Thursday I told Daughter. I unofficially declare this = "The Summer of Love". She asked. Why? My reply. I am a sanctioned member of the Peanut Gallery. And as such, we disdain all things official. Thus I declare it unofficially. Summer of Love. Say it. It feels good. It feels groovy. She asked if it had anything to do with my counseling session with her via Skype last night. I said. Yes. It has everything to do with that. And she reminded me. Love wins. So! There you have it. It isn't even here yet. And yet. I can just feel it. Can't you just feel it? All things lead to love.
Now that you know, you can get a head start. Spread the love. Erich Segal says we never have to say we're sorry. Love. Nike says just do it. Love. The Bible says 'the greatest of these is love'. Get your love-fest going people. It is going to be that kind of summer.
Friday, May 31, 2013
Thursday, May 30, 2013
Just checking in.
I am over the hump of this week. And over the hump of this sinus thing. Whew. Starting to gain some momentum on the upcoming shower for Garrett and Amy this weekend. Sister-in-law and I spoke yesterday. Compared our lists. We are on track. This thing is happening. And. It will be good.
Beef briskets are thawing in the fridge. They will be cooked tomorrow. Cookies will come out the freezer tomorrow. All the drinks and dishes are stacked in the kitchen. Sitting on ready. Sister-in-law and our other co-hostess are way beyond capable. We will knock this one out the park.
June is my elephant. How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time. That is just what I plan to do. One at a time. One bite at a time will keep me sane.
My walking shoes await me. This day holds potential. Ready. Set. Go.
Be sweet.
Beef briskets are thawing in the fridge. They will be cooked tomorrow. Cookies will come out the freezer tomorrow. All the drinks and dishes are stacked in the kitchen. Sitting on ready. Sister-in-law and our other co-hostess are way beyond capable. We will knock this one out the park.
June is my elephant. How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time. That is just what I plan to do. One at a time. One bite at a time will keep me sane.
My walking shoes await me. This day holds potential. Ready. Set. Go.
Be sweet.
Monday, May 27, 2013
Sunday, May 26, 2013
Thought it was the allergies early last week. By week's end it manifested as a full blown sinus infection. Complete with multicolored yuckiness. Drove east to visit Daughter and make a Sam's run. By early afternoon I felt zombie-esque. Mouth breathing.
Mr. Macho went to help cut his Dad's yard yesterday and I only did one or two things. In the afternoon I let Bob Ross lull me into a stupor that actually revived me a bit. Enough to travel into town and pick out a suit to be ordered for Mr. Macho. Hope it gets in and altered before all the wedding festivities of the nephew commence. Yesterday we also dropped by the Sears so Mr. Macho could order a new weed eater. He also invested in a new self propelled lawn mower this week. We should be set for a while. Good to go. And mow.
Weekend weather is most agreeable. Wish I felt perkier to enjoy it.
I put ribs in the oven yesterday. I thought we would finish them on the grill. But Mr. Macho didn't much feel like it after all the yard work - his Dad's and some in our very own yard. And I think the shopping is what did him in. Always does. Can work like a trojan from dawn 'til dusk. Five minutes of shopping and he's down for the count.
Anyway. Ribs are on again for today. No way to cook a small amount of ribs. So I froze two meals' worth and am warming some for dinner right now.
***
Tomorrow we will celebrate Memorial Day with a dance/cookout with friends. That will make the work week short. Nephew's tool shower slated for next Saturday. We have kept it simple. Prep will not be difficult. Should be fun.
***
T-Bone (Tucker) has a birthday tomorrow. Seven. Seven years ago I was present for his birth. I spent the night before at Daughter's house. She and Son-in-law rose early and drove to the hospital. I stayed with Lauren until Son-in-town and his wife arrived to babysit. Then I joined the birthing pair at the hospital. It was an induction. Labor. Labor. Father to be and I ate Chinese for lunch. More labor. Late afternoon and it was time. The doctor came in. Pushing and anticipation. 6:29 pm. Birth. Gray baby. Not breathing. No panic. Within seconds the room was filled with medical professionals. Nurses pumped breath into baby and he pinked up right away. It all happened so fast and so smoothly that it was over before I realized something was really amiss. And Tucker was fine. And now Tucker is going to be seven. A second grader next school year. Sending Tucker my best Nanny love on his birthday. You are a great guy. Happy, happy birthday.
Trying to figure how to share a song for you. I will do it in a separate post...but it is for you, Tucker.
Be sweet.
Mr. Macho went to help cut his Dad's yard yesterday and I only did one or two things. In the afternoon I let Bob Ross lull me into a stupor that actually revived me a bit. Enough to travel into town and pick out a suit to be ordered for Mr. Macho. Hope it gets in and altered before all the wedding festivities of the nephew commence. Yesterday we also dropped by the Sears so Mr. Macho could order a new weed eater. He also invested in a new self propelled lawn mower this week. We should be set for a while. Good to go. And mow.
Weekend weather is most agreeable. Wish I felt perkier to enjoy it.
I put ribs in the oven yesterday. I thought we would finish them on the grill. But Mr. Macho didn't much feel like it after all the yard work - his Dad's and some in our very own yard. And I think the shopping is what did him in. Always does. Can work like a trojan from dawn 'til dusk. Five minutes of shopping and he's down for the count.
Anyway. Ribs are on again for today. No way to cook a small amount of ribs. So I froze two meals' worth and am warming some for dinner right now.
***
Tomorrow we will celebrate Memorial Day with a dance/cookout with friends. That will make the work week short. Nephew's tool shower slated for next Saturday. We have kept it simple. Prep will not be difficult. Should be fun.
