Author: Allie P.

I wanted to write, I really did…

by Allie P., posted in Life as I know it

I wanted to write. I really did!

But…

I needed to walk the dog. It was a glorious morning and the two of us could use some bonding.

Then the time slipped away and I still needed to work for my day job which meant traveling away from warm sunny temperatures. I wasn’t worried.

I should have time to write while I wait for my flight.

But…

The gate attendants kept making pesky announcements regarding weather delays, which had the worst way of breaking my concentration.

Dinosaur in Chicago airport
It was a really, really, really long layover

The incoming plane is delayed. The incoming plane has been sent back to its original gate. We found a new plane, but we’ll need a new crew. We need to file paperwork. We need to de-ice the plane. They need to clear the runway. We’ll be underway in just a moment…any moment…

That moment became hours as we waited on the runway. Use of electronics during this down time was strictly prohibited.

I still might be able to write while we fly.

But…

My seat mate was one of those people who don’t pick up on social cues. (I seriously need to meet with the various airlines about my “I’m feeling social / Do not disturb” patent pending travel bracelets).

Which actually was much more tolerable than the sound of the jet engine next to my ear, or the smell from the overworked restroom, but still less conducive to writing.

I can always write when I reach my hotel.

But…

After circled our destination five times, the pills I’d taken for the resulting massive headache hadn’t yet worked their magic. Looking at the blank screen was painful.

And I was hungry, tired, and grumpy to boot and knew I had to wake early for a morning appointment. I looked at the bed.

I wanted to curl up under the covers and sleep.

But…

My flight might have been cancelled were it not for the appearance of the new crew. They just happened to be on the flight as passengers but volunteered for an extra night’s work so that the rest of us sorry individuals huddled together might still reach our destination. Or we might not have gotten airborne had it not been for the ground crew working in freezing temperatures and horizontally blowing snow in order to grant us a clear path and ice-less wings. I may not have reached my hotel were it not for traffic control, squeezing us into an unplanned slot, or gotten to my hotel without my shuttle driver braving frozen roads. They did their jobs, because they had to, even though it wasn’t comfortable or convenient.

And I knew the following day would be just as hectic, just as I knew I didn’t start down this writing journey for lack of a hobby.

I ran out of excuses.

I needed to write.

So I did.

Please forgive me – a letter to the dog

by Allie P., posted in Life as I know it, Personal Favorites

We pulled out your crate this week, unused for the last three years, and brushed off the cobwebs, only we didn’t do it for you. Another four-legged creature joined the family and needed a place to sleep. I think you would have liked her. She’s a mix of Lab, like you, but Boxer too, which was always your favorite playmate. But she’s not you.

Then again, you might find her strange. She doesn’t chase after cats, or squirrels, or stare at a mysterious nothing in the corner of the room making my neck hairs rise. When we go on walks, I don’t worry my arm might be torn from its socket due to the strength of her pulls. She doesn’t jump on arriving guests, or feel the need to defend the household from the threat of the evil vacuum. Nor does she enjoy running in front of my shins as I attempt to descend the stairs just to ensure I’m paying attention.

People we meet keep telling me she is perfect. But she’s not you.

You would be proud of the boys. How well they’ve adapted to an animal in the house once again. They grin and tell me how happy they are to have her. They’ve helped me bathe her, comb her fur, and brush her teeth. They’re teaching her fetch and sit and shake. She’s so patient with them too. The boys have draped themselves over her body and used outside voices near her ear, and yet she still she wags her tail at their arrival.

We tried to make you proud of us as well. She is a rescue like you were once, but an older pup. We estimate she’s around four years old, but with signs that suggest those years weren’t always easy. When we met her, Kiddo announced proudly that we hadn’t found her, she had found us, echoing the words I once used myself to describe our first encounter with you.

Your dad tells me our family feels complete once again. But she’s not you.

She’s smaller than you were, but only just slightly. She is tall enough that I can scratch her head with my fingertips without bending over but light enough for me to carry when she is feeling particularly stubborn. She has a pink leash and collar, which would have appalled you were you not color blind, but she doesn’t seem to mind. She just seems happy to have found a family.

