Courage and Convictions

I hate confrontation. Seriously. There are few things in the world which I dislike more than I dislike confrontation.

That being said, it is perhaps also true that I have been known to do things that might possibly be perceived as mildly...provocative...but really with only the hope that somebody might find it amusing rather than offensive. But sometimes folks just find it - or me - plainly offensive.

I've had a rather difficult time this year deciding whom to support in the presidential race. I shall refer to my two choices as the Rock Star and the Queen Bee, because I don't want anyone who might have a Google Alert set up for either of them to flood my comments box with invective, as I have read that some of the Rock Star's fans tend to do. I don't normally find myself in a quandary, because I generally find only one person who has the qualities I can support - but since Elizabeth's husband has dropped out, and the former vice-president doesn't seem to want to run, I had to find someone else.

So I voted Monday for the Queen Bee in the Texas primary. And then, I put an "H-2008" sticker on the back window of my car.

Now, last election, I had a "J squared" sticker (get it? Kerry-Edwards? John and John? Heh.) on my car, and I got flipped off a few times, mostly by soccer moms with North Lamar stickers on their SUVs, but that's pretty much par for the course here in town. That's kind of a non-confrontational confrontation, and I was okay with that.

Today, however, I went to Walmart and parked in kind of the far corner of the lot, as I usually do (so I can get more steps in for the day), and as I got out of the car, there was a big ol' dually pickup that came up my lane. I noticed that it kind of slowed down as it passed my car. I kept walking toward the store when I heard this voice yelling "Lady! Hey lady!" I looked back, and the driver of the truck was yelling at me. I stopped, thinking maybe he'd noticed a problem with one of my tires or something, when he pulled up beside me and said, "what does that H2008 thing mean on that car? You ain't gon' vote fer that b**ch, are ya?"

Understand, now, in my mind I'm going HelpMeJesusHelpMeJesusHelpMeJesus, and I just kind of smile and keep on walking, but he keeps on talking: "HEY! You ain't gon' vote fer her, are ya? Cause that's just plain g*d-d**mned un-American."

And, frankly, that just kind of p*ssed me off. Because, on the short list of things I hate MORE than confrontation? Questioning my patriotism because I'm not a right-wing zealot is right there in the number one spot.

Personal aside: for Randy, my kids, and my friends, who are reading this and thinking I have gone completely nuts, it was 2:00 on a bright, sunny afternoon. I was pretty close to the store by this time, I could see other people around, and my cell phone was open, ready to dial for help if I needed to. AND I'm still going HelpMeJesusHelpMeJesusHelpMeJesus. No worries.

So I stopped, looked at him, and said: "no, sir, I'm not PLANNING to vote for her. I actually already have."

And he responded with a short string of profanities, followed by this sort of sneering question: "I bet you don't even believe in Jesus, do ya?"

And I kind of snickered, because me and Jesus, we'd been talking - a LOT - in those past few minutes.

"Why, yes, sir, I DO believe in Jesus," I replied. "Do you?"

Then I realized that that might have gotten me in trouble, so I started walking again. He sort of spewed more profanities, then sputtered, "h*ll yeah, I believe in Jesus." Those six words? Made Jesus so proud.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see a kid out collecting carts, who was kind of looking towards us, like he might think I was in trouble, so - hoping that I could just end this - I said: "well then, the good thing for both of us is that when we get to heaven, Jesus isn't gonna ask us who we voted for, is He? He's just gonna say, 'come on in, I've been expecting you!'" And I turned and grabbed a stray cart (because I needed something to help support my by-then rubbery legs) and walked on toward the store. The guy floored his engine, went on to the end of the row and turned to head out to Lamar Avenue.

ThankYouJesusThankYouJesusThankYouJesus.

As I walked past the cart kid, he said, "everything all right today, ma'am?"

I took a deep breath and smiled. "Yes," I said, "I believe that it is."

How to Look Good: Ignoring the Voices in Your Head

One of my favorite shows this year is How to Look Good Naked on Lifetime. I think Carson Kressley is a HOOT, and the show really brings an honest look at body image, and how women truly do not see themselves the way others see them. This has really struck home with me, in a pretty personal way.

All my life, I have struggled with my weight. When I was a kid, I was the "skinny" one. My mother used to make me chocolate milk every night before I went to bed, and she would stir about a half cup of Nestles Quik into the milk (I know this because I used to eat the undissolved Quik from the bottom of the glass), and she'd also stir an egg in there. A. Raw. Egg.

