All Four Seasons

It was 70-some degrees in Orlando yesterday and I was there enjoying the weather. And the flowers, the grass, and the sunshine. Last night as the landing gear on the plane was lowering, I was looking at the snow covering the Ohio ground. I am so happy to be back home, but wow, it was nice to enjoy sunny weather for a few days in February. Several times I found myself staring at the grass, almost in amazement. Is it crazy to miss grass?

In Ohio, when the fall leaves (get it?), everything is barren. No green grass, no colorful flowers, no leaves on the trees. Nothing. The Ohio wintertime color palette is white and brown. A little bit of blue if we're lucky.

I was in Orlando on a business trip. I'm sure people in Orlando have been sent to Ohio for business in February. I'm guessing they left wondering who would choose to live in this type of climate. P and I have talked about moving at some point to a nicer climate. We dream about how nice it would be--having access to outdoor activities year-round (and not having to bundle up with 15 pounds of gear), enjoying cool evenings on the back porch (because wherever we live we'll have a back porch) and loving the sights, sounds and smells of summertime year-round.

But unless there's a job transfer, we'll never leave. Why? Because Ohio is home. Because there is nothing better than seeing the seasons change, experiencing each one. Summer days so hot all we want to do is anchor the boat in a good swimming hole. Fall nights full of high school football, old friends and dried leaves crunching under our feet. Winters spent tucked inside, warm by the fireplace watching the snow sparkle outside. And springtime, noticing the trees starting to bud and the perennials peeking through the ground. I smile just thinking about it.

It's hard, but it's almost over. And as every Ohioan should know by now, you can't enjoy the cool and calm of spring unless you lived through the snow.

3:10 to Yuma: Pick Me Russell Crowe--I Have Green Eyes--Pick Me!

3:10 to Yuma is a movie I wanted to see when it first came out, but it didn't seem to stay in the theaters long so I never made it a point to check it out. My parents rented it and recommended it, so we rented it earlier this week and loved it. I'm actually shocked it wasn't nominated for more awards--especially Ben Foster for his supporting role.

So if you like westerns, Russell Crowe, Christian Bale, a father-son dynamic, gun-fighting, a creepily delightful Ben Foster or are just looking for a good movie, check out 3:10 to Yuma!

At the Car Wash...

There's something I find extremely relaxing about getting my car washed. I don't know if it's the colored foam soap (the child in me is still very much alive), the solitude of it all, or the fact that something is being cleaned and all I have to do is make sure my car is in neutral. I take my car through the wash every few weeks, especially after bad weather.

Well, Tuesday brought bad weather, so Wednesday found me at the car wash. I made my wash selection and pulled in through the garage door. The door lowered behind me as the machine started soaping up my car. Just as the soap covered each window, the machine came to a grinding halt. I waited for it to power back up, but I got nothing. I flipped on my wipers to see if I could identify a problem. What I saw was the front garage door raising, indicating that my wash was over and it was time for me to exit.

By the time I got my car in gear and my foot off the brake, the door was coming back down. I was stuck in the car wash. Trapped. My car covered in soap. Freezing cold.

My college didn't offer a course in random building escape, but since I'm a pretty sharp gal I tried backing up to get as close as possible to the entry garage door to see if I could trigger a sensor to open it. I tried the same with the front garage door. Then, because I guess I'm not such a smartie after all, I called my husband.

"Hey babe," he said.

"You have to come get me," I said.

"Why? What happened? Where are you? Are you all right?" he asked.

"I'm at the car wash. Nay, I'm actually stuck inside the car wash." (Ok, so I didn't say the word "nay" at all in this conversation. But I thought it added to the story so I embellished. I don't even think I used it correctly.)

"What do you mean you're stuck inside the car wash?" he asked.

I became agitated.

"I mean I'm stuck inside the friggin' car wash. Both garage doors are closed and they won't open. There's soap all over my car and I'm trapped and I need you to come up here so you can call the number on the outside of the building!"

