A few years ago I received a phone call from a friend. His first words when I answered the phone were, "Cassie, I need you to find me a unicycle." Even with my usual everyday level of weird, this was a very confusing request. I asked him why in the world he would need such a toy and he proceeded to tell me a story about a buddies house party. Of course a unicycle was present and riding it was the thing to do. I felt his point was still being lost in translation and I directly asked him, "But why do YOU want a unicycle?" I remember it vividly. I could hear him sigh and then positively declare, "I want to impress the ladies....a unicycle will DO this!" That is my Vivid Preston memory. A 10 minute conversation that still makes me laugh inside hysterically. He was so certain at the time about that unicycle that anytime I went into a thrift store I instantly searched around.
A few days ago my husband receive a 6am phone call that we had lost Preston in a motorcycle accident.
Unicycle was the first thing that went through my head.
The kid was full of fun. His car and cycle creations were legendary around our small town world. But to me, he was a huge part of where I am today. 5 years ago I was invited to a car show weekend in Panama City. I showed up with a friend at 2am after working for eight hours and driving for three. About 15 minutes later this squirrelly blonde kid and his friend waltzed into the room. They had been invited for the weekend by Preston. We all stayed up until sunrise talking about everything and nothing at all. Talking to Preston on the phone in that next week was unbearable. He made ALOT of fun about me and that squirrelly blonde kid. But every phone call ended with Preston's serious side. He made sure I understood what a good guy that kid was.
After 4 years together, I married that blonde kid.
Maybe we would have meet eventually, maybe he would have showed up at a birthday. But I would rather be where I am now in life then betting on a maybe. I owe Preston for that. Years later our widespread group of friends has thinned. They've moved, married, and fought. But together we hold some memories of the best years of my life. I hope they know this and if they don't they should now. But I hope Preston knew what a huge part of my life he was by just being who he was that weekend.
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
Deluna-fest-ivous is for the rest of us...finally!
Maybe it was the excitement. Maybe it was the frustrations of the past two years mounting up. Whatever it was last night at the painful hour of midnight, I somehow managed to stir
From my sleep and roll over enough to find/read/drop my phone. After two more phone drops, exiting the page once, and ending up on pinterest; I found it! It was beautiful. It was all I imagined it to be. It was the Deluna Fest 2012 line-up.
Deluna Fest is the baby of the American festivals. Born in 2010, this event claims its spot on the beautiful white sands of Pensacola Beach, my hometown. The festival proudly presents themselves as "America's Original Beach Party.". But in its first two years of learning to walk on its own two legs, this baby has fallen down alot. If slow ticket sales and lost money weren't enough, the success of neighboring Gulf Shores music festival "Hangout Festival" had to be salt in the wounds. Deluna acts took the stage last year to little or no audience. VIPs felt let down with expensive accommodations that were far from grand. Locals felt ignored when the event, far more concerned with catering to out of town guests through pricey hotel packages, seemed to forget about its local supporters.
But somewhere in this tiny festival was a fighter. They took the kicks, criticism, and taunts. They listened to what wasn't working. Most importantly, they did something to be respected more then the rest, they admitted they were wrong and made changes.
This year Pensacola Beach will play to home to the festival for it's 3rd year, and it promises to deliver! With headliners such as Pearl Jam, Foo Fighters (a Pensacola Favorite and Hangout Fest alum) and the highly successful Florence and the Machine; Deluna is already off to a good start. Throw in DJ Jazzy Jeff, Bed folds five, Dwight Yoakam, Joan Jett, and many more; and this festival just might have a chance of not only walking, but running away with our hearts!
My one request: If all goes well, and there's a next year show. Could we maybe announce the line up during the day. I'd rather not explain how confusing my dreams are with Dwight Yoakam in them. Thats a blog for another day.
From my sleep and roll over enough to find/read/drop my phone. After two more phone drops, exiting the page once, and ending up on pinterest; I found it! It was beautiful. It was all I imagined it to be. It was the Deluna Fest 2012 line-up.
Deluna Fest is the baby of the American festivals. Born in 2010, this event claims its spot on the beautiful white sands of Pensacola Beach, my hometown. The festival proudly presents themselves as "America's Original Beach Party.". But in its first two years of learning to walk on its own two legs, this baby has fallen down alot. If slow ticket sales and lost money weren't enough, the success of neighboring Gulf Shores music festival "Hangout Festival" had to be salt in the wounds. Deluna acts took the stage last year to little or no audience. VIPs felt let down with expensive accommodations that were far from grand. Locals felt ignored when the event, far more concerned with catering to out of town guests through pricey hotel packages, seemed to forget about its local supporters.
But somewhere in this tiny festival was a fighter. They took the kicks, criticism, and taunts. They listened to what wasn't working. Most importantly, they did something to be respected more then the rest, they admitted they were wrong and made changes.
This year Pensacola Beach will play to home to the festival for it's 3rd year, and it promises to deliver! With headliners such as Pearl Jam, Foo Fighters (a Pensacola Favorite and Hangout Fest alum) and the highly successful Florence and the Machine; Deluna is already off to a good start. Throw in DJ Jazzy Jeff, Bed folds five, Dwight Yoakam, Joan Jett, and many more; and this festival just might have a chance of not only walking, but running away with our hearts!
