Articles

My husband surprised me the other day with a white noise machine. Keep in mind that this is not just a white noise machine. Nope, this is a Big Red Rooster 6 Sound White Noise Machine. I had no idea what a game changer this little piece of magic would be until John pushed the “on” button. Suddenly we could slumber to the sounds of a babbling brook, the roaring ocean, sporadic thunder, gentle rain, literal white noise or crickets chirping on a summer night — as if getting out of bed wasn’t hard enough for me already. 

            We had talked about getting one, but like a lot of things, the idea got pushed to the outer skirts of our radar by more pressing issues such as purchasing a new Crock-Pot, finding a basketball league for The Tots, and swapping out our Halloween décor for Thanksgiving swag. Regardless, I’m glad John took the initiative to swipe the “Buy it Now” tab on Amazon so that this wonderful machine could join our home. It fits in nicely with my “sensory recovery program,” which John knew nothing about. 

            Truth be told, it’s not an official program, but the more I practice recognizing what my senses (all five of them) are experiencing, the happier I am, and the beautiful part is that the smallest things get their attention. 

            For example, we’ve used the same laundry detergent since The Tots were two years old. John mentioned the other day that we should try something else. (This is bizarre coming from a man who has never worn cologne or aftershave, scoffs at scented candles, and is not in charge of the laundry.) Regardless, I went with it and selected a detergent with a tropical scent because our family isn’t going anywhere tropical anytime soon for a host of reasons. 

            I figured this new scent would transport us to a magical place (think Calgon bath powder ad from the 1980s) as we (me) folded our freshly washed clothes. One minute I would be matching socks and the next I would be basking on a beach, complete with a beloved breeze and fruity drink. Okay, so my new detergent didn’t beam me to St. John while I scraped the lent out of the dryer, but it was a nice change, and change is not a bad thing right now. 

            Weeks ago a friend of mine told me to do something different for the holidays to help ease the pain of not having mom here. I know she’s right because I was hit with a land mine of grief at Target the other day. It began innocently enough. I was heading to the pet department to buy collars for our two cats, who refuse to wear collars for extended periods of time. (Seriously, these little guys need to figure out a video for YouTube to support their lost collar habit.)    

            Anyway, the pet section is beside the Christmas section, and, of course Target had Christmas music blaring throughout the tree display. Suddenly my eyes welled up when I realized that Christmas was going to take place regardless of the fact that my mom is dead. I couldn’t believe Christmas had the audacity to do that. I quickly did not find what I needed and got out of there, knowing that this is a sign of what’s to come. 

            You never know what will trigger grief, but Thanksgiving and Christmas offer a lot of material. That’s why embracing the positive experiences of my senses is crucial right now — or any time really. The other night I pulled out the soft robe I bought for the hospital when I gave birth to the twins. I snuggled in it as I watched Mr. Mom with my family. John made homemade soup in our new Crock-Pot this past Sunday, and I savored the smell of it just as much as its delicious taste.

            And then there’s our beloved white noise machine. As the crickets sing their song, I go back to summer nights at Lake Tillery, where I smell freshly cut grass, hear the water lapping against the pier and see my mom playing cards at the kitchen bar. It’s a nice place to go for the holidays, even if I can’t stay there. 

            I love it when my week surprises me with a theme, and last week’s theme was closed doors. It all began on Monday when I arrived early for a meeting in Greensboro. To kill time, I drove over to the UNC Greensboro campus. Though I graduated from UNC Chapel Hill, I began my college career at UNC Greensboro — reluctantly. (For more in-depth information on this, read the It’s Not That Hard entry from March 2019.) 

            The short version of the story is that I didn’t get into Chapel Hill as a freshman, and the only other school that I applied to was UNC Greensboro. I’m 99 percent sure my less-than-stellar SAT score kept me from being a Tar Heel initially, but after years of being ashamed of that and even hiding it, here it is, folks, I bombed the SAT. 

            Back to Monday. As I stopped my minivan in front of my freshman dorm, I thought about the girl who was in that dorm 29 years ago listening to mixed tapes while trying to grow out her bangs. How crazy it would be to have a conversation with her. I would definitely tell her to proceed with growing out her bangs, but that’s about it because I wouldn’t want to spoil the adventure she was embarking on. I wouldn’t tell her to avoid anything because the good and the bad in her future are going to work together to get her where she needs to be. 

