FORE!

Shank, bogie, hook, put, drive, pitch, waggle...WHAT?

Sam and I golfed for the first time today with our third set of "Greenville Parents." (Everyone likes to adopt us here. I think it's because we're such suckers for free food and people take it as us liking them...though we DO really like them.)

Let me start off by saying that golf carts are my type of ride. They have these sweet emergency brakes on them and little cup holders with holes for your tees...simply adorable! AND they beep when they go in reverse. I was prepared to create the beeping noise as I put mine in reverse; then, to my delight, the machine did the beeping for me! What a dream.

I wouldn't go far enough to say that golfing is a dream, though. Thankfully, Sam is just as skilled at golfing as I am. So the level of competition didn't drive either one of us into fits of rage. We laughed at eachother non-stop as our "parents" gave technical advice on grips, foot-placement and follow-though. Of course, hitting myself with my own club brought about a giggle or two as well.

We did get better as the afternoon progressed. I eventually learned not to bounce like Tigger during my back swing. Sam tried a left-handed driver on our 6th hole and realized that he probably should have used left-handed clubs for the previous 5 holes...he is left-handed, you know!

It was definitely an entertaining afternoon. You gotta understand what we went through. We started golfing at 2:30 and...

9 lost balls, 10 black fly bites, 1 broken driver, 1 cart flat tire, 2 mini-hurricanes, 1 muddy shoe, 7 out of 9 holes, and 4 hours later, we decided we'd had enough and went out for chinese. Golf, anyone?

"Tara-dactyl" Sleeves

Trying to save a buck, I decided that I would make my own clothes with my sweet new sewing machine. I had great vision: tank tops, skirts, shirts...and eventually pants (then they might actually fit the junk in my trunk). However, great vision doesn't amount to much when coupled with amateur talent.

One day I drove 2 hours to Skowhegan because I heard about a cheap fabric shop. (often times I overlook the cost of driving to get something on sale or discounted...a major fault of mine) I, of course, had to stop at Walmart to get some patterns. Ideally, I wouldn't need a pattern but my past sewing sans-patterns was pretty unsatisfactory. At Christmas I tried to sew a snowman out of scrap fabric. I was overly cautious on the sizing and he turned out to be more of an egg man...then I threw him away.

Patterns. They never work for me. The first pattern I attempted was a 2 hour-pattern. It took me 3 days. Not to mention that I am such an odd shape. Depending on where I measure I am size 14, 8 or 6. They never work for me. But I keep trying, hoping for different results. Yeah, the definition of insanity at its finest.

I'm convinced that I will eventually create a breath-taking clothing item that American Eagle, Victoria's Secret or Ambercrombie & Fitch will pay me for the pattern...then I'll create a sizing chart that makes absolutely no sense to society and I'll be the only one who looks good in the item.
"That's what I'm talkin' 'bout," --Kip

I had a shirt nearly finished when Sam came home from work one evening. Ecstatic about my new item, I pulled it on. Sam's face shouted: "Clear the runway, she's about to take off, folks!" My cap sleeves were anything but a cap...they were wings. "Tara-dactyl" wings.

My Life's Mantra

Several miserable attempts at playing basketball and soccer brought about the establishment of my life's mantra.

I rot at basketball...really rot. Ask me to shoot from anywhere on the court: I'll rock it! Ask me to dribble in between my legs like a spider: I'll destroy you! But ask me to shoot with pressure, or dribble in motion and I morph into a indescribable mess. Don't even get me started on soccer. In college, I discovered that the head UMaine men's soccer coach who instructed my "Methods of Teaching Soccer" course mocked me to his entire team, laughing at how uncoordinated and basically unteachable I was. Right about that time, I instated my life's mantra:

THOSE WHO CAN'T DO...TEACH!

If I could take it back, I would. But a life mantra is not to be taken lightly. I mean, it defines you, right? It becomes your blood, your air. There's no escape. It's like a bad hair-do; your friends will never let you forget it...especially your best friend.

When I student-taught PE at Bangor High, I'd always find out which students were sports team starters and have them demonstrate the skill for the day. And when I long-term subbed PE at Brewer High, the only time I did the demo was for floor hockey, ping pong, shuffle board or walk-jog. Those who can't do, teach.

