Journal Entry 6

10 mil (alright, more like 6 and some change after taxes)!!!! If I was a rich girl...

• A nice digital camera with at least 12 megapixels would be bought so I could document all the nice places that I would travel.
• I wouldn't stop with my education until I got a PhD.
• Everyone in my family for the next ten generations in my family would have a free college education.
• I would buy a HUGE historic house on the bay in Savannah, Georgia.
• I would also buy a house in Nasheville Tennessee.
• My closest friends and family would have nice houses as well.
• Live up to my name through Philanthropy- a shelter for battered women would definitely be started in my hometown in Tennessee- and the women would afforded an education.
• Most of the money would be invested and living would be made off the interest.
• I would buy an Hermes Birkin bag (and hopefully bypass the waiting list).
• I would also buy an awesome set of pearls.
• My mother and I would go on a trip to Ireland.
• I would hire a chef and personal trainer.

Journal Entry 5

This was a moment in my life that was so shocking and defining that I refer to all my memories as the 'before and after' of this incident.

I was fifteen and hated the world. My parents sat me down to have a talk. I don't remember too much. Something about divorce. Adultery. Tears. It was one of the only times I ever saw my father cry. My somber tears feel like rain. This may not be shocking to most, but one never expects it to happen to them. Everything was different after that... even me.

Journal Entry 3

There is nothing more embarrassing than going to a store (which for me if very often) and having a card decline. I have personally never had a card decline due to lack of funds- the lines have always been down. But then you end up holding the line up and other customers get irrate and think that you are broke. Additionally, places that only take cash should be banned. I say this because I am spoiled rotten and American, but it is really embarrassing to be shown a sign that says "cash only" (not at the door of course, but at the register), and then realize that your cart is a lot fuller than your wallet.

Journal Entry 3

“True heroism is remarkably sober, very undramatic. It is not the urge to surpass all others at whatever cost, but the urge to serve others at whatever cost." ~Arthur Ashe

I am very blessed. Many people who have graced my life could earn the title of 'hero'. But if I had to choose one in particular, it would be my grandmother. She is the epitome of grace and class. She was married to a Senator, and I used to walk around in her heels and pearls, wishing that I could grow up one day to have her Jackie-O style. She is a southern belle, sweet as can be. But don't put your elbows on the table unless you want a harsh scolding. Never chew with your mouth open. ALWAYS have manners.

My grandmother also did a great deal of community work. She taught me how to love what I have, and made me work in facilities to prove that others had less. She taught me to never look down on the less fortunate, or squash people on my way upto success- the only way to live a good life is with an open heart. She taught me that money, fame, and fortune are fleeting- but no one can take away character.

Five years ago, my grandmother was diagnosed with bone cancer. They told her she had two months to live. She looked at the doctor and said, "Only God knows how long I have." Shortly thereafter, she was accepted into a stem cell program. A series of tests were conducted on a range of individuals who were 18-45 years old. She was 70 and did better even than the 18 year old on ALL the tests. She changed the history of stem cell, and raised the oldest acceptance age from 45 to 70. They are writing books on her remarkable endurance.

A month ago, my grandmother lost her husband. She had to be in a wheelchair, but refused to sit down for the visitation. I walked in and saw her standing, waiting to greet hundreds of mourners. She laughed with some, cried with some, and hugged them all. She had so much elegance and grace, and looked like the poster child for Chanel. No one would ever guess that she is in her last stages of cancer.

Just this past week, I had to go to Florida on business. I told my grandmother where I was (six hours away), and she demanded that my mother drive her to see me. I had been upset over my grandfather dying, and she told me that if there was anything that our family needed, it was one another. Nevermind that her cancer had matastisized. Nevermind that her doctors ordered her to stay in bed. She was determined. That is love. And it is most certainly courage.

My grandmother has always been so positive. I have rarely seen her cry. Her endurance dumbfounds me. Sometimes the hero doesn't bring home all the awards. Sometimes the hero is not the war fighter, the ground breaker, or the money maker. Sometimes it is the person who holds you by the heart and whispers, "Go on."

