Tooele (Too-el-ah), Utah (You-tah)

Say wha-!?  Two posts in one month!?  Aren't you lucky!?

(The obvious answer being "yes" ^_^)

But there's just so much happening not to share:  Plans being made, trips being taken, relationships being formed, stories being written, promotions being given... Not to jinx it, but 2012 is kind of rockin'.

I'm the worst planner I know; it's no secret to anyone who knows me.  If I'm put in charge of planning a major trip to see you, chances are you'll never see me...  Unless it's within a twenty mile radius and less than a day's worth of itinerary, it's often best that you just plan to come to me, which is why I was most surprised to have made my most recent adventure west such a great success.

If there's anything that sucks more than straws about being an adult, it's having to accept the fact that you can't always have your best friend living across the street from you.  Life and its cross country moving truck shaped lemons always happen; no one is immune.  Unless, of course, your friend is make believe...  In which case, there's a doctor for that.

Sure, there's always phone calls, random (and often times obscene) texts and a large array of social media sites to harass each other by, but it is never as convenient as having them next door...

It had been five years since I had seen my best friend.  That's 1,825 days, give or take a couple.  (36 cat years, Ed would like to point out...)  Long enough for her daughter to dominate middle school then stomp her way to the top of her graduating class with enough A's to make even Hester Prynne flush with pride.  

And nothing could cause me to miss her big day, not even the world's worst luck in planning.

Despite the odds piled against me (shortened layovers, confusing terminals and cram-packed terminal trams, overly friendly passengers, and missing airport personnel) I managed to make it to Tooele, Utah on time and in one piece.  

Tooele, Utah.  Quite possibly the most unexpected surprise I've ever driven into.  With white topped mountains on three sides and a blue, sparkling salt watered horizon to the east with more mountains beyond it, Tooele was like a green California valley wrapped in a Rocky Moutain tortilla shell and sprinkled with salt and Mormonism.  I loved it immediately. 

I've always been surrounded by strong, unstoppable women; my best friend, Carla, is one such woman.  The last five years have proven difficult, but as it often does, her hard work has more than paid off.  

The sun had set by the time we pulled into her garage, which allowed for a proper introduction to Tooele's night sky.  We sat on her back porch surrounded by fragrant fruit trees and enjoyed the mountain breeze while sharing stories with new faces until there were no more stories to share, content then with just sitting quietly and enjoying the sounds blowing in from distant wildlife.  

The next morning as I stumbled from the kitchen, coffee mug in my right hand, my left rubbing the last of the night's sleep from my eyes, to return to the sitting area on the back porch, I found myself greeted by one of the mountains I had admired during my landing.  I knew Tooele would be close to it, but in the dark of the night I didn't realize just how close we were; its base nearly began in her backyard to climb its way into the sun.  It was at this moment that I understood why Tooele and not Texas.  

Day one was filled with further introductions to Tooele and surrounding areas.  The girls spent the afternoon shopping around nearby Salt Lake City, while the boys headed to the gun range to fire off rounds.

Deb's, I love you.  Please come to Georgia;  I miss your bargains.

The evening found us spinning on tippy toes and grabbing our crotches to Michael Jackson's "The Experience" for the Nintendo Wii until everyone had a chance to fully humiliate themselves on camera,  
 

Eat your heart out, Michael!

before sliding into our trail shoes and taking a late night hike to Mercur, one of Tooele's old ghost towns hidden within the hills. 

Local kids tell of a late 19th century town overrun with illness, whose trade route was too far off the beaten path for adequate help in a time of need, resulting in the entire town's population perishing almost overnight.   Soldiers later stumbled upon the town while surveying the land for the Transcontinental Railroad, finding the town's people and soon burying them, out of respect for the dead, in unmarked graves...  And while the first area visitors walk into is an unprotected, unmarked cemetery, a little research reveals Mercur's undoing to be more economically related than from a Tuberculosis outbreak.


Being out in the elements with howling coyotes and paranoid teenagers had me on edge.  Did they really see a light?  Was that really a growl?  Are you sure you saw a figure of a man?  Am I sure there's not someone up here with a baseball bat waiting for a teenager to brave the town at night?  Why did we decide to come here on a new moon?  Can we go home now?

We stood in a circle peering into the darkness, straining our eyes to see beyond the shadows.  Stories were whispered as we huddled there of little girls clad in white dresses dancing about the clearing we were stopped in, of hovering lamp lights witnessed by locals near the mine entrance, and of flashing orbs captured on cameras.

I had snapped pictures from the time we entered the cemetery until the time we left, a little uneasy to glance at the shots until we were home again, too afraid that I'd see a swinging baseball bat and a pair of coveralls.  There were some interesting and, as of now, unexplainable images.  We were able to debunk a few as bugs, but others...  Well, what do you think?

 Mist alongside an unmarked grave.

This mist was suspicious in that it was not present in other pictures.

What appears to be a right foot and the right side of a torso. 

I took a picture here after a friend said he saw movement.

It was my first and last hike to Mercur during my trip to Tooele, though I wouldn't be opposed to going back...in the day light...with my pepper spray...for, you know, coyotes...

Perhaps it was the surrounding scenery that inspired me... or maybe Carla's persistence/demands...but the next day found me donning my trail shorts and sandals to brave the Provo River, something I had firmly placed my foot down against in several related conversations prior to my trip west.  

