Staycation 2012

Nothing much better than the beach in autumn!  Because my Aunt Joyce and Uncle Gene have a townhouse on the coast, I've been blessed with the opportunity to spend some time at the ocean (my favorite place) each fall (my favorite season).  I was determined to go this year, because a scheduling conflict prevented the trip last fall.  The visit we planned immediately after school was out for the summer was canceled as well, as Whitney and her family were in the midst of preparing to move.

This morning should have found me sipping coffee, watching the sun rise over the horizon, with long, lazy days ahead to enjoy the surf and leisurely walks on the beach.  Then a couple of months ago my husband decided to shake things up a bit, and once again, the beach trip was canceled.  I considered going on my own, for a much-needed respite from all the craziness.  I do enjoy my own company, and I've spent time alone at the beach before.  After thinking it through, though, I decided it would probably be best to wait awhile before returning to the place where we honeymooned and had such a great week together.  Not so sure I would be strong enough to face those demons just yet.  

I considered giving back the vacation days, and save the time off until later - when I was feeling better and more likely to enjoy myself doing something fun.  Then I took a look at my To-Do List, and decided to take the days off anyhow, and challenge myself to get as much done around here as I possibly could.  Not exactly a Staycation - as there will be little time for leisure or local fun, but technically, I'm on vacation (from work) and I'm staying home, so I suppose that qualifies as a Staycation. 

The week started off with a bang.  Whitney had a yard sale on Saturday, so Friday evening was spent in my attic, retrieving all manner of crap that had accumulated there over the years.  It was a late night.  Always fun, though... we find things that make us giggle that other folks just never *get*.  I have fun with her no matter what we are doing . The yard sale on Saturday was fun too, and my mom sat outside and visited with us.  All morning the aroma of smoke-pit barbecue from the Sunflower Festival teased us, and by the time we were finished, I was starving.  After we packed up everything, I went down for a few minutes to grab a bite to eat, then stopped by to visit an old friend.  It was a good day, and a quiet evening at home was the perfect ending to a beautiful day.  

Since changing my work schedule back in April, I've been enjoying Sundays off.  (I work M-F like normal people now!!)  Since moving back to Statham, I've gotten back into the habit of a little snooze on Sunday afternoons, and fully intended to indulge in a nap yesterday, and begin tackling my list on Monday. Wouldn't you know it, the weather forecast called for rain Monday and Tuesday.  I decided to postpone the nap and take advantage of the gorgeous afternoon, and get started on my outdoor projects.  

Now my daddy is the best daddy ever (and in his younger days could have beat up your daddy any day...) and he's always willing to lend a hand.  Thank you, Dad!!  But sometimes I just get a stubborn streak and decide I'm going to do something my ownself.  My mom always says "Your daddy will do it", or after the fact, "You know your daddy would have done that for you."  I do so love A Man Who Can Do Things.  But sometimes, I want to be A Girl Who Can Do Things.  I fail about as many times as I succeed, but it's not because I don't try.  Yesterday's project was repairing the entry ramp into my storage building.  The support frame is still in good condition, but the boards themselves had rotted.  I could hoist myself up into the building using only the top plank and pulling myself on the door frame, but stepping down was a bit precarious.   Thank You Lord, I haven't blown out my knee or twisted my ankle trying to get in and out of the building. I'm just clumsy like that.  Shut up. 

We all know that I suck terribly at math - however - a few weekends ago I carefully measured the length of the ramp, as well as the width, and documented the measurements in my phone.  One day last week, I went to the Home Depot and spent a good 30 minutes in the lumber aisle with my calculator (how did I ever function before my iPhone?).  Who knew there were so many choices in lumber?  I kinda felt like the most important consideration would be the thickness of the wood, so I chose a 2" thickness.  I knew the ramp was 60" long, and the planks 27" wide.  I decided to play it safe and go with a 28" wide cut.  With calculator, pen and paper in hand, I first considered a 12" wide plank x 12' long.  I figured .............

crap........

I almost slit my wrists right there in the Home Depot doing the math.  No way I'm going to relive that here in my blog.  There's not enough coffee in the neighborhood that can make that happen this early on a Monday. Just take my word for it.  I figured it out, got the little guy to make the cuts for me and I was on my way.  

Yesterday afternoon, armed with my 28", pressure-treated Yellawood planks, my pink Girl Tools, and my Bosch 18v cordless drill all loaded in my weathered wheelbarrow, I headed for the storage building.  Can I just say that I Love My Power Drill!!  I was a little worried about getting the old boards off, but I put that drill in Reverse and most of the screws backed out with very little effort. (And allow me to interject here that I was delighted to see that the screws I had purchased for the project were identical to the ones I was removing!! That was a good sign!)  I won't even tell you how rotten the wood was.  Well, okay, I'll tell you.  One or two of the pieces just crumbled away from the screws, and let's just say the splinters would make for some dang good fire-starter wood.  A few of the screws were stubborn, but I accidentally discovered that if you hammer them down and bend them a little, you can get them out Allen-wrench style.  (Yes.  When I grow up I want to be a carpenter.) 

Next I carefully laid all the pieces onto the frame, to make sure they would fit.  I had about 1" of frame left over at the bottom (which really irked me, because while I seriously suck at math, I do know that 10 x 6 = 60, and my planks were SUPPOSED to be 6" wide, and the ramp was 60" long.  See why I hate math?).  I considered leaving tiny spaces between the planks.  There are all kinds of mysteries involved with construction, and I was thinking that maybe the wood might "expand" in the heat or something - and maybe there was a reason that I should leave a tiny crack between them.  But then I thought better of that.  I knew that if one tiny crack was 0.5 cm wider than another one, I'd never be able to sleep again. I like symmetry.  I decided to just go with keeping the planks "square" (yes, I used a T-square thingy) and take my chances with not leaving any cracks.  One by one, the planks went down.  The wood offered more resistance than I expected, and upon drilling the first screw, I thought I had ripped my thumb off.  (Bilateral thumb surgery in the past has left me with weakness.) I quickly learned to put some weight on the end of the drill, which  relieved the stress considerably. Forty screws later, both my hands were throbbing, my back was breaking, I was covered in sweat... but.. by crackie.. I had built my ramp!!  I have before and after pictures for your enjoyment.  Looking at the after picture, I'm a little distressed that the planks aren't perfectly centered.  There's more of a hang-over on the left side than the right side.  It has been difficult, but I am managing to accept it, and not unscrew all ten  planks and start over.  

BEFORE

AFTER

LOCK N LOAD, BABY!!

MY GIRL TOOLS

My other project for the afternoon was to clear away two seasons' worth of leaves that had accumulated against the end of my house, underneath the tiny porch, and in my hosta garden.  (Calling it a hosta garden is a stretch.  There are four or five plants.  But they are really beautiful, and could be the beginning of a nice hosta garden.)  The blower wasn't quite strong enough to blow away the wet mess, so a little elbow grease was required to clear out the packed in, composted pile of leaves.  Finally I got it all raked up and delivered to the gully across the street.  The blower worked quite nicely to clear the area of the remaining debris.  It looks unbelievably clean and tidy out there now.  To my dismay, I didn't have enough bags of pine bark to cover the rest of my "hosta garden", and will have to grab a few more bags when I'm out.  

