Well, if you have been keeping up with my email lately you may have noticed a certain amount of stress. A wedding, a surgery, accidents and heartbreaks have all toped the headlines in my “Subject” line (I think there was a movie along those lines, “Four Weddings and a…..” you know the rest) Anyway, I think it is about time we all had a good laugh. So, in honor of Chrissy and Eriks upcoming nuptials—IN FIVE DAYS!!!—this is the story of her wedding dress. I like to refer to it as,

“The Day the Cat Died.”

Once upon a time in a mansion far, far away there lived a dad, a mom, two daughters and two adorable furry balls; also known as Tabby and Tigger. Many changes were taking place in this family, Dad (Bob) accepted a position at his company that required a move out of state, Daughter (Chrissy) accepted a proposal of marriage from her beloved, and Mom (Ann Maree) accepted the responsibility of making all of the above occur in an orderly and cheerful manner.

If you have ever moved a household, you realize the magnitude of planning required; various tasks like sorting through life memories and then packing them, phoning multiple utilities and arranging for the transport of lives and wares. Additionally, for us, one of the tasks required also included preparing our two cats for air travel. Travel in itself is daunting for cats as it jostles them from their daily comfort zone of laundry pile snuggling, meandering to their “Meow Mix” or flying through the air toward the flow of cool, crisp bathroom sink water. Air travel promised to be an interesting adventure.

In conjunction with the household move were the preliminary stages of wedding planning, including the most important aspect for a young bride, The Dress. This occasion also presented an opportunity to shower our youngest with attention in a time when our move out of state seemed to indicate to her that we must not love her very much. It was very important to make a memorable occasion for her, to reiterate that she was indeed still special.

It was within the context of the above two circumstances that I (mom, Ann Maree)-with extraordinary wisdom I might add- decided to combine these two tasks. Let me explain…

One bright sunny May day, Chrissy and I made an appointment for her to try on wedding dresses at the local bridal shop. The plan included my taking the day off from work, as well as Chrissy arranging her lunch late in the day, thus allowing her to leave work at an earlier time. Our appointment was set for 3 o’clock.

In the meantime, not willing to lose an entire day of productivity, I set out to pack. In addition, as long as I was at home for the better portion of the day, I also determined to multi-task and give our cats their “pre-flight trial tranquilizer,” prescribed to determine how they would react before an actual airplane flight.

Oh, one more thing, it was the first day the cicadas were to arrive.

I administered Tabby and Tigger’s tranquilizer at about 8:00 in the morning, expecting a quiet day where the cats would forgo all other activity and simply sleep on the numerous laundry piles or suitcases, whichever was most convenient. However, a couple hours into the medical evaluation, no reaction was evident in either of them. Tabby, the larger cat, typically sleeps and eats and sleeps and eats and nothing changed her schedule. Tigger, our bouncy, flouncy, fun! fun! fun! cat remained as such, and followed me around playfully. So I determined the only way to know how the tranquilizer would work would be to take them for a ride and see how they reacted. I coerced them into their new little carriers, packed them in the car and set out for the nearest park.

MEooooROwwwwww!!!! MEEEoooorrrOOOOOOW!!!! in an irritating rhythm was all I could hear the entire ride. “Well this isn’t working very well,” I thought to myself, “why bother?” We arrived at the park and Tabby (typical) crouched in the grass, shaking like a leaf and Tigger bounced after the cicadas. I ran after him, Tabby meowed louder and our park experience was a bust.

Once back at the house, the situation remained unchanged and I simply continued with my work; still, in the back of my mind I wondered what the first class section on United Airlines was going to do to me when they realized they just paid top dollar to experience an irritating version of Tabby’s howling.

The day progressed and around noon, our other daughter Cori came over to retrieve some of her worldly possessions before they were mistakenly moved to a different state. While Cori and I were talking in the kitchen, Tabby walked in, let out her finest “MEEEoooorrrOOOOOOW!!!!” and collapsed under the table.

Dead.

