ColoradoGrams

The first question I was asked when I first entered West Lee Middle School in Sanford, North Carolina on my first day of 8th grade was "Do you like Carolina, Duke, or State?"  I had just moved from New Jersey where I was familiar with the glorious shore, Bon Jovi, the Fireman's Fair in Fair Haven, bagels, and nor'easters. 

What was Carolina, Duke, and State?  Why did it matter which one I liked?  Would it determine who I would be friends with in school, or worse, if I'd even have any friends if I admitted I had no clue what anyone was talking about?  I was having a hard enough time understanding the southern drawl and saying "yes ma'am" let alone worry about interpreting this Carolina/Duke/State stuff. 

We were living in a temporary rental place until my parents found a house to buy.  Fortunately, we moved into our "real" house only a couple of months into my 8th grade year.  The room I chose to inhabit I chose because of the light blue wallpaper in the bathroom.  As we were moving in, I notice that in my room was hanging this beautiful light blue stained glass light fixture that had "Carolina" and "Tar Heels" circling the base of the light.  I decided that this was as good a reason as any to say that I liked "Carolina."  From that point on, any light blue I saw became Carolina Blue.  I fell in love with Vince Carter, Dante "The Italian Stallion" Calabria, Ed Cota, and Shammond Williams.  I heard the marching band and knew that I was meant to be a member.  In 8th grade, I decided that I was going to go to college at UNC, nothing else would do.  Along with my obsession of Carolina also grew a distaste (and I'm being gentle) for all things Duke.  Even the word "Duke" became worse than any other four-letter word that could be mentioned in my presence.  

I am a Tar Heel through and through. I am a rabid fan, a devoted alumna, a bank of seemingly useless knowledge about all things Carolina.  I wear Carolina blue every day - sometimes consciously, most times not.   And I will forever be thankful that the Carolina lamp was hanging in my room in North Carolina.  I can't imagine how things may have been different if say, a red State lamp or worse, a dark blue Duke lamp had been hanging from the ceiling.  

I'm a Tar Heel born,

I'm a Tar Heel bred,

And when I die, I'm a Tar Heel dead.

So it's rah, rah, Car'lina, 'lina, 

Rah, rah, Car'lina, 'lina,

Rah, rah Car'lina, 'lina

Rah, Rah, Rah! 

When I was little (okay, maybe just 10-12 years ago even), there were a couple of things that I always said:

1:  I will never do anything just for a stupid boy.

2:  I can't see myself getting married.  And if I do get married, my husband BETTER know how to cook and clean, because that's not my thing.

3.  I'm hardly domestic.  (This generalization of "domestic" refers to home decorating and sewing as well as cooking, baking, etc.)

So, where am I now?  I just got back from the gym and picking up a pizza for dinner and groceries to get us through the weekend, and I'm about to clean up the kitchen before getting back to my monstrosity of a sewing project, on which I'll be spending the better part of the evening.

 Could I get some help getting my foot out of my mouth, please?

About four years ago, I made the decision to move to Colorado.  I really had to talk myself into it because "not doing anything for a stupid boy" kept creeping into my mind.  Paul was the only person I knew in the state, and he was the only reason I had for moving to Colorado.  A wonderful roommate I had at the time told me that I wasn't moving for the boy, I was moving for myself because of the relationship with the boy (a boy who was ridiculously far from being stupid, I might add).  And not only did I marry the boy, but I think that because of the dynamic of our relationship, I totally enjoy cooking and baking, and to a certain extent keeping the house clean (you wouldn't know it from looking at our place right now though, so please call before coming over).  

When I was in college, my best friend made a quilt for me.  I was amazed (as I always am) by her incredible talent, and the quilt has a very special place in my heart (and in our house), as does her friendship.  For a furiously hectic weekend in grad school, Amy taught me how to quilt and we were able to piece together an entire quilt in the span of a sleepless 40 hours.  Quilting has become a hobby that I've adopted for myself, and it's because of Amy's influence that it's a passion of mine.

Today I am thankful for influence.  Good influence, that is; I've had my share of bad influences.  I am thankful for the friends and family members who know me better than I know myself who get me to do something I wouldn't typically do, or make me consider taking a leap of faith that I wouldn't otherwise.  Through this, I've discovered different sides of myself that challenge me and force me to grow and look forward.

Today I am thankful for patience.  This is something that I don't necessarily claim to have -- if you've ridden as a passenger in a car that I'm driving you already know this.  And today, in particular, has been particularly challenging.  I'm not going to go into details of my day, because in these posts leading up to Thanksgiving I really am doing my best to focus on what I'm thankful for, not on what is driving me crazy.   But across numerous settings, within various activities, and with a decent number of people I've found that I've had to take a deep breath and think "Carolyn, it's okay.  Be patient." while at the same time sending up a desperate prayer for help. 

 So many mornings, as I'm driving to the gym I get stuck behind cars - get this - going the speed limit or just under.  I don't speed excessively, but if the speed limit is 45, I'll go 50; actually being held to 45mph seems ridiculous at times, especially in the middle of Colorado prairie.  Lately, however, I've been thinking to myself (as I'm muttering under my breath at the person in front of me) "I wonder if God put this slow guy in front of me for a reason.  It's okay to slow down a bit."

I am thankful for the patience that I like to think I'm learning, but more importantly, the patience that people all around me show towards each other and me.  Because it only stands to reason that if there are people who try my patience, then I know I've got to have the same effect on others too, right?  Paul is a very patient man.  My father calls him Saint Paul for "putting up" with me (and he'll get his own "daily thankful" on our anniversary).  I am really trying to be more conscious of slowing down, appreciating what is going on around me instead of trying to control my surroundings.  

Now, to sit back, take a deep breath, and patiently wait for the Carolina game to come on.  Go Heels! :)

As I'm typing I have Rascal laying half under my feet and half under the coffee table.  Bandit is in the "Think Tank," what we call her crate.  When we want her to go in her crate so we can lock her away (keeping her and our house safe), we tell her "Go think B!" and she does.  Sometimes, if we're watching a movie or hanging out in the family room, we'll hear here collapse in the Think Tank and we'll laugh about how Bandit is probably solving the problems of the world. 

 Regardless of the kind of day I'm having, Rascal and Bandit always put me in a better mood.  I love that even if I run out to the grocery store for 15 minutes, or go out to check the mail, they always greet me at the door like they haven't seen me in years.  As the nights grow frigid, it takes enormous effort to get out of bed in the morning.  Rascal and Bandit are NOT allowed on the bed, typically (I still can't talk about the Great Quilt Incident of 2007 without crying).  But it's hard to refuse when a miniature (okay, 45 pounds per pup) space heater jumps on the bed to snuggle down for just one more snooze.

 Paul and I joke that Rascal is on a weekly renewal basis, and Bandit (being the younger of the two) is on a daily renewal basis.  Every once in a while Paul will decide that Bandit has overstayed her welcome and lets me know it's up to me to find another place for the B by the time he's home from work (and he knows better, believe me).  The dogs always look so happy when we tell them that for the next week (or for the next day) they'll still get to be Grahams.  Silly, I know.  But if you have fuzzies of your own, you know what I mean.  

Did I mention that they are GREAT at helping to keep the kitchen floor "clean?"  If anyone ever needed a reason beyond everything you've already read to get a dog, that definitely is it.  

Today I'm thankful for our four-legged fuzzies.  And I think that we'll keep them another day.