I arrived home in the holler
Where there’s little drama or strife.
We can sit and watch the crops grow
In our semi-retirement life.
While it is true that weeds happen,
And rain is beyond our control.
I am now in charge of nothing,
Finished filling my Granny role.
After all the hustle bustle,
All the laughter and all the tears,
I think perhaps post-parenting
Are truly the most golden years.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
The Perfect Party
It should have been easy – an outdoor swimming party at a community swimming pool and pavilion. The menu was to be Rebecca’s favorite foods – nothing fancy or complex – grilled hotdogs, hamburgers, lots of fruit and baby carrots with various dips, potato chips of three varieties, and kettle corn. We were washing it down with real homemade lemonade.
The piece de resistance was to be Rachel’s decadent chocolate cake with cream cheese icing, beautifully decorated with piped-on spring flowers. I refused to carry the cakes, as I’m such a klutz. I would have beaten myself if I destroyed Rachel’s many hours of effort.
Rachel and the grandgirls had done all the shopping and prep work. I was recruited to make sure that all of the ingredients and the birthday girl got the pavilion set up in time, since Rachel had to be at post-planning in the school where she teaches third grade, and it was a regular work day for Larry.
We loaded the van from ceiling to running boards. Rebecca and her buddy Caitlin had party stuff under their feet and in their laps, but we got everything in – even the cake, which Rebecca was brave enough ( and strong enough, as it weighed about twenty pounds) to carry. Oh, how proud we were to arrive at the park with almost two hours leeway for a leisurely set-up.
The first thing Rebecca noticed was that the pool wasn’t open. Being a Pollyanna, I commented that they probably just hadn’t opened yet because her party was still two hours away. We parked and began set-up as I pondered on the predicament. I remembered that I had seen a reservations phone number on the pool fence, so we placed a call. We got an automated answer reassuring us that we would be helped as soon as the message was relayed, but without specifying how long that could take.
I spied a guy cutting grass who went into the pool enclosure to perform some task. I sent the girls to ask him about the pool problem while I continued to take stuff out of the van. Next thing I knew, Rebecca came flying through on the verge of tears. “There’s no sense setting up. The pool isn’t open today,” she said as she ran off with her phone.
As soon as Rachel got free from work, she called me for our status. I assumed that the first call Rebecca made would have been to her mother, but Rachel obviously didn’t know that anything was amiss. It fell to me to tell her that all her hard work to plan the perfect party was imploding. A swimming party without a pool didn’t seem too appealing. Fifty people had said they were coming, so Rachel and I agreed that the show had to go on. With a catch in my throat and tears in my eyes, I continued putting what was left of the party together.
I was down to the last bag of ice coming out of the van when Rachel called back. “Pack up. We’re moving the party to another pool,” she declared.
The girls wandered over with mobile phones in hand. It was their job to text the new location to all fifty party people. With their thumbs flying, they texted the news in no time. Rachel and Sarah arrived to help with the reloading. (This time, Rachel had custody of the cake.)
What a wonderful time we proceeded to have, with swimming, dancing, volleyball, badminton, Jai Lai, and even a bit of soccer as the sun set over what turned out to be a perfect party.
The piece de resistance was to be Rachel’s decadent chocolate cake with cream cheese icing, beautifully decorated with piped-on spring flowers. I refused to carry the cakes, as I’m such a klutz. I would have beaten myself if I destroyed Rachel’s many hours of effort.
Rachel and the grandgirls had done all the shopping and prep work. I was recruited to make sure that all of the ingredients and the birthday girl got the pavilion set up in time, since Rachel had to be at post-planning in the school where she teaches third grade, and it was a regular work day for Larry.
We loaded the van from ceiling to running boards. Rebecca and her buddy Caitlin had party stuff under their feet and in their laps, but we got everything in – even the cake, which Rebecca was brave enough ( and strong enough, as it weighed about twenty pounds) to carry. Oh, how proud we were to arrive at the park with almost two hours leeway for a leisurely set-up.
The first thing Rebecca noticed was that the pool wasn’t open. Being a Pollyanna, I commented that they probably just hadn’t opened yet because her party was still two hours away. We parked and began set-up as I pondered on the predicament. I remembered that I had seen a reservations phone number on the pool fence, so we placed a call. We got an automated answer reassuring us that we would be helped as soon as the message was relayed, but without specifying how long that could take.
I spied a guy cutting grass who went into the pool enclosure to perform some task. I sent the girls to ask him about the pool problem while I continued to take stuff out of the van. Next thing I knew, Rebecca came flying through on the verge of tears. “There’s no sense setting up. The pool isn’t open today,” she said as she ran off with her phone.
As soon as Rachel got free from work, she called me for our status. I assumed that the first call Rebecca made would have been to her mother, but Rachel obviously didn’t know that anything was amiss. It fell to me to tell her that all her hard work to plan the perfect party was imploding. A swimming party without a pool didn’t seem too appealing. Fifty people had said they were coming, so Rachel and I agreed that the show had to go on. With a catch in my throat and tears in my eyes, I continued putting what was left of the party together.
I was down to the last bag of ice coming out of the van when Rachel called back. “Pack up. We’re moving the party to another pool,” she declared.
