Who knew? Whatever is not covered in nicknacks at the Wild Women’s cabin is accented with the musings of a prolific Christian plaque maker. It quite astounded the former rulers of the Charlotte Observer when we all got here yesterday.
There is not a single square inch of this five-bedroom cabin that is not covered in stuff.
I am not making fun. I cannot afford to own a luxury cabin in the Smokies. So who am I to criticize the decor. But there is a lot of it. We were all just soaking it in until Jody, our Wild Jewish Woman, came out of the Christian bathroom. Jesus has His own bathroom at Oak Haven Resort. Perhaps a little centering prayer is in order. We suggest this to Jody. I think you can agree with me that she looks quite serene here and I believe a conversion will be coming along in short order. You just cannot be in the Jesus bathroom for more than a second without feeling the incredible power of the place, particularly from the vantage point of the commode.
I will now show you the second greatest religious experience of the weekend. It is how five women can pack enough food into a refrigerator to last for three weeks, even though we will attempt to consume all of it in the next two days. Water into wine, which we have quite a lot of. Wine, that is. I believe Jesus would be right on track with this. As He waits for Jody in His bathroom.
We have chicken fajitas. We have homemade split pea soup. We have Lipton’s onion dip, which Kathy Haight specifically requested. We have designer sausage and locovore bacon. We have eggs from happy chickens. We have rum cake!! With freshly whipped cream, of course. In a nod to better health, we also have organic yogurt, organic peanut butter and organic bread. And homemade shortbread covered in chocolate, which is not organic but is going faster than the yogurt. We have pesto dried tomato cheese torta and a bottle of Evan Williams egg nog spiked with bourbon that, I will admit, I am having a wee nip of as I write.
So, we’re off to a good start. I have already gotten my pedicure at the
spa, which is slightly ill advised as it means I will be wearing flip flops well into December just to display my dazzling toes (my color selection is called “I’m really not a waitress.”) The others are at the spa now getting various facials and massages. Except for our artist Miriam, who is probably painting a portrait of the odd and disturbing doll tchatchke over her bed. This weekend, I am Cathy again, the only first name these girls have ever had for me. It’s a comfortable place to be Cathy, with these incredible women who live strong and meaningful lives. And are actually even funnier and more irreverent than they were 30 years ago.
Jody, Jesus is saving you a “seat” in the bathroom. You’d best get on in there.