Is He Talking to Me? Or Hello There! - Beech Mountain, NC

Either on your first trip to Beech Mountain, or your 40th year of living here, there are two types of people on the mountain.  Those who wave and those who don’t wave.  

Those who wave are a very jolly lot, they are happy to be on the mountain, in the cool summer breeze and show it by showing appreciation to everyone they see.  This starts in the car.  When driving the roads of Beech Mountain, keep your right hand free from the steering wheel because you will spend a lot of time waving back to people you do not know.  This includes the driver in the other car just being courteous, the walker by the side of the road making sure you see them to your kids chasing behind the car because you forgot them.  “We's all family on Beech Mountain," meaning we expect everyone to be courteous, that means wave.

Non wavers are usually not from the area.  If they moved here and didn’t wave after the first few weeks, someone would explain to them that waving is expected on Beech Mountain.  An elderly friend came to visit, we were driving down to the Beech Mountain Club pool, I was stunned, he was clearly violating the wave policy of the mountain.  “Why are all these people waving to me?  I don’t know any of them.” He muttered, his hands staying at 10 and 2 on the steering wheel navigating the windy roads.  “They are trying to be friendly,” I answered back, waving for him, figuring if they saw me wave the sentiment was expressed therefore we stay in good standing.  “They need to go wave to someone else.” He muttered slowly driving his 15 miles per hour.  These people usually come from the North, where everyone isn’t family in a small given area, they usually think someone waving to them means stop and pick them up so they can rob you. Usually these types gun the engine continuing on.

Another non-waver is the new driver to Beech Mountain, they are so busy trying to navigate the switchbacks while not hitting other drivers, adding in a wave is just beyond their comprehension.  I was in the car with a new driver, explaining the wave policy, his face turning white, I added, “Don’t wave, I’ll do it for you.  Just keep your hands at 10 and 2.” So if you wave to someone and they don’t wave back with that deer in the headlights look, just figure they are trying to avoid a collision with you, quite possibly saving your life.

Some wavers are very enthusiastic, one example during the summer is the senior citizen.  If you see them waving at you in a panic, don’t worry.  You can still stop and ask if they are having a heart attack, but you’ll find the reason they are waving is for you to “SLOW DOWN!”  It doesn’t matter if you are doing 20 or 8 miles per hour, it will be too fast for this poor soul walking his little dog.  Just wave back at him and move along on your merry way.

The other type of enthusiastic wavers, are the people waving that actually know you.  Believe me, the longer you stay on Beech Mountain, the more people will know about you.  It will go from the casual acquaintance to the, “I saw your red 2013 Acura with the dent on the right front panel in the parking lot of the restaurant and thought I’d come in and say hello.”  No really, they will know the car you drive, the color of the clothes you wear on the ski slopes, to the color of your yoga mat for exercise class.  If they are waving enthusiastically, just do the same because you probably do know them, you just haven’t seen them yet without their goggles.

Which brings me to the friendliness of this small mountain town, everyone is family when it comes to Beech Mountain.  One epic family story involves a local legend, who I invited over to dinner after skiing on the slopes.  I never saw him that night figuring he got a better deal until the next day he was screaming at me from the lift chair, telling me to stop and wait right there for him.  He came flying down the hill with this story:

“You’re not going to believe it.  I went over to your house last night.”

“What? I didn’t see you.”

“Hold on.  I went in took my shoes off leaving them by the door like everyone else.  I am polite like that.  I went a grabbed a beer from the fridge, sat on the sofa for the football game, cracked open the beer then looked around.  I didn’t recognize a soul.”

“What?”

“I was in the wrong house!”  He was laughing, he was still with us so no one shot him.

“What happened?” I asked.

“Well, they invited me to dinner.” He said matter of factly.

Of course, we’re on Beech Mountain.  “What did you do?”  I asked, incredulous.

“I stayed and ate.”

