Hobnobbery

My sister and brother-in-law just got back from London, where they had a fabulous (but wallet-draining) time. They went out one night and rubbed elbows with celebrities. My sister used to hang with some actors during her L.A. days — but I didn’t realize they were A-listers.

Brother-in-law and Samuel L. Jackson engaged in an intense conversation, possibly discussing the meaning of Ezekiel 25:17.



My (married) sister seems a little too familiar with Sean …



… even taking a sip of Connery’s cocktail.



My brother-in-law gets his flirt on with his beloved Susan Sarandon …



… but scores with fellow CHS grad Julia Roberts.



My sister helps Tom Jones get ready for the floor show.



The brother-in-law has Spielberg’s attention. Expect a sweeping epic about high-school football referees next Christmas.



I have no idea what’s going on here. Appears my sister is breathing life into the we-thought-he-was-dead Bob Marley.



If you’re headed to London, go here to party with the glitteratti.

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The Gall of That Bladder!

My sister had her gall bladder removed last week. Twenty years ago, this would have been major surgery. Last week it was an outpatient laparoscopic procedure.

That still astounds me. A few holes were cut into her abdomen … her gall bladder was removed … and she was home by lunch hour.

I lucked out with the Tuesday Nightingale shift, while her husband went to the office. It was a tough shift, including laborious tasks such as sitting with her on the deck, watching the TiVO’ed Oprah/Letterman interview together, talking to the dog and cat, reading and chatting and laughing and napping. Spending time with the sister is always fun.

Hanging with the sister: the early years. I’m on the right.

Having a gall bladder removed is almost a rite of passage among the Coffey clan. My dad had his removed, as did his mother and a brother (and possibly his sister; she can’t remember), and a couple of my cousins.

So, the sister no longer has a gall bladder. With our family history, I stand a chance of losing the organ, so I think it’s time for us to learn just what that li’l ol’ pear-shaped organ does. Thanks to Google, we can all hit biology class while slaving away at our office desks.

The gall bladder stores bile, a fluid made by your liver to digest fat. As your stomach and intestines digest food, your gall bladder releases bile through a tube called the common bile duct. The duct connects your gall bladder and liver to your small intestine.

Your gall bladder is most likely to give you trouble if something blocks the flow of bile through the bile ducts. That is usually a gallstone. Gallstones form when substances in bile harden. Gallstone attacks usually happen after you eat. Signs of a gallstone attack may include nausea, vomiting, or pain in the abdomen, back, or just under the right arm.

Fortunately, the gall bladder is an organ that you can live without. Bile has other ways to reach your small intestine.

Pop quiz: Can you find the gall bladder? Bonus points if you can name all parts — without Googling, of course.

Your Digestive System

The sister’s stitches were removed this morning, and she’s thriving. I wish she’d have something else removed; I like hanging out on her deck all day.

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Unlock My Body and Move Myself to Dance

I saw one helluva amazing show Tuesday night: Wilco. At Chastain Park Amphitheater. In the rain.

It’s been years since I last saw Wilco live — all the way back to September 2001, at the Roxy, right after Reprise Records rejected Yankee Hotel Foxtrot and they were looking for a new label home. That was a great, raucous show.

I went with the Scriveners in January to see the solo Jeff Tweedy show — with the always entertaining, always adorable Scott McCaughey as opening act. Fan-damn-tastic show, much different from what I thought I'd see. I really should have written about that one, but I was on a bit of a blog break. Scrivener tells that story well.

I was lucky enough to go with the Scriveners to see this Wilco show. Wilco is Scrivener’s R.E.M., and it’s always fun to see a concert with someone who feels that level of passion for the band. He got us seats on the tenth row, in the center. We didn’t see much of Scrivener once Wilco hit the stage, though; he moved up to the front to get photos, and watched most of the show from there. Mrs. Scrivener, my niece and I held down the tenth row.

Tweedy’s barely visible under the center spotlight

I see a fair amount of concerts every year, so getting my aural socks blown off takes a lot. Of the ten or so shows I’ve seen this year, Tuesday’s Wilco show is the best so far (followed closely, very closely, by January’s Glenn Tilbrook show; I may still write about that one, it was so fab).

