Snow day

I awoke Saturday morning to a very quiet, very relaxed, very snowed-in New York - and I was surprised to realize I was feeling much like the city.  Peering out my bedroom window at the thick blanket of snow, no longer did my missed hair appointment seem so frustrating, no longer did my skipped Christmas party seem so disappointing, and no longer did my insistence to get an earlier flight seem so strong.  Lord knows I had tried my best to get on any Saturday flight out of any airport in the New York area, and into any airport in the general vicinity of Alabama, but alas - there were no seats to be had.  So Delta rescheduled me for a three-leg flight beginning at 6:30 Sunday morning, a far cry from my original Friday evening direct flight home.   

But accepting the hassles of winter travel in the north, I realized the only thing I could do was embrace this day.  With two weeks of travels ahead of me, and weeks of nonstop busyness behind me, maybe this buffer day was part of a greater travel plan than I had scheduled for myself.  I enjoyed a leisurely long brunch with other stranded friends, I strolled the winter wonderland streets around my apartment, and I even braved the crowds of midtown to gaze at the Christmas decorations I had yet to see.

As the heavy white skies of day faded to the black of night, so too did my peaceful feeling slip away.  A check of my flight status showed today had been the calm before tomorrow's storm...my heart quickened and my stomach lurched: my computer screen burned with another red "Cancelled" alerting my 6:30 AM flight was no more.    

Snowy benches along a quiet 5th Avenue.

A lone Christmas tree in Madison Square Park.

Snowy Christmas at the fire station next door.  

"It's the most wonderful time of the year"

The thick, fluffy snow cascaded from the sky, simultaneously erasing color from the streets and any hope I had of flying out of New York later that night.  Watching the snow accumulate on trees and fire escapes, I still prayed for a miracle and raced home from work (as fast as you can race on icy sidewalks without breaking your neck) to grab my suitcase and head to the airport. 

One last check of the flight status stopped me short - the formerly green “On Time” square was now a big block of red. “Cancelled”!!

Disappointment, sadness, rage and anxiousness swirled as I frantically dialed Delta.  Immediately put on hold, I stared glumly down at my feet bundled in snow boots, ready for the trip to the airport.  The hold music began, and the first line of the first song pumped into my ear.  “It’s the MOST wonderful time of the year!”  Irritation boiled over to irony, and I laughed in spite of myself and settled back on the couch for a long evening of waiting on hold, pleading for more options and praying for a seat on a plane – any plane – heading to the sunny South.

Stairwell surprise

Running down the steps of the apartment on my way to work, I was suddenly a little girl descending from her bedroom on Christmas morning.  I stopped in my tracks in the middle of the stairwell, grabbed the banister and squealed in surprise.  Colored lights!  Red bows!  A little elf had come during the night and decorated!  As I snapped pictures and nodded appreciatively at the even swoops of the lights, I realized the saying, “It’s the thought that counts,” is most true during the Christmas season.  These decorations were by no means elaborate, by no means impressive, and by no means the most beautiful in the city of New York, but their presence in our lobby showed the thrill of the season, the joy of giving to others, and the spirit of having a happy heart.  

O (my!) Christmas tree!

As with most things in my New York City apartment, I make do – and my Christmas tree this year was no exception.  I figured there was no point in buying a real tree when I would be here to enjoy it for only 12 days, and then after surveying the apartment, I figured there was definitely no space to put it anyway.  The two-square foot area next to the couch was tempting to fill, but my visions of green quickly vanished with the thought of being accosted by pine needle pokes and Fraser fir sap each time I entered the apartment.  And who am I kidding – do you really think I have boxes of Christmas ornaments tucked away under my bed?  

So with a little bit of creativity – not to mention a little bit of tape – I finally put to use the swag of garland I had planned to throw away back in June, the string of red lantern lights I had piled in a heap back in September, and the incredibly long J. Crew green ribbon I’d kept since untying it from a birthday present back in November.   After a few minutes of twisting and trimming, I plugged the lights in and stepped back to assess my work.  Seeing the masterpiece as only the artist can, I clapped my hands with delight – the lights glowed just right and the zigs zagged in perfect order.  Santa will have somewhere to put the presents after all!

A Sweet Time

The preparations for Julie's wedding continue to fall into place, no doubt falling so easily because she is so well-organized with folders and clippings and notes and books - she is a marvel of planning and ideas.

Living up to my maid of honor duties, I went along on several wedding tasks while home for Thanksgiving - dress shopping, invitation selecting, jewelrey searching. Even with a tired mind or hungry body, I willed myself to forge on with Julie and not complain; it's not every day I get to spend such memorable time with my sister.

But our "sweetest" time together? Selecting the wedding cake...trust me, it's going to be beautiful, original, and really really yummy!

Approximately 15 seconds after our meeting with the cake designer was over: in the car and devouring the sample!

