The Way I See It

What I'm Loving Wednesday - Making New Memories

2012-02-01T07:47:00.002-06:00

When I was a little girl my Grandpappy would take us to Ligers Bakery in the Normandale shopping center just to get a gingerbread man. I can't honestly say whether we did this 5 times or 5,000, but the memory is etched on my heart regardless.

Yesterday afternoon Rosemary and her Mama came over to spend some time, and just on an impulse we decided to go to Ligers, which is no longer in Normandale but which is ridiculously close to my house for me to admit I don't go there very often.

As much as I wanted to get her a gingerbread man, the cake pops they had in the display were just adorable. I selected two slices of cherry pie for the grown-up dessert (to be divided into 4 servings), and they and a strawberry cake pop came home with us, in Ligers' traditional white paper bag.

We had a really nice supper, and then it was time for dessert. I think it is safe to say that as far as Rosemary is concerned, Ligers' Cake Pops were a hit.

We will do this again. Maybe even 5,000 times.

A Tale of Two Lunches

2012-01-26T15:44:00.000-06:00

I enjoy fresh food, freshly prepared, as much as the next person. I'd really enjoy it every day for lunch if there were someone here to prepare it for me. No matter how hard I search my house when I get home for my lunch hour, though, there no one ever seems to be here offering me a plate of something they just whipped up.

So, I go for quick and easy. I heat a can of soup, reheat leftovers when available, slap some tuna and a pickle between a couple slices of bread -- that sort of thing. But when the grocery store runs a big special on frozen meals I happen to like (as part of a balanced diet, of course) I go armed with good coupons and really stock up.

My Dad seems to actually like some frozen dinners, and I will confess that when I am on night detail with him they can be a real help. He eats well earlier than I ever do, so preparing a real meal for the two of us can be problematic.

When I fix one of these for him I plate it and add a little something else to balance things out nutritionally: a bit of fruit, some extra vegetables. I began to notice something after doing this for all these weeks: there was more food in those single serve meals than it seems. Until a few days ago when I would zap a frozen meal I'd just eat it out of the little plastic tray. None too elegant, and quite often I just didn't feel like I had eaten.

So this week, using my fine china (which is now my everyday china because life is too short to save the good stuff for some other time) I have begun taking stuff like this:

.... and putting it on something like this.

Well, you get my point.

What's in Photo #1 one looks like a frozen meal bought on sale with a coupon, but what is in Photo #2 looks at least a little more as if someone went to the trouble to fix lunch for me. I found I took my time eating it, and when I was done it felt more like a meal than a mad food dash. I've heard it said that we eat with our eyes first, and there is no doubt that the difference in perception between those two views, at least in terms of quantity of food, explains why I felt more fed haven plated and supplemented the dish with a little (gasp!) bagged salad. (I know my foodie friends and family are squirming. You are on your own to deal with it.)

Another new habit for 2012? Most definitely!

What I'm Loving Wednesday - BUGS!

2012-01-25T06:45:00.002-06:00

Not all bugs, of course. It's hard to get all warm and fuzzy about most of them, most of the time.

Ladybugs are different. Maybe it's because we meet ladybugs in verse when we are little, when we encourage one of them to flyaway home to check on her children. Anthropomorphism does wonders for one's early appreciation of nature, doesn't it?

Let's face it: ladybugs are just cute. I mean, they are polka-dotted, for goodness' sake! And they are very beneficial. We welcome them in the garden because they have a big appetite for bugs who are not so nice. (Maybe those bugs didn't have nursery rhymes written about them, and have "issues" arising from that?)

My granddaughter's house plays host to a benign infestation of ladybugs every year. The first time this happened her parents were understandably bothered, but as they have gotten used to them, and as they have learned that they aren't there to do damage, it's become more a source of bemused irritation.

Ladybugs are said to offer protection, and luck. While I am not overly given to superstition, as long as some of the people I love best are living in that house, I like the idea that these little friends keep coming back.

Cloverdale Road Ladybug

I now pronounce you.......

2012-01-23T20:29:00.040-06:00

In Old Testament times, names carried extraodinary weight. When God created a covenant with Abram, he gave him the name Abraham. Jacob wrestled with an angel and came away as Israel. What they were born with served them fine, but when it was time for a sea change, God went to work on the names first.

I don't want to overstate this, but I now think I know what that moment might have felt like, at least a little, for Abram and Jacob, because what you are fixing to hear is my first grandchild speaking a name for me for the first time.

When she was born I wanted to be called Granny, because that's what all the children (and their friends) called my mother, but it got confusing a few times when we were both in the room. I knew that whatever I came up with was just a placeholder, so I thought and thought, and decided that because I'm already named for my Grandmama Eleanor, I'd just refer to myself as Grandmama. In the months since Mama died, I've been sorry I didn't just stick to my guns. But after this, that doesn't matter to me anymore.

Of course, Grandmama is bunch of syllables, but I figured she'd sort it for herself. It would either work or not, but whatever she dubbed me I would be DUBBED for better or for worse and for good. As first grandchild with the job of choosing what I will be called for all those who may come after, well, that's a whole lot of power for a short person to have.

This afternoon, her Mama pointed at me across the room and said, "Rosemary? Who's that?"

JAMAMA!

I wasn't sure about this, so I told my daughter-in-law I wasn't entirely convinced. And with that, Jackie asked her again... 'Rosemary? Who's that?" And that baby girl came across the room at me, saying "JAMAMA!"

It may continue to morph. It may sound like something else altogether in a week.

But whatever it is, my heart just burst open and spilled over, and I just needed to share.

What I'm Loving Wednesday -- LITTLE FEET

2012-01-11T07:35:00.000-06:00

Anyone who has ever spent more than 15 minutes with me knows that I believe shoes on little children are of the devil. I get all squidgy when I see little toes that look like nothing so much as sweet peas lined up in a pod.

I will admit that some shoes are cute. For a minute or two, tops. But I want to see those sweet little feet.

Bare feet mean home to me.

On the other hand, baby feet zipped up in footie pajamas speak that word in a whole 'nother language.

What I'm Loving Wednesday -- GROCERIES!

2012-01-04T17:56:00.000-06:00

Especially the ones that smile at you.

One Line a Day....

2012-01-02T12:44:00.000-06:00

.... one day at a time. That's my only resolution in 2012.

It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like.....

2011-12-23T18:50:00.000-06:00

What I'm Loving Wednesday -- HOT TEA!

2011-12-21T12:37:00.001-06:00

Okay, so it's not like I didn't already like tea a whole lot, but since I started taking a cup of chamomile in the evenings to help me sleep, the gentility of tea prepping and sipping has become something to which I look forward every night. I generally have a cup of herbal tea with supper, and one of chamomile with a little squeeze of lemon at 9:27 p.m.

I confess here that my tastes are not sophisticated: I am neither ambitious enough to steep loose tea, nor interested enough in starting the practice to invest in the tools of the trade. I'm quite happy with my bagged tea, thank you. The latest variety I'm enjoying is a pomegranate blend. I didn't even know I liked pomegranate, but I bought it by accident and was hooked from the first sip.

Acquisitions of new habits spawn new desires, I have found. I ran across this fine tea set a few days ago. I find I would very much like to have it. Too bad I can't remember where I found it!

What I'm Loving Wednesday -- TREES!

2011-12-14T07:03:00.000-06:00

A word of preamble is in order here.

I am not a big Christmas Decorator person. All the years my boys were growing up, one or the other, or both, would accompany their father to pick out our tree which I always insisted must be SMALL. Our oldest son lost interest in the process when he got to be a teenager, and it fell to my husband and youngest son to be the tree picker-outers. As time passed, and we all got busier, and I got less interested in decorating AT ALL, we grew a new tradition -- we would wait until the last minute -- when trees are reduced to $5 (adjust for inflation here, if you must) and they would go find the sorriest, saddest tree out there and adopt it. We'd dress it up when it got here, and the transformation became a part of our Christmas tradition.

The last few years, though, we've done without a tree at all. No wreaths. No nothing. It wasn't that we didn't look forward to Christmas, it's just that nobody here had TIME to make the effort anymore, and it was just another stress to add to all the other things that we just decided we did not need.

And then a baby got born.

Not THAT one. THIS one.

Rosemary McCord Lucas

Last year at Christmas she had just turned one. She wasn't exactly into the whole spirit of the day, but I said then that I could sense a time was coming when we would want to make the effort again, for her.

Last night, following a hand bell rehearsal at church I sat in the parking lot and pulled my phone out to call my husband to see what I might pick up at the grocery for supper. I checked Twitter first, though, and saw this post from my daughter-in-law: "Let's all pray for @henry3012 with a 'happy' RML on a Christmas tree outing!"

Uh oh.

And then this got posted, by @henry3012 (aka "Pop"): "Lookin' for just the right tree."

Shortly thereafter, I was home sitting on the sofa and heard the jubilant cries of SEVENTEEN! (somebody's new favorite word) outside the back door, and I was pulled off my sofa to come out and look.

Yep.

You're looking at the 2011 Christmas Tree Committee.

And I am, despite a year of difficulties, major changes we didn't wish for, and ultimately the heartbreak of losing my Mama less than two months ago, finding myself looking forward to Christmas again for the first time in a very, very long time.

And a little child shall lead them, indeed.

That's what I'm loving this Wednesday.

What I'm Loving Wednesday -- Implements!

2011-12-07T07:06:00.001-06:00

I love pens.

I most especially love free pens, and have an enormous collection of them courtesy of friends from all over the country who have sent them to me from their own or local businesses, or hotels from all over the world in which they've stayed, or other assorted places that advertise through writing implements.

I haven't bought a pen in probably 20 years.

I'm very particular about them. They have to fit well in my hand, the ink has to flow evenly (I toss pens without passing "go" if they skip or leave clumps), and I know I am hooked to a particular pen when I go looking for it even when there are others right at hand.

Now I find myself deeply conflicted.

The Office Depot pen you see up there? The good people who own the bookstore in which I work bought a box of them recently, and I have gone quite dotty on them. They are almost perfect, but cannot meet my criteria for True Pen Perfection for two reasons.

You shouldn't have to buy pens that advertise a place of business.

And the only way I'll wind up with one of these in my personal possession is if I pilfer it.

Even I draw the line somewhere.

But when I'm at work? I'm loving these.

What I'm Loving Wednesday -- Breakfast

2011-11-30T07:01:00.000-06:00

Yeah, I know.

Oatmeal.

Wouldn't touch the stuff, even 6 months ago.

But then one morning I had fixed my granddaughter an instant packet of the Publix brand Organic/nothing added oatmeal into which I'd stirred some strawberry yogurt, and she wasn't interested in eating so I was trying to entice her by remarking about its utter deliciousness which, of course, meant I had to actually put some of it in my mouth -- and lo! and behold....

It wasn't godawful.

It wasn't great, either. Just not horrible.

As the weather has begun to cool, and I've been trying to retool my daily food routines a bit, I decided I'd fiddle around with oatmeal again, especially since fresh pineapple was so cheap at the grocery these last couple weeks, and really, with enough fresh pineapple the world is a better place. I discovered that as quick and easy as the instant might be, it just didn't hold up to the wonderfulness that is pineapple.

