Oklahoma!

I have to say that tonight my little sister Abby was the best prairie girl Ellen to ever perform in any rendition of Oklahoma! She was amazing. Seeing as that the whole cast was between the ages of 11 and 14, I didn’t really know what to expect. Disaster or not, it was bound to be entertaining, but they were really good! Not that I’m biased, but Abby was the most fantastic. She delivered her line perfectly and then nailed her solo part in “Out of Your Dreams.” The whole performance she acted her heart out for us, and I couldn’t have been prouder.

And you know you’re in Nashville when Faith Hill congratulates you by name on your performance (Abby and her daughter are in the same grade). I had to play it cool for my sister’s sake, but I so wanted to blurt out, “Oh my God, Faith Hill just totally congratulated you! That was so awesome, right? Right?!” What was really so awesome was that my being there meant so much to Abby. That felt pretty special. I hope she remembers that I was there when the winds came sweepin’ down the plains when she wins an Oscar.

Oklahoma!

Doggie Smores

It's freezing in Nashville, which means we have "big fire" on at night. The doggies are in paradise. If they could roast themselves like little marshmallows, they would.

Wii Belong

My plan revolving around not worrying about things is backfiring. Let’s just say a couple of my ducks have escaped the pond and are heading off toward the highway. I’ll have to rein them in tomorrow. I’m feeling sad today so I’m working extra hard to find the humor in everyday things. Fortunately, the local news just presented me with several things to reflect on:

• Men with beards dressed as pink fairies while The Nutcracker plays in the background
• Turkeys listening to top-10 songs to prepare for the Presidential Pick Ceremony (I’m not convinced that, in a turkey’s mind, being shoved onto an airplane to lead the Disney World Thanksgiving Parade is really better than being put out of your misery and served on a table)
• Rudy Kalis’ crazy ugly sweaters – Nashvillians, where is he getting them? To be fair, this question has plagued us for over 20 years. It’s very similar to the question, “If the universe is expanding, what lies beyond it?”

I’ve been doing some branding and marketing consulting for the Belle Meade Plantation, which is an old Thoroughbred farm at the end of my street. I had a second meeting with them this morning. I like helping them because it makes me feel that I actually know what I’m talking about. I also grew up romping all around the mansion and the yards. Soon, they’ll be getting a horse that will visit every few weeks. If I’m still in Nashville then, you’ll be sure to read some posts about my daily visits with my new friend.

Today, work consisted of some filing, some rearranging and some cleaning up of a broken wine bottle and spilled red wine. Luckily, I didn’t create the wine problem. Afterward, I met Dad, Drusie, Ben and Abby for dinner. Abby is performing in her school’s production of Oklahoma! on Friday so look for some pictures of that this weekend. Ben is a blossoming mathlete, who came in 3rd at the state competition earlier this month. I told him that maybe if he played a little less Guitar Hero and studied a little harder, he could have come in 1st.

After we both laughed at the ridiculousness of that concept, we agreed that his current math:wii ratio was perfectly acceptable. I also found out that he told a little white lie to protect my fragile ego by saying that I was good at Guitar Hero. We both know I’m absolutely not. If you had heard my attempt at Pat Benatar’s “Hit Me with Your Best Shot,” (simultaneous guitar playing and singing at the slowest speed “Hit . . . me . . . with . . . doh! . . . your . . . best . . . dammit! . . . shot . . .”), well, you wouldn’t have recruited me to join your garage band unless you’re Marnie, who would always give me a spot in her imaginary Bangles cover band.

Another Day, Another Dollar

Today was rather uneventful. Nellie would beg to differ, seeing as that I accidentally threw her last toy up into the gutter. Actually, she has more, but she’s buried them in the yard somewhere so until she chooses to bring them back to the house, she’ll just have to stand under the eaves looking up at the roof and then at me.

Other than that, I helped Richie identify which breakers went to which outlets in the house. That task consisted of me (Princess Leia) telling Richie (Luke Skywalker) over walkie-talkies when the lights went on or off. The code names were Richie’s idea. “This is Luke Skywalker. That’s a 10-4 Princess Leia.” He also gave himself the title El Presidente last week.

