January through Now

I am out sick from work today. Thus, PICTURES! I figured I'd walk you all through the last year in pictures:

I will never wash this jacket ever again!

Me, my little sis, Molly, and my little brother, Alex, began 2009 in Nashville visiting my brother and his wife, Brad & Sally. And yes, this is the Jonas Brothers. We saw them while getting breakfast at The Pancake Pantry!

Whatcha gonna do when the abominable hunter comes for you?

And then in March, it snowed!!! Snow in Georgia shuts EVERYTHING down. Pictured here, the abominable Mark, about to peg me.

I am college grad, hear me ROAR!

Ok, technically this was in December of 2008 but I had to go back in the Spring to take that one other class. But what does it matter? BECAUSE I HAVE A COLLEGE DEGREE NOW!!!!!

A sunglass oreo

G-Day in Athens, Spring 2009. Brad & Sally moved to Athens in February so we went up to visit them. Pictured here, me, Molly, and Sally.

If the dead grass to the left of the cement blocks is any indication of my green thumb...

But alas! We have growth! Maters!

"This blue car looks like a pond. It even comes with algae!"

I started taking pictures for fun in late Spring. I captured this dragonfly one afternoon on my car antenna. Think I may submit it for a photo contest!

Cheap ass pedicure

Summer - Beach trip with my best friend of 20 years, Jeannie. Seaside, Florida.

Wait, who is the sofa king?

Dallas trip, late Summer with Mark. Best photo from the trip!

Just do it.

First raw oyster experience in Dallas.

Hi ho silver! Or, we put our money in, why is this thing not moving?

Crazy boys, Jake and Mark, in the stockyards. Dallas.

T Boone Pickens got nothin' on us.

Lauren & me at the Georgia-Oklahoma game in Oklahoma. Summer. (I promise I am an Auburn fan.)

What's all this white stuff on my hands? Oh no, my exzema's acting up again.

Probably the best idea I've had to date: this Fall, I started a bread making group with a bunch of random ladies where we meet once a month, drink lots of wine, and bake fresh breads. We decided recently to name our group "Drink and Bake". That's me and Chandler baking away!

Glory, glory to ole Auburn!

Finally. WEAGLE WEAGLE! WAR DAMN EAGLE! Auburn homecoming game, November.

The right side o' your head is ridikulus!

Alex's (little bro) first college football game.

The cheerleader pose never goes out of style

All the girls together for Joanna's wedding! From top left: Lori, Jeannie, Joanna, Kristin, Catherine, Cassie, me, Barbara, and Carianna!

Disappointment

In Athens for the Georgia-Auburn game. Our game day predictions. Brad won.

Mah mommeh sayz if i putz on da shirtz, i can haz a treat. Deal mommeh.

Jackson in his gameday shirt rooting for the Dawgs.

Peekaboo! I like to ruin pictures with my wierd faces!

We're still in November. This was after church one day. This? This picture perfectly describes Mark and I.

Why is that girl wearing a bonnet? Is her name Halfpint?

Annual girls Atlanta trip. From top left: Lori, caroler guy, Catherine, caroler girl, Joanna, Jeannie, me, Barbara, and Kristin. I love these girls. No one could ever replace them in my life.

Don't you wish your girlfriend could bake like me?

Me, doing what I do best: drinkin' and bakin'. Making Pumpkin Pecan bread for Thanksgiving.

See above.

Okay, how cute are these mini loaves and pumpkin pecan muffins iced with cream cheese icing?

Quit taking pictures and roast my dang turkey.

Thanksgiving in Athens with the fam. Brad and Sally.

That's how I roll.

My Thanksgiving artwork. :)

It's 5 a.m. and I'm shopping. I deserve a prize.

Black Friday shopping with mah seesters. Hey, it was 5:00 a.m.

And finally...

Pimps gotta get dey black friday dealz on too, ho. Dontchu be hatin!

This. Sally and Brad have been married a little over a year now, and obviously, she's fitting right in.

So that's my 2009 in pictures!

