Christmases in the Palmore family have always been AWESOME. My parents always made it such a fun, magical time for us - there would be so many presents under the tree that it would be obnoxious. And we ALWAYS got what we wanted . . . ALWAYS. They really didn't believe in denying us much. This year was no different - my mom absolutely spoiled us ROTTEN. She gave us everything we asked for - way more than we would have ever expected. She made us her awesome turkey and dressing that we love so much. She gave us her world-famous Rice Krispie treats to snack on.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand she gave me a few Noraisms to share with you . . .
Trust me: if I'd gotten a Mini Me for Christmas, there is no WAY I'd trade her in for a watch.
The good thing about my mom's brain is that it's very creative so, even when she doesn't actually KNOW about a tragic event in a specific place, she can imagine one for you. For instance, I went to law school in Birmingham and frequently had to drive home to Texas for extended breaks (i.e summer, Christmas, Spring Break - you get the idea). My parents really didn't want me to have to make those trips myself so they would fly someone out to drive back with me. My mom flew in several times to keep me company on these drives and having her along for the ride was particularly entertaining. I don't know if you've ever driven through Mississippi but, as you traverse the entire state on I-59, you can see nothing but trees. I think there are towns BEHIND the trees, but you can't see them. So the entire state appears to be one big forest. I always thought it was beautiful - it was nice to not be surrounded by billboards, car dealerships, and neon lights. So I always enjoyed it - enjoyed the peacefulness of it. But not my mom. As we would drive through some of the more forsaken-looking parts, my mom would look out the window and shake her head. Then she'd say to me: "Look out there. There's nothing out there. No civilization. Someone could drag you out there and do God knows what you to and we'd never know. We'd never find you. That is really something." And this observation would be repeated about every 50 miles or so throughout the state of Mississippi; one minute I would be driving through the pretty wilderness enjoying the peaceful view, and the next I was being ravaged in the woods by some toothless back-woods Mississippian. So it was always comforting to have her as my co-pilot on those trips.
That's just the way her brain works.
Today we went to the Alley Theatre to see the Santaland Diaries and we decided to park in the parking garage across the street. As we pulled in the garage, we joined a slow-moving line of vehicles making their way through the entrance. We passed the little booth where the cashier or the person giving you your parking ticket normally sits but no one was there. So we slowly inched our way passed it and followed the other cars in front of us. I figured there was no cashier there because there was must be some sort of automated system up in front of us that we just couldn't see from our current position - you know, like the little system where you push the button and your ticket comes out? I think that was the most logical conclusion. But not my mom. Her conclusion? I'm glad you asked:
Mom: Well, I certainly hope that cashier is okay. She could be dead in there for all we know and we're all just driving right passed her. She could have been murdered.
Mom: I can see the headlines "20,000 people drive passed murdered cashier on their way to see a play."
Me: [laughing incredulously] What? Why do you-- you know what, just keep talking. You're giving me stuff to write about.
Mom: Well, you laugh but that kind of thing happens. And we're just driiiiiiiiiiiving by . . .
Erin: [as we approach the cashier who we now see is standing by the automated ticket dispenser taking money] Man, she should really go post a sign back at the booth to let everyone know that she's not dead in there.
Mom: [shaking her head at us] You kids . . .
Oh, what would we do without our Nora??