Homesick

Spanish Moss
A Moonpie caught in mid-air (tastes so much better that way)
Sunsets on the water everyday
Cheap, fresh seafood
Never having to introduce myself
Humidity that makes my hair curl just right
Cast nets
Mosey-ers and sauntering
Chicory coffee
Stopping for ducks in the street
Everyone you meet is also an artist/novelist/nudist/flautist/ist/ist/ist
Keeping a bathing suit in my backpack just in case
Dairy cows and crab traps within three miles of each other
Highway 98, Scenic 98, Old 98, and where 98 meets 98
Homes with names

Mardi Gras season always makes me miss home.  It's hard to believe my little sir will grow up so differently.  He'll know a place much larger and faster, not so sweet.  I'm gonna try, though, to instill a little bit of his gulf coast heritage, even this far inland.


This is novelist Rick Bragg's take:
http://www.smithsonianmag.com/travel/My-Kind-of-Town-Fairhope-Alabama.html?c=y&page=3&device=ipad

Sweet 16

Today I had my 16 week appointment.  Our little bathing beauty was skinny dipping the day away and growing and developing like the creature of genius he or she inevitably is.  Besides this baby being a standout in the areas of heartbeat, crown to rump length, and leg wiggletude, it has apparently inherited my sense of humor.  How do I know this? Well, I haven't been much a drinker since that one banner year in college, and even that was tempered by budget and my love of sleep.  Pre-pregnancy, I only had a drink maybe once a month or so.  So, naturally, the cosmic joke is that two of my biggest pregnancy cravings have been for beer and margaritas.  You are a funny one, baby Locke! I know some people say that pregnant women can have the occasional glass of wine and blah, blah, blah, but those people don't realize that just last night I had a dream that I was forced to get a sonogram in front of an auditorium of people while laying on a card table, being judged on my growing baby. Um, I'll have water, please. Craig bought me some non-alcholic margarita mix, which I've sheepishly sipped over ice, and the beer jones I just overlook.  As should you.

We read online that the baby can hear now and that if you sing to it in the womb, the baby may remember the song after birth.  After that, Craig told me I need to watch my mouth more and started singing Rock You Like a Hurricane to my stomach.  Nothing like impending fatherhood to make a man realize his priorities and discover a liking for Scorpions.  Story as old as time.

We are scheduled to go in again in about two weeks to (hopefully) find out the sex.  We've been holding off on nailing down names until then, but a few have been suggested.  Here's a brief list:

*Matt Locke
*Inter Locke
*Pad Locke
*Rusty Locke
*War Locke

The jury is still out.

Fancy Meeting You Here

Remember when I used to do this semi-regularly?  Remember how sometimes things I posted were funny?

Me neither.

I haven't gone off the grid or lost my fingers, but so much else has happened since I last paid much attention to this.  I got a job that I love, but that requires an excessive amount of time away from the couch.  Deduct five points.  I do get paid, though. This is the first time with regularity since, OH, 2007.  Add twelve points.  Which, bonus, means I got to buy Craig Christmas presents with my very own monies. Of course, this also means that he can no longer say his Bosco's Mug Club membership is my gift to him.  Now he'll have to call what it really is:  a very generous gift to himself and to the economy of Midtown. 

With all that's been going on, there are few things that still haven't happened.

*Mad Men has still, and yet, not returned for a fifth season

*My sewing projects have not so much become a reality, but more of a reality check on my ability to take something from the idea stage to the get out of the house and buy the supplies stage.

*My closet has still not cleaned, sorted, and organized itself, despite my pointed stares in its general direction.

However, much and much has been happening.  In no particular order--

*We made life. Mwahahahaha.  Ok, actually it wasn't very sinister, but we are expecting a little one.  Woo hoo!

     *Subpoints A-Z: I go to sleep at 8pm, burp like a trucker (who knew?), am still super, duper nervous about all possible travesties happening, and have a serious aversion to the smell of smell.

*We got a video camera, so yeah, get ready.

*I successfully resisted the urge to correct people who think the twelve days of Christmas are the twelve leading up to Christmas.  But since I'm talking about it, why not.  It's not a countdown.  Day one starts on Christmas and goes until Epiphany.  Maybe I should scratch this off the list now, hmmmmm?

*My canine champ did all kinds of wrong under the dining room table riiiight before Christmas dinner, so, Cheers!  Hasn't done it it months, might as well make it count.

