Sweet Peek

Once upon a time in a land of milk and honey....or perhaps watermelon and sand....there lived a beautiful lady.  Such a sweet and warm hearted lady was she, but unimaginably saddened by love unexpectedly lost.  On many days, this lovely, lonely lady found peace and a best friend in a sweet and precious pup. During long, sad days, the devoted girl pup never strayed far from her lady, and the lady rarely left her pup.

Time passed.  A kind and gentle man in the same land ...of watermelon and sand (work with me here; this is my first fairy tale).... found himself also lonely.  Needing companionship,  he found his way to the lady and her pup, and together the three forged a new happiness.  As the lady began to love the man, the puppy began to love him too, for in a dog's way the pup understood the man made her lady happy again.

Time continued to pass.  A funny thing began to happen.  Although first drawn to the lady, soon the man also strongly loved the lady's sweet dog.  He cuddled and shielded the pup, just as he did the lady.  The man and the pup would sometimes share a recliner and watch the Tigers play.  Most days, they took long golf cart rides and short walks.  As the man talked, the pup listened closely and understood.  At night, a tired but happy girl pup crawled into her basket bed and dreamed of the happy new life she and her lady had found with the man.  She came to be his...just as much as she was her lady's.  She loved this man.

As age crept up on the pup, the man tended to her ailments and comforted her, for he knew something of the ways of healing.  When he was unable to cure her ills, he carried her to the vet.... in time increasingly often.  He sat up with her at night.  He helped her through hard days and encouraged her and soothed her, just as he had the lady, because he had come to so love them both.

One day, as is sadly always the case, the end came.  The man and the woman he loved lost their sweet devoted pup. The void seemed unbearable.  Their tears flowed.  The puppy basket bed was empty.

But the sweet puppy now once again had strong legs and a young pup's heart on the other side of the Rainbow Bridge.  And she would always and forever happily remember and watch over the lady she loved and the man who came to love them.

(Photo Cred to Di who also suggested I try to put impossibly intimate feelings into words....I did my best for you, Sweet Peek.)

What A Ride to the Edge of Glory

A few years ago, I posted a blog entitled Edge of Glory.  My beloved Tigers were in the midst of a promising season....about to face Florida State.  I had this feeling it was our time, but things did not pan out that year.  Flash forward to 2015.  All season that phrase and, I'm ashamed to admit, that Gaga song popped in and out of my mind....Edge of Glory.  I wanted to post a second blog on the subject, but my superstitions got the best of me, and I waited.

I waited as all year we were doubted, all year sold short.  The underestimaters were out in force...for every test, every big game.  But The Orange persevered.  Notre Dame in a sunami, Florida State in weather almost as bad..... through the Division Championship, "State Championship,"  Conference Championship, and the Orange Bowl, these Tigers pressed on like David slaying Goliath.... again and again.

It was time for a National Championship trip to Arizona.  I knew I shouldn't go, but I couldn't stay away.  I was there following the '81 season to see another young, overlooked, underestimated Tiger team take a national championship.  I couldn't not be there when it happened again.

Those who know me know it's always all about the moments.  And there were definitely crazy moments...Di and I arriving in Phoenix nearly forgetting we had checked bags.  Had our brother-in-law not remarked about how well and surprisingly light we were traveling, two sisters would have walked right out of the airport without our luggage.  Pre-game jitters, I guess.  And the luggage...my goodness, we packed for cold, we packed for warm, we packed for cool...honestly we could have stayed in Phoenix for a month and had all the clothes we needed, no matter the weather.

Speaking of staying a month, a first intro to Desert Donuts had me wishing we could.  I think in three days, we made about four runs to the local DD.  One bite of a bacon donut, and it was over for me.... and for my hips and thighs.

Walking the even if temporarily orange dotted streets of Scottsdale's Arts and Shopping area, stopping to greet horses and ogle cacti, and eat the self proclaimed 'best sandwich in America', it continued to seem as if we had stepped into some surreal spaghetti western dream.  But it was real. The Tigers were on a business trip, and so were we.  Note to self:  check with accountant about writing off.....

