A Running List. Roll Tide!

I’m bursting at the seams with things to tell you, partly because I haven’t blogged in so long, partly because I just read someone else’s blog who keeps a running list of things to share (most of them actually interesting or helpful, as opposed to my upcoming list of slightly boring details from my overly-stuffed brain), and partly because I have SO MUCH happening in my quiet little world.

So much, in fact, that I will probably have to break this post into a series. Which would be good. Then you would have something interesting (hopefully?) to read in the coming days, instead of once in a blue moon.

And speaking of blue moons, there is an absolutely amazing yellow moon glowing above the trees of the mountain view from my dormer window. Mrs. B texted me to be sure I didn’t miss it as I put the kids to bed.

So the moon, and the view, and the so-fun-neighbor who texts me to see the moon and saves lids for my son’s lid collection kick off my totally random list of thoughts running, no sprinting through my mind.

Yes, you read that right. My son has a lid collection. During our move this summer, he started collecting lids from our water jugs, which we now no longer need, since the tap water here won’t give you gallbladder disease. He had to collect other sorts of lids, and it quickly became a game to see how many and what kinds of lids he could collect. He wants to be in the Guinness Book of World records one day for having the largest lid collection. So Mrs. B joined the game and has definitely brought the most interesting lids of his collection.

Collecting. Once again we are collecting Box Tops for Education. My son’s school made like umpteen thousand dollars last year from Box Tops. That is simply amazing. I wish it would make them stop asking for donations from me of both money and extra teacher supplies. But if that’s what it takes to have such out-of-this-world schools that my children attend, I’ll bring in the donations. If you don’t mind, stick your box tops in an envelope and mail them to us. I’ll feel better about not contributing to the classroom ELMO fund.

Since the parents are all broke now from sending in extra Clorox wipes and printer cartridges and math workbook cost supplements, the kids are collecting donations from everyone else for the Healthy Heart Fun Run. This is Will’s first opportunity to go door-to-door flat out asking people for money to contribute to new technology equipment. Let me just tell you right now that I HATE FUNDRAISERS. With a passion. I hated them when I was in school, and I hate them now, and the only thing I ever want to sell or buy for a fundraiser is Girl Scout cookies. I love the Samoas and Thin Mints best of all. But this fundraiser, like it or not, has been a character-building assignment for Will and for me. Me–because I had to get off my rump and teach him through role-playing, something we rarely do. And him–because he had to learn how to look someone in the eye, project his voice, speak confidently, make a request to an adult he may or may not know, and then gratefully thank them afterward. This was a much-needed assignment for him, and he is very much wanting to raise $100 by this Friday so that he can attend the pizza party. I, however, feel the tug of war between the current school fundraiser and the Cub Scout popcorn fundraiser that is coming, probably like next week. The good thing about this one is that any amount is helpful. Cub Scout popcorn, however, is expensive. But it does at least give the purchaser something tangible in return.

Did I mention that my Eagle Scout husband managed to find himself as an Assistant Den Leader? I don’t think he meant to do that, but he made a friend with another den leader who really needed help. That friend’s son happens to be one of Will’s good friends at school. He has a really sweet family of six. So sweet, that they invited us to join them and several other couples for Game Day Saturday.

Ah, Game Day. Saturday was our first Bama Game Day to attend. Roll Tide. Did you know that in Alabama, Saturdays during Football Season revolve around Game Day? Bama flags fly, fans don crimson, and beer flows. Almost noone watches the game alone. And afterwards–the camping chairs come out to the lawns while the dogs grill and the police sit watching the main roads.

Shortly after our first Game Day, I “friended” my new friends from the party on facebook, and on one of the friend’s pages, I saw a youtube video of an ESPN Roll Tide commercial. It taught me a lot about this Alabama culture. Apparently “Roll Tide” is useful for any expression you need to use it for, not just to root on the home team. Are you leavin’ your friends house? Roll tide. Did you pass the test? Roll Tide. Is dinner ready? Roll Tide. But be sure and say it Bama-style: “Roll Tahd.” Ha! Love it. Now Will tells me with a grin and a wink, “I love you, Mom! Roll Tide.”