I’m still mystified why Wilco doesn’t get any radio play. We have two alt-rock commercial stations in Atlanta, neither of which have played a Wilco tune to my recollection. Couldn’t they take three or four of those droning Dave Mathews songs (they all sound the same, so nobody will notice) and plug in some Wilco? My brother and sister-in-law heard some of the Wilco show broadcast from Bonnaroo last weekend, and they liked what they heard. I think most people would like the Wilco they hear. Programmers, are you listening (well, reading)?

Why was it such a great show? Well, first of all, you have Wilco on stage. A healthy, enthusiastic Wilco.

How do you get the band enthused? By dancing in the rain. Atlanta’s been suffering through one mutha of a drought this year, one of the worst we’ve had in years. So bad that planned Fourth fireworks displays are already being canceled. But not Tuesday.

It was a dark and stormy night.

The sky blue skies faded into rain clouds, clouds that soaked the city. And the Wilco show was an outdoor one. It misted during the opening act (Low), but it started pouring as soon as Wilco hit the stage. And continued to rain hard throughout the show, until the second encore.

But did that stop the Wilco fans? Hell, no! We donned rain ponchos, wiped off running mascara, and danced the night away. Glances to the back of the amphitheater showed that maybe 95 percent of us hung in for the full show, standing and dancing and singing. Abandoning the adult in the rain probably added to the greatness of the show, but it would have been kick-ass show in sunshine, too.

The niece enjoys a night soaked with Wilco

More soaked fans

The guys in Wilco got a kick out of it. Tweedy said they could see what we were standing in so he was going to “minimize the talk and maximize the rock.” And maximize they did. Those guys played their hearts out. Tweedy’s voice was lovely, perfect on a rainy night (on any night, for that matter). I think they’re better live than on albums … and they’re fabulous on their albums.

Setlist

Either Way
You Are My Face
Impossible Germany
Sky Blue Sky
I Am Trying to Break Your Heart
Kamera
Handshake Drugs
Shot in the Arm
Side with the Seeds
Shake It Off
War on War
Jesus Etc.
Hate It Here
Walken
I'm the Man Who Loves You
Hummingbird

Encore 1:
Via Chicago
Spiders (Kidsmoke)

Encore 2:
Heavy Metal Drummer
Outtasite (Outta Mind)

Sky Blue Sky is one of my favorite albums so far this year … and what a thrill it was to hear Wilco kick off the show with the first four tracks. And they performed many of my favorites. I have way too many Wilco faves to expect to hear them all. The one I most wanted to hear and dance to was “Heavy Metal Drummer,” and I got that thrill during the second encore. The rain slowed to a trickle about halfway through that number.

The aforementioned Ms. Lemke was also at the show. A Wilco newbie, she left happy and thrilled. There were two songs she most wanted to hear — “Impossible Germany” and “Jesus Etc.” — and she got to experience both.

Six years is too long between Wilco shows, I discovered. From this point on, I’ll do my damndest to catch every Wilco tour.

p.s. My photos suck. My camera got too wet, I’m a bit too short to shoot in a crowd, and I’m not a great photographer. Click over to Scrivener’s page; he’s in the process of uploading his far superior photos on Flickr.

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UPDATE: Check out Scrivener’s photos of the show!

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It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

I hope you had a lovely weekend, whether or not you’re celebrating the Christmas season. I had a joyous, family-filled weekend.

I spent Friday evening with my mother. We went to the historic Marietta square (home of Joanne Woodward and Bugsy’s Virginia Hill), where we wandered through the shops and enjoyed an Italian dinner. The weather hovered in the low seventies, so it was nice to stroll along the square, white lights luminating our way.

The rest of the weekend was spent with my sister. We left her husband at home to go out for a Mexican dinner and margarita pitchers, then shopped at a nice outdoor, upscale shopping center near her place. The place was filled with white lights and Christmas songs, and we spent and sang and sashayed our holiday spirit up and down The Avenue. When we got back, we had a great spend-the-night party, curling up on the bed with the dog and cat to watch a movie. And the best part: She always gets up to make me breakfast the next morning.