My one request: If all goes well, and there's a next year show. Could we maybe announce the line up during the day. I'd rather not explain how confusing my dreams are with Dwight Yoakam in them. Thats a blog for another day.
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Southern by birth, loud by breeding.
"For my mother, being Southern means handwritten thank-you notes, using a rhino horn’s worth of salt in every recipe, and spending a minimum of twenty minutes a day in front of her makeup mirror so she can examine her beauty in “office,” “outdoor,” and “evening” illumination. It also means never leaving the house with wet hair. Not even in the case of fire. Because wet hair is low-rent. It shows you don’t care, and not caring is not something Southern women do, at least when it comes to our hair."
Recently a good friend reposted this article on her Facebook. There was much more to it then just this part but the overall message was the same: "The reason we Southern women take care of ourselves is because, simply, Southern women are caretakers."
Although the overall message of the story was pretty on point for many southern darlings, I couldn't help thinking loudly and with a strong twang..."girl your southern belle is nothing compared to my southern spark!"
I firmly believe in being presentable, living a god fearing life, and showing respect to everyone around you whether they have earned it or not. I believe in thank-you notes and making sure you are dressed appropriatly for whatever the occasion may be. But more importantly I believe there are things in my upbringing that many of these southern darlings miss out on while making sure their hair was perfectly quaffed.
My south sits on the sandy beaches of a beautiful gulf. But my mother is no beach bum. She's a loud, hardworking southern woman who's voice can be heard from across an arena (I know this for a fact, it's happened). She raised me on please, thank you, and a list full of idioms. Quirky saying such as "it's cold as a witches titty." It took years for her to finally add the "in a brass bra" ending to this saying. Another favorite was always "I don't know him from Adams house cat." We had a neighbor named Adam, he didn't have a cat. You can imagine the confusion that came with this as a small child. Even though I hardly understood the woman sometimes i loved her ideas as to how a southern woman should be. "Why comb your hair when the 4 wheelers just going to mess it up anyways." "Why put on makeup in a mirror when the beach gives you the perfect shade of blush." I was told to be respectful, be presentable, but if a boy tries to beat you to the river rope swing you run on ahead and show him how its done first sugar." Her actions showed me not to be afraid to sing Garth Brooks or Alabama at the top of my lungs, even when i'mlooked at funny.
All of these things were taught and sometimes spanked into me early on. But the most important lesson, and the one I took away from the article was when they referred to us southern charmers as "caretakers." My mother has raised hoards of children, only 3 of which were hers. I have friends who have called her mom since the first day She came loudly into their lives and even as a teacher I've watched her "mom" her way through work, paying for students prom tickets, SAT fees, and study guides. If a southern woman is anything, it is surely a caretaker. We love with all we have in us and we don't give up on a lost cause. This is the model I was raised on.
Whether I'm a southern bell or sparkplug is up to fate.
Recently a good friend reposted this article on her Facebook. There was much more to it then just this part but the overall message was the same: "The reason we Southern women take care of ourselves is because, simply, Southern women are caretakers."
Although the overall message of the story was pretty on point for many southern darlings, I couldn't help thinking loudly and with a strong twang..."girl your southern belle is nothing compared to my southern spark!"
I firmly believe in being presentable, living a god fearing life, and showing respect to everyone around you whether they have earned it or not. I believe in thank-you notes and making sure you are dressed appropriatly for whatever the occasion may be. But more importantly I believe there are things in my upbringing that many of these southern darlings miss out on while making sure their hair was perfectly quaffed.
My south sits on the sandy beaches of a beautiful gulf. But my mother is no beach bum. She's a loud, hardworking southern woman who's voice can be heard from across an arena (I know this for a fact, it's happened). She raised me on please, thank you, and a list full of idioms. Quirky saying such as "it's cold as a witches titty." It took years for her to finally add the "in a brass bra" ending to this saying. Another favorite was always "I don't know him from Adams house cat." We had a neighbor named Adam, he didn't have a cat. You can imagine the confusion that came with this as a small child. Even though I hardly understood the woman sometimes i loved her ideas as to how a southern woman should be. "Why comb your hair when the 4 wheelers just going to mess it up anyways." "Why put on makeup in a mirror when the beach gives you the perfect shade of blush." I was told to be respectful, be presentable, but if a boy tries to beat you to the river rope swing you run on ahead and show him how its done first sugar." Her actions showed me not to be afraid to sing Garth Brooks or Alabama at the top of my lungs, even when i'mlooked at funny.
All of these things were taught and sometimes spanked into me early on. But the most important lesson, and the one I took away from the article was when they referred to us southern charmers as "caretakers." My mother has raised hoards of children, only 3 of which were hers. I have friends who have called her mom since the first day She came loudly into their lives and even as a teacher I've watched her "mom" her way through work, paying for students prom tickets, SAT fees, and study guides. If a southern woman is anything, it is surely a caretaker. We love with all we have in us and we don't give up on a lost cause. This is the model I was raised on.
Whether I'm a southern bell or sparkplug is up to fate.
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