The other night, after the boys had gone to bed, she hopped on the spot on the couch next to me and laid her head on my lap the way you used to do. Soon I found myself growing tired as I listened to her rhythmic snore. I glanced over and saw tan fur where there once lay black and I had to blink away the tears of my surprise. In my weary state, I’d almost forgotten it wasn’t you. I thought I was ready, but it hit me so hard, just then, how much she’s not you. In that moment, I realized how different a brain’s readiness can be to one’s heart’s.

I felt so guilty. Guilty that I was enjoying her warmth by my side. Guilty that we couldn’t do more to keep you there longer. Guilty I am happy to once again see a bowl on the ground.

But she really is a good girl and I was the one to suggest we bring her home. In fairness to her, I am trying to remember all your flaws as much as I recall your virtues. How you could clear the room after a meal. The books of mine you destroyed. That incident with the bunny.

The trouble is, I loved you with your flaws as much as you loved me with mine.

I remember those early puppy weeks before you were house-broken and the pain inflicted on my arms by your needle sharp teeth and all the reasons we chose not to adopt a puppy this time. I remember wondering if we’d made a mistake back then, injecting your brand of chaos into our lives as I surveyed the damage that once was my living room. But mostly I remember how much we grew to love you over the years that followed. If the decision to bring you home back then was a mistake, it was the best mistake we’ve ever made.

She’s only been with us a few short days and is getting to know us as much as we are getting to know her. She’s not you, true, but she’s herself; a dog who is sweet and mostly well-mannered. A dog who deserves to be loved for who she is rather than considered somehow flawed for who she’s not.

So please forgive me if I eventually allow my heart to stop comparing, as difficult as that seems now. When I scratch her behind her ears or throw her a ball to chase, it doesn’t mean I miss you any less. It will just mean I’ve finally allowed my heart to grow more.

Boxer Lab Mix
Newest member of the family

A Taste of Raleigh

by Allie P., posted in Life as I know it

“There is no sincerer love than the love of food” – George Bernard Shaw

“Why did you decide to stay in Raleigh?” It is a question my dad periodically asks, hoping that I might one day see the error of my ways and move closer to him. I like to counter, you can always move here. “I just don’t get what you see in it.” As a recently elected official in a town more than a hundred miles away, I understand his local pride is running particularly high at the moment, but when this conversation comes up, I always want to respond, I don’t get what you don’t.

Raleigh has grit (and not the dirty kind)

(Image: Joule Cafe‘s stone ground grits paired with a White Russian)

stone ground grits

Downtown Raleigh has experienced a recent boom in its downtown thanks in part to a number of determined individuals who decided to follow their dreams by launching restaurants or other businesses here.

One such is Ashley Christensen, a nationally recognized chef (and 2014 James Beard award-winning Best Chef: Southeast) who purchased a one time Piggly Wiggly and repurposed into not one but three outstanding restaurants.

It knows how to innovate and making best use of local resources

(Image: Joule Cafe‘s apple-filled, griddle-less hot cakes – proving even pancakes can be made better with a little imagination)

griddle-less apple filled hot cakes

Raleigh is home to more than ten colleges and universities without including the various institutes of higher learning less than twenty-five miles away in Durham or Chapel Hill and many are known as much for their academic programs as their national championships.

Additionally, Raleigh has been recognized by the President as an innovation hub and a key to driving the rest of the state’s Economic future.

It is a city constantly on the move

(Image: Calavera’s beef empanada with strawberry margarita)

empanada with strawberry margarita

One of my favorite things about Raleigh (though the food is a close second) is the series of trails that make up the area’s greenway system.

You can spend hours either on foot or by bike surrounded by nature and protected from the summer sun under a canopy of trees. Raleigh is nicknamed the City of Oaks for a reason. There are also gardens, public parks, and a network of creeks that constantly inspire exploration.

