Merry Christmas!

(The original concept for this post was going to be that I would stop in during the day and update as we went.... and for reasons that will become obvious later... that didn't happen.)


First.... a few words from Kate. (Yes, the picture is dark.... sorry!)




And... a picture (or two) of the girl waiting somewhat patiently to open her presents.







Just a few words about Christmas in general. Well, Christmas and Kate in particular.

This was the first Christmas that Kate was really into the whole Santa Claus thing. (I have to be careful about what I type here.... her reading skills are improving with each passing moment and I think soon she will be able to read words before they are even written... she's learning that quickly.)

She wrote two letters to Santa. (Just in case one didn't make it... never know about things like postal strikes!) As mentioned perviously, she just HAD to go see Santa to emphasize which things on her list were REALLY important.

She worried and fussed about making sure that we had mince pies in the house for Santa to eat. (Santa does mince pies, not cookies and milk over here.) Technically, he's supposed to get mulled wine as well which caused a bit of concern.

"Mum, what is mulled wine?"

"Do we have any?"

"OH NO! What is Santa going to drink!? If we don't leave him "mud" wine he might not come back again! EVER!"

After a conversation regarding the foolishness of leaving more wine out for him after he has had sooooo much already and will need to be able to steer the sleigh, it was finally agreed that before I went to bed, I would leave him a nice, hot cup of tea. It would warm him AND hopefully, help to sober him up and reduce the chance of him flying into the side of a building.

So, having gone to bed and gotten up and gone to bed and gotten up and gone to bed and gotten up.... until about 10:30pm. (And after many discussions about Santa not minding if Gran was sleeping in the same room as the Christmas tree and if he woke her up she would pretend to be asleep so that he didn't go away before leaving the presents AND she promised NOT to eat the mince pies or drink the tea no matter HOW hungry or thirsty she got....) Finally, the kid was asleep.

Jeff was awake around 7am and was demanding that we go downstairs even if Kate was still sleeping. (Did I say I wanted another child? Silly me. I have two already.)

Kate woke up at 8:15am.

It was easy to spot that she still wasn't 100% yet.

(To recap.... Saturday after visiting Santa, Kate slowly started going downhill until she was running a full blown fever if 103 by Monday/Tuesday. Bad cough. Stuffed nose. Even managed to have some wicked hallucinations at one point.

Kate crying.

Me: Honey, what's wrong?

Kate: I thought there were two of you.

That would be enough to give ME nightmares!

Anyhow, by Wednesday she was back on the upswing again and Friday morning, she was feeling much better... just not all the way there yet.)

Where was I? Oh, yes... easy to spot. Her present opening was much less frantic than it had been in previous years. Each present was examined thoroughly before she requested the next.

And she loved them all. Even the pajamas that Santa brought.

Now. I don't remember if I mentioned the puppet she got for her birthday from Gran. It was this obnoxious pink parrot-y looking thing that she saw in a toy shop and practically drown herself salivating over it. It's all I heard about for weeks.

"Mum. I really want that parrot."

"Mum. Remember that parrot we saw in the toy shop?"

"Mum. I really hope I get that parrot for my birthday."

You get the picture.

Well, she got the parrot for her birthday and I've been greeted by an obnoxious squawk every morning since. (The bird has a squeeker in its big fat birdy beak.)

"Mum. Fred is saying good morning to you."

"Mum. Fred wants breakfast."

"Mum. Fred wants to go to show and tell."

"Mum. Can I take Fred to church." (I almost said yes just to see the vicar's face when Fred either sang a hymn or chose to clear his throat during the sermon.)

"Mum. Fred's lonely. I think he needs a friend."

A friend.

I'd shoot Santa before I let him bring another one of those things down my chimney.

Fortunately for Kate. I would never shoot Gran.




Meet Fred and Bubbles.


And now my life is Hell. (Not really, but it wouldn't be any fun for the rest of them if I didn't at least pretend to be annoyed by the whole chain of events.

So, present opening commenced and finished. (I got a waffle maker! Yay me!) Everyone was well gifted and generally jolly.

So, Gran and I headed to the kitchen where we used an amazing amount of teamwork to prepare Christmas dinner. My goal for this Christmas was not not be STRESSED OUT by the whole Christmas Day thing. I wanted us all (myself included) to enjoy the day.

Which explains the time table and agenda and strict discipline when it came to the pre-prep.

"Nein! Those potatoes will be peeled before your head hits the pillow!"

"Jawohl, mein Fuhrein!"

I shocked even myself.

So, on the BIG day. Everything ran like clockwork and we even had time to sit and enjoy a cup of tea in between maneuvers.

The table looked grand. Kate helped set the table like the helpful little bunny she is. She was just SO proud of it.

And then.... when we thought we had everything under control.... disaster struck.

I somehow managed to fall out the back door.

Yes, you read that correctly.

I was heading outside to feed the remaining rabbit... Jean (Poor Bonnie... RIP.) and somehow... fell out the door. Gran caught the motion from the corner of her eye and as I fell.... in what from my point of view was in very slow motion... I was accompanied by a soundtrack of "Chip! Oh, Chip! Oh! Oh! Chip!!"

With the counterpoint of... "Please don't break anything. Don't break anything. Don't break anything." playing in the background in my head.

In a past life, I must have been a paratrooper. I tucked and rolled like a pro. Sadly, I felt more like a deranged armadillo rolling around the ground than a well-honed instrument of death and military precision.

When the dust had settled (figuratively, not literally, the ground was actually kind of wet) I felt and looked like an overturned Galapagos tortoise... and lay there and laughed my fool head off.

After a brief physical assessment, (everything seemed to be working just fine) I continued to perform my tasks and the dinner hour marched ever closer.

Candles lit. Check.

Christmas music playing. Check.

Turkey out of oven and resting. Check.

On and on it went.

There was not a thing that we weren't prepared for. The timing was perfect, everything was hitting the table at just the right moment.

If I may be allowed to interject.... I must mention that THE thing I hate the most about big feasty days like this.... carving.

I hate carving birds.

I'm not good at it. I'm not comfortable with it.

Gran always shoves the knife in my hand. (Her excuse is that she's making gravy...)