So, Day 1 of my Staycation goes down in the books as very productive.  I still have some more outside work to do, and I'm looking forward to the end of the week when the weather is supposed to be nice again.  

So instead of sipping coffee on the beach watching the sun rise over the ocean, I'm sitting at home in the office, writing a blog about what I have done so far, and what else I plan to do this week.  I have two clinics from last week to transcribe this morning, then will be up and about the task at hand.  There's another clinic on Wednesday that I'll transcribe either Wednesday night or Thursday morning, and that will be all of my "paid" work for the week.  Wednesday I have several appointments, and a lunch date with Danette, so that day probably won't be very productive as far as my to-do list goes.

Okay, so I know you are dying to know how I plan to spend the rest of the Staycation. Here is the list that I've been compiling on my clipboard for weeks now:

• Rake/blow leaves, clean out hosta garden, put down fresh pine bark nuggets.  Done!
• Repair ramp to storage building Done!
• Clean off front porch Done!
• Assemble kitchen cart  Done!
• Hang curtain rod and curtain in office Done!
• Transfer data from old laptop to new laptop
• Paint hall bath
• Install vinyl flooring in hall bath (I might have to wave the white flag and call my daddy on this one)
• Line drawers/cabinets in hall bath
• Paint kitchen
• Clean tile grout in kitchen
• Organize laundry room cabinets/shelves
• Unpack remaining boxes
• Re-structure/organize craft room
• Back-yard/shed cleanup (Landfill!)

A week?  ....sigh....  I may have been a little over-ambitious and optimistic with my goals.  I think I have enough to keep me busy through several Staycations!  

Just Another Day?

Some days are harder than others.  I know it won't always be like this.  Each day should get easier.  Baby steps. Some days it's two baby steps forward, three giant steps backward.  Other days only forward steps. Yay!  And then the awful days of giant steps backward.  Thankfully there are fewer of those with each passing week.

I find strength in many places - in my prayers, from Scripture, in the words and kind gestures of my family and friends.  Surprisingly, I have also found strength, encouragement, and comfort in inspirational posters all over the internet.  It might sound lame to others, but it works for me.  Affirmation is important, and hope for brighter days is crucial. Sadly, though, it seems for every inspirational one I find, for every one that uplifts and comforts me, there are also those posters that depict the joys of being in love, the rewards of commitment, all the sweet, romantic things that a girl would love to send to the man of her dreams.  And those posters serve to remind me of the dark shadow of hurt and disappointment that looms over my heart.  So - is it better or worse for me to look at them?  I'd say I get more encouragement than discouragement, so I continue to look, continue to copy/save them in a folder labeled "Inspiration". Sometimes I just open the folder and look through them, and feel a little bit better. There are dark moments in every day.  I suppose that's just to be expected.  It is normal to mourn the loss of something/someone you loved, and those moments will come no matter what I'm doing.  They come at the most inopportune times, and at times, are crippling.  Surrounding myself with strong women who love me, encourage me, and are praying for me has been my salvation.  They are my Giant Killers.  I have faith that with the passage of time, those moments will come less and less often and will be replaced with the ability to enjoy the good memories and remember them with happiness - not sadness.  There's another quote I like:  "Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened".  Well, I'm not at that place just yet - but that's my prayer and my goal.  There are definitely good memories to treasure.  I'm just waiting for the "not hurting to remember" part to start.

Affirmation.  Hope for brighter days.  Yes.  I will take strength and empowerment wherever they may be found.  And I've always been a sucker for a pretty picture/poster embellished with profound words of wisdom.

I like what this poster says.  Every day is a clean slate.  A gift.  A new chance to make the right choices, and do the right things.  A new day to choose to move forward, to lay aside and move beyond the things that weigh heavily on our hearts and our minds.

Will today be just another day?  Or will I make it a day that counts?  With every baby step forward, I choose to make it a day of moving in the right direction.  Another day closer to a peaceful heart.  Yes, indeed. Every day counts.

The Grass Is Always Greener

Regular readers of this blog may remember my Lawn Mower Nightmares.  Every summer it seemed that after one or two uses, my mower would simply die. And I never could crank the stupid thing without pulling my shoulder out of joint.  Two years in a row I bought new mowers. After the second new one, when it spent more time in the repair shop than it did my yard, finally, they refunded my money.  I’m sure they were as happy about it as I was.  I decided to try a smaller, local hardware store instead of one of the big-box stores, and had a great experience with Hill’s Ace in Winder.  That mower is still working just fine – but not realizing I would again be in charge of my own yardwork, I let Whitney and Dustin take it when they moved to their house. 

You must understand something about me.  When it comes to cutting grass and getting haircuts – I’m very impatient.  When I’m ready to do it, I’m ready right now.  Don’t want to wait.  A couple of weeks ago, Dustin said he would cut the grass if we could get his riding mower over here.  I decided I didn’t want to wait – so I went to Home Depot and got my own dang lawn mower.  I’ve been doing a lot of shopping in Lowe’s and Home Depot these days, and have gotten on a first-name basis with some of the associates.  At the HD on Epps Bridge, there’s a delightful young man named Adam whom I am considering adopting.  He is very handy, and knows a lot of things about a lot of things – mainly where most items are located in the store.  On this particular trip, I was happy to see Adam, and after he assisted me with some fluorescent light bulbs, we wandered over to the lawn-mower section.  He showed me a mower that he had himself purchased recently, and recommended I consider that one.  It’s all pretty and red, and has big wheels on the back that help with uneven ground. He sold me when he said that all you have to do is take it out of the box, fold up the handle, tighten some bolts, put in the gas and oil and it’s good to go.  He swore to me that it cranked on the first pull.  I was all in.  After assisting me with a few other items, and agreeing to be my personal shopping assistant for all eternity, he loaded it into the car, and I drove home – ready to tackle my yard.  To my WONDERFUL surprise, my neighbor Tammy had cut the front yard for me, while she was out doing her own yard!!  Gosh, I love my neighbors!!!  The back yard was too high for this push mower, and David came over later with his tractor-mower and took care of that for me.  That was a couple of weekends ago.  And, as we know, that pesky grass just insists on growing all summer long.  So, today was the day!  Time to cut the grass!!  

My wake-up call came this morning at 8:30, when David called to say The Biscuit Man had arrived. In all my early-morning glory, I trekked up to the Huth patio for coffee and biscuits.  It was a beautiful morning to sit outside and enjoy some peaceful conversation.  