I looked at Cori, she looked at me, we both started hyperventilating at the realization that Tabby had just keeled over and Cori ran to our largest fur-ball’s side. Unwilling to accept death along with this traumatic move, she scooped up the cat and started to shake her. Tabby was literally gone, yet when Cori shook her a bit, Tabby revived and started her pathetic meowing.

Suffice to say, we determined this was not a good thing and thought it best to whisk her off to our vet. We scooped her lifeless body up, stuffed it in her carrier, ducked from the cicada’s dive-bombing us in the driveway and packed her in the car.

Once at the vet, and typical of all Goudzwaard malady, it was determined this was a highly unusual reaction, one our vet had NEVER seen happen before and thus he proclaimed her “cured,” she SHOULD be okay. We returned home in the aftermath of an adrenaline rush, believing the worst was over.

Not so.
Cori and I watched Tabby carefully over the next couple hours, waiting and listening for her signature howl, and distracted ourselves with more boxes. 3 o’clock rolled around and Chrissy returned home. We began to prepare ourselves for The Dress appointment while Cori went upstairs for one last check on Tabby when, MEEEoooorrrOOOOOOW!!!! and “MOM!!!!!, she did it again!!!!”

We scooped up the cat, stuffed her lifeless body in her travel bag, protected both ourselves and the cat from incoming cicada, and off to the vet we flew.

Once again we were reassured by the vet that, this was a highly unusual reaction, one he had NEVER seen happen before and thus he again proclaimed her “cured,” she SHOULD be okay.

We returned home.

Now came the dilemma; should we leave Tabby home to die alone (we are now on life three out of nine available lives if you are keeping track) and go find The Dress, or forgo the very important, this-means-we still-love-you-Chrissy-even-though-we-are-moving-out-of-state memory making appointment.

Since Chrissy is the one who has feelings (Cat’s are smart, but not THAT smart!), we opted for The Dress.

Once at the appointment, we were disheartened by a somber mood and having trouble focusing on the joy typically associated with The Dress search. One, two, three dresses later and, nothing; was there even a suitable dress to be found? Growing in discouragement and concern for what the cat’s were doing at home, we determined it would be best to sacrifice Cori for a few minutes and send her back to check on the well-being of Tabby.

A few minutes after releasing her of her Maid-of-Honor duties, Cori called. “MOM!!!! She did it again!!!!!”

We threw down the dresses, raced from the bridal shop, sidestepped crunchy cicadas, sped up the hill to our house, scooped the cat into her carrier and flew to the vet.

This time, probably because he was displeased to see us yet again, the vet suggested a remedy. To relieve Tabby of this tranquilizer it was suggested to fill her body with a fluid via IV and allow the drug to leave her body “naturally.” You catch my drift. With her eyes rolling back in her head, Tabby willingly submitted to the humiliation of an abundance of water weight (how would YOU like your skin stretched out of proportion with the rest of YOUR body?) She looked like fur on four legs with a water balloon beneath her. Now, when she let out her “MEEEOoooooRRoooww!!!” we knew what might be going through her head (ladies, read pre-menstrual bloat x 100) I was afraid if I picked her up she would POP!

Nonetheless, it worked. We locked her in a room with her litter box, some food, and a very bouncy, flouncy, fun! fun! fun! brother (the tranquilizer never even subdued Tigger) and she rested comfortably (kinda like sleeping on a waterbed no matter where she moved) throughout the evening.

Not willing to consider the day a wash (pun intended), Chrissy and I headed back out to the bridal shop, determined more than ever to find The Dress. Sure enough, first dress she tried on was “IT,” we paid the deposit and checked the occasion off our to-do list. Success.

So now for the significance of the story. I had an assignment last quarter in my Effective Speaking class to tell a story, one complete with a beginning, middle and an end. I knew I could endear the audience to my speech by using my best “MEEEOoooooRRoooww!!!” sound effects, this was something recommended for a successful speech, but try as I might I could not come up with an ending for the story. The morning of the speech Chrissy called to check in and say Hi, asking what I was doing that day. I told her I had to give this speech and she asked what it would be on. I said, “well, honey, I decided to talk about the day we went to find your wedding dress,” and she responded with, “oh, you mean the day the cat died?”

I successfully made a memory.

