hypnotic stare...

This is her "is any of that chocolate coconut cake for me?" face...

And this is her "you've got to be kidding me, right? There is no evidence that a single, solitary piece of that crumb fell? How is it even possible that your boob-shelf didn't collect SOMETHING?" face...

tell me how you really feel...

This morning I awoke to a big, fat, gray cat sitting on my pillow eating my hair. I know that some of you might find this astonishing, but quite honestly, he does it every morning and I've learned that it's the best way to get rid of my split ends. Talk about saving money!

My routine is consistent – I awake, pee, feed the cats, jump in the shower, dress, blow dry my hair, and then I wake up the dogs. You know, those dogs who can't be bothered to get out from under the covers anytime before 7:30 am.

So, today, I arise to hair chewing and the cries of a cat who clearly has enough meat on his bones to last him until 2015. But as I head out into the kitchen to feed he and his partner in crime, Bailey, I realize something is amiss. Bailey, my sweet, little, black and brown tortie, is no where to be found. I call for her, spring into "mad momma" panic mode and start tearing the house apart. She's no where - not in any of her hiding places and not locked in the basement. I'm freaking out. This is a cat who is a total momma's girl and will do anything she can to get my attention. Unless of course, she's living with Mike at any given time and then she's HIS cat - can't even be bothered to say hello to me. Come to think of it, she's quite a little shit.

Anyway, no Bailey. Anywhere. I check the screened in porch, just in case, but I know that it's impossible that she's out there because she NEVER (read: NEVER) goes out on that porch. It spooks her out. It makes her wild. I call for her, whistle, and no Bailey. Until, from the underside of the bar, I hear this little whimper. She's hunkered down in the warmest place she can find, crying for her momma.

I'm relieved, guilt-ridden, and most of all I'm glad that I won't be any later for work. We come inside and I'm amazed at her clinginess to me. She doesn't want to eat by herself or even be left in a room alone. Poor baby, she's just suffered a traumatic experience and she wants her momma to comfort her. I bring her cat bowl back into the bedroom where I'm getting ready and she eats the rest of it there. I'm thinking, "aw, look at this little girl. So happy to be back inside and not wanting me to leave her again."

At that point, she looks at me, screams this blood-curdling howl, and pounces on my arm. She pounces on me like she's never attacked before and continues to scream at me as I wrestle her off me. It's like a scene from National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation. Once she's free, she stands at the edge of the room and berates me for a solid 2 minutes – screaming, hissing, crying – I think at one point she actually meowed, "how DARE you??" Here I am, being sympathetic to her cries and feeling so bad for her. When in her mind, all she wanted to do was disembowel me and send me to the Dexter set.

I got told off by an eight pound mini-cat this morning. Who else can say that? Huh? Come on, I'm listening.

Today, September 29

Today I celebrate the birthday of sweet Lynn. She truly is a miracle amongst all miracles and she loved me as no friend, present or past, ever could. I am so relieved that I can speak of her now with smiles and fondness instead of sadness and tears. It's a testament to the healing process and how it's neither guaranteed or on our timeline.

I know that many of you don't know Lynn's story. That's okay because her life was so much more than the story of her death. I reread the eulogy that I was fortunate to give at her funeral 9 1/2 years ago and it's as timely now as it was then. If you are interested, read on. But don't feel as if you must. I have not updated any of the grammatical issues - it just didn't seem necessary.

Happy Birthday, my sister. I hope that your 41 candles are setting Heaven afire today. 

Eulogy - June 18, 2002

"A woman of noble character, who can find?

For her price is far above rubies.

She is clothed with strength and dignity, she can laugh at the days to come.

She speaks with wisdom, and faithful instruction is on her tongue.

She watches over the affairs of her household and does not eat of the bread of idleness.

Her children arise and call her blessed, her husband also, and he praises her.

Many women do noble things, but you exceedeth them all.

Charm is deceptive and beauty is vain, but a woman who feareth the Lord shall be praised.

Give her of the fruit of her hands and let her works praise her in the gates."