New Elephant in Tennessee

The Elephant Sanctuary in Hohenwald, Tennessee rescued a new elephant this week named Ned. He was part of the Big Apple Circus until 2000 and then he moved to Florida, where is owner didn't keep him well. He's about a ton underweight! Now that he's living at the sanctuary, he eats all sorts of things like bamboo, broccoli, watermelons, and pumpkins.

In his diary, they said that he's a little scared to go outside, but that he's getting braver. On Friday, he played with the sanctuary's rescue dog. Here you can watch his arrival at the sanctuary -- he's very cute.

Whoa Nellie!

Nellie lives at Gloria’s house. The story goes that she appeared one day with a collar and no tags, bit whole pieces out of the doors for days until they let her inside, and then never left.

She’s mostly pit-bull, physically, but supposedly, she’s a big fraidy cat. I know she doesn’t have a mean bone in her body. She can’t be alone. Usually, when I’m there (assuming Gloria is at work), Nellie lies practically under my chair. When I go to another room, she goes. When I go to the door, she goes too. When I go to the bathroom, she lays outside the door until I come out. Interestingly enough, she wanders off a lot. Gloria says she goes wherever she hears construction workers. It seems that Nellie has to be retrieved from houses around the neighborhood frequently.

She is absolutely obsessed with her kong. Kong is always around and Nellie likes for you to throw Kong down the hill several times a day. She lets me know when I am shirking my kong-throwing duties by butting my leg with her head. Before I first went over to the house, my parents instructed me re: Kong. “Do not touch the kong. Do not look at the kong. In fact, don’t ever acknowledge that the kong exists.” Apparently, they made the mistake of throwing Kong one night while having dinner out on the porch. Nellie relentlessly insisted that they continue throwing Kong for the next three hours. (above: Nellie & Kong in the yard)

And it’s like Nellie knew I had been warned about Kong. The first night I was there, she walked up to me and tried to put Kong on my lap. “I was told not to acknowledge the kong!” I almost screamed. Fortunately, Gloria took Kong away at that moment and placed him in the bar sink where he resides.

Mom says Nellie’s a changeling. I’m still not sure what I think. She seems like a dog in a lot of ways, but then again, tonight Gloria pointed out what looked to be opposable thumbs that Nellie was using to hold Kong in place for a good chew.

This afternoon Nellie had gone AWOL yet again and I went to retrieve her from the neighbors, who had called earlier that day. Well, they weren’t exactly neighbors. I had to drive up the road a little and then all of the way around the ridge overlooking Radnor Lake. When I arrived, I didn’t find anyone at home except for the men who were taking down a dead tree in the yard – ah, the familiar construction worker draw. I asked one if he had seen a “reddish pit-bull sort of dog,” around, he said “oh, yeah, she’s great!” and that the owners had taken her into the house. Super.

I wandered around for a few minutes before I heard Nellie’s tags clinking away in the driveway. When I called her, she just bounded right on over as if to say, “Look at this new house I found! I spent the whole day here and they let me sleep on the couch! Thanks for picking me up! Where’s Kong?” Nellie’s new German friend, Andreas, told me that she had been such a joy all day and that she could come back anytime, which made me wonder if I was going to end up making this trip again. I will if Nellie overheard him.

I put Nellie in the back of my mom’s station wagon. Then, we found ourselves in an interesting predicament. The “road” I had driven up was one lane with a steep hill on one side and a sheer drop-off on the other. In their superior wisdom, the tree people had parked their trucks in a brilliant strategic formation that completely blocked me from the house’s turn-around area. To ask the men to move the trucks, would have meant yelling over the chainsaws to ask them to come down out of the tree, move the trucks, get back up in the tree, and, frankly, this adventure had already proved complicated enough. I decided to back down – literally.

Now, it wasn’t the easiest drive I’ve ever made, and there were some touch-and-go moments since wet leaves concealed much of the road, but I made it down the steep, curvy ½-mile course backward with dog, car and sanity intact. For the rest of the afternoon, Nellie occupied her usual position on the rug next to my chair, and I continued my highlighting.

Little Goblins

My mom’s friend, Gloria, was kind enough to think about me a few weeks ago when she was looking for an interim personal assistant. She presented it to me very appealingly; “It’s crap work and you’re way over-qualified, but if you’re interested . . . .” To everyone’s surprise, I decided I was interested.