So I bought myself an actual box of regular ol' oatmeal, and 1/2 cup of grains, a cup of water, a dash of salt, 5 minutes in the microwave at half power, and some cut up pineapple later.....

....I'm still not exactly loving it, but as I eat it I realize that the health benefits and the fact that it really does stick to my ribs a little better than my usual breakfast of cold cereal did makes it a reasonable and not unwelcome addition to the morning food rotation.

So, maybe not love, but I have got a pretty healthy crush going here.

What I'm Loving Wednesday - Gnomes!

2011-11-23T12:20:00.000-06:00

Can you spot all the gnomes?

What I'm Loving Wednesday -- WORDS!!

2011-11-16T08:13:00.000-06:00

Many of you already know this, but our sweet granddaughter Rosemary, who will celebrate her second birthday on Thanksgiving, has been characterized as speech delayed. Although we've all heard many reassuring stories about other late talkers (my own Aunt, for one, who never said a word until she was 3, and then began with complete sentences), when it's your child, your grandchild, it's hard to not have some anxiety about this.

When both of my sons were little bits, it seemed there was always somebody coming out of the woodwork to point out that their kid was smarter, cuter, faster, more whatever than mine were. They weren't making a point to be cruel, of course -- parents brag on their kids. It's what parents do. But that didn't make it sting any less.

In this time of social media, though, I think my son and daughter-in-law have felt this particularly hard. Friends with children Rosemary's age and younger are -- understandably -- tickled to post about all the wonderful, bright, cute things their children are doing, and God love 'em, they have a right to do that! We've all enjoyed watching those sweet milestones. Goodness knows I have posted tons of stuff recording Rosemary's least little accomplishments, but it just has made the pressure a little harder on my little family, highlighted the differences more acutely with each passing week, sometimes.

To her great credit, my daughter-in-law has not let this make her completely crazy. She went through appropriate channels to get some help, and patience has been her strong suit.

And much to our delight, words have begun to come, though, and right along with them, apparently, some skills in basic accounting.

What I'm Loving Wednesday

2011-11-09T08:03:00.000-06:00

I was wandering through Blogville a couple months ago and found a blog wherein a woman had a regular feature called "What I'm Loving Wednesday." I enjoyed looking at her Wednesday posts, which were full of serious things, silly things, products she had tried, movies/books/music she'd enjoyed, and it struck me as a brilliant exercise -- plus an easy way to come up with an idea to keep writing.

And then my mother became ill and died, and although during all those horrible weeks there were still things I found to love and enjoy, the writing about them just didn't happen. Mama was one of the regular readers of my blogs, and frequently commented on them (mostly anonymously), and after her death I ran across an e-mail she'd sent a friend with a prayer I'd written, with the addendum that she was proud of my writing, and wished I would "do" something with it.

I figure if reading what I wrote gave her joy, or pride, or an occasional raised eyebrow, I would dishonor her memory if I quit doing it. I have begun another blog that deals specifically with her death, and my grieving, and all the little landmines (some devastating, some funny) that have come my way, and because I know they will continue to, that will be an ongoing concern. If you are interested in that blog at all, the link can be found to the right of this post.)

Anyway, today begins a new thing, then. I hope you'll enjoy!

***

WHAT I'M LOVING WEDNESDAY

BANANAS

The art of banana selection is complicated. Buy too many when they are ripe and you will end up with a freezer full of banana bread makings. Buy too many that are too green, and, well, yuck.

I've been in charge of banana buying for my father for the past many weeks. He eats 2 each day, and he likes them on the greenish side. And small. Over all these weeks I have learned an important lesson.

The greenest bananas -- so green that you frequently have to read the sign to even know they are bananas -- are at Winn-Dixie on Carter Hill Road.

The best overall selection of equal parts green and ripe bananas is at Publix on Zelda Road, although getting a good mix is hard on Wednesdays.

The ripest bananas can be found at Super Foods on McGehee Road. It's a perfect little trip around the corner when you realize that the green ones you bought haven't ripened enough to eat.

So, what I'm loving this Wednesday is bananas.

The eating of. The buying of. The writing about.

Letting the day speak for itself.

2011-09-11T11:19:00.001-05:00

We remember.

You're doing what???

2011-09-07T18:46:00.002-05:00

I took my first Tai Chi class last night at our local Taoist Tai Chi Society Center. This gentle martial art has been on my radar for a long time: a customer of mine who suffered for years with lupus was a devotee up until her death just a couple of years ago; and another customer is an instructor. Of course, I've seen the same sorts of glimpses you have --- groups of (it seems) often mostly older Chinese folks moving so slowly, so gracefully, so peacefully that even watching them seems to have a relaxing effect.

I'd done a great deal of studying about this, and what I heard during a break last night from those who have practiced for varying numbers of years confirmed what I'd been reading. Folks who suffered horribly with arthritis are enjoying more flexibility and lives without pain as a constant companion. A woman there shared her story of having a "frozen" shoulder that caused her to have very limited range of motion for years now has no evidence of any of that problem. One woman even said that when her sinuses are giving her trouble she does some sets of Tai Chi and finds the relief to be truly extraordinary. Too many to count credit Tai Chi with correcting problems with balance -- and that's literal as well as figurative.

My husband will testify that there are evenings, especially after stressful or particularly busy days, when my balance is so off he worries about my every step. There are still days when I struggle with cognitive difficulties and speech blips. At this point the why doesn't even matter. I have employed as many work-arounds as I can to cope with these things, and I began to wonder if, perhaps, Tai Chi might offer me something wildly different and beneficial.

After one class, of course, the verdict is still well out on that score. What I do know is that I will not be one of those folks in the videos who seem weightless, and move seamlessly from one beautifully fluid movement to another for a very, very, very long time.

I know this because there were mirrors everywhere in the center.

And I know this because the instructor, whose name was Scout (which means I already liked her a ton, of course), never, ever said to anyone, "You're doing that wrong, you ox!" Nevertheless, I could not help but notice that in the whole large group of students, she always seemed to stand near me and lock eyes and say very gently, "Let's all try that again" after I had botched something up badly.

And I know this because one of the other students, a young man who is a yoga instructor and wants to add Tai Chi as another dimension to his overall skillset, started off standing behind me. I jokingly said to him, "You probably don't want to do that. I'm so uncoordinated that I am the only person in the history of the University of Montevallo ever to get an "D" in square dancing, and that only after my partner dropped the course, and I was tapped to be in charge of the record player, thus managing to bring my grade up ever so slightly."

He was polite to a fault, and held his ground.

After the break, during which we enjoyed jasmine tea and assorted decidedly un-Asian inspired snacks left over from the recent Dragon Boat races, Mr. Yoga moved all the way across the floor from me.

Bless his heart.

I bought some comfortable pants to wear for this new enterprise, by the way. If I could embroider, I'd put the letters "L" and "R" on the appropriate legs of those pants, just above the knees, before my next lesson.

My husband, who loves me even though I cannot dance or change albums well, said he would get me a BFR to take with me next week. He will not tell me what those letters stand for, but referred to his military career, and what uncoordinated soldiers placed in one pocket before it was time for them to march in formation to help them remember which leg to start out on. I have my theories about those initials, but I am too polite to share them.

We learned three moves last night. I can do the first one in my sleep. It consists of standing very still and slowly raising your arms so they are parallel to the floor. Nailed it on the first try, I did.

So there is hope for me, right?

This is Taoist Tai Chi founder, Master Moy Lin-Shin

Life is simple in a sandbox.

2011-09-04T15:39:00.001-05:00

Wordless Friday

2011-08-26T06:49:00.000-05:00

Columbus, Ohio is fixing to be a brighter place.

A Day in the Life

2011-08-25T18:21:00.000-05:00

For many years now we have been a three cat family.

This is Big Louie in 2008.

He's the elder statesman.

He is named for poet Robert Louis Stevenson, on account of the obvious name for a gray kitty is Shadow, as in

"I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me,

And what can be the use of him is more than I can see...."

which is a poem by Mr. Stevenson that my Mama used to recite to me. A Whole Lot. I have tried not to take it personally, lo, these many years.

***

This is Dusty Cat, in 2007.

We usually name our cats after people, but we made the mistake of letting one of the boys name her, and this is what whichever one that was came up with.

We signed whichever one that was up for some Creativity 101 classes shortly thereafter, and he has turned out just fine.

***

And this is Weird Uncle Gus, circa 2009.

He earned that name by being like the guy at the family dinner that sort of stands in the corner and just observes in a way that borders on the creepy. Everybody knows he's harmless, and he has never been anything but gentle and kind, but, well, he's just weird, is all.

***

Yesterday morning I went out for my walk, starting off down Crawford as usual. It was a really pretty morning, nothing out of the ordinary at all save a Squirrel Who Had Seen Better Days laid out in the middle of the street.

I was gone just a little more than an hour, and as I approached my starting point I spotted something out of place in the yard that's catty-corner from ours.

It was a black and white cat. It was very, very still.

I called out, "Gus! Gus?"

Nothing.

***

Inside my home, fast asleep, was my son, Thomas, who leaves tomorrow on his way for Columbus, Ohio for a year. Thomas is the only person Gus really has ever had much to do with. In fact, I've only ever met one cat in my life who didn't prefer Thomas to every other person on the planet. He just has a way with them.

I just knew I could not send Thomas off on such a sad note, so I started taking a series of deep breaths and thinking about what in the heck to do to insure he wouldn't find out.

Normally, my husband is in charge of this sort of thing, but he was already at work. I didn't think it would be prudent to ask him to come all the way home to take care of what needed taking care of.

I also could not bear the thought of calling the city agency that removes such. I just didn't want Gus handled by people who didn't care about him.

Time was ticking away. I began to worry about kids walking to school, and hated for them to see sweet kitty Gus like that. I realized that I was going to have to do What Needed to Be Done -- and quickly. I thought that if I really hurried I could get this done, figure out what to do with Gus before Thomas got out of bed, and then I would just spend the next couple days avoiding answering the inevitable, "Mom? Have you seen Gus?"

I figured I could answer truthfully. "Why, yes! I have!"

There was just one little hitch in my plan.

Thomas made an unexpected appearance, and plopped his fine self down in the den. All my Cat Corpse Recovery gear I'd have to sneak by him. I managed to either escape his notice, or he wasn't entirely with the program yet, but I got by him with no problem.

***

Picture now, if you will, a raggedy looking, sweat-soaked woman crossing the street busy with school traffic, garbage bags stuffed under her arms, bright latex gloves on her hands, then stooping down and picking up a dead cat and then running back across the street with it. It is a vision I feel certain some passers-by will never fully eradicate.

I hid the evidence (not very well), then came in the house, grabbed my cellphone, and went ALL the way to the back of the house into my closet, and called my husband to ask him where in the world I could hide Gus until he could get home to HANDLE IT. We settled for the area behind his workshop: even if Thomas took a notion to cut the grass or something, he wouldn't see anything back there.

