It does. Frozen fog now. So in addition to the fact that nothing, not even the parking lot of this goddamn hotel is plowed, you cant see 50 yards in front of you. I fell hard on my left knee this morning, just walking over the rutted, crusted trenches from the hotel door to the crapbalt. A dark bruise raised immediately as Hub stifled his laughter. My lower back began to ache 30 minutes later but that has since subsided.
We attempted to do drive-bys and at least get a few curbside assessments of potential houses under our belts, but the road conditions, and later the fog stopped our attempts after only two houses. "But we never get weather like this."
We did have to make a trip to the Walmart to pick up a few things for hub. Wishing I had my camera, we passed by a 20-something couple that needed to be entered in the photos at "People of Walmart". He was goth from head to...well...not to toe, as he was not wearing shoes in this crap, but instead, pink fuzzy slippers. She was nearly naked with a zebra striped mini, no hose, stilettos and a deep plunging black shirt, no bra, no coat. There they stood, staring at a vending machine in the entrance. I guess they didnt notice that it was 20 degrees out. Morons.
Oh, is my attitude showing? Sorry. I'll work on it.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Where Angels and AAA Fear to Tread
We finally arrived at Northwest Arkansas Regional Airport (NWARA) at 1:30 pm, after several more delays due to icy conditions in Memphis. The entire region is blanketed in snow with ice everywhere. "But we never get weather like this," is the common lament... well, twice I have been here in the last three weeks, and twice the weather has been just like this. Its absolutely miserable.
Unca Sam rented us the cheapest substandard they could come up with, a chevy cobalt. WARNING: BE AFRAID. BE VERY AFRAID. This car is the worst piece of shit I have ever been in. We were given the keys and sent out to a car that was totally encrusted with 3/4" ice, all doors and the trunk were frozen shut, and there was no scraper because,"we never get weather like this." A couple of big guys in heavy weather clothing rolled by in a pickup truck and assisted in de-icing the car. I was laughing hysterically as they beat the living crap out of the car with heavy mallot-like scrapers, pounding the hood and the roof so violently that the whole car shook. One of them finally got a door open and turned over the engine. That helped somewhat in clearing the windows, but as to the body of the car---well, I wont be responsible for the damage.
First we checked into the comfort suites and were put in exactly the same room we had last time. Now, last time we were here, there was no heat and the pipes froze, ergo neither had we water. This time, we had heat and water, but the toilet broke and wouldnt flush. The desk clerk asked me for a paper clip or some "little metal thing" I could spare and McGuivered the toilet into almost-working order. After unpacking, we headed out in the crapbalt to drive by a few homes I was interested in seeing. The roads were awful, but we managed, somehow to make it to the furthest house on the list...and no further. And not back, either. The house was in a very hilly lake district and the crapbalt simply could not handle the conditions. We were stuck on an icy country road at the bottom of a steep curving hill. I tried more than twenty times to get up that hill, but the traction feature on the crapbalt could not be overridden and the accelerator would cut out at the slightest skid. We were completely stranded in freezing weather, with no hope of getting out.
Hub called AAA and they absolutely refused to help. Since our car was not broken down, and we were not in a ditch, nor in an accident, they considered a tow up the hill to be a courtesy and not an emergency. Now mind you, we are at least 30 minutes from civilization with no food, no water, no toilet, snow and ice so deep that walking was out of the question. Did AAA care that we were totally stranded and cold? Um, no. The best they would do is look up the nearest local towing company and give us the phone number. Hub called and was told we would have a 2 to 6 hour wait for a tow truck. So, with me hurling venomous insults and every curse I could conjure at the crapbalt, we sat trapped and waiting.
There were two people shoveling near the top of the hill and Hub walked over to see if they could assist us. They claimed to not speak English (Ha!) and offered no help. So what is the native language in NW Arkansas? Japanese? Click-talk?
After another 30 minutes or so, another couple walked up to our car. By that time my skull had split open and toxic ooze was spewing non-stop from my gob. I am sure I looked like the spawn of satan when they tapped on the window. Hub had long ago tuned me out and was staring blankly into the white wilderness. Gray and June Brown had been entertained by my valiant (foolish?) efforts and tenacity (pigheadedness?) in trying to conquer the hill in the crapbolt, and finallly took pity on us. They invited us into their lovely home while we waited for the tow truck. They proved to be remarkably good company and we passed the time by the fire with two burmese cats and hot tea.
