She came a month early. She thought today was the appropriate time, but she came a month early.
Those who welcomed her felt no arrival time inappropriate. Her presence would be welcome anytime - even if she did come a month early.
She came with gifts in hand, face aglow, beautiful smile. A most lovely sight. That she arrived a month early did make a difference, for now we have been blessed by her unexpected arrival, and await, with great anticipation, our time with her a month hence.
For today, I wish you unexpected arrivals, anticipation of expected ones, and I wish you
Blessings
Sunday, March 1, 2015
Tuesday, February 24, 2015
A Classy "Old Broad"
She was a friend. She was a mentor. She was a gift. As her sister, Nancy, said at the hospital, "it is hard to think of Bernie in the past tense." That it is. For so long, she has been woven in the fabric of our lives, but just because she has finished this leg of her eternal journey does not mean her presence will unravel. She will continue to weave memories in our minds ~ her beautiful smile, that mischievous gleam in her eye, a delicious meal graciously served, an unexpected "bawdy" remark.
My first remembrance of Bernie was an invitation to lunch after church. Marshall was a babe in arms. Unbeknownst to me, Ken had accepted the invitation with the caveat that we could come, but Kentucky was playing basketball, and he would need to watch the game on TV. We sat down at Bud and Bernie's beautifully set table, enjoyed a lunch of stuffed peppers (I had never had such a thing - extraordinarily elegant to me), and before dessert Ken was up from the table watching the little TV in the sitting area between the kitchen and dining room. I was mortified. Bernie was, from that moment, enchanted by Ken. She had found a kindred non-BSer, and she loved him from that point. Oh, and dessert was the most wonderful meringue tart with ice cream and fresh berries, Wow, could she ever cook.
She loved to tell the story of when Marshall, "just a little fellow" came to her house selling popcorn or candy or some such thing for Cub Scouts. It was a Saturday morning, and when she invited him in, he looked around, slack-jawed, and asked, "do you live like this all the time?" He meant, is your house always this clean and straight? It was a concept with which he was most unfamiliar. What I love about her reaction to that interchange was in some way, in her unique Bernie way, it made her love us more, not judge our slovenliness.
When our first dog was hit by a car and died, Marshall was inconsolable. Buddy had just had to have a beloved pet put down. We asked if Marshall could come and visit with them, and maybe Bud could help him through his grief. Bud and Bernie welcomed him, not as a child with childish pain, but as a peer. There is no way to know the number of people whose lives they, as a couple and as individuals, touched with grace and beauty.
I have so many memories of time spent with Mz. Bernie. Perhaps, the best one was our adventure into the world of tattoos. It was the result of a Ladies' Luncheon at church. We were seated at tables with those with whom we had some oddity in common. Bernie was at a table where everyone had a tattoo. The problem was only two of them actually had tattoos, and the rest had been given fake ones. Well, there was nothing fake about Mz. Bernie. After the lunch, I was helping her put some items in the ThriftSmart bin when she lamented her displeasure in having a fake tattoo, and that she thought she would like to get a real one. I told her that I had always wanted a tattoo. She said, "what's stopping us?" I replied, "nothing!" So, a plan was begun. I am not sure that this was the intended outcome of the church ladies' lunch, but then again, it is Otter Creek.
I was in charge of finding the proper tattoo parlor, suitable for two good C of C "girls." We picked the Christian tattoo parlor in Downtown Nashville...right in the middle of Fan Fair. We excitedly arrived, giggling, a bit nervous, pondering what masterpieces we would have forever stamped on ourselves, and where exactly we would put them. The one thing we did know was that if we were going to do this thing, we would not be embarrassed, and we would not put it in some unseen place. She chose her ankle. I chose my foot. She chose a nail cross. I chose a Celtic cross. Sheri came and giggled with us and offered moral support, being a tattooed girl herself, she knew the ropes. People from all over the place were there, getting their Nashville Fan Fair tattoos. The children of the owners were selling bottles of water to raise money for a mission trip. People were asking us where we were from and had we ever been to Fan Fair before. We explained. They were fascinated by the 80 year old, Nashville native getting a tattoo. She was a major attraction, and just possibly the thing some of those tourist would remember most about their trip to Nashville that year.
When we were driving home, Mz. Bernie said,"well, when I die, and I'm laid out on that table, they're going to know I was a lively old broad." And, that she was.
