I Heart Smokey

The 15 Top Live Animal Mascots in College Sports have been announced.

Guess who's number 1. Yep- my boy Smokey, a 100% pure-bred Blue Tick Coonhound. This dog can howl louder than 105,000 Vol fans can yell- don't believe me? Visit Neyland in the fall.

But after the events of this past weekend, I think there is more to his rise to the top than a good howl and dashing good looks. This dog has skills.

Let me explain...

This is my garden on July 1- that would be Wednesday of last week. Do you see the corn in the center? Right next to the green beans?

I grew that corn. Well, technically I guess God grew it with the help of photosynthesis and pollenation and all that jazz, but I helped.

Now you're thinking- "What's the deal with the corn? Why is she so excited about corn? And seriously, what's with all the pictures...of corn?"

The reason it is such a big deal is because everyone who has had a vegetable garden has told me it's nearly impossible to grow corn- the weather isn't right, there are insidious worms that kill it before it ever forms the silks, blah, blah, blah.

And clearly, I proved them wrong. I just bought a packet of seeds, stuck them in the ground, watered them, and grew corn. No big deal.

Until...

We found the corn massacred Sunday morning when we arrived home after staying the night in a hotel downtown so we could watch the fireworks and "get away" for our anniversary.

Seething with anger, I told Coach that I had changed my mind about his goal to want to kill a deer with a bow and arrow- I told him to go right ahead...Make. My. Day.

Meanwhile, I plotted to take out a mother rabbit AND her babies with the pellet gun I got Coach for Christmas.

Obviously, mercy is not one of my spiritual gifts. Ironically, hospitality is.

Well, lucky for Bambi and Mama Rabbit that the neighbor came over and looked at the carnage. After we all commented on how it looked like a bunch of somethings came in and played tackle football in my corn, the neighbor said he thought it might be raccoons.

The next day, some "experts" in the coaching office confirmed raccoons.

"Because", they said, "if it were rabbits or deer, the corn would just be nibbled on, not trampled over or peeled back."

And certainly not completely devoured as our corn was. Every. Single. Ear

Which led to the conversation I had with Coach about how we needed to get a Coon hound, because it is clearly a necessity as he could howl and rip those treacherous little devils to shreds.

It also led to a discussion- really just a lecture from Coach- on how racoons are very aggressive and dangerous rodents, and that Coon hounds don't come out of the womb knowing how to fight racoons- they had to be taught, and who did I think was going to train this dog to fight racoons, because "we both know it ain't gonna be you sister," and how he would have to endure me crying while said imaginary Coon hound was being trained out back in the bloodsport of racoon hunting.

Needless to say Coach is about as keen on the idea of a third dog as my mom is about Cyndi Lauper's wardrobe, but I ask you, how can you argue with a dog that garners all sorts of respect from the sporting world?

You really can't.

All I'm saying is you don't become the number one live animal mascot in college sports without kicking some serious coon tail.

And I've got a few in my back yard playing fast and loose with my Peaches and Cream sweet corn.

So, come on Smokey- Bring It! Go Vols.

Amen.

God Bless the USA...And Lee Greenwood

Happy 4th of July! And you ask why there is a picture of the gates of Heaven below? I promise- it'll all come together for you in a minute...

These are, in fact, the gates of Heaven. I can hardly wait to meet up with Jesus in the great stadium in the sky so we can hang out together waving orange and white pom-poms singing "Rocky Top" together. Just you wait and see.

Until then - let's stick to the story. It was here during the 1991 football season that Lee Greenwood sang "God Bless the USA" during halftime of the Tennessee vs. Ole Miss football game. The same year that I was developing a great dislike for Andy Kelly, and would later that season mourn the loss of Johnny Majors while the Vols began a new era under Phil Fulmer, the Great Pumpkin.

Okay, so back to the halftime performance. We were in the middle of Desert Storm and patriotism was at an all-time high. Naturally, Lee Greenwood enjoyed a surge of popularity for both his song "God Bless the USA" and his impeccable fashion sense.