The tow truck arrived long after dark and they were courteous, efficient and skilled in winching the crapbolt a total of less than 50 feet to a point that we could then resume our way out of Antarctica. They made sure we made it to the main road before they stopped to give us the bill. All the while, the one guy was telling hub what a good driver I was. He said that most women would be too afraid to keep up speed to handle the curves and other hills along the way to the main road. He said (to Hub, not to me) "My boss wants me to compliment your wife on her driving skills. She is a good, good driver! Most women would have stopped, ditched it or spun out by now but not your wife. She knows what it takes. She is a good driver!" Hub gave me the thumbs up and I felt less like an imbecile and more like a victim now. $270.00 later we were on our way. I am not complaining. And for those of you who think we got gouged, AAA and three other local companies would not come get us. (Oh trust me, I am not finished with AAA for leaving us to fend for ourselves on the tundra.) But these guys came as soon as they could, winched us to a safer point and made sure we made it to the main road. Pay the men, and smile, darlin'. Otherwise we would be eating snow for our thirst and probably peeing in it too.
The Crapbolt had had enough of my vicious browbeating and decided that if we were going to trade it in anyway, it may as well malfunction some more. So the key fob quit working and we had to manually unlock the doors, which were trying to freeze shut again. All of the alarms went off and the lights began to flash in the hotel parking lot and in spite of pushing every button on the fob, nothing worked. I had to get into the car and re-start it to make it shut the fock up. Then to lock it, I manually depressed all the door buttons before closing them. No alarm!
I have taken a pill now to sleep Hub is almost out already. He has already missed his first two days of work due to "We never get weather like this" and has to work saturday and sunday as a result. I will be stranded here without a car, but that is OK because if I got within proximity of another crapbalt, I might have to run the sucker into a lake and then offer to send AAA.
Unca Sam rented us the cheapest substandard they could come up with, a chevy cobalt. WARNING: BE AFRAID. BE VERY AFRAID. This car is the worst piece of shit I have ever been in. We were given the keys and sent out to a car that was totally encrusted with 3/4" ice, all doors and the trunk were frozen shut, and there was no scraper because,"we never get weather like this." A couple of big guys in heavy weather clothing rolled by in a pickup truck and assisted in de-icing the car. I was laughing hysterically as they beat the living crap out of the car with heavy mallot-like scrapers, pounding the hood and the roof so violently that the whole car shook. One of them finally got a door open and turned over the engine. That helped somewhat in clearing the windows, but as to the body of the car---well, I wont be responsible for the damage.
First we checked into the comfort suites and were put in exactly the same room we had last time. Now, last time we were here, there was no heat and the pipes froze, ergo neither had we water. This time, we had heat and water, but the toilet broke and wouldnt flush. The desk clerk asked me for a paper clip or some "little metal thing" I could spare and McGuivered the toilet into almost-working order. After unpacking, we headed out in the crapbalt to drive by a few homes I was interested in seeing. The roads were awful, but we managed, somehow to make it to the furthest house on the list...and no further. And not back, either. The house was in a very hilly lake district and the crapbalt simply could not handle the conditions. We were stuck on an icy country road at the bottom of a steep curving hill. I tried more than twenty times to get up that hill, but the traction feature on the crapbalt could not be overridden and the accelerator would cut out at the slightest skid. We were completely stranded in freezing weather, with no hope of getting out.
Hub called AAA and they absolutely refused to help. Since our car was not broken down, and we were not in a ditch, nor in an accident, they considered a tow up the hill to be a courtesy and not an emergency. Now mind you, we are at least 30 minutes from civilization with no food, no water, no toilet, snow and ice so deep that walking was out of the question. Did AAA care that we were totally stranded and cold? Um, no. The best they would do is look up the nearest local towing company and give us the phone number. Hub called and was told we would have a 2 to 6 hour wait for a tow truck. So, with me hurling venomous insults and every curse I could conjure at the crapbalt, we sat trapped and waiting.
There were two people shoveling near the top of the hill and Hub walked over to see if they could assist us. They claimed to not speak English (Ha!) and offered no help. So what is the native language in NW Arkansas? Japanese? Click-talk?
After another 30 minutes or so, another couple walked up to our car. By that time my skull had split open and toxic ooze was spewing non-stop from my gob. I am sure I looked like the spawn of satan when they tapped on the window. Hub had long ago tuned me out and was staring blankly into the white wilderness. Gray and June Brown had been entertained by my valiant (foolish?) efforts and tenacity (pigheadedness?) in trying to conquer the hill in the crapbolt, and finallly took pity on us. They invited us into their lovely home while we waited for the tow truck. They proved to be remarkably good company and we passed the time by the fire with two burmese cats and hot tea.