            I had two great years at UNC Greensboro despite wrestling with an eating disorder/nervous breakdown my sophomore year. Looking back, I realize that I wasn’t ready for Chapel Hill as a freshman, so fate placed me where I could grow to become ready. (Who knows? If I would have started at Chapel Hill, I might have dropped out. I might even still have bangs.) 

            I was reminded of this when I gave my Scenic Route talk on Thursday to three leadership classes at the high school of my children’s school. My talk is all about having the resiliency and determination to open closed doors. If there is one resounding theme in my career journey as a writer, it is opening doors that at times seemed nailed shut.  

            The idea is to give these young people insight into what good and bad leadership looks like, while also giving them real world advice. I hope these students get at least half as much as I get by giving the talk. It’s not that I like to talk about myself, and it’s not that this is a talk about my accomplishments. It’s that going through my career play by play out loud reminds me of how far I’ve come (being compensated for an internship with free parking and a grilled chicken sandwich) and how far I still have to go (I so want to write at least one book). 

            Maybe it’s super narcissistic, but I inspire myself when I talk about the young girl who quit a lucrative sales job to make $100 a week as an editorial assistant just to get her foot in the door of a magazine. The current trampled version of myself needs that girl to come back and open some new doors. I know she’s in there; she just needs a little coaxing. One way to coax the coaxing is to talk with friends who have good perspective, which is exactly what happened Friday morning. 

            A good friend of mine has been training for a strenuous race that’s offered once a year. The race fills up online in minutes, so she knew she had to sign up immediately. Even though she tried her best, she didn’t get a slot. At first she was terribly disappointed and down, but within two hours she reframed the situation and felt better about it. She kept saying that she believed in closed doors. 

            Though I had never phrased it that way, my whole life is built around that belief, and it’s not a bad way to live. If something doesn’t turn out the way you planned, look at the remaining variables and chart a new path. Look under the debris for Winks of Goodness because I promise you that they are there.

Every time I’ve done this in my life, the end result is better that I could have ever imagined. Yes, there are painful setbacks and gargantuan challenges. Yes, there are times when you want to stay in bed with your cats, preferably with the covers over all of your heads, but I know from experience that these times make for better people and certainly better stories. 

            That said, I’m jumping back into the driver’s seat to continue my journey on the scenic route. Sure, there will be potholes, sharp turns and detours, but the trip is well worth it. 

Before you grab your tissues thinking about the movie, this is not a post about The Notebook starring the super hot Ryan Gosling, the regal Gena Rowlands (love her hair in this film) and the late James Garner (I’ve loved him since The Rockford Files and adore Barbarians at the Gate, and I told him so when I ran into him at the Charlotte airport years ago.) Again, this post is not about the movie. Nope, this post is about actual notebooks.

            People have various purchasing weaknesses. For my husband, it’s Cheez-Its and LPs. For my daughter and son, it’s unicorns and Matchbox cars, respectively. For me, it’s purses, shoes and, you guessed it, notebooks. 

            Look throughout my home and you will find all kinds of journals. Some have been written in and some not, but each one offers promise. I look at notebooks/journals the same way as I view the change of seasons — they’re mini New Year’s Eves. And right now I need all the fresh starts I can find. 

            Amid losing my mother, supporting my dad, revamping my career and realizing that The Tots have one-way tickets for the “tween train,” I am completely unmoored. For a normally decisive person, any decision for me these days is agony (just ask the sweet soul who cut my hair this morning at Great Clips). Acting on a decision once it’s decided is even more impossible, so I grabbed a notebook from my stash and began anew this week. 

            The satisfaction I get from writing my name and contact information in the front of a new notebook with a favorite pen (I fluctuate from Sharpie no-bleeds to Profiles) is right up there with getting to the bottom of the laundry basket or buying a fresh sheet of stamps. As I carefully print my name, I fill with excitement about what will become of my notebook. I’m using this particular one for daily to-do lists and blog ideas, so it will help me remember to send in money for my children’s (I mean tween’s) recorders, as well as remind me to write an entry about my obsession with Harris Teeter’s Fuel Points program.

            The paper in my new notebook is nice and cushiony, and the cover is bright pink and orange (I can’t deal with dull colors in any facet of my life.) I look forward to writing in it every morning, and sometimes I even write in it at night if I’m tapped into my inner Martha Stewart (rare). 

