The Battle of Caaahrthage

We fought the battle and won, my friends.



You know, the "weekend spent with 3 sisters, a sister-in-law, and a mother all in the attic of a bed & breakfast during their wine festival without killing each other" battle.

Any time a night hasn't ended with a drink thrown in your face and the silent treatment, consider it a victory.

But it really wasn't hard. And we were tested. Oh yes, we were tested.



Try going to the bathroom in front of four people in a space with no partitions.

No amount of magazines will help that situation.



But, to be true, we won probably because I paced myself....



..or because of the $20 lipstick complete with a built in lighted mirror. You know, in case you go spelunking in a cave with some girlfriends and need to freshen up.

This little gem just might have been the saving grace.



After our freshening up, we stepped out onto the front lawn to have a lunch while sampling the local vendors.

I've often wondered if I couldn't sell at one of these events. With all the grapes left in the back of the fridge, some of them are bound to ferment, right?



After several moves around the lawn and a couple more samples, we hit the town.

Dancing? Why yes, but not us this time.



The Kansas City Marching Cobras happened to be in Carthage this particular weekend! My sister L looked on like a proud mother as she was the only one of us who had seen them before. She continually asked us if we were sure we wanted to go see them, and then afterwards thanked us all for coming as if she hosted the group in her living room.

The Marching Cobras was started up in KC as a way for inner city kids to have a positive outlet, while also having to maintain a certain gpa, etc. They were a nice addition to our weekend!



When we arrived back at the B&B, we convinced the owners to turn on the twinkle lights on the front porch. Oh, to have a spacious, stone front porch like this one.

I would invest in only white linen dresses, cinched at the waist and insist that my hair be pulled up in a loose bun. Sigh.

We sat around sampling more wines, shoving chinese food down our gullets,



while L put on more lipstick.

We talked around the table for a good couple hours before heading up to the attic where it felt like a scene from Little Women.

Why do I always have to play the role of Beth?



Unlike Beth, my heart did survive the night and the next morning we woke up to breakfast downstairs. This is the first time I've had to sit with the hosts and other guests at one table. It was awkward at first, since it felt a little intimate.

Luckily they were the talkative sort and kept up both their and my end of the conversation. Functional Introvert saved once again!

Mom had to wear her sunglasses because of the sun and I laughed inappropriately loud for so early in the morning. The host quickly served our first course after that loud guffaw.



A couple poems were read and some well-rehearsed stories were told by the hosts, then we parted ways from cute Carthage, MO.

Writing this post has made me realize that as soon as I do something, I need to write about it. I'm sure there were a ton of little nuances throughout the stay that made me come away with this feeling of having had such a good time, but for the life of me, I cannot recall them. But maybe that isn't true. Maybe it was just the feeling of being together that left a good mark on my memory. Kind of like reading a book on a crisp sunny afternoon that resulted in a more refreshed version of yourself than when you first sat down. Nothing in particular, but just the whole of the experience.

Thank you girlies!

Y is for Yawn.

Definitely not for Young. Last weekend, our local casino hosted a live concert for Eve 6. Hello 1998!

The roommates and I looked at each other, debated, and then agreed that if it were even just 5 years ago, there would be no question about going folks. So now we have to go whether we want to or not if only to prove that we have just as much energy as we did back then.

The concert kicked off at 10pm which in college was the time we would have just started getting ready. I was ready for the local-breakfast-joint portion of the night by 9:45.





We hung in there for the night, occasionally yelling how absolutely Young we all are, had a couple cocktails, played a few hands of blackjack and even ate breakfast at the casino itself.

When we got into the car, exhausted, we felt like we really lived up to our college days.

And then we looked at the clock. It was barely after midnight.

Sigh.

Moving on to a new phase in our lives, I guess.

Jane Austen Festival, Part One

We've only just arrived home from our trip to Regency England (aka, Louisville KY) and am enjoying reliving memories from it....

...Like my senior portraits from the graduating class of 1798. I was voted Least Likely To Die During Childbirth.

Thank you, birthing hips.

And then there was the Regency Ball...

I think I may have set my expectations a wee bit high that I'd be dancing until my slippers hurt and I blame it on the Contra dancing group from a couple weeks ago. They had explained to me that it is considered rude to dance with the same person the entire night, even if he/she is your date.... Especially if there are more females than males, or vice-versa.

This was not the case Saturday night for little Miss Carolyn. Sigh.

When we arrived, a nice lady did ask me to dance for one of the first songs and I had to endure feeling like Sasquatch next to her petit little thing.  She was exceedingly sweet, though, and I was grateful for helping me segway into a dancing mentality. I'm new to this whole dancing without caring thing. And since mom was out of commission due to a back injury, I was on my own.



Afterwards, I sat down and we eagerly waited to be asked for the next song. We waited. And waited. Ogled at pretty dresses... and waited.



