The Twixter Sister

I read an article in Time magazine a few years back about the new generation called the Twixters. No lie. The article was my sister. To give you the basic run down of the article it says that people are waiting longer to do stuff, say for example getting married. A study was just done recently that the average woman is 26 when she gets married and a man is 28. This is up from about 10 years ago (woman 22, men 24-25). Twixters also move around a lot. The article said that it wasn't uncommon for them to have 3-5 different addresses in the course of about 2-3 years. They move all the time. They take more time after college to "find themselves" or spent the first couple of years out of college focusing on a career instead of family/marriage.

I think the one of the most interesting things that I read in the article was the a human's brain doesn't actually stop growing and/or developing until the person is in their early 20s. I think my sister is one of these people and I'm sure that I was to an extent.

When I was younger I dated, my sister didn't really. I had a fairly large group of friends, my sister had more close friends. When I was in college I was out all the time, at least my first 2 years or so, my sister is not much of a party animal. Lately though my sister has been catching up. She recently started dating seriously, he's a teacher and sounds like a good guy. We have never seen her date seriously. She is living with someone for the first time, even if it is my mother. My sister has not lived with someone after living by herself. I think it is kinda funny how she complains about what Mom does or does not do, like the dishwasher.

The point of all of this is that it is finally nice to see my sister really growing up. I know that she has been doing it for the last few years but today when I read her post about not wanting to babysit any more and complaining about my Mom with the dishwasher it all kinda came together (wiping the imaginary tear coming down my face as I do the fake sniffle). I kinda feel like I have had a part in all of this, raising my sister. There have been many times where I get VERY frustrated with her, but I think in the end she makes the decision that is best for her and in the end that is all that really matters.

Good job Bri! You're doing just fine...keep up the good work.

Golfing with Daddy

My sister finally updated her blog on her new beau and what is going on with her life and mentioned going golfing with my Dad when we where kids. It basically gives me an excuse to post about something in my childhood because I don't have a whole lot going on right now other than my house is trashed.

When my sister and I were growing up both of our parents worked, they still both do. My mom was a nurse (she still is a nurse, just not in a hospital) at the local hospital and my father was in the Army as a cook. Mom often worked weekends and nights on various occasions. I could never keep up with her schedule. My father, for obvious reasons, always had the weekends off. One of the his likes in life is golf.

Every Saturday we would go golfing. He would get us up at the ass crack of dawn, usually 6:30 or 7 a.m. (hey that was early for an 9 and 7 y.o.) and head to the golf course. Since being military we usually went to the same 2 golf courses, Striker golf course and Pope AFB golf course. We liked Pope the best, more shade from trees, I'm sure that was a down fall for Dad. If we ever went to a different one we had to get up earlier because it was a special occasion. It was like going to Outback instead of getting pizza.

So we would go and we ALWAYS walked. It was more $$ to drive and we didn't have the much. We were happy just to get a cart to pull Dad's clubs so he didn't have to carry them. So we would go and Dad taught us all the rules and the etiquette of golf.

1. Always walk around the ball and not in front it of because your foot print could cause the ball the break in the wrong direction.
2. When you are holding the pole always make the flag not flap so it is quiet and doesn't cast a shadow.
3. Don't let your shadow cast over anyone's ball.
4. Pay attention to where the golfers are, don't get ahead of them
5. Pay attention to where the ball goes cause Dad would often lose his in the rough, he was a beginner.
6. Be quiet when someone is hitting the ball. (we were kids, we were loud)

Of course there are others but these were the main ones. Going golfing with Dad taught me many things but the one that I remember the most was

"Bring a jacket even if it isn't that cold outside, because you can always take it off. You can't take something off that you never had to begin with"

I'm not sure that I mentioned that we went golfing in all types of weather, hot, cold, windy, drizzly, damp, etc. I always hated the early morning tee times because there was always a lot of dew on the ground and my shoes would get wet along with my socks.

The highlight of going golfing with Dad was always hole #19, the clubhouse. Before we got to the first hole Dad would buy us a honey bun and get us something drink, soda, hot chocolate, or some juice filled with nothing but sugar. We would sit there at the first hole making all kinds of noise eating our "breakfast" waiting for the walking to begin.