The reading comes from Proverbs 31:10 and 26-31. I can't help but continue to go back to this passage as I reflect on the life of Lynn Robinson. It sums up, to me, the life that Lynn had built. Faithfulness and undying love to her husband, children and family - but above all, faith in her Lord Jesus Christ.

For those of you who are unaware, Lynn and I have been best friends since childhood. I would like to start by thanking Buddy, Janet, and Stanley for giving me, what perceive as the greatest honor. You have no idea how much this means to me and how I will cherish this for all my days.

I have thought about what I would say as I stand before you, constantly, over the past few days. Should I give you a brief history into the life of Lynn? Should I use stories to give you a glimpse into her day to day? Should I pass along words of wisdom that would help all of us understand this tragedy a little bit better?  I have decided that a little bit of each is the best option, as I could very well keep you here for a good 4 hours, should I share it all.

Elizabeth Lynn Carbaugh was born September 29, 1970 to Janet and Stanley Carbaugh. A curious, energetic, yet reserved child, she excelled in school and building friendships. She played daily with the children that lived in the neighborhood that Janet and Stanley still call home. Some of those childhood friends are here today. She continued to grow in her faith as a faithful attendee here at SCUMC. She was a member of the National Honor Society at her alma mater, James Wood High School in Winchester. She attended Lord Fairfax Community College and shortly after graduation, met the love her life, Buddy. Buddy and Lynn married on August 24, 1991 and started their lives together in a little apartment in downtown Winchester. Shortly, Rachel Elizabeth arrived to grace them with more happiness than either could have imagined. Ralph Raymond, or "BJ" as we all know him, followed four years later. Upon BJ's arrival, Lynn and Buddy decided that Lynn would leave her long-time position at Selma Medical Associates, to become a full-time mother.

Lynn was active in the Inwood Primary School PTA, the Stephens City UMC Preschool Board and here at the Stephens City UMC. She served on the Church Council and was instrumental in establishing the Partners in Faith Sunday School class that has grown from 6 members at it's inception 5 years ago, to almost 40 members now.

Those of us that spent our weekend evenings with Lynn, know that she was most affectionately referred to as "Ms. Milton Bradley." Game nights brought extremely tough competitions that usually ended in the girl’s team, myself and Lynn viciously defeating the boys team, my husband, Mike and Buddy. On the few times that we didn't win, you could see the mental gears churning in Lynn's head as she studied and memorized the answer to every question that she missed - just so it would never happen again.

Above all, she was a loyal mother, wife, daughter, granddaughter, cousin, niece and friend. There was no one in her life that didn't know how she felt about them. She was an avid writer and often found that the things she couldn't say in person were best said through a card, that she usually spent hours finding the perfect one. She adored her children and spent her life teaching them to be moral, loving, and faithful citizens. Rachel and BJ are a testimony to the life she lived. She was a faithful and loving wife to Buddy and always strived to keep him on his toes. Never knowing what might come out of her mouth, we were constantly amazed at her deep thoughts and her evaluation of situations. She valued her parents, grandmother, and the life that they had formed for her. It was through their faith that she often reflected on her own journey. She would not be the woman she is if it were not for you. For that, all of us that love her thank you.

The fact that we are here now, in this place, under these circumstances, is what I think is most surprising to all of us. Although none of us can understand the whys of our presence here today, we can be sure of several things.

First, Lynn loved us all. She spent her life befriending and loving all the people she knew. This trait was a direct link to her love for the Lord. It is through her love for Jesus Christ that she loved each of us. She knew that each person in her life was a gift from God and she treasured that gift with all that was in her.

Second, Lynn is with the Savior that she called her own. It is so hard for me to say goodbye to a friend and sister as special as Lynn, but I have to know that her place in heaven is a special one. God had a very special purpose for Lynn and he is using her now for to accomplish it.