There were five of us dragging tubes to the water line for a ten mile trip down the river: one experienced, four inexperienced. Between the five of us, there were three paddles, three water proof cameras and enough picnic food stuffed into a waterproof bag to feed a small country.  

Aside from a few choice words of my own, four important words were repeated to ensure we all understood their importance: Little Red Riding Hood.  Left at the first fork, right at the second and third, then swim like hell to the shoreline just beyond the bend or face certain death by way of waterfall...

Aside from a small drop to our deaths and a few white rapids from the freshly melted snow fall to avoid, the trip was expected to be a piece of cake.

Near Death Experience #1:  

Five minutes down the river I was flipped out of my tube, underestimating the strength of the current beneath me.  Three feet of water and I couldn't get my feet beneath me to save my life, the current unforgiving in its rush from the top of the peak as it trampled over me, tossing me about in its hurry down the mountain side.  The water was barely above freezing, and I was immediately swept under.  All I could hear was the angry bubbling of the water as it rushed over me followed by Carla's screams of, "It's OK! It's OK!  It's OK!" when I could break the surface long enough to catch my breath.  Like She-Ra, Carla quickly paddled to my side to punch through the current to drag me to the surface by my head.  

My hero.

I lost my camera and inexperienced tuber number 4.  
Though at this rate, she was likely better off without me...

It took several moments to catch my breath and steady my heart rate before I could climb back into the tube.  Freezing cold and sopping wet, I let Carla take the lead of our now two man group as I began scanning nearby shrubs for my runaway camera.

Near Death Experience #2:  

Carla: I'm sorry I dropped your camera.

Me: Too grateful to be alive to worry much on the matter, I shrugged and said, It was meant to happen, or it wouldn't have happened.  Besides... scans the water surface just in front of us ...it likely floats.  Maybe we'll run in to it somewhere down stream...

Carla and Me Simultaneously: *laughing excitedly* Look!  The strap!

Me: Leans forward to reach for the camera strap that has just popped to the surface of the water.  Notices the strap has angry eyes and is quickly slithering towards me.  Slams own eyes shut screaming, SNAAAAAAAAAKE!, before planking the tube like a boss.  

       Gives up on looking for camera...


Thankfully, inexperienced tubers number 2, 3 and 4 paddled to shore where the current slowed to manageable, and we were all able to regroup and laugh away the ridiculousness of the past five miles of tubing hell. We dined on the contents of Carla's waterproof bag and let our clothes dry a bit before wading into the water again.  We had a plan: no one was to let go of the persons on either side of them until we reached the station.  Like a floating chain gang of water logged goobers tubers, we were to survive the rest of the trip by joining forces to face the rapids.

We hit the current sooner than expected and were swept down river before we could get a paddling rhythm down.   I was in front using my feet to kick off of rocks or tree limbs to avoid disaster, a firm death grip on the tubes on either side of mine.  Ahead of us, peaking up out of the water, was a log.  A rather large log.  A log we were in direct path of.  All I could say was, No. And then, Log! As if saying it loudly enough would somehow part the waters for us to walk around it safely to avoid the trouble of trying to steer a colony of tubers around it...  

Near Death Experience # 3: 

The force of the current slammed us into the center of it.  I let my feet take the impact, intending to push off the log and spin us safely around it, when inexperienced tuber number 2 slammed into me from behind, flipping both Carla and myself off our tubes and back under the surface.

This time, I didn't even touch the bottom.  The water was dark...pitch-dark.... The current was again bubbling angrily about me, and all I could think was, please don't let my hair get caught on the log, please don't let my hair get caught on the log! 

I broke the surface several seconds later to hear Carla again in the distance screaming, "It's OK! It's OK! It's OK!" as we were both swept down river and spit out at a shallow pool of water beyond the current's flow.

At this point, I really, really hated the Provo River.  The temperature of the water at the warmest part of the day, in the middle of summer, is still cold enough to knock the breath out of you (42F), and there we were wading though it in the early afternoon hours of late spring... Even when you do break surface, your breaths are too short and uncontrollable to inhale deeply enough to fill your lungs.

My sun block was washed off, and all of my exposed skin was tightening from what would soon become my first ever run-in with sun poisoning.  Inexperienced tuber number 3's tube was leaking air, and we still had three miles to go...

But we survived them.
Barely...

 Near Death Experience #4

I was "attacked" by a "giant spider."  I didn't see it.  All I heard was inexperienced tuber number 3 say rather cautiously, "Heather, don't move.  You have a giant spider on your arm..." before throwing my arms straight up and forcing the remaining air out of my lungs in what I hoped sounded more as a roar of warning than a shrill scream of terror.

And yes, there was more planking.

There were unfriendly fly fishers and honking vehicles to wave to as we turned the last bend separating hell from civilization.  We began belting the lyrics to, "She'll Be Coming 'Round the Mountain When She Comes!" to alert the guys waiting for us at the station to pull us out of the water.

Near Death Experience #5

There were no guys waiting for us at the station; they were all preoccupied with loading a shipment of tubing supplies into a departing truck to notice our return.
[Enter She-Ra]
Thank you, She-Ra...

My hero.

My third day was a blur.  I remember waking up.  And I remember standing up.  And I remember falling down again...  My legs weren't just burned, they were scorched.  Trying to stand caused the blood to rush to their surface, causing stabbing-like pains to shoot from the balls of my feet to the tops of my knees.  I remember needing to use the bathroom and not knowing how I was to survive the trip upstairs to use it.  I remember hearing laughter from behind me, expecting "It's OK! It's OK! It's OK!" to soon follow.  