I never took the time I should have after the MBA to breathe and figure everything out. Maybe I should have done that this summer, but I was shuttling between cities and scrambling to get interviews in New York instead. Honestly, this is the first time in my life that I’ve just said “no” to all of the things I “should be” doing. I probably should be worried that I have shitty health insurance that’s good for practically nothing. Maybe I should be jumping the next plane to New York to charge into my next career. I guess I should be concerned about the open accounts I still have in France that I desperately need to close. I definitely should be anxious about my finances.

To all of this, I say “no!” I am taking a break. I am taking a break for the first time in my life.

And it’s really very nice not to be so worried. I’ve had to do some soul searching since I got back to the States, and I’ve realized that I probably won’t “figure everything out” anytime soon, if ever. And that’s okay. I won’t ever have it all together. My little ducks seem to be happier when they are swimming all over the pond rather than lined up in one neat row. I’m thankful that I’ve managed to confine them to a pond. They could be floating off in all directions over the Atlantic Ocean.

So while I’m here, I’m helping Gloria. She and her husband have a wonderful house on beautiful land, which is even more beautiful in the fall. This house, however, is a creature with a life unto itself. Rarely am I working there alone, and I go there every day.

Richie is usually rummaging around in some crawl space. Twice a week, Andrea spends the day cleaning and talking to herself (so she says), but I always think she’s talking to me. The carpet layers are quiet, and Richie says they don’t do their job well. The carpet cleaner thought I couldn’t be more than 20 (nice guy). The pool patio crew fixes things rather slowly considering their number. The pool tile layers are a husband and wife team. She reads to him while he lays tile. Then, there are the yard people and the UPS man, who comes often. I missed the fireplace man the morning he came.

I sit at the big kitchen table, which is made from a single tree trunk. While I work, the people come and go. A few days, in the late afternoon, I have been at the house all alone, save Nellie the dog, and we become lonely.

Unfortunately, I was sick the day the two water mains broke and shot water 40 feet into the air, sending Richie on a wild goose chase to find the shut-off valve which ended up being at the very end of the ¼ mile-long driveway. A few days ago I asked Richie, “What happened here? What happened to this house that it constantly has a little army of workers attacking it?” He gave me a contractor-like answer about shoddy workmanship, but I wasn’t satisfied. What else was going on here?

This morning I was talking to Mom about it, while we waited for the window washers to finish inside. I said, “You know what I think it is? Do you remember that day we took that picture out at Cheekwood in the bonnets when I was about four? Well, before I was watching a movie that you probably didn’t know I was watching on that little tv we had in the kitchen. You know that movie where the little men drag the lady down the heating vent?”

Mom said, “Oh, yeah, I remember that movie. They were little white men who looked like boogers. I swear it was called The Haunting.”

“I think that’s what’s going on at Gloria’s. There are little men in the vents causing chaos. That movie terrified me.” I still get the chills thinking about that one vivid scene. There I was, a four-year-old dressed in her best batiste dress with the pink ribbons, watching some poor lady get pulled into a heating vent (the very same heating vent we had!) by little white booger men. It was horrifying – completely horrifying.

The fear came rushing back to me. “Well, now I have to know which movie it is. It’s been driving me crazy for too many years. The Haunting? From the 1960’s? No, The Haunting doesn’t say anything about heating vents. Was it the 70s, you think?”

“Well, if Beth was around it would have had to have been the 80s.”

“But it was on tv so it was probably an old movie.”

“All I know is that the woman in it is the same woman who was in that John Wayne movie, Paint Your Wagon.”

“Paint Your Wagon? That’s a ridiculous title.” I typed it into imdb. “Well, Paint Your Wagon is a Clint Eastwood movie.”

“That’s not it then. It’s the one where John Wayne’s character is Rooster Cogburn.”

“That’s also a stupid name. Okay, that movie’s called, um, Rooster Cogburn.” I read the names of the Rooster Cogburn actresses, but none rang a bell with Mom.

“Okay, so read me all of the John Wayne movie titles and I’ll recognize it.”

“Alright. I’m starting in the 50’s.” I really started with the 40s. “Angel and the Badman, The Fighting Kentuckian, Bullfighter and the Lady . . . .” I made sure to do some good movie voices so each title brought a new fit of laughter with it. “Big Jim McClain, Hondo . . . Hondo? Really? Oooh, look! Here’s Hondo and the Apaches!”