Mz. Bernie was in our house often. She was included in all invitations to the Inner City Catfish dinner, Southern Living Home events, Tupperware parties, Home art sale parties, etc.....I could always count on her presence and her rave reviews on the food, no matter how mediocre it might have been. She called me (and everybody else she knew) Honey, and would often refer to Ken and me as "you kids." She once said that if I invited her to my house and was serving "cow patties," she would come. On occasion, she would give me the greatest compliment of them all ~ "you remind me of Nan." Nan, her beloved, talented, gifted, beautiful daughter. There was no higher praise coming from Mz. Bernie. I feel compelled to add that her thinking I was like Nan is a testimony to the rose-colored glasses through which she viewed me rather than any true similarities. I haven't in my entire body a modicum of talent that Nan has in her pinky finger.No one was any prouder than Mz. Bernie when Ken was given a judgeship. The last time I was with her, she commented on how beautiful Mary-Pullias was and is. She loved well. She felt deeply. She grieved with those she loved, she rejoiced with them as well. She was a little, feisty, sometimes bawdy, funny, talented, gracious, wise woman with a servant's heart. I loved her. I will miss her, like so many others. I do not really know what happens when this leg of our journey ends, but I will rest in the hope that she and Buddy are having a most spectacular reunion.
She left this realm yesterday, quietly and peacefully, with her family "singing her out." Just how she would have orchestrated it ~ perhaps, she and her Father did just that.
For today, I wish you
blessings
My first remembrance of Bernie was an invitation to lunch after church. Marshall was a babe in arms. Unbeknownst to me, Ken had accepted the invitation with the caveat that we could come, but Kentucky was playing basketball, and he would need to watch the game on TV. We sat down at Bud and Bernie's beautifully set table, enjoyed a lunch of stuffed peppers (I had never had such a thing - extraordinarily elegant to me), and before dessert Ken was up from the table watching the little TV in the sitting area between the kitchen and dining room. I was mortified. Bernie was, from that moment, enchanted by Ken. She had found a kindred non-BSer, and she loved him from that point. Oh, and dessert was the most wonderful meringue tart with ice cream and fresh berries, Wow, could she ever cook.
She loved to tell the story of when Marshall, "just a little fellow" came to her house selling popcorn or candy or some such thing for Cub Scouts. It was a Saturday morning, and when she invited him in, he looked around, slack-jawed, and asked, "do you live like this all the time?" He meant, is your house always this clean and straight? It was a concept with which he was most unfamiliar. What I love about her reaction to that interchange was in some way, in her unique Bernie way, it made her love us more, not judge our slovenliness.
When our first dog was hit by a car and died, Marshall was inconsolable. Buddy had just had to have a beloved pet put down. We asked if Marshall could come and visit with them, and maybe Bud could help him through his grief. Bud and Bernie welcomed him, not as a child with childish pain, but as a peer. There is no way to know the number of people whose lives they, as a couple and as individuals, touched with grace and beauty.
I have so many memories of time spent with Mz. Bernie. Perhaps, the best one was our adventure into the world of tattoos. It was the result of a Ladies' Luncheon at church. We were seated at tables with those with whom we had some oddity in common. Bernie was at a table where everyone had a tattoo. The problem was only two of them actually had tattoos, and the rest had been given fake ones. Well, there was nothing fake about Mz. Bernie. After the lunch, I was helping her put some items in the ThriftSmart bin when she lamented her displeasure in having a fake tattoo, and that she thought she would like to get a real one. I told her that I had always wanted a tattoo. She said, "what's stopping us?" I replied, "nothing!" So, a plan was begun. I am not sure that this was the intended outcome of the church ladies' lunch, but then again, it is Otter Creek.
I was in charge of finding the proper tattoo parlor, suitable for two good C of C "girls." We picked the Christian tattoo parlor in Downtown Nashville...right in the middle of Fan Fair. We excitedly arrived, giggling, a bit nervous, pondering what masterpieces we would have forever stamped on ourselves, and where exactly we would put them. The one thing we did know was that if we were going to do this thing, we would not be embarrassed, and we would not put it in some unseen place. She chose her ankle. I chose my foot. She chose a nail cross. I chose a Celtic cross. Sheri came and giggled with us and offered moral support, being a tattooed girl herself, she knew the ropes. People from all over the place were there, getting their Nashville Fan Fair tattoos. The children of the owners were selling bottles of water to raise money for a mission trip. People were asking us where we were from and had we ever been to Fan Fair before. We explained. They were fascinated by the 80 year old, Nashville native getting a tattoo. She was a major attraction, and just possibly the thing some of those tourist would remember most about their trip to Nashville that year.
When we were driving home, Mz. Bernie said,"well, when I die, and I'm laid out on that table, they're going to know I was a lively old broad." And, that she was.