Ah, the many things I love about Alabama. Sounds like a post for another day. I guess I’ll let this list come to a close. But come back tomorrow. I’m typing the next one “raht now.”

Put-put-put

“Ka-POP!” I heard a while ago, as I will grilling some cheese sandwiches for our Sunday evening dinner. A grin spread across my face as I remembered that familiar evening sound here in the neighborhood. One evening after we first moved in, I heard a couple of loud pops that sort of sounded like a BB gun. I was pretty sure one of the neighborhood kids must be shooting squirrels. And then my husband mentioned it sounded like a small engine backfiring. Sure enough, here came the B’s, tootling up the hill on their golf cart.

For a day or two I couldn’t quite figure out their mission. They would go down the street in front of our house, up the trail on Mr. G’s property, and behind Mrs. C’s garden. It was this mysterious little trip that had me so amused, I really didn’t want to find out what it was really all about. I knew the mystique of it and the guessing game we played was far more interesting than reality would turn out to be, so I delighted in our not knowing. But as luck would have it, I happened to be standing on the front porch one evening while dinner simmered on the stove, when down they zoomed through the green grass in our side yard, across the last few feet of our driveway and back onto the street. I just took to laughing, and they glanced up and saw me up the hill on the big white porch waving at them.

Mr. B pulled the cart over and let Mrs. B out for a little jaunt up our sidewalk, holding Mrs. C’s mail. I chuckled while she told me how they bought the golf cart when their kids were younger, and now that they are gone, the golf cart needs regular use to keep it from going bad. So they just use it for their neighborhood errands. That fact alone is delightful enough–it tells of a Southern lady that takes such good care of her neighbors, she has errands to run from house to house.

After our little visit, I knew that Mrs. B was the mail lady when neighbors are gone, and that Ms. C composts grass clippings–she “saves everything”. Mrs. B let me know she would visit with Ms. C when next she saw her and would find out where she would like us to deposit our clippings for her compost pile. I was glad about that, since we had let the first round of clippings compost themselves in the B’s borrowed trashcans (the waste management company took forever getting our cans to us.) The smell was atrocious, and I was glad they had been away for a beach vacation during that little fiasco.

So now when I hear the put-put-put with an occasional “Ka-POP” of the golf cart, I look up through my kitchen window to see the B’s going out for their neighborhood stroll. I smile inside and out knowing that my neighbors are all in the good and loving care of Mrs. B.

These Are the People

…in the neighborhood, in the neighborhood, in the neigh-bor-hoo-ood. These are the people in the neighborhood. They’re the people that you meet when you’re walking down the street. They’re the people that you meet each daaaaaay……” Okay. Thank you to Sesame Street for that lovely little jingle that taught us so much. So can I just tell you how much I love my new neighborhood?

Perhaps one of the saddest things about leaving Altus was leaving my little corner of the world where I knew my neighbors, and they knew me, and they had watched my kids tricycle around the cul-de-sac–that circle where William learned to ride a bike, where we watched fireworks every Fourth of July, where we stood together with our neighbors watching the sky for tornadoes and hail, and where we brought Hunter home from the hospital for the first time. So many wonderful things happened there, and our precious neighbors were there doing life right along with us. That’s how it is with neighbors–they become a part of each other’s lives just by living it together.

I was most concerned about moving away from our comfortable little circle of neighbors. You never know what your new neighborhood will be like. Will there be someone creepy next door? Will there be good wholesome friends for my kids down the street? Will it be safe to go for evening walks? You know how it is. You find out every possible thing you can about the house you’re buying, but when it comes to researching the people in the neighborhood, there’s only so much you can do besides just flat out moving in and getting to know them.