The Pride of the Southland Band marched onto the field, played "America the Beautiful,"and then Lee Greenwood walked to the middle of the field and sang his song, fireworks exploded over the river, fighter jets flew over in formation, Smoky howled on the sidelines, and as the song was coming to a close, an eagle soared down and circled the stadium and its 103,000+ fans, and then landed on Mr. Greenwood's shoulder. Neyland Stadium erupted in cheers; it was awe-inspiring.

And Lee Greenwood, like a Phoenix, resurrected himself in song. Again.



...Thus this very clever ensemble.

It's been 16 years since that performance. Phil Fulmer has come and gone. I forgave Andy Kelly after an impressive win at Notre Dame, then fell head over heels in love with Heath Shuler, Peyton Manning, and Tee Martin, and I even learned to tolerate the Clausens. They were formative years for me.

And Mr. Greenwood? Well, he married again, had a child later in life, and as irony would have it, that child attends the school where we teach and the kids are in school.

It was there he became one of AC's victims.

He was bringing in cookies for a choral performance at school. An entire basket full of enormous cookies decorated like basketballs. AC, never one to miss out on a cookie, approached him to see the cookies and they struck up a conversation.

LG: Would you like a cookie?

AC: Yes, thank you.

LG: Are you singing tonight?

AC: No, my brother is. But I like to sing. I like to sing a lot.

LG: Oh yeah? I like to sing too. Matter of fact, that's my job.

AC: Are you famous?

LG: Ummmm. Well, yes I guess you could say I'm famous.

AC: What are the names of some of your songs?

LG: Ever heard "God Bless the USA"?

AC: Nope. What's your name?

LG: Lee Greenwood.

AC: Never heard of ya'

Oh yes she did. But that wasn't nearly as bad as the time she told Faith Hill at a football game that Coach said "She was starting to wear a bit."

Or when she told Albert Haynesworth at the very same football game that she had no idea you could be that fat and play football as she proceeded to sit in his lap and get his autograph. I have to tell you, I've seen him almost take a man's head off for less. (Seriously).

So, y'all come on by; she'll be serving Humble Pie all weekend long.

Happy 4th and God Bless the USA!

Here's Your Sign

As an English teacher, I am always fascinated with misspellings, puns, and other fun language tricks.

For instance, a gal I teach with has a picture of a church billboard in her room that reads: "Come meat Jesus."

I'm thinking Jesus would not appreciate being "meated" - I'm just saying.

I also enjoy some complicated and ambiguous road signs:



And a good motivational word every once in a while is also appreciated and helpful:




But my favorite so far is the quote on the church sign that sits across from our neighborhood. This is the current message of the week:



Now, I ask you- what are we to do with this?

Are things really so bad that churches are going to start relying on Jedi wisdom?

Or, could it be that they just want us to know that Yoda is a Presbyterian?

May the Force be with you.

Happy Anniversary Baby, Got You On My Mind

Three years ago today, Coach and I were doing this...

and immediately we got this...
And it has been one really impressive ride so far. We have had thousands of hilariously good times, but we've also had to dig deep to fight some really big battles for our family.

When we met with the pastor that married us for the first time and told him our story of how we met, our background, the children, etc. He looked at both of us and asked us what on earth made us think we'd make it?

I appreciate a man who is not afraid to be blunt...most of the time.

We told him we had absolutely no idea, but that we had prayed about it and both were sure that this was what we were supposed to do.

He smiled and said, "Correct answer. Let's get you married."

Scott Roley, a great man of God who is doing some fabulous racial reconciliation work in downtown Franklin married us on July 1, 2006- the only thing better would have been if God Himself had done it, but given that we'd all have turned to ashes- Scott worked out great.

One of my very favorite pictures from the day. I found them sitting here and the photographer got this shot right before I yelled at them for wrinkling their dresses.

Also an impromptu shot of the girls doing what they always do...except when they're arguing, and then they're usually still hanging onto one another, only their grip is just a little tighter and their teeth are usually clenched, but this day they laughed and cajoled.

The cake, oh the cake. It was a citrus poppy seed cake with a lemon glaze topped with sour cream icing. My best friend that I've literally known since I was born was my matron of honor, and her mother made this cake. You just cannot imagine the deliciousness.

We married at sunset, not because of the lighting, but because of the heat. We needed daylight for the ceremony, but darkness for survival- it worked out perfectly.