Mz. Bernie was in our house often. She was included in all invitations to the Inner City Catfish dinner, Southern Living Home events, Tupperware parties, Home art sale parties, etc.....I could always count on her presence and her rave reviews on the food, no matter how mediocre it might have been. She called me (and everybody else she knew) Honey, and would often refer to Ken and me as "you kids." She once said that if I invited her to my house and was serving "cow patties," she would come. On occasion, she would give me the greatest compliment of them all ~ "you remind me of Nan." Nan, her beloved, talented, gifted, beautiful daughter. There was no higher praise coming from Mz. Bernie. I feel compelled to add that her thinking I was like Nan is a testimony to the rose-colored glasses through which she viewed me rather than any true similarities. I haven't in my entire body a modicum of talent that Nan has in her pinky finger.No one was any prouder than Mz. Bernie when Ken was given a judgeship. The last time I was with her, she commented on how beautiful Mary-Pullias was and is. She loved well. She felt deeply. She grieved with those she loved, she rejoiced with them as well. She was a little, feisty, sometimes bawdy, funny, talented, gracious, wise woman with a servant's heart. I loved her. I will miss her, like so many others. I do not really know what happens when this leg of our journey ends, but I will rest in the hope that she and Buddy are having a most spectacular reunion.
She left this realm yesterday, quietly and peacefully, with her family "singing her out." Just how she would have orchestrated it ~ perhaps, she and her Father did just that.
For today, I wish you
blessings
Saturday, February 14, 2015
Measuring
This summer I buy curtains for the boys' room. This is the beginning of the oh-so-slow revamping of the room. Two of the windows are, by my measurements, about 1000"x2000." Suffice it to say they are really big. One is in the bedroom and the other is right smack dab in the bathroom; the bathroom Mr. L uses. (As an aside, want to have a glorious marriage? I highly recommend separate bathrooms if at all possible.) There is also a smaller window in the bedroom that if the neighbors look down the hill they are afforded a view right into the room. Why they would be interested in that is beyond me, but there is no accounting for others' tastes. So, it seems necessary to cover these windows at certain times.
Over the 26 years we have lived in this house, these windows have had various different coverings, my favorite being Roman shades my friend, Linda Milliken, made. She knows how to measure. I get my curtains home, and it seems that my windows are not actually 2000" long, so I have to hem the curtains. This seems much easier than somehow adjusting the windows. I get out my trusty measuring tools, carefully measure the fabric, cut off the excess, hand-stitch them, and voila! What?!? No pair of curtains are the same length...I mean, pretty much not even close.
When one has a life motto of "good enough is good enough" and also received an extra dose of jerry-rigging, pulling the curtains back with the tabs, adjusting a little here and a little there proves to be satisfactory. I mean nobody is going to notice...unless they can see. (The other day I saw a sign on a business. It said, "we serve the deaf, hard of hearing, and hearing communities." Seems that about covers everybody. But, I digress.) So, the curtains are up and when Mr. L needs the windows covered, I have shown him how to undo one side, pull it over to the other, and use a paper clip to hold it there. Jerry-rigging at its best.
This arrangement works well, until we discover that we are going to have overnight guests. It is debated as to whether to put them in the master bedroom or not, but that room has a definite breach of privacy with a screen door on it as well as the adjoining bathroom. Also, only about 1/3 of each window is covered. This is my attempt at a little beach cottage in landlocked Nashville.
I decide to hang them myself. (Tip number two - if you want a glorious marriage, never, I mean never hang roller shades together). I can not find my power drill, so I hammer a nail into the window casing to make a pilot hole. This works wonderfully, I assure you. I use my little short Phillips head screw driver to get the brackets up on the first big window, and voila! The shade is about 1/8 inch too short. I think I might cry, seriously. (Now, please know that I realize this is definitely a first world problem, and hardly worthy of tears, but I was so frustrated).
What to do, what to do? It seems that a shim is in order. What to use, what to use? Oh, I have a bunch of popsicle sticks that I am using to make beds for the centerpieces on Simeon's pajama birthday party (MP thought I was using popsicle sticks to make actual twin beds for the boys, as I have been on the lookout for them - even I cannot jerry rig real beds out of popsicle sticks). I figure popsicle sticks will make perfect shims, and I am right. But, screwing and unscrewing those tiny little screws by hand and hammering pilot holes is creating issues with my aging hands, but one shade is up, and I am quite proud.