When I prayed and asked God for this house, one of the things on my list was for him to give me a best friend that lived in the neighborhood. Now, the jury’s still out on that, because I haven’t met everyone yet. But I have totally fallen in love with all of the people that I have met in my neighborhood so far. I have thought many times in my life that I want to write a book, and I have actually started one or two, but. If I ever wanted to write a book about people, I would write it about these folks.

Bill and I marvel and laugh each day about the wonderful, funny, one-of-a-kind personalities of those that live around us. I seriously feel like I am reading a book each time I listen to stories about Mr. G who thinks he owns the neighborhood, just because he used to own all the property it is built on, and each time I gaze out of the window over my kitchen sink to see Mr. B sitting in his nightly perch with his cold drink, and each time I notice Ms. C carefully tending her garden and deck. Mr. D mows for Ms. C, Ms. C recycles for the whole bunch, since she “doesn’t get her money’s worth” of the recycling can, and Mrs. B knocks on my back door to remind me when it’s trash day or to offer to carry my empty water jugs to Ms. C’s blue bin. It’s just like a story, I tell you.

I really hope to spend some time blogging in a little more detail about my neighborhood, because it is so delightful and full of humor. We still have a few homegrown tomatoes and jalapenos left from Mr. S and Mrs. P who brought them over to us the week we moved in. (We might be the only folks in B’ham who don’t have our own tomato garden.) And the day the firetrucks came (another story here, perhaps?), which was the same day the cable guy brought our internet and the moving crew came to help us with the last truck full, Mrs. L came to see if everything was alright, and to tell us that Mr. B is on staff at a local church and that the whole neighborhood are “Christian people, and most of us go to church.” She was just precious. I keep hoping to venture down to her “2-story brick around the corner” to visit soon.

So many fun details here are just a story waiting to be told. If you are a lover of the Jan Karon Mitford series, then you know why I love my neighborhood. It is it’s own Mitford. Perhaps that’s why Mitford is so well-loved–it is a character study in small-town life. I always thought Altus was a southwestern Mitford, and I could have written a book there too.

I don’t know if I’ll ever have time for a book, but I’ll aim for a blog post every now and then to give you a peek into my quaint little neighborhood.

Where’s the Beef?

According to the meat market employees, we’re “waiting for our truck to come in.” Yeah, aren’t we all, buddy? With more snow falling today, I’m not feeling too hopeful. Unfortunately, empty shelves aren’t an unusual sight in our small-town Wal-mart. But this. This has potential for becoming a real situation. Good thing it’s gonna warm up to 22º today! If the roads don’t clear from here to civilization, we may end up eating Tuna Fish and Spaghetti O’s next week.

I jest, because I am prepared. But the hospital has gone four days without a truck. You can only get creative for so long. Let’s be thankful this storm is on its way out!

Life in Southwest Oklahoma

Over five years ago, when we first drove through 30 miles of cotton and wheat fields on our way out to the western prairie to check out our new small town, I wondered where in the world we were going. We drove pretty far out in the middle of nowhere, when all of a sudden we came upon this quaint little southwestern town that looked like it was straight out of the movies. Later, when the movie Cars came out, we thought maybe they had fashioned Radiator Springs after it. If you haven’t seen Cars, go watch it, and you’ll see how we live–almost.

There’s not much to do here. The small movie theater only gets low-end movies, the restaurants are mostly family-owned joints, and the shopping is, well, nonexistent. We do have a bowling alley, racing arena, and a bingo hall, but you can imagine the excitement that brings. Most of the town’s activities basically center around the family; little league sports, dance and gymnastics, and high school football games are what fill most people’s evenings and weekends. If you want to do anything else, you pretty much have to leave town.

When we go to a medical specialist, we have to drive anywhere between one to two and half hours to get there. We do that a lot, as you might imagine. It makes a simple checkup a whole day affair.

When we want to go shopping for office or arts and crafts supplies, we drive an hour and cross our fingers they’ll have what we need. Sometimes, they do, but yesterday we had to settle for less.