The tow truck arrived long after dark and they were courteous, efficient and skilled in winching the crapbolt a total of less than 50 feet to a point that we could then resume our way out of Antarctica. They made sure we made it to the main road before they stopped to give us the bill. All the while, the one guy was telling hub what a good driver I was. He said that most women would be too afraid to keep up speed to handle the curves and other hills along the way to the main road. He said (to Hub, not to me) "My boss wants me to compliment your wife on her driving skills. She is a good, good driver! Most women would have stopped, ditched it or spun out by now but not your wife. She knows what it takes. She is a good driver!" Hub gave me the thumbs up and I felt less like an imbecile and more like a victim now. $270.00 later we were on our way. I am not complaining. And for those of you who think we got gouged, AAA and three other local companies would not come get us. (Oh trust me, I am not finished with AAA for leaving us to fend for ourselves on the tundra.) But these guys came as soon as they could, winched us to a safer point and made sure we made it to the main road. Pay the men, and smile, darlin'. Otherwise we would be eating snow for our thirst and probably peeing in it too.
The Crapbolt had had enough of my vicious browbeating and decided that if we were going to trade it in anyway, it may as well malfunction some more. So the key fob quit working and we had to manually unlock the doors, which were trying to freeze shut again. All of the alarms went off and the lights began to flash in the hotel parking lot and in spite of pushing every button on the fob, nothing worked. I had to get into the car and re-start it to make it shut the fock up. Then to lock it, I manually depressed all the door buttons before closing them. No alarm!
I have taken a pill now to sleep Hub is almost out already. He has already missed his first two days of work due to "We never get weather like this" and has to work saturday and sunday as a result. I will be stranded here without a car, but that is OK because if I got within proximity of another crapbalt, I might have to run the sucker into a lake and then offer to send AAA.
Friday, January 29, 2010
Stranded in Memphis, or Jamie got a gun....
We were supposed to fly to Arkansas again last night but our flight was canceled on their end for weather conditions. Ice storm in progress. Amazing, how the first time we went, courtesy of Unca Sam, it was in the single digits and the water pipes in our hotel froze. This time, apparently, the whole state is one big ice pond. Balmy in Detroit...
So this morning at zero-dark-thirty, we made the effortless 45 min drive to Detroit Metro Airport, bound to Arkansas via Memphis. Well, Memphis was as far as we would ever get. After our plane landed, we were boarded and deplaned twice before the airlines sent us packing, sans luggage. Yep--they would not return our luggage! They were generously doling out food vouchers which could only be used this day at the airport, but most of the vendors were already closed. Gee Thanks Guys. We had made friends with a gaggle of businessmen that were in the same situation as us. While Brian watched out belongings, the rest of us wandered the airport looking for a meal. The men all gravitated toward a place called Corky's BBQ, and whimpered like hungry mongrels that the restaurant was closed, yet the employees were still there. No sooner had one of the men sat up and begged, when a women threw open the gate and admitted us for pulled pork sandwiches! Wow! I ordered food for hub, but there was nothing for me. So I excused myself from the ravenous dogs and headed back to hub. On the way back, I saw a starbucks that was still open so I headed in to see if they had something for me. I noticed a small black bag sitting at an empty table and no one in the restaurant. I told the bored girl behind the counter that someone had left a bag and she phoned security.
Curiosity having the best of me, I opened the bag and did a double take, then felt my heart pound in my chest. In the bag, I found an MP3 player and earbuds, nicorette gum, and a fully loaded .45 Glock with two fully loaded magazines and a leather holster. After a quick check, I saw that the trigger lock was in place but how the HELL did this gun get through security? I felt it necessary to stay there until the bag was safely in the hands of the TSA, but unnecessary to tell the bored girl the contents of the bag. I waited and waited beside the bag, then asked to borrow her cellphone to tell hub why I was delayed. Her phone was out of minutes. No one came to claim the bag and no security showed up. After waiting nearly 15 minutes, a uniformed TSA agent meandered by and I flagged her down. I calmly told her that I didnt wish to alarm her, but that there was an abandoned bag containing a .45 glock and ammo. She stared at me. I watched her pupils dilate and her posture stiffen as she comprehended what I was saying. She got on her phone and called for a LEON team. Then she asked for my ID.
She was writing down my info when a pilot came running full tilt straight for us. His eyes were wild and he was pumping hard, nearly skidding to a stop as the TSA agent placed herself in his trajectory toward the bag. He was dripping sweat, visibly shaken, trembling and clearly panicking. After she affirmed that he was the owner of the...er...property, he dramatically begged her forgiveness and grabbed the bag, thanking her over and over again. I began to walk off, but I turned to him and admonished that he should be thanking ME for not going crazy when I found the bag. "You mean you looked inside?" he breathlessly stammered. "Of course I did. Who do you think called the TSA? But look, Dude, I'm like-minded, just not as careless as you. You got very lucky this time." He began running again as hub was approaching me. The disheveled pilot grasped our relationship and pointed to me, saying, "She is a lifesaver." Hub looked inquisitively at me, curious if this breathless man had anything to do with my delay. The corners of his mouth twisted into a sardonic smile as he said, "That guy will never forget this day." Um, neither will I.