            It’s a little thing, but if my 47 trips around the sun have taught me anything, it’s that little things carry just as much weight as their large counterparts. Sometimes a bad day can be revoked by a good parking space. Sometimes a stranger’s smile at the dry cleaners can make you realize that people aren’t so awful after all. Sometimes a warm blanket can make you feel like everything will be okay when things are so not okay. And sometimes a new notebook can give you the confidence you need to believe that things will get better. 

            That said, I will continue to write down everything I need to do each day, whether it’s picking up apples at the Teeter (points!), finding a gift for a kid’s birthday party or scheduling dinner with my dad, because each piece helps me build a future, and that’s no small thing. 

            For years my husband has begged me to not care so much about what people think of me. It’s not that he doesn’t want me to care at all; it’s just that he doesn’t want me to put so much emphasis on other’s opinions of me. He’s onto something, as it’s important to care a little, but it’s toxic to care too much, which happens to be where I’ve lived most of my life. .

            I’m the one who leaves parties replaying conversations in her head to make sure she didn’t say anything offensive (even if it was what I really thought). I’m the one who then apologizes to the friends (or random souls) that I happened to converse with at said party about a comment that they no longer remember. You can see what a huge waste of time and energy this is, and the truth is that it’s not all about me. It never has been, and it never will be.

            When you finally realize that every single action in your life doesn’t have to please, let alone affect, every single person in the world, you can begin living your own life. I’m just beginning to follow my arrow, and there are plenty of times when I relapse into my people pleasing tendencies. However, I have found that when I’m true to myself, things go so much better for me — and ironically for everyone around me. 

            We live in a world that is obsessed with perfection. It seems like almost every television show features a competition. You can’t just make a good cupcake. You have to make a cupcake that’s infused with bacon, looks like a geode and leaves a taste of marmalade in your mouth. Even if you accomplish this baking feat, there are three to four perfectly coifed judges (many with exotic accents and who look as if they’ve never been in the same room with a cupcake) that will tell you what you did wrong. 

            Don’t misunderstand me, constructive criticism is essential to becoming better at anything, but these shows revolve around petty comments and vapid commentary. They aren’t improving anything except their inflated opinions of themselves. 

            While you can turn off your television, which I highly recommend, you can’t turn off people’s tendencies to judge and critique. I’m judgmental, and I hate that about myself. If I see someone wearing what I deem is a ridiculous outfit, my mind instantly puts them on a Glamour Don’t page. It’s a terrible habit that I’m trying to break, but the problem is that our society isn’t trying to break it at all because it’s all we do. (I feel obligated right now to share my stance on the return of “high-waist mom jeans.” Anyone who was a teenager in the 1980s knows that this is a dreadful mistake that has no place in anyone’s wardrobe. No one looks good in these things. I repeat no one. Make it stop.) 

            Last week I went to a performance at the legendary Ryman Auditorium in Nashville. This is sacred ground for country music and music in general. My dear friend who just moved to Nashville treated me to a Dolly Parton tribute concert. The level of musicianship I heard that evening was astounding. These folks could play and sing anything on demand. 

            At the end of the evening, a singer came on stage and began singing Parton’s hallmark hit I Will Always Love You (aka the Olympics of belting). The band gave her one note, and she began beautifully singing the first verse a capella. When the band came back in, she was way off key. Instead of pretending it didn’t happen and switching to their key, she stopped singing and asked if she could try it again. The keyboardist gave her the note, she sang the first verse beautifully once more and this time when the band came in, she nailed it. By the end of the song, folks were giving her a standing ovation, and I was one of the first ones on my feet. 

            This young woman had a magical voice, so much so that I’ll probably attend a tribute concert for her one day, but what I loved about her the most was that she screwed up and tried again. She owned that she wasn’t perfect right in the middle of the Ryman Auditorium stage. It was one of the coolest performances I’ve ever seen, and it made me respect her not just as an artist, but also as a human being. 

            I’ve screwed up a lot in my lifetime, and I’m not finished making mistakes. For years I would hide my blunders — think SAT scores, bangs, taking the wrong job, my lack of knowledge regarding literary classics and believing that Sun-In was a viable hair-coloring tool. I was afraid that if people discovered I wasn’t perfect or that I wasn’t the perfect person they envisioned me to be, I would disappoint them. It’s only been in the past couple of years that I’ve realized how much that doesn’t matter one damn bit.  