The girls wandered over with mobile phones in hand. It was their job to text the new location to all fifty party people. With their thumbs flying, they texted the news in no time. Rachel and Sarah arrived to help with the reloading. (This time, Rachel had custody of the cake.)
What a wonderful time we proceeded to have, with swimming, dancing, volleyball, badminton, Jai Lai, and even a bit of soccer as the sun set over what turned out to be a perfect party.
Monday, May 24, 2010
First Grandchild's Sweet Sixteen
I have no time to write.
Sweet Sixteen’s party’s tonight.
There’s much preparation to do
So I bid you a fond “Adieu.”
Sweet Sixteen’s party’s tonight.
There’s much preparation to do
So I bid you a fond “Adieu.”
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Gardening, Grieving and Guffawing
Mountain Mama Mamie has been saying for the last two springs that she’s too old to garden. We refuse to believe that she’s really giving it up any more than we want to believe that she’s giving up her hens. She’s the first to admit that she sells the eggs to give people a reason to stop in to visit. Work is what has gotten Mamie out of bed for at least the last seventy-five years; what will motivate her if she gives up the garden and her egg business?
Mamie keeps us posted on what needs to be done in the garden and when it needs doing. She declared it time to weed the beets and carrots, adding that it didn’t matter that it was still too mushy to have Richard run between the rows with a tiller. What needed weeding were the actual rows, and she would help me do that part.
When I went over to weed the, I stopped in to tell her that I was going to the garden. Even though she had told me that she would help me with the job, I really didn’t expect her to. I figured it was just her way of impressing on me the importance of doing the work. I thought about not telling her until after I finished, but I just didn’t want to hurt her feelings by not telling her I was getting started.
As I bent to my task of cleaning out the carrot row, along came Mamie in her jeans and garden shoes to begin the beet row. We weeded and chatted and guffawed for about two hours, occasionally straightening up to peruse our potato plants and pull the bugs off the leaves. We continually congratulated ourselves on how productive our preferred exercise program was. Who needed stretching classes when we could bend and stretch all we wanted as we worked those weeds out of the soil?
As I neared the end of my row, ninety-year-old Mamie put me to shame. She had not only finished her row, she proceeded to weed the last little bit of mine. Finished with gardening, indeed! At this point Mamie announced that it was time to clean up and change our clothes to get to the memorial service for a long-time artist-in-residence in Coker Creek. She had already been dressed up once that day to attend her great granddaughter’s graduation ceremony. When I saw her at the service, she was looking bright as a new penny. The Energizer Bunny has nothing on Mamie.
Mamie knows a lot about pacing oneself and that there’s a time and season for everything. She also has much to teach about turning worry and grief into productive action. Her concern about the nation’s economy prompted her to recruit me and Richard into learning to garden. Her grief over the loss of her oldest son to death and the loss of her oldest daughter to Alzheimer’s prompted her to put on her gardening clothes and go destroy some potato bugs and weeds.
I’m lucky to learn from such an accomplished example of gracefully accepting life’s lessons.
Mamie keeps us posted on what needs to be done in the garden and when it needs doing. She declared it time to weed the beets and carrots, adding that it didn’t matter that it was still too mushy to have Richard run between the rows with a tiller. What needed weeding were the actual rows, and she would help me do that part.
When I went over to weed the, I stopped in to tell her that I was going to the garden. Even though she had told me that she would help me with the job, I really didn’t expect her to. I figured it was just her way of impressing on me the importance of doing the work. I thought about not telling her until after I finished, but I just didn’t want to hurt her feelings by not telling her I was getting started.
As I bent to my task of cleaning out the carrot row, along came Mamie in her jeans and garden shoes to begin the beet row. We weeded and chatted and guffawed for about two hours, occasionally straightening up to peruse our potato plants and pull the bugs off the leaves. We continually congratulated ourselves on how productive our preferred exercise program was. Who needed stretching classes when we could bend and stretch all we wanted as we worked those weeds out of the soil?
As I neared the end of my row, ninety-year-old Mamie put me to shame. She had not only finished her row, she proceeded to weed the last little bit of mine. Finished with gardening, indeed! At this point Mamie announced that it was time to clean up and change our clothes to get to the memorial service for a long-time artist-in-residence in Coker Creek. She had already been dressed up once that day to attend her great granddaughter’s graduation ceremony. When I saw her at the service, she was looking bright as a new penny. The Energizer Bunny has nothing on Mamie.
Mamie knows a lot about pacing oneself and that there’s a time and season for everything. She also has much to teach about turning worry and grief into productive action. Her concern about the nation’s economy prompted her to recruit me and Richard into learning to garden. Her grief over the loss of her oldest son to death and the loss of her oldest daughter to Alzheimer’s prompted her to put on her gardening clothes and go destroy some potato bugs and weeds.
I’m lucky to learn from such an accomplished example of gracefully accepting life’s lessons.
Saturday, May 22, 2010
A Meal of Memories
I made a most marvelous breakfast
With little bits of leftovers
A piece of grilled chicken from
The lunch I’d taken to Rachel
Only to find that she’d already
Eaten a school lunch meal.