We found a room at Comfort Suites Memphis and settled in. We may, however, be here for a while. The weather is treacherous, with a thick candy coating of ice over everything in sight. Memphis airport is closed. So is NW Arkansas Regional Airport. The hotel is filled with stranded folks exchanging war stories, but so far, no one has topped mine!
So this morning at zero-dark-thirty, we made the effortless 45 min drive to Detroit Metro Airport, bound to Arkansas via Memphis. Well, Memphis was as far as we would ever get. After our plane landed, we were boarded and deplaned twice before the airlines sent us packing, sans luggage. Yep--they would not return our luggage! They were generously doling out food vouchers which could only be used this day at the airport, but most of the vendors were already closed. Gee Thanks Guys. We had made friends with a gaggle of businessmen that were in the same situation as us. While Brian watched out belongings, the rest of us wandered the airport looking for a meal. The men all gravitated toward a place called Corky's BBQ, and whimpered like hungry mongrels that the restaurant was closed, yet the employees were still there. No sooner had one of the men sat up and begged, when a women threw open the gate and admitted us for pulled pork sandwiches! Wow! I ordered food for hub, but there was nothing for me. So I excused myself from the ravenous dogs and headed back to hub. On the way back, I saw a starbucks that was still open so I headed in to see if they had something for me. I noticed a small black bag sitting at an empty table and no one in the restaurant. I told the bored girl behind the counter that someone had left a bag and she phoned security.
Curiosity having the best of me, I opened the bag and did a double take, then felt my heart pound in my chest. In the bag, I found an MP3 player and earbuds, nicorette gum, and a fully loaded .45 Glock with two fully loaded magazines and a leather holster. After a quick check, I saw that the trigger lock was in place but how the HELL did this gun get through security? I felt it necessary to stay there until the bag was safely in the hands of the TSA, but unnecessary to tell the bored girl the contents of the bag. I waited and waited beside the bag, then asked to borrow her cellphone to tell hub why I was delayed. Her phone was out of minutes. No one came to claim the bag and no security showed up. After waiting nearly 15 minutes, a uniformed TSA agent meandered by and I flagged her down. I calmly told her that I didnt wish to alarm her, but that there was an abandoned bag containing a .45 glock and ammo. She stared at me. I watched her pupils dilate and her posture stiffen as she comprehended what I was saying. She got on her phone and called for a LEON team. Then she asked for my ID.
She was writing down my info when a pilot came running full tilt straight for us. His eyes were wild and he was pumping hard, nearly skidding to a stop as the TSA agent placed herself in his trajectory toward the bag. He was dripping sweat, visibly shaken, trembling and clearly panicking. After she affirmed that he was the owner of the...er...property, he dramatically begged her forgiveness and grabbed the bag, thanking her over and over again. I began to walk off, but I turned to him and admonished that he should be thanking ME for not going crazy when I found the bag. "You mean you looked inside?" he breathlessly stammered. "Of course I did. Who do you think called the TSA? But look, Dude, I'm like-minded, just not as careless as you. You got very lucky this time." He began running again as hub was approaching me. The disheveled pilot grasped our relationship and pointed to me, saying, "She is a lifesaver." Hub looked inquisitively at me, curious if this breathless man had anything to do with my delay. The corners of his mouth twisted into a sardonic smile as he said, "That guy will never forget this day." Um, neither will I.
We found a room at Comfort Suites Memphis and settled in. We may, however, be here for a while. The weather is treacherous, with a thick candy coating of ice over everything in sight. Memphis airport is closed. So is NW Arkansas Regional Airport. The hotel is filled with stranded folks exchanging war stories, but so far, no one has topped mine!
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Janis Joplin meets the Marlboro Man
My first meeting with our relocation specialist, Ted, was arranged for 10:00 a.m. in the lobby of our hotel in Rogers, AR. Hub was already off to his new office, and Ted was going to introduce me to the area. The only thing I knew about Ted was that he was a realtor (spy) that hub's company provided, to put their best foot forward. Oh, and that Ted had been here for years and was a 60-ish. So I conjured a silver-haired southern boy in a suit and impractical dress shoes (in spite of single-digit temps) probably driving a Lincoln or a Caddy.