This week was a humiliating documentation of my life's mantra. I shamefully type on......

After scouring my small town to find a job, I realized that I was out of luck and that I'd have to wait till the summer to start working again as a raft guide. So, you would have been as stunned as I was to get 4 phone calls from places wanting to hire me...all in less than a week. I first heard from the YMCA in Dover (a 50-minute drive one way) wanting me to personal train and lifeguard. While on the phone arranging an interview with the Y, I ignored a call from the hospital in Greenville (a 2.53-minute drive one way) asking me to drive the ambulance. On a trek to Bangor, I got a call from Moosehead Messenger, the local paper, wanting me to be their advertising sales representative (I never put an application there; they just like me, I guess). After all of this, I was asked to sub (a phenomenon because I hadn't heard from the Greenville school system since the first week of December).

***BACKGROUND: For 2 years, I facilitated college students' growth in the area of boundaries. I helped them practice saying "Yes" and "No" appropriately, how to separate other's emotions/responses from their own, and more of the like. Looking back, I thought I was one hot ticket with boundaries.***

Sam gave me his input on which he thought would be the best fit and I decided to act. I solidified my position with the ambulance, agreed to sub for that day, and planned on calling the YMCA. I mapped out my future conversation with the Y, and it went something like this: "Thank you for agreeing to meet with me. I've enjoyed talking with you over the phone and learning more about personal training. But after talking with my husband, I have decided to remove myself from the application process. I wish you the best in finding someone to fill that position."

Somewhere between hitting the send button and talking, I became overwhelmed. I thought, I've rescheduled once already. She's arranged her schedule to meet with me. She'll be disappointed if I cancel, if I back out, if I say "no." I don't want her to be disappointed. I have the power to make her happy. I want her to be happy. I need this perfect stranger to be happy. I can't cancel. I jut CAN'T cancel. I must say "yes."

When she answered, what came out of my mouth was something like this:
"Hi, this is Tara Heffner. Are we still on for Thursday? What time works best for you?"

THOSE WHO CAN'T DO....TEACH!

Are You Average?

According to several internet searches, world-wide slang for "toilet paper" include the following: loo paper, toilet roll, date roll, dunny roll, bog roll, bathroom tissue, toilet tissue, jacks roll, butt wipe, TP, or just tissue. (I will refrain from documenting other rather inappropriate slang.)

Upon more research I discovered that Americans purchase 26 BILLION rolls of throne manuscript each year. That averages out to 20,000 sheets of paper per person each year. Using the 20,000 sheets as a baseline, I've calculated that per day the sheet usage is 55 sheets!

Okay, I used to live with 5 other girls in college and I don't think WE even used 55 sheets a day.

Umm, hmmm, well, now that I think about it, besides Carrie (who would probably re-use loo paper if it were sanitary), I bet we flushed a significantly higher number of sheets than the average. I wish we hosted a competition to see who could rank the highest on a usage chart. The best was that you could tell who was on the pot just by the sound of the TP rolling. Jessie went to the bathroom the most, but definitely didn't use the most paper as she probably double counted the number of sheets (she was destined to work in a credit union). Janine was pretty cautious in her unravelling from the roll so as not to ruffle any feathers by using more than her share (that's just her style, and she came from an army of siblings). Erin, well, she wasn't around enough to put a dent in the fluffy wonder. Then there's Anna. You could hear the roll flutter for a solid 3 seconds before a nice clean rip occured prior to Anna leaving her porcelain pony. And I don't have a clue about my usage. Though, just this morning I intentionally only used 3 sheets. Another old roommate, Sarah, used to say, "Three for a pee." I remember arguing over this phenomenon because each brand of TP contains varying levels of absorption and safety!

Allow me to arrive at my point:

Over Valentine's Day weekend, Sam and I opened our home to a handful of freinds and family. For each dinner, we had 11 people in attendance. I don't believe it fair to count 11 people in my sheet usage evaluation for the weekend, however, I cannot find an equation to determine the amount of time each person existed in my home, let alone my loo. So, 11 it is. After crunching numbers and taking a quick potty break, my calculations revealed that the American usage average is EXACTLY the SAME for my commode comrades: 55 sheets per person per day. That amounts to 3 rolls of Sam's Club "Members Mark" bathroom tissue, the comfy, durable 2-ply style for a weekend of happy loo-ing.