Game day arrived and with it all the nervousness.... the rolling tummies, the biting nails, the silly chatter.... two sisters and their niece, Tiger Girls lying in bed watching Gameday.  We were anxious to start the day but anxious about the outcome as well.  There were key wardrobe decisions (sadly as usual, Di and I had packed several of the same outfits, so that took a little coordination moderated deftly by Niece Hannah), face painting, margaritas (when in Arizona, right?), clapping along to Tiger Rag being piped in to a local bar and singing Sweet Caroline along with hundreds of other Tiger faithful following their team.  Note:  Not sure if the look on our niece's beautiful face was horror, shock or something else as Diane and I joined with great gusto in a boisterous group sing of The Captain and Tenille's "Love Will Keep Us Together."  How could Hannah not know that one "....Think of me, Babe, whenever"....Oh well.  It was craziness of the best kind.

The epic game has been well documented.  Again, it's the moments within I'll most remember.....seeing at least two thirds of the "neutral" stadium decked out in orange, hearing the deafening cadence count...at an away, indeed far away game, watching a young Houdini in Orange slice through the vaunted Bama defense over and over and over again, runs of sheer determination from the Wayne Train, enduring a no pun intended 'kick in the gut' of an Alabama on sides kick, hearing forty thousand proud Clemson fans still cadence counting as they exited with the loss, having come oh so close to that natty championship, seeing two Heisman finalists share the field in competition and even more an after game hug filled with oh so obvious mutual respect, our exhausted team still lifting helmets to salute the amazing road crowd that had followed this team...to the edge of glory.

What a ride...what an amazing ride.

Hope it's nowhere close to 35 years before I am back....

A Southwest Selfie Saga

                                                            

Selfies.... the craze that has changed the face (pretty clever, Dee) of photography.  So why is it that I....camera geek that I am.....just cannot get the hang of it?

I would say in my lifetime I may have taken...well, maybe half a dozen selfies.  A couple at least were accidental selfies.  Yes, accidental.  Who knew if I hit that camera button a second time my phone lens was suddenly, magically facing in instead of out.  Imagine my surprise when more than once, I pointed and shot my phone camera at some desired subject only to review the photo and find I had a beyond horrendous shot of myself.  Happy to report I now I understand that part.  Fool me once.... you know the rest.

Many times during Clemson's remarkable 2015 season, I wanted a selfie or two of my sisters and me as we made this incredibly magical journey with our Tigers.  I wanted to document our nerves, our joy, our determination to share some of the incredible twists and turns of following our team as sisters.  And a selfie...it can't be that hard.  Everybody does it.  Game after game, we would stand, in perfect unison turn our backs to the field, hold the phone up (as I have read usually should provide the most flattering angle) and smile the Tiger Girl smile....only to preview the most gosh awful selfie ever.   Sometimes, or should I more accurately say usually, at least one of us wasn't even in the shot.   And usually after three or four failed selfie attempts we could glance up into the stands to see a friendly, okay usually laughing face...connected to a shoulder.... to an extended arm.... reaching down for my phone sympathetically offering to take the photo for us.  A pity picture....but alas there was no choice.  I am a selfie failure.

Oddly Diane, who rarely if ever takes photos, is suddenly a selfie expert.  How does that happen? Photography may be the very one thing in life I am better at than she, and if not better then definitely more experienced.  So, Sunday in Arizona, as Di, Hannah and I took out on our Great Southwestern shopping expedition, the selfie spirit moved me.  I decided it was time to try again.  I refuse to let this shortcoming get the best of me.   With Diane driving, Hannah in back and I in the front passenger seat, I pulled out the trusty iPhone, ready to try again.  It's a car selfie....  I see dozens posted on facebook every day. Even my five year old "Baby Hoppa" can take a selfie.  So, with a determined deep breath, I held up the phone, made sure Hannah and I were both in the pic and clicked.....only to have both Hannah and Di burst into uncontrollable laughter.  "Why can't you look here...don't look at the home button...look at the camera lens...your eyes are always almost closed..what is the matter with you......hold the camera up....no down....are you thinking too much..." Well, imagine that.... who can possibly remember all these instructions? And their last correction..... may I quickly insert that at this point I was ready throw my phone and possibly my middle sibling out the window of our rental SUV..... "look natural."  Really?  This isn't that hard.  And yet, I couldn't argue the point.  This selfie was simply not acceptable.  All I can think is how much I truly miss my Nikon dinosaur. I actually pulled my favorite Nik out at one of this year's tailgates only to hear a fellow and much younger tailgater exclaim, "What the heck is that?"  Stand down, Young Whippersnapper.  I'll match my photos from a camera that requires at least a modicum of skill against the point and clickers from your phone any day!