Back out I went, grabbing the now triple-bagged Gus, running across the back yard with him lest Thomas started to wonder where in the world I'd gone and come out there.... and then hid Thomas' sweet friend in the shade.

***

I came back in the house, and needed desperately to unload all this raw emotion on somebody and decided to contact a couple of folks via e-mail to let them know what had happened. Here's what I sent.

As I was returning from my walk this morning I saw our kitty, Weird Uncle Gus, dead in a neighbor's yard. He is Thomas' baby, so I knew there was no way I was going to tell him before he leaves (it's not unusual not to have seen Gus for a day or so).... so I decided to steady my nerves a minute and then head over across the street to pick up his body and figure out what in the hell to DO with it before Thomas would wake up.

EXCEPT HE GOT UP.

Geez, Louise. I just snuck out, scooped Gus up, and he is hidden behind Henry's shed (wrapped up), and then I went back in my closet to call Henry, who will come do something with him as soon as he can.

If I weren't so sad about sweet Gus, I'd probably have to laugh.

***

You can probably tell right away that there was room for some misunderstanding, what with that whole "he got up" thing.

One of my friends wrote back, in part.....

"...can I share something with you that I think will make you smile? When you said up above "and then he got up" the first time I read that I thought you were referring to Uncle Gus, and that this story was about to go in a whole nother direction! My heart is still racing!"

The other wrote this back, which made me fairly well bust a tear duct.

"If that's not a true vision of a mother's love to protect her son from sadness, I don't know what is."

E-mails continued back and forth, and we all had a good laugh about the misunderstanding, and I was ready to face the day, Gus-less.

***

I spent the day thinking about Weird Uncle Gus, but satisfied that I had done the right thing. We went out for a family dinner at our favorite restaurant so Thomas could make his goodbyes to his brother, sister-in-law, and niece. I was a wreck, watching him hug folks goodbye.

It was nearly 9:30 when we got home.

I hadn't seen Big Louie nor Dusty Cat all day, and so to my great relief, Big Louie was first in the door, followed closely behind by Dusty Cat. My gray babies were safe and sound.

I held my breath, waiting for Thomas to wonder where Weird Uncle Gus might be, turned around and saw THIS:

Answer to your first question: Yes. That's exactly who you think it is.

Answer to your second question: I have no idea.

Some days just bookend better than others. I'm sorry for the owners of the Cat Who Looked Just Like Gus, but I really needed the deep, hard, snorting-through-my-nose laughter that I got at the end of the day.

I'll just leave you with this....

Sharing

2011-08-13T11:38:00.001-05:00

BFFs sharing a grilled cheese sammich.

Be the One

2011-08-05T16:56:00.000-05:00

Yep. There's one in every crowd.

Be the one.

Breaker, Breaker

2011-07-30T17:06:00.000-05:00

Way on back in the summer of 1978 while attending the University of Montevallo, I stumbled across this guy.

He introduced himself to me as Henry.

All his friends, which pretty included every breathing being in Shelby County, called him BlueJohn.

His Mama'n'em called him Lin.

It would be fair to say I took one look at this man with all those names and that was all she wrote.

****

He had a car at that time that he fairly well loved.

She was a 1974 Spirit of America Chevy Nova.

And inside this car was one of these.

For those who are too young to remember having to get up to walk across a room to turn the TV down, this is a CB radio. With these things you could tune in to a channel and find other people who were in their cars or trucks or big rigs (that would be an 18-wheeler, child) and talk to them.

While you were DRIVING. Like, down the road.

It was a marvel, let me tell you.

Folks didn't use their names on these things, of course.

They had "handles," which were, I suppose,

the early incarnation of "screen names."

Henry/Bluejohn/Lin had a handle.

It was Captain America.

I did not have a handle, until he gave me one.

It was Kid. As in "young goat." As in stubborn.

I do not know why.

****

What I do know is that we still call each other Cap and Kid, but he's picked up a couple other names since then.

Like Daddy.

And Pop.

He answers to all of them. He is not, as they say, "particular."

Tonight we are going to see Captain America at the movies. We'll have fun. We don't travel, so movies are our vacations. We'll share the largest box of popcorn we can carry and whatever candy off the top row of the candy counter appeals to us,

and we will call that supper.

And I'll remember the good ol' days, and that old Chevy Nova and that CB radio, and be so very, very grateful for the summer of '78.

Yabba Dabs.

2011-07-28T16:27:00.000-05:00

I have long been addicted to this stuff:

It's a weakness, I know.

But yesterday, because I was out and the variety I really like the most was out of stock at the drugstore I picked up this replacement brand. I like everything else I've ever used by Aveeno, so why not give it a whirl?

Well. In the midst of my post-walk shower this morning,

I opened it up to get the post-sweat salt mines off my face.

It smelt oddly familiar, and when I say oddly, I mean oddly.

Like THIS:

At first I was repelled, but the longer I washed my face,

the groovier the whole thing began to be.

I mean, lordamercy, I was a chewable vitamins junkie back in the day.

Raise your hand if you ever popped a handful of these things in your mouth just because they were the only vaguely sweet things

your Mama would allow you to have.

"But MAMA!! They are VITAMINS!!"

Later in the morning I went into the kitchen to get the

RDA's "they" tell me are good for me these days.

They were not as much fun.

Wordless Wednesday

2011-07-27T07:17:00.000-05:00

helping hands

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Weekend With Oopsy Doodle

2011-07-21T18:10:00.000-05:00

Last weekend was about the most fun we have ever had with our granddaughter. The evil molars had finished painin' themselves into her gums, and she was giggly and playful and mischievous and full of curiosity.

Because there was a good bit of rain (thank you, Lord!) we were sort of confined to the house -- until I remembered that playing in the rain is very, very, very good for wee bairns.

Getting her bearings.

Wet sand on belly - fascinated, she was.

It doesn't taste all that great, though.

This look is what we call "grinnin' like a mule eatin' thorns."

What good is a little sand if you can't exfoliate?

Although it's true ladies oughtn't spit in public, some rules
are made to be broken.

C'est la vie!

*********

There was so much wet sand in her hair it seemed like a good idea to do a little pre-bath bathing....

As you can see, of this she was not much of a fan.

I was waiting with a towel to take her in. She seemed to have had quite enough of this foolishness, but after we pulled her now-soaked diaper off she absolutely REFUSED to come inside with me. She went back to her Pop, stood in the puddle just off that step, and would not budge.Her Pop thought maybe if he turned that hose on again -- since she clearly hated it -- that she would give in and run to her Grandmama.

Nuh uh.

***

After a time she chose to relent and I got her all clean and dry and dressed and we decided to have a very early supper at Zoe's Kitchen . Oopsy Doodle had the cheese quesadilla with SunChips and ice water.

She was not impressed with the ice water.

There was a little girl
Who had a little curl
Right in the middle of her forehead.....

But she was diggin' on that quesadilla.

One of my most favorite things in the world to do is to simply just watch her. I love knowing that so many things we fail to notice are utterly new to her. I love knowing she is too young to be jaded.

After our early supper we went for our customary frozen yogurt, then decided to stroll around the shopping center a bit before loading back up to come home. The rain had stopped, and there were plenty of little puddles just perfect for splashing in, and even a couple of fountains that held her fascination. Because it was a Sunday and there were few businesses open she had nearly free rein to run and check out her reflection in all the shop windows. She was having a ball. Even in this setting her Pop found something of nature to help her discover.

One of my other favorite things in the world to do is just to simply watch the two of them together.

"There are no seven wonders of the world in the eyes of a child.

There are seven million." ~Walt Streightiff

Inches, Feet, Yards, Miles: My 180 Life

2011-07-11T20:31:00.000-05:00

I hope you'll enjoy this post from my walking blog. If you're inclined to share, that would be great!

Inches, Feet, Yards, Miles: My 180 Life: "One Thought My Daddy ran. My Mama played tennis. My brothers played baseball, basketball, football. My sister was always on the move doi..."

A Thrill a Minute

2011-07-09T17:46:00.000-05:00

Let's just file this under Utterly Random Posts, shall we?

Our oldest son was just a little older than his daughter is now when Michael Jackson's Thriller video premiered in December of 1983. I am not ashamed to tell you that I loved that whole album. As mortified as he will be to hear this, if I had a nickel for every time I danced him around the house on Cherry Street while it was playing in the background I'd be rich. He loved it, too, and he'd come out from wherever he was, saying "Do 'again, Mommy!" and off we'd be in our own little world.

He was absolutely terrified of the video, however, and in those days, MTV played it nearly non-stop. Nothing would send him running down the hall as fast as his catching a glimpse of it. It has taken him decades to get over it, but to this day he has an unhealthy fascination with Zombies.

I only think about that now because of this video that went out on wimp.com recently.

Obviously, this little boy did not have similar issues. Enjoy!

Rock of Ages

2011-07-07T19:38:00.001-05:00

I am growing increasingly disappointed and saddened by friends in faith who would have been perfectly happy if Casey Anthony had been found guilty in less than a day, and therefore subject to the death penalty, but who are outraged over a finding of not guilty in that same amount of time. It has all taken on the tenor of a lynch mob, and the anger doesn't seem to be directed solely at her. The jury is being vilified, and Nancy Grace (how's that for a last name full of irony?) is leading the charge.

Ms. Grace is an attorney. She should know better than anybody else that a verdict of not guilty doesn't mean that the jurors believed she was innocent -- it never means that. Years ago my husband served on a jury for a trial dealing with the theft of a window air conditioning unit. I should explain here that he has always struck me as a "hang 'em high" kind of guy, so you could have knocked me over with a feather when he told me after it was all said and done that they found the guy not guilty -- but that everyone in that courtroom knew he was. The state had not proved its case. They had clearly shown Point A and Point C, but had neglected to provide a Point B. (And do not think for a minute that I'm putting the death of a child and the theft of property on the same level.)

Hate it all you want to, but when the State decides to charge a person with a crime -- particularly one in which death at the hands of the State is an option -- then they had better have a Point B.

It doesn't matter whether I think/believe Casey Anthony did any or all of the things for which she stood accused. If she had been found guilty, and sentenced to death I can well imagine that there would have been a cheer go up amongst the bloggers who were frothing at the mouth for her to come to justice. They might very well have called it God's justice, as though He requires us to give him the go-ahead for such.

You either believe God is a God of justice, even when you don't understand how or when it's going to work, or you believe that the mob should decide, and you're hoping construction starts on some new coliseums very soon.

In all of this, I have found myself wondering, what would Jesus do? How would He have me respond?

Seems to me that when He was confronted by an episode of mob justice He squatted down, picked up a stick, and began to write in the sand.

Go ahead. Pick up the rock.

I dare you to sling it.

Inches, Feet, Yards, Miles: Guilt Free Potato Salad

2011-07-04T09:44:00.000-05:00

Inches, Feet, Yards, Miles: Guilt Free Potato Salad: "Today's walk was all about 'earning' a little extra holiday BBQ, potato salad, and a cold beer. Sometimes that's as noble as it ..."

Garden Report, Week Ending July 2, 2011

2011-07-03T05:53:00.002-05:00

The garden is just a hot mess. Literally.

