Hello and welcome! An introduction for you: I'm a mom, wife, friend, animal-lover, and lacrosse parent who also happens to write, edit and manage a publishing company for a living. So why not start a blog, I thought? And here ya go...

January 29, 2009

Charred Life Lessons: Grill Skills


I have been cooking for as long as I can remember. I was a latchkey kid so it wasn't uncommon to check in with my mom when I got home from school and be asked to start dinner before she got home from work. Basic stuff--brown some ground meat, etc. I was no young Paula Dean or anything. But I learned my way around a measuring cup pretty early on. And now, I love to cook. And not to be, you know, bragging, but I'd say that my circle of friends and family consider me a damn fine cook. I have some specialties but because I try to avoid boring readers here, I will skip that and get to my point.

Last night, we planned to have hamburgers for dinner. We had the standby Lipton Onion Soup Mix that we have used before for burgers, pretty good ones, but I thought I'd look for something a little different. I stumbled onto a recipe I thought looked fabulous. It involved cheese, bacon, onion, ketchup, Worchestershire...I mean, can you go wrong with all that? Turns out, you can.

I luckily had all I needed for these babies and I mixed them up and got ready to toss onto the grill. Now, grilling is not my area of expertise. See, I have a thing about gas fires and when you have a thing about gas fires, you tend to shy away from gas stoves, gas grills and the like. Go figure. And our grill is a gas grill. But lo and behold my husband was under the weather and not up for grilling so the task fell to me. But I thought: Hey, I can do this. I mean, he is right here to guide my every step via verbal instruction.

Turn on the burners, put on high and let warm up for about 10 minutes. Check.

Turn burners down to medium heat, put burgers on grill and cook for about 6 minutes first side. Check.

Go out to flip burgers, see they are all on fire and now charred bits of hockey puck on the grill. Check.

Wait. What? Yes, on fire. All of them. And don'tcha know, opening the cover to reveal big flames bursting up from around my poor, poor used-to-be hamburgers was a gas-fearing-gal's drrrream. Turns out, running around the yard shrieking "I'm not ready to die yet!" doesn't actually put the fire out. It does, however, frighten dogs.

After collecting myself, I hosed down the items-formerly-known-as-burgers and brought them in, displaying my obvious grill skill to my husband. "What happened," he asked, truly stunned that anyone could actually screw up burgers on a grill. "Um, I don't know. Medium heat, 6 minutes, big fire," I said. That about summed it up. No need to mention the shrieking. "Did you close the grill cover?" he asked. "Because you shouldn't." Ah, a critical bit of info that would have been enormously helpful...um, six minutes ago. "Were those wrapped in bacon? Because bacon grease really makes the flames flare up and you have to have a water bottle at the ready at all times." Ditto on the six minutes ago. Damn. My hubby's lack of full disclosure can be blamed on the drugs he was taking (the prescribed variety) and the delusion that anyone with a respectable IQ could handle the basics of grilling a burger, even his wife. But this charred life lesson has certainly taught me that while I may be a whirling dervish in the kitchen, my grill skills might need some fine tuning. Or better yet, stick to something you know, sister! Lasagna, anyone?

January 27, 2009

Beware the fanny-pack attorney


If you have a legal case that's been pending in the eternal waiting-line of our court system and your day finally arrives and you show up at the courthouse to find the attorney assigned to your case by your big old legal firm is sporting a little curly-q pony tail, a wooden bead bracelet, a mood ring on his pinky finger and a fanny pack over his suit pants but under his suit coat, should you be concerned?

I drove my mother in law to a courthouse downtown today for a hearing on her social security disability that's been pending for eons. I think you could be hobbling on one leg with only an elbow to write with and an eye patch and the social security administration would think you're faking, they'd stall for months, lose your paperwork a couple times and then insist you show up for a hearing anyway. My mother in law has both legs, both hands and two semi-decent eyes, but you get the point. Anyway, she's talked with the legal firm who is representing her but it's of such a size that they have different folks for different tasks. And thus, even after years of communication, faxing reports, and office visits to discuss her case, she hadn't actually met face to face with the attorney who would be representing her to the judge. When they spoke late last week, finalizing plans for the hearing today (time to arrive, etc) and he told her that she'd be able to spot him because he'd be the "one with the pony tail," I thought: innnnnnnteresting. If you can identify yourself in a room crowded with people by a pony tail (which he clearly knew no one else in the room would be caught dead with), shouldn't that tell you something? Like maybe the world moved on while you continued living in a time when a man with an itty-bitty clump of hair hanging 3" down his back like a furry slug that slithered out of his collar was cool? But at least he had the fanny pack and pinky mood ring to bring up his professional air.