After that, I was psyched about cutting the grass.  Except I couldn’t find my shoes.  I think I left my yard-work shoes at Steve’s, and my slip-on Sketchers are dangerous on uneven ground.  I nearly broke my foot a few weeks ago trying to clean up some clippings in the yard while wearing them. This presented a dilemma.  I know I need to pick up a pair of cheap shoes for working outside.  But – unlike the Wal Mart people whose pictures we see and make fun of, I try not to go shopping (even at Wal Mart) without looking like I just got out of bed.  Doing so at the Dollar G in Statham isn’t QUITE as bad – but that place is usually hoppin’ on Saturday mornings, and one never knows who you might run into.  I thought I’d take a chance, and go down and see if they had any kind of footwear that would get me through today’s grass-cutting marathon.  I had to go to town anyway to get gas for the lawn mower.  I didn’t want to get all gussied up just to go to Wal Mart, then come home and get all dirty and smelly.  At the Dollar G, I tried on some “Youth” shoes that I considered.  I thought I’d look rather spiffy in some Spiderman shoes, and maybe Spidey would give me superpowers while I worked outside.  But I worried with all that walking, they might be a bit too snug.  Almost defeated, I happened to see a pair of $6.00 ladies cloth “tennis shoes” with some shiny things bedazzled on the side.  Tried these ones, and they felt okay.  So, instead of Spiderman, I decided I’d probably do better with the movie star shoes. 

Then it was off to the gas station. At the time I bought the mower, I also wanted a new gas can. Adam escorted me to the proper aisle and showed me a display of lovely bright red gasoline containers.  I was interested in a 2-gallon can, but the choices were either really expensive ones, or really cheap ones.  There was one style in the mid price range that looked like it would make me happy, so that’s the one I chose.  Unfortunately, I had dismissed Adam before making my selection. I’m sure he would have advised against this particular one. But, there's no one to blame.  I chose it all on my own. It looked like a very nice can, that you could trust to keep the gasoline safely inside without leaking.  Yes, it’s a very secure gas can.  But the nozzle is some kind of weird contraption – so weird that I had to chase down a guy at the gas station to get him to show me how the silly thing worked.  And when he couldn’t figure it out either, I didn’t feel quite so badly about it.  Finally I got the nozzle thingy on securely and made my way home with my sparkly shoes and funky gas can. 

Armed with my bottle of motor oil, my container of gasoline, my instruction manual, reading glasses, kitchen knife (to cut some bubble-wrap stuff off the handle), and my sparkly shoes, I went out to the shed, ready for the maiden voyage of my mower. Thankfully the oil-hole thingy was marked prominently, and the oil went in without problem.  The gas … well that was a challenge. The ‘normal’ position of the nozzle on my newfangled gas can is in the closed position. To securely avoid accidental spills. (Can you hear the sarcasm?) In order to open up the nozzle for the gas to flow, you have to first squeeze this long protruding plastic thing built into the side of the nozzle, then push down on the long protruding plastic thing while squeezing.  My hands are small, and due to surgery in the past on both thumbs, my grip strength is weak.  So, it took both my hands to squeeze it and push it down.  And the nozzle is straight. There’s no accordion-like bendy part to let you wiggle it around and aim it.  It’s about 6” long, and straight.  So – as Larry Munson used to say – “get the picture”.  I hoisted the 16 lb (I think I remember from Bill Nye The Science Guy that a gallon of water weighs 8 lb, so I guess two gallons of gasoline would weigh 16, lb… right Tangela?) I hoisted the 16 lb can of gasoline up between my knees/thighs, lean my body forward precariously, tilt the thing toward the gas tank opening, while squeezing and pressing with both hands, and the gasoline begins pouring into the tank… and all over my hands.  Because the long protruding plastic thing is built into the side of the nozzle, and there’s a “slit” in the nozzle to accommodate the long protruding plastic thing, when it is depressed, the gasoline pours out of the slit in the nozzle. And did I say all over my hands? This is not going well.  I don’t like smelly, icky things on my skin.  Ewww. 

After washing up and putting on my garden gloves, the REAL moment of truth arrived.  I had Home Depot on speed dial – just in case I needed to call Adam to make a house call if I couldn’t get this baby to crank.  My right shoulder is at times temperamental, and the least awkward movement can send me into fits of pain.  I was a little nervous about the pulling-the-rope thing.  ADAM, you are my hero!!!  My beautiful little red mower started on the FIRST PULL out of the box. Ever!  No smooshing the "choke" balloon thingy, no wiggling spark plugs. I would NOT kid you about this!  Victory is SWEET!  

With my iPhone set on iPod, my headphones on my ears, and sunglasses (to protect my eyes from the sparkling shoes) perched on my nose, I set across the yard to get the job done.  Dang.  Have you seen that hill at the corner of my lot and Tammy’s?  That section almost killed me.  I remembered that it was tough, and made the smart decision to tackle that first – before I got tired – and was very glad to get that behind me.

I’ve always enjoyed cutting the grass.  There’s that satisfaction of seeing and smelling the freshly mowed lawn, and seeing the fruits of my labor.  Yeah, I’m kinda weird like that.  It’s a great physical workout, too.  (Though I must admit - I will only use a self-propelled mower – I did that Cathy-propelled thing many years ago, and I’m not THAT much into a physical workout!)  Cutting grass is also a great time to vent my frustrations.  Over the years, I have had imaginary conversations in which I would “get somebody told” -  wherein I would fuss and gripe and complain about whatever bothered me.  Sometimes I would even talk out loud.  As long as the neighbors weren’t home, mind you.  At the end of the chore, my lawn would be beautiful, and I had the satisfaction of getting some things off my chest.  And we know – in our imaginary confrontations with other folks, we ALWAYS emerge the victor.  “Hmph.  I guess I told HIM/HER a thing or two!!!” 

With the turmoil that has been my life lately, I figured today would be no different, and I had a few things I wanted to *say* to a few people.  I was looking forward to it.  Normally I *write*.  I write very long letters that I don’t send, I write journals that no one ever sees, I write my thoughts into a private blog that no one reads.  It helps to clear my mind, and helps to process my thoughts and feelings.  Occasionally I will snail-mail or e-mail a letter, though I am at times so verbose that the message probably gets lost in the words, and the effect is not what I intended.  Today I was ready for bear. I figured I’d give my tired fingers a respite from all the *writing* I’ve done lately, and just have imaginary conversations.  In which, of course, I would be the victorious one, with cleverly executed remarks that would deeply impact the listener, and change the course of history and the future.

I also knew, though, that I must walk carefully, for embedded somewhere within my DNA ladder is a gene labeled CLUMSY.  I’m still limping on my left foot from the aforementioned injury, and today I’m wearing cheap $6.00 cloth shoes.  They were nice and sparkly, but provided no support for my feet/ankles.  I turned the iPod up as loud as it would go, and after cranking on the first pull, I engaged the propelling thing, and I was off.  Between watching my steps on the uneven grass, and listening to the music, I forgot all about releasing my frustrations that might be aimed at any particular person(s).  Sadly, I don’t listen to music that much any more, and found that I was really getting into it, and rather enjoyed having those guys along to “help” me get the job done.  Steven Tyler, Axl Rose, Roger Waters, Jimmy Buffett and *gasp* The BackStreet Boys were very good company to me as I slaved in the heat of the day.  With the iPod on shuffle, I never knew what would come up next, and was getting along just dandy until Shania Twain started crooning through my headphones – and I must admit – I’m glad there was no traffic on Sunset, or the passersby would have probably called the men in white coats.  It was not pretty. I kinda lost it right there between the sidewalk and the oak tree. But… that moment passed. Led Zepplin and ZZ Top to the rescue, and all was well again. (Note to self – either remove that song from the playlist altogether, or learn how to “skip” it with one hand, while holding the lever on the mower that keeps it from shutting down with the other hand.) About 10 minutes before I would have finished with the entire front/side yard, behold – the heavens opened and buckets of rain poured from the sky.  Shoot.  I really wanted to finish it all today.