It was either brave the pain and run the flight of stairs to the bathroom on the ground level or pee in bed.  

Peeing in bed, despite the consequences, sounded like the better idea.

Instead, I took a deep breath, held it, then jumped out of bed and ran full speed up the stairs and into the bathroom to collapse onto the toilet in a gush of air as I exhaled loudly, in too much agony at this point to drop my pants, forgetting that I even had to use the restroom.  The morning light flooded through the window, illuminating my legs and giving them a bio-hazard red shine that silently screamed things like, "DANGER!" and "RADIOACTIVE!" and "Water Resistant" and "Ha! Dumb ass..."  

I also remember sitting in this position for over an hour, too afraid to move, until Carla's daughter tapped on the bathroom door, curious as to who was still in there.

Inexperienced tubers number 2 and 3 also received significant burns, though I must say that mine was by far the best.  Carla's dogs became enemies numbers 1, 1 and 1, as they all greeted me by jumping on my shins.

The day's agenda?  Solarcaine.  And lots of it.

The day passed lazily by, from one movie to another, as we all lounged about the den doctoring our burns, the only sounds to interrupt the silence being from our own personal aerosol cans of Solarcaine.

The majority of the remaining visit involved discomfort as my legs continued to heal, resulting in any outdoor activities being spent from Carla's passenger seat as she drove me down dirt roads and through tree tunnels or over springs.  We would stop to coo ridiculously at wildlife as it fed on roadside grasses, caught up in the serenity that is Tooele's mountain country.

But Tooele isn't just known for its natural beauty.

The town was recently in an episode of "Ghost Adventures", and I was most excited to have the opportunity to trace the crew's footsteps.

Carla had talked of Old Tooele Hospital before, where she, her daughter and her boyfriend volunteer their time each year to scaring locals in the ghost house built within its walls.  It wasn't until the Tooele Hospital episode aired, however, that I realized just how interesting of a place it is.

The owner, Kimm Andersen, had purchased the building after it had been closed down, the staff and patients relocating to a newly built location elsewhere in town.  I have a lot of respect for Kimm.  As a skeptic, Kimm began converting the old hospital into the haunted attraction, Asylum 49, seven years ago as a project to help keep local kids out of trouble.  It gave them a place to have fun getting their hands dirty, as opposed to getting them handcuffed.  Seven years within the hospital, however, led Kimm to wonder about the unexplainable occurrences consistently happening around him and his team.  He began allowing paranormal investigators access to his building, which he had been denying.  He went from being a skeptic to being as educated as one can be on such a debatable subject, acting as an educator himself and a guardian of the remaining "residents". 

He opened up his night and hospital to us, sharing with us slides and videos of past visitors and/or investigators.  He talked of the residents and their quirks, of the building's history, of its future, and of his own experiences.  He then took us on a tour, stopping in popular hot spots where unexplainable apparitions have been known to appear.

The entire group was armed with EMF detectors, an Ovilus, a video and digital camera, a digital voice recorder, and flashlights.  And there was plenty of "evidence" by night's end.

We stopped in the nursery first, where a little girl is often times seen sitting in a corner.  Kimm took a flashlight and sat it on a rocking chair, explaining to us that the residents have learned to communicate through them.  As he began telling us of the little girl and her story, the flashlight popped on.  The Ovilus said, "Joe," the name of a friend with us.  Kimm laughed, explaining that they tend to be excited to communicate via flashlights, as it allows them to be seen and their presence known.  

He then asked that the flashlight be turned off.  

It continued to shine.

The flashlights were twist-top flashlights; no buttons, no switches.  We got them at CVS for five dollars a piece.

Kimm explained to the corner of the room that if they didn't turn off the light then we would have to go, at which point my digital voice recorder picks up a young girl softly saying, as though from a great distance, "Noooo!"  

The light began to dim.  "That's right," Kimm encouraged.  "Just turn it the opposite way a little.  Just a little more."

The light flickered and then...  popped off.

Next, we stopped in the main hall, where Kimm asked us to study the doorway at the end of the hallway.  We stood quietly staring into the shadows, waiting for whatever it is that we were to see.  Suddenly a figure walked from one side of the hall to the other and back again, pacing.  Back and forth and back and forth.  He asked that we call it out as we see it.  "Left," we all said, as the figure walked left.  "Right," as it walked back.  Another figure appeared a couple of doors down, seeming to peer out of the doorway, as it was an angled shadow only partially revealed to us, before it too joined us in the hall to stand beyond reach.

Next stop, the conference room.  The EMF detectors danced about, flashing movement behind us, next to us and in front of us.  "Hello," said a male's voice into my digital voice recorder.  I tried taking a picture, apologizing to the team to have to flash them.  "That's... so... bright!" whispered a young girl into my digital voice recorder, as I changed the settings on my digital camera.  The flashlights were again at it, popping on and off to Kimm's yes-or-no questions, until finally answering with nonsense, giving us an excuse to carry on with the tour.  