Song number two came on, so I used this as an opportunity to get a snapshot because there would be like absolutely no time to do so when I dance the rest of the night away. Poor mom will be just so lonely having no one to talk to.



Song numbers three through six: Mom started to get worried. I was becoming convinced that the wallpaper behind me was also green with pink roses and therefore no one could find me even if they wanted to. So I stood up and paced for awhile until the song ended.



Song number seven: Mom is now despondent and almost irreconcilable.

I'd have given my right leg for someone to ask me. And I probably would've danced better without it, too. Maybe not as happily, but definitely with more rhythm. Instead, I sat gloomily feeling more like Mary Bennett than Elizabeth.

You know who Mary is.

Take a guess.

Looking back, why didn't I ask anyone? If I'd had a glass of champagne in my hand, then game on.

But (in case you've forgotten) I'm a functioning INTROVERT, people. No way am I going over to strangers under flourescent lighting and lead them to the dance floor. If I had been with someone more shy, then I would've mustered up the guts to do something.

Have you met my mom, though? She is decidedly unshy and tried to get every living creature in breeches and dresses that passed our way to dance with me. My god, you would've thought our family was on the brink of financial disaster and she needed me to throw myself at anyone in a cravat. Yet, still no luck.

So instead of acting as my dance pimp, she suggested I improve my countenance. "You know, people are more likely to ask you if you're smiling, Carolyn."

Okay, so like this?

"No," she said... "Try to add a touch of desperation to your smile. Dance partners love that."



And what d'ya know. Within two seconds of my face exploding from sheer force of countenance, a guy came over and lamented that I wasn't dancing.

Huzzah!!



He really acted the part too, which I appreciated. All gracefulness and toe-pointing.; I was taken aback by his unabashedness on the regency dance floor.

The night quickly ended, though, before I could come out of  my shell. But I was happy with the dances that I was able to experience.



One note of worthy, however. A lady came up and asked my age. She thought I was 19. Let me repeat that, Nuh-ineteen. That's for all my fellow gray-haired friends, you know which nursing home you are.

As for the dancing, this Saturday night is another contra night and I'm looking forward to sweating dancing in the rounds I missed out on at the Ball.

However, this time I won't wear white. Okay, yes I will. Maybe it will ensure me a dance partner.

Dancing Wedding

Dancing Weddiiiiing - Young and Sweet only seventeeeen. You can dance, you can jive, having the time of your li-i-ife.

Wow, this was a fun one. I've been to some where I stay for the meal and slip out the door; others where I sit at the table all night talking with friends without even so much as a glance to the dance floor; and still others where I play whiffle ball and serve guests bbq from a gas station.

Okay that last one  was my own wedding. Yikes.

But this one. This one will be the dancing wedding.

We all knew K & D loved to dance, for them to see this all night:



It must've just made their day.

It made mine too, because I'm re-entering the world of dancing without caring.

R thinks he's been duped. You see, in college our circle of friends would go to a place with a dinky dance floor. And while everyone else was bumping to the music, R and I would stand flat against a wall getting to know each other all the while avoiding drinks getting sloshed into our face by someone's bad dance move. It was fun. Kind of like dodgeball meets dating. So, he thought I didn't like to dance, which meant that there was no pressure on his end. And there wasn't. Truly!

Until recently. If there is a packed floor and good music on, then I'm psyching myself up to get out there if I'm in the mood.

And I don't care if I dance a little Elaine Benes-esque with my one-handed train conductor move, because if you can't hear... Journey's playing and it's time to move.



So when R went MIA after seeing a good dance crowd, I turned around to find my good ole standby. Mom.



Whaaaaat? What is she doing all. by. herSELF?

Something drastic needed to be done.



So I ran to the DJ and requested Backstreet Boys, stat. HURRY. This is an emergency, my mom is sitting all by herself because she's not really into House of Pain.

He gave me a sidelong glance and hesitated in the B section. "Are you sure it will go over well with this crowd?" I didn't care, we had to pump some dancing blood back into Momma Pat and this was the ticket.

As the song started, I ran away from him so no one would know who requested the song. No offense, mom. But could you believe that people gave a loud whoop and clapped?

I grabbed mom and drug her out with me.



She was only a little excited.

By the way, nice bra, Carolyn. Jeez. I'm the classy cousin at the wedding with my unmentionables hanging out in every photo. Sigh.



We slow danced... Still couldn't seem to find R, so had to make-do with taking photos of my sister and her husband.

And then there were dance-offs:

My nephew, W, partook in one and apparently won?



But grandma was cheering a bit too hard for little W, because the dance-off moved onto her:



And she was booty-ed off the dance floor. No one is safe during a dance off, my friends.



But not to be outdone, my brother-in-law (aka "roommate") had one out with a groomsmen.

I don't think anyone can compete with suspenders. Sorry N.