Lastly, we all cannot help but feel angry, hurt, confused and full of sorrow. God understands that. Lynn, too, I have to feel sure. In my heart, I know that Lynn will continue to support Buddy with a loving hand in the raising of their children. He will feel her guidance and love when he needs it most. Rachel and BJ, Mommy will look down on you with love and admiration at the children and eventually adults you will become. She will guide you and be with you through those happiness-filled times and the sorrow filled times. Janet, Stanley, Maw Maw and all of the rest of her family, she will continue to comfort and help, as only Lynn could. She will be there in your smiles and your tears, proud of what the Carbaugh, Petrie and Robinson families are able to achieve.

To Buddy, Rachel, and BJ - Mike and I will never be far from you. We will help, love and care for you. That is my promise to you. To Janet, Stanley, Dot and her family, my prayers for strength and healing are with you daily. You are my family too and my pain is your. And lastly, to my friend, my sister, my confidant, my spirit - your place in my heart is permanent and life long. I love you and will miss you until I join you again.

Lynn, may God bless you and may God’s peace be with each one of us.

The things that made me...

This weekend I headed home to attend my twenty-year high school class reunion. I still have a hard time believing that I’m old enough to have been out of school for twenty years, but then I look at how my boobs have sagged and how my hair has changed color (without my permission, mind you!) and it all becomes clearer. I could be all ‘sunshine and roses’ and tell you that high school was the best time of my life and that the memories I have from those four years are irreplaceable, but I’d be a lying, saggy-boobed, gray haired big mouth.

For me, high school was only a means to get to college. If I had my preference, I’d skip straight from lip-syncing “Sylvia” in Gina Davis’ carport to my first day at Shepherd. But alas, I had to hurdle puberty and boys in order to get from that starting gate to the finish line. Don’t get my wrong, there are things about high school that I more than loved – friends I wouldn’t give up for a million bucks – but those four years are still simply just a piece of my life quilt…the ratty, torn, piece that you have to include because your great aunt with cataracts sewed it for inclusion.

High school was filled with too many stupid boys, one of which I’m proud to admit is now in federal prison for murder. I sure know how to pick ‘em, huh? That's another post for another day. TRUST ME!!!  It was also filled with tough relationships between myself and my family and going from a beanpole to growing aforementioned, once-perky boobs. Thankfully my father and I learned how to communicate, my sister and I became closer than I ever could have imagined, and I grew many other lumps and fat pockets that didn’t make those boobs seem so bad.

Singlehandedly, the best things about 1987 through 1991 were these people: Nick Martin, Justin Wright, Ginny Layne and Mari Yentzer. These five kooks were my fellow Forensic Team members – those that were my age and those that stuck it out for four solid years side by side with me. Just to be clear, Forensics is not simply the study of dead bodies in search of evidence and trauma. It is also the term used for team public speaking and debating. We did a lot of crazy shit on the activity bus during those years, but autopsy was not one of them.

There were many other team members that were part of this group, some older and some younger than us, but we were the core 5, the trouble-makers, the singers, the drama queens, the pains in the ass. Our fearless coach, Mr. Painter, whom I also spoke of here, either loved us or hated us – never both, and never somewhere in between.  When we won competitions, which we did often, we were loved. We were hated moments after when we shouted the Grease soundtrack at the top of our lungs from the back of the mini bus. Deep down I think Mr. Painter appreciated us keeping him awake, but he yelled anyway. It gave him something, other than singing along, to do.

The five of us met up this weekend for our reunion and I have to admit, we really haven’t changed all that much. We still jockeyed for attention, tried to command the floor with our stories, laughed out loud at every comment each other made and reminisced deeply. We told stories that made us spit our beer and reminded each other of things that we would long prefer to forget.

This team was my family for four years. I didn’t realize how much I missed them until we all spent five hours together on Saturday. I’ve made a promise to myself that me and my saggy boobs will be better at staying in touch.

My sincere one...

This is Kira. She's the most honest, genuine pup that I've ever had.

Kira is a rescue who came from the SPCA eight or so years ago. Prior to her stint at the shelter, she was found in a snowstorm, tied to a pole with a chain that was wrapped around her neck. That chain had been there so long that it had rubbed all the hair off her neck and embedded in her skin. That chain was a mere 2 ft long. While on the chain, she birthed a litter of puppies who were rescued at the same time she was.

