What I have learned as an adult

This one has taken me awhile – I cannot control the weather. I struggle to even write down that truth. I am a fundraiser by trade as I must raise money to keep the lights on at the museums. We have two outdoor events every year and the weather has historically been perfect almost every time. Is it wonderful once I take over the events? NOOOOOO. Our fall festival this year came complete with drizzling rain and cold temperatures. I like to plan for the worst so I purchase rain insurance. Rain insurance helps you recoup the money lost in case of bad weather, but it must rain 1/4 of an inch during the stated times. A drizzle does not make ¼ inch of rain but it does drive people away from your event.

In the spring we have a wine tasting at our historic home. We decorate the lawn with flowers and tents galore. What happened my first year as Director? The Finger of God. That’s right. A Tornado. The next year I purchase rain insurance for the event with the knowledge that it has not rained two years in a row on this particular weekend for the last sixteen years. It must rain ¼ of an inch between 5 and 7 pm for the insurance to pay. The clouds opened up at 7:05. Seven o’ freaking five.

Let’s go back to my childhood. I spent many nights as a young girl sitting in the garage with my father listening to country music. My father would repair items while I sat on the riding lawnmower and watched. Actually my Dad would drink Jack Daniels and use nothing but glue and screws to further destroy everything from toasters to trailers.

We listened to all country music from Charley Pride to Waylon Jennings, but my favorite was Conway Twitty. I knew every word to “Tight Fittin’ Jeans”. Still do. One night I asked my father, “If her jeans are so tight, how did she fit a tiger in there?” I had some clothes that fit a little snug, and I couldn’t imagine stuffing an animal in them. My father just laughed, but never answered. I was in college before I figured that one out.

When my father would drop something or pinch his finger he would say, “ah f…………..fiddlesticks.” I didn’t know what fiddlesticks were, but I knew never to repeat the word. As adult I acquired an affinity for the real fiddlesticks. My mother noticed this while overhearing a comment I made while at my sister’s wedding. She rolled her eyes and sighed while telling me that was my father’s favorite word. I replied by telling her they had four children, it must have been his favorite thing to do too. Nana didn’t think that was so funny.

I am now of course married to a man named Chad, but my first kiss was from a boy also named Chad in the sixth grade. We were watching the movie “Some Kind of Wonderful”. I knew it was coming. I brushed my teeth about 16, 874 times before my mom dropped me off at the movies. We had been holding hands for quite a while, but that just didn’t cut it anymore. That and the fact that I have very sweaty palms. He leaned in and for a brief moment I saw fireworks. That was until terror shot through my body. What in the Hell was he doing with his tongue? No one told me anything about tongue! I went home thinking that other girls were crazy. There was no way I was going to do that with a boy for the rest of my life. No Sir!
Thank you for reading my post, and I hope you feel a little bit better about yourself.