I Married a Drug Addict

My son loves this time of year – bow season opened this morning and after swearing me to secrecy about his hunting spot, he finally told me where he’d be. It’s this way every year – in the south, it’s almost a rite of passage for boys and even some girls (my niece has mastered shooting) that they learn all about gun safety and bows and arrows. Girls grow up and odds are, they marry a hunter. They grow accustomed to planning Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners around their husbands’, brothers’ and fathers’ hunting schedules. The truth is, many of us hope they don’t come dragging a deer or hog home as everyone’s waiting around the dining room table for them. Plus, it always means a mess and then we have to cook it. Not a pleasant thing at all.

In 1998, when I remarried, it was to someone I’d gone to high school with. We didn’t go out long at all before we got married. After all, we grew up together. A few weeks after we married, and on a Monday night, I decided I needed ice cream if I was going to suffer through Monday Night Wrestling (don’t judge me…we all have our crosses to bear and with him, it was wrestling that I had to “oooh” and “aaahhh” over because that’s just what we women do). When I pulled into the grocery store parking lot, I reached down to get my wallet out of my purse. I realized I didn’t have much cash on me. I always kept ten, fifteen, maybe twenty dollars in the console. So when I opened that center console, instead of finding cash, I find a needle and a small vial of something that was liquid. I can tell you my heart sank and then began racing as the fear the set in. I know I must have stared at that needle for two minutes, not sure what to do. It was one of those moments where you just freeze and time stands still.

It then occurred to me that I was driving around with illegal drugs, even though I had no idea what it was. Finally, after about an hour, I called my new husband. I really thought I had calmed down enough to talk reasonably, but when he answered, the first thing he wanted to know was if I was OK. After all, my ten minute run to the grocery store has now stretched into an hour or longer. I burst into tears and the only thing I remember saying was that I wasn’t coming home and “Oh my God…I married a drug addict!”. All I could think about was my son, who was nine at the time. I just kept saying to him that I couldn’t believe I married him – an addict – and asking what I was going to do now. Finally, and I’m not really sure how, but I stopped rambling and then I heard him laugh.

“Wait…you’re talking about a needle in your car? In your console? The one with the bottle of liquid?”

“Yes, Kevin…you know damn good and well what I’m talking about!”

“Donna, don’t open that bottle. Please. Just don’t open the bottle. Get in your car and come home and I will explain everything. You couldn’t be more wrong.”

“You’re crazy as hell if you think I’m coming back there. I know your secret – you’ll kill me to protect it!”

By then, he’s really laughing at me.

“What the hell are you laughing at? I’ve been married less than a month and I find out you’re an addict! How did I miss those signs? What is wrong with me?! No..wait…what IS WRONG WITH YOU?!”

“OK…calm down. Look, that’s not what you think it is. Remember when we were in Laurel this weekend and we stopped by Joe’s?”

“Yeah. So?”

“Remember he was telling me about the doe he killed that morning?”

“Yeah. So?”

“That’s doe urine we extracted from the bladder.”

“WHAT? OH MY GOD….YOU ARE INSANE!” (I’m sure I’m yelling by then and people are beginning to stare at the crazy woman yelling and crying into the pay phone (it was before cells)

“Calm down. I’ve never done drugs – you should be happy about that.”

“So you’re not an addict, but you’re crazy enough to save the urine from a deer so that you can use it as some kind of scent you wear to lure a male deer? I’m SUPPOSED TO BE HAPPY ABOUT THAT?!? YOU’RE INSANE AND I’M NOT COMING HOME”

At this point, I’m beginning to sound a little ridiculous even to myself. It all begins to make sense, well, as much as marrying a man who’s so into hunting that he and his cronies go to those lengths during hunting season can make sense. The marriage didn’t last long, but looking back, that really was one of the funnier times.

Jake & his bow

When I was plundering through Facebook this morning, I can’t tell you how many declarations of these crazy ass men who proudly announced they were “quietly moving in the woods with red fox urine on my boots” or “Just missed an awesome shot reaching for the scent to spray on me” I wonder if the deer can’t hear them texting into their Blackberries?

All I could think about was that night all those years ago when I didn’t get my ice cream, though I did get out of having to watch wrestling.

 

Best Time of the Year!

Bows & Happies!