We won't know for a couple months if she will be approved by SSA. If she's not approved even after having umpteen doctors and psychologists provide opinions that all say the woman cannot work because of constant pain she isn't fabricating, I shall have no choice but to blame the pony tail. Not the attorney but the actual...pony...tail.

January 26, 2009

A Trucking Life for Me


Most folks who will stumble onto this here blog will know me from the world of trucking. That's right, truck driving. 18 wheels, dry vans, household goods, truck stops (not that you find ME in truck stops, a la lot lizard), deadheading, sleepers, bobtails, chicken lights and lots of other jargon that unless you're in the industry, you might not know or really give any thought to. Those of you who have stumbled onto here who are not in trucking, yet find yourself reading along might be wrinkling your nose and saying: Huh? Trucking?

Yessss, trucking. The same reaction I got about trucking when I first announced my foray into over-the-road transportation to my bartending colleagues from college is what I still largely get to this day: You're in trucking? Oh yeah, what month are you?

Flattering but I earn my living from being honest-to-goodness entreached in a world dominated by diesel fumes, truck stop buffets, chrome big rigs, and men. (Although us gals are coming along in the numbers.) I was hired onto Trucker's Connection magazine fresh out of college with nary an understanding of what a conventional vs a cabover tractor was. Yikes--there were still cabovers then. I mean, new ones. I'm ooooollllllddddd. Lots of o's, l's and d's signify a ripe old age. (Really, I'm 38.)

I was hired originally to be a writer--an assistant editor, technically--which I would have laughed myself silly over had anyone told me long ago that I'd be a writer for a living. I'm sure my English teachers would've had a hearty chuckle as well. The first press conference I attended was for Peterbilt at the old International Truck Show when it was held in Anaheim, Calif. In a lunch conference held in a huge hotel ballroom with probably 400 people, I was one of three females in the joint. We were surrounded by a sea of business suits and ties who all knew one another and all worked for a variety of trucking magazines, newspapers and other organizations. (The world of trucking publishing is a little bigger than most realize.) These days, I believe the estimate for women in truck driving is about 10%. I'm sure when you also consider all the women who work with publications, websites, organizations and companies who are tied into trucking in some way, it's an even higher percentage than that. We've come a long way from that 3-gal press conference. But for all my minority status, lack of trucking knowledge and feeble writing expertise when I was first hired, what I was, was organized and a fast learner. And here I am now.

Over the course of 15 years, I have been an assistant editor, an Editor in Chief (complete with capital letters and everything) and a General Manager/Publisher. What I've learned is that the vast majority of Americans--dare I say the vast majority of people regardless of country, do not know much about the trucking industry or give it much thought. But you'd surely give it a lot of thought if it shut down tomorrow. Every imagineable thing you own, consume or touch was delivered at some point by a truck. And who mans these 18-wheeled (and sometimes more) beasts? Tough-working men and women who live a hard life for a good paycheck. They're away from friends and family for 10 days to 12 weeks at a time; they work odd hours; are subject to rules and regulations made by people who've never seen the inside of a truck; shower, eat and launder clothes at nationwide truck stops; and deal with more road raged "4-wheelers" and traffic than you or I will see in a lifetime.

My hat's off to these people. And I've personally met lots I've enjoyed and plenty more I only know from email. Any time I've asked for help or advice, I get it in droves. They've hand-made me gifts, stop by the Mid-America Truck Show annually to say hello, and remember things I've written long after I've forgotten. They love their country, their families, and their pets and they are dedicated and devoted individuals. It's truly a cool group of people who make up trucking. I wanted to mention this industry because I'm proud to be part of it and because I hope drivers and other industry members will be a big part of the folks who visit me here regularly. And now I'd like to give all of you a little something--another electronic medium that, while not being anywhere as cool as this one, is a dandy one made better because it's updated daily and is not only entertaining, it's useful. It's my day job: http://www.thetrucker.com/

So while yes, I selfishly hope you'll make this page a favorite of yours since I have plenty to say (just ask my mom...or my boss), for a daily electronic trucking site that offers a whole lot for you in particular and makes an oustanding home page for drivers in-the-know, consider http://www.thetrucker.com/ my little gift to you.

