Happy birthday to me

Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you.
Happy birthday, happy birthday.
Happy birthday to you.

Kenny sang me awake this morning, then stumbled off to the shower singing Happy Birthday to the dogs at his feet.

I lay there a few more minutes, blinking my eyes. Birthday. Ah, yes. Aug. 29. Friday - that is a bonus. Three-day weekend - bonus, bonus. 10 more minutes of sleep would be the perfect trifecta, but I had to rise and do my best to shine.

Let's see, the gang at the office sang to me. Olivia sang to me. And hands-down the best version was from my granddaughter who was talented enough to leave it on my voicemail. (Thank you, Ya-Ya.)
So lots of singing today. Thank you all who participated in my annual anthem.

Lots of notes on Facebook, too. It is fun to receive these little blurbs from past and present friends. Workmates from across our footprint sent emails. In addition to the ones from Edinburg, I received best wishes from Farmville, Lynchburg, Rustburg, Radford, Wytheville and Weston, WV. That was cool.

My Mom gave me a big hug and kiss today, but it has been four years since my Dad has wished me a Happy Birthday. I remember my last birthday with him. He helped me find the Cadillac CTS that I wanted so bad. Black with a moon roof. We found it in Lewisburg, WV. He bought me a Cadillac license plate holder and got choked up when he gave it to me, saying that he wanted me to think of him every time I saw it. I didn't know he was sick. Or that he would not make it to my next birthday.

Since then I have traded the Cadillac and the license plate holder broke. But not a day goes by that I do not think of my father. Today, especially.

wanderings: A visit in the country

wanderings: A visit in the country: Umm, is it OK for her to do that? Through the lens of my camera, I watched Grace run through the freshly-mowed grass. At some point her...

A visit in the country

Umm, is it OK for her to do that?

Through the lens of my camera, I watched Grace run through the freshly-mowed grass. At some point her pants had come off and she had shucked her sandals for Cinderella slippers which did not slow her down one bit as she got to the cattle gate.

Quicker than a blink of my shutter, she clambered up the gate, fake glass slippers clacking as she went. I turned my head to Olivia and said, "Umm, is it OK for her to do that?"

"Well, probably not," Olivia said in a tone of voice I have come to recognize as Olivia thinking on her feet. She does a wonderful job of not squashing Grace's natural desire to see and do everything, even if everything could result in a broken arm. Olivia finds ways to bring Grace back to earth without taking away the magic.

Grace is two and a half. She definitely is pushing against all boundaries. Instructions to do something very often meet resistance. I asked Olivia if their family is experiencing what you always hear of as The Terrible 2s."

She laughed and conceded that Grace doesn't always take no for an answer. Olivia prefers to think of this time as the Teachable 2s. Everything is a lesson. Never does Olivia say "because I said so." She explains what she wants Grace to do and finds ways to get her spirited little girl to buy in to what Mommy thinks needs to be done. I think her success rate is pretty high. There are meltdowns, of course, that defy logic and explanation. Most of the time those blustery storms blow up and away and Grace is on her way to whatever is next.

What I enjoyed the most about spending some at-home time with them over the weekend was being part of the family dynamic. It was lovely.

Most of the time.

Kenny and I brought our four dogs with us to visit Olivia, Webb and Grace. They have a new Golden Retriever pup, Jeb. At best, our waking hours were managed chaos. Jeb wanted to play with all of the dogs. Two of our dogs wanted to eat him. One of our dogs barked every time Jeb flinched. And if Jeb was not in the room, then the dog would bark at Webb.

"Never again," Kenny said as he tossed a pillow at the barking dog as two other dogs shot by the sofa. "I mean it. Never again."

He doesn't mean it. We'll do it again and again and again. We just may bring muzzles.

When a man goes grocery shopping

When a man goes grocery shopping, what is he thinking? We have been married almost 13 years. That means for 13 years we have used the same products, more or less. A few new things have popped up, but we use the same milk, the same breads, the same ketchup.

It's probably not fair to call out all men on this, but I know my father would do the same thing. Send Dad to the store for two cans of chicken noodle soup and he would come back with one can of chicken noodle and one can of cream of chicken. So my suspicion is that there is some kind of testosterone interference in the shopping gene.

Once the husband brought home paper towels with designs on them. I hate paper towel with designs. I never use anything but white, Bounty Select-a-Size. I didn't even know Bounty made patterned towels any more. (He did get the brand right) I had to use them, but trust me, any spill required five or six.

Recently, we have been enjoying a fudge pop after dinner. I buy Pet because they are rich and creamy. He came home with the Food Lion brand. I felt my taste buds deflate when I pulled the box from the bag. 

He think that I pay too much for groceries. That house brands are just as good as known brands. If the product hits his "cheap" taste bud, then that makes it a good buy. So the meat is only good for two more days, you can always put it in the freezer. Cheese slices from Food Lion are fine. So what if it take three extra minutes pulling the plastic cover off the slice?

Do I sound ungrateful? That is not my intention. I came down with some kind of bronchial illness on Friday and was wiped out most the weekend, so I am really grateful that my husband was thoughtful enough to take on my weekly chore. 

But I probably will stop by the store tomorrow for real fudgsicles.

I may not have gotten a picture of the Super Moon, but I did a super picture of a Moonflower. They are hard to photograph because they only bloom on cloudy days or after the sun has set. Flash made this look terrible, so I did what I could with the late daylight. It truly looks like an impossibly soft linen, barely creased. The flowers are trumpet-shaped when unfurled. Lovely and quite poisonous if ingested. 