Journal Entry 2

Liar, liar, pants on fire!!!!!!

This is yet another blog about my childhood. I plead the 5th if asked if I have gotten away with a lie recently...

As a child, I loved sweets. I had tons of extra weight and a few cavities to prove it. Anything that involved trans fat and/or sugar was annihilated immediately. One day, I was starving for some sugar. I searched all the cabinets in the kitchen but couldn't find anything that was sweet. Finally, in the back of one of the cabinets was a can of frosting sitting next to a box of cake batter. It was vanilla- my favorite. I needed, wanted it, had to have it. I really just needed a taste, so a plan was quickly developed. I would open it, and only take one ittybitty spoonful. Then I would smooth the frosting out on top, glue the foil back on the can, and VOILA!!! My mother would never know!

My genius plan quickly fell apart. The frosting wasn't totally smooth on top- it had a twirl effect. I had to put the can in the microwave and try to perfect the twirl. Three microwave sessions later, part of the can melted. And as for the foil plan- I couldn't find any glue. What was a girl to do? I was left with no choice but to eat the rest of the can of frosting. My gluttony inflicted two problems: (1.) I was sick and (2.) Where was I going to hide the evidence? After I threw up (problem #1 took care of itself), I hastily threw the can of frosting in my closet.

By day two, I was starting to get paranoid. Though no one had asked me about the icing, the evidence was burning a hole in my conscience and closet. I was afraid of my room getting searched, so I took the empty can of icing and hid it in the corner of the basement. That evening, my mother decided to bake a cake, but could not find the icing. She asked us we we knew where it was, and gave me an extra long glare. My family informed my mother that we had no idea where the icing was and then suggested that she could have forgotten to purchase it. This sent her over the edge. Cabinets were searched, slammed, and thrashed. Then off she went, squealing all the way out the driveway and down the road. She was a maniac on a canned icing mission. I would love to say that I felt awful, but I knew that she would calm down and bake. I saw no need in compromising my integrity (ahem, or lack of thereof). I knew that I could get a piece of cake- as long as kept my mouth shut.

Fifteen years later, I came clean to my mother. The overdue spanking never came. She laughed and told me that she thought she was crazy because she distictly remembered buying that can of icing. I am more slender now, and I try to be as honest as I can- some lessons just have to be learned with time. Until then, I have four famous last words: Let them eat cake.

Journal Entry 1

"Memories are the diary that we all carry around with us." ~Oscar Wilde


Archaic memories... let's see... my first...



I was a three year old and looked up to my older brother, though he could sometimes be a sissy. My family was in Pigeon Forge, Tennessee. It was our first night out there and we had just gotten to the hotel room. My father, exhausted, was watching television. My mother told him to watch us as she went to get ice. Without looking in her direction, he nodded and she headed out with the brown bucket. Shortly after my mother left, my father nodded off, and my brother headed for the door. I asked him where he was going, and he told me that he wanted to find my mother. He always was a momma's boy, but I wanted to explore so I asked if I could go too. He took my hand and off we went.



The hotel was HUGE!!!!!!!! I wanted to open each and every door, but my brother just wanted to find my mother. We walked hand in hand all around the hotel, but we never spotted my mother in her signature blue silk nightgown. This is where the tears started. My brother started wailing. I remember sitting next to him, rubbing his back and telling him that it would all be alright. I didn't want attention from strangers. So, I got up, held out my hand, and consoled my brother as we headed back around the hotel. I thought that I remembered the number to our room. 101? No. 118? Uhhhh... maybe, but I didn't think so. I saw room 119 and remembered that our room had ones and an upside down six. I thought this was the one, so I knocked. The door flew open, and there stood my mother in the silk nightgown that felt so soft and cool to the touch. Tears were streaming down her face, and my brother immediately jumped in her arms. I looked around the room and asked where my father was. She said that he was worried and looking for us. Then she told us something about danger and always having an adult with us. I blew it off, gave her a toothy grin, and exclaimed, "Momma, you'd be so proud of me--- I remembered the room number!!!!"





















My brother and I- eighties babies