I love this time of year! I do – I always have.  As all Americans can likely attest to, the budgets have been reined in for Christmas shopping.  The past few years have caused many of us to take a step back and re-evaluate what’s really important.  I’d decided in 2004 it was time to come back home.  I missed my family and I was very homesick.  Even though I was only about 100 miles away, it seemed like a million.  I wasn’t able to see my sister every day if I wanted and even though I tried to make it home every weekend, it was still tough not being closer to my family.  I had already finished my own re-evaluation of how I wanted my life to look – it’s amazing the perspective you get for your hometown when you’re miles away.  So back home I came.  I have never been happier.  The new career choice was another incredible decision I made, even though it’s always difficult to forge ahead when you’re not sure of how it’s done.

Christmas is that time of year we find ourselves rewinding our lives.  We think back to Christmases past, from the time we were kids up until we have our own little ones.  Some traditions we cling to, but most of us like the idea of writing our own rules.  For me, it’s always the presentation.  If I could wrap Christmas presents and make bows all year, I’d be a happy camper and would never struggle with writer’s block.  There’s something so

Jake in 1994

peaceful about taking the parts to create the sum of a pretty package.  And because I start my holiday shopping in August or early September, I have plenty of time to spend on it.  I’ve had presents wrapped for two months!

Of course, my problem is I have a really hard time keeping these secrets, so I end up letting Jake open Christmas presents in November.  Ah…but see…that’s one of those traditions I kept from my own childhood.  We were always so excited the closer it got to Christmas because that meant we could open a present a week.  My sister and I had a blast as we’d shake one box and measure another one in an effort to decide if the box was big enough for those jeans or shoes we’d just “die if we didn’t get” (Think I’m kidding? Check out the photo below.).  We had to choose carefully because one

My love for shoes began early!

present each is what we got.  I’ve not mastered that kind of self discipline, but I’m a work in progress and I doubt seriously my son is any hurry for me to acquire that patience.

So as we begin counting the days down, each passing day becomes more exciting for me because I know it’s just a matter of time before everyone starts opening their coordinated packages to discover what awaits them.  I can’t wait!

Here’s to all of our Christmases being the best time of the year!

 

A Must-Read Before You Begin Your Holiday Gift Shopping

It’s that time of year when marketing specialists are working closely with their clients in an effort to get the latest products front and center, just in time for Christmas shopping.  Whether it’s gadgets, toys, album releases or automobiles, everyone’s scrambling to ensure their latest must-haves are timed perfectly for public consumption.  What the experts might be missing, however, is the subtle shift that’s taking place these days – and if they’re smart, they’ll take notice of it sooner rather than later.

I begged my mom for these shoes for WEEKS before Christmas!

The recession over the past few years has really caused many of us to take a step back and re-evaluate our “stuff”.  Job losses, foreclosures and uncertainty about the future has made many realize all the things they’ve acquired over the years mean little if there’s no house to put them in.  Priorities have certainly shifted.

We all want our lives memorialized in some important way; we want to stand apart and we want meaning attached to what we hope will be a well-lived life.  There’s a reason for all the endless models of BlackBerry, iPhone and computers; and there’s a reason for countless ways of personalizing everything we own.  No one wants the same cell everyone at the office has.  Before long, though, it becomes tiresome and usually, all of these “things” become a burden.  So if we’re not as excited by the prospect of unwrapping the latest iPad on Christmas morning, what is it that will have us declaring, “This is the best gift ever!!”?

Brace yourself – the answer is actually quite simple.  This year, sentimentality rules and the value is not even slightly based on how much money was spent.  Husbands and wives are presenting one another with beautifully framed photos of their childhoods, or better, they’re looking through all those old pictures in search of finding two pictures – one of themselves and one of the spouse – that are similar in pose and age.  It’s the symbolism that’s expressed in these one of a kind gifts and they’re the ones that will be long remembered after the iPad and BlackBerry is an antiquated has-been – much like the beta tapes from the early 1980s and 8 track tapes of the 1970s are.

