COUNTDOWNCLOCK

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!

Out of the mouths of babes

Two hours after our first attempt to get Samantha down to bed, she was still wide awake and having a complete meltdown: red-faced screaming filled with pleas like "I need my mommy!"

I went to lay down with her, and she looked at me and asked, "Read scriptures?" I almost fell off the bed. But I quickly said yes and grabbed the Book of Mormon, and started to read a few verses. I asked her if she was feeling better, because she immediately calmed down. She said, "Yah, I feel much better!" After 3 or 4 verses she got bored and asked for the pictures. I handed her the book and she started turning pages. She found them and started explaining that Jesus was in white clothes (the 3rd Nephi account of Christ's appearance in the Americas) and also said "Can't Hurt!" to the painting of Samuel the Lamanite on the wall with arrows coming at him. Wow, she really listens!!

Then I found the painting of Christ at the beginning of the book, and asked her who it was. She said, "It's Jesus! Jesus looking for mommy."

Now, what do you think that is supposed to mean?

Spring?

It was 60 degrees today -- I went outside in shorts and t-shirts. I think I could actually see the snow melting, and some green is popping through in some places. Frankly, I'm surprised the grass made it through the winter, but then again, everything is hearty in the Northeast.

Apparently all sorts of things are melting around here. My neighbor spoke to me today, for the second time ever, once it became apparent that I was moving. The first time was in response to a fire truck and ambulance outside my door (long story). I guess I know how to help cold New Englanders melt: move!

NH's version of March Madness

Today's snowstorm (Yes, TODAY, March 28) moved us into second place. The competition is getting so close -- I don't know if I can handle the suspense. What competition you ask? Why, for the Snowiest Winter Ever Recorded. Seriously.

I am so sick of snow I can't stand the fact that our move to Tennessee is still 28 days away. Will we see any signs of Spring before we go? Better yet, will the snow even have melted before we go? I am actually hoping that it snows a measly 6 more inches so that at least I can complain about THE snowiest winter, and not the Second snowiest winter. Complaining about something that can truly be categorized as the worst (or best, if you are a lover of snow sports, which clearly I am not) of any particular category just sounds better.

I almost threw out my snowboots and down-filled coat recently, considering the fact that I was moving to a place where we will see only 10 inches of snow a year. Compare that to New Hampshire: We've seen over 10 FEET since Dec. 1st. Good thing I didn't throw out my boots. Or my coat. Samantha wants to go play in it, and I guess I'll let her, as she'll likely never see this much snow again in her life. Unless she goes on a mission to Norway.