So if you want to be part of Beech Mountain family, then practice your waves.  Your prom waves, your wrestler tap outs, to simply the “I don’t know you but I’ve read here that you are supposed to wave” waves, we’re all family on the mountain and you may just get a free meal out of it.

WTF - The Nomad Edition

In my Pre-K (pre-kids) years I did quite a bit of moving.  Hubby and I both worked for the airlines, meaning that every two years with a promotion came a move.  I thought I would share some of the WTF things I found in different cities of the USA.

Rosyln, VA - our first jobs were in Georgetown and of course we could not afford the rental in that town, so we chose over the bridge in Virginia.  No one told us that our studio apartment was right in the path of Reagan National Airport until the first time a plane flew by and changed the channel on the TV.  1 year later, we'd almost given up on watching TV.

Orlando, FL - No one explained the indigenous Florida Cockroach, the Palmetto Bug - which I called the Palomino Bug, because, serially you could almost ride the things.  My first night sitting on the floor watching TV, I saw my first one run across the kitchen floor.  Of course I remained calm saying, "What the F is that?"  Not only did I not realize how tall they are, but that on occasion they can fly (usually right at you) and that whenever I saw one it was perfectly acceptable to get mad at my husband.

Cleveland, OH - no one prepared me for the winters of Cleveland.  One particular morning after a multiple inch snowfall, I woke thinking, "wow, guess we're not working today."  I was casually informed by my boss that I could be "late" but I was expected in after the two in snow fall.  People hibernate during the winters there, literally.  I saw my neighbor one June morning after the fall and asked her, "Who's baby?"  She looked at me and said, "Mine."  Oops, remember some things can be hidden with the layers of colder weather.  What prompted me to move?  When one day the radio station announced, "Well today we've had 14 minutes of sunshine."

Boston, MA - My first day of work I thought I'd drive in, making sure I was early.  No one told me about the huge game of chicken motorists play going through any tunnel into the city, and how quickly you move from 6 lanes of traffic to two silently screaming in your car.  Turn signals were giving information away to the enemy, and it is acceptable to stop and spend 5 minutes yelling at the person in the car next to you, in fact this was an acceptable form of communication to the local population.

Baltimore, MD - Living in downtown Fells Point, we didn't really worry too much about wharf rats but the mice.  Everyone explained that they were basically a fact of life, of course I had to ask, "But do you see the family walking through the living dragging a bag of Reese Cups?  Also, where we lived there was the indigenous drunks of Friday and Saturday nights.  They would "car surf" down out street, and one neighbor reported a particularly feral drunk actually peed through the mail slot in his front door.  Owning a boxer at the time that enjoyed her daily "fight" with the mailman (meaning, grab all the mail as it came through the mail slit and rip it to shreds on the floor) I hoped that feral drunk would choose our home one of those nights.

Atlanta GA -  Little Five Points had more than their share of door to door people - sales people, cub scouts, girl scouts, hare krishnas, 7th Day Adventists.  Luckily for us, we received a Giant Mastiff Puppy so whenever some one would knock on our glass front door, the 15 year old blind/deaf boxer would come running into the door snarling.  While she was doing this, the 100 lb puppy would come over, flip the old girl on her back and start humping her in front of the glass door.  Needless to say, she was not happy about this.  This show for whomever was waiting at the door lasted the 2 minutes it took me to get to the front door.  Of course, if they were still there----I would always buy what they were selling.

Alexandria, VA - This town sits just over the bridge from Washington DC.  And believe me if you ever drive in Washington DC, you'll realize whomever planned the roads was making sure the enemy will never find their way to the White House.  We went to a Capitals game after moving there and trying to get my father back to Silver Spring got hopelessly lost in the Capital of the United States.  So lost that on three separate occasions we ended up going over the bridge into Virginia.  I still remember my father, in the back seat, saying, "Oh look, there's the damn Welcome to Virginia sign again."  So if you want to find your way to Alexandria VA, just point your car to Washington DC, you'll get lost and end up where you intended.