I had on jeans and a bulky sweater, my harness boots and a handwoven wool serape that I got in Mexico a hundred years ago. My unruly curls were forced into a ponytail at the back of my head. I had no makeup, no purse, just a cellphone and my wallet bulging in my front pocket. I wasnt exactly enthused, but I would be polite and appear interested, as Hub asked of me.
I bounced down to the lobby at 9:50 a.m. to look for the suit. I took a quick glance around and saw no one that screamed realtor nor spy, so I went outside. The sun shone brightly (!) but it was only 4 degrees out and everyone in Arkansas was apologizing for the weather. I lasted a few minutes, but Ted did not pull up before I decided that frozen tears and a runny nose would not make a good first impression. So I went back into the lobby and told the clerk that I was meeting someone, but they werent here, and would he kindly ring my room when my party arrives? Then I heard a voice in back of me say, "Tara?" I wheeled around to see a cowboy standing there, in a canvas shirt, a worn leather bomber (awesome), brown cords and boots.
"Ted?" ::::blink blink::::
He looked at me in the same uncomprehending way I was looking at him. He was expecting a bejeweled, Barbie, executive wife, coiffed, with perfect acrylic gels and an over-sized coach bag. Instead he was staring, gap-jawed at Janis Joplin, while I was staring, gap-jawed at the Marlboro Man. Then we both broke into wide grins and shook hands.
Ted was polished indeed. We first went to his office and he oriented me to a map of the area. On it I learned that Bentonville was furthest north, then came Rogers, then Springdale and then Fayetteville (Pronounced FAY-et-vil, not fay-ET-vil as us yankees say it) where we flew in. I took particular note of the large reservoir just to the east of where we were. Ted told me that was Beaver Lake, a two-dam valley reservoir with 550 miles of shoreline in the Ozarks. He handed me a welcome packet with data sheets on houses he picked through. At a glance, I could see that they were all McMansions in posh, treeless subdivisions. Then we got into his practical car (an SUV) and he began by showing me where Hub would be working, and the best of Bentonville. He drove by major shopping malls, Spas, Golf courses, Country clubs, the regional airfield (at which Hub's company keeps several private jets and pilots ready to go on a moment's notice) and some other luxurious amenities. I could feel my heart freeze solid.
"Jack," I began (I nicknamed him Cowboy Jack), "tell me something. If you were taking a vacation from work, just to hang around and not travel, what recreational activities would you be doing?" He replied, "Well, I would be up at Beaver Lake, either duck huntin' or fishin'." And that is where we headed next.
As we left suburbia, I could feel myself relax. Two lane roads made ascending pathways up into the higher regions, and the landscape changed from the overtaken pastureland suburbia, to hilly woodlands dotted with unique homes sprouting right out of the hillsides. I began to breathe normally as Ted again apologized for the weather, the winter, the leafless trees and brown fields. "You really are visiting us at the worst time of the year, you know. And we havent had a winter this cold in more than 20 years. It's beautiful here, really. You just cant see it now--- how beautiful it is most of the year." But that is just it. I could see it. I am from the mitten, where 7 months a year, my Harley sits in storage. Where six months a year, there are no leaves and you have to wear a heavy coat. Where five months a year the sun doesnt shine. Where four months a year you have to have the driveway plowed. What I was seeing, stretched before me was a large body of water that wasnt frozen solid in January. I saw forested hills roll endlessly in all directions. I saw two-laners without a single crack or pothole. I saw blue skies and the sun. The sun. The sun made me squint and wish I had my sunglasses, often forgotten and seldom really necessary in Michigan.
Ted drove along the reservoir to take me further up and show me his fishin' hole, but the roads became too icy and we headed back down. I chatted about our interest in firearms and how we has set up a shooting range when we owned 26 acres in western Michigan. With a twinkle in his eye and a more pronounced accent, he said, "Girl, I'm gettin' the feeling that what you need is some land out here. Maybe that is what we should be more focused on."
Finally, Ted and I were on the same page. The sun burned even brighter. I could feel the icicles around my heart start to drip, drip, drip.
I had on jeans and a bulky sweater, my harness boots and a handwoven wool serape that I got in Mexico a hundred years ago. My unruly curls were forced into a ponytail at the back of my head. I had no makeup, no purse, just a cellphone and my wallet bulging in my front pocket. I wasnt exactly enthused, but I would be polite and appear interested, as Hub asked of me.
