Best of Advice

This is one of the blogs I look forward to reading each day, because it only takes a minute, and the rules are very insightful. I just don't want it to end at 1,001.

Related: my dad might be Irish, because he always leaves family functions with what is apparently termed as an "Irish goodbye," except not with the intoxication part. Just the no goodbye part.

Best of Fall

Oh, THANK GOD, it's here. Right? Yesterday, Grant and I drove to Vinita to spend the day with Dad and V.V. on her birthday. We had a great and low-key day, but when we were driving home, we got lost. Only we didn't really get lost, we just thought we were, so we turned around for no reason, and just lost time. We were so ready to get home. I drove, and we were on the turnpike when my car suddenly sounded like it had been on Pimp My Ride to get glass packs. Or pipes. Or whatever the hell. We made the decision to just keep driving and crossed our fingers and wished on one-headlights to make sure we made it home. We did.

I took the car in today to the Muffler shop in town, and just hoped that it would not take away all my trip money for Vegas -- we leave in 3 days. When they called me to give me the verdict, the woman told me that something happened to my converter, and that he would have to weld it back. She wanted to know if they should go ahead and work on it, and I asked the dreaded question: "How much would it cost?"

FORTY-FIVE DOLLARS.

Fall, I have waited for you so long. You are my favorite season, and we always have such a good time together. This just is more proof of your love. During the Spring, my car cost $1200 to fix, and during the Summer, it required a $300 follow-up. But I'll take 45 and Autumn ANY. DAY.

It's my favorite season. Fave. Fave. FAVE! And I got the coolest postcard IN THE ENTIRE WORLD.

Because of all this, it didn't hurt so much when we got pulled over in my car tonight -- not for speeding, not for rolling a stop sign -- but for having one headlight. Hey Oklahoma, you're welcome for all the wishes I've been giving you, but now I've gotta go get it fixed.

Best of Finally Dealing with the Ice Storm

How did you spend your Sunday? Relaxing in the air conditioning with an icy drink?

THAT'S NOT HOW I SPENT MINE.

Sunday morning, I joined my Dad in sporting a hardhat, and we worked in my front yard in the scorching Oklahoma sun. I have the nicest Dad ever, since he decided to spend one of his weekend days helping me. Ever since the ice storm, we have had dead limbs in the big tree in the front, just hanging there ready to live up to their "widow-maker" names. They've been there for a long time, and every time it storms, a smaller one falls. I began to realize I was pressing my luck, and my Dad came to the rescue.


Grant had to miss out on the action because he had to work, so Dad climbed the tree while I was on the ground crew. Dad threw a little sandbag attached to twine over the highest limb he could reach, used the twine to pull a rope over that limb, put on his harness (also known as his "butt belt"), and climbed up the tree.

Before he began the ascent, he taught me two knots so I could be helpful on the ground. One, a bowline, and I don't even remember the name of the second knot, much less how to tie it. I'm a great assistant. Anyway, in my defense, it is really fucking hard for a girl who doesn't know her left from right to remember how to tie a knot. I do remember that the bowline involves going out a hole, around a tree, and back in a hole.


While Dad was in the tree (scaring the shit out of our squirrel, Sammy), he pulled dead branches down, I gave him the all-clear, he dropped them, and I, being the Brush Crew Team Captain (and only member), made them into a pile in our front yard. I also gave car warnings, so I think that made up for the lack of knot-tying knowledge. I had to send up his chain saw on the rope, and my made-up knot worked great. I'm going to call that knot The Court, and you have my permission to use that label on any knot you make up to sound like a knot professional.

Only one limb came close to getting me, and that's because it bounced.

Then Dad's chainsaw stopped working, but that's okay because "we" already got all the dead limbs out of the tree. It was also okay because he had plans to make the bigger limbs into firewood (and I would assist), so those plans fell through, and we got to go inside. To air conditioning, with a lunch of shrimp salad sandwiches and fresh tomatoes. And lots and lots of iced water and tea.

Then we began our second project - Operation Get Rid of the Hole in My Bedroom - but I'm saving that for later, because I want to be able to post a picture of the final result (the happy ending, if you will) and we're not at that place yet. Almost, though. Almost.

Best of Reuniting

Last weekend, I spent 6 hours in the car to get to Granbury, Texas, for a family reunion. It's a massive group of people on my Dad's side - my grandmother's first cousins and their progeny. I'm on the third-cousin (fourth generation) level, and we have five generations that attend. Here's my level:



When I was little, Garrett and Grant would come to Grand Lake for one week every summer. It was a constant. Sometimes their other cousins or my other cousins would be there, but the three of us always showed up. The first day, we weren't quite sure of each other, but by the last of the week we were inseparable. We played a lot of Monopoly until the middle of the night, slept in our swimsuits, and once Garrett drove my Uncle Kenny's Jet Ski (the stand up kind) into the shore of our cove. I basically worshiped Garrett, even though he is one month to-the-day YOUNGER than me. He is still cooler.