Forecast says rain showers throughout the evening.  You know what this means.  This means that I must get dirty again another day.  I don’t like being smelly and dirty.  I wanted to get all this smelly, dirty work done in one session.  Right now as I type this, there is dirt under my fingernails, and dirt in the creases of my elbows. There's a muddy streak down the side of my cheek from rivulets of sweat pouring through the dirt that got blown onto my face.  I think I might gag.  (A thunderstorm has delayed my shower.) Another reason I wanted to get it all done in one day is because I’m sure tomorrow and the next day I’ll be sore.  Yes.  As shameful as it is, my sedentary work and lifestyle doesn’t involve much physical activity.  And I will be sore.  In a day or two when the yard dries out, I’ll go outside one evening to cut the back yard… and it will hurt. 

But for all my complaining about the rain, and not being able to finish the job, there are other errands I must do today – so I’ll just go wash all this dirt off of myself, and continue on with my chores. 

Besides, we all know that the grass is always greener after the rain.  

  

~CathyB

Circles

Somehow things always seem to come full circle.  At times, it's a good thing.  At times it's not.  I love the town where I have lived for most of my life.  When I moved away a year and a half ago, it was no secret that I wanted to return.  Whether that meant returning to The 409, or pursuing some other avenue - I just wanted to come home.  To be near my friends, family, church... my roots, if you will.

As my last post said, you'd best be careful what you wish for, because you just might get it.

For my (few) friends who come here from Facebook, thank you for not posting anything publicly over there in response to this. If you come here regularly, then you are probably one of the ones who has been so happy for me. I want you to know about this.  I'd prefer not to have any comments posted on Facebook, to avoid my life being the accident on the freeway where casual observers strain their necks just to get a glimpse of the gore and blood.  98% of my FB friends never click on the link to bring them here, and for this particular blog post, that's just fine.  Thank you for understanding.

I have indeed returned home, to The 409.  I suppose I should have been more specific with the details of my wish.  I did not wish to return alone.  Yet, here I sit in my spruced-up house.... alone.

So, now you know.  I love small-town living, but one of the drawbacks is that personal matters don't stay personal for very long.  Whether it's good news or bad news.  There are many people who have shared in my happiness - and will be sad to learn what has happened. This truth reminds me to be grateful for the many friends who have wished me well and celebrated with me, and who will offer prayers on behalf of all who are hurting because of this.

But for now, the world seems to have stopped turning, and the grief at times is unbearable.  There are moments that I know I will survive, and then there are moments that I seem to forget to breathe.

The important thing for me to do right now is to make it through the next minute, the next hour, then the next day.  There are many cliches we tell our friends who are hurting - and I've already quoted them all to myself.

I do know that there will be brighter days ahead.  My dear friend Lynn sent this verse of comfort from the Psalms:  The Lord is close to the brokenhearted, and saves those who are crushed in spirit. Ps 34:18.  I know this to be true from enduring painful times in the past, and it will be no less true for me now.  There are many words of comfort from the Scriptures, from inspirational quotes, etc.  The shoulders of my girlfriends are wet with my tears, and their hugs warm my heart.  Even in despair, I am truly blessed.

Soon I will be bringing a fluffy new kitten to live with me at The 409.  Between the love of my friends and family, my precious grandbabies, a new kitten, and with God giving me strength... there will surely be a day when smiling will once again come easily.


CathyB

Fairy Tales

My daddy always said – “Be careful what you wish for, you just might get it.”  While that might give hope to someone who is wishing very badly for something, what it really means is that the road to getting what you wish for is sometimes paved with heartache, tragedy, or detours that are difficult or impossible to navigate.  Often there are circumstances over which we have no control that determine our destiny.  Sometimes the circumstances are positive, and everything turns out just fine.  Other times – not so much. 

They’re called fairy tales for a reason.  Happily Ever After for some folks lasts forever.  For others, it ends far too soon.

The clock has struck midnight.  The beautiful carriage has turned into a pumpkin, and the elegant coachmen back into mice.  The glass slipper has shattered, and the lovely ball gown has turned back into rags.  Prince Charming is a toad.  Cinderella has left the ball.  

The American Dream

For as long as I can remember, "The American Dream" has been synonymous with home ownership.  It represents far more than that, but at least when I was growing up, the most common chain of events included  getting your education, getting married, buying a house, and raising a family.  The majority of folks stayed fairly close by, though some of my peers ended up in faraway places.  Facebook has brought many of us closer together, but more often than not, most of us followed the most common chain of events, and ended up staying fairly close to home.

My daughter and her husband have taken a more interesting route in the chain of events - mixing things up a bit - with marriage, education, having a baby, working, more education, having another baby, more working, gaining full custody of Dustin's daughter, etc.  During their marriage, they've lived in a couple of rental places, before moving in with me in late 2007.  When I married in April of 2011, they stayed on in my home, while I moved in with Mr. Helms.  Earlier this year, I suggested that they go ahead and purchase my home, which was something we had discussed from time to time.  Whitney started doing some research, and discovered that with the housing market in such a shambles, they could purchase a much larger home, for less money than my current mortgage.  So, they began the exciting journey of purchasing their first home.  

It has been an agonizingly painful, gut-wrenching ride.  I have bought and sold five homes, two while married  to Whitney's dad, and three as a single mom.  Never did I experience even a fraction of the frustrating, wrist-slitting levels of stress involved in this pursuit of The American Dream.  Granted, none of the homes I purchased were in foreclosure, and I know this complicated the issue.  There were two government entities involved, two real-estate agents, a mortgage company, two closing attorneys, and the buyers.  Of course, with this many folks involved, things can be difficult to coordinate.  But I gotta tell ya... from what they experienced with the Freddie Mac folks... just one transaction in millions... I'm not surprised the housing market tanked.  I won't go into the gory details, but I think he will be a cold day in July before Whitney and Dustin are brave enough to attempt this again.  

All that said... the excruciatingly painful ordeal finally came to a close today.  (Pun intended.)  After one or two meltdowns, thousands of phone calls, and finally Dustin having to drive to the office of the attorney for the seller in Roswell, he arrived back in Winder at 5:00 today, and was able to hand-deliver the final packet of papers to the attorney representing them. The incomplete closing yesterday was completed with this transaction. It is finally official.  Whitney and Dustin are the proud owners of a 30-year mortgage, and a lovely home.  What an exciting day for them!!!!  I'm so proud of them for achieving The American Dream.  

Congratulations, Veal Family!!!  

Yes.  This is what the trees and the yard looked like when the process began.  

Winter.  

Cracked

First I noticed that I had worn the print off many of the keys.  Then I noticed little ridges that seemed to coincide with where I would strike the keys.  Are my fingernails really that tough?  I keep them clipped quite short, because I do tend to pound the keyboard with a vengeance at times.  Then one evening I noticed a mark on the “s” key.  Looked like someone just drew a little line with a Sharpie.  Oh well, the grandkids sometimes come into the office, so I figured one of them got carried away with a marker.  On closer look, wearing my glasses, I see that what I thought was a mark, is actually a crack in the key. 