I could ask Jeff (who has never carved a piece of meat in his life) but by the time he'd find his tape measure and meticulously carve each piece into equal slices (taking time to even the slices out).... it would be New Year.

Perhaps it is better for the animal kindgom that I didn't become a veterinarian. My surgery skills would probably be considered scandalous and probably do more harm than good. (On the other hand, maybe I'd be a master carver if I had to learn surgical skills!)

Back to the action...

The guests arrived.

We sat in our well-ordered and prearranged seating. (As noted by the handmade bags that Gran made and Kate decorated and filled with bits of candy.)

Grace was said.

Crackers were pulled.

And the meal commenced.




And the phone rang.

Now, before anyone gets offended... I loved the fact that I was called on Christmas day... Christmas morning by US standards. I miss Christmas mornings with the American contingent and it was great to hear the noise and bustle in the background.

Having said that, I'm sure that they would have all understood if I had stayed on the phone a bit longer (being multiple time zones away from my family does have its perks) but I was starving and after having worked my fingers to the bone, I wanted to enjoy my turkey and potatoes and stuffing as they were meant to be eaten... hot!

So, having promised to call later in the day, I quickly got off the phone and sat down to eat.

There wasn't much talking... we were too busy stuffing food into our mouths. Then dessert came about (chocolate chip cheesecake, apple pie, yule log (choc cake roll) or Christmas pudding) and coffee or tea.



It was about then that I noticed something odd happening.

My right foot, which up until I had sat down had felt fine, was feeling a bit... twingey.

And the twinge became an ache.

And the ache quickly transformed into soul crushing pain that left me unable to even look at my foot much less stand on it.

I transferred myself to the couch and attempted to find some position where the pain wasn't grabbing me by the hair and swinging me around like a rag doll. Sadly, it wasn't an easy thing to do.

Which was why I didn't call my family back. If I heard my Mom's voice, I probably would have burst into tears and Kate was stressed enough. So, I sat there in discomfort (using the classic English understatement skills that I am acquiring), downing Advil, and alternately icing and applying heat (heat gave me the best relief) to my foot. (Or begging for an axe to chop the offending appendage off....)

No matter how I sat or where I put my foot (high, low, supported, loose, straight, turned) it hurt. Frighteningly, when left to its own devices, it kept trying to curl up like some reincarnation of Richard III.

(Note: Richard III, though often portrayed by Tudor writers with some form of physical deformity (hunchback, clubbed foot, withered arm, etc...)was actually not. It was simply the "hack writers" of the time period making stuff up as "proof" of his evil nature. Despite all his "perceived" ills and shortcomings, Richard III was nonetheless voted into the 100 great British heroes list in 2002.)

Jeff did his very best to tend to me during the afternoon.... while playing his Beatles:Rock Band on the Wii with whatever musical instrument he got for Christmas. (Perhaps McCartney's bass?). I can now probably sing most of the songs that are on there. Yay me!

Eventually, Reg and Pat (our honoured guests)left for the evening with their well wishes and prayers and we were left to our own devices. Not too much else happened. Gran got Kate off to bed. Jeff played with the Wii. I occasionally crawled off the couch and up the stairs to use the bathroom or once in a fit of stubborn independence out to the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea. (Which I had to humbly ask my glowering husband to carry into the living room for me since I had to admit that I couldn't carry it and crawl at the same time.)

(He was glowering because I was being stubborn, not because I asked him to help.)

And then... the day was over.

I crawled the stairs for a final time to go to bed.

Gran bedded down in the livingroom.

Jeff gingerly came to bed, afraid to get in because he might jostle me in my sleep and I might rip his arm off (while sleeping) in retaliation.

And the next morning.....?

It was all better.

Honestly.

I could walk. (Carefully.. but a vast improvement.)

The things I do in order to get out of washing dishes on Christmas Day.

Merry Christmas.

From all of us.

To all of you.

Ho Ho Ho!

Finally.

It's Kate's 7th Christmas and she finally did that thing that every kid does.






Kate telling Santa how it is.... (She's been good. What toys her little heart desires.)



This is as close to his lap as it gets....



Choosing a toy afterwards....



My hopes for a white Christmas. This was taken Saturday afternoon and we had another inch Saturday night... so things are a little whiter. If the temperatures hold, we just might have it!

Emmalou

They are not dead,
Who leave us this great heritage of remembering joy.

They still live in our hearts,
In the happiness we knew, in the dreams we shared.

They still breathe,
In the lingering fragrance,windblown, from their favourite flowers.

They still smile in the moonlight’s silver,
And laugh in the sunlight’s sparking gold.

They still speak in the echoes of the words we’ve heard them say again and again.

They still move,
In the rhythm of waving grasses, in the dance of the tossing branches.

They are not dead;
Their memory is warm in our hearts, comfort in our sorrow.

They are not apart from us, but part of us,
For love is eternal,
And those we love shall be with us throughout all eternity.

~Author Anonymous




Most people who read my blog already know that my Aunt Emmalou passed away recently. In fact, I would hazard to guess that most of the people who read this were actually at the funeral.

For those who weren't there and didn't know, I'll give a brief explanation. (Yes, I know... I just said that I would say something... brief.)

Emmalou was a constant presence in my older childhood/young adult years. She lived with my Grandmother, Aunt Sue and her family, and our family at the family homestead. (Yes, I am aware that I typed "family" three times in a short space of words. Consider it emphasis.)

When she was born with Down's Syndrome, my grandparents (being the kind of grandparents who valued family above all else... and they certainly must have to have had ten children!) rebelled against the practice of giving a child born with such obvious mental handicaps over to the state and instead took her home to raise her with the love that she deserved as a part of this family that they cherished. She was not a flawed gem to be hidden away in shame, but a precious and unique gift to shine among the other jewels.

She was raised with love and compassion and laughter and kindness.

The recent years saw her suffer the ravages of dementia and after a fairly brief (unlike my writing) struggle with illness, she passed away at the age of 57.

I was lucky enough to get home for the funeral. My husband, Jeff, tried to get me to go home when she first fell ill but I resisted. There's a difference between being 3546 miles away and feeling helpless and being up close and personal and still feeling helpless.

But... enough about that.

Midway through my 7+ hour flight home, the entertainment system on the plane failed horribly and I was left with no other option for staying awake than to pull out my laptop and write.