After about 6 months of going golfing with Dad my sister had the courses down pat. We knew where all the soda machines where, which holes had the best water features to play in, and where would could sit if it was too hot or cold out. One of our favorite things to do was play with Dad's ball retriever. I think we broke it a few times or he has a bought a few of them because we kept breaking it. It was our mission in life to find balls in the water hazards. We found lots of other stuff as well, most grass and algae but hey, we were kids, anything we found we made entertaining.

We always went with the same people too. Mike Bond was one of them. The man swore like a sailor, Dad would always tell him to stop, especially around us. When the 2 of them played together one of them would have a bad day. Mike threw one of his clubs half way down a par 3 hole at Striker once. Dad got so mad once that he wrapped his 6 iron around a tree. It's kinda funny when you think about that stuff now, probably not to them then but hey, it is only just a game right?

All in all walking with Dad only lasted a few years. He bought me a set of used clubs and I played a few times, but mostly hit buckets at the range. I had a really good shot once. We were playing at Pope and every now and again towards the end of the day when Dad knew we were really bored and ready to go home he would let us play a hole. Normally a par 3 or 4. I went up to the ladies tee and hit the ball right on the green. Dad said I was so excited and jumping up and down. I think I parred the hole if not just a bogie. I wasn't that great at putting. It was still fun and interesting.

Always the Tough Girl

My sister and I didn't really grow up around family, at least for most of our childhood. We lived in many place due to Dad being active duty military (1st the Coast Guard and later the Army). It was normal for everyone to visit us and once a year, usually we went and saw everyone. Most are still there now. Being that my sister and I only had each other we and our parents, our parents brought us up to be fairly independant, I think anyways. This has found very useful later in life as I married military myself, Air Force, which has taken me away from my family. It isn't always easy but well it is what it is and there isn't much that I could do about it, so I just deal.

What I'm trying to get at, I think, is that being independant has also has a way of making you kinda tough. You learn to do things on your own more often than not and it isn't that I'm afraid to ask for help, it is just that sometimes it is just easier if I just do it myself.

Playing sports I have always been the tough girl, the big girl (I didn't say huge), the one that everyone was more or less afraid of, at least on the playing field. If I got hurt, I got up and walked off the field. There haven't been to many times where I have had to be carried off if ever from what I can remember. A tough girl I was. Injury shows weakness and I don't ever want to be that helpless weak girl. Now don't get me wrong, if I need help, I'm going to ask for it, but in the meantime I'll take care of me.

Today I was playing racquetball. It was the first time I have played in about 1 1/2. My racquetball partner left, moved away. Here at Fairford, they have only ONE racquetball court. ONE!!!! Now don't get me wrong, I know it is a small base and all the la la stuff, but just one. So everytime I want to play there is a line. I hate waiting line and I hate playing doubles, which you have to because there is only one court. One of the guys said you should come on Tuesdays and Thursdays because no one is here (mandatory PT is only on MWF). I said sure, but who am I going to play with, one of the guys that works in the building next to me pipes up. I'll come over and play, what time? I get there early to warm up and he shows up shortly there after. We were playing for about 20 minutes and what happens. I jump to get a ball, come down and CRACK! No isn't is broken, stop freaking out Mom. But damnit if I didn't roll the hell out of it.

The tough girl inside me comes out. I'm okay, I'm okay. It hurts like a MF but I'm okay. I get up, walk it off a little and then I look to see if there is instant swelling. Instant swelling = broken bone. No instant swelling. Well someone called the fire dept and told them I broke my leg. Five minutes later there are 4 very large British Firemen come in with bags and possibly a stretcher to carry me out of there. Seriously guys, I'm fine. I'm playing in the next game no matter how much it hurts. Well you really shouldn't. I know I know, but damnit, I'm that tough girl I'm going to play. I'm not going to known as the girl who said she could play and rolls her ankle the first day out. But in hine sight, that is what I did.