Everyone is so grown up now. I think the fact that I just wrote that makes me old, but I still feel behind. My cousin Corey, who is just a year or two older than me, is married and 8 months pregnant with her SECOND child. Garrett is married and his wife is very pregnant with their first child. That's what I learned this weekend. That I should have a ring on my finger and be knocked up. I'll get back to you on the progress of that. I sure WANT a baby, but I know I don't need one right now. I'm barely grown up enough to take care of me. Give me a few years to get it together, I guess.

The other thing about a weekend reunion is that I didn't have very much time to talk to the people I really wanted to catch up with, and it still felt like the first day syndrome with my cousins I hadn't seen in 8 years. If we would have had a few more days, you would have seen people in their twenties spend five hours playing a very intense and competitive real estate game. Instead, I still felt slightly insecure like I am the gray sheep of the family - not pretty enough, not successful enough, not married enough? One of my second cousins once removed (that's right, I understand that shit) told me I was pretty now. Now?

I think reunions are good for second-guessing life choices, but at least this is preparing me for my 10-year high school reunion next May. Maybe I'll Romy and Michele it - I use post-it notes enough to make it work.

AND there is talk to reunite the parts of the family that consistently came to the originals at Grand Lake, and to spend a little bit more time, and I think that would be loads more fun. Without all the distractions (Can you refer to some members of your family like that? I can.) we'd get to talk, laugh, play games, drink, swim - everything important about the family and summer combination. Also, when I'm a grandmother, and I organize this stuff, I'm going to tell my kids and grandkids that they don't get to bring friends. If I would have brought friends during my summer reunions growing up, I would have never bonded with Garrett and Grant*.

To the fun stuff:
1) We got in one round of spades - Oklahoma (Marla and me) vs. Texas (Lori and Garrett). I won't tell you who won, but let's just say BOOMER SOONER! Which is good, because I hate losing.

2) I got to hang out with Audrey Grace SO MUCH! We decided we are Best Friend Cousins (BFCs) for life.


We went shopping together (where I bought a dress she said LOOKED SO GOOD on me), we swam together (where she broke out into Journey's "Don't Stop Believin" - pretty impressive for an almost 11 year old), and we screamed on the Sea Doo together. When I was getting tips from her on working out (she's a gymnast and works out 17 hours a week), and I told her I wanted to lose some more weight, and she said, "YOU'RE NOT FAT!" See, you love her, too.

*The fact that I have a Grant and Garrett in my family, and that I'm dating a different Grant who has a brother Garet isn't confusing AT ALL. When I was at the reunion, and I was telling someone that Grant (my boyfriend) couldn't make it because he had to work, someone overheard and told me that Grant was on his way. Too much explaining.

Best of Dinners

On Sunday afternoon, I was feeling down. It could have been (probably was) hormonal, because I was in a depressing mood even after the Brunch Committee had finally found a worthy, good-service, not-too-expensive brunch in Tulsa at Lava Noshery on Brookside. That's enough to be happy about, but I wasn't feeling it. In going to the restaurant, which really was fabulous (Grant had the biggest french toast I've ever seen with bourbon peaches), we even braved the intimidating white buildings to go eat there. And now that I figured out that the modern places wouldn't turn us away (think the first shopping scene in Pretty Woman), I'm going to be unstoppable on that side of the street. But enough about that. Because I was still in a bad mood.

I turned down a trip to the bookstore with Whitters, which really had her worried, and for good reason. I never turn down a trip to the bookstore. I got some alone time, though, that I needed, and even though I was not looking forward to the act of getting there, I climbed in my car and drove to Vinita for a Father's Day dinner.

And I'm so glad I did.

Because my air conditioner is broken (AGAIN), I drove the entire way with the top down, just absorbing the sunshine. And maybe sweating a little bit. I sang along to my radio, narrowly avoided a rainstorm, and got there a little windswept and a little bit more content than when I left my house. Dad got me a beer, liked his presents, and Mary Ma came over bearing a TON of food.

They both kept saying, "I thought you were bringing Grant," and while the amount of food she brought over was a lot for just the three of us, it also would have been a lot for the four of us. We dug in and did our best, eating steak (medium rare - YUM), pork chops, a bean salad, green beans, and a really tasty squash casserole.

Dad asked for the squash casserole as his only request for "his" meal, and Mary Ma said she'd make cheese grits, and he could grill zucchini outside. I think that gave him pause, and then he countered saying, "But that's not squash casserole." Mary Ma responded with saying that grits and a squash casserole would be two heavy dishes, so... I'm guessing Dad won.