I don’t write about my sister much on the blog, and that’s just plain wrong. She’s one of my very favorite people in the world. For some reason, when I’m with her I’m more the person I wish I were all the time — kinder, laid back, relaxed, funny. Don’t get me wrong — I’m still snarky and sarcastic and catty when we’re together, just in a kinder, gentler way. But when we argue … well, it ain’t pretty.

We’re just eighteen months apart, so we’re as much friends as we are sisters. We’re nothing alike and we’re very much alike. She loves sports and yardwork, I love concerts and hitting the town. We're both funny and outgoing and loud and full of energy. She’s the most fun person to spend time with, and I’m glad I spent the weekend with her.

Today’s Christmas Playlist

Ella Fitzgerald: Santa Claus Got Caught in My Chimney
Waitresses: Christmas Wrapping
The Pretenders: Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas
Rilo Kiley: Xmas Cake
Sheryl Crow: Blue Christmas
Mariah Carey: All I Want for Christmas Is You
The Ronettes: Sleigh Ride
Kelly Hogan: Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree
Whitney Houston: Do You Hear What I Hear?
Aimee Mann: You’re a Mean One, Mr. Grinch
Michael Stipe: We’re Not so Bad

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A Relative Adventure

I had dinner with my cousin, Jamey, the other night. I know what you’re thinking: “Whoop-dee-do. Dinner with a cousin. Exciting life that girl must lead.” But I haven’t seen her in fifteen years.

Here’s the embarrassing part: She’s lived in the Atlanta area for ten years.

Ah, you’re thinking, there must be some Southern gothic drama that kept us apart, a family feud worthy of Tennessee Williams’ pen. Nope, just simple laziness.

Jamey grew up in south Georgia, so we didn’t see much of each other when we were kids. I remember when she was born. Her parents were living on a farm, and we drove down to meet her. I was nearly seven, and I was fascinated with this adorable little baby. Jamey’s family would visit, of course, and she’d come up some summer months. I always remember her cute giggles. And her freckles.

Sister, Cousin, and Brother, in our 1967 Mustang convertible (1977)

Why did we wait so long to see each other? The excuse: We have different lifestyles. Jamey’s the mother of two beautiful girls (her oldest was born the day after my beloved niece), and I’m … well, I’m the mother of two cats. She’s spent the last ten years dashing between cheerleading practice and soccer games, while I’ve been dashing between happy hours and Saturday brunches.

This blog helped us reconnect. Before that, we’d send the occasional joke e-mail, maybe a Christmas or birthday card, but that was it. Jamey learned more about me through the blog, which led to deeper e-mail conversations. And the promise that we’d get together soon for dinner.

As the eldest cousin, I should have known better than to lose touch. And my social laziness resulted in a huge, painful gap in my younger cousin’s life. Jamey — and, God, it hurts to write this — is *gasp* not very familiar with R.E.M. That poor, lost child; what a sad, empty life she must have led. So I stepped up to my responsibilities and gave her a copy of And I Feel Fine: The Best of the IRS Years, 1982–1987. It’s never too late to fall in love.

So, how was dinner? Great fun. We sat down and chatted as if we’d seen each other just last week. We do, of course, share DNA and can chat up a chair, so that’s not surprising. Jamey still has great giggles and fabulous freckles. I’m having a ball getting to know her all over again. And we swore we’d meet up again before 2015.

P.S. The blog is also turning her mama into a bit of an R.E.M. fan. Life is beautiful when you know why you were put here on this earth.

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Cheer on My Hero

My cousin Marni — who writes the (very entertaining) blog It’s a Pug’s Life — is participating this weekend in the Atlanta Two-day Walk for Breast Cancer. She’s walking thirty miles this weekend — twenty miles on Saturday and ten miles on Sunday. And she’s raised more than $1,000 to battle breast cancer. Clap for her!

Marni is walking in memory of her grandmother, who passed away from breast cancer, and in honor of her mother and a friend, both survivors.

I’m impressed with anyone who gives up an entire weekend to walk for a cause, especially a beautiful weekend in mid-September. But Marni’s feat even more impressive. Two years ago she weighed 110 pounds more than she does today. Two years ago she could not have considered it. Yet this morning she’s taking her first steps as I write this and drink coffee on the porch (about to start the primp-and-preen routine for tonight’s date with R.E.M.).