Currently I'm sitting here watching my ankle swell. It looks great, I can see all the colors coming out. I was never one to roll ankles, I was a knee girl in both HS and college, which is the main reason I quit playing soccer in college. So here I sit, still sweaty and gross, my leg propped up and in some pain but ya know what.....I'm still that tough girl and that is all that matters.

My Classic Story

So my mom has just started reading my blog not to long ago, couple of months maybe. If she doesn't comment on my blog, she usually says something to me when I talk to her on the phone. In one of my recent posts she said something about writing about "our stories". We all have that story that we are known for and no matter how many times you hear it, you still laugh your ass off, or shake your head in disbelief. My story is about making a box of rice. Those of you that know the story know what I'm talking and can start laughing now. Those of you who don't, you will laugh and shake your head in disbelief.

Growing up (there's that phrase again) I was an athlete, still am. As far back as I could remember I played sports. I started off with T-ball when I was about 6 or 7 and went on to play hockey for a couple of years, softball in Jr. high, volleyball in Jr. high and high school, and found my real love of soccer at about age 12, which I played into college. It was my kinda sport. I was pretty decent in my opinion. I played on a travel team, I was 15 playing on a Under 18 (U-18) team. They had a U-15 team but I was better than most and wanted to play with the "big kids". The travel team played in the fall and then my HS team was the spring. So the only time that I really had any down time was in the winter and it wasn't much before I was back in season again. My point to all of this is that I wasn't at home a lot at night when my mom was cooking dinner. Most nights I came home still in practice clothes, sweaty, stinky, and dirty. I would eat, shower, and then do homework, then bed. When I didn't have HW I was doing nothing. If I was home on the weekend I was again, doing nothing b/c I was out all week doing school and sports. Later, I eventually got a job and that took me away from home even more.

When I was home on the weekend and I was home when my mom was cooking she would say to me, "Ya know Andi, some day you're going to get married and you are going to have to cook for your husband. You should come over here and pay attention." From time to time I would but most times I wasn't interested. I was more interested in what was on TV or hanging out with my friends or playing whatever sport was in season at the time.

Then came the time where I was asked to make dinner. My sister would make this chicken and mushroom thing...I loved it!! I would have her add an extra can of mushrooms because they tasted so good with the chicken. I thought this was a very complex meal. (stop laughing mom and bri). Well you know you need some sort of starch to go with it. So here I was making the chicken and mushroom thing, with my sister's supervision of course (she is younger than me and this was kinda hard for me to swallow that I was going to my sister for something as simple as cooking, but I could still beat her up so I was okay with it). So my father yells from the chair,

Dad: Andi Make the rice.
Me: How do you do that?
Dad: Follow the directions on the side of the box!
Me: Okay

So I start to read the directions. (this is a box of rice a roni too). Pour rice in sauce pan. Cook with butter until rice is brown, add seasoning packet, cover and cook 15 minutes or until done.
Those of you that cook, have you seen my mistake? If not, it will appear to you shortly. I follow the above directions. Now the chicken and mushroom thing is looking good at this point. I'm excited that I proved my mom wrong...little did I know.
I plate up the chicken and mushroom thing and then I uncover the pan that the rice is in. I look at it and it doesn't look right. I call to my dad...

Me: DAD, there is something wrong with the rice. I don't think I did it right?
Dad: Well did you follow the instructions?
Me: I think so.
Dad: Okay, I'll come and have a look.

(my dad is a chef in the army for 20 years) Dad walks over to the pan of very DARK BROWN rice.

Dad: What did you do?
Me: What the box said.
Dad: Did you put any water in with the rice?
Me: You have to put water in?
Dad: Are you kidding me!? Yes you have to put water in to cook rice!
Me: Really? You do?
Dad: OMG, unbelievable Andi. You are never going to live this one down.
Me: Really, rice needs water (as I'm picking the box up to read the directions again) Oh yeah, there is a little picture of the measuring cup on the top and under it says 2/3 cup of water.

What happened next my sister won't let me forget. My dad tried to "save the rice". He added the water and cooked the rice again. It was almost black by the time we ate it and very crunchy according to my sister. I didn't eat it.

