Running from a Fire in a Hurry

It's not just a children's piano song anymore.

Two weeks ago, while my parents were in California, a fire broke out at my Dad's office building. The building was owned by my family's commercial real estate company, and also housed my Dad and Papa's offices. The restaurant (formerly known as "Carbos," recently re-opened as "Chastains") had a ballroom on the second floor that was completely destroyed. The rest of the building suffered major water damage and it will be several months before they can re-occupy the facility. The firefighters fought the fire for over three hours, and most fortunately, no one was hurt. I've attached the pictures my Dad sent of the ballroom "before" and "after" - although having seen the damage in person - the pictures don't do it justice.

The moral of the story is this: because my dad is FANATICAL about backing up both his home and work computers, he didn't lose a single document. He was able to move his offices to a temporary location and literally continue business as (almost) usual the day he returned. As our own house was burglarized exactly two years ago, we often preach the value of backing things up, keeping inventory of what you own, and being sure that irreplaceable paperwork is kept in a safe-deposit box. This serves as a good reminder. . .

Showering

I'm so behind.
Preparation for my first Greenville Thanksgiving has kept me in quite the tizzy for the past week. Many things were left unsaid. Last weekend, we celebrated Craig and Julie's upcoming wedding.
We love Julie. We love pretty much everything about her. She's good people from good family. And beautiful to boot. She takes care of the brother even when he is vomiting (which he did a lot of this weekend - poor Ito!). She does this even when SHE is vomiting (apparently it's contagious).
Our families grew up together (dads were in the same kindergarten class!) The cool thing about marrying someone you grew up with is that all of your friends and parents' friends pretty much know each other. Good for easy schmoozing. Bad for keeping family secrets and embarrassing stories from your past.
Wedding will be in February . . . We can't wait.

If I lived in the furniture catalog . . .

Our kitchen table arrived at the warehouse today. It is now awaiting our pick-up. However it can't be set up right away (since all of the dining room furniture is currently in the kitchen so that we can finally finish the hardwood floors in the dining room.) For those of you that simply can't stand the wait . . . here's what it would look like if we lived in the furniture catalog.

Good Lesson

If you are baking, and the batter doesn't taste good - you are probably not headed in the right direction.

Rest in Peace

My 1998 Isuzu Rodeo has nearly kicked the bucket. About a month ago, Husband and I agreed to honor her D.N.R. wishes if anything more than $3000 worth of work was required. Then she blew a head gasket. Which costs $3400 to replace. (Either that, or you buy a completely new engine.) So we took her home, and she is now in hospice in the garage. She can't be driven (the engine will go out at any time now) and we are now renting a car until we are able to find a permanent replacement.

If anyone is in need of an SUV that needs an entirely new engine and has a severely battered rear bumper, hail dents in the hood, no air conditioning, a dial stuck in the "defrost" position so that the only circulating air you can receive comes out of the front dash (because the dial knob fell off), a battery acid stain in the truck, windshield-fluid-spitters that don't spit, a gear shift that requires an advanced automotive degree to get into gear, broken rear speakers, head lights that are slightly cross-eyed and point in the wrong direction, and smells reminiscent of fish - please contact me. IMMEDIATELY.

The No-Staple List

There is only one dry cleaners between work and our house. For some reason, even though everything - from houses to groceries - is cheaper in Greenville, somehow dry cleaning has remained the sole exception. In addition to being incredibly costly, we quickly discovered that our dry cleaners STAPLES the dry cleaning tag into your clothes. This is fine for button downs, where they just slip the tag through a buttonhole and then staple the ends together. But they were literally stapling the tags into my pants and sweaters. Uncool. And one more thing I have to worry about when getting dressed in the morning.

I asked the dry cleaning ladies (who are surprisingly young and surprising white) what the story was with the garment-destroying staple tendencies. They explained that if I didn't want my clothing brutalized, they would just put my name on the "No-Staple List." Easy enough.

Or so I thought. Upon my most recent pick-up, I discovered the staples had returned. I kindly asked the lady what had happened: "Excuse me, I was actually added to the 'No-Staple List' several weeks ago". To which she responded, "When you drop off your clothes, you need to remind us that you are on the list."

Remind you that I'm on the list? Isn't that, essentially, THE FUNCTION OF THE LIST? So that I don't NEED to remind you each week to not decimate my clothing while I pay you $5.25 per garment? Humph.

Happy Birthday Dad!

An Open Letter to my new Brother-In-Law

Dearest Brother-In-Law,
Welcome to the family! Having only been an official member for a little over 2 years myself - I realize that I can't speak with the same authority that a lifetimer would have to offer. But I nonetheless consider myself well-versed in family politics and dynamics, and would like to share 2 important roles with you.

1. Libby is Queen.
If a hypothetical situation were to arise, in which you were on a boat with Libby, and an enormous wave capsized your ship, sending you both overboard - and the family was only able to save only one of you . . . I hope you can swim.

2. Brother is King.
When up north, we bow to him. We believe he can do anything. He can fix cars. Wire surround sound. Heal the sick. Raise the dead. When he is in town - the mom and dad just stare. If he wants pizza, we eat pizza. If he wants to roam around in the backyard with a pellet gun resting over his shoulder, we pretend its normal. Back here at home, it's a different story. But up there - he rules the roost.

Take these to heart. It's a pretty easy family to be a part of: When dad-doug offers to drive you to the train station, don't fight it. When mama-riv wants to give you a chicken sandwich for the road, just take it. Follow the two aforementioned rules and you'll be welcomed with open arms.

With undying familial love for golden retrievers, pigs in a blanket, and the Sunday crossword puzzle,
Sister-In-Law

PROJECTION

[The title of this post is irrelevant. It just seems that during election coverage - this is the term that news anchors get the most excited about]

You know who I feel bad for tonight? John Kerry.
No one has taken more of a beating tonight that he has. Every 3 minutes they are pointing out how much better Obama is doing than Kerry did 4 years ago. Basically highlighting: "And this particular area of the state was SO red that 4 years ago 95% of its citizens voted for a mankey (half man, half monkey) over Kerry - and this year, Obama is holding at 50%"

He lost the election. He dealt with the humility and the disappointment. He finally moved on. Let the poor guy enjoy his evening in peace.

Treat

Our best little buddies Blake and Dane came over for Halloween to do some Trick-or-Treating. Turns out, Husband and I got the real treat - lots of Hollenbeck love!