Places That Begin With the Letter G

We were in the Smoky Mountains last week.

Residing in a lovely little chalet without internet access (insert very shrill shriek of despair here).

This was a minute yet critical fact I would have remembered if I had bothered to read last year's post on the same event. Instead, I lugged up my laptop expecting to blog surf shop at least keep up with work while the kids napped. Instead it was one blissful week of hiking, swimming, hot tubbing, and meandering about town wondering why the Mayor of Gatlinburg doesn't put the kibosh on eager "entrepreneurs" wanting to hawk more tie-dye, fudge, and garage sale remnants masquerading as fine art. In addition to the wealth of tchotchkes, various and sundry weaponry, and pancake restaurants are all the rage. Basically, we vacation in Kitschville. It's charming folks. Why don't you join us next year?

(Speaking of work, did I mention I was losing yet another bookkeeper at the end of the month? No? Well I am. She's leaving me to pursue her dream of becoming a Wagnerian Soprano. Unfortunately for me, it's something she needs to do in Germany rather than in DC. Which brings me to say, I've been broken up with for many a reason, but being dumped for the Opera -- let's just say it's a first. The stress of having to rehire and retrain, however, is only too familiar.)

I digress.

One thing I did remember from last year is that we needed a decent baby carrier if we were to survive the day hikes with the progeny. I wanted this sweet Kelty Kids model but was loathe to fork over the $255 necessary to call it my own.

Miraculously, days before we left I managed to find the exact same Pathfinder child carrier on Craigslist for less than half the retail price!

Peyton loved it. More importantly, the people who carried her around when her little legs got tired loved it. Suffice it to say, it was worth every cent - especially since those cents came from the Craigslist sale of our old Crate and Barrel kitchen island a few days before.

One of the places we enjoy hiking with our rockin' child carrier is Greenbrier. We discovered it last year and loved it because it goes right along a mostly child friendly creek.

There are loads of small rocks for throwing...

and larger rocks perfect for an almost 4-year old to climb.

The shallow pools are just the right depth for people only 30-inches high on a tall day.

You can even take off your shoes if you want.

But if you do, you are definitely going to need your older brother's help if you want to get anywhere. (Please take a moment to observe and note that Carter is not hanging out in his jags like he was last year. Peyton, well, let's just say I hadn't anticipated her enthusiasm in wanting to try EVERYTHING her brothers were doing.)

It's a dogs life, really. Wait a minute. We don't have a dog.

Oh Hello, Cousin Patrick and Cassie. Cousin Patrick is one of those friends who sticks closer than a brother. In a pinch, he also makes a great 3rd parent - a manny of sorts.

Greenbrier is also home to a variety of compelling wildlife. Along the edge of Injun Creek, I snapped this picture of a delicate butterfly.

Meanwhile, Carter was doing a little exploring of his own. It looks to me like he's found something.

He's going in for a closer look. Whatever could it be?

Why it looks like he's found a snake with a fish in its mouth. Every mother's dream nature discovery! (Insert Jeff imploring Carter in a panicky tone not to touch it here. Repeat 5 x.)

It's the kind of sight that makes an afternoon in Gatlinburg look both enticing and tame. I may even spring for a haute couture airbrushed t-shirt.

Yeah, this is definitely more my speed.

Temptation via the Charlotte Observer

Wachovia plans its first branch in downtown L.A.

Posted: Friday, Aug. 22, 2008

As Wachovia Corp. wrestles with rising loan losses, the Charlotte bank is slowing its Western expansion, but it still aims for sizable growth in what it sees as attractive new markets.

On Thursday, the bank announced plans to open its first bank branch in downtown Los Angeles in early 2009. The location is across the street from L.A. Live, a new entertainment complex that counts Wachovia as one of its major sponsors. The move comes a month after the bank opened a commercial banking and wealth management office in L.A.

Wachovia got its first big foothold in California in 2006, when it acquired adjustable-rate mortgage specialist Golden West Financial Corp. The company's mortgage portfolio, however, has deteriorated, leading new chief executive Bob Steel to announce plans last month to slash jobs, cut the dividend and slow the pace of West Coast growth.

Spokeswoman Aimee Worsley said the bank plans to open 30 branches in California this year and 25 to 35 in California, Arizona and Nevada in 2009. That's down from earlier plans to open 40 to 60 branches per year just in California.

Wachovia is in the top five in the state with 179 branches, but it's still far behind Charlotte rival Bank of America Corp., which has around 1,000 locations. Wachovia's top 10 branches by total deposits nationwide are now in California.