We stopped into a room where a sarcophagus rested, patiently awaiting another Halloween.  As Kimm explained to us his plans for the room and its connection to the residents, a very large and towering shadow strolled past the doorway.  I blinked several times to clear my vision and turned back to Kimm, curious as to who else could see it but not enough to interrupt the story being told.  Kimm then led the way back to the hall, us trailing close behind.  One step into the hallway, and he spun back towards the doorway, inhaling quickly and laughing at his jumpiness. 

"What is it?" someone asks.
"I just never expect them to be so close..."
Everyone looked cautiously around. 
The figure was gone.

We walked to the operating room, where I volunteered to stand in front of the group for an experiment.  Not knowing what to expect, I did as directed: I stood comfortably with my arms at my sides listening to Kimm give me a set of simple enough instructions.

"What is my sign for yes?" I asked out loud.  A few seconds passed before I was pushed in the small of my back hard enough to lose my balance and stumble forward.  What is my sign for no?" I then called out to the empty room, only to then be pulled backwards by my shoulder blades in response.  The yes-and-no questions continued on for a short time until I wasn't sure what else to ask someone or something I couldn't see or hear. 

We spent another hour in the conference and emergency rooms watching our equipment beep and flash and dance about to whatever energy fields it detected in the vicinity as we asked random questions to the air. We returned to the room where I was pushed and pulled to allow the rest of the team to interact with whoever or whatever appeared for them before locking up and retiring for the night, the building still intact and its residence safe and sound inside.

Every morning was spent the same:
-Wake up
-Stand up
-Fall down
-Make injured animal noises
-Stand up
-Fall down
-Make injured animal noises
-Furrow brows at laughter behind me
-Run like a crazy person upstairs
-Bathe in Solarcaine until the spray can stops hissing

Most of the remaining week was spent sightseeing: The chocolate factory, the campgrounds of 19th century soldiers, the state's oldest jail cell, more hidden dirt roads and less traveled mountain trails, amusement parks and a performing arts theatre.

Until Thursday.

The big day had finally arrived-- Graduation Day-- and to my despair my legs were still blistered and swollen.  But the graduate was beautiful (as usual), and her momma was unable to contain her pride and excitement to see her daughter finally walking across the stage.  

Salt Lake City continued to surprise with its International Peace Gardens, where we spent the hours before "go time" snapping pictures of each other (from the waste up, thank you)  in several countries throughout the world.  If you ever find yourself in Utah, I recommend making time to visit it.  Unless you're in heals.  Or your legs are blistered.  Or both.

I had brought a white striped, navy blue dress for Carla's daughter's big day, with a white cardigan, red Carla-made earrings, and a pair of red patent leather pumps to compliment the ensemble.  My radioactive gams, however, turned my sassy pumps into red knee-high, patent leather boots to all those who glanced my way.  Sexy.  And there were plenty-o-stares.  Like moths to the flame, they just couldn't look away...  Even a nearby hobo putting up camp for the night interrupted his conversation with himself long enough to gawk...

The ceremony was beautiful, despite the choir who insisted on practicing their congratulatory ditty three times, off key, ten minutes before the start of the ceremony, only for the electricity to fail during their official performance...

Carla: *wrinkling her nose* I wonder what happened to their mics?

Me: *staring glumly ahead* Karma

 We empathize, kiddo...

My trip came to an end soon after.  No more coffee beneath the mountain.  No more telling stories to strangers, as all of them were settling comfortably in to their new VIP spots on my friend's list, no longer strangers at all.  No more near death experiences on the Provo River.  I had planned a trip and seen it through, and now it was time to see my way back home again.

But I'll be back, Tooele.

Soon enough...

--Bennett

The Atchley Bunch

Nothing solves a stubborn case of spring time blues faster than a road trip north to mountain country.  And nothing rids one's self of the returning-to-reality blues faster than another road trip north soon after...

It's a quick drive to anywhere from central Georgia.  Mountains, beaches, rivers and lakes, the country side, amusement parks, historical landmarks.  And now even family.

It took her nearly thirty years, but I suppose it's better late than never-- Mother, welcome home to the South.  The South, say hello to my momma!

She's putting down roots in Eastern Tennessee, which has always been home for me and most of mine.  And, naturally, I'm taking full advantage of her new and improved location with random road trips north to surprise her, hug her and eat her food...

Mother's Day was one such trip.  My brother and I had schemed for me to sneak in shortly after bed time to surprise her the next morning with a Heatherly filled Mother's Day weekend.  (<--  Only the best for my momma!)  It was a random and spur-of-the-moment idea, but when one's momma lives so close, spontaneous planning is always justifiable.

There was some confusion, defensive kicking and mild profanities involved upon her finding a stranger sleeping in the same room as she at five the next morning, but it soon gave way to tears and hugs and laughing and then, naturally, more sleeping...  Because, as far as I'm concerned, if the sun isn't up yet it's still night time.  People should awake bright and early, never dark and early...

The day was spent winding our way through the mountains, feasting on caramel apples and homemade jerky that we had found filling the shelves of local shops during one of our brief stops in Gatlinburg.  We road the tram to Ober Gatlinburg to shop for useless, yet nostalgic, items to help cramp the empty spaces on our bookshelves, before stopping in to Ober's restaurant to cramp what empty spaces remained in our bellies with knackwurst and 'kraut.

We made an entire day of it with historic Cades Cove, Pigeon Forge and lower Sevierville.  We loaded up on enough apple products from the Apple Barn to get us through the rest of spring and then retired to Mammaw's for the evening where, unbeknownst to anyone in the house but myself, I sat texting my sister, who was also sneaking in past Mother's bedtime for a Mother's Day surprise.