I have killed the “s” key.  It doesn’t really matter, as the key still functions properly.  I just really don’t like how it looks.  I’m okay with no print on the keys, as I can’t type while looking at the keys anyhow (Thank you, Ms. Pierce, my Typing 1 and 2 teacher at WBHS back in the olden days of manual typewriters).  The ridges bug me somewhat, though.  And now this crack in my “s” key.  You know when you were a kid, and lost a tooth?  You just couldn’t keep from sticking your tongue in that hole?  Yes.  The ring finger on my left hand wants to stick my fingernail in that little crack.  It’s messin’ with my rhythm. 

The amount of money I earn is determined by how fast I can hit the keys, and produce documents.  I don’t need anything messin’ with my rhythm.

Normally, I’d just run up to Wal Mart or Office Depot and pick up another keyboard.  However, I have become so spoiled to my heated keyboard, even with its non-ergonomic design, that I can’t do without it.  I had thought perhaps I wouldn’t need the heat during the summer, but after half an hour without it, I had to turn it back on again. 

I think I’ll just hafta learn to live with the cracked “s” key, because I’m not giving up my heated keyboard until the heating element no longer works.  Perhaps my PC Specialist friend, Juliana, could help me.  I’ve seen her pop keys right off the keyboard and then replace them when she was finished with her task.  Maybe there’s an extra “s” key laying around somewhere that I could switch out for the broken one. 

But only if it’s the exact same color.  An off-colored key would never do.  I wouldn’t be able to type a lick. 

If only I could channel this perfectionism to other areas of my life…

Squeaks And Lumps

It’s no secret that I’m really soft hearted, and it doesn’t take much to choke me up.  Chick Flicks pretty much do it all the time, sweet things my daughter or grandchildren say, and a deceased animal on the side of the road will do it every time.  Every version ever filmed of Little House On The Prairie, about half the episodes of Private Practice, and hundreds of books I’ve read. Publix commercials.  And those Proud Mom moments like awards ceremonies, outstanding band moments, graduations and a wedding.  Witnessing the birth of my grandchildren. Those are understandable.  Lots of other folks would admit to similar experiences.  Then there are those really dumb things like watching the Mickey Mouse parade come down the street at Disney World.  Fireworks over the lake on the 4^th of July.

A few weeks ago I attended the final night of VBS, where the kids “perform” for the adults, receive their awards, eat hot dogs, and pick up their arts and crafts projects to carry home.  They go through the assembly service like every other night.  Part of the routine is saying The Pledges:  to the American Flag, the Christian Flag, and to the Bible.  As soon as I placed my hand over my heart, and said the words “I pledge allegiance”, the lump formed in the back of my throat, and my voice refused to work.  To my horror, my chin quivered a time or two, and I felt the telltale burning in my eyelids, which warned me that my eyes would soon be filling.  I quickly recomposed myself, and mouthed the remaining words.  Not much better with the pledge to the Christian flag.  I think I was finally able to squeak out the last few words to the Bible pledge.  I was really happy nobody was sitting near me. 

For years, at a ballgame or church service, (or wherever it might be played/sung)  The Star Spangled Banner has always brought a lump to my throat.  Depending on my surroundings, I can usually recover enough to sing about the last half of it.  Sometimes there is no recovery, and I either just fake it, try to squeak through it, or sometimes simply just listen and reflect. 

When I was a kid, we said the Pledge every day at school, and I was unmoved.  Was it that I was callous to it, or just recited it so much that it became meaningless?  

Today in church we did the pledge thing again.  Same story.  Here come the lumps.  The burning eyelids.  The squeaky voice (or none at all).  We sang the America The Beautiful, and Battle Hymn of the Republic. Glory, Glory, Hallelujah!  (and it wasn’t the Bulldog fight-song version!!).  Well, the more truthful statement would be that “everyone else sang”.  I just squeaked, or didn’t even try. The pastor’s wife and daughter sang a riveting tune of sacrifice, liberty, and freedom. 

With July 4^th only a few days away, Liberty, Freedom, and Sacrifice are close in our thoughts, and paying homage to our flag and our country seemed the appropriate thing to do.  After church there was barbecue lunch, with all the sides and desserts you could imagine.  On the drive home, I was thinking that sometimes it’s really annoying to get so choked up during anything patriotic.  It can be downright embarrassing. 

I realized two things.  One thing is clearly evident – I/we don’t do it near enough. 

But the other thing is – if I did it more often, would I become like the school kid who just does it as a mundane part of my day?  A recitation of words that don’t mean anything?  May it never be.  Though I do wish I/we did it more often, I hope the time never comes when pledging allegiance to my country (even with all her faults), and to my God, would fail to bring a sting to my eyes and a lump to my throat.  I don’t think the founding fathers of our nation, or any subsequent American Soldier would mind at all.  And I’m fairly certain God doesn’t mind either.  

I'd Like To Thank The Academy...

Wow... what a crazy few weeks!!  My poor blog just keeps getting pushed further and further down on my list of things that need my attention.  I've really missed talking to myself  as much as I used to.  Time was, I'd post nearly every day.  Now I'm lucky to get in a couple of postings a month.  And it's election time!!

Today's post comes to you courtesy of my friend Michael, FKA The Crotchety Old Man.  Yesterday, he paid a lovely compliment to my blog, by passing along a blog award.  It's called Mrs. Sparkly's Ten Commandments Award.  We all know I love Things That Sparkle!!  Isn't it lovely?

Now, I'm not sure where the Ten Commandments thing comes in.  I mean, I do my best with THE Ten Commandments, but sometimes I struggle.  I hope by accepting the award, that Mrs. Sparkly doesn't show up somewhere with a new list of ten more things I must or must not do. But then again, maybe I need to shake things up a bit and try something new. Who knows.

One of the fun things about blog awards, is that the creator of the award usually has a task for you to do when posting the news.  Mrs. Sparkly chose seven questions for me to answer about myself.  Here we go!

Describe myself in seven words. Only Seven? So much more to say....

What keeps me up at night? That blasted Dunahoo insomnia DNA - awake for no reason at all. Worrying that I will oversleep the next morning. (If I go to sleep right now, I'll get five hours of sleep.  Okay, If I go to sleep right NOW, I'll get four and a half hours.  Wait.  If I go to sleep RIGHT NOW.. you get the picture... yawn....)  

Who would I like to be?  Hmmm.  I can be all Wise and Knowing and say that there's not really anyone else I'd rather be, because no matter how perfect their life appears, chances are, there's a lotta crap underneath the surface.  And it may be even worse than the crap underneath my surface.  If I could look like anyone it would be Kate Middleton.  If I could sing like anyone it would be Amy Grant.  If I could be a musician like anyone it would be Yo-Yo Ma, or that wicked guitarist from Pink Floyd, Roger Waters, or an amazing percussionist like my brother. If I could be business smart like anyone, definitely Steve Jobs. If I could be loving, giving, wise, and forgiving, then, of course, Mother Teresa.  But I guess I'm just fine with being me.  After all I Am Greemaw to my sweet grandbabies, and that's about as good as it gets!  

