Fall Tradition

I love this time of year for the weather, the scenery, and especially the traditions. Fall is hayrides on Halloween, Thanksgiving in Savannah, my mother’s vintage fashion show (for a future blog post), and the Bridge Weekend Away.

For the last 8 years, I’ve been traveling to North Georgia with a group of ladies, where we rent a cabin and play bridge all weekend. And I mean ALL weekend. Here’s the usual itinerary:

Friday 9:00 a.m. – Leave Marietta, talk excitedly about bridge

11:00 a.m. – Arrive, unpack, eat lunch

11:20 a.m. – Play bridge and snack

6:00 p.m. – Break for dinner – talk about bridge hands/bids

6:30 p.m. – Play bridge and snack

2:00 a.m. – Get in hot tub- feel sorry for everyone who’s not on this trip.

2:30 a.m. – Bed

Saturday – repeat Friday, only add breakfast.

Do you see the problem? Exactly, there is WAY too much stopping and eating. That’s why this year, we’re cutting out a couple of those silly, sit-down meals. If it won’t fit on a 5″ diameter plate at the corner of the card table, it’s not allowed on this trip.


This is Ellie Mae, our trophy. We keep score and at the end of the weekend – the player with the highest total gets her name written on the back. The fact that I have won several times, and that I’m the only scorekeeper have no correlation.

We have a couple of traditions on the weekend.


Like wearing the old, cow-bell when you make a bad bid. I wonder what that feels like. Hmmm.


But my favorite is our matching, card pajamas. We put them on first thing Saturday morning, and don’t take them off until time to leave on Sunday.

What? Whatever. Like men don’t go off to cabins in the woods, play cards, and wear matching camo? Exactly. This is like that. Only with no gas or dead animals. Okay, no dead animals. It’s a long weekend and we eat a lot of cheese dip.

Behind the scenes

This is how every photo shoot goes down at our house.

Me: Your hair looks cute; let’s get a picture.


Me: Not bad, but look at me.


Me: Uh, I said look at ME.


Me: You look cute, but give me a little less smile.


Me: Gorgeous. We’re done.

Moon: Wait, I want to do some.


Moon: Hey, you kids, get off my lawn!


Moon: Yo, Yo!


Moon: Money? Can I have some money?


I have no idea where she gets it.

History is not for sissies

The Moonpie and I just finished reading a book about James Town.


Catchy title, huh? Every night, she’d BEG me to read just one more chapter. So we read about the Indians, and Pocahontas, Captain John Smith, and how 500 settlers became 60 through severe starvation where they were reduced to digging up dead bodies to eat. It’s not my fault, it’s what HAPPENED.

Tonight we were without a book, so she asked me to sing a bedtime song.

Moon: Will you sing that song about the great ship?

Me: The Titanic?

Moon: Yeah, that’s the one.

Me: Just one verse: They were not far from England, They were not far from shore, when the rich refused to associate with the poor, so they put them down below, where they were the first to go. Oh, it was sad when that great ship went down.


It’s not my fault, it’s what HAPPENED.

Conversation with a semi-stranger

Setting: Restaurant/Bar in hometown.

Occasion: The 100 year anniversary of our High School


Stranger: Hey! You remember me?

Me: I’m sorry, I don’t think so.

Stranger: Well, you never did give me the time of day. You always x-d (makes x sign with arms) me out of all your parties. I told your friend, SHE didn’t scar me, but YOU, you scarred me!

Me: I am so sorry! I was a teenager. I was in my own stupid world. I was busy dealing with my OWN insecurities.

Stranger: Uh huh. You know that guy in the band?

Me: Uh, I don’t think so.


Me: Well, I’m sorry.

(Stranger gets up, goes to stage, gets band member’s attention, points at me. Band guy barely nods. I wave and smile meekly. Stranger comes back to table.)

Stranger: Yup. He says you was stuck-up too.


At least SOMEONE was entertained.

Saturday night, 11 p.m.

I REALLY want to post the story of my High School Anniversary/Reunion. But it’s late, and I’m tired from smiling and pretending to know people that I’m not even sure I SHOULD know.  And I want to tell you about the guy who badgered me all night for what I did  TWENTY-SIX years ago, but it will have to wait.


Reliving high school is exhausting.

Will work for books

I love to read. I feel sure I could withstand years of solitary confinement with a pair of reading glasses and free shipping from Amazon. I especially love books based on actual history. I recently read this:


Which was awesome. I learned all kinds of things. Like apparently there are some islands called “Guernsey.” Or a island. Whatever, the important this is that it was occupied by the Germans during WWII. Imagine St. Simons Island with Nazi’s. No food, no freedom, no bridge! I highly recommend you read it for yourself. I might have missed some of it.


Today I picked this up at the library. It’s about Rome trying to rule Germany and the famous Battle of the Teutoburg Forest. Oh, THAT battle. I’m always the last to know about everything.

I don’t just get books for ME at the library. I picked up a few for the Moonpie. Some history ones, sure, but a few others that spoke to me.


I can’t really explain it.

Feel better about your own disorder


We’re part-time homeschoolers.  The Moonpie goes half of the time to a Christian school that sets the curriculm and outline, and we teach the other half. This ensures that she spends at least two days being taught in a grace-filled environment where she can be free to learn at her own pace. I do the other three days.

Because homeschoolers can’t pass any type of educational aid without buying it, we have cd’s, books, maps, puzzles, flash cards, science kits and poster board from one end of our house to the other. It’s because I love my daughter so much, that I can’t be bothered with keeping our living room clean, not when there’s so much to learn.

Now if I could only explain the bathroom. Biology experiment?

Out of the mouth of babes…

Two Father/Daughter conversations in two days….


Moon: Dad, why are you so bad at shooting?

Dad: What do you mean? I’m not bad.

Moon: Then why do you keep going to the range to practice?


Moon: What does “modern” mean?

Dad: Like me, fresh and new.

Moon: You don’t SMELL fresh.

She’s understandably confused a great deal of the time.

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