Oh, K & D. What a great wedding! I don't know who this girl is nor why I took the photo, but I think it had to do with the drawing. Does it seem familiar to this old blog post? Click here.

Discuss.

And Dance. Discuss and dance. That's pretty much how life goes anyway.

Mother's Day

We had a nice Mother's Day. We ate at a quirky Indian restaurant in Eureka Springs while a lady we could've sworn was Janis Joplin belted out gospel music.



After a few awkward moments of verbal tug-of-war, R and I finally won the honor of paying for the meal. It's a lot more fun for the giver when the givee just gives in without a fight.

In R's family, it's a different kind of tug-of-war. There's no discussion of who is paying. You just have to pull an undercover sniper attack on the waitress to get the ticket before the other person does.



Afterwards, we went on a tram tour of the the city. The docent (thank you for the vocab, mom) was cute. Maybe I just liked her white hair, I don't know, but I did chuckle a lot.



We drove by countless Victorian homes. The entire downtown is in the National Register of Historic Places in America.

I'm glad these two appreciate it as much as me.



We made a quick tram tour stop at a church with cool statues of the stations of the cross.

And then we saw the fudge store. Enough said.



I found some overgrown stairs and immediately climbed them. Poison oak be darned, I'm finding out what's up there.

Houses.

And people looking through the windows wondering who this chick was with red splotches on her ankles.

Note to self: don't wear sandals while traipsing through unknown foliage.



We visited one of the many springs in the town and then headed home. We were exhausted! Two full days of exploring, but oh it was worth it!

Can't wait to explore the many other areas of Arkansas, possibly with some newcomers to the state? More details on that later.

My Kind of Medication

I really wasn't in the mood to go out and about tonight. I've been sick the past few days and a night of watching movies and laying around sounded ideal. However, we had spent the majority of the morning organizing our dorm room sized apartment and decided a Sam's Club trip was necessary.

So I bundled up my snotty nose and off we went, half hoping they'd be serving their samples like our last Date Night there. Along the way, R caught a sign for Chick-Fil-A and murmured how nice it would be to stop there. But free is free and we knew we could count on ole Sammy.

As we piled up our cart, something was blatantly missing from the store. There were no hair nets around! And you know what that means. No samples, people.

R took that opportunity to drop a giant hint that if I loved him we'd go to Chick-Fil-A. And, for once, I agreed; instead of dragging him somewhere that I wanted to eat.



And boy did it pay to be unselfish! We walked in and noticed a sign stating there was a 'Pre-Valentine's Day Dinner'. We looked at each other, then ordered our food.



As we turned the corner with our tray, we saw an entire room filled with fresh flowers, lit candles and tablecloths! So we sat down in our little nook and even put napkins on our laps.

A few minutes later, two dressed-up people walked in...



...and they started performing for us! They sang Italian ballads sprinkled with American music like Stand By Me, which of course made me well up. Love that song.

R asked me to wipe my tears away along with the booger in my left nostril.

It was such a nice surprise and gave a me an extra boost of energy, which was needed because across the parking lot was a Barnes & Noble. And we all know the pull books have on me and R.

So we popped in and within 5 minutes, heard the sound of instruments.



I weaved myself among the shelves of books and finally found them. A saxophone quartet! Complete with chairs to listen.



R went off to buy some coffee and I sat there, the lone person in a chair, listening. I closed my eyes and let the music work over me.

One of the players asked if I played, and I said, "No. I just appreciate." Which is going to be my motto from now on.

I don't act or sing or play an instrument. But I appreciate those who do. And even if I'm the only one in the audience, I'll still clap heartily to show them how much.

Two performances in one night. I'm going to bed with a smile on my face. And this time it's not because of Nyquil.

Candlelit Singing

R finally set up a double date with his co-worker. It took only 2 months, but that's okay. I felt like I had already been on a date with them (or at least his wife) when we watched her perform in a local play.

A thespian! A real life person, that I can actually touch and feel, who appreciates productions & art as much as me.

I didn't need to explain during the choir performance why certain notes made my throat hurt, or feel self-conscious for just barely holding back tears throughout others.

She got it. And that made me happy.

At the end of the concert, candles were passed around. R lit mine and I felt united with him for a moment.

And then the congregation sang Silent Night together.

All in all, a great date night. Not to mention the cheap white wine I brought over to their house. That's right, just keeping it classy.

But one other thing made me smile that night: finding a new song in which to indulge. Laudamus Te by Mozart. When the harpsichord starting playing, my heart lept and I thought, Oh my gosh.. is this Mozart?? But if you read the comments below, I was way off. This was not Mozart, but Vivaldi. Thank you, Hazel.

Note to self: Learn that the name written in a choir concert program is probably for the lyrics.

Below is Laudamus Te sung at the concert. These aren't the two girls who actually sang it. No, they were left in a pile of ashes after my eyes burned envy into them. Too beautiful, they were.

But this is still wonderful.