I call my daughter and ask if I can use their power drill, and they graciously send me a drill and a power screw driver that has an amazing amount of torque. Next day, I tackle the last two shades. This should be so very simple, now that I have the proper tools, and my neatly trimmed popsicle stick shims. I decide to work on the smaller window first as it is at the most difficult angle. I screw in the brackets. What, what is this on the end of the power screwdriver - the head of one of the screws. Nothing to be done. The screw is firmly set in the window casing with no way to get it out. Now my little bracket on that side is swinging back and forth. That can't be good. But, good enough is good enough, so I hang the shade. It stays put. However, it will not come down, which seriously defeats the purpose. I work on it and work on it, until I spring it, and now it won't go up.
In my efforts to teach the boys proper "swear" words (it is my opinion everybody needs a few) we say things like "man oh manoshevitz," "goodnight nurse," "are you kidding me?," "that's no good," and "for Pete's sake." Quite the repertoire. I use them all up on that sprung, halfway attached bracket shade.
Not to be discouraged, however, I decide to tackle the big window in the bathroom. This is the crucial one. I very calmly and patiently stand on the chair (don't tell Mr. L, please), drill my pilot holes, cut my shims, line up the drilled holes on the shims, window casing and brackets, use the power screwdriver to drive the screws in and ARE YOU KIDDING ME...the head of one of those screws is maliciously attached to the screwdriver. I am having to dip deeper into my bag of swear words and come up with a few more suitable to the situation, which I will not share here. Use your imagination. But, the shade is up. All three shades up. Two of which work. Two out of three - not so bad.
This saga is not complete, however. The next day after Mr. L. leaves for work, I raise the big shade in the bedroom, flip off the one on the small window for not cooperating, raise the one in the bathroom which promptly falls off and hits me in the head. More "suitable" words. The problem, it seems is the only-one-side-attached bracket. Aaaaaaaaargh!!! I have to stop and think, but I figure Super Glue could be my friend. This is bold for me because several years ago in my efforts of jerry-rigging knobs on a kitchen drawer, I super glued the knob to my fingers and had to drive to the hardware store with it stuck there to buy a solvent to get it off. THAT is not embarrassing, and it instills an extreme fear of Super Glue. But, dadgum, I am going to get that shade to stay. I Super Glue the bracket to the shim, and am happy to report it is now working - as if you could possibly care after this ridiculously long diatribe.
I am not quite finished, however. The thing I am most proud of in this little life drama, is the shade pulls I made out of fan pulls and shade handles. I actually drilled by hand with a cup hook and a jack-o-lantern cutting tool, perfect little holes in which the chain fits perfectly. Yep, I am most proud.
blessings
Wednesday, January 21, 2015
No Longer Missing
For those wondering, yesterday, I saw the missing gentleman from Wisconsin. He was walking down the beach. I almost missed him. He looks really thin, but still has his sweet smile and brief nod to passersby. I am happy.
For today, I wish you happy updates, and I wish you
Blessings
For today, I wish you happy updates, and I wish you
Blessings
Wednesday, January 14, 2015
Ruminations III
People Missing:
Here in paradise, I am missing my people. Proof that it is not so much where you are or what you are doing, but more about who you are with (sorry, Betsy, I know I finished with a preposition, but the proper way just sounds stilted and snooty :-)). Please, do not think I am complaining. I would not do that for fear that all you at home in the gloom and cold will want to line up and smack me upside the head upon my return.
Homesickness:
The first time I remember being homesick was when I was about nine years old. I went to Memphis to spend some time with my cousins. They were wonderful to me, but they did everything so differently. It was on that trip that I had shrimp cocktail for the first time. I ate all the tails. I knew no better. I was mortified. My aunt and uncle were concerned about the effect eating shrimp tails would have on my digestive system. Just possibly there might have been some giggles from my cousins as well. This was the beginning of my awareness that dumb moves, stupid choices, and dorkified comments would be more the rule than the exception.
As an adult, I suffered breath-stealing, heart-clinching homesickness while spending many days in Boston with a cousin who was going through a stem-cell transplant. She was to be there for weeks, and so family pitched in to be with her throughout. I loved her. She was so fun. She was one of the best people I have ever known. She exuded a child-like wonder at all this beautiful world has to offer, even during her darkest days. But, I remember one day, as she was going through a procedure, and I was sitting in a hospital waiting room, thinking I might literally expire on the spot if I did not hear Mr. Lincoln's voice. I found a pay phone tucked away, called him collect, and as soon as I heard his
voice, I began to weep, uncontrollably weep. Mr. L loves me, and so my angst is painful for him, but
he also knows me well, and knows what "support" is going to be most helpful to me. As a result, he very gently and kindly reminded me that this was "an all volunteer army" (a popular reminder in our family when people complain about the hardships that come due to one's own choices), that I would be fine, and that my cousin needed me. I was still homesick, but he had given me what I needed in that moment.
