Aw, Katie

I don't even watch the damn Today show, but I was bawling when they started the Goodbye Katie Couric episode this morning. They showed clips from all the news stories she's covered, and the waterworks started when this one Hurricane Katrina victim was crying and said, "Help me, Katie."

From there, I cried through flashback reels of the Oklahoma City bombing, Columbine and the World Trade Center. I had to turn the TV off, because I would just weep right through all the nostalgic montages they are about to show. It would just be embarrassing to cry during the "Hairstyles through the Years" reel.

Five Senses of Vermont

John and I took a road trip with some friends to Vermont for Memorial Day weekend. Six hours and five diet cokes later, we rolled up to the big house on the hill and marveled at the weather. It couldn't have been more gorgeous.

Sight: Sailboats on the sparkling water.
Sound: The wind streaming over the top of the convertible's windshield.
Smell: Chicken and ribs on the barbeque.
Touch: The sun warming my shoulders as I paddled the canoe.
Taste: We house was filled with foodies, so we ate very well. 15 different cheeses, lush salads, pate, roasted corn, strawberry rhubarb pie and ribs so good they made me tear up a bit.

UPDATE: I took the picture of the dog in the sidecar at a gas station on our way to Lake Champlain, and the sunset shown from Julie's backyard.

Welcome back, Chicks!

I have so missed the Dixie Chicks since their last CD, Home. I know they've been off having babies and pissing off the red states, but I'm glad they are back to making music.
I learned to like some country music by growing up in South Arkansas. Back then, you either learned the words to Garth Brooks and George Strait's songs, or you bought your own CDs. We were broke, and I still know the words to most of George's Where the Sidewalk Ends album. I'm not sure that poor kids in El Dorado have many more choices now, since the same Top 40 DJ is still on the air down there. He probably still ends every broadcast with his nasal tagline, "If you can't be good, be good at it."

The Dixie Chicks are one of the few holdouts from my country days, and I buy every new CD on the first day they become available. I bought this one in a store instead of on iTunes because I heard they need a stronger showing in the stores to do better on the charts.

Cheers, Chicks! Welcome back.

A nuance of dating a chef

John and I were watching a B-movie horror flick called Hide and Seek on Skin-a-max today. A killer had been wielding a knife on everyone who walked through the door for about 30 minutes. Creepy Dakota Fanning was starting to cry because she knew the bad guy was finally going to come for her.
Suddenly, John gets all excited. "Honey! That's the knife I gave you!"
I looked at the blood-stained blade on the screen and glanced over at my overly cheerful boyfriend. He was staring at the knife and getting a little nostalgic. I guess it did make an awfully clean cut.

About 3,652 days ago

Good lord. Ten years ago this month, I graduated high school. PCHS, baby! Class of '96 says Turn it Around and Let's Get Down!! (Why didn't our teachers balk at that sign in the gym? It hung for weeks!)

I'm working with some of my high school friends to get our reunion together this summer, and it's been amazing to reconnect with these people. A lot of us went to a tiny school together from kindergarten through the 12th grade, and we knew so much about each other. Ti drove a pickle-green Beretta. Ashley and Lauri were the pageant winners. Craig could sell ice to Eskimos, and Jen always had a smile for everyone.

On graduation day our high school superintendent said something I still remember. He stood at about eight feet tall and rarely cracked a smile in front of the students. It was during one of his rare sentimental moments when he said, "Remember this day, guys. This is the last time all of you will ever stand in the same room together. You're going to go off to college or to work, and you'll never be all together again."

It felt like a blow to me, since I'd had classes with these same people for my entire waking life. But I was bad about keeping in touch, and it's only been since we started talking about the reunion that I've actually talked with anyone from my class at all. We've all got different lives now.

Now it's time to get together again. I wonder how many of our 46 graduates will come. I wonder how many of them have kids that look like them. I wonder if I should bring pictures of Pumba to share.

CALL FOR COMMENTS: I would love to hear your reunion stories. Did you go to your 10-year? Were you excited to see anyone in particular? Did you get any souvenirs or do anything particularly fun?

What I meant to say...

My grandmother, D.J. G-mom, had to send a HELLO?! letter to get me to tune back in to the family this week. She sent an e-mail to say that she'd sold the house, cashed in the stocks and was planning to move to Fiji with a man she met over the Internet.

Her plan worked. We all started calling her and emailing each other like crazy. It was a great way to get our attention.

So, obviously, dear readers, you are not the only ones I've been ignoring these days. I thought about you this morning when I was walking to the train and spotted a tiny baby bird lying on the sidewalk. It fell out of the tree, I guess, because it didn't even have fur yet. Uh, I mean feathers. Anyway, I should have moved it off the path, but I didn't even slow down to take a good look. A block later, I walked through an essay that had been scattered across the street, but I didn't stop to read it. A couple of blocks later, I saw some crumpled thong underwear on the sidewalk. (No, I didn't stop for it either.)

It would be hard to find more interesting things just laying on the sidewalk, but I just kept walking. Maybe it's time to slow down a bit.