            I am who I am. I’m messy. I wasn’t a debutante. I hate iceberg lettuce. I’ve never read Little Women or seen The Sound of Music. My 47-year-old face still breaks out. There are people in this world that I really don’t like. I don’t understand why folks are obsessed with the Kardashians. My teeth are chipped because I grit them so hard when I sleep. I go to IKEA to buy my good furniture. I never watched Downton Abbey until I went to see the movie with my friends. And I hate snow skiing. There, the truth is out. 

             I AM NOT PERFECT, but I am perfectly good at being me. Slowly but surely, I’m beginning to see that that’s not so bad, and that, my friends, is a tremendous Wink of Goodness. 

            The beauty of our lives is in the messes we make and what we do with them. If we kick them under the rug, they lose their power. If we bring them out into the light, we can study them carefully, reaping wisdom by the score. 

            This past year has been one of the hardest of my life, but I know that I will forever refer back to it because of the lessons I learned. If 2019 had been all sunshine and rainbows, I wouldn’t give it a second thought. So while society keeps perpetuating its obsession with perfection, I’ll be applauding for the singers out there starting over. 

            It finally happened. Summer’s fever broke. This past Saturday, I awoke to what can best be described as a crisp fall day, complete with a few rain sprinkles and fallen leaves for extra credit. 

            As soon as I breathed in the cool air, I began making plans to give my front stoop the makeover I had promised. For weeks, I walked down my front steps while scorched geraniums stared back at me with the expression of “really?” I reassured them that once it was cool I would take them out of their misery, but I refused to replace them with anything that was remotely living until I knew that we were indeed autumn bound.

            By Sunday afternoon, the back of my minivan was filled with yellow pansies and orange pumpkins. (If my car weren’t so messy, it would have looked like a Lands’ End ad.) I quickly slipped on my garden gloves and went to work, casting away plants made crunchy by a relentless summer and a lazy waterer. It felt good to rip away the old and replace with the new. 

            As I tucked the yellow blossoms into their new home, I knew that I wasn’t just planting flowers. I was laying a foundation of hope for the fall — for me and for so many of my friends. Recent conversations (and posts for the matter) have brought me to the conclusion that almost everyone I love is going through something challenging right now.         

For some, it’s health issues — big ones. For others, it’s work transitions, complicated marriages or kid troubles. Regardless of the details, it’s all for real, and one of the best ways to show that you believe things can get better is to plant something. By sticking a plant in the ground, you’re telling yourself and the rest of the world that you think it has a chance of becoming something better, something that can make people happy. There’s no reason we can’t think the same of ourselves.

            I’ve always looked at the change of seasons as little New Year’s Eves. They offer us a chance to start fresh, make new goals and even dress differently. And the best part is that it’s not a big deal. Yes, people want to scarf down anything pumpkin –flavored as soon as the calendar turns to October (I keep waiting for pumpkin-flavored cough syrup), but the world isn’t forcing you to set resolutions and reinvent yourself every Halloween. This is your little secret, and that makes it a powerful Wink of Goodness. 

            If things are going well for you, by all means, continue cruising through the calendar. But if your summer was a hot mess, which it literally was if you live in the South, this is your opportunity to go a different way and see what’s down another road. If you’re at an intersection, open your eyes and you’ll see me trying to figure out which way to go. I haven’t charted a course yet, but I have faith that I will. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have planted flowers. 

Every Friday I share the Winks of Goodness I experienced throughout the week in the hopes of inspiring you to do the same thing. I’ve found that writing down and formally acknowledging these suckers gives them more power. I encourage you to share your own Weekly Winks on my site (still figuring some technical stuff out on that if you have trouble) or social media. So look around and write it down — share the goodness.   

Saturday — A yellow butterfly flew by as we were packing our minivan in the driveway, preparing to leave for Lake Tillery. Thanks, mom. 

Sunday— I met my friend’s new baby during his first trip to Lake Tillery. This adorable bundle of goodness is less than two weeks old. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. It’s all about the circle, and he was such a beautiful reminder of that.  