But at the same time values its history

(Image: Green Light Bar cocktail)

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If nature isn’t your thing, there are plenty of other interesting places to visit around town including museums, civic landmarks, exhibitions as well as sporting events and performances. There are also dozens of tours (such as the food tour I where I took these photos), free concerts, and festivals.

Fun Fact: One of the earliest laws on North Carolina’s books was that the capital building must be placed within ten miles of the lawmaker’s favorite tavern. Because, Priorities.

It is a melting pot of culture as well as technology

(Image: Garland‘s Asian-inspired chicken in a turmeric-yogurt sauce with chili cucumber salad and beer from one of the 10+ local breweries)

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Today Raleigh has a population just under a half million people. If you include the sprawling areas that make up Raleigh’s suburbs that number is closer to one million.

However if you ask people where they are from, it is uncommon to meet someone who was born here. Instead, a large portion of the population is like me. People who came to the area and simply fell in love with it for any number of reasons.

Where celebration comes easy

(Image: Bittersweet’s chocolate mousse and rosette)

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At the end of my food tour, our group was fortunate enough to meet the owner, Kim Hammer, of Bittersweet, a dessert and drink bar. As she told us about her store, its regular clients, and the services she offers, it was obvious that the restaurant was more than a job. It was her passion.

In addition to providing sweets, she also regularly offers champagne classes encouraging everyone not to horde the bottle, waiting for an event to celebrate which may never come, but to instead occasionally drink a glass just because it is Thursday.

It is people like this who make Raleigh, my kind of town. I hope that if your travels ever take you this way, you stop by and sample it yourself.

 

Are you not entertained?

by Allie P., posted in Life as I know it

God Of War
The original Super Bowl. Image by Sean Molin courtesy of Flickr
My house was ‘destroyed’ as one guest so delicately put it just before leaving on Sunday. We’d hosted a Super Bowl viewing party and toys and chips ground into a fine dust under a stampede of little feet covered the floors. My memory from the time we used to host this party before children is foggy, but at times like these, I wonder if the mess was once easier to clean up when it consisted of only left-over red plastic cups and the occasional “party-foul” carpet spots.

The following day was a struggle. Why, oh why, isn’t the Super Bowl on a Saturday? I complained to everyone and no one in particular. Silly Allie. Do you really think an organization accused of minimizing studies on the impact of concussions on its employees really cares that you have to work with a potential hangover the next day? The question you should be asking is, were you not entertained?

The party had been fun for the most part, even if the team I was rooting for lost. Snacks were warm, beverages, cold, and the chairs were full of friends and family. In fact, the only thing, shy of the loss, I hadn’t enjoyed was a string of commercials about children born nine months after the Super Bowl. Eww. Sorry, that was a song no parent should be comfortable watching their child sing, especially not in front of such a big audience.

But, my hostess duties prevented me from watching it all, and apparently others saw something in the program that I missed. Oh my gosh. Did you see what Beyoncé was wearing during the halftime show? I couldn’t believe it either. All that money and she can’t find pants that fit. No, it’s not that. I hear she hates pants. She’s so anti-pants she won’t even so much as wear a skirt. That’s how much she hates pants. Maybe she’s just really proud of her legs? If I had legs like that, I’d promote them too and why aren’t you talking about Flint? Flint, as in Michigan? What does Flint have to do with Beyoncé or her pants?

Well, since you brought it up, let’s talk about Flint. When I hear the word Flint, I don’t instantly think crisis, although the thought quickly follows. Flint, to me, is a house a short distance from an automotive plant with a basement that was once stocked with carpentry tools, a sunroom that opens to cool summer breezes as no other artificial air conditioning is needed, and an older couple who once choose to raise a family there rather than in another town just up the road. The same couple who now stubbornly refuse to come south no matter how much my mom begs.

I started to pay attention to the water crisis when I learned that my brother-in-law arranged for bottled water to be sent from states away to my grandparents’ home before he would bring his daughters to visit. He wasn’t the last either. A cousin sounded the alarm, well before the current media storm, across all her social media. Her friends, anxious to do anything at all to help, but at a loss as to exactly how, sent bottles upon bottles more. It is a truly sweet gesture, and I for one appreciate the thought as well as their generosity, but just as the decision to switch Flint’s water from Detroit was likely made with best intentions (but not enough homework), the quick solution wound up creating a different sort of problem. Water is heavy, and once delivered, is difficult for my grandparents to move to where it can actually be used. So the bottles sit.