What am I wearing right now?  Departure (My brother's Journey Tribute Band) t-shirt and jeans. 

What scares me?  Creepy crawly things, especially spiders.  Being restrained or confined.  No MRIs or crowded elevators for me, thank you!  Incorrect use of apostrophes.

What are the best and worst things about blogging?  The best thing about blogging is being able to go back and read the older posts.  My daughter says this is narcissistic.  I say it's senility.  I enjoy reading the older posts, because chances are, I have already forgotten about whatever it was I was doing that day that I felt was worth blogging about.  So it's kind of like a diary. 

If I could change one thing about myself, what would it be?  But there are so many things...

Slankets, yes or no?  Yes. Many.  

Tell us something about the person who nominated you.  I don't even remember how Michael and I crossed paths. (There's that senility thing again)  Either I found his blog, or he found my blog, and we started following each other.  How funny that of all the bloggers in cyberspace to *meet*, we actually reside in neighboring towns.  We're politically polar opposites, and have varying degrees of differences in our viewpoints about a lot of things.  Over the years, I have learned the value of having friends who share differing views - it broadens my horizons, and  helps me to think outside my formerly very-small-minded box.  Those are the friends who make me think and evaluate why I have the opinions and beliefs that I do. There will always be points about which Michael and I will never agree, but in the past, when I was blogging more often, he was very good about keeping me on my toes and keeping me accountable for my thoughts and words, and I enjoy that.  In turn, I like to think that I have helped him to see that not "all people like me" are like "most people like me".  Check out his life and his blog over at My Glass House. 

Nominate five other blogs for the award: Sad to say that I don't keep up with blogs like I used to.  I went and got myself a boyfriend who morphed into my husband, and there's just not nearly as much time in my day as there used to be. 

The Road to Self Reliance (My brother's awesome blog about sustainable living)

The Sentence Sleuth

Grammarly

The Pink Stamper

Single Dad Laughing

There you go!!!  

MVP - Crystal Thornton!!

Congratulations are in order today for one of my favorite young couples!  Paul and Crystal Thornton welcomed their little athlete into the world in the wee hours of the morning!

Wilson Holland Thornton weighed in at 8 lb, 15 oz, and was 22.5” long.  A fine specimen indeed! I expect we’ll see him on the soccer field in a few weeks practicing his kick shots.  One day earlier, and he’d have been the best Father’s Day and Wedding Anniversary present ever.  At least the first quarter of the championship game got underway last night (the 17th) , with the final buzzer sounding around 3:39 this morning, marking the end of a 9-month winning season!!

No doubt, MVP belongs to Mom Crystal, who played the entire season with grace, beauty and conscientiousness... (and crossed the finish line without anesthetics)... and STILL manages to look so gorgeous in their first family photo!!!

Congratulations Paul and Crystal, (and grandparents Randall and Elaine, Gordon and Frieda) and Welcome Baby Wilson!!!  Can’t wait to watch you take on the world!!!

Unexpected Blessings!

Because the construction business isn’t a hustle-bustle of activity these days, my husband has been thinking of other projects that he can do to stimulate our household economy.  His talents run deep, and there’s really not much he can’t do.  He recently completed a project for his sister Jenny, placing a roof over the deck on the back of her house.  The hot Georgia summers rendered the western-facing deck virtually unusable, and the exposed bank of windows in her family room overlooking the deck drew in so much heat that it was nearly impossible to keep the room cool.  Now that the roof is in place, the deck has become a cozy, shaded outdoor living space, and a ceiling fan keeps it nice and cool.  When she was ready to decorate her new space, Jenny asked Steve to design and build custom-fit flower boxes.  In no time at all, the boxes were carefully installed, filled with flowers, adding a further touch of ambience to the outdoor room.  

Earlier this week, while mulling over potential income opportunities, he hit upon the idea that perhaps other people would enjoy having superior-quality handcrafted flower boxes of their own, and decided to whip up an inventory and see if there would be a market for them.  He and his son spent an entire day measuring, sawing, drilling, and nailing the cuts of wood, and like pieces of a puzzle, they fit together perfectly, creating a finished product anyone would be proud to own.  Steve’s creative mind started  buzzing with other home-enhancing products he’d like to build, and the concept of Hillbilly Chic was conceived!!  (Watch for him and his unique products at upcoming festivals!)

Jason was headed to Atlanta, so they decided to check out different places in the area where they might be able to set up a little booth and give folks the opportunity to purchase the boxes.  Staging is an important part of marketing, so it was agreed that filling the boxes with brightly colored flowers would be a good move.  The guys had their eyes on my own personal collection of wave petunias.  My own personal collection of wave petunias that I have been feeding and tending, and that have exploded with growth and blooms. 

Not willing to sacrifice my own gorgeous flowers, I decided I’d run up to Lowe’s and pick up a few plants to use in the staging process.  Strolling through the garden section at a nursery or home-improvement store is such a pleasure for me.  My own green thumb is pretty much limited to what a can of Miracle Grow can do for my wave petunias.  I do so love looking at the intricate designs of the blooms, the varying colors and textures of the plants, and fantasize about the gardens I would love to design and maintain.  Then a wave of reality hits me, and I remember that I have neither the time nor the financial resources required for an HGTV-worthy back yard.  Not to mention a severe lack of talent to grow anything other than dandelions and briers, (and the occasional wave petunia.)

As I chose the blooms for the project at hand and made my way to the register, I must have still been in a fantasy-induced fog.  Or maybe it was that the sun was shining directly on the little card-swiper thingie.  At any rate, I inadvertently touched the “cash-back” button, and found myself holding not only my store receipt, but a fresh, crisp 20.00 bill.  Having cash in hand is truly rare for me, as I pretty much use my debit card everywhere I go, and depend on change from the sofa or the abyss of my purse for the occasional pack of gum or postage stamp.  So, enjoying the feeling of a little cash in my purse, I left the store to load the flowers into my car.  As I was stepping into the car, I noticed my receipt had fallen onto the pavement.  Normally, I would pick up my litter, but I had spent far too long fantasizing, and needed to hurry on home.  Besides, my car always seems to be a rolling litter receptacle as it is, so one less receipt in the floorboard would be okay.  Right?

Bad decision.  You’ve seen the signs that say $300.00 fine for littering?  Well, I didn’t get charged $300.00 for littering, but the next day, I realized my decision to not pick up my receipt did indeed bear a cost.  I remembered that I had neatly folded my 20.00 bill inside the receipt.  I searched through my purse, all the pockets, the nooks and crannies, all the slots and compartments of my wallet, just hoping that maybe it wasn’t my receipt on the pavement, and maybe I really did stash it securely in my purse.  Phooey!  It wasn’t in my purse.  I remembered exactly where I had parked, and exactly where I saw the receipt on the pavement.  Could it be possible that it was still there?  I seriously doubted it. Someone had a lucky day and found 20 bucks in the Lowe’s parking lot.  But then again… the bill was folded tightly, so perhaps nobody would even notice it.  And since few people stop to pick up trash in the parking lot, I thought there may indeed be a slight chance that I could find it blown up against the curb.  Since we had to stop there anyway, I decided to chance it, and took a short walk around the perimeter of that section of the parking lot.  I found an empty beer bottle, a dirty napkin, a Styrofoam cup, and several other crumpled receipts, but not mine.  

