Crack that Whip

For the past 15 years, 9 months, and 2 weeks, S.B.'s primary role in this here relationship, other than looking cute, has been to:

1. lift every single car we own, ever will own, and are even thinking of owning, at least three inches higher off the ground

2. poke fun at me

3. make it up to me by buying me Chanel

Until last week, when he decided to add race pacer to the list. Here I was, thinking I was going to have the Duke City Half Marathon all to my slow-ass self, enjoying the scenery and planning fall outfits in my head, and now I'm going to have him along to drill sergeant me into actually meeting my time goal, which, until last week, I didn't even know I had.

S.B.: "So, what's your goal for this race?"

Moi: "Um . . . to finish?"

S.B.: Rolls eyes. "I mean, your pace, your goal pace?"

Moi: "Um."

S.B. gets up to go get his calculator, starts doing engineer type things to the buttons, and determines that I'm going to shoot for 2 hours, 17 minutes, or a 10:30 minute mile. Or however the math works out, I can't remember. Something like that. And he'll be right there beside me to make sure I meet it, even if he has to tie a rope around my waist and drag me there.

Well. At least there will be pancakes afterward.

The Way I Feel Today

Movie Clip Wednesdays: Best Black and White Film

Fritz Lang's Metropolis.

This was made in 1927 and to me it still stands as one of the most beautifully and powerfully made Sci-Fi films ever. Set in a dystopian future in which a class of have-nots live underground toiling away so that the haves may live their lavish lives above ground, its influence can be seen in everything from Apple's original Macintosh commercial to Madonna's "Express Yourself" music video to the Matrix. It's now fully restored with previously lost footage and looks better than ever.

Taking the Gods to Task

Rolling hilled Appalachians

Oldest mountains in the world

Dense with pine, fir, beech, and maple

Civilization brings monster kudzu sculptures
Roadside memorials

Pride groomed lawns waving stars and stripes

Neat knoll-top churches

Jesus saved for Sundays

The basset hound bitch at the corner store

Drowsy in her sun-warmed patch of concrete

Ambles up to greet three strangers looking for Chickory.

We are found instead

Here she comes bouncing up in her vintage Ford

Impish smile and glinting aviators

Trout watchful at her side

Tail thump-thump-thumping

Back home to a place held tight against her heart

Pretty as a picture

Fresh as a daisy

Country cozy under arcs of canopy

Serenaded by songbird, creek, and chicks

Underfoot pecking and fussing

Vera, Wren, Peggy Jean, and Easter

The ground a carpet of tiny treasures

Delicate stands of unnamed purple flowers

Miniature mushrooms made giant by ants

Garden sweet and tempting

Lettuces accompanying

Pecan crusted brook trout and mom's mac and cheese

Sleep comes like a hammer to the head.

Morning arrives just as sudden

Air crisp and hills blue green

Up and down the mountain

Sets of two legs and four

While Trout rules the Cohutta with her flash and call

Two hopeful strays negotiate their share

Glue-stuck against our wandering sides

Hooks sunk deep into our hearts

We cannot keep them

Cannot risk them following us home and killing chickens

Nothing left but to fake and feign

Fun over

Dogs betrayed and left

Stun-faced at the side of the road

Blink back the sting and look up instead

See the uninterrupted sky blue sky

See the day stretched out young and hopeful

See that we are more than marks on the map

More than currency of chic-shopped mountain towns

Watch the ebb and feel the flow

Locals and carpetbaggers

People shouting howdy neighbor

How everyone brightens to see Chickory

With her fast flash smile

Blue eyes matching the daytime sky

Hard earned honest history.

And then!

She allows you to drive the old Ford back home

Mythic hunk of American metal

Engine growl like a heartbeat steady as she goes
Hugs every twist and turn of road

As sunlight makes a Pollock painting of the afternoon

And sinners go down to the river to pray

We drink and wonder at the how and why

The who did what to whom

The this that and the other thing
What bulwarks to erect against the encroaching darkness

The fall of spirit the death of independence

Until even the revolution must break for dinner

Comfort found in orange cabin glow

Flash of glass

Sheen of metal

The waft of something good to eat

As with all things made, given, and received

In the search for fellowship in a shut-tight world

We travel in order to make of the unfamiliar

Another place that feels like home.

Life's a Beach But It's Also a Mountain

Headed to North Georgia for a blog meet up tomorrow.

Today, I pack. If I told you I had finally given in to the reality of carry-on (horrors!) thanks to the ridiculous checked bag fees and that I was only packing three pairs of footwear (well, maybe four; we'll have to see just how roomy this carry on is), would you believe me?

You should.

You should also believe I'll be back on Monday with a full report, photos, and the definitive, once-and-for-all consensus on the exact level of Johnny Depp's hawtness.

Be Still My Heart

Man Versus Wild

Mathews DXT Solo Cam Compound Bow: $1,000

Camo top, pants, hat, and backpack: $300

Draw on one of New Mexico's most coveted hunting spots: $100

Bull bugle, hoochie mamma, and mouth call: $40

Dozens of bugling elk at the start of their rut: 1

Great white hunter able to call in bugling elk for a shot: 0

The fact that there's a grocery store 10 minutes from home: priceless