On The Spot

I am a fanatic for "call now to win!" games on the radio. I always have been.

In fact, I remember being a young girl the first time I played and got through. The song of the hour played, and I was caller 10!!

"Hi, Oldies 100, who is this?"

"Emily." - (childlike-voice)

"Emily, how old are you?"

"12."

"Sorry, you have to be over 18 to win this egg-beater. Is your mommy or daddy there?"

"No." (Mom was napping, and I knew the rule, no talking to Mom while she was napping.)

And that was the temporary end of my fun. But let me tell you, while most 18-year olds celebrate various other vices when the birthday rolls around, I was celebrating one: I could finally gamble with the radio. It was time to try my luck again, this time, with a more adult-sounding voice (sort-of).

The first contest that I won was tickets to was for an annual country concert that I had only dreamed of attending in the past. I remember arriving at school the morning that I won and faced my instant-celebrity status.

"Emily!!! I heard you on 'mzq this morning! Who are you taking? I love country!"

I took my friend Jamie. We got to watch Billy Ray Cyrus throw his sweaty towels into the crowd while singing "Achy Breaky Heart." The fun was addicting and I couldn't wait to try to win something else.

Over the years, I have called into radio stations hundreds of times, gotten through dozens, and actually won a handful. There were the VanZant tickets while driving through the middle of nowhere West VA on a road trip. (I also won a pizza too- but being I was on a trip, had to decline.) The $100 and chance to win a trip to LA to see The Who. (Didn't get that grand prize.) Tickets to Six-Flags. The best one by far though, is the most recent win.

Every morning at 7:40, one of my favorite stations plays "On the Spot". The correct caller is literally put "on the spot" and has to list 5 items from a category in 10 seconds. While the categories are generally easy, the hard part is being heard by thousands on the radio and knowing that you only have 10 seconds. A lot of people try, but few win.

I finally got my nerve and my opportunity to play "On the Spot". Normally I would have never subjected myself to such a shot of potential embarrassment. However the prize that day was going to be 2 tickets to see the Zac Brown Band play at Nationals Park this summer. You see, my husband loves Zac Brown. He was the first to love them, the first to buy their CD, the first to know each song. And because Zac Brown was touring with some guy named Dave Matthews and HIS band, well, ticket prices were not going to be affordable. I knew the only way to get my man to see his band was to win these tickets. So I called. And I got through, I was caller one. The DJ told me that the category was "entertainment" and told me to wait until 2 songs were done playing before the game would begin. Great. I had 2 songs worth of anxiety. I went through every possible scenario in my head that I may be asked:

5 primetime tv shows...5 movies playing now...5 bands coming to town...

I have to win these tickets...I have to win these tickets...not as much for the sake of the tickets, but for the sake of my humility.

Nothing that my imagination created was enough to prepare me for what the real question was.

When the DJ came back on the radio after the 2 songs, we were live.

"I've got Emily on the phone with me. Emily, are you ready to go On The Spot??"

"Sure?" I somehow managed to squeak out.

"Your category today is magazine titles. Magazine titles. Your time starts...now!"

I was in a panic. And time was ticking.

Magazine titles? As in titles of articles in magazines? Or did he say covers? Or magazines with the word "title" in their name. What is a magazine anyway?

Suddenly I found myself in a grocery store aisle about to pay for my groceries, but without first making a glance at all the headlines, a quick roll of the eyes to make sure I read everything without being seen by anyone.

"Country Weekly...People...InTouch...US Weekly....COSMO!!!!"

My enthusiastic high-pitched valley-girl scream at the end proved that it would have been far less embarrassing had I said "I give up" from the get-go.

The DJ informed me that it sounded like I was calling from a nail salon. But I won those tickets.

And much to my gratitude, as far as I know, NO ONE that I know heard me that morning.

You're welcome, Zac.

Cottonelle Try-Outs

Sadie, the Model

Don't worry, we won't be attending the Cha-cha-cha! Charmin! try-outs.

Pop Quiz:

Q: How do you stand out like a sore thumb/(green fish) in a church congregation?