I am not homesick here. The island is too familiar. It is a bit of a paradox, however, that my familiarity with the surroundings brings both comfort and melancholia.
Dear God in Heaven:
On this end of the island, we do not see the sun set as though it is dropping into the ocean. There is a dogleg that obscures it, however, the sky does change colors to alert those on this end of the island that the day is coming to a close. Last night, outside my window, I could see the most amazing cloud formations, and decided to go out and take a few pictures. I can honestly say that I have never seen a more beautiful sky. The colors were exquisite, the clouds majestic. I so wished that my mother had stayed an extra day to see this grand display. I literally said aloud, " dear God, why do you bless us so?" Whenever I witness a beautiful sunrise or sunset, I think to myself "what a gift." Day could begin and end like the flipping of a switch, but instead, it is gradual and exciting and peaceful, and beyond beautiful. I need to be more aware at home.
An Observation:
People over sixty hurt. Either their backs hurt, or their knees, or their hips, or their feet, or any combination. Almost everyone is listing to one side or the other.
Why Spend Less When You Can Pay More
For breakfast this morning, I had the most delicious donut made, covered in toffee pieces, chocolate, and caramel. Needless to say, a bit of extra walking was called for to work off those calories (anyone who knows me well is overcome with incredulous guffaws), so I decided to walk to my favorite ice cream shop, Pinnochio's for lunch. As an aside, there is a "beach foodie" shop called Gepetto's where a $15.00 piece of pizza can be had. At Pinnochio's my mother ordered a waffle cone with coffee ice cream. You will think I am exaggerating, but, I promise, I am not when I tell you that they put at least a quart of ice cream in that cone. She gave it the old college try, but was unable to finish it. My favorite flavor is called Wedding Bells. It is almond ice cream with sliced almonds. I am of the mind that ice cream is totally wasted on those cake cones. I much prefer a sugar cone, but a sugar cone comes with three dips of ice cream, which is not more than I can eat, but much more than I want to eat. So, I buy a kiddie amount of ice cream (1 1/2 dips) and have them put it in a sugar cone. Now, my $3.00 cone will cost me $5.50, but as I say, why spend less when you can pay more?
Trivia Crack on Steroids:
Because I did not want to get carried away in my exercise regime, I took a short cut to the ice cream shop and ran into a lovely lady who was full of questions. "Did you see the Snowy Plovers," she asked. "Possibly, but I haven't a clue what they look like," I replied. "Well, if you walk down to mile marker 1, you will see them. They are tiny," she said with great authority. "I am staying around mile marker 1, so, yes, I believe I saw a bunch of them," I, with great pleasure, answered. "There are only a few on the island!" I lose; spin again.
Well, it has been a quiet day. I painted a couple rudimentary water color cards, walked about 5 miles, eaten a pound of sugar, now I shall head to the pool, even though it is cloudy and cool, and kill some brain cells reading a Danielle Steel novel. Do not judge. I am on vacation. As always, when I blog on my IPad, there are technical anomalies, so please forgive poor grammar and typos.
Today, I wish you peace, something decadently sweet to eat, and I wish you
Blessings
Here in paradise, I am missing my people. Proof that it is not so much where you are or what you are doing, but more about who you are with (sorry, Betsy, I know I finished with a preposition, but the proper way just sounds stilted and snooty :-)). Please, do not think I am complaining. I would not do that for fear that all you at home in the gloom and cold will want to line up and smack me upside the head upon my return.
Homesickness:
The first time I remember being homesick was when I was about nine years old. I went to Memphis to spend some time with my cousins. They were wonderful to me, but they did everything so differently. It was on that trip that I had shrimp cocktail for the first time. I ate all the tails. I knew no better. I was mortified. My aunt and uncle were concerned about the effect eating shrimp tails would have on my digestive system. Just possibly there might have been some giggles from my cousins as well. This was the beginning of my awareness that dumb moves, stupid choices, and dorkified comments would be more the rule than the exception.
As an adult, I suffered breath-stealing, heart-clinching homesickness while spending many days in Boston with a cousin who was going through a stem-cell transplant. She was to be there for weeks, and so family pitched in to be with her throughout. I loved her. She was so fun. She was one of the best people I have ever known. She exuded a child-like wonder at all this beautiful world has to offer, even during her darkest days. But, I remember one day, as she was going through a procedure, and I was sitting in a hospital waiting room, thinking I might literally expire on the spot if I did not hear Mr. Lincoln's voice. I found a pay phone tucked away, called him collect, and as soon as I heard his
voice, I began to weep, uncontrollably weep. Mr. L loves me, and so my angst is painful for him, but
he also knows me well, and knows what "support" is going to be most helpful to me. As a result, he very gently and kindly reminded me that this was "an all volunteer army" (a popular reminder in our family when people complain about the hardships that come due to one's own choices), that I would be fine, and that my cousin needed me. I was still homesick, but he had given me what I needed in that moment.