When it’s time to buy clothes for the kids, we have no choice but to do it online and return the stuff that doesn’t fit, or haul them both two and half hours away, where they are already exhausted and cranky before the shopping begins. It’s not a nice situation.

Most of the time that we have to make a day trip to do one of the aforementioned things, we have to scour the house looking for stuff that needs to be returned while we’re there, because we always end up with something that doesn’t work out, and it’s too far to drive just for a return. Then it stresses us out on the trip, because we have to work in that return on the other side of town before or after the appointment, and still leave in time to pick up a child back in town.

My opinion of Oklahoma can easily be skewed by the hardship imposed by living in a small, dusty, very remote town. But despite the inadequecies of living this far away from the rest of civilization, not to mention family, I really do love it here. You know why? It draws my focus to the stuff in life that really matters. God. My family. Friends. Church. I have more time for enjoying home life, since there’s no where to go and nothing to do. I have always loved being at home. Now that I have two small children, I love being at home even more. And the town I live in seems to celebrate that.

People here still have family ideals. They treasure the moments spent together with family and community. When we have big festivals and parades, the whole town shows up for the festivities. When someone is sick and needs help caring for their family or paying their bills, the town surrounds them and provides food, money, and help. When the kids have a big tournament of some sort, every sign in town wishes them luck. We’re a close-knit community that loves to support each other and journey through life together.

My favorite things to do here are the simple things I get to do all the time–dropping the kids off at school (I get my social fix for the day in the preschool drive-thru); making a deposit at the bank (those gals are so sweet); going to the doctor (I can even call him at home if I need to); taking the kids in to the pharmacy to pick out candy while I pick up prescriptions and chat about our current ailments; visiting with the neighbors while the kids ride their bikes in the cul-de-sac. These seem like simple things, but they are so much fun when surrounded by people you know at every turn. We may be far away from our families out here, but somehow the town seems to surround us to be our family far from home.

If you want to have stars and lights, high-end shopping and grandiose entertainment, this probably isn’t the place for you. But if you’re like me, and you love the simple things in life, come on out for a visit. You might just want to stay.

Where Everybody Knows My Name

I don’t have much good to say about living in a small town. Especially after spending two weeks of July in three different metropolitan cities in the Southeast. And I always try to hold to the adage that if you don’t have anything good to say, you shouldn’t say anything at all. And that, my friends, is one of the reasons I haven’t blogged in over a month. But despite my discontentment with things like a brand-new Starbucks planning to close its doors, nowhere to buy a swimsuit for small children, and driving over two hours just to see a medical specialist, there is still one thing I love about a small town–the people.

Yesterday I received a call-back from my nurse while I was in Wal-mart getting a few groceries that missed the list the other day. When she asked if I could come in right away, I glanced at my watch, realizing I had to pick up my son in just forty-five minutes, and said, “Well, yes. I can.” After pushing Hunter in the buggy all the way from the back of the store to the checkout, paying for my goods, loading the car, parking the buggy, driving to the doctor, then moseying on in to the waiting room, I had only lost 10 minutes. You can’t do that in the big city. In fact, it might take that long just to find a parking space in the metroplex.

They Know Me

When I arrived at the front desk, the receptionist who has greeted me through colds, infections, pregnancies, busted lips, broken bones, and genetic disorder diagnoses smiled as she handed me my paperwork to sign. She knows me. My doctor and nurses know me. They know my son was tough to potty-train, my daughter threw up for a year, and I have been fighting my Southwest Oklahoma allergies for way too long. I had to leave before my chest x-ray to go pick up Will from his day camp, but I came back 20 minutes later toting both kids and their crayons. While I grasped the bar above my head with my side smushed up to the machine, the radiology tech hustled the kids back to the dressing room by their first names. Later as I had my blood drawn, three caring healthcare professionals stooped down to where I had the kids sitting on the floor to dig through the basket of stickers with them. I’m sorry to say I didn’t recognize the ladies by name, but they somehow knew that I am “the one” who teaches my children Spanish. They knew me.