Fast forward to Championship Monday and the game, and I, well I was still determined to get the perfect selfie. Fourth quarter....final game of the season.  It was now or never.  Pressure was ON. Diane and I stand....in unison turning our backs to the field (and by the way at that point to a Tiger lead).  I raise my right arm, lift the phone, say a quick prayer for a successful selfie (don't judge; my minister says to pray about all things), woops.... almost drop the phone, recover nicely, look at the lens....correct spot...check, click.  Preview....positively terrible.  Try again.  Again the worst.  And suddenly there she was...three rows up....the laughing but trying to hide it Good Samaritan Lady Tiger Fan...holding her hand out...gesturing and snapping for the phone.  And suddenly, thanks to that nice woman, we had our prize picture.  Another glance back, a quick thank you wave up to the laughing lady who saved the day.  Wait....didn't we see you in Raleigh?

                                                         

"I Believe That We Will Win!"

I can feel it coming in the air tonight, oh Lord
And I've been waiting for this moment for all my life, oh Lord
Can you feel it coming in the air tonight, oh Lord.....

Clemson versus Notre Dame 2015

I wonder if  Phil Collins was thinking of this night when he wrote this lyric.  Probably not, but he missed a good chance.  David Hood, Senior Writer with Tigernet, would write, "The numbers of people who will say they were there will grow as the years pass, but only the ones that were there will understand what it was like....."

It simply cannot be described.  I've been to games....many games....night games.... huge games.  I was in fact there in '77 when Joe Montana broke the hearts of tens of thousands bleeding orange with a dagger of a drive to win the last match-up of these two for the Irish.  I remember to this day the agony and the tears of that loss.  But this, the 2015 version, from its very beginning was.... other worldly.

As we pulled into our puddled but luckily paved parking space, our tailgate neighbors' speakers blared Garth Brooks', "Bring me two pina coladas...," as all within earshot dreamed of a little more island-like weather for this epic matchup.  It was not to be.  Two bewildered Notre Dame fans wandered up to our meager weather affected tailgate to ask if they could pay us $2.50 each for a beer for, in a twist of irony, in the deluge, they couldn't manage to find a watering hole.  Tiger Kids big and small nervously tossed their footballs back and forth in every possible paved opening, having been driven from their favorite play fields by the flooding rains.  We sat in the car for most of hours....my sister knitting one, pearling two, dropping stitches....pregame jitters, I suppose, for she never drops. Nervous sister small talk filled the minutes.... Donna's new job, Di's trip to Florida, Dee's birthday wish list, kids, recipes. (Obviously, I contributed little to that last talk point.)  But, it never changes...weeks can pass without us seeing each other, and even awkwardly crammed into an SUV in a torrential downpour, we pick up where we left off.  We just do.

Little victories are won in the challenges of games like these. Bad hair days become baseball cap days, for me a definite step up.   Fashion decisions become no brainers as we happily find we all look just the same in a poncho.  Mom jeans sliding down exposing body parts no longer worthy of exposure are now covered completely by the afore mentioned orange poncho.  I am finding balling in the rain can be, well,  glorious.

The ESPN Gameday crew gushed lavish praise upon the unbelievable crowd that even South Carolina's worried Governor could not warn away.  Dabo was to proclaim the Tiger Walk unlike any he had ever seen.  Defensive Mastermind Brent Venables would say this was one for the ages.  Again quoting Tigernet, for all "the fans who unified in their defiance against the weather, for those who wanted to keep these tickets forever but watched them disintegrate in the unrelenting rain, this was just that.....one for the ages." BTW, thank goodness the same dissolution does not happen to memories.

An hour until game time.  Death Valley already filled with 83,000 drenched frenetic fans. Plastic ponchos melted into the fog and blur of steady blowing rain to create an eerie orange film over the stands.  Buses rounded the corner onto Stadium Road.  We could barely see them, but the crowd noise was unmistakable.  Suddenly, through the gloom, players and coaches appeared at the rock.  I could barely contain myself.  I was not alone.  And when Collins' "I can feel it coming in the air tonight'" belted out over the stadium sound system, it was almost an afterthought.  The scoreboard tiger's eyes flashed.  I already knew.  My sisters knew.  These fans already knew.  The rabid, most faithful of the faithful knew, all of us brave enough to brave the elements knew, this was to be the night....a night for the ages.