I'm a little ashamed to admit that I gladly drugged my brother with a small dose of Nyquil...  But in my defense, his allergies almost ruined the surprise.  So it was off to Dream Land for him just in time for my sister to pull into the drive'. 

As most sisters do, we spent the entire night giggling into our pillows and catching up on each others tales of  excitement and/or misadventure.  Thank God the entire house rumbled with Mammaw's snores, or we would have been busted well before we intended to be.

We literally laughed until the sun came up and almost ruined the surprise by sleeping in later than planned. Our mother stumbled into the living room where (thank God, take two) we were twisted into unrecognizable masses in vain, subconscious attempts to find some sort of comfortable position on Mammaw's ancient pull-out couch.  She stumbled past us and into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee, which allowed my sister enough time to rub the sleep from her eyes and race to the bathroom to hide.

Mom's morning routine has always been the same:

-Wake

-Stumble to kitchen to start coffee

-Stumble to bathroom to make room for coffee

-Stumble to living room to turn on news

-Stumble back to kitchen to retrieve coffee

-Skip happily back to living room to sip on coffee and watch news

She was not happy to find someone in the bathroom rudely intruding upon her most sacred ritual...  As a matter of fact, her almost exact words were, "Come on now, Son!"  *bangs  on bathroom door*  "Get off the pot!!  You're rudely intruding upon my most sacred ritual!!!"

In which I was quick to respond, "But he's still in bed..."

In which she quickly replied with, *more door banging* "Then get out of the bathroom, Alan!"  (Alan, being her brother.)

In which Alan was quick to open the bedroom door to where he was sleeping to mumble something about model airplanes and the rising dead.

My mother turned to look from my brother's still unconscious (and only slightly drugged...  honest!) body to my uncle to my smirking face, as my sister swung open the bathroom door to let loose the Kraken!  I mean, surprise...

There was more confusion.  But the happy kind- with lots of laughing and tears and no profanities.  And no kicking or physical violence of any kind...

It was soon followed with more family fun, a music filled evening, ("Donovan's Reef", anyone?  Anyone?  *cricket*), gut busting laughter, and enough good food to take down an elephant.

Our trip was cut short, as often times spontaneous trips are, by Reality's many demands.  But it was a grand weekend to start off what one can hope is the first of many to come.

[Enter Reality Here]

[Enter Heather's Grumblings About Reality Here Soon After]

[Enter Yet Another Spontaneous Weekend Road Trip North to Celebrate the 4th of July]

Soon following in my mother's footsteps was my step-father, who sold their house and packed their belongings and toted them east for good.  It was reason enough to celebrate. And what better way to celebrate the big move than to blow stuff up!?

So I packed a bag and headed north, yet again, for barbeque and fireworks and enough first degree burns to last me a life time.

Can I just add here that it makes me incredibly uncomfortable to realize how flammable one's hair is?  --  And to think that most of us are topped with it like unlit torches doused in kerosine, dodging runaway sparks at a fire show.  I'm somewhat surprised that there aren't more 4th of July injuries involving burnt hair...

The rest of the trip was spent being lazy and basking in East Tennessee's 106 degree, 100% humidity, without a breeze in sight, summer heat.  And by basking, I do mean baking.

Dear North Korea, please stop your nuclear testing; I like having an ozone layer.

I was my brother's happy prisoner as we drove around town doing non-out-of-state-touristy things.  Movies, shopping, ghost hunting, gaming, giving reality the finger, driving off in random directions until the gas light popped on.  

It was just enough break to find me happily returning to reality, where I'm still happily skipping in and out of rotating doors, happily zipping about the office on my squishy, swivel chair and happily decorating my desk with more family photos of fun in the unforgiving, happy sun.

Andie, Justin-- I love you guys.  Thanks for not taking my psychological, and often times physical, abuse too personally when we were kids.  You're not really Russian orphans left on our doorstep. 

You're Polish.

Sorry... 

Love,

Heatherly

It Happened in Atlanta

Seven months?  SEVEN MONTHS!?  Has it really been that long?  It would seem that I fell into a comfortable state of hibernation in early fall and am just now stumbling out of the mental blankets that completely confined me.  But I cannot be fully blamed, for life always happens.

Fall was amazing, beautiful, and I didn't want it to leave. Winter was rainy and warm (not at all unusual from my Western experiences) and only fairly frigid a handful of nights.  Now enter spring in all her blossoming glory!  The Dogwoods are in full bloom, popping up from their surrounding landscape like giant cotton balls waiting to be plucked from the earth.  I love them.  All of them.  And one day, ONE DAY!, I will plant many, in all their shades, to bloom and grow along the drive to welcome me home.

I've been busy, busy, busy; most of it exciting in nature.  There are the usual necessary evils that must exist, ie: more work than play.  Though, in this case, and for once in my life, work feels less like an evil and more like a paid vacation.  I have to hand it to my teams; they are some of the most fun people I've ever been paid to play with.  Winter's cold brought free hot chocolate days to us in the land of swivel chairs and spreadsheets.  With marshmallows, mind you!  Pajama Day soon followed, and casual blue jeans days were celebrated by all throughout the last leg of the year.  We're often dining out together, laughing together, and now that the weather is warm and the sun is again gifting us all with freckles and driver's tans, we're eating ice cream together!  Perhaps I've been too buried beneath a rock these past few years, but who else can seriously brag about having their own ice cream lady at work!?