A: Forget to wear red on Pentacost Sunday, after the priest asked you to a week earlier, and wait for the "Holy Spirit forgives you" jokes from the pulpit at the end of mass.

Introducing: Miss Sadie, an Interview

Miss Sadie

Meet Sadie, our new yellow Lab puppy. Jim has been asking for a second dog for a long time now, and the time was finally right. We checked out a few local kennels, found the perfect one and went home and puppy-proofed away. She's a perfect addition to our little family.

I was fortunate enough to catch Sadie not napping earlier today and sit down and chat with her. Here's the text version of our talk:

Me: Good morning Sadie. How has your first week as a member of the Conrad family been?

Sadie: It's only been one week?? It seems like I've been here forever.

Me: Well, yes, that is a reflection of how well you fit into our family.

Sadie: Yes. The first few days were easy for me, but a bit rough on George. He wasn't quite ready to share his place. But it only took him a short time to welcome me.

Me: Oh yeah? How did he do that?

Sadie: Well he let me play with his coveted bunny. Then I laid down on his rug next to him, and he didn't growl at me.

Me: That's sweet. What's your favorite memory of this past week?

Sadie: All the visitors! You and Daddy sure have some nice friends. Catherine, Morgan, Mama U...all they want to do is hold me. And cuddling is my favorite thing to do! It reminds me of my brothers and sisters back home in Maryland.

Me: Well you certainly are hard to resist, Miss Sadie. What are you looking forward to most as a Conrad family member?

Sadie: Swimming. I can't wait until I've received all of my shots and can go to the pool on Saturday mornings with my big brother. He told me it's over-rated, but I have webbed feet and am ready for the water!

Me: That's good. I'm sure you'll fit in well at the pool.

Sadie: I hope so. Hey Mommy, guess what?

Me: What?

Sadie: I've been awake for 10 minutes, time for another nap.

Me: Ok, thanks for stopping by Sadie.

Sadie: Zzzzzzz.....

Miss Sadie, fast asleep in the front flower bed.

Divine Reunions, Part II

If it wasn't for the Divine Reunion, Part I, Reunion II would have never happened.

Ever since the big move, I've found myself longing for the depth in my friendships that they once held. The move has triggered this because its forced me to look through old boxes full of letters, photos and memories. It's inspired me to read everything handwritten, and recall each moment that every photograph captures. (Which would explain why 5 months later, I'm still unpacking.)

A number of circumstances has naturally changed the depth-level that I hold with each of my friends. I find my relationships so different from my early twenties to my mid-late twenties (and most of them are the same friends). I think from living in a dorm with 300 of your closest friends and not having a 9-5 job; to facebook not existing and now just being an "adult" in general contributes to this. And I hate it.

For some reason, years after they happen, inside jokes, if they can be recalled, are not as funny anymore. And the "remember that time...!"s are lame. And I have always been one who has been addicted to these! (May explain my similiar addiction to scrapbooking?) I love telling stories of past adventures and laughing at crazy circumstances. And no better friend have I ever been able to do this with then Demi.

Demi. Where to begin. She is the most fun/funny person that I know. She's sarcastic, witty and honest. I met Demi my freshman year of college. She was living one floor below me. I knew that it was friendship at first sight when we were at the school cafeteria. She "drank" a bowl of the fish soup, (a Franciscan lenten special), and immediately announced that she had just drank a fish tank.

Our friendship quickly blossomed and we decided that we needed to join the school's study abroad program in Austria that following Fall. Once in Europe, we became roommates, plastered our walls with Kenny Chesney paraphernalia, and began our adventures. And every day was just that. It was the best semester of my life.

Demi transferred to a school back home after that. College was never the same for me, although I did make and maintain some incredible friendships. And presently, Demi and I live about 2 hours apart. Not far at all, except now we're adults and don't travel 6 hours round-trip for Subway sandwiches anymore.

The morning of my planned Divine Reunion number one...I decided to sleep in a bit to get some extra rest for the anticpated energy it was going to take later that day to catch up another friend on my life. Since it was Sunday, this meant going to a later mass. The 11 o'clock mass. On Palm Sunday. It was packed.