Because I was, you know, too skinny. And apparently, also resistant to salmonella.

But the thing was, I loved vegetables. And salad. When Daddy was sent to Miami to work, in late 1962, Mama and I went to stay with him for a little while. Long story, involving the Bay of Pigs and the Cuban Missile Crisis, but that's a story for another day. ANYWAY, Daddy had found this restaurant he knew I'd just love, because it had the first salad bar we'd ever seen. And he was right- I did love that place. It had lettuce and carrots and cucumbers and celery and radishes, all in huge silver bowls that YOU COULD GO BACK AND GET MORE FROM! AS MUCH AS YOU WANTED! ANYTIME YOU WANTED! FOR AS LONG AS YOUR PARENTS WOULD LET YOU STAY! I was in heaven.

And I was a pretty active kid. Those were the days when you'd ride your bike home from school, change clothes and go directly outside, where you stayed until somebody called you in for supper. In the summertime, Mama would send me outside after breakfast, and that would be about it until suppertime. There were always neighbor kids around, and nobody's mother would let us come in the house. I mean, we must have been FILTHY, and all the mothers had Just mopped the floor! Don't you dare come in this house!

Want a drink of water? There's the hose. A snack? Here's a sandwich - eat at the picnic table. Bathroom? Is it an emergency? Put on these flipflops and don't touch anything! I just mopped the floor!

When we moved to Naples, it was pretty much the same. We all walked to school, and after school, we'd play in the stairwells in our building all afternoon, until one of our mothers would open their door and yell (in English or Italian, depending on whose mother) at us to Be quiet, for crying out loud! Ai-yi-yi, la mia testa facente male! My aching head! Still, I was the skinny one.

Then came my sixth grade year, and I went to live with my aunts. Another long story, for another time. They were determined to put some weight on me, and boy, did they work hard at it. After school snacks of whole milk or Coca-Cola or both, with fig newtons toasted in a skillet with butter all over them. Cream cheese sandwiches. The vegetables I still loved, only cooked with bacon grease or butter, or salads drenched in mayonnaise-y dressings. And playing outside was a no-no, because young ladies don't get dirty. Sure enough, I pudged right on up, and they thought I was adorable.

Then that year of hog heaven ended, and Mama and Daddy and I moved to Enterprise and the farm. And I was active again, on the farm, and at school. I jogged regularly. I helped on the farm. I went back to eating raw vegetables. I was a healthy girl. But my mother, for various reasons, most of which (I know now) had nothing at all to do with me, but mostly to do with her own unhappiness, devoted a good bit of time to telling me how fat I was. And how she'd love me more if I'd just lose some of that weight. And wouldn't it be nice if I was thin like her friend's daughters - their mothers were so proud of them, and she'd love to be proud of me like that.

All through high school, that's the message I heard more than any other. That I wasn't...enough, somehow. That the good grades, or the stuff I did at church, or anything else that I did, just wasn't enough for my mother. And I believed it. I wondered how in the world would I ever find somebody to love me when I looked like I did. I'd end up an old maid schoolteacher, dried up and hopeless, and all because I was so fat.

Stay with me here...I know this is depressing, but I'm getting to my point. I was going through some old picture albums last weekend, and I found some pictures that I probably haven't looked at since before Randy and I married. I found one that just floored me. This picture was taken at Christmas during my senior year - 1972.



I know - some of you have never seen me with hair that dark!

But here's my point: I weighed 125 pounds. All through high school. And I wonder how much of my weight struggle - the blimping up and the thinning down I have done through the years - could have been avoided if I'd had a mental picture then of what I actually looked liked, rather than what my mother's voice in my head was telling me.

I wish I'd been able to watch Carson Kressley back then.

Interesting Things Sammie & I See on Our Walks

Today was trash day. Sammie loves Tuesdays and Fridays, because there are so many more interesting smells than usual. I enjoy them because I get to see what my neighbors throw away. Today we saw one home throwing away four empty 24 packs of Bud Light, and an empty, Sam's-sized case of Depends. Must have been a large weekend at that house.

Randy thinks I can find a conspiracy under every rock. But I can't help but wonder: Could these two things be related, somehow?

Resting on Our Laurels

Literally. Resting.