Monday — During my run at the lake, I saw two bluebirds immediately after I passed a house with a bluebird flag and mailbox. Later in the day, two more bluebirds flew to the top of our gazebo. To understand the significance of bluebirds at Lake Tillery (Stanly County), click on The Little Bird tab on my homepage. 

Tuesday— Our next-door neighbor at the lake did her homework early so she could play with The Tots. A junior in high school, she took the time to fish, canoe and swim with them. And it was all her idea. 

Wednesday— I woke up with two cats snuggling next to me. They missed us just as much as we missed them while we were gone. 

Thursday — I interviewed a man who truly loves his work. Inspiring. 

Friday— Miami Sound Machine’s Conga came on the radio as I drove Graydon to school. He immediately closed his book and started dancing in the backseat. It made my whole day!

Happy week!

            Every Friday I share the Winks of Goodness I experienced throughout the week in the hopes of inspiring you to do the same thing. I’ve found that writing down and formally acknowledging these suckers gives them more power. I encourage you to share your own Weekly Winks on my site (still figuring some technical stuff out on that if you have trouble) or social media. So look around and write it down — share the goodness.   

Saturday — A lovely lady was selling clay bead necklaces at the Davidson Fall Art Festival (super fun festival, by the way) for $20. She planned to give all the money she earned to the Lake Norman Community Health Clinic, so I bought one. There’s nothing better than being fashionable for a good cause. Props to this woman for spreading goodness. 

Sunday— Butterflies were everywhere. Two yellow ones danced around our patio in the morning, and later I spotted five yellow butterflies whirling around my geraniums. Then on my in-law’s patio, a butterfly flew right by my face. I saw another one as soon as I met my friend at the pool. She said she had been there for an hour and hadn’t seen any butterflies until I arrived. Thanks, mom. 

Monday — Got a hug from Mr. Bob at The Fresh Market. I hadn’t seen him in a while, so it was good to catch up. His mother also had Alzheimer’s, so he knows about this bastard of a disease. 

Tuesday— Saw the old lady booking it up Catawba Avenue this morning. I hadn’t seen her lately, so I’m glad she’s okay. For more info on her, read the Take a Good Look Around entry from June. 

Wednesday— Spotted a huge (I mean Clifford-like) dog sticking his head out of the sunroof of a Cadillac at the Harris Teeter in Davidson. He was so happy!

Thursday — Graydon made “fun passes” for our upcoming long weekend at Lake Tillery by using his calculator. Love him so much!

Friday— The Tots are so excited about going to their first high school football game tonight. I can’t wait to share Friday Night Lights with them. Go Spartans!

Happy week!

Sometimes in bed at night I get the heebie-jeebies. I’m sure there’s a more scientific term for this, but I studied journalism in college, not medicine, and every time I Google a medical ailment, I leave the search certain that whatever I have is going to kill me. That said, we’re ditching WebMD and going with heebie-jeebies. 

            I never know when it’s going to happen until I find myself twisting and turning every few seconds through the night in search of a peaceful state. Moving to the living room couch usually remedies the situation, but right now the couch isn’t helping, and it’s not nighttime. I’m feeling the heebie-jeebies constantly, and I can’t seem to figure out a way to stop it.  

            Change in life is a given, and I’m usually a big fan of it, but right now I’m not sure what to do with it. It’s been a little over a month since my beautiful mother stopped breathing, and in that month, I haven’t been able to catch my breath. I haven’t been this tired since I had newborn twins, and I find it ironic that it takes just as much energy to bring someone into the world as it takes to usher them out. 

            Grief is exhausting, and unless you’ve been in the throes of it, which we all will be at some point, you don’t realize that. No matter what form it takes — crying, yelling, sitting, sleeping, shopping, running — it’s exhausting. And it’s cruel how it plays hide and seek with your emotions. On the days you think you’ll be miserable, you wake up feeling fine. Then a regular old day will turn into the Super Bowl of sorrow when you hear a certain song or phrase that connects you to your missing piece. 

            I’m not someone to sit still, but I’m getting better at it because I know that’s what I need to do right now. I don’t want to rush through all of this without gleaning what I need from it to move on in a healthy, maybe even enlightened way. That would be a waste. 

            It’s no secret that I’m a huge Kacey Musgraves fan, and her song Slow Burn pretty much sums up where I am right now. (If you haven’t heard it, go to YouTube and look up her live performance of it at the CMA Awards — perfection.) When I heard her sing this live last week in Charlotte, I knew what the song meant to me, and I was so happy when I later read that the song means the same to her. 