January 24, 2009

Who says you can't buy love?


I had a favorite college professor where I went to school, Kennesaw State University. Of course, you are all familiar with the Kennesaw State Owls. We were fierce in all sorts of sports. I can't name one now but I'm sure we were. Anyway, just days into college, you begin hearing tales of which professors to fight to get and which you should avoid at all costs...even if it meant switching majors. Which is how I went from Psychology to Communications, incidentally. So among these life-altering tidbits of conversation, I learned about the professor who was an absolute must-get for American Government. Tebeest was his name. If it was Dr. Tebeest or just Mr. Tebeest, I'm embarrassed to say I don't recall. But I tried and failed to get his class no less than five quarters and then finally: score! I landed his M-W-F 10:50 class. And he did not disappoint. Tebeest's personality made this subject--that was not of any particular interest to me but required to take--one that I loved.

Yes, sirree, Mr. Tebeest made that American Government class interesting from start to finish. His delivery, infused comic comments and overall demeanor made him easy to understand and a joy to listen to. Government, a JOY? Seriously, it was. Of it all, there was one thing he said in particular that has stayed with me to this day. Was it the importance of the 21st amendment and its impact on life today? No. Perhaps the difference between the judicial and executive branches of the government? Sadly, no. What did stick with me is this profound bit of insight: "Anyone who says you can't buy love," Tebeest boomed to the lecture hall of students, "never bought a puppy." Mr. Tebeest would be thrilled to know this is the defining memory of my entire Government class, I'm sure. But as a dog lover to a ridiculous degree, I couldn't concur with this sentiment more.

All my life I have loved animals of all kinds. It's pretty extreme and I don't even make an effort to hide this about myself. Every single Christmas, without fail, the number one item on my list of wants and desires was a kitten. (Alas, my mother is not the furry fan that I am.) All my friends and family, if asked to describe one item of note about me, would undoubtedly refer to my love of animals. Check this: one of my all-time favorite books is called "One Thousand White Women" and it centers around American Indians. Indians have names usually given because of personality traits or actions. Remember "Dances with Wolves?" So after reading this choice in my book club, I challenged the gals to think of what we'd give each other as an Indian name. I thought it'd be a cool insight into how we each viewed one another. This could've been dangerous, I realize. I mean, what if someone suggested someone else's name as "Speaks with Too Loud Voice" or "Dresses Like a Whore?" Uncommmmmfortable. But I figured we all liked one another relatively well so it would hopefully be funny and interesting. And it was. My friend Tracy was "One Who Nurtures" because she really takes care of all people around her. Carolyn was "She Who Is Beautiful" because she is. Stunningly so. My friend Lori was dubbed one of the funnier names: "She Who Flashes Her Boobs." Read into that what you will... Someone else called Lori "Speaks With Fire" referring to her salty speech, liberally sprinkled with expletives. Lori is clearly one of my most colorful friends. "Me? "She Who Loves Animals." (My alternates were "One Who Leads" and "She Who Keeps Secrets," as in the secrets of others that are confided to me--both flattering names, I thought.)

My kitten-begging from childhood has stayed with me to this day. I do love all animals--well, the furry ones. Not sure if you'd classify frogs or anything scaly as an "animal" but if you would, then I should clarify and say my definition of an animal is one with fur. Say No to Scales, that's my motto. Of all the furry animals, of course, dogs and cats are the most common. And while you might be thinking: "Hey, you're not unique. I too fancy dogs and cats," I venture to say that I'm more extreme than you. Yes, you.