So, this is what I wrote. You'll notice it is written in the style of a public speech. I did not presume that I would actually speak it... it's just the way it wrote itself.


*****************************************************************

You'll forgive me if I break the basic rules of public speaking and don't make eye contact with you as much as I should, if I manage to look at you at all for the rest of this. I learned the hard way at Grandmom's funeral that looking at my family at times like this does funny things to my ability to breathe, speak, or sing.

The Golden Books have a children's book called The Poky Little Puppy which I read on occasion to the various children in the household at some time or another.The misadventures of a puppy who always lagged behind the others.

The actual story isn't all that important, but the title character is.

It happened quite by accident. One day while trying to motivate Emmalou into moving at a somewhat reasonable pace for some event, perhaps dinner, I coaxed her along by teasing, “Come on, Pokey Puppy.”

Emmalou took great offense at being called a Poky Puppy....and so, the game was afoot.

I suppose I should mention that I was in my teens when this occurred. At this miserable time of life, I.... like most teens.... took some pride and satisfaction in riling people up. Even if it wasn't in my best interest. Like the time I was tired of being scolded by Aunt Sue for what felt like the millionth time and I tossed a glass of water on her and told her to cool off.

Thank goodness she didn't look for me under Mom's bed. I'm still not sure how I squeezed myself under there.... or how I got out.

But, I digress, as I am prone to doing.

It became a regular event. I would call Emmalou a Poky Puppy and she would complain and moan until I was either told to “knock it off” by an adult or Emmalou would finally speak the phrase.... "Chipper... Leave me me lone."

And then one day....ah, boundaries, how I loved to test them.... I took it a step further and called her Poky Puppy one time too many.

Emmalou looked as if she were truly going to kill me. Her mouth worked furiously as her hands clenched and unclenched. Her eyes rolled as she seemed to be searching for something.... anything.... to say to me that would teach me a lesson I wouldn't forget.

With growing horror, I realized what was happening and tried to stop the volcanic explosion that seemed just moments away.

“Shhhh,” I hissed. “I'm sorry! I 'm sorry!' I was desperate. What if she said something horrible!? What if she SWORE at me!? What if my mom or Aunt Sue or Grandmom heard her and made me suffer their justified, collective wrath?!

Was there anything worse than vacuuming the stairs or cleaning the bathroom AND having my work inspected by Mom? I didn't want to find out.

I braced myself, convinced that I would spend my next few weeks.... maybe even months condemned to learning the proper way to peel a potato.... with a paring knife. She sputtered and stammered and finally, out it came.

"Chipper!" She spoke with the fury of an angel of vengeance."You are snake stew!"

Snake stew.

Then.... thinking that she had indeed said the worst thing she could think of, her hand flew up to cover her mouth in horror.

And I laughed.

In my relief and in the comedy of the moment, I laughed.

And then she laughed. We both laughed.

Not just a giggle. Real, teary eyed laughter that left us gasping long enough for one of us to say “snake stew” and begin convulsing all over again.

You would think that it would have stopped there, but it didn't.We began to heckle each other. "Poky Puppy." "Snake Stew." "Poky Puppy." "Snake stew."Ad nauseum.Often to the point where someone would have to tell us, “Will you TWO knock it off!” at which point we'd cease while cacklingto ourselves.



Unexpectedly though, suddenly, the shoe was now on the other foot.

I became the heckled. I could be sitting at the kitchen table struggling over some homework assignment when “snake stew” would be whispered into my ear, blowing my concentration and making me lose the glimmer of hope I had of successfully factoring.

She would mutter it at me as she did her “work” at the table. Filling page upon page of notebook after notebook with her signature. Each line identical to the others. Each loop, curve, and curl in her name painstakingly practised. Each perfectly formed letter a testament to the love and support that she got at home, from her family, which enabled her to sign her name.<

The pride she had in her accomplishments was boundless and each one, no matter how small, was celebrated. A bowling score of 56. A paycheck of one dollar thirty seven cents. Some days it was as uncomplicated as combing her hair or tying her shoes. She would coo and chuckle her pleasure in things that most of us would take for granted.

Her joys were simple. A new pair of boots. A cassette tape. A coloring book. Sharpening a pencil. And sharpening a pencil. And sharpening a pencil. Crayons. Serenading the neighborhood whilst swinging on her swing. Yelling at Peaches for stealing her sandwich.

Okay, maybe not that.... but it WAS funny.

Especially when Uncle Joe got the blame initially.

The gifts she gave are priceless. She taught me patience and tolerance. She gave me... gave us all... unconditional and unlimited love.

A love that was never withheld from anyone who came through the door. Each visitor was greeted and hugged and sometimes even kissed. There is not a friend that I brought home who was not touched by her (literally and figuratively) and though it is 20 years or more since they walked through the back door, whenever I hear from them they always ask, “and how's Emmalou?”

The scriptures tell us that when we leave this earth and go to our heavenly home, we will be made resplendant in new and perfect bodies that will not age, that will not suffer infirmity or disease.

I cannot help but to wonder how, if I manage to make my way though those pearly gates, how will I recognize her?



And now the answer is quite clear to me. For it was never her handicap that made Emmalou who she was... but the bright and blinding love that she had for us all that made her truly remarkable. A love that was nurtured and nourished and encouraged by each of us here today. A love that touched us all.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that we owe it to ourselves and to Emmalou and even to Grandmom and Grandpop(because it was their courage and value of family that brought this gift into our lives instead of hiding it away) we owe it to them to remember the things that she taught us.

To find joy in the simple things. A perfectly sharpened pencil.

To take pride in your accomplishments no matter how small they may seem to others. There is no shame in bowling a 56 if you have bowled the best 56 that you can.

And to love one another. Even if it is a vile and moody teenager who heckles you to the point of frustration time and time again.

And if that day comes when I see Emmalou again in that perfect and shining form that God sees us in, if I fail to recognize her, if that love is not enough for me to see her for who she is... I guess I'll have to wait until she whispers in my ear, “Snake Stew.”

Kate and the Beanstalk

Well, it's that time of year again....

Every Thursday throughout the school year, each class runs an assembly.

This week... it was Kate's class.