Marni’s my hero. Head on over to her blog and congratulate her.

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Maybe I'm Biased

But is this the cutest kid or what?

My nephew Matt

Matt's self-portrait

My brother-in-law, Matthew, and my brother (Matt's dad)

I love that kid with all my heart. He's fun, funny, smart, easygoing, a bit too sports-addicted, and (I'm sorry, Matt, I know it's uncool to say this about a teenage boy) a real sweetheart. And he loves to tease me, which I think I like best of all.

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Just Remember That I'll Always Love You

August was a rough month, one full of sorrow, as we faced the first anniversary of my father’s death and his birthday. But we made it through, and I think we’re finally on the other side of grief. I doubt that pain will ever go away, but at least I know I can now live with it.


On the very sad days, I remind myself that it hurts this much because I was deeply loved. Not many people were raised with the unconditional love he gave us, experienced the joy we gave him. I put that man through the ringer during my college years and twenties, and he never gave up on me. In fact, he left me brimming with self-confidence. And, thanks to him, I have yet to fall for a jerk.


OM’s birthday was Tuesday. Had he not passed away last August, he would have turned 72. The family would have gathered, possibly at a restaurant, but more likely at home, eating one of his favorite meals, showering him with shirts and books and the funniest cards we could find, laughing and teasing, telling the same silly stories, just being together. That was his idea of a celebration — surrounded by the wife and kids and grandkids he adored. Instead, those of us in town met for dinner at his favorite Mexican restaurant and toasted him with much-needed margaritas.


I wrote eulogy for him — telling you how he was a self-made man, how deeply in love he was with his family and Coca-Cola and University of Georgia football, how he lived to laugh and travel and read — but it was too painful to publish. So, what do I do when words fail me? I turn to music.


There’s a song in About a Boy — Badly Drawn Boy’s “A Minor Incident” — played during Toni Collette’s suicide attempt. It’s a heartbreaker, from a parent about to leave her child alone through her death. I listened to this song over and over during the final weeks of OM’s illness and after his death. It still tears me up, and it’s a rare day when I can listen to it and not cry. But the lyrics, the acoustic guitar, the sad harmonica are beautiful, so I’m sharing it here.


Upload music at Bolt

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Happy Birthday, OM

OM and Lauren blow out his birthday candles (1988)

Happy Father's Day, OM

I tried to write a post about my dad and what he meant to me … but it was too hard, too painful, especially since this is our first Father's Day without him. Instead, here are photos of OM as a father and grandfather. OM loved nothing more than being with his family. I hope these photos give you an idea of what a great and loving father he was.

I love you and I miss you, OM.

OM and me, 1959

Mama, me, and OM, January 1960

OM, me, and Mama, March 1960

Mama (pregnant with Paige) and OM, February 1960

Paige, Mama, OM, and me

Photo for a Coca-Cola campaign, 1962

OM, Buck, and me at the beach, 1966

Some of these photos were given to us by my cousin Gina and her family, who gave us an album of family photos at OM's memorial service. I'd never seen many of the photos, and others brought back great memories. It's one of the most thoughtful and treasured gifts our family has ever received.

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OM: The 1970s

My high school graduation,

with Grandmother and OM, June 1977

Christmas 1977

Christmas 1978

Grandmother's birthday party, June 1979

Christmas 1979

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OM: The 1980s

Mama, OM, and me, June 1983

Paris, May 1984

Lauren and OM, 1987

Lauren helps OM blow out his birthday candles

OM and Lauren, 1989 or 1990

OM: The 1990s

Christmas 1990

San Francisco, December 1994

Paige, Mama, and OM, Portland, New Year's Eve 1994

Dinner, then Luciano Pavarotti concert

Matthew and OM playing cards at my place, 1999

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OM: The 2000s

OM with his heroes, London, June 2001

Thanksgiving 2003

Matthew and OM, Christmas Eve 2003

Christmas 2003

OM, you were the best father and grandfather a family could ever ask for. We miss you like crazy.

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