Can I be country-fancy?

It probably seems (on this blog) like my life has been filled with a lot of death and mourning lately. And I guess it has. But it’s also been filled with love, fun and friendship. So I’m going to go back a couple of weekends and tell you about the Morgan County Sorghum Festival.

I was invited to attend this particular festivity by Duncan. His mom’s family is from that area and on the trip (I was told) I would meet his mom and his Papaw. Awesome! Of course I wanted to go… spending a day with Duncan is always fun, meeting some of his family was exciting and I hadn’t been back to eastern Kentucky since I left Morehead (3.5 years ago).

So, we go. I won’t give you a blow-by-blow account of the day, but here are a few fun tidbits about my trip to West Liberty and how to make sorghum.


How to make sorghum:

This guy makes this animal walk around and around and around in a circle…

Sometimes the animal doesn’t want to. And in that case, you just wait until it changes its mind.

Then, you put the stuff in here and it gets really, really hot:

I was told after this part, you get to put a stick of sugar cane in the sorghum and taste it. It was pretty excited about that. I dig sugar cane. But, alas, apparently that has been deemed unsanitary or something, so now this guy pours you some sorghum into a cup and gives you a plastic spoon and you get this:

Not quite sugar cane, is it?

But I will say it was very tasty. Very rich. And tasty.

So now that you all know how to make it, you can send me some for Christmas! Yay!

Other tidbits from the trip:

Um, Duncan knows almost everyone in West Liberty. Or they know him. And it’s mostly because he’s related to them. So… that whole deal about meeting his Papaw and mom? Not. true. Well, I guess technically that is true. I did meet his Papaw and his mom. And about 284,392 other people.

All joking aside, it was truly a fun day. I don’t remember most of those folks’ names or how they know Duncan, but it was really fun meeting them and watching them interact with Duncan.

His mom was really awesome and kept seeming amazed that I was up for meeting all those people and at such a large event. She mentioned something like, “wouldn’t you rather meet the family at the country club or something?” It really got me thinking…

I mean, I can DO the country club. The country club is nice every once in awhile. I like eating at fancy restaurants and getting dressed up and going to the opera and things like that. I really do. But I think if I had to choose the environment in which I am MOST comfortable to meet a bunch of new people, I’d choose ‘the country’ over ‘the country club’ any day.

The whole atmosphere of the sorghum festival was one I can relate to. Scratch that. I don’t even relate to it. It’s just part of who I am. Lots of warm, friendly people, happy to see you, hugs with people you just met, rounding up food from wherever it makes most sense, eating beanie weenies out of a can, watching a parade consisting mostly of church floats, a marching band and people who just wanted to drive their car down the street, a little bluegrass music in the distance, warm apple dumplings standing up in the parking lot… everything about that day was easy, simple, right down my alley.

So, the question now is: can I have it all?

Can I have the opera AND this guy clogging to a live bluegrass band:

A guy who so clearly loves dancing, he does it even though he has to balance himself with a nearby pole…

Can I have a nice, buttery Chardonnay with my crab cocktail and remoulade AND a cup’o’sugary goodness that just got scooped out of this?:

Something that’s been made on this spot and in this town back when they didn’t have SUGAR in West Liberty…

Can I be where life is busy enough to bring new and vibrant restaurants and exciting and invigorating plays and concerts AND a parade that is slow enough and laid-back enough that you can recognize someone you need to talk to in the parade and just walk up and talk to them?

And no one shouts at you to let the parade continue?

Syrah AND Ale-8?
Cocktail dress AND overalls?


Yes, please.



Standby…

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If a kitty could be an angel...

When I went to my mom’s coworker’s house to pick out my new kitten, there were still lots of kittens to choose from. I think I got the first pick of a new litter of kittens. I don’t remember much about the other cats. I remember picking up a bunch of them, one by one, and them squirming around in my hands the way kittens do… aimlessly, and sometimes painfully due to their tiny kitten-claws.