I bounced down to the lobby at 9:50 a.m. to look for the suit. I took a quick glance around and saw no one that screamed realtor nor spy, so I went outside. The sun shone brightly (!) but it was only 4 degrees out and everyone in Arkansas was apologizing for the weather. I lasted a few minutes, but Ted did not pull up before I decided that frozen tears and a runny nose would not make a good first impression. So I went back into the lobby and told the clerk that I was meeting someone, but they werent here, and would he kindly ring my room when my party arrives? Then I heard a voice in back of me say, "Tara?" I wheeled around to see a cowboy standing there, in a canvas shirt, a worn leather bomber (awesome), brown cords and boots.
"Ted?" ::::blink blink::::
He looked at me in the same uncomprehending way I was looking at him. He was expecting a bejeweled, Barbie, executive wife, coiffed, with perfect acrylic gels and an over-sized coach bag. Instead he was staring, gap-jawed at Janis Joplin, while I was staring, gap-jawed at the Marlboro Man. Then we both broke into wide grins and shook hands.
Ted was polished indeed. We first went to his office and he oriented me to a map of the area. On it I learned that Bentonville was furthest north, then came Rogers, then Springdale and then Fayetteville (Pronounced FAY-et-vil, not fay-ET-vil as us yankees say it) where we flew in. I took particular note of the large reservoir just to the east of where we were. Ted told me that was Beaver Lake, a two-dam valley reservoir with 550 miles of shoreline in the Ozarks. He handed me a welcome packet with data sheets on houses he picked through. At a glance, I could see that they were all McMansions in posh, treeless subdivisions. Then we got into his practical car (an SUV) and he began by showing me where Hub would be working, and the best of Bentonville. He drove by major shopping malls, Spas, Golf courses, Country clubs, the regional airfield (at which Hub's company keeps several private jets and pilots ready to go on a moment's notice) and some other luxurious amenities. I could feel my heart freeze solid.
"Jack," I began (I nicknamed him Cowboy Jack), "tell me something. If you were taking a vacation from work, just to hang around and not travel, what recreational activities would you be doing?" He replied, "Well, I would be up at Beaver Lake, either duck huntin' or fishin'." And that is where we headed next.
As we left suburbia, I could feel myself relax. Two lane roads made ascending pathways up into the higher regions, and the landscape changed from the overtaken pastureland suburbia, to hilly woodlands dotted with unique homes sprouting right out of the hillsides. I began to breathe normally as Ted again apologized for the weather, the winter, the leafless trees and brown fields. "You really are visiting us at the worst time of the year, you know. And we havent had a winter this cold in more than 20 years. It's beautiful here, really. You just cant see it now--- how beautiful it is most of the year." But that is just it. I could see it. I am from the mitten, where 7 months a year, my Harley sits in storage. Where six months a year, there are no leaves and you have to wear a heavy coat. Where five months a year the sun doesnt shine. Where four months a year you have to have the driveway plowed. What I was seeing, stretched before me was a large body of water that wasnt frozen solid in January. I saw forested hills roll endlessly in all directions. I saw two-laners without a single crack or pothole. I saw blue skies and the sun. The sun. The sun made me squint and wish I had my sunglasses, often forgotten and seldom really necessary in Michigan.
Ted drove along the reservoir to take me further up and show me his fishin' hole, but the roads became too icy and we headed back down. I chatted about our interest in firearms and how we has set up a shooting range when we owned 26 acres in western Michigan. With a twinkle in his eye and a more pronounced accent, he said, "Girl, I'm gettin' the feeling that what you need is some land out here. Maybe that is what we should be more focused on."
Finally, Ted and I were on the same page. The sun burned even brighter. I could feel the icicles around my heart start to drip, drip, drip.
Demographics
Hub and I were at the dinner table, having just finished carry-out Italian fare, when he turned to me and said, "Do they have any good Italian joints in Arkansas?" Font of knowledge that I am, I replied, "How the hell should I know? If there are Italians in Arkansas, there are probably Italian restaurants." Which led directly to the very next question: Who lives in Arkansas? This should be in the book that doesnt exist at Borders Books. So I googled Arkansas demographics and found a few things.
Population of the whole state, approx 2.6 million. Whites make up 75%, Blacks 20% and *other* 2%. So who are the missing 3%? Neanderthals? Fembots?
Arkansas was a one-party state (Democratic) from the early 1900s to 1974. From the data, Republicans began demanding to be recognized in the mid seventies. Maybe that is who the *missing 3%* are.
Arkansas was the 25th state admitted to the union. Only a few short years ago, the government settled a long dispute on the possessive form of the noun. The possessive form of Arkansas is "Arkansas's". The Jones's house is in Arkansas's foothills. Ok but why did it take an act of legislature to settle that argument? Perhaps it was the same folks who decided that all people must join a church.
I have a feeling that I may be in for some serious brainfreezes in my quest to integrate.