I hope everyone had a restful and blestful Holiday!

Look!

I've got nothing to add, but this is is too funny for life.

http://www.happyplace.com/4286/brilliantly-sarcastic-responses-to-completely-well-meaning-signs

I Had It Coming

I've devoted several posts to Craig and the funny things he says and does because Craig says and does funny things, especially on accident.  Recently we were talking about a conversation we had a few years ago and he reminded me of my hypocrisy on this subject.  The truth is this--for all of the funny things that I've called him out on, namely butchering song lyrics and just generally being the youngest crotchety old man around, I'm definitely a pot calling the kettle black.  I know that I often speak (type?) in superlatives, so I'll try and tone it down.  Let's just say that I am one of the more literal people that I know.  I'm no Forrest Gump, obviously, but I can get a little lost in hyperbole and unfamiliar phrases.  I'll never forget this book that I read in third or fourth grade that was written from the perspective of a similar little girl who overhears her parents talking and misunderstands everything.  When they talk about navel oranges, she imagined a fleet of oranges with sailors and the whole bit.  I imagined a kindred spirit.

With that background, this might seem less stupid.  It might not. Meh.  Anyway, several years ago Craig made a remark about "not looking a gift horse in the mouth," and I casually agreed saying, "Yeah, 'cause he'll take your presents back." 

I know, huh?  It's all so clear to me now, but let me paint a picture for you.  I've heard that expression other times in my life and what I visualized was a horse bringing you presents in his mouth,  kind of a hand-less Santa.  It made sense to me that you weren't supposed to look him in the mouth, because that would be very rude to check out all your gifts before they've been given to you.  Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, lest he turn tail and take your presents to someone else.  How was I to know that it means something about how if someone gives you a horse, you shouldn't go checking out his specs, since he was a gift?  Who gives horses?  What are they looking for in there, the Carfax?

The fortunate things is, we got married and all is well.  I have not always been so lucky.  At twelve I asked my science teacher the genuine question of how big the tubes were for full term test tube babies and I lost points for being a smart alec.  She lost points for being a bummer, and became the scapegoat for why I have an English degree.

Captive's Log

Day 4,3452 in Captivity (unemployment)...give or take


I'm adapting well in my new surroundings. I've started to understand the natives. Admittedly, little brown dogs are only mediocre conversationalists. If you try and discuss anything more than the superficial, they zone out and start licking phantom boy parts long removed. Yesterday, he broke rank and we had a slight disagreement. He thought that he would help me clean by getting on the dining room table and licking my lunch plate. I disagreed. Other than these set backs, all seems to be well between myself and the other prisoner. As I don't have the occasional accident on the floor, I don't have to be put in solitary like he does when everyone leaves, but the threat is always there.

I seem to have some form of Stockholm syndrome, which I attribute to the attractiveness of my captor. He's very good to me and occasionally takes me out for yogurt. He seems to appreciate having a captive, as he no longer does any housework to speak of. Just yesterday, I baked a pie with a homemade crust and sweet tea. I knew the pie was good, but I was concerned that the tea was tad on the weak side. My kind captor said that, no, "It isn't bad. It just tastes like one of the those restaurants that has sweet tea, but they don't know how to make it." Apparently, a return to my previous formula would be appreciated. Noted.

It's true that I am enjoying my captivity, but I can't even convince myself that I'm benefiting at all from my college or law degree, but I will at some point. I think I'll wait until then to update the alumni information with these respective institutions, lest they report, Laura Locke, nee Britt, has become an amalgamation of her grandmothers. She recently received a prestigious library card, and has gone through an entire bottle of Fantastik.

Keeping it Real (Boring)

Every time I think about this blog, the sound of crickets drowns it out. I have nothing to write about. Whatever wit I may have feeds on stress and anxiety, which is why I posted so much while I was studying for the bar. I love being home (except for the impending doom of loans/needing a job) and I pretty much do the same things every day, so there's just not that much to say.

I have been spending a lot of time, though, with the always charming, never dull, shoe-ruining, canine alarm system Max.  You wil be shocked to learn that this bit of cinema was completely unscripted.  Ol' one-take Beanpotts knocked it out of the park.  I'm kind of embarassed by the unexplained nasal tone of my voice, so try to just focus on the little brown face.  I especially like when he first hears his name.