Kickoff, and I see #4 trot excitedly onto the field.  Funny, as Deshaun appears, I still sometimes see Steve Fuller.  I know...I'm dating myself....remembering one of the heroes of Clemson's rebuilding. Today's players weren't yet born when Fuller dazzled Tiger fans and opponents with his talent and football intellect. And now an engaging young kid with mad skills..."the new face of college football" according to Herbstreit... is at the helm, a player so talented that Fuller himself allowed his jersey to come out of the hallowed halls of Clemson's retired, so that a Georgia phenom could start a new tradition of Clemson prowess wearing the number "4."  It's a collision of the past and present, of a passer and a runner, of ebony and ivory, of Danny and Dabo, of Clemson past and Clemson future.

Two quick scores for the Orange, and although tested, the Tigers would never really look back in taking this classic rematch by two. It seemed at some point the fans took over to protect the lead, causing penalty after penalty and delay after delay, willing their beloved Tigers to victory. Finally a masterful defensive play would seal the fate of the visitors from South Bend.  All too fast in the furious rain it was over.  No one left; we barely breathed.  No one dared believe it was complete, that we had done it.  But we had. As fans flooded the field to celebrate and sing, we knew without doubt...this was one for the ages.

Fast forward, and now a week later, game day without Gameday starts much the same...it's raining, pouring actually. Could this be another 'one for the ages?'  Somehow, I really don't think so.


Artwork credit to the Internet.  Quote credit to Tigernet and Writer David Hood.




 

Pom Pom Paranoia

So, my adorable four year old Harper asked his mom yesterday where I went to school. Clemson, of course.  I thought he knew.  Being as we are in the 'there's always a follow up question stage,' I knew there were more inquiries to come.  According to his mom, the next question, "Was Dee a cheerleader at Clemson...." followed immediately by ".... 'cause she looks like a cheerleader."

The first thought in my mid 50 year old brain was, " You Go, Girl!  You look like a cheerleader!" But as often is the case, the more I thought about it, the more I wondered if this observation really represented good news.

Did my pony tail look as if I had been turning cartwheels?  Should I have even been wearing a pony tail at this age?  Was my skirt a mite too short yesterday....too tight.....too pleated?  Worse, did he catch a glimpse of what he thought were cheerleader bloomers when I leaned down to give Gray a kiss?  Was my tee shirt a little tight? Were my converses a little young?

Did Harp think my squeaky vocals were the result of a few too many "1-2-3-4-1-2-3-4-C-L-E-M-S-O-N cheers?  Or did he hear me yell at Drew for his 80 on the algebra test and decide that must the voice of a former cheerleader?

One thing I am learning..if this kid thinks it, he says it.  He definitely has me on my toes....and has me looking at life from the four year old perspective.  His mom says not to worry....all these questions are just a stage and will pass.  Not so sure my paranoia will.  Love this kid, but just when does he turn five? 

Photo Credit to Harper's Mom.....

F is for.... Fantasy

Foreword:  At this the start of the 2015 season, this post is dedicated to football fanatics everywhere.  May all your teams win and all your "fantasies" come true.

My first foray into Fantasy Football has been...shall we say...less than what I imagined it would be.  As an aside, isn't that often the way with fantasies?  But that's another blog for another day, right Girls?  For now, are we ready for some football?

Being the total football crazy that I am, this year I decided to take the plunge, my virgin plunge (is that even appropriate) into the world of Fantasy Football.

I was invited to join a "league."  I have been invited before but have always said no.  This year I thought, well, why not?  So... for no other reason than that, I said yes.  Let me say it has been..... quite different from the fantasy for which I hoped.

Lesson 1:  The appointed day and time arrived for...drum roll, please....our league draft.  Draft....that word just made me tingle with football excitement from my head to my toes.  I have watched Roger Goodell with anticipation (clarification....not that kind of anticipation) over the last few years, have seen some of my very favorites drafted into the NFL, and I was ready for this time..... MY time....MY first draft.  Suffice it to say, things did not go according to plan.

As is often my modus operandi, I was juuuuust a couple of minutes late for the draft. Those who know my lineage know that no matter how hard I try to overcome, it just seems to be in the DNA.  But, who knew they....supposed friends, and more importantly, my first draft party... could start without me?  In the couple of minutes I was delayed, I totally missed my first round pick and the opportunity to land at least one of my favorite players.  I was "autopicked."  Really?  Oh well, I will keep my head up.  Not to worry....second round was yet to come.