Winston Salem NC - it took a little bit to understand the language but now that I've been here for 13+ years, I'm fixin on staying.  And no one told me the reason we speak slow is because during the summertime it is too hot to do ANYTHING fast.  My only pet peeve is how everyone comes to a complete stop before a right hand turn.  I know it says that is the driver's handbook, but seriously people, we got places to be.

Beech Mountain, NC - this is my home away from home.  Shhh, no one told me that the people living here full time are either
a.  Crazy
b.  Hiding from something/someone
c.  Both of the above.
Don't get caught dead out in a bar on the mountain past, say, 11 at night.  Especially in the summertime, the Floridian residents come out of their perspective hiding places and feed on the only healthy brain cells left in the bar - YOURS!

Have you learned something new along your travels, anything that stands out?

The "Daddy's Out Of Town" Contract

So, Dad is traveling.  There are few things we need to make clear:

1.  Let's not announce the morning runs to Krispy Kreme, he really doesn't need to know they now have Birthday Cake Batter Doughnuts.  Mom's thighs will announce that when he returns.

2.  I know we all miss him, imitating him by walking around the house in your boxers scratching your butt does not help.

3.  You can sleep in my bed, as long as you don't realize I am sleeping in yours.

4.  The movies we watch in the den stay in the den.

5.  If I don't feel like cooking, then you will eat the spaghettios and like them.

6.  If you two start fighting, your Dad is not here, you are on your own.

7.  When he calls you are under obligation to talk to him on the phone AND tell him how much you miss him.  (Failure results in loss of Mom/Dad bed privileges)

8.  We can all equally trash the house as long as well all equally run around frantically cleaning things up for one hour before Dad returns home.

9.  Just because there is only one parent currently in the house does not mean I get the teenage angst of two.

10.  When Dad finally gets home, I will not hop, skip and jump into a hot bathtub with a glass of wine as long as you put down your video games and cheerfully greet him.

Because if the dog is the only one greeting him at the front door - we are all in trouble.

Boys and Airplanes

There is nothing funnier than traveling with kids on an airplane, especially when you have a seasoned traveler like my husband who lies calm, even trips.

We start the morning with 12 bags - 4 ski bags (about the size of body bags and just as heavy) 3 suitcase and 5 backpacks.  Hubby starts with a lecture that "it is everyone's job to take care of all this stuff," as I am hauling the body bags up 8 steps and out to the car.  Once they are up there, the kids do par core all over the bags while I crawl on my hands and knees in the condo checking under beds, couches, chairs - finding 2 mis matched socks, one T-shirt and my own business card.

During the drive to airport, we get a little turned around.  Usually when you are lost, children will immediately start asking stupid questions as you are trying to figure out the GPS, listen to Rolf of Google Maps tell you that you are lost and arguing with your seat mate about which direction to take.

Didn't the kids in the back notice that you turned Michael Buble all the way down - BECAUSE you don't have time to listen to "I wanna go home," when you are LOST!

It starts with them asking if we are lost, then bugging each other until one of them yells, "STOP!"  At which time both parents turn and explain in what they think is the most menacing voice about being lost, needing quiet to think!  Does that stop them?  What do you think?

Once at the airport, everyone jumps out of the car looking at us.  I have to politely explain that I got the body bags up to the car, it is now their job to haul them from the car into the ticket counter.  Each takes their own bag, leaving me with 4 communal bags - including my own body bag.  Sigh.

At the counter, hubby is trying to check us in, the kids are jumping the suitcases.  My oldest decides that he wants to "help" Daddy and check us in for the flight.  There are wrong buttons pressed, arguments on how many bags, arguments on who is sitting where.  Meanwhile I am getting evil looks by the TSA agents waiting for our bags, because a. they are heavy as shit, and b. there are a lot of them and c. someone is going to have to security search them which includes hauling the body bags through X-ray.