About a week ago, she came home with some small slips of paper attached to her homework assignment.

"What are these, Kate?" I asked suspiciously.

"Oh, we're doing Jack and the Beanstalk for 'ssembly." She said breezily.

"So, what are these?" I repeated.

"I'm the mother," she finally answered.

The mother.

Three lines.

A speaking role.

Oh, dear.

Now, we all know Kate and her love of public appearances. In a nutshell, she generally hates them. Doesn't do well at them. (Though she was absolutely stellar as the Christmas star in last year's nativity.)

So, we learned lines. I put together a costume. Gran made an apron and headscarf.

And I held my breath.

They were rehearsing when we got there. A load of parents showed up and then the rest of the school slowly filed in. I was careful not to make too much eye contact incase I saw the look of sheer terror as she realized what she was going to have to do and how many people she was going to do it in front of.

Yes, Jack looks suspiciously like a Jedi Knight.

The preparation:

The opening number:

"Jack, take the cow to the market"

"You must sell her and you must bring me the money."

"Where's the money?"

"Magic Beans?"

"No money! No cow! Only beans!"

Kate chops down the beanstalk!

The big finish!

No hard feelings. Kate and the Ogre are still friends. (Though there is some dispute as to who gets custody of the cow.)

If you want to torture yourself... you can watch bits and pieces of the performance here.....

The Chincoteague Report - Day 4

(Tuesday, August 11, 2009)

Well, another hot day. Another sunny day.

A morning of leisure followed by an afternoon at the beach. Lots of sun. Lots of sand. Lots of fun!

Jeff stayed at home out of the heat. (Was he avoiding the heat or just staying off my irritation radar?)

The beach was significantly less crowded than it had been on Sunday. Without the tent o' shade and shadow, set up was much quicker and I was free to enjoy the water much sooner than the previous beach outing. As Shelby and I stood looking out at the water, I commented, "People aren't out as far today."

We soon discovered why.

We didn't get far from the shoreline when neither of us could touch the bottom! It was fabulous! The water was relatively placid without the waves that crashed and foamed further out. The ocean had turned into a swimming pool. After enjoying myself for a bit, I headed in to sit and read in the warmth of the summer sun.

The horseflies seemed to think that I was some sort of picnic spread just for them and were quite a pain (literally and figuratively) but a bit of spray around my ankles solved that problem for the most part and I ploughed my way through most of Susan Wiggs' book, Just Breathe. Not my usual literary fare or fantasy or sci-fi, it was a nice beach book. Mind candy for someone who just needed to relax and not think about things for a bit.

I've actually plowed my way through quite a few books in the last few weeks. Shelby loaned me the Books of Ember series by Jeanne DuPrau. As a young reader's series, I can recommend them. They are well written and characterized with sound messages and enough depth for adolescents to do some serious thinking about the world around them as well as for adults to engage their children in meaningful dialogue. (This reminds me... I have to read the last one... Jeff was reading it and I was waiting for him to finish.)

Kristin Hannah's book, True Colors, was also swiftly devoured. Another beach blanket jewel, it dealt with love and family and revolved around three sisters.... and.... a horse ranch. Ah, yes.... I'm always a sucker for a book with horses involved.

The Diary by Eileen Goudge was a quick, afternoon read for me. Two sisters trying to unravel the mystery of their dying mother's diary and the mysterious love revealed within its pages. Had she given up the love of her life for the security of their father? Captivating.

Right. Well, this wasn't intended to be Chip's Book Corner. It's my vacation!

Kate was a real pro with the water this time. I'm telling you.... there is the Horse Whisperer and the Dog Whisperer.... well, my niece Shelby must be the Child Whisperer. She's got the patience of a saint with children who are not her siblings and she had Kate out jumping waves. Perhaps it helped that the ocean was calmer, gentler but in my eyes she was a miracle worker!

Jumping waves? Or waves jumping them?

Yes! She's standing!!

Okay, I'll be honest. Kate's new found confidence with the water makes me a tad bit nervous. Where before I knew as sure as the sun rises and sets, Kate wouldn't dip her toes into the surf and unless she wandered down the beach chasing seagulls or surf-lines she was relatively safe.

Now, I'm not so sure and since her swimming skills are zero... it makes me a bit apprehensive. Ah, well, I'm her mother. That's why I get paid the big bucks. HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Dinner was burgers, fries, shrimp kabobs, rice, laughter, lip smacking, giggles, and most importantly a taste of home. For some strange reason, my brother Ditto has a case of Stella Artois at his house. This Belgian beer can be found in almost every alcohol selling venue in the UK (unlike my hometown fav Yuengling) and so I did what any good sister would do when she might be missing her every day life..... I commandeered a six pack and brought it to Chincoteague! Yay me!

The Creamery beckoned and we could not resist it's siren call. Tonight's Creamery Report:

Jeff: a scoop of Oreo cookie and Mint Choc Chip. Though he had declared his orange sherbet/grapefruit sorbet combo of the other night to be something special, this blend of flavours was deemed to be "perfect."

Kate: Chocolate with rainbow sprinkles. Her fav and disapeared faster than an ice cube at the beach.

Me: Sorry my nut-haters. I had a one scoop sundae. Vanilla ice cream. Choc. Syrup and peanut butter with whipped cream and topped with a cherry. It was FAB!

No Round Ups attempted.

Please, Mum... Can we have some more?


Mine! Mine Mine!


Ummm.... Jeff? Ice cream is for eating.... not smoking.

We stopped by the Chincoteague Pony Center (http://www.chincoteague.com/ponycentre/) before heading back to the house. Many ponies were seen. Maybe I'll do a brief blog about the Chincoteague Ponies for my non-Chincoteague savvy readers. Kate suckered me into buying her a horse hand puppet. It makes a change from the dinosaurs.

A few pony pics.



Thunderstorms moved in during the night, rolling over the waters with the resonance of a drum line. Jeff actually asked me if he should be worried. "Are you sure it isn't an earthquake?" Yes, I do sometimes miss my extreme weathers. Weather in England can be a bit like its food. Bland.

Well, that's it for Tuesday. We'll find out how Wednesday goes on.... Wednesday.

Good night!

The Chincoteague Report - Day 3

(Monday, August 10, 2009)

Well, what can I say?

