As a child, I was terrified of trains. I cried if our car stopped near a train track or crossing. Many songs have been written about the romantic sound of a distant whistle. I cannot relate to lyrics about the allure of a train whistle's screech. That sound pierces chills and panic into my body. To me, it is the soundtrack of horror movies.
Once upon a time, we visited. When I was a young mother we visited often with other mothers tending small children. Morning coffee with friends was not unusual. Then, children grew, and mothers went back to work.
Last weekend was a fun yet busy one, with Market Street Festival and Cinco de Mayo falling on the same day. I had Market Street After Dark on Friday night, Zumba In The Street with my Y peeps the following morning, then, of course, a little Market Street shopping in the Mississippi May humidity.
On Friday afternoon a week ago, as I set out to run my errands before the weekend, I decided to take the scenic route to East Columbus down Military Road and Highway 12 to Lehmberg. As I passed Wolf Road to my left, I noticed Beard's Produce that I had frequented in the past. Somehow it had slipped my mind this spring. I adore a good produce stand. There's something just so nostalgic and reminiscent of a simpler time. And so I vowed to swing back by on my way home to pick up a few things for our first summer soiree of the season.
All my bags were packed for my week at the beach, and I had finessed my essential skin creams into a clear quart ziplock bag along with my other toiletries. The dogs were on high alert as I scrambled from room to room checking things off my list. They knew something was up, and they didn't like it.
I wish I had a plot. I do not mean a plot of ground; I wish I had a plot for a novel or a play. I know for sure that I have plenty of characters, but so does a dictionary. A dictionary is not really good reading or entertainment.
Standing at the window of my gym looking out onto the beautiful sunny, breezy afternoon in downtown Columbus, I'm struck with the dreaded thought I was sure I'd eradicated from my brain: "I don't want to be here."
Why do I love things that are old? I am truly fixated on yesterday when it comes to most all things in my everyday life, whether it's the marvelous worn patina of an old mirror or the imperfection of an antique mantle with its chipped, peeling finish.
I suppose the old adage that April showers bring May flowers still holds some merit because it's been showering all over my roses in the backyard. It's not even the end of the month, and I am tickled beyond belief that my roses are spilling over with little bursts of tiny colorful buds, like little gifts waiting to be opened by sunlight and more raindrops. I couldn't be more excited.
As much as I adore my husband, he is one of those annoying people who can eat anything he wants, as much as he wants, never work out and still maintain his long, lean physique. What's even more annoying, he can not work out for months, step out the door, and run a 2- mile sprint without breaking a sweat. He even breathes out of his nose the entire time, unlike me -- open-mouthed, gasping for air and dripping with sweat even though I clock eight or more hours of exercise every week. I mean, could he not just pretend to breath hard for my benefit?
Some of my earliest memories include books. My mother read to us long before my brother and I began to read for ourselves. She loved afternoon naps. After lunch, the three of us would scramble into bed, each child with a head against her shoulder, so that we could see the pictures as she read. We all fell asleep with visions of animals and fairies and magical adventures.
The first face I saw "painted" was probably my mama's, but then there were all the others that followed, such as my junior high girl friends. Some were more talented than others with the makeup. I can still remember Chrissy's love of Billy Idol, hoop earrings and jet-black eyeliner. It was absolutely cool then, but frightening now to think of the tubes of mascara that a 13-year-old went through in a week's time.
Ahh, the beach. Where all of our weeks, or even months, of hard work go right out the window. The daily workouts and healthy eating are gone with the wind, like my sarong in the Gulf breeze. Isn't it ironic that we try so desperately to get into that teeny tiny bikini, only to slip it on and lounge lazily about drinking sugar-bomb tropical cocktails and drowning our seafood in drawn butter -- that is, if it's not fried to begin with? No wonder most of us come home from vacation busting out of the seams.
A beautiful moon hung low over the Golden Triangle last week. It seemed to stay full for days, peeking into my kitchen window, illuminating the tangled wisteria vines that twist like snakes from the arbor to the old pecan tree in our back yard.
Call it whimsical thinking, but it seems the honeybees at Mark and Keri Lewis' apiary in Mayhew have plenty to be abuzz about this spring -- especially after moving into newly-decorated digs. The Lewis' bee yards are bursting with color, thanks to a creative partnership with Heritage Academy art students.
I hear it all the time: "Will you be my workout buddy?" No, no I will not. I confess, I'm a little on the antisocial side and my gym time is "me" time. It's the one thing I do for myself and myself only. And for that two hours or so I like to be focused and in tune with my body. Not that there's anything wrong with an exercise buddy, especially if you're more of a social butterfly.
By the time you read this, the Easter Bunny will probably have already hopped into town and be on the way out. In fact, I thought I caught sight of that most festive of bunnies early this morning, peeking out from behind my yellow roses and artfully avoiding the thorns.
This week Chris and I were lucky enough to spend some time on the campus of Mississippi State University. We were there to entertain at their Spring Fling, an outdoor event with food, music and all sorts of fun amusements. The students could be painted with henna or a glitter "tattoo," or have their caricature drawn.
Titanic is returning to the big screen and in 3D. I was in my early 20s when it came around the first time, and I could not be more excited about seeing it again. "You jump, I jump," is still my favorite line, as Jack and Rose stole my heart then and surely will again. The timing could not be more ideal for a cinematic, stylized period encore of a classic, and I'm not just speaking of the movie, but the dramatic return of glamour in hair and makeup that sails with it.
Like so many, I've struggled to keep my weight under control for most of my adult life. When I set out on my weight-loss journey 14 months ago, I knew that depriving myself with the standard tasteless diet food fare would not be a long-term solution for me. I wasn't looking for a temporary fix. I wanted to change my life forever and become on the outside what I felt like on the inside. I didn't become overweight from eating junk. I gained the bulk of my chunk from preparing gorgeous gourmet meals for my husband and myself throughout our first six years of matrimony.