Super Moon

I have stalked the Super Moon and have fallen short. 

Twice this year, the Super Moon has appeared and both times my photographic quest was snuffed by clouds.

Lots of cool pictures on the Internet, but I wanted to capture it myself, preferably with the old courthouse in the picture somehow.

Once I saw a Super Moon in a super place. A friend and I had gone to the Outer Banks in September. My folks had a condo there and they had let us use it all by ourselves - a big concession on their part. I don't remember why they let us, but I am glad they did. We were driving back from dinner and went by the Bodie Island Lighthouse (yes, it really is pronounced Body) and there was the moon behind the lighthouse. A gigantic orange moon that seemed to take up the whole sky. With the lighthouse in the foreground, the perfect picture was set. Only... I did not bring my camera. 

I take pictures all the time to document the Shenandoah Valley where I live. Just as sometimes I cannot find the proper words to express my feelings, it doesn't matter how often I adjust the camera, pictures always fall short of the real thing. But I keep trying.

I can still clearly see that moon in my mind and remember that feeling of awestruck wonderment. The black and white stripes shining in the light of the enormous, eerie moon. It's OK that this picture lives in my mental photo album. I can access it any time I want and if I need verification, I can call my friend and say "Remember that time we went to Nags Head? Remember that moon?"

The Super Moon is coming around again in September. I will have my battery charged and ready to go.

 

Rockin' Robin

I am uncertain why the death of Robin Williams has rocked me so.

All day I felt despondent. I was a teen when Mork and Mindy came to be. Actually, I remember Mork's appearance on Happy Days - one of the characters to spin off from that popular show. 

He was like no one I had ever seen. He was a force of nature. Larger than life. Is that why it seems so impossible that he chose to hang himself? I guess we didn't realize that he was lightning. Beautiful, bright, brilliant, scary, sometime flashing, sometimes sharp and jagged, raw and real. But lightning never outlasts the storm.

His performances have left footprints all over my life. One of the first movies I watched with Kenny when we were dating was "Patch Adams." My nickname in my family is Cindy-Pan, consequently, I love "Hook." His soulful roles showed us he could rein-in the mania and sell it. "Dead Poet's Society," Good Will Hunting."

I was drawn to watching Robin in roles that seemed completely out of character. He played a terrible person on Law & Order SVU and "One Hour Photo" was creepy. I think we like to see our funny men go serious now and again.

It's been a sad day, but I know I will laugh and smile again. And when I watch Robin's movies and comedy routines in the future, it will be like he is still alive. Only he won't be. And that's just too damn bad.

The change of life

Not that change. I am writing about the change that comes when children become part of your life. 
Grace is 2.6 years old. Her vocabulary is a strange mix of detailed nonsensical sentences punctuated by a word or two that are just as clear as a bell. I am pretty good at deciphering her intent since that is pretty much the way her Grandaddy talks. It is so frustrating. "Honey, what do you want for dinner?" His reply... "Uh, heh unno um ec ec hot dog duma dexi con." This stream of language - and I use that term loosely - is extremely hard to follow because he is taking a drink of water or has his head in the refrigerator or is doing anything except looking straight at me and answering my question.
Grace, on the other hand, will look you straight in the eye and give you her words with all sincerity and plenty of force and detail. In either case, I know they want hot dogs,
We got to spend some time with Grace without her parents recently and it was fun. I do not know how they do it every day. The best word for Grace is busy. She played with her toys, then played with the dogs, then bounced on Grandaddy, then ran into the kitchen to put her tiny hands on anything that could possibly be sharp and dangerous.
Our house is dog proof. We don't leave things on the floor. We don't have carpets or curtains. We have leather furniture and the coffee and end tables are made of slate tiles.
Dog proof is not the same as child proof. Grace found things I did not even know I had. She was at full throttle running through the house picking up things, asking questions (I think they were questions) and looking for a place to put the item so that I will never find it again. It took me two days to discover the second dog leash.
I was never a mother. Olivia came into my life when she was 17, so I did not need to develop mothering skills. 
Grace has brought something out in me that I cannot quite identify. I do not think it is my inner mother. I guess it is my inner grandmother. I love her. From her stinky feet to those beautiful blue eyes that can be serene or stormy. I feel her spirit and I already recognize who she is going to be. 
Hands down, the best day in recent memory was when she spotted me and yelled "OG!" and came running to me, wrapping her arms around my neck and giving me the best full body hug ever. 
My brother talks often about the way his daughter changed his life. I can see it plainly, but now I truly feel what he means. It is a change. Good change. Or, as Grace might say, "OG, yen fammy hoe whop change!" You bet, Gracie. You got it.

I want to say thanks.
For the past year, I have been getting random encouragements to return to writing a "column" which in today's lingo would be posting a blog.
I have a blog, Valley Words, which I have let stagnate. I am going to bring some of the best of those posts to this blog in hopes of giving them some new life. There are some tough postings on there. Like the one I wrote when my father died. It's tempting not to bring that one here. It hurts, but there is beauty in that pain. In an awful situation, I found a place for a tiny smile and a tip of the hat to the man who made me.
I want to let loose. I write every day at work. But there are restrictions, requirements and rigor imposed on that work that I can blissfully shrug aside here like a beautiful dress that is way too tight.
Here, I will pull on my jeans and the Life's Good impossibly soft t-shirt that Olivia gave me and I will just write until I laugh or cry or, on a good day, do both.
Please come along with me. Send me ideas. Encourage me. Write to me. I will write back.
I think I'm officially excited.