Population of the whole state, approx 2.6 million. Whites make up 75%, Blacks 20% and *other* 2%. So who are the missing 3%? Neanderthals? Fembots?
Arkansas was a one-party state (Democratic) from the early 1900s to 1974. From the data, Republicans began demanding to be recognized in the mid seventies. Maybe that is who the *missing 3%* are.
Arkansas was the 25th state admitted to the union. Only a few short years ago, the government settled a long dispute on the possessive form of the noun. The possessive form of Arkansas is "Arkansas's". The Jones's house is in Arkansas's foothills. Ok but why did it take an act of legislature to settle that argument? Perhaps it was the same folks who decided that all people must join a church.
I have a feeling that I may be in for some serious brainfreezes in my quest to integrate.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Manspeak
Hub came home and told me a story. He said that he and his best friend Charles, had had the "chat" earlier this week. This is what took place...
Me: What "chat" would that be?
Hub: You know. The man chat.
Me: No. I dont know what a man chat is. I have never been a man. What did Charles say?
Hub: Charles said, "Wow! Did you bullshit your way into this job the way you have bullshitted your way into all your jobs?" And I said, "yeah. Just like that." And Charles said, "Way to go, man." And I said, "thanks."
(I am pretty sure that the crease between my eyebrows gave Hub a hint that I was completely lost.)
Me: What do you mean you BULLSHITTED your way into this job? You have earned every dollar they offered you. You were selected among a hundred applicants to be *da Man*. Your compensation package would not be offered to a bullshitter. Why would you not defend yourself and tell Charles that you earned this, not that you bullshitted your way into this position?
Hub: I did.
Me: That is not what you just said.
Hub: Yeah I did. What Charles manspoke was, "I know you have been busting your balls for this, as you have done all along." And I answered in manspeak, "yep. Its been a long road to this place." And then Charles congratulated me on my efforts. Its just Manspeak.
Me: Why cant you just say that stuff? Why do you have to disguise the meaning with sophomoric idioms and one syllable responses? How do you know that Charles means all those noble things and not the vulgarities that came across?
Hub: I understood Charles perfectly and he understood me perfectly. You were the one who didnt understand.
Well, he had me there.
Me: What "chat" would that be?
Hub: You know. The man chat.
Me: No. I dont know what a man chat is. I have never been a man. What did Charles say?
Hub: Charles said, "Wow! Did you bullshit your way into this job the way you have bullshitted your way into all your jobs?" And I said, "yeah. Just like that." And Charles said, "Way to go, man." And I said, "thanks."
(I am pretty sure that the crease between my eyebrows gave Hub a hint that I was completely lost.)
Me: What do you mean you BULLSHITTED your way into this job? You have earned every dollar they offered you. You were selected among a hundred applicants to be *da Man*. Your compensation package would not be offered to a bullshitter. Why would you not defend yourself and tell Charles that you earned this, not that you bullshitted your way into this position?
Hub: I did.
Me: That is not what you just said.
Hub: Yeah I did. What Charles manspoke was, "I know you have been busting your balls for this, as you have done all along." And I answered in manspeak, "yep. Its been a long road to this place." And then Charles congratulated me on my efforts. Its just Manspeak.
Me: Why cant you just say that stuff? Why do you have to disguise the meaning with sophomoric idioms and one syllable responses? How do you know that Charles means all those noble things and not the vulgarities that came across?
Hub: I understood Charles perfectly and he understood me perfectly. You were the one who didnt understand.
Well, he had me there.
Joining is Mandatory
Hub's team took him to lunch and invited me today. We all met at the Roma Cafe, Detroit's oldest restaurant establishment in the Eastern Market area. Sam the waiter didnt fail me and held me in a long conversation, which stunned more than a few of Hub's co-workers. I didnt have anything to do with picking the restaurant, but I have patronized Roma's for almost 30 years. Sam (from Morocco) has been there the whole time.
I recognized almost everyone at the table: Chitra, Mischel, Andye, Brenda, Leah, and then there were a few I had not met before, but heard of: Neal, the new senior mgr (a recent southern transplant), Mithra and a guy from Korea that no one seemed to know very well. He sorta just showed up.
Much of the chitchat was in the vernacular of tax geeks which left me feeling like I was listening to a foreign language. Translations were infrequent. I turned to Neal and asked how things were going for he and his wife in the Midwest. Neal acknowledged the cultural differences and I thought I might help. I shared a little pearl with him about Midwesterners. I told him that we are nice, but not necessarily polite. We dont say Yes sir and Yes ma'am. We may not greet you when we walk into a room, at least not immediately. But its not personal and he should not think we are rude, perhaps just remiss. But Neal gave me a fantastic pearl of wisdom that I will not forget. He said that one of the first things on the order of business was to find a church and join it. I thought it odd that he should say that, but he went on to further explain that we will be bugged non-stop by everyone we meet to join their church and it wont stop. It wont stop UNTIL we join a church. Attendance is optional but joining is mandatory. Quid Pro Quo. Thank you, Neal.
