Leaving The Farm

When I learned Saturday afternoon was Baby Goat Day at Split Creek Farm I knew exactly how my final hours in Clemson would be spent—under a shining South Carolina sun with a few of my favorite people at the farm. Simply blissful.

In small towns you develop an appreciation for hidden treasures immediately; these local gems are never, not for one second, taken for granted. Split Creek Farm produces the freshest eggs I have ever tasted (in America)—I’m a big fan. Living near farm I learned the names of the farmers, thoroughly explored the area where it all takes place, and witnessed the animals in their habitat. Exposure to the behind the scenes of my food makes me feel infinitely better about consuming it.

May there be a farm with an equally welcoming atmosphere close to me, wherever I may be.

Reliance

For my upcoming travel plans I had to enlist the help of my brother--big time. My brother and I are tight. I don't think he minds lending a hand now and then, however, he lives a very simple life and I have an awful tendency to irrationally complicate issues.

Asking him if he would be willing to drive my car home and fly back to his closest airport spiraled into multiple tasks requiring his assistance.

He had to deposit me in Clemson, on my watch, in order for me to make my appointment, an hour earlier than he intended on leaving his home. I would be without a car once he took off, three days before my departure date. This required him to pick up my bridesmaid dress at the bridal shop an hour due north of Clemson. The next phase of this mighty favor calls for him to enlist a friend to pick him up in Atlanta and transport him to his home, a total three hour inconvenience for his driver.

He never once complained beyond a sarcastic sigh. I still feel an immense amount of guilt in asking him to do all this for ME. It made more economical and environmental sense for ME to scheme this way. I am the sole benefiter.

Stepping back in situations where it is not appropriate for me to be the driver is difficult for me. I feel very uncomfortable relying on others to complete my chores or listening to the advice of others when their ideas span my knowledge base. I have trouble accepting help when offered because it often comes at the expense of others time and energy. The mere idea of inconveniencing someone and being burdensome makes me uneasy. I imagine this reigns true for most. The words 'thank you' never seem powerful enough to express my grace.

The people in my story are trustworthy and dependable people--they have not instilled in me this fear of indebtedness to them for anything, ever. It's a personal problem. For the sake of my own sanity, I need to agree to offered assistance with ease and be honest with myself in situations where I require help, learning to ask for aid openly when necessary.

Parting Ways

Last night over family dinner A.L.R.L. put on an Academy Award winning performance for Best Actress with her weeping skills. She found out the neighbor cut off the top of "her favorite" tree. I must confess the neighbor and I have very different definitions of pruning. You make your decision (using the image on the right). Onwards as this house I inhabit is not sitting on my property.

But I know you are itching with curiosity as to why such a tragedy occurred in this lovely subdivision yesterday... the tree top was snipped off because it was blocking the neighbors satellite reception. Oh humanity! We now choose television over the very thing that gives us life.

Her father claims no loss--referring to the tree as a "glorified weed," and her mother has traced the bawling to A.L.R.L.'s inability to cope with change, in any form. I find things are best when I see and believe only what I want.

The tears were symbolic of her broken heart, distress no one consulted her for a final opinion, frustration with society, and annoyance by her parents ability to over simplify a complicated environmental concern. The confidence and knowledge she continues to gain as she figures out how the world works will only allow her to make a positive impact.

She is taking action--she drew me these pictures to prove her dedication to preserving the planet.

"To recycle I can only use what I need. You should have a recycle bin. Put cans and plaestick and boxs in the recycle bin."

"I can recycle a bottle I can make a necklise."

On Wednesday we parted ways with yet another mighty carbon dioxide consumer. My recommendation: consider cutting back on your carbon dioxide production. On Sunday I will bid young A.L.R.L. a temporary farewell. Age has never interfered with our ability to connect, this fellow tree-hugger will be a friend for life.

In my final days down South I have learned subdivision life is not for me. If the tree incident has you in a fit of rage, you would die to hear all about the endless email discussion circulating regarding the neighborhood geese. If your nearby local, state, or national park needs a ranger I'm employable.

Hungry Fella

One night last week we turned off the lights and headed to bed knowing this frog was well fed. He strategically positioned himself on the windowed door--easily able to snatch up each positively phototactic insect. Smart dude.