I still hear this story today and every Thanksgiving that I cook, from my father. There will be a house full of people and they are telling me how great the meal is and dad will pipe up and say, Hey did Andi ever tell you about the time she burnt rice? I laugh because life is a learning process. I did learn to cook, I make a killer spaghetti sauce and an even better lasagna but that is because of the sauce. I think I cook better than my sister, at least at some things. Why don't you ask her about her upside down chicken. Go on....tell that story.

Our Christmas Traditions

I was going to write this tomorrow but as I sit here and think of the million things I have to do I figured I would write it now. But before I write about my Christmas Traditions, let me tell you about the million things I have to do tomorrow.

1. Wash all the blankets in the house, it is about 6 of them. Not normally a big deal cause we put them in the Big Boy washers but well our base sucks and we only have 1 so it takes that much longer.
2. Go to the commissary and get food for me and for the people that are going to be staying at my house to watch my puppies while Tim and I go to Lakenheath for a few days to visit friends.
3. Go to Tesco (another supermarket) cause our commissary isn't one of the smallest and the produce sucks and it is WAY better at Tesco.
4. Go to the bank, cash one check, and then split another into 2 separate accounts so that we have our Xmas money to spend.
5. Go to post office and check mail to see if there is one last chance that any late coming packages will get here in time for Xmas, if not, we won't get mail till next Monday.

While this may not seem like a lot, I have to get most of it done before 4 p.m. because that is when everything closes, go figure huh? Oh yeah and I get out of work at 2:30. Needless to say I might be getting out of work early in order to complete all tasks above. Okay, now on to my Christmas traditions.

Growing up (I notice when I talk about the past, I always start with growing up) we didn't really have many Christmas traditions. My mom is a nurse and at the time was working at the hospital and it was hit or miss when it came what time she worked for Xmas. Sometimes we got lucky in that she was home at least one of the 2 days in order to spend some time with us. But we never had a routine that we followed from year to year. There were some years we got our tree really early, some years we got it the week before Christmas. There were a few years that we decorated the tree as a family and then other years I did it alone while my father sat in his chair watching TV telling me all the stories of the ornaments. Some years we wen to midnight mass, other years we went to Christmas Eve mass, then there were the years we didn't go at all. As we got older things changed as well. We didn't always wait till Christmas morning to open presents, some years we did it on Christmas Eve. There was always a common theme in all the Christmas's past, we were all together at one point during the holiday season. Whether it was dad and I putting the tree up, my mom and I making dinner in the kitchen (mostly me watching I should say), my sister and I fighting over who's turn it was to pick out the tree that year (we usually alternated who picked the tree at the lot), or all of in our respected corners in the living room with our piles of open boxes, tissue paper, and torn wrapping paper. They were all special.

Since being married I have decided to do a few thing differently. I have decided that Christmas Eve is just for Tim and I (and whatever family is in town at the time). I made a really nice dinner and that varies from year to year. One year we had lobster tail (it was a little rubbery as we didn't really know how to cook it), another year we had prime rib, another year we had steaks,...the list goes on. But it is something that we don't normally have so it is kinda a treat to get it on Christmas Eve. This year we are having rack of lamb. First time making it for me so as long as I don't over cook it, we'll be okay. Then we sit down and watch A Christmas Story with Ralphie. Normally in the states they run a 24 hour marathon but they don't have that movie here in England so my MIL bought it for me on DVD so that I can enjoy it. This movie HAS to be first, not sure why but it isn't Christmas till you here "You'll shoot your eye out!" or "My brother looked like a tick ready to pop." I could quote all day but I'm on a schedule here.
(Oh yeah, I have the leg lamp too...thanks Dad!)
After A Christmas Story we watch National Lampoo's Christmas Vacation. Nothing beats the squirrel scene. I pee myself a little each year when I watch it. Its good times. The last movie varies on the mood. We only have 2 other to pick from, last year it was Elf, but I also have Polar Express. I love Tom Hanks but I'm also (as you can see from the previous post) a HUGE Will Ferrell fan. Can't get enough of that man. Then normally we call Tim's grandmother as everyone is normally at her house at this time and we get passed around the room answering the same questions each year. How's the weather? When are you coming home? What are you doing tomorrow? What did you have for dinner? How's work? The normal questions. Then we go to bed.