After all the doctor visit duties were over, I went back home without having to stop by the pharmacy. But if I had, they would have smiled to see me coming and handed me the prescription while the pharmacist asked if Bill has played any golf lately. Then they would have doted over the kids while I wrestled them away from the candy aisle, each with one goody in hand, and put all of our charges on our bill. I would have left there with the feeling that somehow more of our town knows about my personal life without my having to tell them. And that’s okay.

Now I can’t buy my favorite popcorn or Cajun seasoning at our Wal-mart, but if I want to socialize, that’s the place to go. Every date night (though few and far between) seems to start at a not-so-great restaurant and end at Wal-mart, where we inevitably run into at least two people we saw at the restaurant. And most of the time I’m running errands, if I see someone I know at one place, I will almost definitely see them at Wal-mart thirty minutes later. Wal-mart is the ultimate destination for townsfolk when they leave home in our small town. It’s kind of like American Express–you can’t leave home without it!

They Care

So this morning I had an eye exam at another medical office where everyone knows me. Before I left home, my nurse from yesterday was calling to check on my breathing since the office was closing at noon. But they’ll be around all weekend, so I can call the doc at home if I really need him. I try really hard not to do that unless absolutely necessary, but I have called him at home on at least two weekends when we’ve had complaints of injuries or severe illness. I can almost hear him smile when I tell him who’s calling. He knows my daughter.

Next Monday I will take both of my kids to the dentist for their six-month checkups. The visit will entail having half the office staff gathered around my tiny little three-year-old with great big sunglasses on underneath the dentist’s light. They will be looking for her all day, because her dentist, who was also her Sunday school teacher this year, will be pacing the office for hours wondering when Hunter is coming in. At least that’s what happened last time. Then the other dentist will come through to get his high-five from Will, because they high-five every Sunday on the way in to church. We’ll no-doubt reminisce about when Hunter busted her mouth one Sunday morning and he checked out her broken tooth in the drive-thru at church as I dropped Will off for Sunday school. I remember that Sunday. Will’s pediatrician was the one answering phones in the church office when I called Bill to tell him to be on standby in case we needed stitches. She knows us. They know us.

The people know us, and we know them. I love this small town.

The First Winter

I saw a red tree today. You may find it funny for me to mention that on a crisp November day. But in a place where trees are too scarce to mention, finding one with leaves other than green ones is a rare and special treat. I had almost forgotten it was fall. Every now and then, we have a nice cool day smushed up in between a hot one and a freezing one. And today was one of those days. It has taken me several years to get used to the fact that there can actually be a place in the world that is completely void of some of my favorite things in life–a long stretch of cool fall weather, brilliant displays of colorful trees in October, and crunchy paths to kick through in November.

Haul It In

At first I was fooled by the town’s disguise. As soon as Wal-mart puts out Christmas candy, everyone starts dumping truckloads of hay bails, pumpkins, and scarecrows all over their front lawns. I thought, “How charming! The people are so into fall!” But I soon realized the hard and ugly truth: the only way we will ever see fall color is to buy it and haul it in. We go straight from hundred-degree weather morning, noon and night to 30s and 40s in the mornings. No kidding. In two weeks time we’re boxing up the shorts and donning flannel. And that’s why I’ve begun to call fall in the southwest The First Winter. The few leaves that we do have go into shock the first morning they wake up frozen, and instead of morphing us into what the rest of the world calls autumn, they turn brown and jump off the trees. You will find a token Japanese Maple or two as you drive down Main Street, but really you have to kind of stare pretty hard and squint your eyes to get any real “fall color” to pop out of the landscape.

But at least we have the pumpkins. The First Winter, where we wake up to frozen windshields but bask in the afternoon sun, sort of breaks us in for the harder Second Winter, where frostbite threatens at the very thought of setting foot outdoors. I shudder at the thought of what is quickly approaching. I guess I should be relishing in this colorless fall after all.