Our tiny church in our small town has its own tradition on Palm Sunday. After the opening prayer, people process to the altar to be handed a palm. Jim nominated me for the job.

As I did my processing, I did my usual "stare at the babies" while passing the cry-room. One particular baby caught my eye. His face...those eyes...that smile. I could almost swear the kid was about to mutter something about a fish tank. That's when I realized...that baby was the spitting image of Demi. It had to be hers! A further peak confirmed my suspicions. Demi, my long lost Austrian roommate, was at my church.

Our disruptive reunion almost merited us getting kicked out of the cry room. Most of her family was there and we enjoyed brunch after mass. It was a wonderful reunion. She had no idea that that is where I lived, and I had none that she was traveling through the area.

And if it wasn't for Reunion I, none of this would have happened.

And if Reunion II hadn't happened, neither would our future plans for a birthday wine festival celebration.

"He knows the deepest desires of your heart." 1 Chronicles 28:9

Robert's Letters from Home

I received so many letters from my family when I was in college. This one (circa 2001) definitely stood out when I found it in my shoebox the other day. Robert writes:

"It's weird down here without you."

When I read those words, I couldn't help but laugh to myself. It is so ironic that we are in opposite positions now. I am the one at home, he is the one away. I am the one dealing with the "weirdness" of his absence.

"The other day I set a place for you at the table and a few days before I couldn't find you."

Ok, that part put a tear in my eye. I wish that my absence had not brought him pain (or confusion?)

"I also found myself humming a song you used to play."

Robert, every day I hum that darn Safety Dance song of yours.

"Peter [the parakeet] says fffttttssss (HI!) The bunny gives me a bite thats for you. Petey also sends a gift I do too."

The fact that he was looking for something in the house that was familiar to me was very sweet.

"P.S. The gifts are in the envelope."

The gifts.

This is an example of something I would not have to hold on to, if Facebook had been founded earlier. For some reason, I cannot see myself finding comfort while Robert is away, by just reading his social profile over and over. Not very personal. Through this letter, I can relate to his own sadness and apply it to my own, knowing that college eventually ended and I moved back home, and someday he will be back as well. Until then, thanks for the letter, brother. You'll never know how special they were to me when the pains of homesickness were sometimes overbearing. I only hope that I can start giving you the letters from home that you need to know that you are loved. Although I'm not sure that George-hair would make it past customs.

Letters from Home

I've caught myself thinking more than once in the past several weeks (shocking, I know) about networking websites and some obvious losses that society has taken as a whole. Don't get me wrong- facebook, gmail...they're all great. But because of them, we are living in such a dynamically different world than we were as little as 5 to 10 years ago. And I miss it.

I remember the days when I'd call my friends, several times a week. I'd call to chat, catch up, ask advice from, etc. And I'd get those phone calls back. But what is the point in chatting, when you have gchat? Or catching up, when you can read their statuses? And advice? Well, I could definitely still use that.

And the one I miss the most. Letter-writing. During my Junior year in high school, I had a best friend who lived in a different area code than I. Do teenagers today know what that means? She lived long distance, and I got punished/money taken from allowance if I called her and talked longer than 10 minutes each week. The obvious solution? Letter-writing. I wrote her a letter every single day that year. And she did as well. It was so beautiful. I still have that shoebox full of those letters and photos, and the last I heard, so did she.

Writing letters to friends when I was in high school and college solidified the friendships that I still have today. There is something that can be said for another person who is willing to sit down and take an hour out of their day and write to YOU. The time it takes to write a letter, the patience it takes to receive one in return, the penmanship, the white-out, the photos included, even the $0.41 sacrifice; all of these were proofs to my adolescent self that someone cared enough about me. And how fun it was to prove that I cared enough in return.

I found an old shoebox the other day. It was filled with old letters that I must have collected that were dearest to my heart. There was about 20 years worth of letters from my grandparents, now deceased. Another 20 years from my other set of grandparents. There were cards from friends and family alike. I sat there and read each one of them. Then I made a scary discovery. They stopped abruptly in late 2005.

In late 2005, I signed up for Facebook.