With temps in the high 90's and a heat index of 105 it was not day day for walking trails and being active people. It's the kind of day that snakes spend beneath rocks and hippos don't bother getting out of their river.

My Kate went with her cousins to the beach in the morning with Grammy and Dad and I... stayed home. Most people don't really get that. I rarely take the time to actually sit and READ a book and when I get an opportunity handed to me like that... I take it. Sometimes when Gran takes Kate for the day, she seems to expect that Jeff and I will spent a whirlwind day going places and doing things.

The reality is.... we'd much rather just hang around and be... us.

Anyhow.... we spent a good portion of the day reading and then decided to wander out and get a few supplies that were needed (like water) and just drive around the island a bit. We drove out past the NASA Wallops Island Facility and looked at things through the chain link fence and hoped that we weren't going to be mistaken for terrorists.

Then we drove around Chincoteague Island just looking at things that I remembered from other summers. Tom's Cove Campground, other properties that we had stayed in, the giant viking, docks, food places, etc....

When everyone returned to home base we headed out to dinner. Not just any dinner. I guess I better explain.

A billion years ago, my Mom and a friend had been traveling in this part of the world and had stumbled across a restaurant with a nice view over the waterfront at a Marina. They had a lovely lunch there and then continued on their way.

Mom has wanted to return there. She couldn't remember the name of it, the town it was in, anything about it except for a vague memory of what direction it was in. She had Gretchen and Steve driving around last year in an attempt to find it.

Enter the Web Ferret.

Gretchen asked me to try my hand at the internet to help find it. After pumping Mom for as much information as I could, I dove into the burrows and tunnels of the interweb (Jeff hates when I call it that). Sniffing my way through Google, I found a likely suspect. It appears that the Web Ferret was successful.

So, off to The Island House Restaurant in a small coastal town known as Wachapreague, Virginia.

http://www.wachapreague.com/theislandhouse.html

We had a lovely dinner for the most part.

http://www.wachapreague.com/MENU/IslandHouseDinner%20Menu.pdf

Kate had chicken tenders, fries, and applesauce and also shared Mom's shrimp cocktail. Jeff started with the Clams Casino and then had the 1st Mate's catch. I had the crab quesadillas and a Prince cut of delmonico steak. For which I got much harrassment about. Oh, noes! I got a steak at a seafood joint!

Honestly? I wasn't totally thrilled by the selections offered and decided that I would order a steak that I knew I would enjoy (have I mentioned that British beef.... quite frankly.... sucks) than a seafood meal that I may or may not enjoy. So there.

Anyhow... Jeff ended up sharing my crab thingy... I enjoyed my steak and other than the lipstick on Gretchen's glass, Steve getting the wrong starter (which they quickly replaced) and Jeff getting sweet potato fries instead of a baked potato (which was also quickly replaced) we had a nice time. The mystery of the Missing Restaurant was solved and the day ended peacefully with full tummies.

(Coming for Tuesday.... Beach and Ice Cream.)

The Chincoteague Report - Day 2

(Sunday, August 9, 2009)

So, I promised a house report and a house report you'll get.

First of all, let me remind you that we're dealing with accommodations for nine people. Affordable accommodations for nine people. Five adults. Four children. So, we managed to find a lovely three bedroom house that fit the bill quite nicely. A queen bed, a double bed, three twins, and a sleeper sofa.

Basically, my sister and brother in law were assigned to the queen, Jeff and I managed to commandeer the double, my mom snagged one of the twins... and then there were the children. Ah, yes.... the children. Four kids, two twin beds, and a sofa bed which is located downstairs.

Well, the only way that I was letting Kate the Great sleep downstairs was if she slept with her cousin Shelby. Eventually, it was decided that the Kate-ly wonder would sleep in one of the remaining twin beds and her cousins would rotate in the third with the other two sleeping in the sofa bed.

So. Sleeping arrangements sorted.

The house is what one would describe as.... quaint, eccentric, filled with character. A lovely screened in porch greets you at the front. The kitchen is small by American standards though it does manage to comfortably hold a table that seats four. The rooms are .... interesting. Well, not the rooms so much as the.... floors. Every room seems to be at a different elevation. You can't go through a doorway without having to step up or down.

Oh, and the height of the ceilings is.... interesting. Let's just say that at 5' 3" I sometimes have to fight the urge to duck through doorways. Jeff has hit his head so hard that it's brought him to his knees. I can't and don't even want to begin to imagine what it would be like if someone was...... 6'4"!!

So, Sunday.... a morning of investigating and shopping for various odds and ends that we needed here at the house. Lunch. Then... the beach!

The beach was ultra-crowded. At a point right before the parking lots begin, there was a ranger stationed in the middle of the road letting traffic into the lots. For every car that left, one car was let in. Never in the years that I've been here have I ever seen it like this!

Jeff hates the sun. Hates the heat. Hates water. So the beach would be the absolutely best place in the world to take him, right?? After fighting with a lovely sun tent that was purchased to aid in his comfort (actually, it was more a small tiff than a fight), Jeff decided that he was worried that the thing would make like a kite and fly away. Which led to him and I recreating a scene from Gunfight at the OK Corral and me making like mermaid and heading into the water to cool off.

Shelby was quick to join me as I headed out a bit farther than the others and we had a great time in the waves until my maternal/wifely guilt kicked in and I decided that I had better go check on the more non-aquatic members of my family.

Kate was absolutely brilliant this year! She loved playing in the surf and had a great time jumping in the waves and playing with Carly's boogie board. (Small surf board thing for those who are unfamiliar.)






It was back to the house around 3:30pm and then some baked ziti that my sister prepared and froze before vacation. (Have I mentioned that my sister is the EXTREME planner in the family? Vacations are planned down to the final detail and menus are arranged and prepared weeks in advance. I should also mention she rocks and I know that my more lackadaisical and spontaneous view of vacation must drive her batty.)

After dinner, Gretchen and her family rode their bikes to the Creamery. Mom, Jeff, Kate and I did the car thing.

