Life in Chattanooga: Ramblings of a stay-at-home dad, pastor's husband, brother, son, all around silly guy, schmuck, and whatever else you’d like to call me.
We have the America’s Got Talent group in the hotel today and it is crazy packed with a line around the building and going west down Union. They’re here for two days and surely some sliver of talent will be found in Music City U.S.A.
I’m not a big fan of the show but I might have to watch to see how we fare as a talented city. For now, I will hide in my office and try not to come out.
The Young Extroverted One is doing very well at her G.O.A.L. hockey clinic. She is in her third week and starting to skate like a pro. Well, as professionally as a five year old can. If it were me and I had a week inbetween sessions I would be starting from scratch every week. Meaning I would be picking myself up off of the ice a lot. I would need to practice every day to get to the point where she is right now.
Week one: she was falling non-stop even with the walker-thingy. Week two: less falling and better with the walker (or should it be called a skater?). The instructors also showed the kids how to get up from the ice. Which seems very difficult and was for the YEO. Week three: “skating” without the skater, a puck handling skill session with Terry Crisp and a little better at getting up from a fallen position.
Being on the other side of the glass I have found it very difficult to watch my child fall or be knocked accidentally over by others. I have found that I need to peel my face off of the glass after such incidents. I just want to be there to hold her hand and push other kids away that might even look like they’re going to knock her over. It wouldn’t be that helpful considering I would probably knock her down because I can’t skate. Plus, she is handling this all much better than I am and keeps trying her hardest to get back up. We constantly reference the Superchick song, “Get Up.”
Talking with Terry Crisp after the session he told me that she corrected him because he was saying her name wrong. Um, YEO? Yeah . . . hey. Um, that’s Terry Crisp. He played center for the Bruins, Blues, Islanders and Flyers. He was an assistant coach for the Flyers and the head coach for the Flames and Lightning. He won TWO Stanley Cups with the Flyers and won a cup as the Flames’ coach. As far as I’m concerned he can call you, me, anyone whatever he wants. Mkay?
As the Elder Extroverted Holy One and I were taking the Young Extroverted One to her grandmother’s house for the night we had quite a surreal encounter. At the stop sign of our street waiting to turn onto Gallatin Road a vision in a faded magenta-ish velvet jumpsuit and purple suede-like shoes with black bushy hair and sideburns crosses in front of us. Pushing a shopping cart. What a time not to have a camera or a cell phone with a camera!
He turns and looks at us through his big, wraparound, bejewelled sunglasses and says, “You didn’t think you’d ever see the son of Elvis pushing a shopping cart, did you?”
Um, I didn’t think I’d ever see the son of Elvis ever! Let alone pushing a cart on Gallatin Road. I was so astounded freaked out that I didn’t even notice what he was pushing in his cart. But I did notice his purple suede shoes.
I thought I was having a flashback to when I was in Key West during Fantasy Fest (unbeknownst to me) and was passed by a pink Cadillac full of popes and a drag Marylin Monroe.
Saw this guy at a golf course country club thingy today. The Elder Extroverted Holy One’s older brother and his wife, daugter and son are in town this week and we had brunch with them somewhere around Hendersonville. This high-falutin’-collared-tucked-in-only-unless-it’s-designed-not-to-be-tucked-in-shirt-only place seemed a little out of the ordinary for William Lee Golden. But then again I don’t know they guy at all. He just didn’t blend in well with all of the other short haired yuppy, quite possibly replubican types that were browsing the pro shop.
**This post is dedicated to my mom. A country music fan for whom I need to update with all my country music artist brushes with fame. It makes her really jealous.**