So here we are 3 years later no worse for the wear, and having more fun than we can stand on most days. (Good thing you didn't see us yesterday- we cleaned out the garage- we were NOT having more fun than we could stand then)

We're going to celebrate officially this weekend, which I'm sure will end in some sort of hilarity- it always does. Our first anniversary celebration ended with me in the emergency room in the middle of the night with two ruptured discs in my neck after riding roller coasters in Atlanta all day - remind me sometime, I'll have to tell you about it.

Until then- see y'all!

Up To Our Waists In It...

Hey, have I ever told you about the time Coach and I sea kayaked through a Belizean rainforest?

Oh sure we did. We were on a cruise; people make silly decisions when they are on a cruise.

And remember how I told you Coach is not a small man? And remember how I reminded you that most men who hail from Central American are small men?

Let me just say, sometimes size does indeed matter. A. LOT.

The weight limit for a Belizean sea kayak was somewhere around 330 pounds- per kayak, not per person... You see where I'm going don't you?

Here we are leaving the post where we started. I'm taking pictures and not paddling, a trend that continued for a bit until Coach got a little guiled...something about having to do all the work and this was vacation.

We were all instructed to paddle around this little area, make sure we knew how to navigate the kayak, blah, blah, blah. So we're good; well, I'm good- Coach is still guiled



Here I am, still not paddling and still taking pictures. What you can't see because my arms aren't long enough is that we are sea kayaking in waist deep water because we exceeded the weight limit...as did many of the kayakers.



Notice please how tight the quarters were in this little rainforest.

Our guide told us to start watching for jaguars, crazy lizards that can run on the water, all manner of birds, and of course, snakes...in the water...the water that Coach and I were currently waist deep in.

I'm pretty sure the purpose of the kayak is to keep the kayakers ABOVE the water, but ours failed us bigger than I failed Mrs. McMillan's Geometry tests



It was about here that I thought to ask the guide about pirahnas.

His response? A smile and a little giggle, and then he just started paddling again.

(Coach did tell me later...MUCH LATER... that pirahnas were in South America, NOT Central America and I needed to calm down. My response to him was, "It's close enough, all it takes is some renegade pirahna to lead a bunch of idiot pirahnas upstream a bit and we're lunch." Coach, who is also a Biology and Anatomy teacher and self-proclaimed animal expert, generally does not enjoy when I joke about the habitats of jungle wildlife. He also does not enjoy it when I say things like "I don't know why you get so upset when you lose, it's JUST a game." - but that's a story for another day.)

Then I started to wonder what else could be in this God-forsaken water.

This is where the fun ended for me.

Until we were out in the open water, away from the overhanging foliage that I felt sure was teeming with snakes, lizards, and jaguars lying in wait. I felt a little better, and realized too, that if I positioned myself in some sort of upright fetal position closer to the front of the kayak, I could get myself out of the water. No such luck for Coach.

So, now I'm dry, my legs are shaking uncontrollably from trying to hold a ridiculously uncomfortable position, and I threw a cramp in my rear-end.

Awesome.

Little Guide Man just did his smile and giggle thing again- I decided at this point to pinch his head clean off his shoulders when we returned.

Then I looked over and saw a snake slithering on the water and I said, "Oh look, a little snake!"

Little Guide Man stopped smiling and giggling...told everyone in a very weird voice to start paddling now and we'd head back for lunch.

Well, I am no jungle idiot.

I knew he was trying not to scare us, and I also noticed that he was the first one paddling away with all of us behind him.

And there Coach and I sat. Me all cramped up, sweaty, and scared out of my wits, and Coach still waist deep in a river in the Belizean jungle.

I had a choice to make.

I could either remain in my upright fetal position and leave Coach to fend for himself against what apparently is some sort of Belizean death snake. Or, I could put my big girl britches on and get back in paddling position, pray for the best, and paddle my brains out to get away from the thing.

Being that it was our honeymoon, and we had only been married for four days at this point, I figured manning up was probably the way to go.

And there was a kayak with two women in their 50's who were drunk and a little over the weight limit themselves, and they had already flipped their kayak once, run into the bank two or fifty times, and they cackled and wailed all the way through the trip.