I recognized almost everyone at the table: Chitra, Mischel, Andye, Brenda, Leah, and then there were a few I had not met before, but heard of: Neal, the new senior mgr (a recent southern transplant), Mithra and a guy from Korea that no one seemed to know very well. He sorta just showed up.
Much of the chitchat was in the vernacular of tax geeks which left me feeling like I was listening to a foreign language. Translations were infrequent. I turned to Neal and asked how things were going for he and his wife in the Midwest. Neal acknowledged the cultural differences and I thought I might help. I shared a little pearl with him about Midwesterners. I told him that we are nice, but not necessarily polite. We dont say Yes sir and Yes ma'am. We may not greet you when we walk into a room, at least not immediately. But its not personal and he should not think we are rude, perhaps just remiss. But Neal gave me a fantastic pearl of wisdom that I will not forget. He said that one of the first things on the order of business was to find a church and join it. I thought it odd that he should say that, but he went on to further explain that we will be bugged non-stop by everyone we meet to join their church and it wont stop. It wont stop UNTIL we join a church. Attendance is optional but joining is mandatory. Quid Pro Quo. Thank you, Neal.
I went to the bookstore
I went to Borders Books, to find books on Arkansas..
.
.
.
there arent any.
I mentioned this on my facebook page and BFF said, "I bet there are no books on Michigan available in the Arkansas Borders Books either." Then I felt my heart start to thump wildly as the notion sank in: If the Borders Books here denies Arkansas's significance, does Arkansas deny Borders Books significance?
.
.
.
there arent any.
I mentioned this on my facebook page and BFF said, "I bet there are no books on Michigan available in the Arkansas Borders Books either." Then I felt my heart start to thump wildly as the notion sank in: If the Borders Books here denies Arkansas's significance, does Arkansas deny Borders Books significance?
The pattern Emerges
Since our announcement, and by the way, some of it was very difficult (remember the three sets of parents? More on that later) a pattern began to emerge that begged to be recorded. The funniest things in the world began to materialize, affirming my positive attitude and spurring me forward. For instance, when some of my friends on facebook began to respond, I began to howl with laughter. Bless them anyway.
Ned said, "Arkansas? For God's sake, what's in Arkansas? Well, I guess somebody has to live there."
My cousin said, "Oh My God Why? Why? Oh no! And of all the Godforsaken places...Arkansas. Oh you poor thing."
My doctor winked and said, "See ya on the flip-side."
My best friend burst into tears and said, "What? Arkansas? You're leaving me!!!???? You cant!" Then she grabbed onto me, buried her face into my neck and wailed like a kid who's dog just died. I held her as my tee shirt grew wetter and wetter from the marriage of tears and snot. I found myself comforting her and telling her its going to be OK. Its not the end of the world. I'm going to be back often. Then it hit me: all these things were what I was longing for someone to say to me.
Ned said, "Arkansas? For God's sake, what's in Arkansas? Well, I guess somebody has to live there."
My cousin said, "Oh My God Why? Why? Oh no! And of all the Godforsaken places...Arkansas. Oh you poor thing."
My doctor winked and said, "See ya on the flip-side."
My best friend burst into tears and said, "What? Arkansas? You're leaving me!!!???? You cant!" Then she grabbed onto me, buried her face into my neck and wailed like a kid who's dog just died. I held her as my tee shirt grew wetter and wetter from the marriage of tears and snot. I found myself comforting her and telling her its going to be OK. Its not the end of the world. I'm going to be back often. Then it hit me: all these things were what I was longing for someone to say to me.
where to start?
I am a midwesterner. Died in the wool, ne'er been elsewhere, midwesterner. I am starting to blog my startling mid-life change: We are moving to Arkansas. I live in a small home with my husband, several birds and a greyhound. We have no children, but Oh do we have parents. Three sets. More on that later. Hub took a job for Walmart, at the world HQ in Bentonville AR and that is where we are headed. It was sudden, but not surprising. It was a careful choice, of which I was included in every aspect. I support his need to advance his career and I will do all I can to be his support. He wont have to worry about me. Its not that big a deal, or so I have been telling myself. Women do this all the time. They do it with children, pregnancies, careers, and a whole litany of other things I dont have to worry about so I am NOT unique. I can do this.
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