Creamery Report:

Jeff had orange serbet and grapefruit sorbet and proclaimed it excellent. Kate had her chocolate in a dish from the start. (It was eaten with due haste and rainbow sprinkles.) I stuck to my vow of one scoop only and got Elvis Chocolate Dream which was created by one of the local elementary schools. Rich chocolate ice cream, chunks of peanut butter fudge (apologies to my peanut butter hating friends), and frozen bananas. Horribly rich and divinely decadent. I LOVED it. No roundups were attempted at this time.



Steve is confident that he will perservere and Jeff is still balking at the idea of putting his money where his mouth is. (Or as I like to say.... his mouth is writing checks his ass can't cash....)

The bike riders than headed over to Assateague for another tour of "The Loop." The Mom-mobile also made the trip as well. I had my camera in hand this time! When we stopped by the side of the road so I could see how photogenic a lovely pair of deer were...... I was thwarted by a winged menace! Well, many winged menaces!

Mosquitoes!!! Argh!!

As soon as I stepped from the car they swarmed me like... like.... like mosquitoes! I quickly snapped a few shots... killed the ten or so that were attempting to raid my blood supply and jumped back in the car! Unfortunately, a few determined blood suckers came with me and we spent some time on a bug hunt before all was clear.





When we saw the ponies again (same set that was seen the night before...) I was ordered to remain IN the vehicle.

Jeff was quite amazed by the numbers of dragonflies that he saw... but judging by how plentiful their food supply is (you guessed it... mostquitoes) it suddenly wasn't quite so amazing.

It was twice around, looking for the bike riding contingent of the vacationers and then back to the house. (Bike riders spotted on the way home.)

Oh, I forgot to mention our friend! Evidently there is a pet deer that roams around the house and after the bikers left for The Creamery.... he made an appearance!




Okay... I better get to bed. It's going on 11pm and someone.... whose name begins with J and ends with F is getting annoyed at me being up "so" late. *cue the maniacal laughter*

I'm going to add pictures in the morning. (If I can!) (As you can see.... pictures added!!)

(Coming up.... Monday, Monday..... Searching for Mom's Restaurant of Dreams and Other Non-Adventures.)

The Chincoteague Report - Day 1

(Please note: These are NOT written on the day they happen....)

Saturday, August 8th

Greetings and welcome to my report from the merry land of Chincoteague!

For those who don't know....

Chincoteague is an island located off the coast of Virginia near the Maryland border. My family and I have been coming to the island since... well... since I was in sixth or seventh grade. Ever since I had read the book "Misty of Chincoteague" by Marguerite Henry, I had an overwhelming desire to see the place of "Pony Penning." In the fourth grade, when presented with a project to research and report on a place I would want to visit, Chincoteague was the place for me.

In meticulous detail I presented a week of fun in the sun complete with itinerary, travel arrangements, and budget. I drew pictures, wrote to the Chamber of Commerce, and got pamplets from any place that could provide them. In those days before the instant gratification of the internet, it was a project of love and patience and in the end I persevered.

Well, it turns out my teacher, Mrs. Killian, wasn't the only person impressed with my imaginary travel log. My mother was as well. A few years later, she packed her four kids and assorted belongings into my Uncle Harold's pickup truck with the cap on the back that converted into a bed or a table and we were off to visit my dream destination.

And we've never looked back.

Or anywhere else.

Now we're passing the love of the islands to the next generation and three generations of the Evans family are now sharing a house on good ole Chincoteague. Things have changed since that first summer so many years ago when the island didn't even have a McDonald's, but our love for it hasn't diminished.

So, after an almost five hour drive with my mother at the wheel (Some things don't change.) I once more smelled the pungent saltiness of the marshes on the heat of the summer breeze.

That evening to celebrate our arrival at the place where my childhood dreamed fanciful scenarios and my teenage heart first twittered softly at the sight of a boy's long, tanned legs and shoulders just beginning to show the first signs of muscled broadness, we went to The Island Creamery.

The Island Creamery (www.islandcreamery.net) is one of the newer things in the grand scheme of the family history but has quickly become one of the favourite. Hand made ice cream with a large and ever changing selection to choose from, the Creamery is THE place to go for an evening treat.

So, night one at the Creamery....

Kate the Great went the simple route. Chocolate in a cone. Which promptly became chocolate in a cone in a dish. And a chocolate covered child.

Jeff's choice of the evening was Mint Chocolate Chip. Devoured quickly and I was informed that he would be happy to help with mine if needed. The sacrifices he makes for me. How lucky can a girl get?

I went with variety. A scoop of Cherries Jubilee (cherries and liquor) and a scoop of cantaloupe ice cream. (It had chunks of actual cantaloupe!) Jeff requested that if he DID have to help me out with mine, he would appreciate it if I ate the Cherries Jubilee first. Unfortunately for him, I managed to choke it all down. Though I did vow that from this night on I would stick with one scoop.

Now, the Creamery has challenge. If you can eat a whole Round Up (five scoops of ice cream, three toppings, whipped cream and cherries (nuts optional)) by yourself, they will take your picture and put it on their photos page on their website. (It used to be on the wall inside the shop but technology and lack of space moved them to the infinite nature of the interweb.)

The eldest of Kate's Levan cousins, Shelby (age 12), decided that this was her year to shine. So, she ordered the Round Up. Ate and ate and ate.... and couldn't finish it all. Better luck next time, Shelbs!

After the Creamery, we set off to Assateague Island (home of the "wild ponies") to do a quick tour of the wild life. Ponies were seen! (I, of course, didn't have my camera with me and sulked in the car.) Kate was riding with her cousins in the other car and got out to see them. Hopefully, I'll be able to steal a few of her photos to post.

Back to the house. (Remind me to tell you about this... odd .... bit of architecture.) Off to bed.

End of Day 1.

Hopefully, I'll feel inclined to at least present ice cream updates on a regular basis!

Pulling a John Denver....

Well, as the song goes....

I'm leaving on a jet plane...

Actually, I've already left and have arrived in the good ole US of A.

Thought I'd share a few of my many thoughts of the flight here...

Well, we made it.

The trip to the airport wasn't as annoying as it could have been... Jeff decided that we were taking public transportation. Much to me endless irritation. I've done this before with just my luggage and a small child in tow. Now we'll have THREE people's worth of luggage and hand luggage and one five year old. A five year old who I needed to remain in a good mood for an eight hour flight. But hey... who am I to argue?