The kids push each other through security screening, not to mention the TSA guy pulling a smashed clementine out of my husband's briefcase with my child saying, "Hey, I was saving that for later!"  They push each other down the jetway, push each other as they walk to their seats on the plane.

Once on the flight, the kids are excited and cannot sit still, they are moving the seats up and down, which means Jeff and I have no leg room because for some reason the kids got the choice seats and we got the ones that come with a can opener when you try to get out.  One child is pressing all the buttons on the other child's TV screen because this is the first plane that has personal TVs and how cool is that in a child's world.  Rather how cool is that, in anyone's world, I'm pretty enthralled too, not noticing what the kids are doing until someone presses the flight attendant button above my husband's head.  He is reaching between the seats trying to grab someone while the flight attendant asks him what he wants. I thought he was going to say, "Please move me away from these obnoxious kids, who's kids are they anyway?"  But he smiles and apologizes, reaching between the seat for anyone once she walks away.

Needless to say when traveling with children, the annoyance of everything they do is increased with the stress of trying to get from point A to Point B.  So if you travel with your children, here's a few pointers:

Travel light - in our case we couldn't due to snow sports, the less you have to haul around the better your back will feel.
Don't give them any of your electronics - because sitting on the airplane is not the time to find out they changed your ringtone on your phone to "I'm Sexy and I Know It."  (Picture my sweet hubby's face on that one)
And try to set your seats at least 3 rows behind them, that way you are not hit in the knees when they "test" how far the seat goes back and you can look at others on the plane and say, "For Pete's Sake, who's kids are those?"

Remember, traveling with children is like childbirth.  You'll forget all about it once your finally make it back home again, planning that next trip until your phone starts to sing, "I Like Big Butts And I Cannot Lie" on your next call.

Avalanche Charges, Bowls and Beer - Oh My!

Everyone finally woke up this morning with smiles.  I checked each child's underwear as they came out , scratching their butts for breakfast.  All smiles, and no sharting in the house.  Perhaps this will not be such a shitty day?

That is was snowing as soon as we got there - a very good sign.  You could hear the avalanche controls in the back country as we rode the lift to the top.  Today, I decided I was going to take it easy, considering the two days before were spent in some really shitty jobs.  I would be careful and not over tax what I was doing.

Hello black diamond.

So much for taking it easy, with fresh powder on the ground, I went with the rest of humanity to the hard stuff at the summit.  The boys were with me, arguing about who would get down the hill first, who would get off the list first, who would get back on the lift first.

How do I spend a day skiing by myself?

My rule of thumb is that all skiing happens from 9am until 12-1230pm.  I hit it hard from 9am until 1230p when we get our first break.  For them it is lunch, for me it is a beer.

We finish lunch then ski again until 2pm before we take our second break, for them a snack, for me it is a beer.

This time I went down McConskey bowl about 130P which changed my schedule.

After crawling out of the bottom, I realized that I was bypassing the rest of the ski schedule and going directly to the bar, and since I was alone, no one else would know the difference.  I went down to the resort and put my feet up outside, drinking a beer.


The kids, coming down after their time on the slopes were like sharks smelling blood in the water.  Mom's had a beer and that means she's a little more open to SHOPPING!

They hit the stores in the lodge as I finished my beer, coming back and pulling me into 3 different directions for "A great helmet," "An awesome hoodie," and "Some liners."  Kids have that innate sense , knowing exactly when their parents are primed enough to open the wallet.

When it goes from, "Honey, you really do not need another sweatshirt."  To...
"Wow, it's moisture wicking, and fits you perfectly and look at that sad face you are giving me," to...

SOLD!

So one helmet, one T-shirt and one hoodie later we head back to the condo, talking about charges, not just avalanche control but of the credit card ones as well.  The biggest part of our discussion was figuring out how to present the new purchases to DADDY!!

Perhaps I will live to see another day.