  (Ice cream ladies, your votes don't count!)

Edgrr celebrated his big 1-0 in early October.  Double digits, y'all!  We celebrated with IAMS Premium Protection for old far- I mean, distinguished cats.  Though it hasn't all been one big celebration, as we had a scare in January when the year's first warm front blew through, bringing cat allergies appearing to be straight out of a Tom Savini film.  I'm talkin' eyes weeping, ears gooping, snivels and sneezes and enough lethargy to make this guy look like he's training for a triathlon...  One incredibly violating temperature check, two weeks of bed rest and three emptied prescription bottles later, he was back on his paws, kicking tail and taking names.  Sadly, however, I fear he shall forever remain psychologically scarred from the sound of shaking prescription bottles...

 (*Note: Severe allergies are to be expected his first year here, or so I was informed.)

In school news, I am now registered at a couple (yes, a couple!) of local colleges for this fall and look forward to getting back to the books.  I've sorely missed hearing the random rants of professors and advisers alike, paying exorbitant amounts of money on half used books and taking full advantage of the stationary departments of local grocery stores.  One campus is small- downright tiny- from what I'm used to, sporting a clock tower and sweeping views of surrounding, wooded hillsides.  The other appears to be getting a bit big for their pants, bulging between shopping districts and parks, barking out financial obligations to all who dare pass through their doors.  Side-by-side they's is like peas and carrots in the land of higher education, but together they offer just what I'm looking for. 

In writing news, I've managed to get myself way in over my head.  Four writing projects. FOUR!  I'm a one-story-at-a-time, love-it-fully-and-straight-to-its-end-before-even-considering-diving-head-first-into-another kind of writer.  I've never enjoyed being lost in plot-lines and character development, preferring instead the sane path of organization and clearly defined thought processes, and yet here I am, merrily skipping along to the beat of what appears to be four separate protagonists' drums in their land of make-believe.  There's the rancher, the baker, the candlestick maker, the squatter, and all their friends in between.  (*Note to Readers: Only half of those characters are 'real'...)

And in local-ish news, my dear friend and fellow writer Sarah Elizabeth Thomas made it to town!  And not just any town. NOOooo.  She flew into Atlanta for a week of good food, history lessons, natural history museums, great food, aquatic adventures, yummy nom-nom's, local haunts, AMAZING FOOD!, coffee with Andy Warhol and Pablo Picasso, some behind-the-scenes-looks, some monkey business, and plenty more that I can't seem to currently pluck from recent memory...  

(*Note to Readers: If you haven't noticed already, all colored words ^ are actually links. So CLICK YOU SOME!)

Where every restaurant incorporates sweet potatoes into at least one dish, where parking is never free, where the railroad tracks that clearly define the 'good' part of town from the 'not-so-good' are trampled down until everyday life is just one constant hum of varying faces and classes, where every street corner tells a story, I love Atlanta.  Maybe not enough to move there, but enough to visit again. If not for anything else than a hefty stack of Highland Bakery's sweet potato pancakes!  (Homina, homina, homina!)  <---  Quick shout out to the genius behind many of the creations, Ms. Karen Portaleo!  We gobbled the town up, sometimes quite literally, taking full advantage of our free city passes bestowed upon us by a couple of incredibly sweet Knoxvillians.  (Tennessee, I shall always love you!)  We walked the streets in rain or shine or drizzle or chilled winds.  We became regulars at the local coffee shop, where we spent each day's last couple of hours reviewing our latest adventures with 'Joe' and his worthy army of beans and excitedly planning the next day's adventures to come. We made friends with tour guides by day/rock stars by night, train engineers, baristas, security guards, and museum couriers.  Unfortunately, we also made a few enemies... with untamed children, a handful of thievin' waitresses and a purple and red stampede of giggling Mary Kay Beauty Consultants.  Still, the pros highly outweigh the cons. 

We shopped until we dropped, ate until we popped and plan to make another 'go' of it soon.  Next time, however, Savannah, here we come!  As more comes to me, as I'm sure it will, I'll try to find a place for it within my existing Atlanta post to share.

In the mean time, chin up and shoulders straight!  We still gots us some more life to live yet.  Love to my friends and family back home, as always; I hope to see some of you very soon!

-Heather-

--Touring the Historic Oakland Cemetery, Atlanta, Georgia

 Some families can afford the upkeep, while others....

 A cemetery with a view!

Margaret Mitchell's, author of the great GONE WITH the WIND, final resting place. 

--View from the coffee spot, A corner of the CNN Studio

This shot just doesn't do it justice! 
--A magnificent waterfall that raced the steps to the bottom of the property at the Atlanta History Center




--The Atlanta Zoo

 Sarah unknowingly striking a pose with the flamingos.

 Latest addition to the family.

Big gorillas need love too!  Er, from a distance. Especially this one...

 "Just admit it, you want me...  They all want me..."

 Did you f'awt? 

 Windex kills birds.  The proof is in the window pudding...

The Portrait of a Lady of Sorts

Memories are often filed away with more than just flash images and mental clips of yesterdays.  Smells and sounds, like dusty stacks of Atari games and vehicles crunching up gravel driveways, or emotions as those involved with preparing for the first day of school, tend to wrap themselves up with many images associated with them.  For myself, the strongest memories I have are wrapped in excitement with the adventures behind constant change as my family moved from city to city, state to state, country to country.