I am not homesick here. The island is too familiar. It is a bit of a paradox, however, that my familiarity with the surroundings brings both comfort and melancholia.
Dear God in Heaven:
On this end of the island, we do not see the sun set as though it is dropping into the ocean. There is a dogleg that obscures it, however, the sky does change colors to alert those on this end of the island that the day is coming to a close. Last night, outside my window, I could see the most amazing cloud formations, and decided to go out and take a few pictures. I can honestly say that I have never seen a more beautiful sky. The colors were exquisite, the clouds majestic. I so wished that my mother had stayed an extra day to see this grand display. I literally said aloud, " dear God, why do you bless us so?" Whenever I witness a beautiful sunrise or sunset, I think to myself "what a gift." Day could begin and end like the flipping of a switch, but instead, it is gradual and exciting and peaceful, and beyond beautiful. I need to be more aware at home.
An Observation:
People over sixty hurt. Either their backs hurt, or their knees, or their hips, or their feet, or any combination. Almost everyone is listing to one side or the other.
Why Spend Less When You Can Pay More
For breakfast this morning, I had the most delicious donut made, covered in toffee pieces, chocolate, and caramel. Needless to say, a bit of extra walking was called for to work off those calories (anyone who knows me well is overcome with incredulous guffaws), so I decided to walk to my favorite ice cream shop, Pinnochio's for lunch. As an aside, there is a "beach foodie" shop called Gepetto's where a $15.00 piece of pizza can be had. At Pinnochio's my mother ordered a waffle cone with coffee ice cream. You will think I am exaggerating, but, I promise, I am not when I tell you that they put at least a quart of ice cream in that cone. She gave it the old college try, but was unable to finish it. My favorite flavor is called Wedding Bells. It is almond ice cream with sliced almonds. I am of the mind that ice cream is totally wasted on those cake cones. I much prefer a sugar cone, but a sugar cone comes with three dips of ice cream, which is not more than I can eat, but much more than I want to eat. So, I buy a kiddie amount of ice cream (1 1/2 dips) and have them put it in a sugar cone. Now, my $3.00 cone will cost me $5.50, but as I say, why spend less when you can pay more?
Trivia Crack on Steroids:
Because I did not want to get carried away in my exercise regime, I took a short cut to the ice cream shop and ran into a lovely lady who was full of questions. "Did you see the Snowy Plovers," she asked. "Possibly, but I haven't a clue what they look like," I replied. "Well, if you walk down to mile marker 1, you will see them. They are tiny," she said with great authority. "I am staying around mile marker 1, so, yes, I believe I saw a bunch of them," I, with great pleasure, answered. "There are only a few on the island!" I lose; spin again.
Well, it has been a quiet day. I painted a couple rudimentary water color cards, walked about 5 miles, eaten a pound of sugar, now I shall head to the pool, even though it is cloudy and cool, and kill some brain cells reading a Danielle Steel novel. Do not judge. I am on vacation. As always, when I blog on my IPad, there are technical anomalies, so please forgive poor grammar and typos.
Today, I wish you peace, something decadently sweet to eat, and I wish you
Blessings
Friday, January 9, 2015
Ruminations From the Beach II
Different Things We Notice:
Mr. L. (as a man and his wife walk by): "Did you see how big his feet were?
Me: "No, what I noticed was his wife walking 3 steps in front of him to avoid that cigar smoke."
Possibly Unkind Observations:
Sir, you with the big belly and man boobs, you may think you are "one sit-up away from a date with a super model" (credit to Patrick Mead for that little saying), but, trust me, it might serve you well to be kinder to your wife.
Ma'am, is it possible that you do not feel the breeze on your bare backside exposed to the entire beach as you gather shells? That garment you have on defies the term "cover-up."
Birds:
If I were a shorebird, I would be a pelican. They just bob along in the surf in small groups. When they get hungry they take off, fly low, grab a fish, swallow it whole, then quietly kick back in the surf. Seagulls are way too noisy, and the tiny plovers travel in packs, run so quickly their legs are literally a blur, and they have to work too hard for food. Yep, it's a pelican's life for me.
Going to the Beach:
With a man - I have my towel, will you grab the sunscreen...I'll meet you there.