Brace Yourself for the Airport Ticket Agent

He sat on his throne looking like King Midas, or Genghis Khan.  No I am not talking about royalty, I am talking about the ticket agent at the airport, or the customer service representative at the mall, any person who believes they are in a position of authority due to their job description.  In my case, this ticket agent at the airport was the seat keeper, the keeper of the first class seats that I was coveting.

And he understood the power he had, and he yielded it.

He looked up at me, then back to his computer screen.  Obviously something on that screen was much more important than customer service?  Rather than saying something immediately, I waited patiently, hoping this gesture of good will, this showing how important I thought he was by not interrupted what seemed to be a very important computer something.  After waiting several minutes, I finally couldn’t stand it anymore so I coughed and said, “Excuse me?”

He looked up at me through his glasses perched on his nose, a stern look on his face at being interrupted at his IMPORTANT job.  I was not mentioning that I noticed his fingers not moving on the keyboard for quite a bit of time.  

“What can I do for you,” he asked in a nasally voice, emphasizing DO and YOU.

I almost said, “YOUR JOB,” but bit my tongue.  “They told me that I should check with you about seats available for 1^st class on the flight from Charlotte to Phoenix?”

He looked at me, acting like I’d said, “Sir, can you please take that umbrella in the corner and stick it up your ass.”  There was another long pause as we stared at each other, like playing some kind of game of war.  Who was going to blink first.  I felt like I had won, when he simply stopped staring looking down to his keyboard and started to type.

While I watched him type, a line started forming behind me as other people were hoping to find lost bags, or change seats, or get rebooked after a cancelled flight.  I felt the stress of holding everyone up, especially the woman behind me with a baby in her arms, a baby that took one look at me and started crying.  I started sweating, partially because of the baby crying behind me, but also because I noticed that he boarding passes put her and Napoleon there right next to me on the 4 hour 37 minute flight.

My eyes went back to the agent, who was not noticing Napoleon starting to scream, or me sweating, he was very intently typing on the keyboard, looking at the screen as if he were typing up the long lost scroll of the bible.

I waited while Belzebub’s screaming got louder.  Watching him on the keyboard.

What is he typing?  Why is it taking him so long to just check a flight for seats in first class?  He’s still typing, is the system

broken.  When he paused typing, I felt a moment of exhilaration, only to have my hopes dashed as he then went back to typing again.

I wanted him to look up at me, so I could silently communicate with him with my eyes.  I wanted to say, “It can’t take you that damn long to check if a seat is available.”  Then I would add with more glaring potential, “I need to know if I am seated next to spawn of Satan for the next flight so I can go slam down a few martinis and make the flight tolerable.”  But he wouldn’t look up, so I couldn’t communicate anything.

I thought he found his answer because he clearly stopped typing on the keyboard.  When I thought he would give me an answer, he went from typing on the keyboard to clicking with the mouse.  He clicked as much as he typed.  He just kept clicking shit making me wonder if he was contacting the Chairman of USAirways for confirmation of my upgrade to first class.  He just kept clicking while I just kept waiting.

“How’s it coming along,” I asked when I couldn’t stand the Exorcist playing out behind me.  I hoped he would understand my question, see all my eye gestures and understand the communication.

“The computer is running a little slow,” he said as he stared at the screen mesmerized.

No shit, probably all that typing and clicking overloaded the system and now you have to wait, which means I have to wait, praying Linda Blair behind me doesn’t puke on my clean shirt.  My eye communication changed from give me an answer to looking like Oliver Twist, big sad eyes saying, “Please sir, could you spare one first class seat.”

He typed for a few more minutes, I was planning on bribing the flight attendant to slip me a few miniatures of whiskey for the flight when he says, “Looks like you are in luck.”

The heavens opened, I heard angels singing, and Spawn of Satan behind me smiled for a minute before resuming his crying.  I walk like Gene Kelley in Singing In The Rain to my gate whistling a bright tune.

That’s when I realize he’s upgraded me on the wrong leg of my flight, I was already in first class for that one.

I hear a wail in the distance.