I don't regret using social media sites, and I will continue using them (though not as much as I have been). I want to somehow find that balance again between just "keeping up" with people, and truly showing loved ones that I care- something other than a "poke" or a "like". It will be hard, because, like I said, I already know how these people are doing, I see their statuses. Likewise, they know how/what/where/why I am doing.

All I can really say, is thank God that Facebook was not around when I was in high school / most of college. That shoebox in my closet would be empty. I wouldn't have known what my grandparents were doing in Florida. I would have never been taught that lesson about having my allowance taken away. Most importantly, I wouldn't have ever gotten a letter from my brother...

Divine Reunions, Part I

I was in an absolutely miserable state when I began high school.

I was at a new school. A school that was a 2 hour ride away (1 hour to the bus stop, 1 hour on the bus.) The high school had a total of 13 kids in it, and we were all taught in the same room. Our history and science classes all taught me things that completely contradicted my faith, and the teachers actually stood at the front of the classroom and condemned people like me. I was miserable. I had no friends, no teachers that liked me and had lost all hope for high school being anything like High School Musical. I soon became physically ill with stress.

My own misery stemmed from one thing: a fantastic, glorious 3 previous years at my old school. To have the two opposite experiences back-to-back was just unfair for my pre-pubescent, hormonal self. I cried nearly everyday. "I miss 8th grade. I miss my old friends. I miss Jennifer."

Jennifer and I were inseparable, best friends in 6th-8th grade. We sat next to each other in our classes, we were always partners, and she even made me go to my first dance. At the end of 8th grade, she moved to a small town that I had never heard of. We both went our separate ways and gradually lost touch. But I felt the pain of her absence nearly every day during the first year of high school.

--------------------

Shortly after my husband and I were married, dreams started quickly developing over where to purchase our new home. We wanted the feel of a small-town. We could not afford Northern Virginia, nor were necessarily pleased by its crowds. But we didn't want to be too deep into central Virginia where we could not commute to Northern for jobs. After nearly a year of internet-researching, I told my husband:

"I want to go scenically-drive through a small town called Culpeper. It's south of here. The houses are adorable and oh-so-within budget."
"Hmm...."

"Did I mention they have incredible mountain views?"

"Let's go!"

After almost another year of house-hunting and waiting until the time was right, we moved. What an exciting moment to finally be a home-owner! The first thing that I decided to do before the ink was dried on our closing papers, was to give the house a good scrubbing from top to bottom. To get that "previous owners" feel out of the house. To make it my own home.

I grabbed my sister Julia and we ran to Walmart. (She's an expert on cleaning supplies, where I always thought windex solved everything.)
As we were perusing the cleaning aisle, I heard a familiar voice from years back. One that I had longed for so much as an adolescent:

"Emily?"

I turned around.

"JENNIFER!!!!"

The joy I felt exploding in my heart could not be described. After all of those young years of praying and pleading with God...."I'll never ask for anything again!...ever!", He finally led me to her. That tiny town that I was so attracted to, was the same tiny town that she moved to back in '97.

And guess what? She never left. In fact, she's married to a Culpeper boy and has a three year old daughter now. A daughter that is determined to beat me in Chutes & Ladders one of these days.

Why is it that years after we give up hope that God is listening, He turns around and says, "In my time, child, not yours."

It's beautiful.


(POST-EDIT): In case you were wondering, I switched high schools after 4 months of being miserable. After that, high school rocked, sort of like a musical.

I love Jim...

...And here's why. A Top 10.

(It's been a while since I've gotten all mushy-gushy.)

10. I am very prone to getting down on myself over my own out-of-my-control weaknesses. When this happens, the first thing he says is, "It's Ok, don't worry about it." Suddenly, if it doesn't bother him, it no longer bothers me.

9. He lets me have the big, comfy living room chair-and-a-half each night when we watch tv.

8. He asks me everyday if I have written a new blog yet.

7. Whenever I feel like putting on an impromptu concert of the latest song in my head, he tells me that I am American Idol material. Sometimes he even turns it into a duet.