I think I must have developed some sort of inner zen. Some sort of secret place where I can go during less than positive moments. Whenever I felt a rising wave of annoyance, frustration, or irritation..... I just... went there. At one point on the tube, Jeff looked at me and asked,”What are you grinning about?” Don't ask me where I go and no, I'm not taking you with me.

So, train to Farringdon station, then on to Hammersmith, across the street to another ... tube which took us to Terminal 5. Heathrow.

We had checked in online so we just had to check our bags and make our way through security. Try explaining to Kate that her stuffed flamingo had to leave her hands in order to go through some scary looking machine. Oh, and take her shoes off.

Oh, and when her mother set off the metal detector, she was definitely trying to figure out why some strange woman was being a little too friendly... Ah well, we made it... didn't we?

Got a bit of lunch at the terminal in the form of some overpriced sandwiches... don't these people understand the beauty of McDonald's when traveling with youngsters? Then suddenly it was time!

Right. So, what is the point of pre-boarding if you're just going to be stuck on a bus like a herd of cattle and then all board en masse anyway?

Okay, I'll get the important stuff over with first. Food. I know you'll want to know even if it is airline food.

BA has always had pretty decent food in my opinion. (For airline food... I feel I have to qualify that.)

Kate's meal was awesome (in her culinary experience.) Usually the kids meals resort to pasta which is messy. This time they went with simple and simple is better! Baked chicken, mashed potatoes, peas. All good things in the world of Kate. The fruit salad was... well, pathetic. One grape, one slice of orange, one piece of pineapple, one piece (not slice) of melon, does not a fruit salad make. Though it did score higher on the Kate-meter than the chocolate dipped fruit from last time. In the world of Kate chocolate is chocolate and fruit is fruit and never the two should meet. Piece of cheese was devoured. Roll was nice, but she wasn't in a bread mood. Yogurt went untouched. Dessert was chocolate buttons.

The adult meals. We had a choice of cottage pie or chicken. Duh. No contest. The chicken was served in a red sauce over pasta with some grilled veg with it. (Ah HA! There's the obligatory pasta!) Taste was nice enough. A little.... dry (how can a sauce be dry? Oh, maybe pasty is the word I want. Pasty pasta!) Salad. What is it with weeds in a bowl make a salad? Dressing was rubbish. Roll was soft and not half frozen. Dessert looked nice. Chocolate mousse tort thing with an orange sauce. Jeff thought it was... very nice. I felt the chocolate was not strong enough and the overly sweetened fruit sauce overpowered it.

I've just been informed that I watch too much Master Chef.

And now I get to switch into movie critic mode. Yay!

First out of the gate. I decided to watch He's just not that into You. Not a bad flick. Mostly enjoyable. Ensemble piece with some interesting names. Jennifer Connelly. Drew Barrymore. Scarlet Johannson. Jennifer Aniston. Ben Affleck(who was strangely likeable in this.... though to be fair, I don't seem to have the dislike for Mr Affleck that some people do. Love him in Chasing Amy and probably anything he does with Kevin Smith.) And isn't Justin Long just as cute as the proverbial button?

It was a nice piece of mindless fluff with some amusing moments, some touching moments and some nice turns of acting.

Okay, next on my movie list was..... I Love You, Man. I tried. I really did. I just couldn't do it. I think I may have lasted a full half hour. I even made it past the part where the guy projectile vomited all over another guy. Paul Rudd was likeable enough. I just can't stand to watch when I know things are about to go terribly wrong.

So, why? Well, I just think I must be lacking something in the humour department. I just can't stand most of the grossly funny films out there and I DO want to be able to appreciate them. (I feel like some sort of freak because I don't!) Since I break out in hives when I see Will Farrel (with the exception of the movie Stranger than Fiction... but then I enjoyed cheering for Emma Thompson's character to kill him off... which... I must point out is the same reaction I had to Russell Crowe in Gladiator.... Kill him! Kill him NOW! Oh, damn, he's still alive ....) Paul Rudd seemed safe enough.

So, I switched over to Sunshine Cleaning. Billed as a comedy. Not a comedy in my book. Some wistfully amusing moments, but far too much angsty, down troddenness to qualify for a true comedy. Quirky. I did like it. Mostly. Just not what I expected or wanted.

After this was over, I was a bit at a loss. I had two to three hours before we would land.... I started to watch LOTR: RotK....but couldn't get settled enough to enjoy it. So, I popped over to the music section, chose a playlist and listened to music.

Kate was just great, by the way. She watched Ice Age 2 twice and Monsters vs Aliens. She's an absolute pro at traveling and I can't say enough about how great she is. (Though she was quite put out by the fact that she could not sit by the window.) She ate great. Sat quietly the whole trip and used the onboard facilities without any problems. I couldn't help but notice that she's not my baby anymore. She's growing up. I'm not quite sure if I should cheer or cry.

Eventually... we landed fine. Made it through passport control and customs without incident. Gretchen and Steve met us there... and was met by a Kate-o-saurus.

Well, that's the trip.

Next up.... Day 1.

Chip's Wimbledon Roundup

Well, another season at Wimbledon came and went. Well, is in the process of going. I’m currently watching the Federer (2) vs Roddick (6) match. (Men’s singles final for those who don’t pay attention….. and if you don’t care, I wouldn’t suggest that you read much further. This is pretty much about tennis.) Actually, the match will probably finish while I’m writing this….. we’re in the final set.

For two weeks pretty much all I’ve watched is tennis. Not so much the ladies, but more the men. (Though I did keep one wary eye on the Williams sisters.)

Since the French Open, I’ve had a new twinkle in my eye when it comes to this crazy game. In fact, I’ve probably talked about him ad nauseum to anyone who will listen. Robin Soderling. This 24 year old (25 in August) from Sweden is currently ranked 12th. So, how did this unknown presence manage to catch my eye? How did he manage to divert my attention from watching the feline grace of Federer and cheering on the latest great hope from the UK, Andy Murray? How could someone make me abandon the US favourite, Andy Roddick?

Quite simply, he knocked Rafael Nadal out of the French Open. Rafael Nadal who had won the French Open for the last four years and ruined Federer’s chance of winning Wimbledon (last year) and beating Bjorn’s record of five consecutive wins. I don’t like him.