With a group of women - Do I need a jacket...a heavy or lightweight one...should I take my ball cap
or my big straw hat...have you seen my book...where did I put my sunglasses...have you seen my reading glasses...I need another towel...do you think I need 30 sunscreen or 15...are there any plastic cups, I need to take a glass of iced tea...I think I will take this chair...oh, wait a minute, I need to tee tee one more time before we go...
Returning From the Beach:
With a man:
I'm going on up to the condo.
With a group of women:
Are you cold...I don't know, are you cold...do you need to tee tee...no, do you...are you ready to go in...what time is it...is everybody ready to go in...have you seen my glasses...is this my towel or yours...is this your sunscreen...did you get your jacket...do you want the rest of your tea.............
Missing Person:
For years, I have seen the same tall, gangly gentleman walking down the beach each morning. He is from Wisconsin. He always nods or quietly says good morning. He is a Packers fan. He had an aura of sadness about him last year, but we were not on the kind of terms that made it appropriate for me to ask questions. He is not here this year. I keep hoping to see him. I wonder where he is.
Maybe more later. For today I wish you much joy and many
Blessings
Mr. L. (as a man and his wife walk by): "Did you see how big his feet were?
Me: "No, what I noticed was his wife walking 3 steps in front of him to avoid that cigar smoke."
Possibly Unkind Observations:
Sir, you with the big belly and man boobs, you may think you are "one sit-up away from a date with a super model" (credit to Patrick Mead for that little saying), but, trust me, it might serve you well to be kinder to your wife.
Ma'am, is it possible that you do not feel the breeze on your bare backside exposed to the entire beach as you gather shells? That garment you have on defies the term "cover-up."
Birds:
If I were a shorebird, I would be a pelican. They just bob along in the surf in small groups. When they get hungry they take off, fly low, grab a fish, swallow it whole, then quietly kick back in the surf. Seagulls are way too noisy, and the tiny plovers travel in packs, run so quickly their legs are literally a blur, and they have to work too hard for food. Yep, it's a pelican's life for me.
Going to the Beach:
With a man - I have my towel, will you grab the sunscreen...I'll meet you there.
With a group of women - Do I need a jacket...a heavy or lightweight one...should I take my ball cap
or my big straw hat...have you seen my book...where did I put my sunglasses...have you seen my reading glasses...I need another towel...do you think I need 30 sunscreen or 15...are there any plastic cups, I need to take a glass of iced tea...I think I will take this chair...oh, wait a minute, I need to tee tee one more time before we go...
Returning From the Beach:
With a man:
I'm going on up to the condo.
With a group of women:
Are you cold...I don't know, are you cold...do you need to tee tee...no, do you...are you ready to go in...what time is it...is everybody ready to go in...have you seen my glasses...is this my towel or yours...is this your sunscreen...did you get your jacket...do you want the rest of your tea.............
Missing Person:
For years, I have seen the same tall, gangly gentleman walking down the beach each morning. He is from Wisconsin. He always nods or quietly says good morning. He is a Packers fan. He had an aura of sadness about him last year, but we were not on the kind of terms that made it appropriate for me to ask questions. He is not here this year. I keep hoping to see him. I wonder where he is.
Maybe more later. For today I wish you much joy and many
Blessings
Tuesday, January 6, 2015
Rumination from the Beach
Alone:
Mr. L had to return home yesterday. I am on hour 16 or so of 40+ hours of being on my own. Come next Tuesday at this time, I will be on hour 12 or so of 90+ hours on my own. As I sit here in the condo looking out over the gulf eating breakfast cookies and drinking Diet Coke, Please understand I am not seeking sympathy. I just miss Mr. L.
Body Image:
I marvel at some of the men on the beach with amazingly confident body images. They just march down the beach leading with their big ol' bellies, affectionately patting them. They worked years on perfecting that look, and they are not, by golly, going to be ashamed!
Should I Really Be Left Alone?:
I really cannot remember when I have actually been "on my own." There is always someone I can call if I need help, be it family, friend, or trusted church. So, in anticipation of my solitude and independence, I thought about the things I probably won't do, like ride a bike because I might not be as lucky in a bike wreck as I was last year. So, no bikes. Yesterday, I turned my ankle walking on flat ground, so no walking on flat ground while alone. Yesterday, I cut my leg on the seat in the car requiring a trip to the drugstore for band-aids. So, no car. Yesterday, I also scraped my forearm on the bathroom cabinet door, leaving a big, sore raspberry. So, bathroom cabinets must stay closed. Perhaps, I will not budge from this spot, look out at the gulf, eat breakfast cookies and drink Diet Coke all day.