Both with flash

and without flash shots are awe-inspiring.

Superstitions

The family gathered in Athens this weekend to celebrate our graduate... through [multiple] commencement ceremonies. Every college campus has their symbolic 'do this and you won't graduate' tradition. At the University of Georgia it's walking under the cast-iron Arch, a gateway serving as the main entrance to campus.

C.D.H. strictly abided by this tradition during his time as an undergraduate student at this fine institution. Part of this tradition includes waiting in line for lengths of an hour plus to take a picture by the Arch on graduation day. We were able to poke fun at our most superstitious members' decision post photo shoot to walk around the Arch with his closest buddies--diplomas not yet in hand.

Running on Empty

I definitely come across as an organized person, and I genuinely believe comparatively (to what? I don't know, just comparatively) I am an organized person. The problem is I am outwardly organized, in any sense exempt fashion, and have a great ability to organize people and events. Internally is where things are chaotic. I have systems designed only I can process. And usually even I do not understand them. These are sort of 'happen in the moment' systems that two days later fail me--the item appears to be MIA and I throw myself into a neurotic frenzy, bound and determine to locate said thing.

The first order of turbulence begins with the two purses, two wallets--not at the same time but at the same time--structure; the larger purse operates when I need my more sizable belongings (camera, kindle, binoculars, sunglasses) and the smaller for times when money and identification will suffice. The number of incidents where the wallets have not been transferred and I am left unable to pay for one thing or another. Uncountable. This is undoubtedly a no good, very bad system. Yet, I can't break the habit. And need I mention the bigger purse is a magnet for anything and everything in my path... I am scared to reach in and find out what it is exactly that's lurking deep within that bag.

Then there is the minimalist problem. I am deathly allergic to clutter and therefore recycle any paper that comes in my path, regardless of how important it looks. High school diploma equals a waste of paper.

Even worse than these issues... are the examples my friends would be most willing to site. My habitual dilemma of a dead phone. This very thing happened today. I was in the midst of a fourth phone call with a friend when the call ended, not because we were done talking, the charge had left my phone. And rarely, if ever (unless mandated by nanny contract) do I have a revival source nearby. I realize this is such a careless mistake and still I am without a charge-the-phone-at-night or carry the silly two ounce charger (there is definitely room for it in the oversized tote) routine. I will concede having a dead phone is semi liberating... until you are in the situation where you need to be the contact-er.

And admittedly I get more "irresponsibly disorganized" than that with the number of times my car has stopped short of gas. There is no excuse for this: my gas gauge works, I always reset the odometer (see very on top of life), I have money in my bank account to pay for the gas (although paying 50 dollars to fill up a Jetta, not pleasurable), and I live near plenty of gas stations. All my bases are covered and in spite of this my tank goes dry time and time again.

Both of these events happened today. I have mastered the art of dealing with each of these events. Here in lies my problem.

Be the Match-Initial Emotions

At a point when I could finally feel the storm calming a new humanitarian wave has hit. My junior year of college was the first time in my life I had enough iron in my blood to donate--I'd been bulking up for Peace Corps, which failed miserably... a story I will save for a later date in time. By the time I got around to donating several of my friends had already established regular donation routines (go them!) and were willing to accompany me. Not a fan of blood the initial experience was less than enjoyable. Nevertheless I survived and light headedly signed up for the bone marrow list, never giving it a second thought.

Today, three and a half years later I received an overnighted FedEx package marked immediate attention, inside a letter telling me I am match for a 20 year old male with Leukemia. I feel overwhelmed with emotion--an acquaintance from college is battling with Leukemia right now. I could never look his family in the eye and selfishly say no. This is a complete stranger, someone I don't know but have the potential to help. A truly incredible opportunity.

I am not ready for this, recall I hate blood--the mere sight of it makes me weak. And anesthesia is a repeat offender when it comes to making me nauseous. A huge part of me wants to justify having gone through enough already, but I am sure my story in minor in comparison to the suffering of so many others. Turning this offer down would be turning a blind eye on everything I believe in.

You can't be a half-hearted humanitarian. So here we go...