hundreds of eye-witnesses who buzzed by the scene of the crime, I (AKA Party A if you somehow hadn't figured this out) had the Chinese food guy to contend with.  Jeff doesn't often pick up food there, but my luck is such that he'd be on the hook next time and I know my pot sticker supplier would take the occasion to revisit the situation.

Plus, I had wine at dinner Friday night @NorthSideSocial.  (Watch out for the Merlot there if you have a secret to keep -- I think it has some truth serum in there...)

I started my confession out with my lame hypothetical. It did not last long. "Are you kidding me? Don't you remember when I pulled some lady off that same curb?"

Crap!. "Uh no," I stuttered.

He looked at me, incredulous. "So when were you going to tell me? When the credit card came in?" 

In justifing "Never," I trotted out a lot of offers. Like, I don't need to know when women hit on him, say, at the overnight utility bar meetings. 

"Honey, you don't have any competition from the utility bar," he said. Then cocked his head, got all dreamy and said, "Except...."

I might have thrown my fork at him. I came up with other examples where Party A doesn't need to know everything about Party B. "Like, let's say you cut the outdoor extension cord with the electric shears. You could replace the cord and no one would know. Or care!"

"You mean like you did? Twice."

Crap.

"How about the time I let the baby fall off the couch?" he offered up. "No witnesses anywhere and she couldn't talk. But I told YOU!"

It wasn't looking good for me, I have to admit. I mumbled something about Alison possibly suffering brain damage and the car being both an inanimate object and a "no-harm; no foul" kind of situation. 

He mentioned the $50.

"Ha-HA! I still have birthday money from your father!" I crowed. 

He just shook his head. "Sin of omission," he declared.

"Inconsequential incident, " I countered.

We went back and for a while over dinner, which was fabulous, by the way. That damn merlot tricked me intoo a second confession that I'd gone home from work early that day just because when really it was because Alison had called in a panic because she'd locked herself out of the house again. Her phone was running on fumes and I couldn't reach her but I had my neighbor reach out so I knew all was under control.

On the slight chance she'd called Jeff, too, I called him as I raced northward. "Whatcha doin?" I asked. Upon determining she hadn't called him, I was trying to end the call when he asked where I was. I told him I was heading home. He asked why. "Because I can," I said, not wanting to rat her out.

Before I got to the house, she'd calmed down, retraced her steps to find where she'd dropped her key and was having a snack at the counter.  No harm, no foul, right?

"Sin of omission," intones the Captain in what I expect could be a mantra I'm treated to for a while.

I think we need arbitration. And if it helps you side with me, I'll bring over a bottle of that merlot.

Music City

I spent a few days in Nashville, Tennessee last week and I am deeply saddened to report that I had no personal encounters with any of my current country music favorites. I even wore my Billy Currington tee-shirt. Sigh.

That's what happens when you take a work trip and don't spend any time plotting ways to set yourself up for a personal encounter with a country music star.  We did go to the Grand Ole Opry, though, which was like stepping back in time. 

In a good way, but man was it wholesome. My friend Jodie accompanied me and I bored her silly with stories of my brother-in-law Jim Bradbury whose 8-track tape collection would have been right at home with us on the church pews. 

Bill Anderson and Jim Ed Brown hosted half-hours of the Opry, along with a cowboy band that I'm sure were middle-aged when the Opry operated downtown. One of them even yodeled! Oh! And the Hee Haw Honeys sang back-up for a couple of numbers. My parents would have loved it. I'd heard of The Grascals from my friends Jim, Deb and Kevin on WFMS, and they were great! Restless Heart (Why Does it Have to Be Wrong or Right) played too. I'd set out with a goal to make Jodie and Diana (my co-workers/friends) into country music fans. I'm not sure I succeeded but I'm sure I didn't damage my plan, either. It would have helped to have had a current top 40 singer at the Opry, though...

We went downtown one night to the Wildhorse Saloon and the band did a great job covering a ton of the current top 40 hits, along with some of their own songs. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't gawking along the way, looking for that chance glimpse of Miranda Lambert or Eric Church or Tim McGraw. It's possible that they'd need gas or groceries on a Thursday night, right?

Apparently not. 

But like I said, it was a work trip and the work end of things went just fine. Back home, Alison taught Uncle Jeph a few new tricks. Card tricks, that is. I don't think I want to be around when she's teaching him any other sort of tricks, or vice versa.

Jeff, Lynda and Amer were all at their own conference down in Southern Indiana and somehow I've yet to hear any stories of late night drinks, dancing or other revelry that could get anyone in trouble. I'm sure that will change.

When he got home, Jeff convinced Ali to try Yat's, a Cajun fast-food place within walking distance. When she was smaller, she didn't like it at all. But to Jeff's delight, she's a convert. Yat's is across the street from another Jeff-Ali favorite: Fat Dan's Deli.  Fabulous places for them when I'm out of commission. It's not that I don't like the food. It's that if you're stuck at the stoplight at that intersection and the top is down on your car, you'll gain 5 pounds just breathing.

As I've alluded to earlier, I've been a little off track diet-wise for the past couple of months. The work trip didn't help, though all three of us worked out every day. The hotel was one of those elaborate designs with waterfalls and rain forests -- so much of that in Tennessee, right? -- and so ginormous that we all routinely got lost just going to the bathroom. 

It wasn't just us -- everyone at the conference talked about their wanderings. The staff couldn't even keep things straight. A concessionaire over at the Opry confessed that she'd worked at the hotel for two years and never once figured it out.

It's a good thing there was decent signage or we'd never have escaped the United Methodist conference down the way. Between the gym, which had the "you will sweat" setting up to 11, and all the "where the hell am I now" walking, though we may have worked off a bit of the beer and cocktail party treats.

When I got back home, I told Jeff I was cutting out alcohol for a while and embarking on a strict watermelon and zero-point soup diet. But then I found him making simple syrup and decided I could have a little one if he was making one already.  Upon delivery and my agreement that he'd done well, he walked away saying, "It might be a double."

Jeff and I did hit the Fall Creek Trail this morning on the bikes, and I'd eaten well within my Weight Watcher limits all day. We spent the afternoon watching Ali cheer on the Christ the King Tigers 8th grade football team. Sadly, they lost with three seconds to go. But like my diet plans, it's early. Plenty of time to recover.

And it was a gorgeous fall day. So go team, I say. Whatever team you're on.