Pass the Baton

A few weeks ago a current Crimsonette emailed me to say the girls planned to wear a costume from the Crimsonette closet - a fabulous red, white and blue outfit we debuted in 2001 at the Alabama-Auburn patriotric show (the nation in crisis, so we got new outfits...). Oh, how we adored those cute little hot pants! Ranking as the most expensive costume ever made for one halftime show, we did find reason to wear them again the next season, but the costumes have been stored away in the depths of Moody Music Building since 2002.

Amanda's email said she had been assigned the costume I wore, and that she was honored to wear the outfit of such a great former Crimsonette. As my smugness at the compliment (and jealousy that SHE, not me, got to wear it) subsided, feelings of excitement to see her twirl and pride in the Crimsonette tradition swelled. On gameday, as I joined with the thousands of other Alabama fans in the victory over Auburn, I enjoyed a personal victory of seeing "myself" out on the field again.


Amanda giving me a chance to shine again in 2008!


Red, white and blue debut in 2001.

Memory Lane

An unsuccessful trip to a wedding dress shop near Muscle Shoals prompted a drive through our old neighborhood. An area my family so loved for the five years we lived there in the mid-1980s, the memories of the house and friends there are plentiful. As we drove along the street and slowed in front of our house, I was surprised at the forgotten memories triggered by seeing it in real time; assurance that the images of the house sometimes swirling in my mind are not just figments of a made-up charming childhood.

Studying this picture now - back in my New York City apartment - it's not the memories of the house and yard that fill my thoughts: I'm bewildered to realize the size of the second-floor, street-facing, corner bedroom with two walk-in closets I enjoyed in Muscle Shoals is at least three times the size of this small New York City bedroom I sit in now.

What do all the NYC kids do with no room for Barbie house creations, dress-up clothes spilling out of the closet, doll cribs for each baby, palettes in front of the TV for cartoon watching, games of "house" with the wooden stove, table and chairs, or a window for daydreaming into the trees and sky?

You belong here

Last year I explored the Thanksgiving traditions of New York City (read: the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade) and Connecticut (read: a train ride, and sweaters and wine by the fire), and I came to a few conclusions:

1. There is something to be said for watching the parade in your PJs on the couch, where the only person blocking your view is dear ol' Dad when he stops in front of the TV to say, "Ughhh...turn it!"  2. The Connecticut suburbs of historic white-washed houses with backdrops of huge trees of orange and gold may look like the idyllic fall setting, but 3. a northern Thanksgiving dinner that features salad, cold, hard green beans, and dressing stuffed with I-don't-know-what, makes a wandering southern girl long for her Mama's casseroles of broccoli and sweet pa-tay-tas!

Now I can't claim any specific family traditions I wished I was home for last year, unless you count our shouts from the couch for Mama to "Come see!" from the kitchen whatever float, balloon or Rockette during the parade, only for her to rush in to the den in time for the screen to change and miss seeing it.  Maybe we could count as a tradition all the Thanksgiving decorations Mama so loves - her pilgrim man and woman, the beautiful ceramic turkey she painted one year, the Thanksgiving-themed spreaders, to name just a few.  Another almost-tradition is the Indian girl head Elizabeth made in elementary school using a reshaped wire hanger, pantyhose stretched for the face and construction paper for a feathered headdress.  For some reason that thing stayed in the pantry (of all places) for years, awaiting its flourish through the kitchen each Thanksgiving Day.  

Making my way home this year, as I lugged my suitcase from one flight, to the next, to the next, I realized there was one thing I couldn't wait to see, and I wondered if maybe this was our greatest Mummert Thanksgiving tradition.  Years ago, using folded index cards and colored pencils, Elizabeth made the most creative yet simple place cards.  We laughed to see what she had chosen to draw for each of us, and joked at the novelty of having place cards for just the five of us, who sat in the same seats every year anyway.  Those cards were saved, and pulled out of the drawer again the following year and again the next.  Suffering a few gravy stains, Elizabeth redrew them a few years later, using a bit more care and matured colored-pencil skills, now knowing these would be seen year after year.  

I don't know how much thought Elizabeth put into choosing our Thanksgiving caricatures, but I've always thought the drawings represented us fairly well:  

Daddy the patriarchal and Mama the matriarchal pilgrim and Indian figureheads; Julie a cornucopia surely because several decorate her house,  all of them painstakingly hand made by her, at that; Elizabeth as the turkey has always perplexed me, I would have chosen an Indian baby in (what is probably her favorite Native American-related word) a papoose.

Our outdoorsman Chris gets the trees and squirrel, and our sportsfan Gabe appropriately gets the football turkey.

And me, Rebecca, the little Indian girl, who I've always liked to think of as Pocahontas, poking through her surroundings and discovering something new to marvel.  