This is why I am not out there taking pictures so much. It's just hot, and the mosquitoes have begun to laugh at Deet. I mean it. You could put me in a tub of that stuff and turn me loose in the backyard, and I would still come inside covered in bites.

It is my sweet disposition, I know. It's a heavy burden to bear.

Saturday morning, though I took a little hike -- early -- and when I got back, here's what was waiting for me!

That basket holds okra, carrots, and an assortment of peas and or beans. (You know I can't ever seem to remember.)

But we were most excited about the tomatoes, and I don't even eat 'em. Well, I mean, as a rule I don't eat 'em. Unless the man I love grows them for me, then I'm pretty much all about the tomatoes.

Therefore, I am interested in those tomatoes.

And these, too. These are staying right there until after the 4th of July Food Fest.

Now, can we chat for just a minute about those carrots in that basket?

I realize they are teensy. We were so sad when we pulled the first big batch of them up. We felt obligated to eat one, though, just as a way of honoring root vegetables.

Well, let me tell you, these things may be little, but they pack an unbelievable punch. I just wash 'em off and toss 'em in whatever I'm cooking. They take no time to get done.

When I eat them cooked like that I think of my Grandmama, and how she loved cooked carrots, and what a kick she would get out of these little midgets.

She had a little sign in her garden about God being nearer to us in a garden than anywhere else on Earth. I think He puts a whole lot of love in the stuff He lets us grow out there, that's for sure.

Have I digressed again?

***

We need about a gazillion more of these out there. They enjoy eating mosquitoes.

They also think they hide well.

I'm keeping him.

I named him Gomer.

***

This next bit has nothing to do with gardening.

Henry has fired up both smokers for the 4th of July.

Here are two pictures of one of them.

The other one didn't look this exciting.

It smells real fine out there right now.

***

This is a pretty dreadful picture of one of our sunflowers. Things were getting a little dark out there, and I was at the sort of angle that real photographers laugh behind your back when they see you doing it, but I don't care. There was just something about this I liked anyway.

You are free to disagree.

There are, however, no refunds.

By the way.... this is the little fun thing I put together last year about Henry and his smokin' butts.

This is exactly what the next couple nights here will look like.

Enjoy!

A Capitol Idea?

2011-06-29T16:06:00.000-05:00

When I saw this headline my gut reaction was WHAT??? Then I stopped to think about it for a minute, and here's the thing: I don't think they should have been singing there, either. I don't care what they chose to sing, or how spontaneous it might have been, or how sincere they were in their patriotism -- the rotunda of the Capitol has got to be one place that is pretty high on the list for vulnerability to any manner of unpleasantly disruptive behaviors, and the Capitol police are sworn to protect not just the edifice but the visitors and those conducting the not unimportant business of running our country there. Look, I know these are nice kids. Nobody at the Capitol was suggesting otherwise, either. For Pete's sake, it's not like billy clubs came unholstered and handcuffs were slapped on. The officer didn't even interrupt -- he merely told them after their performance that they could not continue without a legally required permit. You want to teach a group of young folks how to be law-abiding citizens? THEN OBEY THE LAW. And if you inadvertently break it and are gently reprimanded, then don't hit the airwaves coming off like you just got off a Greyhound bus and were beset by armed police officers, attack dogs, and water hoses.

I can guarantee you that WSFA news wasn't just hanging around the rotunda looking for a story. Somebody who represents this group contacted them and they ran with it -- for what purpose?

I am watching this thing go viral on Twitter and Facebook, and what astounds me are how many highly educated people are completely up in arms over this.

The group did something they likely were unaware was not allowed. They were permitted to complete the National Anthem, at which point an officer stepped in to ask them not to present an encore since to do so would violate a permit issue. They apparently later attained a permit to sing elsewhere (it must not be all that hard to do), and did so to what I'm certain were delighted tourists.

So, lesson learned? Let's hope it's not the one that says that if you get your feelings hurt you have been harmed enough to notify the media.

That's the way I see it, anyway.

(Long Overdue) Garden Report

2011-06-22T19:27:00.002-05:00

Because I am so far behind, I thought I'd do something a

little different this time.

Enjoy!

Garden Tease

2011-06-11T12:18:00.003-05:00

I wish I could turn back time, to those years when seeing a mess of beans like this meant sitting on the front porch at the lake with my Mama and my Nannaw. There'd always be in a big old pot full of beans or peas to be snapped or hulled, and we'd set to work with a colander in our laps and a brown paper bag between us with its top edges turned down just so for discards.

I know I likely complained bitterly about having to do this, but it was always after a morning swim when the sun was bearing down too hot for water to be much of a relief. We'd get up in the morning, jump into our bathing suits, and they pretty much stayed on all day. Having to do this sort of stuff in a wet suit, wrapped in a towel seemed, I'm sure, like so much joy-killing, but it was in the quiet of these moments that I watched and listened and learned. Not about beans or peas, mind you, but about the women whose best gifts I hope I got at least a middlin' share of.

When our work was done, the work of our hands would be tossed in a pressure cooker, a device that always filled me with fear and trembling. I can tell you with certainty that if I could conjure the sound of that pressure valve rattling right now, though, I'd also be able to summon the smell of cornbread and the taste of my Mama's iced tea, poured from old mayonnaise jars.

I lack a lake these days, but I do have a porch and a granddaughter, and a colander and some brown paper bags. There's no pressure cooker here, either, but we've got nothing but time.

Wordless Wednesday

2011-06-08T07:14:00.011-05:00

Sunflower, fixin' to happen.

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Wordless Wednesday

2011-06-01T05:54:00.005-05:00

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Garden Report - Week Ending May 29

2011-05-29T16:11:00.000-05:00

Developments this week, in pictures!

...so named because she's about the only one in
the family who eats them...

There must be 8 - 10 cantaloupe out there.

These are the things that failed miserably last year,

so Henry didn't plant them again.

Ah, the joys of composting!

*****

Yes, it's a very small carrot, but it's a carrot!

*****

I have dearly loved my radishes, but they are so hot

nobody but me will eat them. It's a good thing

they are so photogenic, right?

*****

Say it with me....

TENDRILS!!

*****

I am pretty sure these are black bean blossoms.

Henry would know for sure.

He's asleep on the sofa.

I will not wake him to ask.

I have already asked him.

4,238 times.

But I keep forgetting.

So.

I only took this picture because these are his

favorite blooms out there right now.

One does one's best to keep the farmer happy.

*****

But the biggest news out there this week....

~~ Ta-da!! ~~

Henry's Mother-in-law's tomatoes!

Wordless Wednesday

2011-05-25T16:09:00.000-05:00

Magnolia past its prime

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Wordless Wednesday

2011-05-18T17:26:00.001-05:00

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Garden Report - Week Ending May 15

2011-05-16T17:27:00.003-05:00

Yes. I am delinquent.

Say something that will surprise anybody who really knows me.

Lots of neat stuff going on out in the back yard, the most exciting of which I can't seem to capture in a photograph. The wild bees are out in full force, and it's just incredibly exciting! Tomato plants have begun to blossom, and the lettuces continue to produce like crazy. The radishes have been just amazing -- and so hot only the bravest souls dare eat them. So far, I seem to be the only brave soul.

My favorite things out there right now, though, are the beans that have begun dancing their tendrils up the trellises Henry built for them out of bamboo and twine, and the squash.

Well here. Pictures will tell the story.

Squash blossom

SQUASH!!

Tendrils. I just love tendrils.

Where those tendrils are dancing.

Can you stand another tendril?

I knew you could.

These trellises are made from repurposed rebar.

Nothing around here goes to waste.

I really should coordinate these two a little bit

better before we go out in public again.

And what is a week without a little Wild Turkey?

(Oak Mountain State Park)

Okay -- FINE.

Back to the garden...

Somebody requested a wider shot of the garden.

This would be it.

Did I mention the lettuces are going nuts?

******

Now that that is all done....

go grab your dictionary.

Turn to the letter "C" in there.

Now find the word "contentment."

That picture should be right next to it.

Wordless Wednesday

2011-05-11T11:56:00.002-05:00

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What She's Taught Me

2011-05-08T08:20:00.002-05:00

It's Mother's Day. That means we are all going to read about how wonderful people's mothers are, because, well, it is the day for that.

There will be many overblown, overly sentimental posts on Facebook and in the blogosphere, some of which will make you wonder if the mother your friend waxes eloquent about today is the same mother your friend talks about the rest of the year.

Well, here's the way I see it.

I think it's a fine, fine thing to pay loving tribute. If you are lucky enough to have a mother who is living, she needs to be celebrated --even in audaciously glowing terms. If your mother has passed away, she deserves to be remembered. This is not to say that anyone should participate in the love fest publicly if it doesn't feel right to do so. For pity's sake, this is not a contest.

But if it were, of course, I would win.

My mother, born Jean Porter McCord, is the stuff of legends.

She was the tomboy who beaned the object of her affections upside the head from the vantage point of a chinaberry tree. (He would become her husband, and he remains the great love of her life even today. But he makes a point to avoid chinaberry trees now.)

She was an athlete in her college days and beyond, when she struck terror in the hearts of the tennis mom circuit at the Montgomery Country Club. People still talk about her mastery of the courts, and in reverent tones recollect when she finally had to stop playing because her arthritis got to her. They don't want you to know that they were, in turn, heartbroken at her retirement, and mightily relieved that now one of them would have the chance to rise to the top.

She can play the spoons, and every Saturday night before church at Trinity Presbyterian when we were growing up, she rolled my sister's and my hair up with cotton Buster Brown socks because that made the softest curls. She made our clothes, and they were beautiful.

She was a very talented pianist, and it was listening to her play when I was little that made me want to play, too. I worked hard, but I always fell short of her natural ability.

Any of her children will tell you that we would gladly skip every other Thanksgiving and Christmas food as long as her cornbread dressing is there. Although she entrusted the making of her potato salad to me a long time ago, my brothers can still point out to me every time exactly how it isn't exactly the same. And she can make at least one grown man do her bidding at any time just with the promise of her pimento cheese.

She once plowed her father's brand new Cadillac through the closed garage doors, over there on Park Avenue. That had something to do with that boy she beaned from the chinaberry tree, too.

So -- what, exactly did my mother actually teach me?

Unconditional love. Truly unconditional love, the kind that means you have to put self last. She is a pro at that.

Lack of patience with nonsense, summed up in her reminder that to disengage from such, one must "cut off the puppy dog's tail," a tag line from a story she told us all when we were growing up having to do with a little dog and the necessity of docking its tail in the kindest, quickest way possible.

It probably, though, is this last lesson that has come to mean more and more to me as I've grown a little older myself. The lesson is that, no matter how nuts your life gets, or how many things you must develop a stiff upper lip about, or how much you pour yourself out into the lives of those people you love most, you must always keep a little bit of your truest self "in there" and people need to know who that truest self is.

Happy Mother's Day, Jeanie Beanie Bad Egg.

Garden Report (and more again) - Week ending April 30

2011-05-02T17:55:00.002-05:00

This is going to be one of those quick and dirty blog entries, by which I mean I'm patching this stuff together, and goodness knows that the usual incredibly amazing photography and writing to which you have become accustomed is just going all out the window.