6. He knows how close I am to my grandparents, and makes it a point to drive me the 9 hours it takes to visit them, several times a year.

5. I want to play the violin, take photography lessons, oil paint and scrapbook. He turns off the tv to listen to me play, he bought me a camera and my first lesson, he surprised me with an easel, and he's building me a scrapbooking room. He's never told me that I take too much on or that I have too many hobbies.

4. Last month I shrunk all of his sweaters. When I came clean about using the hot water on the washer and high heat on the dryer, he just laughed.

3. He traces a cross on my forehead before bed each night.

2. He cooks me dinner each day.

1. He chose me to be his wife.

"People-All-Around-the-World, Join Hands!" OR Why to Never Leave your Wife Alone at a Wine Festival.

I was in a car accident two weeks ago. Not minor, because I am currently car-less. Not major, because, well I am here. Long story short, I have a cute sedan that I get to drive around in the meantime. It gets me to and from work, has a cute horn and free satellite radio. Heaven.

If you have never had the pleasure to listen to satellite radio, know this: it is incredible. I used to think that the main attraction was "commercial-free music"- when it is really so much more. There are 50 bagillion categories and 100 times as many channels. (That's 5000 bagillion for all you non-math minors.) In my humble rental, I have the ability to program my top 15 favorite. I only have this rental for 3 weeks, so I knew the choice could not be taken lightly. With satellite radio, you don't choose your favorite radio stations based solely on music or genres, rather you go with life memories.

Do I want to remember the days of driving to Grandma & Grandpop's house in Dad's old 1979 Ford pick-up? That would be The Roadhouse, the 80's country music station.

What if i want to be taken back to that moment when I got my first walkman and would sing Ace of Base as loud as I could in my bedroom with the door locked? 90s on 9.

And how about revisiting that time when my husband first learned his hardest lesson as a newlywed to date: Never leave your wife alone at a wine festival? Well that'd be 60's on 6 of course.

So that was my first chosen preset. 60's on 6, with Mike Kelly as the afternoon DJ. It only took about 4 songs into my commute home that evening when I was taken back to that day. Back to the day that my husband rarely discusses, my friends were unfortunately absent for, and was probably the highlight of a select few privileged middle-aged mens' lives. Read on if intrigued. Stop here if you've had enough.

It was September 2008, and my 2nd favorite VA annual event was approaching. (My favorite is of course WMZQfest.) The Virginia Wine Festival. Hundreds of wineries, all-you-could drink tastings, and one entrance fee. My friends and I made plans for the event weeks in advance. We'd mapped our route, figured our plan of attack but then fell short of ever executing. You see, the morning of the wine festival, as I sat at my mirror placing every strand of hair perfectly on my head, I got the first text. Then another, and another. Everyone bailed. It had rained the night before and the ground was wet, muddy and so-not-worth-it. The truth was, the clouds were breaking and the sun was shining. We'd be drinking anyway, so I was not concerned about mud. My husband and I decided it would be worth it to go by ourselves, since the crowds would be smaller anyway.

We arrived at the festival in the early afternoon. It turned out to be a perfect September day. Skies were blue, wine was pouring. Life was perfect. That was, until my husband got a phone call. It was his office, and although it was Saturday, since the festival was right around the corner, he had to run into work and check on something.

My husband quickly bought me a smoked turkey sandwich with some extra-carby bread to soak up whatever had been recently thrown into my belly. He then instructed:

"Stay here, I'll be right back."

I'm not sure how long it took until he was out of sight, but I jumped up and made my way towards a stage where a band was about to perform. I kept my distance, cautious of the music they might be about to play. I looked around at the lack of crowd. There was a middle-aged hippy standing on a folding chair, yelling out her request. I saw a few children dancing a ring-around-the-rosie-esque ballad. Then a man came on the stage and introduced the band: The Original Rhondels. That's when all ladylike grace that I had been born with had vanished.

The music started. I was in a hypnotized trance.

People all around the world!!!! Join hands!!! Let's start a love train, a love train!

I shoved my way past the dozen or so people socializing in front of the stage and got to the front. I danced. I sang. I displayed my empty wine glass proudly above my head and swung around in circles.