Help I,ve fallen in the TSA line

How do you make it through the TSA line?  Here's some easy steps:

Easiest way to not get strip searched?  Strip first and walk through naked.

Take your brass nuckles and put them in the bag of the person ahead of you.

Let them do every type of metallic scan, then casually say, "Oh, I know what it is.  I forgot and left my Ben Wah Balls in.  Do you need to keep searching?"

Walk around saying loudly, "Man!  everyone's feet here STINK!"

If they ask if you have anything to declare, tell them you are allergic to latex.

Go through in a toga explaining it is the dress of your people.

Go through in a kilt saying, "Oh, I've been waiting for you!" To the agent.

Explaintion: it is the hair dryer that looks like a 357 Magnum, you don't need to pull it out.

Bring an extra bag with you and leave it sitting unattended.  This keeps everyone busy enough to not fool with your bag.

Ride in a wheelchair, they always get through the line first.  Better yet, pay someone to wheel you through the line and leave your brass knuckles in their pocket.

After your strip search walk out of the room proclaiming, "Ask for Carl!  he's got LITTLE hands!"

And to make your trip more enjoyable here is an actual list of items you cannot take through security:
Meat cleavers
Grenades
Cattle prods. (Guess your kids will actually enjoy the trip)
sabers
Brass Knuckles
Tear Gas
Gun lighters

Check your luggage and thank you for flying TSA Security line!

The Key to Daddy's Sanity!

Traveling to Washington State with the boys is a lesson in patience and flexibility.

My oldest wants to be just like his father, so he's packed his briefcase with all his plane essentials.  His new Kindle Fire he won at a Stacker game (yes, he is still telling everyone this), his phone, his computer all his cords, his headphones, his iTouch and his license (his IdentaKid card.)  Thus begins the Curse of the Key.

You see, the briefcase has a lock, and and lock has a small key that goes in it.  My son locks the briefcase.

Hubby, eyeing TINY LITTLE key in his son's hand:  Son, should you lock that?

Son:  I don't want anyone getting into my stuff.

Hubby:  Let me hold the key.

Son:  No, I got it.

Hubby:  really, I'll put it in a safe place.

Son as he puts it in his pocket:  I have a safe place.

We start going through security.

Hubby:  Son, you have to take everything out of the briefcase to put in the bins.

Son, fumbling:  Ok.

Hubby:  What's wrong,

Son:  I'm finding my key.

Hubby looking at angry line behind them:  Did you lose the key?

Son:  No, it's in my pocket.

Hubby:  Well find it pretty quickly, we have to put this stuff on the belt.

Son:  Wait a minute.  Dad!

Husband shoving his hands into son's pockets until Finally the key is located, the bag put on the belt and we go through security.

On the airplane, my son pulls everything out of the briefcase for use on the plane, then locks it again to put in the overhead bin.

Hubby:  Do you have to lock it?

Son:  What if someone steals my stuff?

Hubby:  I don't think anyone will steal your stuff on the plane.

Son: You never know.

Hubby:  Let me hold the key.

Son:  No, I got it.

We enjoy the plane ride, as we land and everyone resembles the Who Concert trying to get off the plane, my husband pulls the bag out of the over head bin.

Hubby:  Hurry Up, put everything away so we can get off the plane first.  (he likes to be first)

Son:  Wait a minute.

Hubby:  What's wrong.

Son:  I dropped my key, wait a minute.

Hubby starting to resemble Rumplestiltskin:  Hurry Son.

Son:  I think it fell in my seat.

Hubby looks at me:  I am throwing away this briefcase.

We carry all his stuff and the locked briefcase off the plane into the terminal.  Son is upset about the key, hubby getting ready to throw away the briefcase, son puts hand in pocket.

Son:  Oh, here it is, wow that's good.

Hubby looking back at tiny key:  Great.

We watch him put all his stuff back into his briefcase, and LOCK it with the TINY key.

Son:  Don't want anyone taking my stuff.