We have finished the Big Bedroom Makeover, except for the last little details - filling and painting the nail holes in the baseboards, a couple of prints that need to be professionally framed, and a recliner that needs to be picked up and brought home - and our latest project will be done. It has turned out even better than we had hoped. Paula and Denise came by tonight to pick me up for dinner, and agreed that it finally looks like us.

Frank Lloyd Wright has arrived safely in Tuscany.







La stanza è molto bella e stiamo godendo felicemente "riposarsi" sui nostri allori. The room is very beautiful, and we are happily enjoying "resting" on our laurels.

Giving, Squared.

So I used up my whole year's allotment of exclamation points in my post about my XO computer....so sorry. In my defense, it was late, I was tired, and it really is just the coolest little thing.

And while the computer itself IS neat, Denise is right....the actual GIVING part is even neater. I like thinking that somewhere in the world, some little kid is opening his or her computer for the first time (she'll probably figure out how a little more quickly than I did), and turning it on with as much excitement as I had when I opened mine.

I hope that one of the things he learns with it, is that somebody else, somewhere in the world, cares.

I Gave One...and I GOT ONE!!!!!!

I am posting this from my new XO laptop!!! I have pictures, but I'm going to have to post them from my desktop in just a second. Later, I will figure out how to do that from here, but it's nearly midnight, and I want to get this up and go to bed! We just drove in from Lubbock...and this was on the front porch!! I have my Moto Q to thank for my ability to type on this itty-bitty keyboard!

Oh my goodness, it is just unbelievably cool!

"I Like Taking Credit for Things!"

Amanda is taking a history class this year called "New Right, New Left" (or it's "New Left, New Right." I get it mixed up.) that is a study of the political parties in the US since the beginning of the 20th century. She finds it quite interesting, I think, particularly in light of the fact that this will be the first presidential election she will be able to vote in. To a large extent, it's a discussion class with a LOT of writing, and they've been discussing LBJ and Martin Luther King and the Civil Rights movement lately.

She called today and asked if I had seen The Colbert Report last night. I had not, but it was on the DVR. She said I should be sure and watch it, because Andrew Young was Stephen's guest, and that he (Stephen) kind of broke character during the interview. I was curious, so I made sure to watch it tonight.

If you know me, you know that I have long loved Stephen Colbert. I have always admired not only his quick wit, and his outlook on the world, but I have also loved to see what happens when his STEPHEN COLBERT persona slips, and you get a glimpse of the real Stephen Colbert.

I think we saw that on last night's episode. Stephen and Andrew Young have quite an interesting link.




And then he interviews Andrew Young. His wit comes through in the interview, along with his obvious respect for Mr. Young, but there's also an honest earnestness there:




It was all summed up for me with this one question: "Do you remember my father?" Just imagine - being able to speak with a man who is one of the icons of the American Civil Rights movement, and hearing this response to your question: "Yes, I do. I remember him very, very well."

Stephen is the youngest of 11(!) children, and he actually was born during the time period in which his father and Andrew Young were negotiating the strike settlement. When Stephen was only 10, his father and two of his brothers were killed in a plane crash just outside Charlotte. What a gift it must have been for Stephen to be able to hear someone like Andrew Young speak so admiringly of his father.

And then, in a singularly Colbert-ian touch, he ended the show with a musical tribute that was certainly funny, but also surprising, and touching as he paid tribute to the writing staff he surely misses.




It is SO time for the writers to return. I really miss Tonight's Word.

Construction Zone

For as long as they've been old enough to form their own opinion about design elements, our kids have hated our master bedroom. Oh, they liked the bedroom itself well-enough, but the color? The "decor"? Blech. Gag. And when they discovered that Paula and Ben agreed with them, all the better. Randy and I have never really understood what they object to. I mean, EVERYBODY has a four-foot by three-foot Coca-Cola Santa advertisement on one of their bedroom walls, right?!? Maybe not. But it works for us. And we are the ones who sleep there. Besides Sammie, but she hasn't expressed an opinion one way or the other. Since we redid the bathroom - which EVERYBODY agrees is wonderful - they've been all over us to redo the bedroom.

So, what the heck. We haven't had a really major home improvement project going for a while now. I painted that room when we moved in, 14 years ago, and we really haven't done anything in there since then. And the bed...let's just say that in 1983, when we bought it, it was a right stylin' waterbed. We replaced the water mattress with a real one when we moved into this house, but still.