Please make sure you read the sarcasm in that. But I digress.

Early in the week whilst out on a walk

I spotted a whole bunch of these.

I spent a fair amount of time after snapping this photo recalling with great fondness how much fun we used to have smashing these things in one another's faces when we were little. Do children do that any more? Or have we mostly ChemLawned them out of existence? It made me nostalgic for the old days on Montezuma Road, where we burned the soles of our feet on the hot asphalt so they'd be tough enough to play kickball or Swing the Statue in yards full of stickers. Gosh -- does anybody even have those in their yards anymore?

In this fit of good-old-days-itis at the earliest opportunity I marched Rosemary out to our fence, plucked honeysuckle off the vine, and tried to educate her in the fine art of stamen removal so she might taste the nectar therein. We will try that again later. Right now, she much prefers the taste of rocks from Pop's garden.

She also prefers having her very own camp chair.
It's a Lucas thing.

But you're just here for the garden stuff, right?

Here goes!

And in a moment of pure bliss, I pretended like I was a farmer, too...

***

Oh. And I probably should mention here that beginning on May 3, 2011 at 7 a.m. there will be a really amazing man

helping run this operation.

Gratitude doesn't even begin to cover it.

By the way... feel free to click on the pictures you want to see better. They get bigger.

And when you want to get back to the blog, you just hit your back arrow.

I do not charge extra for this helpful advice.

If I have misidentified any produce, it's not my fault.

A certain farmer was too busy getting ready to go out to celebrate to make sure I had everything right.

But I love him better than hot radishes anyway.

Wordless Wednesday

2011-04-27T05:17:00.000-05:00

Click on photo to enlarge

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Garden Report (and more) - Week ending April 23

2011-04-24T19:06:00.000-05:00

What with this having been Holy Week and everything, I was busy doing all sorts of things. Photographing the garden didn't rank really high on the list, so what you're getting this week is a mish-mash of all manner of lots of other things that are growing.

Like this one. Apply dirt, water, a little sunshine, and stand back and let the fun start!

*******

These are my Scottish Roses. They are so, so tiny they make Sweetheart Roses look like steroids have been involved. I love them and they make me happy.

Is there anything more delicious than the smell of jasmine? Every day this drapes a little fuller and heavier over our fence, and provides good hiding places for all the lizards that are out there this year.

*****

This next pretty was labeled as a mosquito plant, but the ones I see around on the internet don't have flowers that look like these. Any wisdom out there on what this might be?

*****

And this is a wild garlic plant. They have so much attitude. They just YELL at you when they sprout up. I mean it - they are very tall. This opens into a really funky little poofy flower that looks like a kinder, gentler version of a disco ball.

*****

Aphids are attracted to lettuce, ladybugs are attracted to aphids. Let's see who wins over the next few weeks, shall we? It's like Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom out there!

******************

Wilbur has sat on our front porch for 15 years. He got so jealous of Zach the Garden Gnome getting all the attention that he requested a transfer. He was put in charge of guarding the eggplant this week.

Look at all that produce! Lettuce! Peas! Asparagus! I do believe we are going to have bumper crops of lots of things this year. Okra is struggling, but Henry is going to get more to plant. Right now, everything else is going great guns -- and I should have radishes soon. I love me some radishes right out of the ground.

They go so well with THIS right out of the garden!

That's a mixture of Redsails (on the right) and butter crunch and some other kind I can never remember. It doesn't seem to make it taste any less wonderful not to know what it is, though.

*****

On an entirely unrelated note, I forgot that I had taken some pictures last Sunday during the Palm Sunday festivities at church. They weren't very good, so I ditched all of them but this one.

I don't recall in all the years I have known my husband ever having had a picture of him alone with my father. Henry looks up to my Daddy. As different as these two are in most ways, they do share some astonishingly similar traits.

They are both stubborn as mules. Neither of them are keen on being told there might be a better way to do something than the way they have done it forever. Both have a maddening tendency to wrest total control of the thermostats in their households, ignoring pleas for mercy from all others.

And by God's good grace they both love me.

All photographs were taken by me, and the only reason I say this is that someone asked me this week where I get my pictures for my blog. Just wanted to clear that up. Thanks.

Oh, and if you are so inclined, please feel free to share or recommend this blog to anybody! There are easy share links at the bottom that make it a snap.

And I live for comments.

And radishes.

2011-04-23T10:41:00.001-05:00

Yesterday afternoon Jackie and Luke brought Rosemary over to have a little run through on how to hunt for Easter eggs, since they will be leaving to spend the day with Jackie's family right after church tomorrow. This was great, because we got to have some Easter egg fun, as well as the opportunity to figure out how we could help her practice a little bit today while she spends the day today here with us.

I got back from my Saturday morning walk to find Rosemary and her Pop busy at work on this project. They were having a grand time, so I whipped out my iPhone to capture the moment.

It is fair to say that things began to go downhill from here. She's a smart cookie, our Rosemary, and yesterday the Easter Bunny had put treats in those eggs (Goldfish and Cheerios) and today's Easter Bunny, um.... forgot. She wuz robbed, and she let us know that she understood this. Loudly.

I was able to comfort her, however. She is not much of a critic yet, so I sing to her all the time. I can find a song for just about every occasion, and here's what today's choice was.

It is never too early to start them on the right musical path.

May I Have a Word, God?

2011-04-22T16:21:00.000-05:00

I won't belabor the point, but 2011 has not been particularly kind to us thus far. It happens from time to time that while I am out enjoying my morning exercise the time becomes more about reflection than working up a sweat. On those occasions I look forward to getting to Vaughn Road Park so I can let down my guard: with no traffic to monitor I can start the act of praying with every footfall.

Not always, of course. Sometimes I mutter things under my breath at other people in the park who are meandering 3 abreast, blocking the path entirely.

I am only human, most of the time.

Yesterday morning on my walk, however, the park was nearly devoid of such and I was not pushing myself physically at all, so I uttered this prayer as I was getting ready to round the second bend.

I don't like to ask for signs, God.

I'm so grateful that the worst of our worries are

only about money, and not about our children,

or our health, or any fresh grief.

But just because I'd like to have some

encouragement from You, would You please,

just this once, let me have some word from You?

My heart is open wide.

It might well do to explain here that Vaughn Road Park is one of those well-intentioned city projects that not only has a really nice walking path, it also has exercise stations at intervals along the way. I don't use these, and rarely pay attention to them unless some brave soul is actually using one of them. Most are dilapidated; some lack the built-in equipment that they used to have. I wish the city would do something about this, but I know times are hard, so I'm not holding my breath.

But yesterday? Right after that prayer? I espied something out of the corner of my eye -- movement of some sort that I suppose was a bird because there was no person there -- and turned my head to the left.

And saw this.

Go ahead - laugh.

I did.

And then I said,

Thank you, God.

Another one in the books....

2011-04-20T18:05:00.000-05:00

On April 20, 1958 I was born. I was quite surprised by this at the time, but apparently other people were expecting me.

Mama and me, I'm guessing summer of 1959.

My mother, for instance. I think she probably had an inkling.

My Grandpappy, Tom McCord, holding on for dear life.

That's another one who probably had a hunch. Everything I learned about doting on grandchildren I learned from him. If I create half the impression on my granddaughter's heart that he did on mine for the few years I had him, I will be able to call myself a success.

I'm pretty sure I know a man who's already done that with her, by the way.

Scene stealers, the both of 'em.

Anyway..... since this was not a speed limit birthday, it's been pretty low-key, exactly the way I've grown to love them. I have enjoyed reading all the greetings left for me on Facebook (and am making it a particular point of pride to respond to each of them, not that I'm OCD or anything.) because I figure if somebody takes the time, so will I.

I love birthday cards, which I think may be because of the woman in the middle here.

From left to right: Grandmama Eleanor, Aunt Eleanor,
and Grandmama Eleanor (2nd generation)

My Aunt Eleanor was an amazing woman, and for years and years she sent all her gazillion nieces and nephews birthday cards with $1 bills in them. Even when I became a too-cool-for-the-room teenager and a dollar wouldn't buy much of anything anymore, I still looked forward to that card with unchecked anticipation. There came a time when this stopped, of course. Aunt Eleanor just realized we'd all pretty much grown out of it, and she was right.

Mostly.

But to this day, when I get birthday cards I still shake 'em a little as I open them.

These came from my "sweet" husband.

I didn't shake those, though. They did make me laugh, however, which is exactly what I like a card to do. I am not one for the big sentimental stuff. If you're going to go all sweet on me, I'd rather you didn't hire somebody to be your writer.

Of course, if you're going to hand me a card with a $1 bill in it, you can be as sappy as you like.

My day is getting ready to end. I have to rush off to church to take Board minutes, then home to eat some supper. Whatever my husband comes up with for us to have, we're opening one of these.....

Manna from Oregon

... and enjoying some sunshine after dark.

You are my sunshine... my only sunshine....
You make me happy when skies are gray.

Amen.

Rosemary and Zach the Garden Gnome enjoyed their introduction.

2011-04-17T20:49:00.002-05:00

Oh, He loves you.

2011-04-16T18:19:00.002-05:00

Garden Report - Week ending April 16

2011-04-16T07:23:00.000-05:00

This has been one of Those Weeks, but my mother's plaintive question, "Are we going to get a garden blog again soon?" caused me to throw back my shoulders and get around to some updates. Henry is doing all manner of things out in the yard I just do not understand, so we took a little walkabout out there, and I even had my little Moleskine in hand so I wouldn't mess any of this up.

Taking notes is not a sign of weakness. It's a sign of, a sign of... um, well. Never mind.

Anyway. Here we go.

These are tomatoes that
were started from seed.

Once they are big enough they go into these containers
to "harden," whatever the heck that means.
It sounded very official when Henry said it.

Herb bed, aka "Bed #1"

In the herb bed there's this volunteer cantaloupe.
That means that it's a cantaloupe
left over from last year's garden.
It just showed up without being asked.
Like a volunteer.
So. There's this week's philosophy lesson.

Bed #2 features asparagus (at the top)
and cowpeas/purple hull peas.

I am excited about one of these crops.

Bed #3 has eggplant (the prominent plant) and
cucumbers and black beans.

I am excited about 2 of these crops.

And that little marigold in the corner?

It's just there for the happy.

Bed #4 has (from left to right) yellow squash,
and two varieties of lettuce.

I am very excited about this whole bed.

How excited, you ask?

I'm so excited I went all artistic with the lettuces!!

Bed #5 has Red Sails lettuce, Iceberg lettuce,
Mama's Tomatoes (aka "Better Boy"),
3 rows of carrots,
and a row of ............

RADISHES!!

Bed #6 is full of Emerald Velvet Okra
and Big Louie

Beds 7, 8, and 9 are still just full of equal parts dirt and potential, but will be home to those tomatoes that are in the hardening phase (again -- not a clue, people), spinach, even more lettuces, watermelon, and pole beans.

There are two things that are completely new additions to Henry's garden this year that I just have been dying to share.

First, this.

Two views of a wild bee box.

Henry made it his own fine self.