The birds and the bees who dwell in the Black Forest

I learned about the birds and the bees in 7th grade from one of my family's many foreign exchange students named Juliette Rabovski from Germany whose first time was on a bed of no, not roses, but crunchy leaves, bugs, and sticks deep in the woods of the Black Forest. Dang hippie German girl. She didn't shave her pits either. I was 12, she was 17, and, looking back, she was a little too eager to tell me about her woodsy sexcapades. I remember it like it was yesterday. We were sitting on the front porch, swinging. She was glamorously smoking a cig (funny, my dad smokes and it never seems glamorous when he does it) and teaching me Cranberries songs on the guitar. (Do you have to let it linger? Do you have to? Do you have to?) Then she busted out with the question: "Peyton, have you had sex?" Hold up, wait a minute, let me put some "No you idiot, I'm twelve" in it. But of course I didn't answer like that. I was too enamored by her glamorous cig smoking, Zombie singing ways to answer sensibly. Before I could babble out anything that sounded glamorous enough to fall on her ears, she started in. "I have. I have a boyfriend back home. We do it all the time out in the woods." Again, gross now, glamorous then. I'll save you the "glamorous" detes, but I will say this: it was probably much more detail than a 12 year old girl should hear.

I woke up thinking about Juliette from Germany this morning and that particular story. Then it made me start thinking about all of the other very peculiar students we hosted over the years. I truly do believe that my life is much richer because of these people and the experiences I had with them. Honest to goodness, that includes the experience of hearing about the birds and the bees from Juliette from Germany. Thank God she beat my parents to it because, holy crap, that would make for one extremely awkward convo. I should write Juliette from Germany a thank you note, should I not?

Juliette from Germany came to us through the foreign exchange program that my mom participated in. As far back as I can remember and up until I was 16, my family hosted foreign exchange students each year. There was Jennifer from Edinburgh, Scotland (she was crazy, like certifiably insane) and Christine from London, England (who came back on her accord about 5 years after we'd hosted her for a visit; loved her; she played dress up with me). Then there was Take (pronounced Tock-Ay) from Japan who almost burned our house down from wok cooking. Then Lynn Won Yong from Beijing, China (probably the tallest human being I have ever seen in my life). Then Mickey from Japan who I have NO remembrance of. Next came Simon from Macau, China. After Simon there was one other Asian guy who I can't remember his name. Then Juliette from Germany. And finally, Alvaro Jimenez from Huelva, Spain who blew all the others out of the water. He was awesome (and hot. I so had a mean crush on him.)

My mom hated Juliette from Germany, though, and after only of few months, sent her off to stay with another family out of town. That was okay by me. I got my bed back and could now impress people with my Zombie and Linger playing guitar skillz.

No, not Posh Spice, Posh Grandmother

Get ready. I'm being sentimental.

Today as me and my coworkers were unpacking yet another this-tree-makes-Charlie-Brown's-tree-look-like-the-entire-Redwood-National-Forrest tree and putting it together, fluffing the sad little branches out as far as possible to make it look as full as possible, an extreme wave of memories of grandmother, Mary Francis Powell, flooded me. This will be my fourth Christmas without her. And without her very own this-tree-makes-Charlie-Brown's-tree-look-like-the-entire-Redwood-National-Forrest tree.

That tree was saddest tree you can imagine. And she had these sparkly peacock birds that went all over it.

And she wore shorts with stockings.

Weird, both peacocks and short with stockings have come back to life in our fashion world. Way to go, Francis. I always knew you were posh! (I have such a classic picture of my grandmother driving a go-cart, yes at age 75ish, wearing shorts with stockings. Classic. Must find that picture and post it.)

If I had a point to this story, it would be, I guess, that it's always the weirdest, but endearing things that conjure up memories of your loved ones. (Like that episode of Full House where DJ and Steve had just broken up and DJ sees Steve's head on a head of lettuce at the grocery store. Yeah, like that.)

Anyway, if Francis were still alive, she'd wish you a Merry Christmas and remind you to not eat too much bread. :)

For Sara & Grandmother

Sara and Brandon (but mostly Sara, sorry Brandon),

Most of our shared childhoods were spent with our Grandmother in her kitchen. Oh sure, we'd run around with the boys, play with Pogo the poodle, swim. But I have very vivid, picturesque memories of being in the kitchen with you and our Grandmother with one of these three things in place: a flour sifter, a round biscuit cutter, or just a juice glass to cut the biscuits when the cutter could not be found. And she, in all her biscuit and sticky rice glory, would be wearing an apron. It might have been the white one with the Battenburg lace at the bottom or the green one with the tiny purple flowers. But I honestly cannot think of you, our childhood, our Grandmother, without thinking of those very iconic things.

And so Francis-and-every-other-Southern-woman-like, after everyone had filled their plates and found a seat, she would sit down either on a stool or one of those dark wood, creaky kitchen chairs, throwing one coolat pant covered leg over the other and proclaim, "well, I know it's not going to be any good."