All of your brothers over in Africa- Tell all of the folks in Israel and Egypt too-

Never has a one-woman show ever made such a spectacle. And never had a bigger fan showed up at The Original Rhondels concert before. And let me tell you, The Original Rhondels were loving every minute of it.

After a few more verses, a trombone player made his way to the front of the stage to do his solo. It was about this time when my husband had finally found a parking spot after returning from his errand. I let out a "woo!!!" to the trombone player; Jim searched the spot where he had left me. I screamed out "LOVE TRAIN!!! I SAID LOVE TRAIN!!!"; Jim looked across the field in my direction. Jim was a mere seconds away from learning his lesson.

The trombone player whipped out a washcloth. Not any washcloth, but one with the band's name proudly printed on it. He wiped it across his forehead (something I'm sure was totally hip in the 60's) and then HE THREW IT AT ME. Buzz.kill. There I was, looking guilty as ever. An empty wine glass, standing not in our "stay here" location, with a sweaty washcloth in my hands. Double.Buzz.kill. Jim didn't stop laughing the entire way home.

And neither did I, on my way home the other night from work, when "Love Train" came on 60's on 6, XM radio.

The Original Rhondels

Spring is in the Air...

I want to be ready when it arrives.

The Gift of Punishment

My In-Laws gave me the best gift that I could have ever asked for. Ever.
(Besides birthing, loving, nurturing, and raising their son into the man that he is today.)

Punishing their son.

All parents have their own method of punishing their children. Their hopes are generally that their methods are beneficial while being effective. Take for instance the punishment of removing television from a young child's routine. It's beneficial for the parents because instead, the kid picks up a book. Effective, because you know there's no way in heck that child will never disobey again.

I hope for my husband's parents' sake that their efforts were effective. But were they beneficial? Absolutely.

As a child, my husband was punished by being put into an apron (at least this is how I like to imagine it), put into the kitchen, and told to cook.

Ah, what a genius idea! If I had even had the slightest glimpse into my future as a child, I would not have spent all those sleepless nights lying awake wondering: "How will I succeed at being a wife someday? It takes me nearly 3 hours to cook breakfast now? Will feeding my future husband ramon noodles merit heaven when I die? Will I spend the rest of my days in jail for failing to feed my groom?"

It didn't matter. And if I had known that, I would have slept better those 15+ years. 1,675 miles away from my sleepless self was my husband, as a child, being scolded for that practical "joke" he had played on his sister. And because of it, was cooking a feast. And more than just preparing food, he was being molded into the man who would become my husband. (And sparing me from murdering through malnutrition.) I tell you, God sure knows what He's doing when He inspires parents on how to punish His children.

And I am so grateful that my husband was a bad child.


Wouldn't you be?

11 Things to Do on a Snowed-In Day

1. Wake up, shovel the driveway.


2. Enjoy a hearty-breakfast.
3. Take an after-breakfast nap.


4. See if it's worth going outside to relieve yourself.

5. Take in the scenery.
6. Make sure your picture is coming in clear!

7. Don't worry about the mail- it's not coming.

8. Relax, you're not going anywhere for a while.

9. Shovel for the 11th time.

10. Make a hearty dinner.

11. Enjoy that hearty dinner.

An Update on the House

We got our living room furniture, at last!

Our Old Town vs. Our New Town

Speaking of PickleBob's (see previous post), let's start there.


Old town: PickleBob's
New town: Sonic (within a 20-minute drive of course.)

Old town: Mountain View Highschool
New town: Mountain Views.

Old town: 15 miles to Buffalo Wild Wings.
New town: 15 seconds to Buffalo Wild Wings.

Old town: Residents argued against Disney.
New town: Patrick Henry argued religious freedom at town courthouse.

Old town: Jiffy Lube Live!
New town: Real Jiffy Lube

Old town: Cupake Heaven

New town: Knakal's Bakery

Old town: Ponds

New town: Lake Pelham

Old town: Regal Cinemas

New town: Cute Cinemas!

More to come. Also, this spring I am going to do a pictural tour of Culpeper! Stay tuned!