I figured Coach and I could out paddle them, the Belizean death snake would feast on the two screaming biddies, and we'd be heroes.

Turns out, we did beat them through the jungle. They laughed and screamed the entire way. Coach laughed and I repeated "I will not cry in the jungle on my honeymoon" over and over until we made it back.

...to here. The wonderful swimming pool we spent the rest of the day at before returning to the ship. I have to be honest, I prefer my water chlorinated and in a man-made pool

And I prefer to view the wildlife like this...where sweet girls walk around with the creatures crawling around their shoulders so you can pet them. And then she looks at you and says, "Can I get you a beverage? Rum punch? Wine? Coca Cola?

Why yes...yes you can.

And I don't mind encountering this type of wildlife either; I have to confess...I have no idea what it is,

but I know it's not a snake, and that is all I need to know.

See y'all tomorrow!

Smoky Mountain High

Monday night some friends called and said they had an extra bedroom in the cabin they had rented in the mountains and they asked us if we wanted to come up for a few days.

Ummmmm - YEAH.

So we loaded up the girls as G was at the beach for Centrifuge last week. 3 hours and a few thousand feet of elevation later we were in heaven.

We tubed down the Little River, soaked in the hot tub, hung out with friends, and enjoyed the lack of heat and humidity,

But most importantly I settled the go-kart score with Coach by beating him definitively 3 times- yes, 3 times. (Thanks Mom, I knew the driving lessons would come in handy one day- I wove in and out of those karts in a way only you can appreciate with AC yelling at doo-yah-yays all the way)

To celebrate my win we took the girls into Knoxville and went into the football practice facility to view the National Championship trophies, all the bowl game trophies they've won over the years, pictures of my Peyton (we'll talk about him when football starts up), and to stand in awe at the entrance of Neyland Stadium.

So, I'm still a little high from the experience.

The Irony is Palpable

Ummm, so is it weird that I had both a faux-version of the Michael Jackson leather jacket and the Farrah Fawcett hair at approximately the same time?

The 80's were dubious years, dubious years indeed.

I turned 13 in 1984. I started high school in the fall of 1985 and I graduated in 1989. During those years I had my hair cut like Farrah Fawcett, Olivia Newton John (circa the "Physical" video), Madonna (circa the "Lucky Star" video), like Lisa Hartman from Knots Landing- or was it Dynasty?- and finally grew it out so I could emulate Christie Brinkley.

Clearly, I forged a path of independence and orignality through that decade like no one had ever seen.

Don't even get me started on the fashion- parachute pants, jelly shoes, neon, fishnet, Members Only jackets, Panama Jack, O.P.,

ummmmm, and let's not forget jazz shoes. Because nothing looks better with jeans than some flesh toned dance shoes.

It was a decade I have tried hard to forget...

Until yesterday.

Michael Jackson and Farrah Fawcett both dead in one day. Two figures from my adolescence that influenced my behavior and my fashion choices, as unfashionable as they were. Of course, there were many, many others. As a matter of fact, my mom would be very quick to tell you about an argument we got in on Thanksgiving because I wanted to dress like Cyndi Lauper, and she was having none of it. None. Of. It.

Anyway, I knew Farrah would die soon, it was sad but expected.

But Michael Jackson? The King of Pop? I guess I thought he would live forever.

I remember when the Thriller album came out- yes I did, in fact, say album. And I remember going to the mall with my dad to get it. And I remember spending hours with my BFF Julie trying to memorize the dance. I remember getting down at the skating rink to "PYT" and "Beat It." And who can forget "Billie Jean?"

He was something to behold.

But last night watching the montages of his videos, concerts, performances, and interviews, all I could see was a wounded boy. A wounded boy who had never known peace.

So, I hope beyond all probability that he finally found some peace yesterday.

Meanwhile, in Momsense news AC and V were watching the "We Are the World" video today and were so excited that Pink was in it.

Until they found out it wasn't Pink, it was Cyndi Lauper.

AC love, love, loved her clothes and hair.

"Yeah, well, if you ever try to pull that particular ensemble off, you'd better not let Neme see you, because she'll have none of it."

None. Of. It.