The bank also has become a big employer in California, although its work force of more than 9,000 is likely to drop with planned mortgage cuts.

The bank's efforts in L.A. tie into the city's work to revitalize downtown, said Frank Newman, Wachovia's Southern California president. “As downtown continues to thrive, Wachovia plans to be front and center,” he said.

Rick Rothacker

All Who Are Thirsty

All who are thirsty

All who are weak

Just come to the fountain

Dip your heart in the stream of life

Let the pain and the sorrow

Be washed away

In the waves of His mercy

As the deep cries out to deep, we sing...

Come, Lord Jesus Come

Come, Lord Jesus Come

Come, Lord Jesus Come

Come, Lord Jesus Come

~Brown, Robertson~

A Roast By Any Other Name

I interrupt my mind numbing California adventure posting to bring you a pictoral tour of the first half of Jeff's life. I would have covered the second half as well, but two things kind of crippled me. One, I'm packing for a trip to our mountain house and we're going to need to eat while we are there. Two, I just learned to use my new scanner today and am not that proficient at it. It probably would have helped if I had at least once attempted to read the directions, but I was under a lot of pressure and thought I'd just wing it.

Without further ado.

Here is little Jeffrey McLean at around 6-months. Cute, yes? It gets better.

At 18-months. Peyton, is that you?

Kindergarten calls. It's also calling Jeff's oldest son, Carter, and Carter's mother has had one heck of a day thinking about watching her firstborn get on the bus for the very first time next week. Thusly, the Kindergartener you see above had to put up with with a rather large truckload of emotional crap today that Carter's mother couldn't quite explain.

Is it just me or does the 1st grader above look nothing like the Kindergartener - excepting the glasses, of course. Those are rather difficult to get around. Anyway, it's like his whole face changed between Kindergarten and 1st grade.

This picture was taken in the early 80's, that we know for sure. So I'm guessing 5th or 6th grade?

Hey Moms, you know what would be a good idea? If you forsook the reading of this lame post to go write the ages of your kids on the back of ALL of their pictures. Their wives will thank you later. But probably not their husbands. Unless, of course, your daughter happens to marry someone with a blog who shamelessly takes complete advantage of her matchless sense of humor and goodnaturedness.

For reasons I am quite sure I do not need to elaborate on, this is bar none my absolute favorite picture of my husband. I met him in 11th grade and he looked EXACTLY like this.

This is Jeff at Prom Banquet with someone who looks like she could get up and dance the Flamenco at any moment in that dress. It's curious as to why her date wore red, is it not? Perhaps he remembered from his 1st grade picture that he looks great in red. Or maybe he is trying to complete the Spanish theme with a matador flare?

Finally, I give you Jeff's crowning high school moment in which he gets both the diploma and the girl.

Happy 37th Birthday tomorrow, my Love.

Wildlife in a Park-Like Setting

The LA Zoo and Botanical Gardens bill themselves as wildlife in a park-like setting.

Where park-like equals alligators slipping silently into backyard pools.

Sweet Mother of Pearl, I find this image disturbing.

Somewhat curious is this picture of orange Flamingos.

Just so everyone knows, flamingos frolicking on the shores of Lake Nakuru (where the Tennessee orange flamingos had to have been snatched from) look like this. I feel confident in saying that the LA Zoo flamingos could use some algae in their diet.

These last two pictures are not LA Zoo pictures but they should be. Joy and I came across this strange vehicle while traveling on the 605 on the way to her first shower. It appears to be a three-wheeler of some sort.

But upon further inspection, we find that it is actually a converted motorcycle towing a milk crate with a circa 1970's lawn chair in the back.

It makes you want to make a citizen's arrest, doesn't it?

Dear Laguna Beach, Why can't you be in North Carolina?

Let's talk about Laguna Beach.

First of all, it is rather far from Pasadena, CA where we were staying. And if Jeff is driving he cares more about trying to limit his own time behind the wheel than he does about trying to make the drive more visually enjoyable for his wife. How selfish. I can't imagine why he didn't want to take PCH down and be forced to stop at 1,113 traffic lights just so his wife could gaze for 3-hours upon her beloved Pacific.

Secondly, even at the end of July the beach is cold and I had forgotten that important little tidbit and dressed my children and myself entirely inappropriately for 60 degree weather. See this picture of Peyton with her Uncle Kevin?

