Ice Ice, Baby

My Mother-In-Law just e-mailed some pictures of their backyard to me.  They’re one of the lucky states that is enjoying the winter storm that is sweeping across the country:

I like the way my Father-In-Law described the scene:

“The ‘big tree’ in the back has about a ¼-inch covering of ice and now there’s just good old snow coming down. A couple of close-ups of the little branches look like James Cameron Alien-fingers. Kinda cool.”

Oh, it’s more than cool, it’s awesome.  (Unless you need to drive somewhere.)

Although, I’m not sure that Zoe, their Shiba Inu, thinks the same. 

And to think, we missed this by just a few weeks.  Darn.  *wink*

Childhood Cemetary

Across the road from my grandmother’s house lies a large field that is usually planted with either corn, cotton or peanuts.  I spent the majority of my childhood playing in this field with my sister and cousins.  It was prime real estate for play during the summer months when the crops were tall and full.  We would run about it for hours, despite having our legs scratched up from the stalks and stems of the crops.  It was a massive field, at least to a child of eight.  Perfect for a game of hide-and-go-seek or mock war, it was hard to leave when the sun went down. 

The most intriguing part of this field was found in the woods that surrounded it.  It took a good ten minutes to hike across the length of the field and through the brush to find the abandoned church and cemetary that was hiding just beyond the tree line.  Even in the daylight it was eery to get near.  The church was small with large holes in the roof and floor that had been partially sealed with cobwebs.  The webs crisscrossed over the roof and caught the sunlight as they passed down to the floor.  The webs were losing the battle against time.  Eventually the entire church would collapse…which made for an excellent session of truth and dare. 

 “I dare you to walk across the floor to the other side.”  “Make sure you don’t fall in the hole.”

Off to the side of the church was a modest sized cemetary.  The tombstones were worn with time and were barely discernable.  The engravings that were still intact were covered in moss that had to be wiped away to reveal the names and dates beneath.  To children growing up in the 90’s, seeing tombstones dating back to the early 1800’s was awe-inspiring.  We’d read about this time period in school, and had found tangible evidence of its existence.  Proof that the 1800’s had really happened; that people had lived, worshiped and died at the very place where we stood.  It wasn’t just something that people told stories of anymore. 

We continued to visit the cemetary up until I was in highschool.  By then it had lost its appeal.  Who would want to traipse through the woods when one could stay at home and watch the Discovery Channel?

Fast forward to today:  Recently my Father-in-Law has begun researching my family tree.  I’ve never given the topic much thought, but suddenly I find myself obsessed it.  This weekend I’m going to my grandmother’s house to have a look at the family Bible which my grandfather purchased when she was pregnant with my father and his sister.  Pregnant with twins and he goes out and buys a $75 bBible.  A hefty sum for such an item in the late 1950’s.  The Bible holds several generations of names and information for my father’s side of the family. 

While I’m there, I am going to hop across the road to see if I can find that old church and cemetary again.  Even though none of my relations are buried there, I don’t want those who have been laid to rest there to be forgotten. 

Hopefully next week I’ll have some pictures to share with you. 

…

Shoe Update:

The missing pair of shoes mysteriously showed up at my front door yesterday.  Hmm.  *stroking imaginary moustache*

Day Two, No Shoe

I’m glad to see that you have all tuned in for the exciting conclusion of the shoe debacle.  (Not as exciting as Bush’s shoe debacle, but just as frustrating.)

Day Two of no shoes dawned just like the first: no shoes, but plenty of blame to go around.  I was blaming UPS and UPS, in a round-about way, was blaming me.  Ah, UPS, your unfriendly operator may say that she believes me, but her sarcastic remarks and condescending tones says differently:

…

Yours Truly: “Hello?”

UPS: “Yes, you’ve ‘reported’ that your have not received your order?”

Yours Truly: “That’s right.”  (I segway into a short story of what transpired the night before.)

UPS: “How odd considering the driver recorded that he gave the package to a young boy.”  “How do you explain that, ma’am?”

Yours Truly: “Well…”  (Again, I make it clear that at no point did anyone in my household see/talk to a UPS employee.)

UPS: “Hmmm…interesting.”  *tisk, tisk*

…

After a five-minute trail without jury, courtesy of the UPS customer service “lady,” I was set free with the promise of an investigation.  Gee, thanks…I think.

How did I go from being the victim to the suspect?  I can understand her distrust, though.  I get lied to by my customers as well:

 “Yes, I can’t pay my rent because my mother just died.”

“Um…last month you said she died this past Thanksgiving…so, she’s died twice?”

However, in this instance, I am most certainly telling the truth.

…

Thankfully, the company I ordered the shoes from was understanding and promptly overnighted a new pair for me…this time to my office.  And low and behold they have just arrived!  *Angels descending from above with trumpets*  They are glorious.

So stick that in your juice box and suck it, UPS.  (Please & Thank you.) 

…

Oh…and what do the shoes look like?