I Googled "Pocahontas" today to find facts about her that might relate to my personality, further linking my place card to me.  According to Wikipedia, she "became a celebrity during the last year of her life." I'll take celebrity, but I don't want it to be in my last year.  "She was a daughter of Wahunsunacock who ruled...the Tidewater region."  I'm a daughter of a Crimson TIDE fan. Hmmm, still not a convincing enough link.  

But a few lines down, my answer came: "After her baptism, she went by the name Rebecca."

"But if you walk the footsteps of a stranger,

You'll learn things you never knew you never knew."

~ Colors in the Wind from Disney's Pocahontas

So that's how it feels

My very best friend in New York City told me last night that she and her husband are moving to San Francisco. I had just settled into our cozy table at the Soho restaurant Boom: the drinks had arrived, we had chatted a little catch up small talk and I was mid-bite on my first taste of the appetizer.

“Well, we have some news,” Lauren announced.

In one swift move, I dropped my carefully stacked piece of bruschetta back on my plate and spun to face her, the glowing candles on the table blurring in my vision.

“Oh my gosh, you’re moving. Oh my gosh!” I blurted before our eyes even met. I knew it was true before she slowly and tentatively nodded her head to confirm it; a few months ago I guessed the only other good kind of “we have some news” news: when Lauren had then told the waitress, “Water is fine for me,” instead of ordering her signature glass of wine, I spun in my seat to face her, “Oh my God, you’re pregnant! You are, aren’t you?!” Another head nod – that one faster and with excitement – confirmed the good news.

I tried to process this new news, “Oh my gosh, you can’t be serious!” I screeched.

“I know. I’ve been dreading telling you!” Lauren said almost apologetically.

“What am I going to do without you here?!” My mind was swirling.

“I know. I’m sorry! I would die if you were leaving me here!” 

“This is all your fault!” I said, looking past Lauren to her husband Jake, who sat there with big sorry eyes and a hint of a smirk. “You are my people! And the baby?? You’ll already be gone by the time the baby gets here!” As Jake fielded my hysterics, I couldn’t help but smile a little too. “You owe me, Jake. I’ll think of some way you have to make this up to me.”

As I’ve mulled the news today, I realized this must be how my beloved friends felt when I announced I was heading off to New York City. At least with Lauren and Jake I have about two months to say goodbye instead of the two and a half weeks I gave my friends. But no matter how long I have to get used to the idea of them moving across the country, news like that is still a shock, a stun…and, remembering the name of the restaurant last night, I laughed: a “Boom”.

The New York City Dream

Dreams are what bring people to New York City. Dreams of becoming a famous fashion designer, of making a fortune on Wall Street, of dancing on Broadway, of writing for a magazine, of living in the greatest city in the world. But once here, all those many dreams meld into one; one dream that so nags at your conscious, so grips at your very being that all you can do is hold on to it, playing it over and over in your mind, hoping that one day, one day soon, it will come true. And, oh!, what a glorious day that would be!

I have the New York City dream. I have it quite frequently, actually. It’s the kind of dream that occurs while sleeping, subconscious thoughts playing out in such real surroundings that when roused, for a split second it doesn’t seem as though it was a dream; it seems real and has renewed my excitement of living in the city. But then my eyes open and my feet hit the floor, and I wish terribly to close my eyes and be transported back.

Transported back, because it is only in the dream, this one collective dream of every New Yorker, that my apartment is indeed four times its actual size. That my closet has room to walk in and turn a cartwheel. That the door I had never noticed in my hallway opens to a huge hidden room with skylights, a swimming pool, 20-foot ceilings, unobstructed views of the city, and three ponies grazing on lollipops. As my waking body rushes to the hallway to see if the door to my dreams is still there, the dark, small reality sets in: it was all just a dream.

But thankfully for all of us dreamers, another night awaits, and another chance to make it all come true.

District of Cuteness

Saturday morning I boarded a bus in midtown Manhattan that promised a "luxury" ride straight to Washington D.C.  Four hours, three rain storms, two naps leaning into my neighbor's seat and one detour off the Baltimore-Washington Expressway later, the bus arrived in our nation's capital. A weekend filled with college friends, a tour of Alexandria, Georgetown and McLean, and an Alabama football game with the D.C. alumni was wonderful fun.  But the star of the weekend was Vivi, the vivacious and very cute daughter of my dear high school friends Leanna and Kyle.  Seeing her smiles, giggles and bouncy curls in person for the first time in a year, she recaptured my heart...as she will capture the world one day!