We have yet to determine if she was beaten with a broom or a shovel, but there were many years that I couldn't walk past her with something long on a stick where she didn't cower in fear. There's just something so fundamentally wrong about treating a living thing in that manner and I thank my Lord every day that she found us and our hearts.

She now lives the life of a husky queen. She loves to play with Maggie (the hound dog) and she's kind to the cats. She's no longer scared of things and becomes the most loving cuddler once she trusts your motives. She makes my heart full and I'm a better person because I'm her mom.

me and my type A

I really love the house that I’m living in. I finally feel like I’m in a home that “feels” like Mike and I. It’s a 1920’s bungalow that has retained the charm of the era while being updated in the areas that count. Don’t get me wrong, I’d still love to modify the bathroom – which still contains a claw-foot tub – but, alas, it’s not in the plan.

It’s not in the plan because it’s a rental. I’m not big on renting, but Mike and I own two other houses right now and it’s just not possible to have a third mortgage. I spend enough money covering the gray hairs that I get from all the other chaos in my life. I don’t need a third mortgage chasing me like a three-legged monster in my dreams.

Sorry, where was I? Oh, right, it’s a rental. As much as I love this little house, there’s only so much work that I’m willing to do on my dime. Enter, my yard. The front yard is darling – shrub-lined walkways and beautiful flowers – all framing a large front porch that’s perfect for Pinot and neighbor watching.

It’s the backyard that is the bane of my existence. There’s great possibility, due in large part to the massive screened in porch and deck that expands off the back of the house. As you can see from the photo below, the fat cat LOVES the deck and would seriously spend all day everyday out there if I gave him the chance. I’ve added comfy furniture, the bar and a dartboard to the porch, so it’s the PERFECT party spot. My newfound Chattanooga friends have experienced the fun more than once this summer.

The issue is with neither of these things – porch or deck. The issue is the fact that The Blair Witch Project was apparently filmed in my backyard.

The yard is about 50 yards deep. Width doesn’t really matter for the frustration I’m about to share with you. Of this 50 yards, there are four rows of rocks that have started at one end, and been planted in the ground all the way to the other end. Apparently, at one point in the 90 year history of this house, someone had four, long, vertical flower beds in the yard. The issue is this: now those beds are filled with grass and are well suited to be mowed with the rest of the yard. There’s no need for the flower beds to be in those locations and, therefore, they can just be nice extensions to the lawn. The problem they cause with the lawn mower is unacceptable. I can’t mow the grass with any level of ease and I’m annoyed every single time I have to wind my way through the yard, avoiding more areas than I mow.

With approximately 600 feet of rock, I had the bright idea to just dig them up. I figured, if they are just garden edgers, they can’t be that big, right? Well, enter “stupid, overly-aggressive, can’t-get-a-bad-idea-out-of-her-head Golladay”. I started digging a few days ago, thinking that I could get the rocks moved in a matter of hours. Three sessions, one pulled hamstring and several gallons of sweat later, I’m about 1/3 of the way finished. The problem, you ask? How about the fact that each rock is about 12” wide by 12” long and only about 2” of that rock is above the surface? Who uses HUGE stones to line a garden and plants them that far underground?? It sucks, but I can’t stop at this point.

This is what one third of the rocks look like. FML

What does this little exercise in outdoor entertainment teach me? That I’ll NEVER AGAIN let Mike off the hook for a job like this. Yea, SURE you have to be at vet school. SURE you can’t help me with anything remotely labor intensive until May 13. SURE you “wish” you could do some of the heavy lifting. Ladies – if your husbands ever tell you that they have finally decided what career they want to pursue – say a quick “no.” Encourage them to live out their midlife crisis through a sports car or hair implants.

The Captain

The fat cat.
The spoiled fur ball.
The boy who can't navigate the litter box and opts for kitchen tile.
The one that loves me so much it hurts.
Captain Tony Terracino.