At this, the woman washing the windows decided to pipe in. “Y’all are just havin’ a good ole time, aren’t you?” Mom replied that we really knew how to party. Then I looked into my coffee cup and commented, “I’m drunk already.” And the window woman said, “Well, it’s noon somewhere.”

I went back to the John Wayne titles. “Oops, I was reading the wrong list. Hold on. War Wagon?” I thought I stumbled onto something. After all, we had started with “wagon,” but War Wagon didn’t elicit a response. “The Green Berets, Hellfighters, True Grit . . .”

“True Grit! It’s True Grit! Her name’s Kathleen”

“Kathleen . . . Kim Darby?”

“Yes! Kim Darby! Kelly, Kathleen . . . same thing.”

“Well, Kim Darby was in an episode of 'Wagon Train.'”

“I knew she was sitting on a wagon in something. I can see her sitting on the wagon.”

It also turns out that John Wayne’s character is named Rooster Cogburn in both True Grit and, yes, Rooster Cogburn.

“Ugh! I can’t find it. She’s only been in tv stuff.”

After googling “Kim Darby heating vent horror movie,” I discovered that it was indeed a 1973 made-for-tv movie called Don’t Be Afraid of the Dark. Apparently, as indicated by some emotional posts online, I wasn’t the only child scarred by the film.

After I watched that horrific movie, Beth and I posed for this precious portrait. We’re both looking toward a stuffed Kermit the Frog puppet that the photographer held up to make us smile. Incidentally, Beth discovered a few years ago that the photographer still uses that Kermit . . . at weddings.

Anyway, Beth’s clearly watching Kermie thinking “huh, what is that and who is that crazy lady attached to it?” I’m looking at it thinking, “Holy shit! That frog’s gonna jump off that crazy lady’s hand and drag me down the nearest heating vent!” For months, maybe years, after that I wouldn’t go near any of the vents in the house.

"Oh, Allison. Don't be ridiculous."

Ugh! I have been so sick for the last week. Finally, I started feeling better yesterday, but until then I was becoming more and more convinced that I had contracted some new form of the plague. Okay, really I was thinking it was mono (which, for many reasons, would have been almost comical – almost), but the plague diagnosis continued popping up whenever I entered my symptoms into WebMD. People shouldn't be allowed to access sites like that. It's just an invitation to become a hypochondriac. Since WebMD's creation, I become convinced that I'm dying at least twice a year.

Before I went to the real doctor, I visited the Walgreen's Doc in the Box. He was no help, although he was almost my mother's hero when he asked, "Do you have a cat?" Her eyes lit up at the thought of Krispie being responsible for my illness because it would mean he would be ousted instantly from the family, despite his years of loyal service. "Yes, we do have a cat!" When he asked me if I'd been scratched in the face recently, I said, "Why, no! Krispie would never ever do that! He's a perfect kitty." The Box Doc then started talking about Cat Scratch Fever, so my mom and I both sort of stopped listening. He might as well of diagnosed me with Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever . . . or the plague. Krispie was safe for another day.

Anne came into town this weekend, which was only fitting considering my state. She's the only person who ever called me sure that she had meningitis. "Allie," she said, "I have meningitis. I just know it." I asked her if her nose and fingers were turning black. They weren't. We decided that she did not, in fact, have meningitis. At that time, we worked right next to Presbyterian hospital, so the situation would have been easily remedied had we misdiagnosed her. We hadn't.

As always, it was really good to see Anne. A good thing about coming back to the States really excited about spending more time with your boyfriend only to have him suddenly break up with you two weeks later, thus sending you into some sort of heartbreak hell, is that you realize how truly wonderful and caring your friends are.

Since I got back home, I've been spending as much time as possible with Mary, which is really very easy since she now lives less than a 5-minute walk from my house. We met in ballet class when we were 10 and have been, with Lacy, best friends ever since. When I returned to Nashville, Mary let me cry on her couch everyday for a week and then intermittently for another week. She also didn't mind that I cried one day for about 2 hours over coffee at Bread & Co. and then later over lunch at The Picnic. And even though there was a 100% guarantee that if she talked to me, I would cry, she still called me every day. That’s a true friend.

I went over to her house last night to help convince the boys that brussel spouts weren't straight from the Devil's garden. We didn't really succeed. Both of the boys ended up in tears. After the sprout episode, I wanted to show Mary something online, but we discovered that her Internet had crashed. After about 15 minutes of plugging the modem back in and trying every password Mary had ever used, I asked what I thought was a reasonable question.