We do what we can to promote pollination.

No, there will not be honey.

Drat.

And this.

We understand his name is Zach.

He just sorta showed up.

We're keepin' him.

Lost in Thought

2011-04-10T19:11:00.001-05:00

It's moments like this when, I believe, all those little parts of the brain that foster creativity, curiosity, intelligence, and awareness of the world around us are allowed to grow.

I loved catching her in one of these moments.

Garden Report (and other stuff!) - Week Ending April 3, 2011

2011-04-03T15:55:00.000-05:00

Truth be told, there's not much visible action in the garden. Last week there'd been so much rain that planting just wasn't really a good idea, according to my Personal Gardener. This week there have been a few new acquisitions, and some of the things he started from seed began to make themselves known. Since none of them are exactly ready to be featured photographs of the week, I offer this instead.

That's just a montage of all manner of things -- lettuces, tomatoes, various and sundry herbs, and up there in the top right hand corner is a mess of petunias. I asked why petunias, and my Personal Gardener said, "Some things just don't need a reason. They are just going to be out here to be pretty."

I am all about sitting around with no purpose but being pretty, so this works. I have already mastered the art of having no purpose -- the pretty part? Not so much, but heck, I'm only a smidge better than half-a-century old -- there's time!

******

The better part of this beautiful weekend wasn't about gardening at all, unless you count the fact that my husband's love of working hard, and his love of working hard outdoors especially, comes from where he was raised, right on the cusp of Shelby and Chilton Counties. We took a drive up to see his Mama, to spend a little time getting Rosemary acquainted with what life is like when you can get turned loose and run down a dirt road with nobody having to get in your way. We wanted her to hear what the world sounds like without plugged-in noises, and the only mechanical thing she heard once we'd parked the truck was the sound of a tractor running off in the distance. The phone never rang. The TV was never on. Nothing other than the hum of the refrigerator clued you in that any unseen force other than God Himself was at work.

Every child needs some time like that. It was a privilege to offer it to her, and we won't stay away so long again.

Coming up over the hill, to where we hang a left onto the dirt road for Henry's home.

Trying on Great-Grandpa Lucas' tractor for size

Hey! I got this, Pop!

Totally in charge.

Being a farm-girl is a lot of hard work.
Pop helps get the hair fixed again!

You played here, too, Pop?

These two quickly became thick as thieves.

So.... what are we gonna do NOW?

Exploring the dirt road.
Rosemary had a ball chasing her shadow!

And she loved running back up again, too!

***

The afternoon came to an end and we had to head for home. Henry loves to drive back home through Jemison, and to tell me every single time about his glory days. This time, though, I think he was telling Rosemary all those stories!

This is where Henry became BlueJohn.
He's sort of a legend.
At least that's what I've heard.

And just for good measure because there is nothing about this photograph I don't love, and because I am pretty sure we might all be happier if we got to run down dirt roads more often, here ya go.

Amen.

Please! Click on photos to enlarge!

Wordless Wednesday

2011-03-30T06:00:00.000-05:00

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Wordless Wednesday

2011-03-23T06:22:00.000-05:00

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Weekly Garden Report (week ending 3/20)

2011-03-21T18:44:00.000-05:00

My Daddy's motto:

"Plan your work, and work your plan."

Daddy's motto, illustrated.

A garden on paper isn't very tasty, though, so Farmer Henry has been hard at work devising a strategy to keep my impatience at bay.

He has put in a variety of lettuce and tomato plants in the plots to which they were assigned....

... and he has begun the process of growing from seed a whole bunch of other stuff. There are no photographs of those things, because they aren't very photogenic.

But this is.

Hey! Every garden needs some Rosemary!

But I digress.

Just to make me happy, Farmer Henry has also planted some mint for my tea in an old planter....

...and he also broke down and agreed to plant asparagus, although it'll be at least a couple years before we are able to harvest any. By then it'll probably be going for $12.98 a pound at the grocery, though, so get in line early.

There's also a lonely little eggplant plant out there. I neglected to take a photograph of it somehow, so maybe this'll hold you until I remember to do so next time!

Thumbs up, indeed!

Wordless Wednesday

2011-03-16T06:00:00.002-05:00

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Garden Report - Week of March 13

2011-03-14T16:27:00.000-05:00

This past week was an interesting one around here. Rain and other stuff kept work on the garden from proceeding apace, but somebody has made up for some lost time. Evidently he had time to ponder on many things while he was on imposed vacation.

Farmer Henry, none the worse for wear.

Let's see.... I think I told you that he is going to do square foot gardening this year. I don't have a real firm grasp on what this means. Even hearing the words "square feet" gives me flashbacks of the unpleasant sort to every mathematics classroom I ever entered. What I do know is that it involves separating different sections of the garden area he has already prepared using frames. This would require a trip to the lumber yard or garden center for lots of folks, but you already know Henry's not going to take the easy way out, right?

We have an overgrowth of bamboo that we like to pretend isn't there most of the time. We don't have to look at it often, since it doesn't really do anything but hide a clear view of our backyard from the street. This is a good thing.

I see this stuff as bane of our existence.
Henry sees it as building material and
future fishin' poles for Rosemary.

After Henry was released from the heretofore mentioned imposed vacation, he set about hackin' down some of this bamboo. Then he cranked up his power tools, and went to work. Here's what happens when he gets left alone by his wife for a while, and has nothing but time on his hands.

Plotting things out.

The first four areas for the square foot garden plan.
Each bed will contain groups of companion plants, including
those designed to keep pests at bay.

No manmade materials were used to construct the bed borders.

Last week's garden report mentioned Henry's amazing compost pile, and we have been fielding requests to show that that looks like, exactly. By popular request, here 'tis!

When Henry tilled the garden, he worked in virtually all the yield in the compost pile. What you see here is mostly grass clippings from his having cut the yard a week or so ago. We keep an old Folger's coffee canister near the kitchen sink and all cast off produce, egg shells, coffee grounds, and tea bags, go into it. That gets dumped in when it's full, and there's a handy pitchfork that even I have used on occasion (okay, once) to work it all in good. Nothing around this house goes to waste if Farmer Henry gets his way.

I offer this as proof:

Even the sticks from my beloved Mayfield Banana Popsicles are called into service~

Wordless Wednesday

2011-03-09T06:30:00.004-06:00

The Gardener

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** Add your own photo at Wordless Wednesday

Garden 2011

2011-03-05T13:03:00.001-06:00

It's time to start documenting Henry's 2011 Garden!

He pulled out his tiller earlier this week, and began the process of turning up the plot where last year's garden grew. He's expanded it a bit this year -- the garden "proper" is about 18' x 22' and there is a new addition this year of a little space for an herb garden as well.

Work in progress

The herb garden is the marked off area.

Henry is very serious about his dirt.

The dirt at the top, with no compost worked in.
The dirt at the bottom, with fully incorporated compost.
Pretty, huh?

He was so proud to show me the big payoff for keeping that blasted old coffee can on the kitchen counter, where we discard vegetable and fruit matter (and coffee grounds, and egg shells, and tea bags). It all goes out to his compost pile, and "cooks" there until he has need for it. If you do this right -- and he does -- there are no flies and no odor. Neatest part is that it really means that there is virtually no guilt if I forget I had something in the veggie bin, because it will not go to waste.

Henry goes through the whole plot on his hands and knees to pull out stones and rocks .
This is what you call a labor of love.

Planting has not commenced yet. Today has brought a whole lot of rain, and he says he'll probably need to let the garden plot dry out at least a bit before he puts anything in there.

I got a peek at the seed packets, and here's what's planned: carrots, several varieties of tomatoes, squash, watermelon, okra (from pods from last year's garden!), various and sundry kinds of beans, and cucumbers. The herb garden will feature parsley, sage, rosemary, thyme, basil, and, if I can find some -- a few varieties of mint. We'll also have lots of marigolds and sunflowers.

He is also working on adding some boards to attract wild bees to the garden. We had some nice bee activity last year, but more would be a good thing. We'll see how that pans out.

Click on pictures to enlarge~

Time In My Hands

2011-03-04T16:48:00.001-06:00

In 1968 Dr. Kenneth Cooper wrote a book called Aerobics. It was a groundbreaking concept, this aerobics thing. Cooper couldn't understand why big old strong guys weren't any good at sports that required endurance of any sort (distance running, cycling, etc.), until he hit on the notion that it was a person's ability to use oxygen efficiently that enabled them to perform well at those tasks.

From this revelation was the phenomenon of jogging born.

My father, who was described by his mother as a "sickly child," was struck by Cooper's ideas, and combining this information with some inspiration from the then very active career of Green Bay Packers' quarterback Bart Starr (local boy made real good), Daddy slipped on some sneakers and shorts and began jogging in 1969 at the age of 42.

It will seem very funny to folks much younger than I that at that time normal grown-up Joes didn't do exercise. They might play tennis with their buddies, or swing a golf club, or take a couple laps in a pool somewhere, but regular, daily, all by yourself with nobody watching stuff? Nope, not so much.

Daddy was quite an oddity, that's for sure, but I was always pretty proud of him without really understanding why. I just knew my Daddy did something that none of my friends' daddies did, and that he could beat any of 'em in a footrace.

He put up his running shoes many years later. He can't remember now exactly when, or why, but he certainly wouldn't have done it lightly. I know his knees began to argue with him some, and that there were other things going on in his life that began to require more of his time and attention. Whatever the reason, all those years of being, virtually, the lone runner served him well through his recuperation from a stroke and colon cancer. He tackled recovery from those challenges exactly the same way he tackled that whole running thing -- thoughtfully, and with the same fierce self-competitive mindset he had used when he first measured his runs with this stopwatch in 1969:

That's my hand holding the stopwatch.

After protracted negotiations, he relinquished it to me yesterday (on loan, of course) to use in my own training. The resolution to our back and forth was announced to me by my Mother, in this e-mail:

"HE WILL LEND IT TO YOU!!!!!!!!! HE WAS QUITE PLEASED THAT SOMEONE ELSE

WAS INTERESTED IN TIMING THEMSELVES. YOU UPCHURCHES ARE SOMETHING ELSE."

I needed a new challenge, and for me that means I need something quantifiable to look at, some tangible way to compete against myself. I think using the word spreadsheet may have tipped the scales in my favor.

I am not a runner. I am a walker who enjoys doing some intervals, and I wanted this stopwatch to separate out my jogging/running minutes from my walking minutes. My ultimate goal is to bring in a sub-13 minute walk/run pace for the half-marathon in October 2011.

I've never hit the sub-13 minute mark.

Until this morning.

With Daddy's stopwatch in my hand.

And these words in my heart.....

Plan your work, and work your plan.

When the going gets tough, the tough get going.

Thank you, Daddy.

I'm moving my butt in March to save yours.

2011-02-28T17:58:00.002-06:00

March is Colorectal Cancer Awareness Month.

There is a strong family history of colon cancer in my family.

My grandmother.

My fraternal aunt.

My father.

My big brother.

And my other big brother had radical surgery to treat ulcerative colitis.