            “It’s just an ode to the pace of something unfolding in a nice and slow way. …The best things in life are a slow burn — something you enjoy the journey of,” said Kacey on The Boot website.

         I can’t say that I’m enjoying my journey right now, but I am grateful for it. The lessons I’m learning and the beauty I’ve seen in the last few months can’t be predicted or purchased. And somewhere underneath all this sadness and uncertainty, Winks of Goodness flitter around like fire flies, lighting my way back to life. 

            So every morning, I wake up and keep my eyes peeled for the good stuff — a kiss on the cheek from my husband, hugs from my kids, snuggles from our cats, the random person holding the door, and all the sweet souls who’ve lost their mothers and share their stinging stories with me. 

            As Kacey sings in Slow Burn, “Old soul waiting my turn, I know a few things, but I’ve still got a lot to learn, so I’m alright with a slow burn.”             

I’m getting to the point where I’m all right with it, too. 

            Every Friday I share the Winks of GoodnessI experienced throughout the week in the hopes of inspiring you to do the same thing. (I realize that it’s Sunday, but Friday was our 16^th wedding anniversary, and John took the day off. The last thing I wanted to do was look at a screen. Then yesterday, Saturday, was the month anniversary of mom’s passing, and I didn’t feel like looking at a screen then either, as grief is for real.) So back to Weekly Winks. I’ve found that writing down and formally acknowledging these suckers gives them more power. I encourage you to share your own Weekly Winks on my site (still figuring some technical stuff out on that if you have trouble) or social media. So look around and write it down — share the goodness.   

Saturday — Our next-door neighbor’s dog (Cade) jumped up on the hammock with me while I was reading. He is the sweetest thing.

Sunday— I had a much-needed meltdown while taking a walk. It felt good to get some of this sadness out. 

Monday — I volunteered in Graydon’s fourth grade classroom. These kids were so inquisitive that I thought their arms were going to fall off from raising their hands so much. I clearly need to start having what they’re having. NOTE: Teachers are amazing!

Tuesday— Found a smiley face magic eight ball when I helped my dad clean off his desk. Score!

Wednesday— Larry the butterfly (the butterfly that appeared in Graydon’s class two days after mom’s memorial service) took flight. Go, Larry, go!

Thursday — Had my picture taken with a neon butterfly at the Kacey Musgrave’s concert. (If you’ve never listened to Kacey’s music, go do it right now. Go!) Follow Your Arrow is one of my favorite songs of all time, along with a ton of her other songs. She is awesome sauce, pure and simple. 

Friday— Saw a little turtle sunning on a log at the pond at Roosevelt Park. Nothing was bothering this dude. 

Happy week!

Every Friday I share the Winks of Goodness I experienced throughout the week in the hopes of inspiring you to do the same thing. I’ve found that writing down and formally acknowledging these suckers gives them more power. I encourage you to share your own Weekly Winks on my site (still figuring some technical stuff out on that if you have trouble) or social media. So look around and write it down — share the goodness.   

Saturday — Margot and I went to the Yiasou Greek Festival in Charlotte. For a play-by-play of that adventure, read the Two Tickets to Paradise entry. Opa!

Sunday— Margot played with my hair all afternoon, trying all sorts of styles she found online, while I worked on a freelance story — best working conditions ever. 

Monday — Walked with my soul sister, Regina, in the afternoon after turning in said freelance story. So lucky to have her in my life!

Tuesday— The Tots and I discovered an Eastern Box Turtle in our driveway before school. For those who don’t know, the Eastern Box Turtle is the official state reptile of North Carolina and was designated as such in 1979. In addition, these guys are beautiful. Margot named him Shelly. 

Wednesday— My acupuncturist and I had an enlightening conversation about the significance of seeing a turtle. Upon further reflection, I realized three turtles have crossed my path in the past few weeks. Time to slow down. 

Thursday — Mrs. Ann, one of my favorite teachers at my children’s school, helped The Tots get out of the van at morning drop-off. She was wearing a beautiful pink T-shirt that read “Be Kind.” She is such a kindred spirit. I just love her. 

Friday— Found out that Jimmy Buffett is coming to Charlotte in April. He knows I need him. 

Happy weekend!