When you gaze upon the loveliness of Chrissy gliding down the aisle this weekend, try not to grin with the memory of “MMMMMEEEEoooooorrRRRowwww!!!!! Rather, smile because she is so beautiful!

After six years working in the Interior Design industry, I’ve decided it is time to get a degree. When we moved south, my social calendar and work obligations diminished, and the opportunity to pursue higher education became available. I am now attending the Art Institute School and learning more than I could have imagined. Sometimes, it involves Interior Design. More often than not, my education leans Southerly….surprise!

Let me explain…

I drive to school.

If you are not versed in map making before the quest to settle the west, you may be surprised to know that not all cities are designed on the grid system. This area, for example, resembles a bicycle wheel. Several spokes extend from the city south, while various forms of “Sharon” Road intersect. Sharon View, Sharon West, Sharon Lakes; who IS Sharon anyway? As you can imagine, watching Northerners navigate Charlotte’s Web is beyond entertaining. As a matter of fact, watching Southerners is just as fun. Anyway, whilst traversing from east to west (or is that north to south?) toward the school I encounter a couple of vehicular phenomena.

The first involves right hand turns at a red light. Southerners don’t do it. Not that turning right at a red light is illegal; I think they may just be too polite to turn in front of oncoming traffic. It drives New Yorkers crazy, but also provides an opportunity for them to exercise their vehicle warning signal devices…….repeatedly.

The second transportation spectacle worthy of observation is what I like to call the “wave through.” If you live in the north and are reading this, the best way to explain what it looks like is to imagine what happens when you try to pull your car out in to moving traffic. Typically, the driver you are trying to move in front of will gesture you with the middle portion of their hand. In the south, they actually use their whole hand and the gesture indicates that it is O.K. for you to cut them off. Sometimes (like in the north), a battle ensues; it just looks a little different. Southern hospitality prevents the native driver from proceeding, yet the northerner is not versed in polite and therefore confused so they don’t take advantage of this gift. The southerner persists, the northerner resists, the traffic light changes and now we revert to phenomenon number one.
The third traffic wonder is, thus far, the most baffling. It involves those signs that indicate, “No Left Turn.” With all the polite behavior exhibited by my new southern BFF’s, this move makes the least sense. Numerous signs on the entrance road to my school indicate it is illegal to make a left-hand turn into the complex, yet drivers actually form a new left-hand turn lane, pass the entrance somewhat, and then negotiate backwards through the right-hand entrance. I can’t figure it out, but maybe it has something to do with years of pent up frustration navigating Sharon Road. I mean when you finally do find your way, the last thing you want to see is a sign telling you, “Yes! You’re here! But you came from the wrong direction and can’t come in!”

On the other hand, it may have something to do with proper etiquette. After all, there is no mention of, “Please, Do Not Turn Left at this intersection…Thank YEW!” No proper Southern Lady or Gentleman would dare speak a command without the correct opening and closing salutation.

Actually, I think it has more to do with the Northern Aggression on Southern Hospitality. It probably isn’t the Southerners turning left into right hand entrances, more so it is the Noo Yawkers who didn’t recognize the dialect. “No Left Toin” would probably be more effective.

Well, I’ll dutifully study this phenomenon and update you as necessary. In the meantime, here is a picture of the garage. You may now have a more complete understanding of why it is wise to stay IN it.

i knew when i posted my grits announcement i would generate concern. not to worry, mon ami….

The Pursuit of M&M Candy Satisfaction

To the casual onlooker, a person in pursuit of satisfaction and enjoyment in M&M’s has sufficient options; pop candies in your mouth, chew, and swallow. On the contrary, for an M&M connoisseur, no delightfully chocolate, candy-covered moment is circumnavigated. Bag-size selection itself is a vital part of the process. Though even among connoisseurs, a disparity in the pleasure approach exists. After numerous years of study, I have to speculate that there are three basic types of M&M connoisseurs: “Red,” eager and impatient, “Green” a social butterfly and “Blue,” easygoing and serene.