After all those incidences, and because family history is such a strong indicator for cancer, my sister and I elected to have early screening. Both of us have had precancerous polyps removed.

We both have regular follow-up tests, every 3 - 5 years.

My father knew something was wrong but nobody talked about colon cancer back then, just like nobody used to talk about breast cancer. We are still squeamish about the language, still uncomfortable discussing body functions. My father's colon cancer was found only after he had suffered a stroke that changed his life fundamentally and forever -- and it was blood clots thrown off by the cancer that had grown large in his left transverse colon that triggered the stroke. He battled through surgery, nearly died during chemotherapy, but is a survivor still.

Same story for my brother (minus the stroke, thank God). I will never forget the moment his surgery was over, and Dr. McRae coming out to the waiting room where we all were, and telling my sister and me to get ourselves screened immediately. It was not what we wanted to hear, but we both heeded his advice, and we are both grateful.

I cannot stress this enough: a colonoscopy is not only the best way to detect tumors in the colon when they are not yet life-threatening, the physician performing the test is able to easily remove an entire unwelcome growth for biopsy, and if caught early enough there may well be no need for any further procedure.

The good news is that great strides are being made in getting the word out that early detection saves lives, but the bad news is that colorectal cancer remains the second leading cause of cancer deaths in the United States.

Did you hear that?

Colon Cancer is Number Two.

(I'll wait for the giggling to stop.)

So -- during the month of March I ask you to consider supporting me in a very casual wog-a-thon to raise money to fight colorectal cancer. I'm not asking for money directly. I'm not asking you to pledge a certain amount. I'm not even getting involved with the donation process at all. I know what it feels like to be put on the spot, and I don't wish to do that. ("Wogging" is a combination of walking and jogging. Some folks call this interval training. I think wogging sounds more fun.)

Here's how this will work (or not work):

I "wog" most days when the weather cooperates. I log my miles on two websites: MapMyWalk (which does so automatically through my GPS; my username is eleanor49) and MyDailyMile (search for me using my e-mail address). I usually also post my miles to Facebook (and I know some of you have turned off the feed for that, which is perfectly fine). Of course, if you aren't interested in following my progress daily I will post updates here throughout the month.

You decide whether or even when to donate, and to what organization.

Here are two I recommend, though:

The Montgomery Cancer Wellness Foundation is located here, and while they are not involved in research or anything, they provide tons of services free of charge to those undergoing treatment. There may be a similar program in your community if you aren't from here -- and that would be great to support, too.

Additionally, there is the Colon Cancer Alliance which is a great awareness organization, and of course, if you want to contribute directly to research for treatment and cure of colorectal cancer I am sure you can do so through any research facility in the country.

But what I really want you to do in response to this blog post is this:

GET YOUR BUTT TO THE PHONE AND SET UP A SCREENING FOR IT THIS MONTH!

In which lettuce plays a role...

2011-02-23T18:49:00.000-06:00

This afternoon I filled my car up with $3.12 per gallon gasoline. I hoped to grab a newspaper at the station, but it appeared they were out. I didn't feel like fighting traffic to get back across the street to Super Foods so I just came on home. After I'd been here awhile I decided I really did want to go to the store for lettuce, but gee whiz -- that $3.12 per gallon thing was weighing so heavily on my mind.

Then I realized that the weather was so nice, and heck, we live within walking distance from the grocery, and all I needed was that newspaper and a head of lettuce, so off I went.

I am pleased to report that it was a successful journey, one on which I had another one of my little ah-ha! moments.

Why don't I do that more often? Why don't we all who live within walking distance of the places to which we need to get for just a handful of something put on our shoes and walk to get there?

I honestly don't believe laziness is the whole story. I think we just forget that we have that option sometimes. I think we're afraid people will wonder what's wrong with us. I think most of our neighborhoods are not particularly pedestrian friendly -- and you should not take off on foot if yours isn't -- and I also think that this is at least part of the reason we feel so disconnected from the people with whom we share our personal geography.

Walking to Super Foods I spoke to a woman sitting at the bus stop, who had a smile as big as the moon. We didn't engage in a discussion -- just the neighborly, "Hi - how are you? Isn't it pretty out here today?"

In those few seconds, we became real to each other. That doesn't happen when you're passing someone at 35 miles per hour down Carter Hill Road.

I wondered if she was mentally rehearsing what she was going to fix for supper like I was; if she was eager to get home to watch her favorite TV show; if she had a story from her day she couldn't wait to share.

On the way back from the grocery, lettuce and newspaper in hand, I spoke to a young man with a head full of dreadlocks and a Bama jersey on. He and I made eye contact, I said "Roll Tide," he smiled, offered me one in return, and we became real to each other.

I think a whole lot of what's gone wrong here in my town -- and maybe in yours, too -- is that we've forgotten what it is to connect with people we really don't have to connect with.

A whole lot of what can begin to go right again begins with a short stroll, a nod, and a smile. And all that takes, sometimes, is leaving the car at home, and taking a short walk to where you need to go.

Maybe this $3.12 per gallon thing won't be such a bad thing, after all.

Bad Times and Good Food

2011-02-21T19:52:00.000-06:00

Even those people who love me the most will tell you that I should be a candidate for this, one of our favorite shows on Food Network. (Saving for a later date my suitability for What Not To Wear, of course.)

I would not argue with them one iota. When our younger son, Thomas, was about 4 or 5, he looked up from his dinner plate and said, "Mama? This is the best food you ever made."

It was Hamburger Helper.

My dear husband, Henry, is the person with the cooking genes around here. He grew up eating those wonderful country spreads that his Mama laid out all the time, and when I was a young bride with woefully inadequate kitchen skills my sweet mother-in-law told me not to bother with learning because "Lin* loves to do it, and he's good at it." I am not much of one for taking advice, but I heeded hers.

I will tell you that I have nearly perfected my Mama's Amazing Potato Salad recipe, and am now the family keeper of that responsibility. I am not a total lost cause, people.

This season of unemployment through which we are traveling means that we are making our food dollars stretch as far as we possibly can. Historically, we have always eaten out or ordered take-out at least once a week, but so far in 2011 we have done that only 3 times: once on a gift certificate a sweet friend sent for our anniversary; once on a gift certificate that one of Henry's customers had given him one Christmas; and we caved and got $12 in Chinese take-out this weekend. Wild, I know.

Anyway.... we had stocked up on pork chops recently when Winn-Dixie had them deeply reduced, so I knew we were having those for supper tonight. But what to go with?

We had bought a bag of apples at the grocery last week that had a wonderful flavor but were a little mealier than I like. We also had 6 small potatoes that were a little less than wonderfully firm. In ordinary times all of these things would have found their way into the compost pile, but tonight?

I chopped those suckers up with some white onion and carrots, tossed them in olive oil and some seasonings, and popped them in the oven to roast. Roasting vegetables/fruits that are on the questionable end of the scale is the culinary equivalent of wearing a black muu muu: a multitude of sins can be covered quite nicely.

I am here to report that this combination was out of this world!

While we were knocking each other down for seconds I couldn't help but recall that so many of our classic Southern dishes were born of a time when folks couldn't afford to let one little thing go to waste, and I am learning that with a little heat and a little seasoning, you can put a pretty fine meal on the table from lots of lost causes.

How fun is THAT??

* Lin is what Henry's family calls him. His old friends call him Blue or Bluejohn. I call him Cap. His granddaughter calls him Pop. The poor man will answer to anything.

Timing is Everything

2011-01-31T16:34:00.000-06:00

Flashback to June 13, 2010: I fell down, got hurt, yada, yada, yada. (For those late to the party, here's the scoop, from an earlier blog entry found HERE.)

Flashback to January 1, 2011: My husband, who has worked virtually every day of his life since the age of 14, begins a season of involuntary unemployment that we are still riding out.

The single biggest financial issue facing us right now is health insurance. Our current coverage is set to expire today. We have received no COBRA information, but that hardly matters -- without his income, affording it for both of us would be out of the question. He needs it more than I do, because he has some pre-existing conditions and I do not. Assuming the risk that I will remain healthy until we can afford to buy coverage for me seems reasonable, until we think about Flashback #1 up there.

So, why am I telling you this now?

My best friends will tell you that I am constantly on the search to find the gift in EVERYTHING.

I'm going to wait a minute while they nod their heads, and roll their eyes.

Okay -- done? Good. Because here is where this gets interesting.

Today in the mail we received a check from Allstate Insurance, in payment of an accident/disability claim it has taken us since just after I fell until now to submit to their satisfaction. The amount of the settlement should cover one month's COBRA payment, and although that may not seem like much to you, what it means for us is at least a couple more weeks of not walking around scared of living.

I have never, ever, for one instant lost my faith in God. Not when I fell down and got hurt for no good reason and not when Henry was blindsided and lost his job. God knows I enjoy a good laugh more than anything in the world, and today, when I opened that envelope and slid that check out, I could almost hear Him say "gotcha!'

Thank God. I well and truly do.

Sweeping Changes

2011-01-01T12:20:00.000-06:00

"A new broom sweeps clean, but the old one knows all the corners."

I have been enjoying reading other blogger's 2010 retrospectives and hopes for the coming year, and decided I'd add my very own brief one to the mix.

If 2010 in the Lucas Household had a soundtrack, it might very well include this ditty.

*********

First there was the little tumble I took in June, but I'm still standing. While I am not unchanged by the experience, I have had a very good recovery. As far as my walking is concerned, I've shaved about a minute per mile off my 2009 average time, which is just a pretty cool thing. I hated not participating in this year's half-marathon, although serving as an encourager along the route yielded a tremendous sense of satisfaction. I am looking forward with great anticipation to the 2011 Half, with a goal of beating my 2009 time handily.

We really thought that would stand as the Big Event of the year, but we were in for a surprise that came the Monday after Christmas, when my husband was told that as of December 31 he would no longer be employed.

We have been so sustained this week by the love and prayers and concern of our family and friends. We both believe it is very important to be honest about how scary this is, but how certain we are that this broken road, like all the others onto which we have been compelled to detour, will lead us to some place amazing that we can't begin to imagine right this minute.

(Okay, so I will be very honest here. I really just wanted to write this blog

so that I could shout out publicly what my heart has been holding privately all week.)

My husband's depth of character, his ability to forgive, his resiliency,

his emotional strength, and his integrity never fail to humble me.

One of the most amazing gifts we've already received as a result of this turn of events has been discovering that both of our sons deeply understand about their father what I have always known about him. It has been a teachable moment for all of us.

***
We didn't choose either of the new brooms that have swept our life into dark corners in 2010.

But the old broom made of the straws of laughter, and hope, and faith, and love -- amazing, amazing love -- will take care of those corners in 2011.

And that's exactly the way I see it.

The Best Christmas Moment - 2010

2010-12-26T11:05:00.002-06:00

Christmas 2010-133.jpg
Originally uploaded by lukelucas

My brother has had in his possession for many years a recording that my Grandpappy, Tom McCord, made in December of 1948 in which he took on the role of Santa Claus.

His friends, Mr. and Mrs. Hickey, owned a home on Myrtlewood Drive that was a real showplace during the Christmas season. It was a popular destination for holiday sightseeing in the city. Keep in mind that folks didn't just pile in their cars and go like they do now, and you'll have some idea of how special this must have been!