As often is the American way, my parents divorced when I was young, but I was lucky in that I had at least one parent on either side of the divide who was active military.  As a result, I had the privilege of being introduced to many cultures, traditions and lifestyles I otherwise would not have became familiar with.

And though I sometimes envy those who have been allowed to remain comfortably stagnant in life for having the opportunity to make childhood friends and maintain those friendships throughout the years, I also sometimes pity them for having never been given the chance to try something new, to step out of their comfort zone and see life as it exists beyond the woods or across the pond.  And to them, I might suggest a new hobby.  Surfing, for example.  Er, couch surfing,,,  I will do this one day.  And I will likely be found abandoned in a ditch for it, loosely wrapped in tarp and twine and missing several internal organs, but I can't help but hear in my head the words of Miss Frizzle, "Take chances! Make mistakes!..."

And now I share with you my list in pictures of places I've lived. 

It all started here.  Meridian, MS.  Things I remember: A cardboard box and a fuzzy, stuffed beach ball.  And the sensation of my head wobbling heavily upon my neck.  There is also that memory of my mother playing 'Hide-and-Seek' with me, pretending to have left for the store but really laughing at me from around the corner where I stood crying over her abandonment.  So I suppose it was more along the lines of 'Hide-and-Torture-the-Baby', but at least she was having fun...
                             Dear Mother, I will never forget, and I will never forgive *crosses her arms dramatically*

And then there was Knoxville, TN.  It has been my home off and on throughout my life, and the one place I know I can always run to when I need to catch a breather from what ails me.  The things I remember most are too many to list, but there's the fog that hugs the hill tops in the morning, the golden globe of the Sunsphere Tower that winks at you as you drive by, shopping for bread at the bread store and then traveling across town to buy fresh meats from the butcher with my pappaw, smelling the freshly bathed moss upon the stones that covered the drive's hilldside as it dried from the dew in the early morning hours, the shuffling of house slippers as family moved across the wooden floors throughout the house, and the taste of apple butter accompanying anything I could slather it on, to name of a few.

Lemon Grove, Ca followed.  This place was magic.  Trolly cars, giant lemon statues, garden swings and fish ponds, thick shag carpeting and beds built into walls with hidden doorways, saluting the American flag with Grampy as we raised it above the front yard's water well, banana seat bicycles and giant sheep dogs with giant dog houses, and orange marmalade--the marmalade of the gods.

Barbers Point, HI, where we were never out of sight of the shoreline.  I learned to swim here, and Grover taught me basic math..  Also, Dad bought me my first computer and taught me how to operate it using only the F keys like a boss.  I was the hula hoop queen.  Don't believe me?  Just ask my PE teacher...  And I had two goldfish: Pamela and Fred.  They weren't as fancy as Dad's exotic collection in the ten foot salt water tank downstairs, but they were mine and I loved them.  I destroyed a multi-thousand dollar, white suede couch with a single cup of grape Kool-Aid, and spent the weekends with my dad at an old airfield flying RC planes until sundown.  I also met my all-time-favorite food here--lumpia.  (FYI <--that is one lucky one year old)

Yokosuka, Kanagawa in Japan.  Where hotdogs are considered exotic and locals would gladly trade boring cheesy crackers at lunch time for gummy candies of the foreign gods.  The beaches were black and the skies were often gray, but the people were beautiful.  Classes were taught with both an English and Japanese speaking teacher, who would take turns explaining the day's curriculum. And we were one of the only families to live in a house, with the neighborhood being primarily built with tall apartment buildings and flats.  I took a cab to school every morning, which cost a quarter, and would store it with the rest of my lunch money in my yellow, plastic change holder, which I remember smelled like syrup and copper and not like plastic.  My best friend was the daughter of an abusive alcoholic, and I always had to abandon what we were doing and return home once he started popping caps off beer bottles for adult reasons I did not yet understand, despite the pleas from my friend to stay.  This was also the place I first experienced a train ride, when our school bus broke down on the way to the zoo.  The tracks stretched for miles between the shoreline and the highway, and it would be the moment most remembered from that field trip.  Well, that and being attacked and bitten by a bunny at the petting zoo.  But mostly the train ride.

Whidbey Island, WA.  I always said I would one day move back. I spent my time there in the Girl Scouts learning how to build fires and dig holes in the woods to fill with bodily wastes during survival trips.  It was here I learned how high trees can grow and how wide their trunks and be.  And how deep their roots reach.  I fell in love with books here, inhaling Number the Stars, The Mouse and the Motorcycle, and innumerable volumes of The Boxcar Children and Nancy Drew.  I also died here.  Three times.  But I learned my lesson to not play in open windows again.  I was also introduced to the Northern Lights on Whidbey, which I plan to see again, and earthquake warnings.  And instead of learning about sex ed, we were taught about the three R's of recycling.  Rinse, Reuse, Recycle.

Dallas, TX.  Bluebonnets, pecans, triple digit summers with triple digit humidity readings, the state fair with fried...everything.  Steak.  So much steak.  And the Cowboys.  Not to be confused with cowboys, who weren't usually found within city limits. 

