Sketching a Twisty Path on the Globe

It was about 80 degrees in Hamilton and my coworkers were wearing their little strappy tops and sassy shoes for the Christmas party.  I ran to snap quick photos of the OT Department’s “Kiwi Christmas” decorations that included Santa on a boogie board and a beach camp set up with vegemite sandwiches and perusing pukeko birds.  Then, I boarded a plane at 8:15pm; at 8:45pm I arrived in St. Louis, incredibly groggy after a “30 minute” flight that lasted longer than 2008. 

Around New Zealand, Santa surfed on lightpoles and a storefront window even boasted him being pulled in a tractor by a team of 8 magical flying sheep.  Co-workers talked about their plans:  Dressed in swim togs, sunnies and jandals, toting the chilly bin to the beach for a barbie.  I really tried to believe that New Zealand could host Christmas just as well as St. Louis.  I even joined our department’s “Christmas Decoration Committee” just to get in the spirit.  As it turned out, it was the most stressful committee I’ve been a part of and in exasperation I spent 3 days making giant-gingerbread-with-special-needs (cast, wheelchair, and a bite out of the ass).  Really though I think my holiday memories were more convincing than calendars and I decided:  Christmas just can’t exist if you’re wearing flip flops. 

That’s OK, because me and my suntan arrived in St. Louis last week in a shuddering 17 degrees.  We pulled up to our house decorated with white lights and little wooden candle scenes in the windows and I knew that “Christmas has now begun.”  And it had and it has and it is.  Cookies and drawing cartoons, soccer and scavenger hunts, wine and more wine, beading and big breakfasts– this is truly the life, and truly Christmas as I dream about it. 

Hope all of you are also rolling in those simple things that make the holidays stand apart from the rest of the year.  Let stress fall like sugar down the gullet, and people-time replace paperwork-time.  Cheers to you all!  

P.S.  Since I can’t seem to figure out how to get rid of the vast white above this entry, let’s just call it “special effects”–a blizzard to set the scene.  ; ) 

I spent 12 years in Mississippi my photos albums tell me. I SHOULD have become a damn good Southern belle in that time—sweet buttercream accent, impressive make-up collection, able to bake and fry anything for a last minute pot-luck. But, unfortunately my accent, a patient tells me, “is more like the Northeast somewhere,” my makeup could fit into a snack-size baggie, and I don’t even own a deep-fryer.

When I first arrived in Arkansas and told my co-workers I grew up in Mississippi, one of them let out a giant sigh of relief and said, “Thank Gawd yer not a Yankee!!” But, after it became obvious that I’m more North than South he amended, “Well, we’re gonna have to Southernize you!”

Despite daily, rigorous study in the areas of speech, religion, and gastronomy, I’m afraid that what wasn’t accomplished in 12 years also wasn’t accomplished in 2 months. BUT, what a restless high schooler’s eyes couldn’t be grateful for, I can now appreciate as some of the more unique points of the south:

Cuisine: In the OT Gym, the Food Network plays daily. While patients pedal, lift, bat and loaf, Paula Dean (who matches her outfit to her kitchen to the theme of her meal) whisks and sprinkles and tenderizes. Fittingly, last weekend for my going-away party, my coworkers threw a huge Southern Feast: fried porkchops, fried chicken, fried okra, country-fried steak, corn, baked beans, red beans and rice, CheezWhiz crab bites, apple cobbler, and cherry pie. Actually, come to think of it, we’ve been celebrating my “going away” with two weeks of eating, culminating (so I think) with chocolate gravy and biscuits for breakfast tomorrow.

Wildlife: This may refer to the snakes, armadillos, deer, or the turtle on my doorstep. Of course there’s also The Razorback Hawgs that have people “sooueeeing” with pride. Guess it could also be my glimpse of The Electric Cowboy nightclub that plays songs like, “My Baby Thinks My Tractor’s Sexy.” Truly though, it’s most fitting to describe my co-workers during a game of pool, Guesstures, or a late-night footrace in the street. Either way, my image of the South as being a bit “too well-behaved” is humorously crushed.

Language: I stifled a giggle when I heard myself slip “reckon” into a serious discussion with a patient. I’m fixin’ to get myself into a pickle when I cain’t stop talkin’ like this and the Kiwis look at me cock-eyed. But ma’yonnaise a heap of fun things to say down here.

Weather: Everyone is amazed that I could stand Alaskan winters for so long. But, for the last month it’s been so hot outside that the seatbelt buckle burned my hands, “Max AC” didn’t take effect for 15 minutes, and I actually considered driving my car across the street once. Isn’t that the same thing….but inverse? Well, now the incredible heat has been washed away by rain. In fact, it’s even raining INSIDE my apartment (a puzzle since I live on the bottom floor). I think that’s my sign that it’s time to board my raft like an ark (with two of each bug life?) and make my way out of Ft. Smith. I certainly will never forget though these two months, the people, or, of course, the food.