Yes, I knew there was a number posted on the outside of the building. I told you, I go to this car wash a lot. And I also told you that I'm a sharp gal. So perhaps I should have already noticed at this point that there was a door--a human door, if you will--in the middle of the building. So I unbuckled my seat belt (safety first, especially at a car wash where the car sits stationary) and stepped out of the car. I tried the door and it opened. I walked around to the front, called the number and explained to the gentleman on the other end that I was stuck inside of his car wash. He said he'd be there in a jiffy.

After sitting with P for a bit inside his warm car, the gentleman arrived, handed me $10 and sprung me from the car wash. Then he paid for me to go through again to get the soap off my car and offered to pay for my next visit. I had already tried to refuse the first $10 several times because I really wasn't mad. The car wash is a machine. Machines break down. People fix them. It wasn't his fault. But it did get me thinking. The more he offered me, the more I refused. He provided me with good customer service and that's all I wanted. Most times, however, the less companies assume responsibility, the angrier I become. Just own up to it--that's all I'm asking.

Now, most people probably would have accepted his offers, but I was just happy he was trying to make it right. Heck, I was just happy the guy who owned the place lived down the street instead of in Florida. I guess all I'm saying is that if he would have shown up with a passive-aggressive attitude and said things like "Are you sure you pushed the right buttons?" or "Did you pull up to the right spot?" I would have been fired up. But he was cool, so I was cool, and we both left happy. P was happy too because the rest of the night he kept randomly cracking up and saying "I can't believe you got stuck in the car wash."

I like pictures and I hate February!

Ok, I don't actually hate February. It's hard to have hatred for a month, but man, I'm ready for some nice weather! All the overcast days have us thinking about boating, camping and sunshine. Ah, I can't wait to lather on my SPF 35 and cruise around in the boat! We're already talking dates with everyone for a big camping vacation down to Dale Hollow Lake, one of my most favorite places. So in honor of the bleakest month of the year (you know, March at least goes out like a lamb) here are some of my favorite pictures from last summer:


This is the dock at the cottage my parents rent every year. This day was just a perfect day. Except that little Bailey there on the dock almost drowned because she swam after P and I when we took the boat out. As you can see, she likes to stick close to him! Sweet, but apparently not a good judge of distance.

This is P barefooting, which I find fascinating. Your feet burn, the wipe-outs are horrendous and it takes more than a few spills to learn how to get up. This is not Safety Officer approved. In case you are wondering, I am the Safety Officer. It's not an official title, but I'm hoping somebody gets me a badge this year.

What can I say about this picture? It's just looks fun and relaxing. A sign of things to come this year...

I Have Questions

Driving home from work yesterday, I found myself behind a white Lexus SUV with a license plate that read KNY CSNY. It took me a second to realize it meant Kenny Chesney, the Jimmy Buffet of country music. I smiled because I like the Ches and I love figuring out vanity plates--the little traveling puzzles give me something to do on my 60-mile roundtrip commute each day.

But then I began to wonder about the plates. Why just KNY CSNY? Why not CSNY FAN or KNY ROCKS? As a huge Lionel Richie fan, if I decided to get vanity plates as a declaration of my fan-ship, they would say LVE U LINL, RCHE RLS or just YUM (trust me, people would know exactly who I was referencing). But just having the name Kenny Chesney on the back of a car is kind of odd. Does this person, or couple, refer to their Lexus as Kenny Chesney like most people refer to their car by the make or model? Instead of "Let's take the Ford" or "How many miles does the Corolla have on it?" it's "We're taking the kids to the movies. We better take the Kenny Chesney." Am I making any sense? I'm just wondering why there is a lack of action or declaration.

Furthermore, I'm making the assumption that the Lexus is a new car and the plates were carried over from the F-350 when it was traded in for the SUV. Ok, that's a sweeping statement. I just don't know many Lexus-type people who flaunt their love of country music.

So it seems I was behind an anomaly, a car with temporary plates or maybe even Kenny himself. Who knows? I just thought I'd share my questions.