At the end of dinner, with no dessert necessary, the three of us sat in Dad's living room. My great-grandparents built the house, and he is renovating it after it was in the hands of people outside our family for some years. I have a few scattered memories of the place, and one of the most vibrant is eating lunch with my Grampsie, because the after-lunch activities were a little frustrating to this little girl. He wanted to take a nap. I wanted to play. In the dining room, he'd put his feet up on his dining room chair while lying on the floor and cover his face with his handkerchief. And then go to sleep, or at least try to, with me right next to him. I'm not patient as an adult, and I sure wasn't then, so I'd keep asking if we could wrestle or read yet. I'm sure it was a satisfying siesta.

But after the big dinner we had Sunday, I can see the appeal. Instead of lying down in the dining room, I chose the couch, and Dad made me coffee for my drive back. We all talked and watched the storm out his big windows. I love getting to spend that kind of time with my family.

Dad went into the kitchen, and my Mary Ma asked me if I had a tattoo. I said yes, and she asked me where, and I told her it was on my hip. She said that wasn't so bad, and she told me that her grandmother used to think the same things about ear piercings and ankle bracelets that she does about tattoos. I explained that the three stars had meaning to me and represented Orion's belt, one of the first constellations my Dad taught me about in the car rides we took together across the state. That constellation has always been a constant in my not-always-stable life and comforts me whenever I see it. Orion is a hunter, and his belt is a symbol of strength, and I'm glad I have it permanently represented on my body. Not to mention, Seth has three stars tattooed on his back, so it really reminds me of family. My family.

I told all this to Mary Ma, and told her my mother's reaction to the same explanation. When I talked to Mom about it, Grant and I were talking to her in the living room in Kingfisher. She said she might as well go get the same tattoo since it represented family. I told her she should, and she said, "COURTNEY." as only a mother can. I'm guessing that meant she was joking. Grant told her that nothing would make Seth regret his tattoo more than finding out his mother had the same one. Probably true. When I related this story to my Mary Ma, she said that the only way SHE'D ever get a tattoo was if she went with me. Isn't that the best compliment?

Best of Dads

This is mine. He's the best. I call him Dird, which he doesn't like so much, so it stuck. At my 26th birthday party, also known as Court-a-palooza, he came and after much encouragement from Whitters and other friends, built a bonfire in my backyard. I was more worried about it than he was, which kind of describes our relationship. He taught me to cook tortilla soup and gooseberry pie, taught me to fish (though I hate it), taught me to tend bar, and is still trying to teach me how to drive the boat and effectively manage money.

I used to spend my summers with him in Tulsa, and I love being back near the places we frequented. He'd take me to Steve's Sundry in Tulsa, where I would beg for more and more books, and we'd share a float. He finally began to make me put back books that weren't at least 300 pages (so they'd last more than a day and maybe help his pocketbook). He'd always let me buy a Sweet Valley High or Babysitter's Club super edition book, because they stayed partially read for a longer period of time.

We also went to Woodward Park where I would climb in the waterfalls and splash him. I'm sure he loved it, because one time I wanted to go to the pool, and he said he'd take me, but then he just took me to one of those big fountains in front of a huge office building and got in it. I sat in the car and fumed (I'm not much of a rule-breaker with those types of things), but then he looked like he was having so much fun, and I was so hot, so I got in. It was awesome for all of five minutes before the security guard kicked us out.

We'd go to Utica Square, to have dinner at Olive Garden (my-then VERY FAVORITE RESTAURANT), where I'd have minestrone soup and manicotti every single time. I'm not proud of my past love for chain restaurants and menu-adherence, but my taste buds and palette hadn't evolved yet, OKAY?

Anyway, my dad has always encouraged me and believed in me, from letting me read in the car when he'd drive 6 hours across the state to pick me up (and I read for the entire 6 hours back) to changing his registration to be a Democrat when I worked on my first presidential campaign (even though I had to, in return, shoot a gun). He's funny as all hell, with a very dry sense of humor, and he makes me giggle in church and get in trouble from Mary Ma. He's lucky to have found a very wonderful companion, V.V., who is also hilarious, and it makes for fun family meals. He's currently remodeling his house, and loves to hear suggestions from the entire fam-damn-ily about exactly what and how he should do next. I'm sure he'd love to hear your advice, too.

During the weekends I spent with him at the lake in college and after, he loved to try to wake me up for Meet The Press around this time every Sunday. I love MTP, and I love my Dad, but in the OKC area it comes on at 10AM, which is more doable. I'm not a very easy person to get out of bed, so I slept in more than I should have. I wish I were watching Tim Russert grill politicians with him right at this moment.

I wrote this post a few days early, and honestly wrote the above paragraph about two hours before I found out Tim Russert had died suddenly and unexpectedly of a heart attack. I am extremely saddened by the news, and I know my dad is heartbroken, because our country lost an objective and REAL political analyst who challenged all politicians (no matter the party), and my family's living rooms lost our Sunday morning friend.