So sorry I've been out of touch. I know you feel neglected. Every time I sit in front of the computer to check my mail, pay bills or catch up on the news I think of you. I think of things I should be writing on you. But then...the baby cries, work calls, the in-laws show up, or it's dinner time, and I get called away; thinking of you, but never really connecting.
Alas, poor blog, so lonely in your corner of cyberspace. I can imagine you, sitting by yourself, whimpering in the dark, wondering why I don't come by more often. I bet you miss all of our little bloggy friends. Although, they've all gotten great makeovers, and you're still the plain little mousy thing you started off as last summer. I'm sure they don't hold it against you. I'm sure they still love you, they're just wondering why you don't say more.
Perhaps a little counseling is in order, to help us deal with this burgeoning case of blog agoraphobia. A little make-up might help us boost your confidence, and then maybe we can work on what you want to say when you meet other blogs.
I promise to work on my html skills a bit, and track down a copy of Photoshop so I can make you a pretty header. Perhaps we'll get lucky and a kind friend will help us make a template.
In the meantime, here are some roses to make up for my absence. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder...dearest, lonely little blog, I can only hope that's true.
So TFYO comes running into the living room this morning yelling,
"Mommy, MOMMY! I saw a rat outside my window! It was looking at me!"
I, of course didn't panic.
All right, I panicked a little and went tearing back to her room, screaming "A rat? WHERE??"
I peered out her window looking across the freshly seeded yard for any hint of a rodent: digging, droppings, anything. All I saw was a bunch of damp grass seed.
The TFYO says, "Well, wait. It might actually have been a beetle".
Lyric from a song made very popular by Dean Martin, The Peanut Vendor.Although it's been around longer than that.
Peanuts are a big deal in the south. Of course, you know, they're not a nut, they are a legume that was imported from Africa (even though they are originally from South America), along with okra, black-eyed peas and watermelons. Peanuts were one of the staples in the diets of enslaved Africans living in the Americas, so it's no surprise peanuts are everywhere down here.
Hell, one of our Presidents used his image as a Georgia peanut farmer to sell himself to the American people. Of course, Jimmy Carter also did graduate work in nuclear physics at Union College, New York, but that image did resonate quite as much as peanut farming.
Peanuts are important down here.
However, unlike up north, most folks don't prefer their peanuts roasted 'round these parts, they like 'em boiled.
It really is a southern thing. Every summer, hand made signs start popping up all along the road offering boiled peanuts in various vernaculars. I've seen everything from "Boiled P-nuts" to "Boiled Pee-nuts" offered for sale on the side of the road. Just remember, when you say boiled down here, you better say it "bawled", or they'll know you're a Yankee.
In the deep south, you can even find them canned in grocery stores like tomatoes or other veggies.
And I despise them.
I consider myself pretty well acclimated to the American South. I love grits and greens, I eat hoppin' john and pork every New Year's Day, and I even sound more like my neighbours here, than I do my northern family.
But there are two things I can't stand: sweet tea and boiled peanuts.
My husband loves both, and while he understands my dislike of sweet tea, he never tires of urging me to eat boiled peanuts.
Basically, a boiled peanut is a peanut that's been, well...boiled. You have to use fresh, green (as in just harvested, not in colour) peanuts. Then they're boiled, usually outdoors, in a big pot of salty water until the shells/skins get soggy. According to What's Cooking America.net, they take on a "fresh legume flavor". According to me, they taste like soggy, slimy, wet and salty cardboard.
Just the idea of squishing one of those things into my mouth makes me shudder.
When Ray interviewed someone from the Effingham County Fair this past fall, he asked the man "How can I get my wife to try boiled peanuts?" The man's answer: "Well, hell, son, just shove a couple in her mouth. She'll get the idea."
And I may be coming around to that idea.
There's a gentleman who sells his boiled peanuts just outside the door of our local grocery. His sign proclaims "Best Boiled Peanuts in Georgia", and he gets extra points from me for spelling "peanut" correctly. He's a joy to talk to. He has one of those warm, southern voices that sounds like it's either going to break into a spiritual any minute, or possibly a sermon. TFYO always has to stop and chat with him whenever we go to the store, and it's always worth it to watch her listen to his stories.
She pays attention to that man, she hangs on his every word.
But I've never bought his peanuts.
I think, this week, I just might. At the very least, Ray will eat them.
This is Judy Garland singing The Peanut Vendor Song, not the best version I could find, but most of the other versions were in Spanish.
I quit my job yesterday. Well, I say I quit, but I'm still doing the occasional air shift on the weekends, but no more work during the week. No more production work. No more responsibility beyond my air shift.
And I feel so much better.
I let the one year anniversary (blogiversary?) of my little corner of the world pass without much fanfare. Sorry about that.
I also owe y'all a post about peanuts. I promise you will have it by Monday, and since I don't have to work Monday (or Tuesday, or Wednesday...) I get to come visit you all, too!
Oh, and if any of you know someone who's looking for a pretty good voice talent, send them my way. I can do accents, children's voices and character voices, too.
Sorry I haven't been around much, folks. I've been working, not sleeping, feeding a baby...that kind of thing.
We did make it out to a baseball game a couple of weeks ago, Baby J's first, and it was an exciting one for TFYO. She got to run the bases against Gnate the Gnat, the Sand Gnats mascot. Of course she won. Here are some pics for y'all.
The bottom pic shows TFYO crossing home plate. Ray knows some folks with the Sand Gnats, and as we were all chatting one of the promotions people asked if TFYO wanted to run the bases against Gnate after the fourth inning. Her response? To run for the open gate leading to the field, yelling "Woo-hoo! Let's go now!" The game, of course, was in the second inning. It was amazing to watch a huge crowd of adults all yell "Not yet!" and lunge for my child at the same time.
Like an idiot, I forgot to bring my camera, but we happened to run in to a co-worker (Hi, Amy!) who remembered hers. Amy is such a diligent photographer that she ran down the third base line and almost mowed Gnate down in order to get the shot of TFYO crossing home plate. TFYO promptly grabbed the live mic and hollered "Helloooooo, Savannah!" She then took a bow.
Here she is making nice with the insect she was running against:
I have been working more than I should, but money is money, and it makes the world go around. It also pays for incredibly expensive gas, food, cable internet, and a roof over our heads.
Baby J is fine, and is actually sleeping in three hour stretches at night now, just not in her bassinet or crib. She prefers the bouncy seat. I, frankly, don't care where she sleeps, as long it's safe and allows me to sleep with some comfort, too. She has developed a case of infant acne that would make your average teenager cringe, but it seems to be clearing up.
If you watch your stat counters, you may have noticed that I've been by. I don't comment a whole lot, as it's difficult to type while nursing, or holding a baby with one arm. I'm getting better at it, but if I don't leave a comment, don't be hurt.
For those wanting a post with more Southern flavour, I've been working on one about boiled peanuts, the delicacy of the south. Stay tuned.
I'm a geek. I'm a married geek. I'm a married, unemployed voice geek with two small children. I'm not pretty, I'm not ugly, and I'm somewhere south of normal. But that makes me pretty okay, doncha think?