None of them really stuck me. None of them seemed like *my* cat.

Until I picked up Clara.

She didn’t squirm. She didn’t scramble up my arm. I picked her up, held her to my stomach, and she nestled in the crevice between my arm and my body. She laid her head down, and then looked up at me as if to say, ‘I’m ready. Are you ready to nap?’ That was it. Game over. That beautiful kitty face stared up at me and locked in the next thirteen years.

Clara died Monday evening, which will come as no surprise to many of you, because I’ve talked on this blog about her illness and how she continued to amaze and surprise me with her strength and determination in the last few months of her life.

I could write for hours and hours and tell you funny stories about her life, changes in her personality over the years, her rebellious and adventurous adolescent home escape and her loving demeanor in her old age. But instead I’ll tell you about her imprint on my life.

She came into my life when I was in middle school, and was the playful and snuggly companion any 13 year old would love. She was there for all those heart-wrenching dramas and triumphs that come with middle and high school. There for a snuggle when my crush rejected me. There, purring on my chest, when I start to learn being a woman is sometimes uncomfortable, maybe painful and not always fun. Steadily, unfailingly sleeping across my legs every night, trying to convince me not to get out of bed in the morning.

For a few years, we were separated when I went to college. But returned for another big life milestone, my first apartment. This is where I really started to see myself through her eyes. Through those knowing looks in my direction.

“Mom, why does this idiot dog live with us? He pees on himself on purpose and thinks it’s funny!”
“Mom, who is this woman we’re living with and why does she keep trying to feed me bologna?”
“Mom, who is that guy you’re dating and why are you wasting your time with someone who isn’t even nice to me?”
“Mom, why are you so obviously trying to kill me by making me ride in the car for four hours to Louisville?”
“Mom, why are you so obviously trying to kill me by roasting me in this ill-air conditioned apartment in a heat wave?”
“Mom, it’s really dark in this bedroom, you could stay here and never get out of bed and not go to work and we’d be so comforta…..pprrrrr……”


Through everything. She was there. Aside from my family, she was basically the glue of the last 13 years of my life. The thing that was constant. The thing that stayed with me. No matter what.

Then, it’s almost like God knew things were about to get rough and sent me all the best people in Louisville to help me through it. An amazing group of friends. Real friends. The kind that drop everything they’re doing to drive you and your dying cat to the kitty emergency room (Viv). The kind that bring you a scrapbook they purchased months ago to help you work out your grief (Ann). The kind that rush to your side, whether through actual rushing or texting or emailing, ready with comfort and love (Viv, Ann, and Crystal).

And almost more poetically (because of all the crappy boyfriends she watched me date), a boyfriend who was not only amazingly sweet and wonderful to her while she was alive, but was exactly the kind of love and comfort I needed in her death.

She saw me through to all those amazing blessings, and then was gone.

Maybe I’m reading too much into it. Maybe she was just a cat, and I really loved her and she really loved me. And if that was it, that would still be enough. But I think she was more. At least her role in my life was more.

I miss her enormously. And in a way I’m pretty sure nothing else will ever fill. And that’s okay. I’m not sure I want it to.



Standby…


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Don't. Say It.

As I'm watching the Dow drop by more than 500 points on CNN, below 10,000 for the first time since 2004, I'm remembering something that's been on my nerves for the last several days.

Maybe it's because I listen to the radio (news) too much. Maybe it's because when I'm not doing that, I'm probably watching a Presidential (or VP) debate.

But if I hear one more person (reporter, host, candidates, or otherwise) use the words 'Wall Street' and 'Main Street' within 20 seconds of each other to use a cute metaphor to illustate how the financial collapse of America is reaching average folks, I. will. scream.

It was clever about a month ago.

It is way beyond cliche now.

You are writers. You are speech-makers. You are using a medium to talk to thousands of people every day. Use that creativity (SOMEONE must have some!) to come up with something else.

Please, I beg you. No more.


Standby....

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