Mesa, AZ.  Where lawns are built with lava rocks, where the temperature remains the same in the shade as that in the sun.  For a city built in the middle of the desert, it had a great selection of sushi bars, likely in part to Phoenix being such a college town.  Everything was so symmetrical there, as though cities were built in the shapes of boxes and streets could only run north, east, south, or west.  Everything was cramped, as though the city was afraid to grow too far into the sands, and people would complain about having to travel five miles due to traffic. I was introduced to a lot of garage music here, which only a few made it to the big stage, but it was a carefree kind of time filled with music and movies and weekend road trips to the mountains for photography lessons with Dad, followed with late hours of film developing in our makeshift studio.

And now here we are in Columbus, GA, where history is almost under-appreciated.  Where I'm surprised pigs are not placed on the endangered species list.  Where adventures are just beginning and memories are currently being made.

Overall, I've lived in twenty-five different homes and attended class at thirteen different schools, not including colleges, and it's been nothing short of exciting.  I collect friends just as easily as I collect memories and accept change just as easily as I accept a new day.  Such is life.  So for those of you who continue to be a part of it, thank you for loving me.  Even as I move so far away from you all. 

-Bennett

All Quiet on the Eastern Front

I wish I could say the reason for my delayed post is due to extreme excitement.  I wish.  Honestly?  I've been finding a new routine and settling into it, which mostly involves working and saving.  Exciting, right?  Don't I know it!

But I am comfortably adjusting.  I have a job which includes revolving doors and cubicles, daily catered meals and security guards, and I'm enjoying it.  It sometimes feels like I'm trapped in a corporate version of The Stepford Wives...with sticky notes and swivel chairs, where everyone walks around like programmed robots with a smile on their face and a kind word to say to anyone in passing.  I keep waiting for one of them to scowl angrily and crash through the guarded doors to release carnage upon the earth in a show of absolute horror and destruction unlike any witnessed before.  But that's life here.  These people offer a smile as quickly as folks back west offer a middle finger during rush hour traffic. Southern hospitality is everywhere.  Even at work...

Things that I've become accustomed to:

--front porch storage; if it won't fit in the back, there's always a porch in the front.
--to-go boxes; good luck cleaning any plate served in these here parts...
--college football.  Three letters come to mind: OMG! The trick to surviving the season, I'm learning, is to avoid wearing articles of clothing in the following combination of colors: 'crimson' and white or red and black.  Especially on game days.
--too convenient convenience stores.  Like Computers and More, where More is served in the form of kinky, leather riding gear.  I conveniently got a VGA cable AND leather pasties all in one go!  They obviously saw me coming...
--hugs from strangers.  Empathy is often repaid with lovin' here.  Also, if you're just meeting someone who is friends with your friend, or a friend of a friend who just met you stumbles into one of their friends or family members of a friend and politely introduces you to them, you will be hugged.  You have been warned.

The temperatures are cooling now, and most days children can be seen with fishing poles in hand at the riverside.  They rarely keep what they catch, choosing instead to toss their crawdads back and take away the satisfaction of another beautiful day well spent at the water's edge with good company. 

Even E-boo has a more laid back air about him and is making greater efforts to adventure beyond the  bedroom's door.  And he's on speaking terms with most of the house now, though his kitten Tourette's still kicks in from time to time when tossed onto the porch and forced to socialize.   I'd imagine his conversations going something as, "Hey, Gigi, what's happening, my cat friend?  Here, let me help get that spot behind your-- Dammit, Kingston! I said to keep your filthy nose away from my tookus, you animal!" *runs to bedroom and flings self onto bed*  Progress, however, is progress.  It's good to see him slowly adjusting as well.

I've been casually house hunting.  Which is never fun.  Almost never.  The idea of it is fun, but there are so many factors to play in the final decision.  Is that a foundation crack?  Are the neighbors serial killers?  Were those gunshots?  Are you sure this is the best I can do?  So many things to consider...

I'd like to get a feel for Atlanta, too.  My good friend, Sarah, will be here in January to stomp through the big city with me, and I intend to take advantage of that time to look around at the housing opportunities there.  I am lovin' this state, and I can't imagine not lovin' its capital as well.  Also, more schooling opportunities are further north.  Though at this rate, I doubt I'll be able to legally teach a class of budding students before the age of fifty.   Still, progress is progress.

I suppose, for now, this shall have to suffice as a decent update.  I could continue to ramble on about the small details of life.  Like how those giant cockroach things that hunt men and eat cats are becoming the bane of my existence.  How we leave the front door open in the evenings to welcome in the cool breeze and only manage to welcome in the flying Kamikaze cockroaches of doom.  Or how the old school building that hides our cul-de-sac from curious eyes has been converted into a training building for local police officers to chase/rescue criminals/victims with toy guns all day.  There's also my new found respect for green beans and pork and bone-in chicken and blue cheese and Spanish rice to mention.  I swore them off, but Dad isn't just a cook; he's a god of the kitchen (minus the dishes), and he's made it his personal mission to fix what others have broken with my taste buds...one meal at a time.  Or maybe I could mention my efforts to learn Russian.  I'm still working on the alphabet, which is from A to Я, and its pronunciations, but progress is progress.  I'm sure to be singing the A,Б, B's in no time.

But I wouldn't want to bore anyone who might still be reading this.  I'll spend an afternoon with my camera and post an update, which might actually entertain a few, another day.  For now, however, routine is the name of the game.  But I'll gladly play it.