Hello out there in Blogsville,

I'm not sure if anyone really reads these things or if this is actually a writing discipline I'm doing only for myself. Oh, well...

October 20th was my 27th anniversary. Little did I know when I was planning our wedding so many years ago that the date was going to compete so much with the general football population of the United States of America. Maybe I should have been clued in when we were planning to get married in September but between my dad and Oklahoma football and Lance and South Carolina football, there was not a date that would fit where both of them would show up on the same day, thereby, we were married on October 20th because Carolina was playing an away game and Oklahoma was at Kansas.

Somehow, since I'm forgetful, I rarely remember ever year or so when Lance says to me,"Honey, let's go to the mountains for our anniversary this year." To me, the mountains mean cuddling up by a fire, hiking, roasting marshmallows and eating s'mores. To Lance, it means that South Carolina is playing either Vanderbilt or Tennessee and he can be efficient and cross off two things on his list.

So a week ago, we went to the "Lance-type" mountains. I must say that it was a perfect fall day and from the top of the Vandy stands, I could almost make out several trees turning colors.

The other thing that's weird to me is that on this "romantic" weekend we spend it with other people (friends that go with us to the game) and talk about "footbally" type stuff. Then when we get back to the hotel, we watch the other games we missed including instant replays. This is not my idea of lovey-dovey.

Since I barely pay attention to the things I like to do, you can imagine what sitting like sardines on concrete benches does for my focus. So, to be polite, I think up other things to think about. First, I looked at the Vanderbilt fans. I couldn't find a Vandy Redneck anywhere! Instead of hearing..."Listen, here you
#%$$#%^&&*** ref; I heard, "Listen here, old chap..." Odd. Then instead of the stadium smelling like beer, I could only smell coffee. Weird.

During my 2nd half contemplations, I started thinking about their mascot name...the Commodores. Now, a commodore is a naval officer, BUT not the top officer of a naval fleet. Shouldn't they have named themselves the Admirals? It's like saying, "Come on you team of less than the best." I don't get it, really.

So I've tried to tell Lance that I'm planning next year's anniversary. I think first we'll go to the mountains to a bluegrass festival, apple dunking and a mountain flea market. Then on a hayride back to the hotel, we'll talk of that antique compote dish that we had to bargain for and to top it off we'll watch the "reveal" of several HGTV shows and then watch the instant replay in slow motion of the woman crying over her new room. It's gonna be just perfect. Better yet, I think I'll surprise Lance next year so don't tell him; I wouldn't want to spoil it!

Until next post,

Mama Chick