"Do you have the original paperwork?"
"Oh, Allison. Don't be ridiculous."

Yes, she had lived in the house for only 3 months, but, yes, it was a ridiculous question. I’m the friend who saves the paperwork. Mary’s the one who has someone set up the connection, hopes she remembers the password, tosses the paperwork and doesn’t look back. We’re a good balance, but I’m always trying to be more like her. France helped with that.

Spending time with Lacy and Mary always proves the old idiom, “The more things change, the more they stay the same.” When we’re together, the scene isn’t much different than it was when we were in 7th grade. More wine is involved now, and the conversation has changed somewhat, but not much. It’s such a gift to have friends who always help you remember who you are.

A New Day and An Old Place

First of all, I'm very excited about Obama. It was so nice to watch the country be so happy and hopeful about the future. I hope the feeling lasts.

It's been 14 years since I've lived in Nashville during the Fall. I'd forgotten how pretty it is. The weather is perfect and the leaves are all changing. It was probably the same with the leaves in New York, but I didn't have the time to wander around Central Park every day to watch.

I've been coming down with something for a few weeks and I finally admitted that I need to go to the doctor today. For the time being, the less I move the better so I'm typing and watching tv. It's been so long since I've watched tv that I almost don't remember how to just sit and do it without doing anything else. Thank goodness for the Internet and stupid shows that don't require much brain power, like MTV's "Made."

My favorite thing to do when I'm watching "Made" is to think about what I would be made into. I think trapeze artist. Or maybe a surfer because I'm scared to death of being in the middle of a wavy ocean alone. I used to love watching Lori and Evan surf in the Sound, but the thought of doing it myself gave me the chills. I tried to go in once and the waves knocked me down before I ever got knee-deep. I'd have a long way to go before I became a surfer. But if I wanted to, I bet I could. You could all start calling me Gidget.

Happy Halloween!

Last night, I went trick-or-treating for the first time since I was 13. Mary and her boys, Indiana Jones (Bela) and Army Boy (Felix), invited me to go with them in the neighborhood behind my house, aka. Halloween Wonderland. Seriously, these people go all out. One house was showing The Nightmare Before Christmas on a big screen in the yard. We went through several blow-up haunted houses. Mary got trapped in an enormous spider web. The boys drew the line at strobe lights (too scary), however, so we didn't get to go to any of those houses.

This is the same neighborhood that mandates each house put up white fairy lights at Christmas so that the whole neighborhood looks like a White Light Winter Wonderland. There are always a couple of rebel houses that are obviously pissed off about being told what to do. They always put up colored lights, and I'm sure all of the other neighbors want to just claw their eyes out whenever they pass.

Anyway, here is one reason that you have to love the South: booze. Mary and I left the house with two solo cups full of red wine (trust me -- we are both going through times in our lives in which a little wine numbing seems to do a lot of good). Every other parent out there had the same idea, so I can't feel too irresponsible about getting a little liquored up on Halloween.

About halfway through this adventure, we were started to run low. Then, we walked up to a house and a keg appeared just like a glorious vision from the heavens. I said, "Mary! This is the best house ever!" The owner asked, "Do y'all need a refill? Are you of age?" Yes, I indeed needed a refill and yes, I was of age +10 years, but thank you for asking and telling me that I look so young because I am kind of feeling a little old and you probably don't want to hear about all of that right now, so I'll just take some merlot thank you very much.

By the end of the night, both "adults" were a petit bit tipsy. Indiana Jones took it upon himself to make sure I didn't stray. I would get lost in thought while looking at some house with demons in the dormers and, suddenly, I would hear, "Come on Allison! We're going this way." Thank goodness for the little angels that look after us.

Meanwhile, Beth was busy performing Thriller in the NYC Halloween Parade. Ha! She, Anne and Anne's sister, Sarah, had been practicing since Monday night. That's Hallween dedication. Here's a link to the Youtube video: Thriller 2008.

Actually, here is the NY1 coverage and you can see Beth. "OK, in this version, toward the end, at time 2:01, from an arial shot looking down, you will see my red wig toward the top of the screen, right in the center. I was on TV!!!": NY1 Thriller