Mr. Hickey was a lover of gadgets and technology, and had the recording equipment in his home. Grandpappy and Nannaw were there for a party -- Grandpappy decked out in tuxedo, according to Mama -- when the idea for this recording came up.

Grandpappy, who made his living as an auctioneer (after a career with the railroad), had a rich, wonderful voice, and a kind and playful spirit, so it's no wonder he was happy to go along!

Anyway, my brother Thomas has asked any number of people over many years to help convert this recording to a format that could be used with current equipment, and to clean up the pops and scratches that are on it, too.

This Christmas that finally happened!

What this picture captures is the exact moment at which my Mama recognizes her father's voice on the recording.

None of the four of his grandchildren were born when this recording was made, although my brother Jim would be born just about 2 months later.

Grandpappy died in February 1967, just before I turned 9 years old. Hearing his voice for the first time since then was stunning. I was lucky enough to have heard this a couple days before, so I know exactly what Mama was feeling at the moment captured here.

It was a Merry, Merry Christmas.

What do I love about the South?

2010-12-19T19:26:00.001-06:00

It's the only place you see women wearing fur coats

carryin' around children in bare feet !

With fondest appreciation for the cooperation of my sweet models,

who enjoyed the irony right along with me!

The Great Experiment: The Removal

2010-12-12T16:50:00.001-06:00

I know this is VERY much past due, but it's the holiday season, and I work retail.

That pretty much excuses everything, don't you think?

Just in case you missed the first part... and the second part.... this little series has been about a new "polish" technique called shellacking. I'll be succinct. I LOVE IT.

With bright, bold color, my nails stayed flawless and shiny for 2 whole weeks. I'm on my second color now, more of a dark cranberry red color, and when it comes off in about a week I'm going with a French manicure using the shellac method. Can't wait!

But you want to know about the removal, right?

Well, your sweet little fingertips all go into little remover-soaked sleeves, and while my Nail Guru Stephanie and I were discussing what color to go with next, my nails were letting go of the last color.

When these came off, Stephanie gently nudged the little bit of remaining color off my nails -- no hard scraping, or big machinery, or anything else that would damage my nail beds at all.

I've had two sessions now, and just so you know I'm being completely honest, I'm going to lay out the best parts and the downsides (because nothing is perfect).

I am horribly bad on my nails. I forget or choose not to wear lotion, and I abuse my nails in unspeakable ways. The shellac did exactly what I hoped it would do: retained its true color, never lost its shine, and protected my nails. I cannot remember a 3 week period EVER that I haven't had little nicks or chips on my fingertips that required filing to smooth away. The first go-round, I did have to file down one rough spot that happened when a sharp knife I was using sliced just a wee bit the side of a nail; and on Friday I picked up a very large, very heavy book wrong at the store, and the nail on my right thumb broke fairly badly.

The good news is that I was able to clip it down and file it smooth with no problem. There is one area of my nail that lost its polish where the break happened, and this leads me to one of the downsides.

If this had happened with normal polish, I would have spent part of my day yesterday at home removing the color and slapping on something else until I could get back. Because removal is something that needs to be done at the salon (I've read of workarounds, but I'm not inclined to try them because I am a manicure idiot), you're sort of stuck until you can get an emergency appointment!

If I had some major thing to do that required perfection, I would have called to get one of those, but as it happens, and because the defect is on a thumb it's not as obvious as it would be if it were on one of the other fingers, I'm content to wait until my next appointment.

Because I don't take the sort of kind care of my nails I should, I am probably Stephanie's worst nightmare. I doubt this will apply to many of you, but I will not have a bright/deep color applied again unless I am having the full manicure. She tells me that we will tame the beasts that are my overachieving cuticles, and I believe her, but I'm going to stick to a pattern of neutrals/clears for times that I'm only having a polish change.

So -- on a scale of 1 - 10 -- I am placing this new thing at a 9.58.

And looking forward to another trip back for my next nail adventure!

Wordless Wednesday

2010-12-08T18:41:00.000-06:00

Ditch Berries

Wordless Wednesday

2010-12-02T07:04:00.000-06:00

Sunday lunch at the meat 'n' three with Pop

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Making a Joyful Noise

2010-11-27T19:05:00.001-06:00

It has been an Upchurch family tradition for as long as I can remember that the youngest "reading" child present at the Thanksgiving gathering is charged with reading Psalm 100 before grace is asked. It happens from time to time that an exception is made, but not this year.

This is my sister's granddaughter, Hayden, doing the honors for us all this year.

She is 7 years old, smart as a whip, and the Bible from which she read without any hesitation belonged to her Great-great-great-great-great Grandfather James Baird (b. 1821, d. 1892), who was my mother's Great-great Grandfather.

We were all so very proud of her.

One Week In....

2010-11-26T07:39:00.000-06:00

Last Thursday I got a shellac manicure from Stephanie Gregory at Amplify Salon & Spa here in town. These are supposed to last two weeks with no chipping or degradation of color or shine. I told you then that I would keep you posted on how it was holding up, so here goes....

Over the past 7 days I have wrapped dozens of books at the store. This aspect of the season is the chief reason I have not bothered with manicures of any sort for years during the holidays. Color would wear off every time I had to use my fingertips to smooth the paper, and something about wrapping paper dried my nails out so badly that they were prone to breaking and peeling and chipping. Using lotion to keep cuticles and hands replenished is a trick when you need to handle books -- unless whatever you've used has a good chance to fully absorb, you just don't want to to do this because the residue can mark a book.

Well, amazingly, 7 days in the only evidence that there is any age on this manicure at all are the nailbeds, which have (of course, and as expected) grown out a little bit. If I were not wearing a big color, I seriously doubt i'd notice it nearly as much -- but even what I do notice is only because I am watching it with eagle eyes! Most folks don't even notice it unless I point it out.

There is one miniscule area of wear on one fingertip. When I say miniscule, that means I didn't even notice it until I started really studying my fingers for purposes of writing this update.

The color is as true red as it was the minute I walked out of the salon, and the shine has not "matted out" a whit. There hasn't been the slightest transfer of color from my nails to wrapping paper (which always happens with regular polish). The only nail snag I have had at all this week happened when a knife I was using scored the tip of a nail -- and I was able to lightly file it down to smoothness with no problem, and without compromising the integrity of the shellac. (This is actually where that one tiny area of wear is, by the way.)

Women who take extraordinary care of their hands -- cuticle oils, lotions, always wearing household gloves when their hands are going to be in dishwater -- might not even have these tiny issues -- and certainly someone whose nails are slower to grow might not, either.

In short (okay, so it's too late for that, exactly) my shellac manicure has exceeded every expectation I had for it, and I am completely pleased.

Wordless Wednesday

2010-11-24T06:30:00.001-06:00

happy thanksgiving!

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The Great Experiment

2010-11-18T20:28:00.001-06:00

My very most favorite salon, Amplify, is offering a new sort of manicure that is called shellac. I run hot and cold on making my nails all fancy, mainly because a really nice manicure gets ruined so quickly. For those who don't realize this, something unkind happens to fingernails as one gets more fully mature, and the ridges alone make keeping a really pretty manicure difficult.

Even when my nails are at their healthiest and strongest, holidays in retail are murder on them. We offer free gift-wrapping at the store, and as the requests for that heat up, the nails just get ruined. It's just not ever been worth it to try to keep my nails looking pretty from mid-November until after the first of the year.

Anyway, the owner Jami and I talked about it, and she had Stephanie (one of the nail artists) call me. She put some of my biggest concerns to rest, and I decided to take the plunge.

I decided to document the first application and its wearability, because some of my friends around the country have been interested, but nobody particularly wanted to be The First.

Hey. I figure if it stands up to the torture it's going to go through, then for everybody else it's going to be life-changing in a "this really isn't important, but it's cheaper than a facelift for a little vanity boost."

So. Here we go.

I arrived at the salon this afternoon to find out their power was out, and I came home disappointed. (The shellac machine needs electricity to run!) I had scarcely settled in with my cup of coffee when they called to say, "Come back! We have power!" Run back I did, and I took these with me.

My nails were in horrible shape, with peeling and ridges beginning to cause little snags and tears, and I was having to perform triage on them daily.

The special stuff that has to be used for this process has at least one potential drawback: a sort of limited supply of color. That's not a huge problem for me, mostly -- I'm pretty traditional, generally opting for neutrals, or clear. Stephanie tells me that she can mix colors by layering, too. Again, this was, for me, not a sticking point. She took extraordinary care with a basic manicure: shaping, whipping my cuticles into shape, but nothing out of the ordinary had to be done to my nails before the application began.

This is a HUGE plus in my book. I don't want my nails damaged, and I don't want them looking fake. I just want my nails to be presentable, and pretty.

Stephanie began the process, which involved a base coat followed by "curing" in the special shellac machine. This took practically zero time. This curing process happened again after each application of color as well.

There's no heat involved, no windy breezes -- just incredibly brief exposure to UV light. When I say brief I mean probably less than 10 minutes per hand.

When it was all finished I got up to get my purse and started to hand it to Stephanie so I could ask her to dig into my wallet for my debit card and keys, and she said, "Nope -- you are totally dry and set, and you can do that."

Oh. My. She was not kidding. The color is incredible, and shiny wet looking, but I dug my wallet out, grabbed my keys, ran my fingers through my hair -- all with absolutely no effect on my nails!

So, which color did I pick?

This looks a little orange, but I assure you -- it is FIRE ENGINE RED, and it is just glorious!

I thought of clear; I thought of the neutral shade that looks like what I usually default to; I thought about the dusky pink-ish color. Truly I did, but I picked the red for two reasons:

First, this test will be easier to follow if there is COLOR on my nails.

Second, why the heck NOT?

I'll keep you posted how this all actually DOES, but in the meantime, a huge thank you to Jami Lewis, owner of Amplify Salon and Spa; and to Stephanie Gregory, Fingertip Wizard!

Have questions? Post them in the comments section, and I'll answer what I can

(no technical stuff, of course, but just real-world girlfriend type stuff.)

Wordless Wednesday

2010-11-17T08:17:00.000-06:00

Click on photos to enlarge.

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Wordless Wednesday

2010-11-10T06:00:00.001-06:00

A Light in Autumn

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photo taken with iPhone, using Camera+App

Baby, It's Cold Outside

2010-11-06T12:27:00.000-05:00

We had our first sub-freezing temps of the season this morning.

I took my long Saturday jaunt after it warmed up just a touch, and I surely hope the Borders family wasn't looking out their window when I passed their house, because I was peeling off a layer by that time.

If they were, my deepest apologies.

Anyway, I brought in an 8 miler right at just about a 14.5 minutes a mile pace, so that felt good.

Take THAT, Balloon Lady!

But I digress.

As I opened the back door and stepped into my kitchen I found my husband (the most astonishingly interesting husband on the face of the planet) at the kitchen sink dicing up some of these

to put into one of these

to make some of THIS.

I am the luckiest woman on the planet, because my husband knows how to turn up the heat!