Lesson 2:  No one told me that I needed to be set up with preferably a lap top, ready to roll with my selection in I think it is 90 seconds after I go "on the clock."  Now, wait a minute, doesn't the NFL give something like ten minutes at least?  Still recovering from Round 1 humiliation and sensing my precious seconds would be slipping away, I frantically tried to pull up the site on my i phone before my appointed second round selection time like the first passed me by.  Four picks until mine....three picks until mine....two...I gave up when my phone insisted that without an i cloud password, I could forget choosing in the second round....or even being part of this league for that matter.  Autopick again.  Darn it!  I was beginning to think my league "mates" may have taken some slight advantage of the ummmm virgin in the room by not properly explaining how all this would go down.  But, since I am a big girl after all, and since there is absolutely no crying in football....except of course after Clemson's fifth consecutive loss to the Gamecocks...I decided to stick it out and shoot for Round 3.  After all, this could only get better.

Lesson 3:  One of my sweet colleagues and friends...and apparently the only one in this draft with any heart at all....gave up his laptop and moved to another device (yes, he brought two of them....who knew) so that I could at least play.  Play...is that what this was?  I had really thought so, but some of these guys seemed oh so serious.  Beginning to decide perhaps fantasy just isn't going to be my thing (I think I already knew that), I reluctantly persevered.  Round 3.... Yay, I did manage to make a selection, and I thought Cam Newton was a pretty good one...until I heard the little wave...yes, there it was....snickers of laughter floating around the room.  Someone leaned over and whispered....you might want to think about receivers or running backs first.  Who knew?  I always thought it was the quarterback who made things go.  Not, as it were, in Fantasy Football.  How could I be flubbing this so completely? After all, I am a college educated woman, have held numbers of responsible jobs, am a mom, a volunteer.....What is the freaking (hate to put that in but I am seriously running out of f words) big deal with fantasy football?

Lesson 4:  My draft buddies were definitely sniffing blood in the water by now.  Drew had made me a list of about 35 skill players he thought I should "draft" (many of them former Clemson players, surprise, surprise), but by now they were long since gone.  Without my fourteen year old's template and quickly realizing I knew far fewer NFL than college players, I found myself in even more of a snit.  What to do what to do....looking feverishly down the list, I finally saw a name I recognized.... Jordy ....Jordy Nelson.  Alleleuia, Praise Be....the Green Bay Superstar.  How could he still be on the board?  Sold!  I proudly and with much ado "drafted" Jordy, all the while thinking I was truly getting the hang of this after all.  Again snickers.   What now?????  Ohhhhh....oh that's what that little yellow message box means....out for the season....you have got to be kidding me!  I thought my next question was a very knowledgeable, pertinent, and timely one...."Guys, Guys, excuse me, Guys.  How do I trade???"

Lesson 5:  When someone asks if you would like a beer...the answer might be, "Yes, yes I would."  Somehow the partakers in the room were doing much better than the non.... at least better than this non.

Lesson 6:  What do you mean I cannot draft defensive players?  Clemson had the #1 defense in the nation last year, and half a dozen of those guys went pro?  And I can't draft them?  Worst of all, they made up nearly half of Drew's suggested draftees.  I am so screwed....oops, Dee is definitely crossing that PG line again.  Forgive me.  Fantasy frustration is setting in.

Lesson 7:  Just how was I supposed to know "drafting" someone with zeroes in the points column beside his name might not be recommended?  I thought that was just because they hadn't started yet!

Lesson 8:  It is never a good sign when your two "autopicks" are your highest rated players.  Did I really just hear somebody say that I had the option to autopick my entire team?  Are you kidding?

I toil on....fearlessly pursuing my team.  But you guessed it.... final fantasy results:  my draft is rated 14th out of 14 with a grade of ...yep..."F"!   Have a little respect, Guys.  Have you ever heard of overachieving?  I am now looking for a team slogan.  I'm thinking maybe "Diamonds in the Rough," and let me emphasize it was (and is) really, really rough.

In closing, other than the fabulous "f" ing alliteration, I thus far fail to find much fun in fantasy football.  But, stay tuned...it is still preseason, after all.  I refuse to "finish" last!  Go Diamonds!