So how appropriate for me to gift you with something so iconic of the matriarch of our shared families. My hope is that you will sift the flour, wear the apron, all the while recalling warm, vivid memories while making new memories of your own.

And Brandon, word to the wise: if the biscuits are burned and the rice is unintentionally sticky, just eat up. She's only carrying on a family tradition.

Love always,
Peyton

I am my father's daughter

I noticed my dad's eyes for the first time yesterday.

For Father's Day, I invited him to go to breakfast with me. Nothing fancy of course; just his regular haunt, Waffle House. (I have grown accustomed to hearing my friends say over the years, "hey, I saw your dad at Waffle House this morning." If I had a nickle...)

My dad is very much a creature of habit. For as long as I can remember, the following things have been constants in my dad's life: coffee, cigarettes, a somber smile, creativity, and silence. I have never known much about who my dad was and is. He's never offered much, and well, I've never really asked...or made the effort to simply listen. But over breakfast, as we shared a pot of what I am pretty sure is the love of my dad's life, I listened. He spoke.

I learned about his early business dealings; what a schmoozer Ricky Baker was! Taking businessmen out to lunch, talking shop, doing deals, buying in, getting his cut of the share, traveling, deals gone awry.

I heard about the hilarious this-could-only-happen-to-Ricky-Baker type scenarios. These stories got my dad (and me) cackling. It was so good to see him laugh.

I heard about his regrets. Hearing him voice his regrets was difficult. I have never thought about his regrets from his side; only the effect they have had on me.

He was transparent with me for the second time in my life. (The only other time was at my college graduation when he gave me a very prolonged, firm hug and whispered in my ear, "I am so proud of you, Peyton." I will remember that forever, I am sure.)

The provisions that my dad has offered his family, me in particular, have not been great. I have been paying my way for quite some time; looking to my older brother for advice and support; finding spiritual guidance in church leaders. God has always provided a multitude of provision in the areas my dad was lacking. But I am beginning to see what my dad has provided for me: bits and pieces of himself.

So much of him is in me: creativity, a little (ok, a lot of) rebellion, sometimes finding it hard to move past regret, his coloring (thank goodness!), his nose...and his eyes.

I noticed my dad's eyes for the first time, sitting across from him at breakfast. They are brown, yes, just like mine. But there is a small sliver of gray-blue that encircles the brown. Something I have never, ever noticed before. I never looked; never paid attention long enough to discover a detail like that.

As I was kissing Mark goodbye last night, after having told him about breakfast with my dad and noticing his eyes, Mark looked me straight in the eyes and said, "Peyton, you have that thin grayish blue circle too!"

I am my father's daughter.

Don’t Squat With Your Spurs On

I am now the very proud owner of a pair of cowboy boots. This is my first ever pair of cowboy boots. I remember, growing up, a friend having a hot pink, suede pair with fringe that I coveted for so long. Although I might get a few crazy stares in public, I'm pretty sure I could still rock some pink fringe today. I have, however, [insert a huge sigh of relief from the general public] graduated from those - now kitsch, I'm sure - pink suede's to a more refined, rustic, discreetly embellished look.

They are brown. Not the muddy kind of brown you might find on a pair of K-Mart brand, 'I'm-just-buying-these-to-get-the-job-done' kicks. No, these boots are the rich kind of brown. The kind of brown that could never be described with the adjective 'dirty'. You know what I mean? Brown is just a dirty sort of color in most cases. But in contrast to the 'dirty' brown that conjures mental images of mud, dirt, and waste, this brown, the brown of my boots, is perfect. It is that rich, chocolate brown that conjures images of the perfect chocolate bar, perfect shiny brown eyes. Oh, I have the perfect illustration: imagine walking into a very old house, a house that may be dingy, dusty and cracking, but whose hardwood floors are still perfectly intact, perfectly rustic and aged, perfectly stained, perfectly brown. That is the brown of my cowboy boots. Brown leather. With stitching. In a pattern that says 'I may look sweet, but I'll kick your ass if I have to.' That act may be aided by the pointy toe.

They are molded to my foot, my shape. If anyone else tried to wear them, I'm convinced they wouldn't feel right, and might just be downright uncomfortable. But when I pull them on, they are as comfy as bedroom slippers. The leather envelopes my foot and gives a little slack exactly where I need it. When I put them on I really do feel badass. I walk differently. My strut exudes confidence when I'm wearing my brown leather boots. I like hearing the 'hey cowgirl' and 'yee-haws' when I walk past a stranger.