As I walked through the parking lot, it suddenly gave me great joy to think that someone found an unexpected blessing.  I said a little prayer for the person who found it, and hoped that the person really needed the $20.00, and that it would truly make a difference in their day.  Maybe they had to go to Lowe’s because a little something had broken and they didn’t really have the money to fix it.  Maybe it was a young mom who needed a box of diapers… but had to have a part for her broken washing machine.  Maybe someone had to leave the store without the item they needed, because they didn’t have enough money to pay for it.  By the time I got in the car with Steve to come home, I was confident and even rather excited, that the $20.00 I had lost would be a blessing to the person who found it. 

Now, I can be very thrifty.  Sometimes even cheap, if you will.  I love coupons.  I will argue with the cashier at Belk about my 10% discount (much to the embarrassment of my husband!)  So for me to lose $20.00 like that – basically just walking off and leaving it, since I saw the receipt on the pavement – would usually really tick me off.  But for a reason I was at a loss to explain, it made me happy.  I tried to put myself in that person’s shoes, knowing how happy I would be if I found $20.00 with nobody around that it could possibly belong to.  So, once again, I said a little prayer for the person, and enjoyed the rest of the evening. 

Imagine my surprise and delight the next morning, two days after losing it, that I noticed a tightly-folded receipt on my desk.  A tightly-folded receipt from Lowe’s.  When I opened up the tightly-folded receipt, tucked safely inside, was a fresh, crisp 20.00 bill!!! 

My prayer was answered… just not the way I thought.  You see… I really didn’t have an extra $20.00 to be losing in a parking lot.  (A 20.00 bill that came to me quite accidentally in the first place, when I pressed the wrong button.)  So, in essence, it was a twofold blessing.  I experienced true joy over the idea of someone being blessed by finding the money that I really couldn’t afford to lose.  I prayed for the person to be blessed, and then I my ownself experienced the joy and blessing of finding it!!  I had never lost it to start with!! Who would have thought that the beautiful flower boxes would set into motion such a sweet event!  Sometimes what we see as a not-so-good thing can turn into a good thing, and can remind us to remember to be thankful in all things. 

Lessons learned – secure my change immediately, always pick up my trash, and if I ever find money that someone else has lost, say a prayer for the person who lost it.  Times are hard, and sometimes losing money can really hurt. 

Yes, it was wonderful to find the money.  But the most astounding thing was the joy I felt even when I thought it was lost.  An unexpected blessing, indeed. 

Statistically, we're far more likely to be killed in a car accident than we are a plane crash.  Yet, many of us tremble in fear at the thought of flying.  Most of us drive daily, and yet when we turn the key in the ignition, we're not thinking that "today I may be killed while driving my car."  It would be difficult to complete the task at hand if we worried or obsessed over our safety.  We simply drive, and do what comes natural, and most of the time, we return home at the end of the day, and go through the same routine tomorrow and the next day.

I would imagine that a soldier serving in a hot zone is a little more cognizant of his (or her) mortality when he goes about the tasks of his day.  I would think that a heavy measure of dread and trepidation accompanies a soldier as he gears up for another day of battle.  But I'm sure in the back of his mind, he never really thinks that today will be the day that he will die.  To obsess over it would not only put himself in danger, but his comrades as well.  So, like a driver behind the wheel, the soldier does what he has been trained to do, and instinct kicks in.  

I've never really thought about the actual number of soldiers who have died in battle.  I've seen photos of Arlington, and American cemetaries on foriegn lands, and it always overwhelms me. White crosses as far as the eye can see. Each cross representing a life cut short.  Ive heard it quoted that the numbers of the known (American) dead from the wars - around 1.3 million, since the Revolutionary War.  Many of us know families who have experienced first-hand the loss of someone they love on a battlefield far, far away.  We've watched videos of funeral processions through towns where people lined the streets to pay their respects.  We've wept over people we've never met who were willing to lay down their lives... men and women who "gave the last full measure of devotion", to ensure our liberty and freedom.

There are those who vehemently oppose military action/wars.  There will always be controversy over some of the engagements in which we've been involved.  Memorial Day, in my opinion, is not the time for arguing over the Democratic or Republican, liberal or conservative opinion of whether or not we should be there in the first place.  It is about honoring the men and women who have given all. Instead of staying home and playing with their children, tending to their families, working in a job making far more than soldier's wages, they died far away from the ones they love, often in the arms of their fellow soldiers.

I am unaware of any of my own family members who have perished while serving our country, but many of the men in my family have served, including my father, my brother, and all of my uncles.  Army, Navy and Air Force.  I am so thankful for their service, and thankful they returned home safely to us.  

There's a family heirloom that sits in my living room.  It's a hand-crafted blanket chest that's in the neighborhood of 350 years old.  Inside this chest is a little "secret compartment".  When my grandmother inherited it, there were some items inside the compartment.  Among the items were some very brittle, faded letters penned by one of my ancestors from the battlefield.  In the Civil War.  He wrote home to his mother about "hiding in the ditch from the damn Yankees", about drinking bootleg whiskey that someone had obtained.  Of his love for his family. Amazing letters.  The story goes that the soldier's mother received word that he had been injured in battle.  Though she was weak from having given birth a few weeks earlier and nearly hemorrhaging to death, she insisted that she be taken to the hospital to see her son.  She and the baby were packed in the back of a wagon, and they traveled many miles so that she could be with her son.  After days of travel, they finally reached the hospital, where she learned that her son, her brave young son, had died shortly before her arrival.  He gave the last full measure of his devotion.  North or South?  Doesn't matter.  He was an American, and gave his life for a cause in which he believed.  I'd venture to say, that at some point in history, every family has been impacted by this supreme sacrifice.

Our nation today is facing challenges like never before.  Over the years our government has become the epitome of Big Brother, and many of the actions of our leaders do little to honor the intentions of the men and women who got off the boats and founded our country those many years ago.  It makes me incredibly sad to see the state of our nation, especially knowing the high price that has been paid.  

Freedom is not free.  

All gave some.  Some gave all.  

I hope there is a special place in heaven for the men and women who gave all.  

May there always be a special place in our hearts for them, and may we never forget. 

Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this. But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate -- we can not consecrate -- we can not hallow -- this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us -- that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion -- that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain -- that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom -- and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.  ~Abraham Lincoln


~Originally posted Memorial Day 2010

Flowers For Mom

From the May/June edition of Sweet Tea

A recent trip down Memory Lane (my article from April's online edition of Sweet Tea) took me through the halls of Statham Elementary, and into the classroom of my beloved first and second grade teacher, Miss Lance, and the sweet memory of her fabulous bulletin boards.  One of my favorites had for its caption “April Showers Bring May Flowers”.  I’ve always loved flowers.  From a very young age, I learned to spot the bright yellow splashes of early spring daffodils, and they quickly became my favorite. My daddy called them Jonquils.  There was an old homestead across the street from my grandpappy’s house, where the daffodils had multiplied over the years until a blanket of yellow sweetness covered the ground.  The house had crumbled over the passage of time, and the only thing remaining on the property was a small bell tower… and the sea of daffodils.  We always walked over and picked a huge bunch to take home for our dinner table.  One year, my daddy decided it would be okay to dig up a few clumps to take home.  “Thin them out”, as it were.  He transplanted a few of the bulbs onto the bank of the little gully at home, and in a few years we had our own little patch of daffodils.  Each spring my brother and I would pick a handful of flowers, and proudly present them to our mom.  And as all good moms throughout history have done, she would give us hugs and tell us they were the most beautiful flowers she had ever seen (even though we had just given her a handful a day or so before), and would make a big deal out of putting them in a Mason jar, where they would live a few days before wilting.  Then we’d do it all over again. Those daffodils grew on the gully bank for many years.  I was sad to notice this year that they are gone.  How long ago did they stop blooming?  Was I just too busy to notice?  What joy they brought to our lives with their pretty yellow faces smiling in the sun, and oh the fragrance!!  I remember burying my nose deep inside the cup and smelling the sweetness.  I always thought they smelled good enough to eat!  With the mild winter and early spring this year, it seems that our “May flowers” are spent already, and we are left to enjoy the early-blooming azaleas and roses.

Though I’m not blessed with a particularly green thumb, plants and flowers were a large part of my life when I was growing up on Broad Street.  My parents and grandparents owned D & W Greenhouses.  You may remember the metal signs on each end of Mulberry that read Plants And Flowers For Sale.  The greenhouses (still on my parents’ property) sat between their two houses, and it was a family business in every sense of the word.  The first greenhouse, now the smallest of workshops on the property, was originally made from recycled windows.  Glass windows.  It was the coolest little place to be.  Except once during a hailstorm.  That was a mess!  The house was ruined, as well as many of the tender plants growing inside.  Undaunted, my dad rebuilt the house, and this became the seed and potting house, where the seeds were planted and nurtured, and later transplanted into individual cups made of peat moss.  My brother and I spent countless hours watching our parents carefully extract the seedlings for transplant.  We would rummage through the discarded ones deemed too spindly, and would pack them into Dixie cups using sand from our sand pile.  The “good dirt” was far too valuable for us to waste, but we were determined to have our own Plants And Flowers For Sale.  Needless to say, by day’s end, our little spindly seedlings were wilted in the sand, and once again thrown into the compost pile.

When it was time to plant the garden, neighbors from all over town, and some from out of town, would come to our greenhouses for their plants. And mostly they came at dinner time.  During the spring months we rarely were able to sit down for dinner without a customer pulling into the drive. But after all… we had the best-looking plants around!  Tomatoes and peppers of many varieties were probably our best sellers, and the ones I remember most.  Big Boys and Better Boys were favorites.  Seems like I remember the peppers and the “regular” tomatoes selling for a nickel apiece, while the Big Boys might have been a dime. 

Even as a kid, I learned that beautiful plants and flowers require a lot of work.  I remember every year my parents and grandparents would make the trek to South Carolina to Parks Seed Company, after poring over catalogues all winter. After working all day, they would stay up late into the night planting the seeds. Such anticipation!  Though the houses were heated, my folks dreaded a cold snap after planting, because keeping the poorly-insulated houses warm enough to keep the plants safe was expensive.  Then there was the year of the hailstorm.  And the watering.  My goodness.  Who knew that you had to water those silly plants so often?  At times, I was called upon to water the plants.  I loved the smell of the greenhouse, with its sawdust floors, and liked to twirl and swirl the water hose/sprinkler in fancy patterns in the air, then listen for the pattering sound when it landed on the leaves, so it wasn’t such a bad gig. I wasn’t fooling the grownups, though.  After just a few minutes, I’d come back into the house, then be marched right back outside to finish the job.  I never did have quite the patience required to slowly water the growing plants, lingering over each one long enough to saturate the soil.  

We had flowering plants as well.  This is probably mostly attributable to Mama Nay, who loved her flowers!   I don’t remember what all varieties we had, but I do remember the bold, red geraniums, the pink and white begonias, and the many different kinds of coleus.  These were available for purchase as individual plants, or in hanging baskets.  The Saturday before Mother’s Day was always a busy day for us.  Dads would bring their kids, who faithfully counted out their dimes and quarters, to purchase a beautiful basket for Mom, or perhaps a flat of flowers for her to plant in her garden. Even all these years later, I still enjoy giving my mom a hanging basket for Mother’s Day.  It just kinda seems like the thing to do, ya know?

Nowadays the small greenhouse is used for storage, and in the larger one, you’ll find my dad outside puttering around with the car that he built, or fixing things, building something, or just keeping busy.  There’s a lot of history in those buildings, and a lot of happy memories. These days, he has a small potting shed out behind the smaller greenhouse, where he starts the seedlings for his own personal use.

Every year when Mother’s Day rolls around, I remember those beautiful hanging baskets, and think of my precious grandmother lovingly tending the flowers.  I’m so thankful to still have my mom, and so thankful to BE a mom (and a Greemaw).  If you’re still fortunate enough to have your mom, remember this: While Mother’s Day is a great day to buy her flowers, you don’t have to wait for a special occasion.  She’d love to hear from you today.  I know this to be true, because my day is not complete without calling my mom, and without talking to my daughter.  So what are you waiting for?  Call your mama today!

Wednesday!

Wednesday.  Hump Day.  I've never really liked the sound of that, but it is what it is.  And now Wednesday is "over-the-hump day" for me instead of Tuesday.  Normally, tomorrow (Thursday) would be my Friday, but since I've changed my work schedule to M-F instead of S-Th, I now share the same hump day with most everyone else. In my line of work, it's nearly impossible to get a M-F gig, so I'm especially grateful for an accommodating manager and director.  It was pretty much just a matter of exchanging the agency coverage hours from Friday to Sunday, but several things had to fall into place for that to happen.  An MT's work is never done; we provide 24/7 coverage... including weekends and holidays.  Illness and accidents don't keep M-F hours, and hospitals never close.  Therefore somebody's gotta keep the work flowing.  

Thankfully, everything worked out to facilitate the change, and here it is... the first week of my new schedule.  I was off this past Sunday, and enjoyed a great day with my husband.  Even sweeter, it was our one-year anniversary!  

No doubt, it will take a little adjustment to get accustomed to the change.  Working Sundays wasn't such a big deal before I got myself a boyfriend, and then a husband.  But my crazy Sunday hours, followed by even crazier Monday hours, really did make it difficult to spend enough time together. Lots of times on Saturdays he is tied up with projects, and it seemed like we were just two ships passing in the night.  

The only GOOD thing about working on Sundays was being off on Fridays.  Oh yeah, I really liked that!  I was able to take care of business matters and appointments, have a little "me" time, and spend time with the grandbabies.  I'll miss that, no doubt.  But... it is super exciting to know that if I want to go out of town for the weekend, I can.  If I want to go to the family cookout, I can.  Or, if I just want to take a nap and be lazy... I can.  And I'll be on the same work schedule as Steve, which is the most important reason of all!!

I think I'm gonna like Wednesdays.  But not as much as I'm gonna love Sundays!!!