When Robin knocked the strutting Spaniard from the Grand Slam tournament that he’s owned for the past four years (managed to keep Roger from winning) I was delirious with joy and my gratitude allowed him to now hold a place in my stable of sports figures that I officially cheer for. He didn’t embarrass himself while playing Roger in the final and his after game interview showed him to be a gracious loser and humorous to boot! (Though I’m betting that he regrets telling Roger that he wouldn’t beat him 10 times in a row. He played some brilliant tennis in the rounds leading up to his tenth match against the Swiss, I would have liked to have seen him go a bit further before being knocked out.)

This 6’ 4” powerhouse had been riddled with injury problems over the last few years, but with a new coach, Magnus Norman (World number 2 in June 2000) came a new attitude and the young man who was chastised for mocking Nadal’s trademark short’s tugging in 2007 has matured not only in personality but in his tennis as well. Known for his stubbornness and ability to dig in when things get tough, his game has improved and I look forward to seeing more of him… hopefully.



And have I mentioned I love an underdog?

The men’s side of things have had some rather good matches. The Roddick vs Hewitt match was a nail biter to the bitter end and by that point, I didn’t know who I was cheering for anymore! Roddick, the US player (whose coach Larry Stefanki sounds more like a renegade cowboy than a tennis guru in interviews) who was ready to quit before his wife evidently convinced him to stick with it. (Isn’t she cute as a button?) Or Lleyton Hewitt, the former World number 1 (November 2001) who according to John McEnroe was playing like the champion he once was.

And watching the Fed go up against Ivo Carlovic. The 22 ranker Croatian stands at 6'10" and has a literal monster of a serve. It was like watching art in action to see Roger use every ounce of accuracy and finesse he could muster to avoid the giant's overwhelming armspan and keep him from getting his racket on the ball. (I wonder what his arms measure? Commentator's said that my Robin has a "wingspan that measures over 6 ft.... I think I'll write in and ask to confirm that for them..... in the name of accurate news reporting, of course.)

(Wimbledon is currently in the fifth set…. 9 games to 8 … Federer.)

(Update….. 9 games all…. The tenacity of Roddick is inspiring.)

It was enjoyable to watch Andy Murray come through the rounds. The crowds would get all pumped up and his focus was incredible. Though it was a good match, it just seemed the young Scot ran out of steam coming up against Roddick. To his credit, Roddick almost looked contrite for vanquishing all hope of a Murray/Federer final.

Rumour has it that Murray is a player that the Fed Express does not like playing. The boy gets under your skin and in your head and can be very difficult to deal with. His finesse and touch with the racket remind people of Federer and the intelligence of his game harkens back to the days of the Mighty McEnroe.

Sorry… I can’t concentrate. The game is now 10 games all. It’s gone longer than the epic final of last year… the tension is unbearable. I want both to win. Roger for his Grand Slam record. Roddick for his sheer determination and that underdog factor.

I’ll be back when it’s over.

And….. it’s over.




The victory would have been bittersweet no matter who had won. Congratulations, Roger!

I always miss McEnroe’s commentary during the final. The BBC has him during the rest of the tournament (mostly) and I get used to his comments and facts and the excitement that he exudes when he speaks. It’s as if he would REALLY like to be on the court with them.

So, Roger Federer has his trophy back for another year. So close Roddick. So, close. For a man who was going to quit the game a year ago… he did very well. I’m not sure how he performs on the hard court, but I do know that he was surprised at how well he did in the French Open (which is on clay). He made a comment on how he usually goes to the French Open, gets knocked out early on, and then spends a few weeks in England waiting for Wimbledon. However, this year, he had to work for it.

Humorous note: Commentators during the final always referred to Roddick as “the American”. Are they pretending that there is only one “Andy” in the game of tennis and that is Murray or are they afraid they’ll accidentally say something rude when trying to say “Roddick”?

A few words about the women’s side of things. It was only fitting that we had an all American women’s final on the 4th of July. There really isn’t too much to say about women’s tennis than to talk about the Williams sisters. Much has been made of the fact that Serena is ranked number 2 and Dinara Safina number 1. Blah blah blah. Frankly, I don’t see the big deal.

Yes, Venus and Serena pick their matches and usually only hit the big events. If that’s the way they want to play, then big deal. Even Martina Navratilova got in on the act and criticized them saying that it is about consistency and the grueling schedule.

Well, duh.

But it seems to me that tennis isn’t a game to the Williams sisters. It’s a business. Like any business women, they pick and choose their investments. If they don’t want to commit to the grueling schedule and burn themselves out, well… good for them. If they want to cultivate other interests outside the game so that when they retire from sports they can do something other than deliver scathing commentary on the younger up and coming champions…. Good for them.

Oh, no! What do you mean Serena Williams likes to dabble in fashion? How dare she do voice acting for the Disney Channel's Higglytown Heroes!? What can she be thinking doing charity work in Kenya!?? Guest appearances?! Get your head in the game girl! You’re not going to be a successful tennis player doing that stuff!

Oh, yeah… you just won Wimbledon… for the third time.

If the WTA doesn’t have a problem with it, then neither should anyone else.

And when the number 3 seed defeats the number 1 seed in straight sets, I don’t want to hear some malarky about it not being fair that the number one can’t win a Grand Slam tournament because of the Williams sisters. If she wants to win a Grand Slam, then she better learn to beat Serena and Venus. Cry me a river.

How horrible that not only did the Williams sisters have to play the Wimbledon women’s singles final… then they had to go play the doubles on the same day as well?? (And win…)

And you know that Venus was standing behind Serena thinking, “Just one good shot to the back of the head…..”



Oh, and I saw a really nice interview with Serena. One of those Up Close and Personal type of things. They talked about a lot of personal issues with Serena and I was very impressed by her soft spoken and humble replies. The to top it all off, she talked about how hard it was for her to maintain a positive self-image at times. She said that she looks at Venus and wishes she looked like her. Serena Williams. Ranked number 2 in women’s tennis. Winner of the Australian Open and Wimbledon this year. The Warrior Woman of Wimbledon. Has a problem with her body image.

Makes me want to go eat a cookie…. Or five.

Ah, well…. Until next time!