Case in point: When I am out and about and see a dog in public, I go and say hello. Always. My husband knows this and patiently waits while I make obligatory trips to ruffle some fur and scratch behind some ears. When I go on vacation, I take pictures of dogs I see. (I do this surreptitiously because I'm sure folks would wonder what weirdo was taking photos of their dogs.) See for yourself:

A little Golden puppy that was at the top of the slopes in Wengen, Switzerland:
Golden Retriever in Switzerland

A Sheltie at the train station in Wengen, Switzerland:
Sheltie in Switzerland

One of my favorite breeds of dogs--this is a long-haired German Shepherd that was waiting for his female owner in Lucern, Switzerland. He was ecstatic when she came back out to get him.
Long-haired Shepherd in  Lucerne

I just feel a connection with animals--dogs in particular. They are terrific beasts with qualities you can't always find in humans and because of that, they make life better. They're companions, they love unconditionally, they listen to you moan about the crappy boyfriend or the colleague who used you as a stepping stool up the career ladder, and they never tell your secrets. All good, right? But I do have one issue: the extremity of my adoration can be a hindrance. I cry if I see any animals roadside who lost a battle with a car. In fact, when approaching anything that even looks like it might be an animal on the road or beside it, I turn my head and drive with only my peripheral vision. Why? If I get too good a look, the tears start a-flowin'. The absolute sadness of what was an animal who loved and was loved dying alone after being painfully hit by a moving vehicle...mmmm, I can't even type more about that or I'll cry now. I sobbed for two days after being at my vet at the same time an owner arrived with his 15 year old German Shepherd that he told me he was there to put down. Two days. I did not know this man or that dog. But the dog looked incredibly frail and though he'd clearly lived a long and loving life, it was so, so sad. I could imagine what the man was having to endure. Not to mention that I'd been there before myself, with my 11 year old cat, Roo, who I had to relieve from her misery in 2001.

When my own Sheltie Jess passed away very unexpectedly at the age of 9, it was a heart-wrenching pain on top of being an absolute shock. My son remembers it now, saying: remember when Jess died, Mommy, and you cried so hard your face turned purple?

But even though the heartache of death is a price you pay for loving animals this much, I wouldn't trade life with a dog or cat or furry creature for one without. So why on earth tell you all this? Just laying a little groundwork. You should know this information about me so that when you read future entries that are entwined with my menagerie of animals, you won't be thinking what is with this girl and the animals?? Now you know.

And Mr. Tebeest, you may not have taught me anything about government that I've retained (sorry!) but you uttered brilliance when you talked about buying yourself some love via a furry creature. And for that I'll always remember you.

January 19, 2009

Circus Ole!


We went to Cirque Du Soleil this past weekend. Their show "Kooza" is touring the country under a big top and graces the streets of Atlanta currently. If you've never seen a Cirque Du Soleil show, you must go. There's tons of shows to choose from, but unless your city is on the tour plans for one of the traveling shows, you have to go to Las Vegas, Orlando, New York, Tokyo or Canada to see one. But again, lots of shows means lots of cities so if you're not jet-setting to Japan or Vegas anytime soon, keep your eyes open for the big top to hit your streets. And then get your tickets in plenty of advance. We bought ours about two months ago.

Leading up to the show, my son would talk about it from time to time and I noticed he was calling it Circus Ole! which I find hysterical. That's apparently the Mexican version, which is a lot LIKE Cirque Du Soleil but with salsa.

So Saturday afternoon we raced downtown, running late for the 4:00 showing. Tardiness is ridiculously typical for me but this time we weren't running on typical "Cullingford-time" (loosely translated: 5-10 minutes late--juuuuust late enough that I think if I drive like a maniac and hit the steering wheel a bunch, I'll be able to catch myself up to being ON time) but this time, even having known for two whole months what time the show would be and what time we needed to leave to get there in time to park, walk in, find seats, etc, we were actually running LATE late. That was new. Also new? Not my fault.

My sister in law and her 4-year-old daughter who can be...you know, 4-year-oldish...arrived 30 minutes late to my house and whatdya know? No amount of maniacal driving or steering wheel banging was catching up that kind of time. Through the miracle of a God who wanted me to see this show from start to finish, we walked in the tent about 2.5 minutes before the show began. It was me, my husband, my son, his best friend, my sister-in-law, her daughter and my mother-in-law. And the show did not disappoint. For those of you who are familiar with the old standby Barnum & Bailey, this is not that. As was evident from the solo trapeze artist (that's right: one) who made some odd Russian hand gesture and threw out some 'tude to the audience when we failed to deliver the kind of applause she felt she deserved. Yep, this ain't Barnum, baby.