“Red,” the first in the study of connoisseurs, is as passionate and vibrant as the color indicates. They have been known to not even wait until they have arrived home to enjoy the experience. I have witnessed the sanctimonious ripping of the brown, wax-coated paper bag with teeth clenched and drool dribble. Nay, I have even succumbed to this ritual. The fierceness of the moment continues as the connoisseur then pours the bag directly into their mouth. Not even taking this moment to look away from what they are doing, the Red personality indulgences in eating the tiny morsels. One, two, three pours and the experience is over. Each chocolate plunge provided a rush of crunch, a hint of creaminess, and a desire for something more. Within seconds though, it is over. The only thing that remains in the pursuit of pleasure is a bittersweet aftertaste and telltale primary colored stains at the corners of the mouth.

In moments of haste and impatience, I have appreciated the art of the Red method of M&M enjoyment. Still, it typically led to emptiness and I found myself seeking more. To know the candy in the truest sense of its capacity leads one to believe there must be something other then this momentary passionate endeavor.

The next type is “Green.” Neutral, earthy with a hint of fun, Green is the party connoisseur. As a rule, Green enjoys their mission in group settings. Ample selections of colorful bowls that dot a party atmosphere call their name. Everyone is invited to share in the indulgence and largely all do. The Green connoisseur, clearly identified in the crowd, is the one observed at any given moment hovering close to a bowl. They grasp small handfuls of M&M’s, but not too much so as to melt in the hand. The specific amount of candy in their mouth is not as important as the availability of the next experience. They then munch casually, pretending to be oblivious to what they are partaking. Inside, however, they are savoring every precious crispy, velvety moment. While they appear to be interested in the conversation and interaction around them, all they are truly thinking of is their next mouthful. As a bowl empties, they are observed grazing to another conversation, another M&M source. The party is over when the supply has at last diminished. Green is typically known as the life of the party (imagine the sugar high), but behind closed doors, one might imagine them wearing an “I’m only here for the M&M’s” t-shirt.

The quiet and seemingly sophisticated (especially compared to Red) type of connoisseur that Green presents may seem a desirable option. Moreover, what M&M connoisseur has ever declined free flowing bowls of chocolaty goodness? Nonetheless, the communal sharing of something so personal diminishes the occasion.

The third type, “Blue,” is often considered the most well rounded connoisseur. The peacefulness and tranquility heard in the name, a consistent flow like a wave on the ocean; these are the traits identifiable with Blue in the following approach to M&M satisfaction.

The selection of “Fun Size” or possibly “Snack Size” is often the portion of choice. A quiet veranda or perhaps a cozy nook near a fireplace may be the setting. To begin with, a small tear is made in the smooth wrapper, preferably at the top corner. The aim of this technique allows for only one M&M at a time to emerge; first into the hand, then the mouth. As the candy enters Blue’s mouth, the slow melodic process of fulfillment begins. One of two options is now available; either used interchangeably. The first option is to stand the M&M sideways between the back molars and bite the candy covered coating off the chocolate. In this scenario, the chewing of the candy takes place first while the chocolate melts on the tongue. The other option is to simply place the M&M on the tongue and let it melt there on its own. Either way produces the same effect, a slow and tasteful enjoyment. A Blue connoisseur understands the value of time and recognizes any amount of M&M’s over twenty at each session is superfluous. Blue denotes contentment.

Additional inconsequential variations may occur with each type of connoisseur; there are those that actually like peanut M&M’s. As well, purists claim the colors distributed at the Holidays taste different from the traditional colors. Not included in this observation are superficial would-be connoisseurs who, upon further probing, admit a Hershey Kiss would also fulfill them. Regardless, the approach to consumption and fulfillment in each method reveals a small part of the personality of the individual. By researching these three styles, I have discovered that, at different times of my life, for a variety or reasons, there is value in each one.

Bet you won’t eat an M&M the same way again. ann maree

and welcome to my blog!

i decided to start a couple blogs to work out my writing muscles and keep everyone up to date with my life. this site is for my friends and family, amiinteriors@blogspot.com is for business. feel free to catch my meanderings on both!

so

now that i am a “southerner,” i feel i have met my life’s purpose,

grits.

northerners just don’t get it…..