***
T-Bone (Tucker) has a birthday tomorrow. Seven. Seven years ago I was present for his birth. I spent the night before at Daughter's house. She and Son-in-law rose early and drove to the hospital. I stayed with Lauren until Son-in-town and his wife arrived to babysit. Then I joined the birthing pair at the hospital. It was an induction. Labor. Labor. Father to be and I ate Chinese for lunch. More labor. Late afternoon and it was time. The doctor came in. Pushing and anticipation. 6:29 pm. Birth. Gray baby. Not breathing. No panic. Within seconds the room was filled with medical professionals. Nurses pumped breath into baby and he pinked up right away. It all happened so fast and so smoothly that it was over before I realized something was really amiss. And Tucker was fine. And now Tucker is going to be seven. A second grader next school year. Sending Tucker my best Nanny love on his birthday. You are a great guy. Happy, happy birthday.
Trying to figure how to share a song for you. I will do it in a separate post...but it is for you, Tucker.
Be sweet.
Thursday, May 23, 2013
Mississippi.
Today is one of those "some days". You know. Some days are just poetic.
So. I am walking. It is not hot. It is not cold. It is just right. Muddy Waters is singing to me. Hoochie Coochie Man. In my ears. Fog. There is fog. On my third lap that sun is trying its best to burn it off. I wax nostalgic. Only days ago it was mustard season. Mustard powder in the tree tops. Mustard powder on the cars. The dogs. The birds. Stand still long enough... You get it. Then the rains mix it up and the mustard flows in the street. The showers leave behind inland oceans of tall green velvet. Oh spring. Now comes the sweet season. Every sweet thing under the sun is in bloom. Magnolia. Privet. Honeysuckle. Infinity. Sweet.
It is gone too soon. We will long for these days of sweetness when the mean season is upon us. I want sand in my shoes. Waves in my dreams. This season often wipes our southern slate clean. Again. And again. Then we stand on the shore and throw out our chest. And raise our fist. And wake up and do it again. Build it. Lose it. Curse it. Build it. Lose it... We collectively hold our breath until the dog days are behind us.
And relax and sigh at the first signs of cool and frost. Autumn. Our roads get sprinkled with southern snow as truckloads of it are driven to the gin. Harvest. When truckloads, and trailer loads, and over loads of orange tubers can ben followed for mile upon mile. Gleaners in the field collecting the broken pieces. Football games. Home teams. This land of at least one king. And a multitude of queens.
Cold days. Few and far between. Sweaters instead of coats. Warm hearts. Season of giving among professional givers. That is what we are. That is what we do. We excel at generosity.
Back to the season of yellow mustard.
This State. This state of mind. My mind. My home.
So. I am walking. It is not hot. It is not cold. It is just right. Muddy Waters is singing to me. Hoochie Coochie Man. In my ears. Fog. There is fog. On my third lap that sun is trying its best to burn it off. I wax nostalgic. Only days ago it was mustard season. Mustard powder in the tree tops. Mustard powder on the cars. The dogs. The birds. Stand still long enough... You get it. Then the rains mix it up and the mustard flows in the street. The showers leave behind inland oceans of tall green velvet. Oh spring. Now comes the sweet season. Every sweet thing under the sun is in bloom. Magnolia. Privet. Honeysuckle. Infinity. Sweet.
It is gone too soon. We will long for these days of sweetness when the mean season is upon us. I want sand in my shoes. Waves in my dreams. This season often wipes our southern slate clean. Again. And again. Then we stand on the shore and throw out our chest. And raise our fist. And wake up and do it again. Build it. Lose it. Curse it. Build it. Lose it... We collectively hold our breath until the dog days are behind us.
And relax and sigh at the first signs of cool and frost. Autumn. Our roads get sprinkled with southern snow as truckloads of it are driven to the gin. Harvest. When truckloads, and trailer loads, and over loads of orange tubers can ben followed for mile upon mile. Gleaners in the field collecting the broken pieces. Football games. Home teams. This land of at least one king. And a multitude of queens.
Cold days. Few and far between. Sweaters instead of coats. Warm hearts. Season of giving among professional givers. That is what we are. That is what we do. We excel at generosity.
Back to the season of yellow mustard.
This State. This state of mind. My mind. My home.
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
what.
After reading Kelle Hampton's blog this afternoon it was all downhill. I watched a video about a young man that died of cancer yesterday. I cried. I emailed two of my children. I cried some more. Then I poured some wine. And cried some more. I don't think I am finished crying.
Mr. Macho joined me on the back porch for some beverages and reading the newspaper. And. Enjoying the breeze. Shooting the breeze. And a little bit of. Yes. Crying.
***
For supper we enjoyed egg McMuffins and sauteed spinach. We reminisced about the egg McMuffins we ate the morning before our first child was born. Our daughter. I love egg McMuffins. I love nostalgia.
And now I have to go because I have flip flops on the wrong feet. I will probably log on tomorrow and explain all this away. But right now it is emotions and egg McMuffins and nostalgia. And a little bit of wine. Be sweet.
Mr. Macho joined me on the back porch for some beverages and reading the newspaper. And. Enjoying the breeze. Shooting the breeze. And a little bit of. Yes. Crying.
***
For supper we enjoyed egg McMuffins and sauteed spinach. We reminisced about the egg McMuffins we ate the morning before our first child was born. Our daughter. I love egg McMuffins. I love nostalgia.
And now I have to go because I have flip flops on the wrong feet. I will probably log on tomorrow and explain all this away. But right now it is emotions and egg McMuffins and nostalgia. And a little bit of wine. Be sweet.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)