Instead, think: awe-inspiring acts of unique ability that often involved the danger of plummeting to the floor interspersed with humor-infused antics, and all wrapped up with cool music and theatrics with unique make-up and costumes. Whew! That's quite the definition, huh? I'm exhausted from just typing it. All the acts were really tremendous with plenty of stunts, jumps, twists, turns, etc. that never fail to thrill. There were contortionists who made every man in the audience sit up a little straighter and clowns who were actually funny. No slapstick, no water-spitting flowers, no humongous bow ties or volkswagons full of 15 full size clowns plus a midget. Instead, there was plenty of jokes, gags and inneundo geared more to the adult audience but not obvious enough to be a concern for the younger crowd. And who doesn't love the total embarassment of the volunteer they sucker on stage, provided that volunteer isn't YOU? (My son was dying to be one; I was under my chair to make sure I wouldn't be.) Plus there's always a sort of hidden storyline with some recurring characters. Now that part is tough to read into--Kooza has a child-like character who starts and ends the show with a kite. Profound, right? I thought so. I tell ya, from moment one, this show redefines a circus.
After a couple hours of oohs, aahs and laughter, $23 for two sodas, a hot dog and a popcorn (and you thought movie theaters price gouged for snacks), $7 for a beer (that's right: 7 whopping dollars for one standard bottle of 12 oz beer and it was Budweiser at THAT) and outstanding behavior from my 4 year old neice who, other than the time she removed a bandaid from her finger which caused crying-jag amounts of pain, had done amazingly well, the show concluded. All in all, a spectacular night, even if there wasn't any salsa.

Oh, and my neice now has a new ambition: to be a contortionist. Here, she shows off her already amazing ability:


Abigail the Contortionist

January 16, 2009

What the hell is blogging and why would anyone do it?


A fitting kick off to a brand new blog, don't you think? "What the hell is blogging and why would anyone do it?" was a question posed by my mother. And though she was asking it in a very literal way, even though I know what blogging IS, I have also asked myself at least part of that profound question: Why would anyone do it?

I explained to my mother--who, by the way, saw Blogging as a cheap job opportunity in one of many spam emails on how you can do simple tasks and easily make a gazillion dollars WORKING FROM YOUR VERY OWN HOME. I've seen this myself: Become a blogger and make money part time. Now, I'm not sure how THAT works but if anyone can tell me how I might make some dough keying in these words, do tell.

I digress. I explained to my mother that a blog is essentially a public diary. That was my best simple description. You jot your own personal thoughts on anything under the sun and you post them online for the world to read as it chooses. The reasons why someone would do this must number as many as there are blogs in existence. I've read blogs by people whose clear purpose is to catch their own family up on the comings and going of their personal lives. Nice but not exactly riveting stuff that would make strangers in, say, Lincoln, Nebraska, check in daily for an update. Some folks have very specific reasons for blogging: maybe they're part of a group that's experiencing similar life experiences and they share details to help others going through the same thing. Like online counseling from non-professionals. Divorce, infertility, adoption, jello shooter addiction, etc. And then there are my favorite bloggers: they're simply funny and entertaining while commentating on their lives in general. I've followed blogs of people I've never met and never will meet because reading their stuff made me laugh and I could relate to whatever they were saying. That's the category I hope to fall into.

Let me set the stage: I am already a writer by trade, having worked as an Editor and then a Publisher/GM for the nation's number one trucking magazine, Trucker's Connection, for nearly 15 years. For me, writing is therapeutic and I enjoy writing "off the cuff." I have two print columns that I have the liberty of writing this way and it seems natural that I would now add an electronic version to my portfolio (which I don't actually possess, but it sounds good).

A blog is a lot of what a print column is not: it's much more timely since I can write this morning and you can be reading it in about 5 minutes, as opposed to about a two month lead time with monthly print. And since this isn't technically sanctioned by work, it's gonna be more of a free for all. See? The craziness begins: you could never say Gonna in a magazine. I know, I know. Calm down. Too much excitement before 9:00 a.m. is a health hazard. I'm lucky to be functioning at all this time of day. Let's just say I'm not a morning person.

So here we go--thus does commence the public diary of Megan Cullingford Hicks. For friends, family, truck drivers, Trucker's Connection readers, and, well, perfect strangers. I've got stuff to say and I can only hope you find it worthy of reading.

Check out my day job: http://www.thetrucker.com/. Look left and find the Viewpoint link to find my specific contribution. For the print version, venture to your nearest truck stop--you know you're there all the time--and grab Trucker's Connection or my sister pub, Downtime.