We've decided on a style that can probably best be described as Frank Lloyd Wright Goes to Tuscany. We ordered furniture from Stacy Furniture in Allen (where the motto is "If you're not shoppin' with us...you're burnin' money!"). A whole, honest-to-goodness bedroom suite! We've never had bedroom furniture that matches! It will be delivered on February 5th, so we have a definite date to be finished with everything else.

Randy is taking all the popcorn off the ceiling in the bedroom and bathroom, and I'm cleaning up after him. He's got a couple of thoughts about a ceiling treatment, but that hasn't come together yet for him. I'm not worried. He always comes up with terrific ideas. On the bedroom walls, I'm going to do a paint treatment from Behr called "Bellagio Faux" in a kind of deep-golden color combination that blends with the bathroom, but has its own particular style. The wall behind the bed presents a unique challenge. It had grasscloth when we moved in - real grasscloth, not the vinyl fake stuff. I painted it, and always thought it looked fine. But it's gonna have to go, and it won't come down without a stinkin' messy fight. We thought about just drywalling over it, but have instead decided to put up a faux stacked stone wall. Unusual? Perhaps. But, AGAIN. It works for us. And I think it'll look just doggone awesome.

We bought several neat prints and some vintage advertising posters in Greece and Italy, and I'll frame those for the walls. Can't get away from the ads. Nope. Can't do it. It's just who we are and what we like.

With a definitive date to be done, we've got a lot of work in front of us! We've got to find somebody to haul this bed away (anybody want a vintage 1980s SOLID oak waterbed frame? It would make good firewood.), and a lot of other stuff to move, sell, and/or donate. But the end result will be well-worth it, I think. And it oughta keep the kids and Paula satisfied for a while!

Santa may not make it back into this room when it's finished, but he'll find a home here somewhere. Count on it.

New Routines

Miss Sammie seems to be settling in nicely around here. She's been a very easy dog. She's obviously a creature of habit, and since I do like my routines, it works well for both of us!

The absolute funniest thing is this: she's learned that every morning, I do pretty much the same thing. I get up, get dressed, eat breakfast while I read the newspaper and watch/listen to Mike and Mike on ESPN2, and when I am finished with that, I take her for a walk.

So she just kind of hangs out, either in the kitchen or downstairs in the den, until I get up and either give the rest of the paper to Randy, if he's home, or put it in the recycle basket. Then Sammie goes into overdrive! She just knows that her walk is FINALLY about to happen, and she runs and jumps and looks about as happy as a dog can look. And when I get the leash off the hook, she jumps and jumps until she finally remembers that I won't put the leash on her until she's still, so she sits and lets me snap on the leash, and then we're off!!

It was too, too funny on Sunday - her internal clock must've been telling her that it was about time for me to be done, because she started getting kind of restless and pawing and nosing at me. I tried to explain that on Sunday, we get TWO papers, and they're both a good bit bigger than normal! I'm not sure she quite got my point, but we went for a little bit longer walk to make up for it.

We walk most of Morningside now, and I keep extending it a little further each week, until I hope for us to be able to walk up 42nd St. to Lamar, then back down at least to Brandyn and back up 38th St. to home. That ought to be a mile and a half or two miles.

This is great for me. I've been wanting to walk more, and since Sammie so obviously loves it, it's quite the motivation to get on out there and go! So far, we've walked in the rain (it didn't start to rain until we were more than halfway through, so there wasn't anything else to do but keep on going!) and in really cold and windy weather. I hate to disappoint her, but I'm telling you - my face was freezing this morning when we got back home! I'm not sure what I will do when the day comes that the weather is really too bad to go out. I don't believe Sammie will accept "Sorry, Pup, Mom just doesn't want to go out today!"

Wired!

The kids and I gave Randy an iPod Touch for Christmas. After a tutorial from James, along with helpful hints from Amanda and me...looks like he's settling in to the Wired World nicely!!

Best Available

We went to the Independence Bowl on Sunday to see Bama play the Colorado Buffaloes. As people around us found their seats, one of our neighbors was most displeased with his seats: "I ordered these tickets online within 15 minutes of the time they went on sale, and the website said I'd get the best available!! THIS was the best available that soon after tickets went on sale?!?" Everyone around us laughed and agreed that we had all done the same thing - gotten the Best Available.

They weren't the greatest seats, to be sure, near the top of the stadium, and at the far end of the upper tier of seats. Randy teased that he'd start using that as his excuse... sorry these flowers are wilted, honey, but they were the best available! Heh-heh.


