John-Heath Dives In

John-Heath enjoying Jon and Jessie's pool a few days ago.

I really miss having a pool. When we moved in to Nannie's house after she passed away we thought we would be there for a few years or six or seven so we bit the bullet and had a very nice, very large above ground pool installed.

Now, I am generally not a fan of the look of above grounds and, truth be told, I am envious of all of you with in-grounds. I would looovvve to be able to install a large patio area with a nice, big in-ground pool just off our bach porch. However, that is way too cost-prohibitive for us right now. Besides, with an above ground if you get tired of it after several years you can just tear it down and haul it off. That doesn't sound too tacky, does it? Anyway, back to my story.

One of the perks of working for the school system is that you have vacation days at the same time your children do. And as such we thought putting one in would give us -meaning Ren and myself- something to do during the summer to keep from being bored out of our minds. Well, yes, since I decided to gain enough weight to make a whole other me I also liked the idea of not having to take Ren to public pools. That was another selling point.

So, we put the pool in, I found out I was pregnant with John-Heath and within two and half years we had built a house on the back of the farm and moved, leaving behind the pool to be used by the people who rented Nannie's house after we moved out.

I was told we would move the pool over once we got settled. I guess we are still unsettled because there is no pool in my backyard.

Finally, this summer John asked us to decide if we would rather take a trip somewhere or buy a pool. The vote was unanimous - 3 to 1 (John's vote reeeally didn't count anyway, that's why we can say unanimous). We chose the pool. So now we are out pool shopping.

A couple days ago we stopped by Pool and Spa in BG, Ky. This is where we bought our last one. While there John-Heath managed to stick his hands into all the above grounds on display and flick enough water into the air to get his hair pretty much soaked. But the creme de la creme of the shopping trip came when he, while trying to position himself just so in a patio chair set up next to the in-ground pool display, managed to get himself dumped out accidentally from the chair and right smack dab, head first into the pool.

So, from that point on, I began my attempt to stall the salesman on the inside long enough for John to squeeze out the excess water from our son and get him, undetected, to the car, as if he's the only kid to ever fall in a pool at a pool store.

But, like John said, one day we'll look back and laugh, remembering the look on his face when he came up out of the water. I wish I had had my camera with me.

Wishing the Rain Would Just Wash Me Away

The weekend that began with such promise has taken a turn for the worse and I am not speaking of the rain. I like the rain. Well, not when we have it on days off from school or if it lasts for days on end. But, in general, I am fond of the rain. Rain makes lazy people, moi, feel better about themselves because on rainy days every one is lazy and we, I, don't stick out like a big ole sore thumb.

And who doesn't love a thunderstorm? Bill Hall, a former local weatherman, once said in an interview that it's gotten to where "you can't even enjoy a good thunderstorm anymore." He was speaking of all the latest advances in meteorology. Of course, those advances do, thankfully, save lives when it comes to reporting tornadic activity but sometimes I think weathermen get carried away a bit and just like to see themselves on t.v. and so they interrupt my time with some Desperate Housewives to tell the entire broadcasting area that at 3:43 large clouds will pass over Chipmunk Road, followed at 3:47 over Sugar Hollow Lane and 3:51 above the Rattlesnake Ridge community and while telling you this they show computer images of just how tall these clouds are in an effort to outdo the other local news stations and it just gets to be TMI - too much information! Did I happen to mention I also love a good run-on sentence?

So now you know that the rain and impending thunderstorm are not the reason for my gloomy state of depression. Yes, folks. I know it's hard to imagine but I, too, can get down in the dumps. Many things can cause this kind of funk. Today it is the missing checkbook.

The last time I used it was on Thursday evening registering Ren for the pageant. I distinctly remember writing it, handing it to the woman, and then stubbing it. I think I remember putting it back in my purse but, since it is obviously not there now, this memory may be imagined.

John brought its absence to my attention today. I hate it when I do something that opens the door for a good reprimand by him. I pride myself on always being right. I may allow him to hold onto the notion that he is smarter - he is older- but I am always right. I would honest-to-goodness rather have hot pokers plunged into my gut than admit I made a mistake. I am in a state of almost surrealism that maybe I have slipped up here.

Well, I'm 40 now. I guess I've got to make a mistake at some point in my life.

Postscript @ 7:37 p.m. - wondering what the chances are of one being struck by lightning while on a plugged in laptop. It's gotten really dark and windy in the last little bit.

I See London, I See France...

This post is being linked up to Kevin and Layla's Favorite Posts of 2010 over @ the Lettered Cottage. Oh, by the way, it's a true story - unfortunately.

Sashay. It's what we Southern girls are bred to do since birth. It is part of our chromosomal makeup. As small girls we do it in our Martha's Miniature dresses, all ruffles and bells down the center aisle each Sunday at church. We do this as students when we enter the hallways of learning each day. Yes, I am here. I have arrived. Why, thank you. As a matter of fact it is new. We train to do it in pageants. Any Miss Tennessee Moon Pie Festival queen worth her weight in salt mastered it years ago. And we, of course, do it on our wedding day, walking toward our groom satisfied to our core in knowing that we are, at this moment, the absolute center of the universe. My sister was born with this trait. My niece works it quite nicely, and has several pretty little tiaras to back it up. I, on the other hand, never felt a need for it in my youth. I didn't dress fashionably ("comfort first" was my motto) or over worry about hair and makeup, so why would I go to the trouble to act prissy in any other way? Then it happened. I was in my late 20s. And for some unknown reason one night I was bitten by the sashay-bug. A distant cousin had died and I had gone to the funeral home one evening to pay my respects. It just so happened that the place was packed that night, as each viewing room was occupied. My cousin's viewing was in the very back. But before heading in to where my family was seated, I needed to stop off at the restroom.

After taking care of business in the bathroom, I gave myself a once-over in the mirror. I did look good. I had actually taken pains in my presentation that night...hair styled just so, flawless makeup, and a dark floral jacket and white blouse with a fairly plunging neckline over the most elegant, feminine skirt in my wardrobe - long, black, and sheer it was a skirt made for sashaying. And with every fiber in my being I realized that I had not been skipped when the flirt fairy sprinkled her magic dust on girls at birth. I had had it all along. And that night, albeit in a most unlikely place, I could exhibit it like every other female. Stepping out of the restroom into the hallway, I felt more confidence than I had known in a long time, if ever. At one point I think I even felt one shoulder pop up a little, just as Scarlett's had when she entered Melanie Wilke's home for Ashley's birthday party. Chin tilted ever so slightly (not too much, though - one wants to look confident but not conceited) I headed toward the parlor, smiling and nodding at people along the way. Finally, I was sashaying. Me. Tyla. The non-sashayer of the family was sashaying. A few steps from the door a kindly, elderly lady - a belle in her day, for sure - gingerly took my arm to speak to me. Her words live with me to this day... "My dear, I don't mean to embarrass you, but you have the back of your dress stuck in your panties."