Want proof?  Four words: the Christmas of 1995.  I received a lot of gifts, but don’t ask me what they were.  I truly can’t remember – except for one very special present that my Mom made for my sister and me.  It is by far the most treasured gift I’ve ever received that came wrapped and from under a Christmas tree.  It was a book of index cards, spiral bound, that she wrote in her beautiful Catholic school-inspired handwriting.  In it, she spoke of where each of us were that year – my dad, my sister, her kids and my Jacob and of course, she and I.   She put in writing all of those hilarious stories from our childhoods – my sister’s brazen comments to her teachers in hers and my adamant declarations to my own kindergarten teacher that I did not come from a stork was put in my green recipe book.  She put all of the recipes that we were raised on and included a few different ones that she thought I’d like in mine and a few my sister would like to make for her own family in her book.  She told stories that we’d never heard before, each card a memorial to our family.  I can tell you, without a doubt, when the time comes to gather up and head north when a hurricane approaches, I make sure I have photos and my recipe book – the rest of the “stuff”, including my flat screen, furniture and even my library of books – it all stays behind.

When it comes right down to it, isn’t that what a gift should mean to all of us?

 

Fried Pickles

As promised in my first post this morning, here is my mom’s method for frying yummy dill pickles.  Just so you know, she is by far the best cook on either side of the Mississippi River.  Whether it’s her Thanksgiving chili or Christmas shrimp and crab gumbo, she sure enough knows how to rock a kitchen!  And trust me – you have not lived until you’ve had her corn meal pie.  It’s what good living’s all about!

So…here’s the way to cook up a batch of fried pickles:

A quick note before you start: don’t add salt!  You’ll understand why once you taste them.

You’ll need:

• a jar of sliced dill pickles
• 1 cup of cornmeal
• 1 tbsp. of flour

You’ll get better results if you use a Ziploc bag versus a plate or bowl.  Shake the cornmeal and flour until blended, then drop the pickles into your cornmeal and flour bag.  Drop into a skillet (preferably an iron skillet…we are in the South, you know) of hot oil and cook until golden brown (about 90 seconds, maybe 2 minutes).  Drain and eat!!

Let me know if you try these.  Drop a comment here or hit me on Facebook.

 

The Holiday Season

It’s hard to believe, but we’re only two months from Christmas and we have even less time before Thanksgiving arrives.  In this part of the country, the holidays are often celebrated in warmer weather.  In fact, there have been many Christmases where we were in shorts and short sleeve shirts while folks in other areas, such as the northeast, were shoveling snow and sporting heavy coats and scarves.  

Sure, it gets cold here – but for me, cold weather constitutes anything below fifty degrees.  This is probably why I love the movies associated with Christmas and Thanksgiving.  Watching Jimmy Stewart battle his way through a blizzard makes me a little envious.  On the other hand, I’d hate to have to put chains on my tires and shovel my driveway.  There have been a couple winters that snow fell.  One I recall, and the other I was too young to remember – but my mom is more than happy to retell the tale.

The first winter – I guess I was probably three, or so – my mom tells me the story of how I ran outside and how excited she was to see me witness snow for the first time.  She said before she realized it, I’d declared the snow “feathers” and promptly flung myself off the porch thinking the landing would be soft.  I imagine I wasn’t a happy camper once I realized not only was it not feathers, but it was cold and wet too. 

The second time, I do recall.  My dad worked construction for the first seven or eight years of my life.  I loved it – I loved the new schools and friends I made and the places we called “home”.  We were in Enid, OK – I think I was in second grade.  We got up one morning and one look out the window told my sister and me we never wanted to live anywhere that didn’t include snow during winter.  It absolutely sparkled!  Everything covered in white – it just seemed magical to us. Even the tumbleweeds were white.  Naturally, it was bitter cold, but it was such a new experience for us.  After all, we were used to these warmer winters living on the Gulf Coast provides. 

The snow melted all too soon and it wasn’t long before the job completed and we were on our way back to Mississippi.  That was the last construction job Dad went on.  I guess he and Mom thought it was time to come home for good.  They bought the house my dad grew up in and promptly took to raising us in our hometown.  Daddy started teaching and Mom went to work for the local police department.  All of our Christmases and Thanksgivings were had in that house up until my sister and I graduated high school.  After that, Mom and Dad sold out and moved a bit further inland.  It just wouldn’t have been right for us to not stay together.  Before long, both my sister and me were building our own lives and homes within a few miles of our parents.  One thing’s for sure: we may not see snow this year, but we’ll all be together over my Mom’s seafood gumbo or famous chili (I never said we were traditional) this warm holiday season.