But you know what? The weather was good, the people around us were all friendly and enthusiastic Bama fans, and Bama won the game, so I think there wasn't anything any of us would have changed by the end of the evening. The Best Available really wasn't that bad at all.

So that got me thinking, here on the first day of this new year: How would our outlook on life change if we adopted Best Available as our philosophy of life?

Think about it: for most of our lives, we make choices without ever really knowing if we're making the correct ones. Choices both big and small. Paper or plastic? Democrat or Republican? Do I...pick this major, quit that job, marry this person, move to that city, eat this box of chocolates, take that trip? Sometimes we know right away if we made the right choice (I can't believe I ate the whole thing!), but oftentimes we don't know until months or even years later whether or not we've chosen wisely.

We can worry, second-guess ourselves, worry, fret, then worry some more - but frequently, the passage of time is the only judge.

How does Best Available fit into all this worrying? It doesn't, and that's the point.

When we make a choice, a decision, the Best Available philosophy tells us we need to examine the situation, weigh our options, then make the best decision we can, based on everything we know at that moment.

And then let it go, and see where it takes us. That's the hard part!

When we moved to Paris in 1990, it was with every intention of reopening the Wendy's in Paris. We examined, researched, weighed options, and made our choice. Our Best Available decision was to pack up the babies, the schnauzer, and everything we owned that would fit into a 25 foot Ryder rent truck, and hit the road back to Texas. When the Wendy's thing didn't work out quite like we planned, we swallowed hard, then looked around to see where our decision was taking us.

It took us to a really nice life. Certainly, there have been bumps and bruises, and even some pretty deep cuts, along the way, but ultimately, we can look back and see how well it all worked out.

Best Available doesn't mean settling. It doesn't mean just not making any decision and lollygagging around, waiting to see how it all works out.

It DOES mean doing your research. Your due-diligence. Asking for advice. Seeking a mentor. Praying.

Can a Best Available decision turn out badly? Surely it can. A bad job. A harmful relationship. The wrong...box of chocolates. But in just about every situation, even if the choice is a bad one, if we can LEARN from it, then nothing that happened was in vain.

So. Best Available. Do your homework, swallow hard, and make your decision.

Because even if your seats aren't all that good, you'll still be in the arena for a terrific show.

"It was not the life I planned, but it is the life I have."

"My husband and children accept and understand that my political responsibilities to the people of Pakistan come first, as painful as that personally is to all of us. I would like to be planning my son's move to his first year at college later this month, but instead I am planning my return to Pakistan and my party's parliamentary election campaign.

I didn't choose this life. It chose me." Benazir Bhutto (1953-2007) (Written on September 1, 2007, and published on The Huffington Post)

She was born the month before Randy.

Her son entered his freshman year in college at the same time James did.

Say what you will - and I don't pretend to understand all the underlying political implications - but she was one hell of a woman to make the choice to return to Pakistan, knowing that in all likelihood she would not survive.

And With Thy Heart As Offering

Seems to me that all too often we make things more complicated than they need to be. Maybe we could try to realize that even if someone sees things in a different way than we do...we're still looking at the same thing.

This is Tennessee Ernie Ford, singing "Some Children See Him." This was a live broadcast of The Ford Show, on December 25, 1958. The little boy in his lap is Jon Provost, who played Timmy in the old Lassie series. Look for Lassie herself sleeping among the other children. Click here if the video doesn't load.

How wonderful this is! Merry Christmas!!

Samantha...New!

Meet the newest addition to the Reed family! She is Samantha Gorgeous Reed, and we found her at the Animal Shelter yesterday. Her Samantha name came from Will Smith's dog in "I Am Legend," which James saw on Saturday, and Gorgeous is what Amanda has called her from the beginning. We call her Sam, or Sammie. She was an owner surrender, meaning that she was brought in by her previous owners, who told the shelter that the husband has heart trouble, and they couldn't take care of her any longer.

She's about two years old, and has obviously been cared for. She is housebroken (although I'm still a little jumpy about that), and she understands "NO". This is SUCH a good thing.

She apparently is accustomed to sleeping on the bed. When Randy and I went to bed last night, after making a nice little pallet for her on the floor - where she immediately laid down, causing us to prematurely think we were home free - we turned out the light, she waited about a two-count, then hopped right up on to the bed, laid down...and stayed there until about 6:30 this morning.

