Throw Me a Rope to Hold Me in Place

It’s a windy, moody Saturday afternoon here in the Noa house. I’m not sure if it’s all the impending uprooting, the relentless gusting winds, or that the Gators are probably on track to win another national championship, but I’m not in a sunny state of mind today. What I thought might help was talking about our quaint, rustic Tennessee Thanksgiving. The travel days were 48 hours of my life that I’d rather not recount, and I think every passenger on that road trip has sworn to themselves nothing like that will ever be attempted again. It was pure absurdity, the five of us and our luggage and two sets of golf clubs crammed into Clayton’s unsuspecting SUV. It was like a circus act when we would stop for gas or to eat. Too many adults. Too few seats. End of story.

The actual days spent in Tennessee were just what the P.A. ordered. (Get it?!) There was only one definite to-do on the agenda, and that revolved around getting sickeningly full on a Southern Thanksgiving feast. In case you don’t know what that means, picture everything included in a traditional Thanksgiving dinner and then turn all those sides into butter and mayonnaise-filled casseroles. Welcome to Greeneville, Tennessee. Delish. But it certainly didn’t help the cramped factor for the homeward bound road trip since we’d all gained about seven pounds, but I digress. (I’ve always wanted to say that. I think it fit there…Yep, dictionary.com says it fits just fine, thank you. Ok, now I’m really digressing.)

My aunt and uncle (parents of puppy-sitting cousin, Nick) own a house in Greeneville that my family filled for four days. My grandmother was already there when we arrived, so there were eight of us in the three bedroom house. But it was perfectly cozy and snuggly and the mini-vacation was made even more memorable because of what January holds for Clayton and I. We tried to avoid talking about “The Virginia Situation” too often because I do not like the face my mother makes when it comes up, a face so desperately heartbroken that it makes me want to cancel the whole business. When we broke the news to my grandmother the second day we were there, in all seriousness she said, “Shoot.” And we all knew Grandma wanted to say another word that only had four letters.

My mom and I snuck away one afternoon and visited Jonesboro, Tennessee, apparently the oldest city in Tennessee, for the first time.

Come to think of it, there were several firsts for me on this trip. I played Dominoes for the first time with my aunt’s vintage Dominoes set. I dominated, btw. At least I did before my husband and mother began their cheat fest. And I watched my 80-year old grandma smoke a cigar…like a pro. It was the first time Clayton and I slept on an air mattress together. It only lasted one night. I mean, I love the guy, but we were not adrift in the ocean and I therefore saw no reason to spend the rest of my nights asleep on an emergency flotation device.

And that was Turkey Day weekend. Since then, I’ve had my last day on USF’s campus and my last day at my internship. Looking back, it was nice to experience a few firsts before the next seven weeks barrage us with an unending number of lasts that I’m not sure I’m ready for.