In my heart of hearts, I truly believe she would be smiling sweetly if she hadn't been distracted by the sheet of ice forming on her upper lip.

Frigid temperatures also make taking a decent family picture out of the question no matter how much the family's beach-loving mother demands it.

Here we have Jeff and what looks to be his 4 children. One of them is grimacing and trying to get away. This is a slightly better composition, but Griffin and Peyton are both looking at something completely non-existent. How is it so hard to look at the guy holding the camera?

Here we found a more comfortable location, but we couldn't get Peyton out of the tide pool without incurring a raging tantrum. So we all got down there with her thinking that would solve the problem... but then she stood up and obliterated Jeff. Thus ended my valiant effort at a family beach shot. We don't so much need a professional photographer as we need a professional family. At this rate, it will be two decades before I send out another holiday card.

Thirdly, the rules of the beach have changed since I was there last. You'll note the snazzy swim vest on Carter.

Totally illegal. Apparently, he's supposed to learn how to go under the waves so that they don't pick him up and crush him. Who knew?

Here is some more illegal activity with his Aunt Emily. Apparently, adults cannot hold children and take them into the ocean. While it would seem that this would be safer than sending a 5-year old out on his own to battle the surf, I believe what they fear happening is this.

This would be a picture of a wave knocking them both off of their feet. They both survived, but I will say that this is the type of swimming experience that the YMCA waterpark just does not adequately prepare you for.

We stuck to the sand after that.

Peyton loved just rolling around in it.

Griffin built roads almost the entire time we were there.

And here is Carter being buried in the sand. It's at times like this when it really pays to be only 3 feet tall.

Fourthly, if you are going to make the haul down to Laguna, BJ's Pizza is really the only place in town that can provide adequate sustenance for the 1,113 traffic lights you are going to have to stop at on your way back to the 605. But it will be worth every bite.

On Hallowed Ground

In defense of my 3-week bloggy hiatus, I'd just like to say it's my sister's fault. If she lived, say, here in boring ol' North Cacalakey with me rather than in Caanan Southern California, our 10-day vacation there probably wouldn't have thrown me into the funk that it did. Alas, I just can't see sights like this...

Or this...and not desperately, so desperately want to move back. Immediately.

And yes, mentally I realize if we did move back that things probably would not be exactly the same as they were when I lived there. I'm just guessing that our family of 5 probably couldn't get a mortgage for the $550 Joy and I were paying to live here.

Nor could I work part-time at an office minutes from Seal Beach, wear my bikini under my work clothes, and sunbathe on the beach during my lunch hour. And not just because my Whelpers Cup body is no longer bikini friendly. The $14/hour, no benefits lifestyle just doesn't cut it for someone with a pacemaker.

With 3 children in tow, teaching a children's choir for $250 a semester wouldn't cover the cost of a babysitter no matter how much joy it brings, not to mention I wouldn't have hours upon hours to wile away alone trying to find just the right music to teach. And my friends have literally scattered. Most are still in So. CA to be sure, but they are no longer going to my old church which was my lifeblood. (The faithful few that are will be rewarded later this week with a post unto themselves.)

Regardless. Somehow in my heart, I think I could still make it work. So much so that typically when I return from CA, I badger my husband mercilessly about finding a job there so we can move back. Predictably, this trip was no different.

What was different was this. On Tuesday night of this week, I had a meeting at church. When I came home around 9:00pm, Jeff had found a job opening in Irvine, CA that looked interesting and he was well qualified for (With Capital Group of all places, KP, if you are reading this.). Considering my west coast heritage and my inflated opinion of life there, you'd think that I would have leapt for joy at the very prospect. But instead, I kind of panicked. Because as it turns out, I'm not ready to leave MY job. As accommodating as they have been of my telecommuting for the last four years, I'm pretty sure a 3-hour time difference would kill the deal.

So we are staying. For now. And I'm pretty much over my funk. I think. Because it's pretty hard to stay depressed when you realize maybe you are already on hallowed ground, it just has lot more humidity than you were expecting.

The Bustrums are Getting an Upgrade

There should come a time in every girl's life that she should get to wear a pair of shoes that look like this.

With a flirty little dress that looks like this.

And in my case, I have my one and only sister to thank for the opportunity.

Also this guy, who agreed to marry her.

Well, technically speaking, she agreed to marry him.

And it's all going down in an undisclosed location in Pasadena, CA in less than 2 weeks!

To say we are excited here at Chez Freshour would be putting it mildly.