Hair:
My hair has been commented on several times both in person and via FaceTime. Things have been said like, "did you bring a brush," which quickly morphed into "your hair could use a brush," which ended in, "maybe you should put on a hat." Oh, and there was the FaceTime comment, "I see you are letting your hair just go natural." It was NOT meant as a compliment, and came after I had actually used mousse, root lifter, 2 round brushes and a hair dryer. I have very little control over my hair at home, and absolutely none at the beach. 15 seconds outside, and it is curling and frizzing in all directions. I shall embrace it.
Social Dorkdom:
Several days ago, I was at Mr. L's office. He called in his legal assistant so I could meet her. Oh, my, Crash and Burn. After the hello, and my wishing her a happy new year, crickets.....for several minutes. I know Mr. L was proud. Why did I not use the valuable lessons I gleaned from my The Art of Small Talk book? Why did I not ask her, as the book suggests, " if you knew you were going to die tomorrow, what would you do today?" Not stand here and waste time in this social morass!!
Here, at the beach, we see the same people year after year. I ran into a man named Ken, who Mr. L and I call Mr. Tanned. He stopped to speak, and ask how we are doing. Do you know what I said to him, "did y'all have a nice winter? Oh, wait, this is winter." Seriously, on January 3, I ask someone how their winter was. Why did I not just ask, "if you knew you were going to die tomorrow......"
Books I Have Read So Far:
1. Sunset Bay by Susan Mallery-I do not recommend. 2. Islands, by Ann Rivers Siddons- I actually think I had read it before. She really has great characters in her books, but they are haunting, and sometime can really mess with my mind. I do recommend it, for what it is worth. 3. The Book of Ruth by Jane Hamilton. This was really good with multi layered characters. 4.
Mr. L had to return home yesterday. I am on hour 16 or so of 40+ hours of being on my own. Come next Tuesday at this time, I will be on hour 12 or so of 90+ hours on my own. As I sit here in the condo looking out over the gulf eating breakfast cookies and drinking Diet Coke, Please understand I am not seeking sympathy. I just miss Mr. L.
Body Image:
I marvel at some of the men on the beach with amazingly confident body images. They just march down the beach leading with their big ol' bellies, affectionately patting them. They worked years on perfecting that look, and they are not, by golly, going to be ashamed!
Should I Really Be Left Alone?:
I really cannot remember when I have actually been "on my own." There is always someone I can call if I need help, be it family, friend, or trusted church. So, in anticipation of my solitude and independence, I thought about the things I probably won't do, like ride a bike because I might not be as lucky in a bike wreck as I was last year. So, no bikes. Yesterday, I turned my ankle walking on flat ground, so no walking on flat ground while alone. Yesterday, I cut my leg on the seat in the car requiring a trip to the drugstore for band-aids. So, no car. Yesterday, I also scraped my forearm on the bathroom cabinet door, leaving a big, sore raspberry. So, bathroom cabinets must stay closed. Perhaps, I will not budge from this spot, look out at the gulf, eat breakfast cookies and drink Diet Coke all day.
Hair:
My hair has been commented on several times both in person and via FaceTime. Things have been said like, "did you bring a brush," which quickly morphed into "your hair could use a brush," which ended in, "maybe you should put on a hat." Oh, and there was the FaceTime comment, "I see you are letting your hair just go natural." It was NOT meant as a compliment, and came after I had actually used mousse, root lifter, 2 round brushes and a hair dryer. I have very little control over my hair at home, and absolutely none at the beach. 15 seconds outside, and it is curling and frizzing in all directions. I shall embrace it.
Social Dorkdom:
Several days ago, I was at Mr. L's office. He called in his legal assistant so I could meet her. Oh, my, Crash and Burn. After the hello, and my wishing her a happy new year, crickets.....for several minutes. I know Mr. L was proud. Why did I not use the valuable lessons I gleaned from my The Art of Small Talk book? Why did I not ask her, as the book suggests, " if you knew you were going to die tomorrow, what would you do today?" Not stand here and waste time in this social morass!!
Here, at the beach, we see the same people year after year. I ran into a man named Ken, who Mr. L and I call Mr. Tanned. He stopped to speak, and ask how we are doing. Do you know what I said to him, "did y'all have a nice winter? Oh, wait, this is winter." Seriously, on January 3, I ask someone how their winter was. Why did I not just ask, "if you knew you were going to die tomorrow......"
Books I Have Read So Far:
1. Sunset Bay by Susan Mallery-I do not recommend. 2. Islands, by Ann Rivers Siddons- I actually think I had read it before. She really has great characters in her books, but they are haunting, and sometime can really mess with my mind. I do recommend it, for what it is worth. 3. The Book of Ruth by Jane Hamilton. This was really good with multi layered characters. 4.
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