Welcome to the South, Hon!

Installment 2

One of the things I hate about moving is finding new radio stations. It takes me a while so scan through the entire FM and AM bands, finding the stations that sound interesting. Then, I must whittle the interesting stations down to 5 -- the exact number of radio presets I have in my car.

The first week I was in Knoxville, I scanned the FM band and found a radio station that sounded like it had about the right beat and tempo. I recklessly set it as radio station number 1 on my preset buttons, expecting songs I recognized to be played any minute.

Two weeks later, I realized I hadn't yet heard a song I recognized. Why two weeks, you ask? Because when you are new to a place, you spend your time worrying about not getting lost, or arriving at places late because you got lost, or just responding to Samantha's every day request, "Mommy, let's go home!" (I tried to tell her over and over again that this was our home now -- no dice. It took a full three weeks for her to stop asking. The first time she said "We're almost home!" in response to our pulling up to our apartment complex gate, I nearly shed tears of joy.)

So, after I learned some of the basics of getting around in Knoxville, my attention once again turned to the radio station that had been playing non-stop for two weeks. I listened carefully. Yes, the beat and tempo were familiar, but none of the songs were. I listened more carefully, then laughed out loud. (Samantha laughed, too, though she had no idea what she was laughing about). I had inadvertently found a Christian Rock radio station and had been listening to it as background noise since I moved into the area. In most places, this type of mistake would be impossible, as no Christian Rock radio stations exist. Welcome to the South, hon!

I never did change the station.

Welcome to the South, hon!
Installment 1

Believe it or not, the best milk around here is also the cheapest milk, and it is sold at a gas station --Weigel's. Paul pumps the gas and I run in and grab a couple gallons of Skim Delight, for only $3.59 a gallon. This is a great deal, especially if you add in the entertainment value provided by the cashiers. Every time I buy milk, I get the cashier's life story in 30 seconds or less. Seriously, EVERY time. It has become a running joke between Paul and I -- I come out of Weigel's as he finishes pumping the gas, and I tell him the latest life story. I call it The Weigel's Milk Cashier Saga.

Cashier 1: By the time I walked out with my milk, I knew her name, her daughter's middle name, her birth month, the fact that her mother passed away 6 months ago from cancer, her boyfriend was out of town, and her medical history. Oh, and she really likes Darvocet (a prescription narcotic).

Cashier 2: I forgot -- but it was a lot!

Cashier 3: Before I even got my receipt, we were friendly enough that apparently I deserved extra punches on my milk card -- she turns 40 next month, her boyfriend is 29, she is LOVING life, and her daughter disapproves.

I am NOT making this up!! Welcome to the South, hon!