Feel smarter now?

Sam and I just returned from a spectacular weekend in Quebec City, an early Valentine's Day Present! Tres amusant! Besides being surrounded by a population greater than 1,2oo people, staying in an amazing hotel, drinking out of a glass of ice, and swing dancing in the snow, I can honestly say that once again, Sam was the highlight of my weekend. Let me give you a few examples of what I experienced:

Sam trying to speak french. After almost 3 hours in the car practicing, I suggested he just speak English like a real ignorant American does.

Sam trying to order food. He starts out with "Bonjour" which ends up sounding just like it's spelled...hilarious. Then speaks English loud and slow, with repetition.

Bathroom Break. We stopped at a gas station in St. Georges for a quick potty visit. I went in first and read the sign above the light switch (in French) which said to leave the light on because it messes up their heat when it's off. I left the light on when I left. Sam darted in after me and I casually strolled up and down the aisles. As Sam left the bathroom, he turned the light out and started to walk out of the store. Just then, the cashier asked if he turned the light out (in French). Frozen with fear, Sam stood there looking at the man. Sam thought the man was yelling at him because he didn't buy anything...and I knew that that's what he was thinking. I was just out of sight when all this went down. Another man in the store said "You speak English, huh?" And I busted out laughing as the man turned the bathroom light back on! Sam left flustered of course embarassed. Poor thing. We hadn't even gotten to Quebec City and he was already stepping on foreign toes.

Valet parking. Sam valet parked for the first time in his life. Now that's not an enormous event because many people have never and will never valet park. What made me smile was how often he talked about how great valet parking really is!

Sam wanting to eat breakfast at Mike's...the most American eatery in the city.

Sam told me that driving in foreign countries stresses him out. Pretty funny considering that Quebec was his first driving experience in a foreign country and we drove on the same side of the road, ummm, and the signs were in French AND English most of the time.

Conversation example:
S: What does "au revoir" mean, Tara?
T: Honestly, Sam? (not in a rude tone, but a real questioning tone.)
S: Yeah. I wouldn't ask if I knew.
T: Didn't you take french in high school, Sam?
S: Yeah, but that was like 10 years ago!

Later I asked Sam exactly what he remembered from high school french. He said something about not answering any questions when called on in class. Translation: He passed because of his beautiful blue eyes.

**Please note** This post was not designed to expose my husband's lack of cultural experience. He said to blame his parents. :)

Greenville Entertainment

It started out of desperation when Sam was at the Ranger Academy for 10 weeks. Nothing incredibly out of the ordinary, really.

I've created my most recent Top 10 List of Things to Do in Greenville. This list is not all-inclusive and not restricted the the following:

10: Secretly learn the PO Box numbers of the townies while inside the Post Office.
9: Pretend to need groceries to see who works the Wednesday morning shift at Indian Hill Shop 'n Save (that's right, still a Shop 'n Save, no sell-outs in Greenville.)
8: Name the stray cats in town.
7: Walk every dead-end street to see if they really are dead-ends.
6: Hoard cookies from the credit union on "Credit Union Member Appreciation Day."
5: Stand outside the Hardware store and wait for extremely old men in F-250's to offer you a ride.
4: Dodge snowmobilers at Lily Bay State Park while on cross-country skis.
3: Count Moose.
2: Find a store in town that sells underwear.
1: Drive to Bangor.

Heads or Tails?

While discussing Greenville's current negative temperature (-13 degrees, -27 with the windchill) with Sam over breakfast, I began questioning the English language.

SAM: It's @ss cold out!
TARA: Exactly how cold is "@ss cold?"
SAM: Cold. Like...(pause)...your @ss is cold. @SS COLD, Tara. (smirk)
TARA: (silently thinking, then responds) Is there such a thing as "head cold" and would that be colder than my @ss?

Heads or Tails?