Now it is winter again, bringing its weather with it. A few years ago, homes near my grandparents lost their roofs under the weight of the unrelenting snow. My grandfather bought a snowthrower, only to have it stolen away. Flint is not new to problems. It is only the scale of the public’s attention that has changed. And yet for all its problems, there are those who continue to call it home for any number of reasons. People like my grandparents who refuse to give up and leave. People like my grandparents’ neighbor who shovels snow-covered sidewalks well beyond his own property line for nothing more than thanks. People who remember the Flint that was and people who still dream of the Flint that could be. People who simply want to drink a glass of water unafraid.

So no. This isn’t a story about pants, or football, or even my house (that rest assured is no longer in ruins). It is a story about people. No matter what team we root for or whether we wear trousers, kilt, or body suit straight out of the nineties, it is good to remember we are all made of water. So let’s try to keep it clean.

And no, in this, I am not entertained.

 

A birthday wish for my son

by Allie P., posted in Life as I know it

Happy Birthday bannerCake crumbs still spotted the table and chairs, remnants from his brother’s birthday party when LT first began asking if it was now time to plan his celebration, an event that wouldn’t take place for several months. Each time he asked, he announced loudly and repeatedly that he was done being three and ready to be four.

Over the next several weeks, there were few mornings (or evenings) in which LT did not ask us for an update on the number of days left until his birthday. This was new for him as he’d never expressed all that much interested in his birthday before. Eventually, I came to realize that he had gotten it into his head that his world would suddenly be made different by the simple act of raising one additional finger when adults asked him how old he was. He told me he was going to get a bunk bed and sleep on the top. He was going to stay up late every night and was going to get to do homework (the boy is actually looking forward to this – proving ignorance is bliss). I didn’t quite have the heart to tell him that no, not all his dreams of big-kid-hood would be coming true, at least not this year (except the part about getting a new bed – let’s be clear, LT, that’s not happening).

Then the countdown was over and it was the evening before his big day. I told him, this is the last day you are going to be a three-year-old. Tomorrow, when you wake up, you are going to be four. His eyes got big as the reality of his situation sunk in. As I pulled the blankets around him and leaned in to kiss his forehead, he looked at me and said, “I no wanna be four. I wanna be three forever.”

I did what most mothers (or fathers) would in this situation. I gave him a bone-crushing hug and told them that I would like him to stay three very much too. Then I wished him good night and snuck into another room to wrap his presents, because, unfortunately, a wish to stay forever the same is about as likely to come true as is him actually enjoying homework once he starts bringing it home on a regular basis.

I adore my littlest boy. I love his hugs, his laugh, and his insanely honest observations. It makes sense that I want him to remain exactly how he is now, but, as I sat there on the floor trying to avoid papercuts while keeping tabs on the tab, I started wondering about that look on his face and what he said. After so many weeks of anticipation, so much yearning to be four, what now caused the about-face? Sadly, the only thing I can come up with is this – he is my son.

I am the kind of person who falls in loves with the idea of things but can then become terrified if there is even a fraction of a chance of the idea becoming reality (I love the beach, but am scared to swim in the ocean for example). It is one of the reasons it took me so long to start pursuing writing in the first place. I have to admit, I take comfort in the status quo. I know exactly where my place is and what is expected of me. I am fortunate. The status quo has thus far been good to me.

But the status quo is not what dreams are made of. It can be like never going hungry but also never enjoying a slice of cake (and oh, how I enjoy a good piece of cake). And so, as he blows out his candles (and I blow out mine because it was my birthday party too), I am promising myself that I will challenge it. It may not be today or tomorrow, but when the opportunity comes I am going to squash the butterflies in my stomach and face it. So then, when it is my son’s turn, he might do the same, unafraid, for no other reason than this – he is my son.