There is not one article of clothing that hangs in my closet or another pair of shoes for this girl that contends with these boots. They are now one of my most prized possessions; and I am proud of them.

So says the girl in the rich brown, aromatic leather, subtle yet fiercely designed boots.

In the words of Lil John and Ludacris: 'Peace Up, A-Town Down'

Ode to Athens

I recently spent the weekend in Athens, Gawguh.
Athens is the home of the scrappy Dawgzuh.
I do not say this to be ugly or mean.
But, come on. A dawg compared to a tiger? A tiger's more keen.
The scoreboard may not always reflect that fact.
And on that note, Dawgs fans - please, do not react.
I'm not here to talk about rivalry.
I'm here to relish the revelry.
A-Town has quite a few new claims on my affection.
A puppy, a blond, a saxophone, and a blood relation.
Jackson 'Jax' Baker is the newest Baker addition.
Not a son or daughter and certainly not the blood relation!
Jackson is the cuddly, hiccupy, playful, puppy.
Now this little fella is extremely happy.
Mom Sally and Dad Brad rescued this pup from the pound.
He could be a lab, could be a pit bull. Who knows, he could be a hound!
One thing I do know is that he fits right in with this group!
But hey, please don't go filtering through his poop.
Who knows what you may find.
A pine cone, a rock, or dirt of some kind!
Speaking of dirt, let's talk about that blond.
No, I didn't bleach my hair. And no, it's not some hot guy named Ron.
It's my dirty blond sister in law Sally!
This sister in law is more than a sister. She's a new best pal-ly!
She's thoughtful to the core and gift-giving is her game.
I'm so happy that Sally BAKER is her new name.
With this marriage, I gained more than a new sister.
I gained a new friend. (Who, I'm sure, is pretty good at playing Twister!)
Twisting his fingers across the keys of that saxophone,
was the soul brother at church, two doors down from the Brad Baker home.
Church was refreshing, to say the least.
All formalities of the church sort were completely deceased.
I raised my hands in worship for the first time in awhile.
God reminded me that He is my Father and I am his child.
He is already impressed by me, the perfect work he created.
But my assignment, as his child, is to be dedicated.
The music, the saxophone, were only enablers to my worship.
It was nice to spend that time in those believers acquaintanceship.
An acquaintance he is not. A brother, he is the best.
No one could ask for better, I'll put you to the test.
You'll find there is not one more admirable, disciplined, or sweet.
Nor one who could cook up such a BBQ treat.
Time spent with him is always fun.
And this sister loves him more than 5 trillion tons.
My time in Athens was not nearly long enough.
And I cannot wait for the next trip, sho nuff.
The time flew by too fast and here I am back home again.
Oh Athens. Athens, Athens, Athens, Athens, Athens.

Calling all Dr. Phil's

I wake up this morning with the thoughts: 'Where am I? What happened last night? Oh my gosh. I'm stressed about something, what is it again? What day is it today?' Not sure why I wake up like that because there was only one 12 ounce beer consumed the night before. Pretty normal evening, actually. Mark came over, we had dessert (WW chocolate chip cookie a la mode = delish), watched TV; just spent a very relaxing hour or two together. Quite enjoyable. We both feel like we have been busy, busy, busy bees lately. And I've got (family) stress up to my eyeballs. That can really wear a girl out!! I'm going to visit my brother and sister-in-law tomorrow in Athens, though, so hopefully some stress will get relieved.

I decide that today is going to be different. I will look my best, be my best, try my hardest, do work son.

At 1:10, that mindset has been working pretty well. (Except I should be drinking water instead of a diet coke right now...but really, that's the only wrong choice made today.)

So I've had a banana and a WW Chicken Enchilada Monterrey (310 cals, 10 fat g's) so far today. That's good, right??? I think so. Better than the last few days have been, trust me.

Seriously though, I need some stress relief tips. I've been thinking that running just as fast as my short, stubby legs can take me might be a good thing. (It'd be like a twofer...stress relief and weight loss.) I'm tired of turning to food to relieve my stress. I told you that I've come to terms with the fact that I am an emotional eater. I hate that about myself, but it's true. I have GOT to change that. I need another outlet for stress besides donuts and dorritos.

So come on, all you Dr. Phil's out there...give me some advice!!!