Circle of love

Photo courtesy Royce Kershaw

Always blessed with friends and family and laughter throughout the year, this circle begins on my birthday with an overflow of love - each call, card, email and hug a shining reminder of the loving friend who so dazzles my life.  As we pushed our chairs to one side of the table for a picture, leaving the other end empty, I realized it wasn't empty.  It was open.  And now in my mind's eye, each friend who wished me a happy birthday from afar - whether home in Alabama, along the east coast, across the country and around the world - was able to pull up a chair and continue filling the far-reaching circle around me with love.   

Lovely Smile

"Autumn, the year's last, loveliest smile."~William Cullen Bryant

The bright blue sky and the bursting autumn colors dazzled my eyes and enchanted my thoughts. The thick piles of leaves covering the ground beckoned me off the pathways to a world of shuffling, crunching and gathering. I bent to pick up an unusually large leaf, half vibrant green and half drained to yellow. Instead of dropping it back to the pile, I kept it and began gathering others that caught my eye - a radiant red, an orange the color of the setting sun, a pure yellow, a brownish red with edges almost purple!

As the collection of leaves in my hand grew, so did the people by my side. A girl about my age joined me in selecting some leaves for herself; we smiled, and I continued back to the path, on to find the next glorious autumn tree. I stooped to pick another leaf, and a man asked if it was good luck to pick up leaves. "I don't know, but they sure are pretty." Walking on, leaves in hand, another guy fell in step beside me and asked what I planned to do with the leaves. "Oh, I don't know, I just like them." He agreed and said it had been years since he stopped to really look at the leaves, much less pick them up and enjoy them. Several more people struck up conversations as I meandered through the idyllic scenery...each person and chat as varied as the leaves around me.

As I turned to leave Central Park, a fellow leaf looker said, "You have a lovely smile." I thanked him and went on my way with the beautiful autumn day smiling on me.

Red, White and Bl-ooth

The booth attendant’s mumbled instructions, the bright lights blinding my eyes, the knobs, the switches, and the big lever of final decision. With curtains tightly pulled, I flipped the knobs for my favorites, checked and double-checked my selections…then whipped out the camera to document my participation in this election!

An election referred to by most as historic, but especially memorable to me because it was my first time to vote as a citizen of New York…and my first time to vote in a booth!

Election night in Rockefeller Plaza.


The race to "270" up the side of the GE Building.

Faithful, Loyal, Firm and True

Alabama, listen, mother,
To our vows of love,
To thyself and to each other,
Faithful friends we’ll prove.

Faithful, loyal, firm and true
Heart bound to heart will beat
Year by year, the ages through,
Until in Heaven we meet.

College days are swiftly fleeting,
Soon we’ll leave their halls,
Ne’er to join another meeting
‘Neath their hallowed walls.

Faithful, loyal, firm and true
Heart bound to heart will beat
Year by year, the ages through,
Until in Heaven we meet.

So, farewell, dear Alma Mater.
May thy name, we pray,
Be rev’renced ever, pure and stainless
As it is today.

I learned the words to the University of Alabama’s Alma Mater during my Sophomore year of college. Our Crimsonette coach insisted on it; she didn’t want us to just stand smiling on the football field at Bryant Denny Stadium when the Million Dollar Band played it.

“As students of the University, and one day graduates, it’s your duty to know the alma mater, and you should sing it proudly,” she told us.

I already knew the words of the chorus, but I thought having to memorize the rest of the stanzas was beyond hokey and a waste of time. In fact, the whole idea of Homecoming really irked me: the spotlight shifted off the current Crimsonettes and us getting to twirl and put on a show, and instead was focused on the Alumni Band, who, in my opinion, could barely muster a crowd-rousing “Yea Alabama”, much less march in a straight line across the football field. The Alumni Band performance was a waste of a perfectly good pregame show that I could be front and center on the football field.

But on a late September afternoon during my second year at Alabama, the Crimsonettes sat around our tree at the band field, and we practiced the words of the Alma Mater. I not only heard the full song for the first time that day, but I fully understood the words for the first time, too.

It was the second stanza that really took hold of my chest and squeezed tightly: “College days are swiftly fleeting, soon we’ll leave their halls,” I sang, as I looked at the sweet and pretty faces of these girls who had fast become my best friends.

My voice trailed off as I realized the truth in the words; maybe the reason these days felt so magical to me was because they were fleeting, and swiftly. Walking across the Quad to class, studying in the library until I fell asleep slumped on the table, sweating and laughing and twirling at band practice every day for four months straight, eating and talking with my boyfriend and our friends at every lunch and dinner during the week at Burke dining hall, living down the hall from my sister and friends in Harris Hall…it had never occurred to me that all of this would come to an end one day.

Now, several years after graduating and leaving the college days behind, the memories of my Alma Mater are kept pure and stainless in my heart. And on this Homecoming, as I exuberantly march with the Alumni Band in a perfectly un-straight line to a wobbly but loving rendition of “Yea Alabama”, I just can’t keep the hot tears from brimming over and spilling shamelessly down my cheeks.