Christmas morning, we make coffee. We wait till we both have a cup of coffee and then head to living room to open our presents. Since there is only 2 of us, this takes about 5 minutes. We hum and ha about what we got and then I go into the kitchen and make breakfast of some sort. It has to have bacon though cause we don't eat bacon on a regular basis and if we do it is turkey bacon. This year we are having High Rise Apple Pancake. A favorite of mine growing up. My mom always made a good one so we are going to have that. Only one pan to clean so I'm all about that. Well really 2, I have to cook the bacon. After breakfast we play with our stuff, check email, do whatever, go back to bed sometimes, watch a movie and wait for about 12-1 o'clock to call home to see how everyone liked their presents.

In the afternoon sometime we go to someone else's house and eat Christmas dinner cause at this point I'm tired of cooking. I like doing this because I usually just have to bring something easy to make, like a pie or something. Then we hang out with them and play games and go home at some point in evening or wee hours of the morning.

I think my traditions are simple and I think if try and have to many traditions you lose yourself in trying to keep up with all of these traditions. So pick 2 and do just those and enjoy the season and the people you get to spend it with.

Happy Birthday Sis!

I thought I had a picture of her but not on this computer. Anyways, Happy Belated Birthday (it was yesterday)! I called you yesterday but didn't answer but I sung to you anyways. Hope you had a good day. Your now officially in your late 20s at age 26.

There's something about a sunroof

Tuesday it just totally pissed rain. It rained so bad that we had some flood advisories. Yesterday was such a pretty day. I had a few things that I needed to get done. So I jumped in my '94 Honda Accord and headed out.
I opened the sunroof to let the sun in (duh, isn't that what its for) and some fresh air. There is nothing like driving around with the sun roof open on a great sunny day. It almost makes my '94 Honda Accord feel like I'm driving a corvette or some other sporty car that would have the sun roof standard in them.
None of the cars that I have owned have ever had a sun roof. My very first car was a '91 Buick Skylark that my mother won in a raffle for a dollar. Yeah, no kidding. It was a reject car in that the windows rolled up backwards, the radio was just a radio (no CD or even a cassette player), the paint started to chip on it within the first year of having the car, we bought 3 timing chains for it, and it had an oil leak that no mechanic could seem to find. I drove that car, wrecked it, fixed it, drove it again, wrecked it, fixed it, drove it, passed it to my sister who drove it, had it broken into 3 times to steal the radio (after the first 2 we stopped buying new CD players for it and just went to the pawn shop), drove it, then it caught fire in the drive way. Yeah, no kidding.
I was out with my friend for her H.S. graduation and I called home to see what was going on. Apparently a guy came to the door and asked us if the car on the street was ours (we weren't allowed to park in the driveway because of the oil leak, it stained it in several places). My father or mother said yes, the guy said that there was smoke coming out of it. My mother tried to run out there with the hose to put it out but it didn't reach. My father came out with the fire extinguisher and after many long minutes of trying to get the hood open, he emptied most of the can on the engine, ruining the engine.
The good part of about this was it was covered under comprehension, which means we got the blue book value for the car and not what the car was worth, which in reality was about $300.
After that I never really had my own car. I would drive my Mom's Geo Metro around for a while. I hated that car but it was a car. I was in college so mostly I would only drive the cars when I was home for the summer.
When I started dating Tim we were given a car from my Uncle Brian, it was an '85 Trans Am, it was shit brown color. It was free, Tim fixed it enough to get it home to NC from RI. I think I drove that for about a month and it died as well.
Tim bought a '85 Fire Bird for me to drive around, it was a good car but wasn't big enough, definiatly fast enough though, which I liked. We drove that car to NY and give it to his best friend Eric. In reality it wasn't mine, it was Tim's and then I just kept driving his trucks.
So what's the point of my car history here, well really nothing in that I just think that every car should have a sunroof. If you have never had one before. Make sure your next car does. It makes you feel like you driving a sports car even if you are only driving a Metro. It also helps to have good tunes on the radio.