She is just so mellow. Seems really happy to be here, becomes very concerned when someone leaves the room, already is attached to Randy, but is quite fond of the rest of us, too. Hangs out with James in his room, watching movies. Tries to climb up on Amanda to get closer to her face for kisses. She has slept quite a bit, and while I attribute some of that to being exhausted from her whole adoption ordeal, it appears that she'd just as soon hang out in the house with us as sniff around the back yard.

She is not Cinnamon, and while we really didn't want her to be, it looks like she's a really good fit for us. It was just one of those meant to be kind of things - the kids are home, Randy will be here for a couple of weeks, and we were all really missing having a dog around. She arrived at the shelter on Friday, and we found her on Monday.

Sammie will be a really great dog for all of us. She has landed in a really good place, and we are just happy as clams to have her here!

Neither bare, nor naked, nor even ladies

Okay, so it's a bootlegged video of a live performance, and not a particularly good one at that...but a really FABULOUS rendition of a couple of my favorite Christmas songs. It's Barenaked Ladies featuring Sarah MacLachlan.

A MUCH better studio version is available on iTunes (without the video) from the album "Barenaked for the Holidays."



UPDATE: If the video doesn't work, try copying and pasting this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=unLYrtx8aKA

Cause and Effect

Our tenants have moved out of Brandyn, and the guy tells Randy "you probably want to have the air conditioner checked. It runs all the time, and our power bills have been real high." We thought that to be odd, as we had replaced the whole unit, inside and out, about 9 months ago.

So in our normal cleaning up process, we changed the filters. Here's a picture of the ones we took out. Hm-m-m...

Acronym of the Day

WOMBAT:

Waste of money, brains, and time. As in: The trip to Denver was not a total WOMBAT, because the new commercials are pretty cool, but Erik Weihenmayer and Buzzword Bingo were really the only other highlights to be found."

Two Things

I will miss this Christmas:

Hiding a squeaky toy in the top branches of the Christmas tree.

Uncle Bill's Godiva Chocolates.

Delicious Irony

Reckon there's a recipe for Forbidden Fruit Jam in the cookbook?!?

We saw this in Dumas, Texas, this week.

Delilah, here's to you...

This summer, one of the songs the kids listened to frequently was "Hey There Delilah," by a group called Plain White T's. It's just a lovely little acoustic love song that to me is one of those timeless kind of songs - if you didn't already know, you might think it was from the sixties or seventies, and I came to love it as much as the kids did.

When Randy and I were in Rome, we left our tour and walked to the Hard Rock Cafe on the Via Veneto in search of Amanda's souvenir bear. If you've ever been to a Hard Rock, you know that what you usually hear on the sound system is mostly LOUD classic rock, and after a while it just becomes the same-old, same-old noise that just kind of fades into the background. So I found the bear and picked out some t-shirts, and while I was standing in line to pay, the noise went silent...and then, the opening guitar line, and Tom Higginson's quiet voice: Hey there, Delilah, what's it like in New York City? and I nearly lost it.

We were on the next to the last day of a long, incredibly wonderful trip, and I was rather tired and mildly homesick, but when I heard the song that the kids and I had enjoyed together all summer, I thought: "This is such a perfect moment. Here I am, and way over there they are, and even here there is something that connects us."

I told them about it when we got home, and they thought that was sort of cool also, in a gee, isn't our Mom odd? kind of way.

Tonight, they went on a road trip. They've been looking forward to this for months now. Fall Out Boy is in concert at the Wharf in Orange Beach, and being the FOB fans that they are, they bought tickets and went. They're staying at Grand Beach for the weekend. They had said that Plain White T's were going to open for FOB, and they promised they'd take a picture for me.

But then something even better happened: Amanda called about 8:15, and when I answered, what did I hear? Tom Higginson again: Hey there Delilah...what's it like in New York City? She kept the phone on for the whole song, and cool thing at the end - instead of "Hey there Delilah, here's to you," he sang, "Hey Alabama, here's to you," and I could hear the crowd just go nuts.

At the end of the song, she hung up, and then seconds later came a text message: LYB! which is our shorthand for love you bunches

And my tears just flowed. It was one of those sweet reminders that even when I am here and they are way over there, these two kids - no, these young adults, whom I so adore - and I still have things that connect us.

A thousand miles seems pretty far,
But they've got planes and trains and cars
I'd walk to you if I had no other way.