I added a pile of beef brisket
From the Mexican birthday dinner
With my Rachel and her Sweet Sarah,
And then squash, onions and peppers
That Richard had enjoyed for a supper,
And a bit of pimento cheese spread
That was threatening to go to waste.
After beating up a bunch of eggs
Produced by Mamie’s chickens
I poured them over the remnants
Of several remembered repasts.
This became a nice frittata --
Really a meal of memories.
With little bits of leftovers
A piece of grilled chicken from
The lunch I’d taken to Rachel
Only to find that she’d already
Eaten a school lunch meal.
I added a pile of beef brisket
From the Mexican birthday dinner
With my Rachel and her Sweet Sarah,
And then squash, onions and peppers
That Richard had enjoyed for a supper,
And a bit of pimento cheese spread
That was threatening to go to waste.
After beating up a bunch of eggs
Produced by Mamie’s chickens
I poured them over the remnants
Of several remembered repasts.
This became a nice frittata --
Really a meal of memories.
Friday, May 21, 2010
Hair Affairs
Rebecca read while I cooked her breakfast; there were just the two of us in her house. I hardly ever get to see Rebecca at repose, so this was quite a treat for me, just enjoying the sight of her, my oldest grandchild. After dropping her at school, I drove to Tennessee and Richard, who was waiting for a ride from the repair shop where his beloved Bronco II is having a bit of work done.
My pick-ups included a visit to the vet to retrieve Gypsy. Every year at this time, we get her groomed for the summer. This requires cutting her eight-inch coat down to less than an inch, except for her beautiful white plume of a tail and her cottony top knot. This is how she looked when we first saw her, so it brings back adoption memories for all of us.
Imagine my surprise when Richard walked out with a dog that looked like a big-headed whippet! Gypsy had no hair anywhere; she was shaved down to the skin from her former top knot to her tail. Richard is right; she’s definitely not fat. She’s just a big-boned girl.
It brought back memories of when my mama used to cut my hair, forgetting that on curly hair you can’t cut bangs exactly the length you want them to be. What you envision and what the finished haircut look like are entirely different things. The wet bangs that barely touched my eyebrows when they were first cut became a slight fringe below my hairline as they dried.
It was small consolation to a six-year-old that the hair would grow back, but my bangs did grow. I keep reminding myself of this lesson as I grieve over Gypsy’s lack of hair anywhere -- not even a fringe of bangs over her big brown eyes. What was the groomer thinking?
This put me in mind of the time that Rachel went to her daddy’s house for his visitation week-end and returned as a stranger. There was a knock on the door; when I answered, there stood an adorable little blonde boy, about six-years-old. Who was this child calling me Mama and dressed in Rachel’s clothing? Oh my! It was my beautiful daughter who had struggled to grow hair that her grandpa didn’t say about, “I’ve seen better hair on salt meat.” I tried not to react so as not to make Rachel believe that she wasn’t still beautiful, but I can tell you, I was one mad mom.
Of course, I knew that her hair would grow back; meanwhile, people kept mistaking her for a beautiful boy. This led to drastic measures. My sister who was married to a Hispanic man had had her infant daughter’s ears pierced. I had been afraid of injury to Rachel’s ears when she was an infant, but I figured that my ever- cautious little doll could manage the piercings at the age of six. I had monogram earrings made for her, and off to the piercer we went.
I wonder if they make earrings for Great Pyrenees puppies.
My pick-ups included a visit to the vet to retrieve Gypsy. Every year at this time, we get her groomed for the summer. This requires cutting her eight-inch coat down to less than an inch, except for her beautiful white plume of a tail and her cottony top knot. This is how she looked when we first saw her, so it brings back adoption memories for all of us.
Imagine my surprise when Richard walked out with a dog that looked like a big-headed whippet! Gypsy had no hair anywhere; she was shaved down to the skin from her former top knot to her tail. Richard is right; she’s definitely not fat. She’s just a big-boned girl.
It brought back memories of when my mama used to cut my hair, forgetting that on curly hair you can’t cut bangs exactly the length you want them to be. What you envision and what the finished haircut look like are entirely different things. The wet bangs that barely touched my eyebrows when they were first cut became a slight fringe below my hairline as they dried.
It was small consolation to a six-year-old that the hair would grow back, but my bangs did grow. I keep reminding myself of this lesson as I grieve over Gypsy’s lack of hair anywhere -- not even a fringe of bangs over her big brown eyes. What was the groomer thinking?
This put me in mind of the time that Rachel went to her daddy’s house for his visitation week-end and returned as a stranger. There was a knock on the door; when I answered, there stood an adorable little blonde boy, about six-years-old. Who was this child calling me Mama and dressed in Rachel’s clothing? Oh my! It was my beautiful daughter who had struggled to grow hair that her grandpa didn’t say about, “I’ve seen better hair on salt meat.” I tried not to react so as not to make Rachel believe that she wasn’t still beautiful, but I can tell you, I was one mad mom.
Of course, I knew that her hair would grow back; meanwhile, people kept mistaking her for a beautiful boy. This led to drastic measures. My sister who was married to a Hispanic man had had her infant daughter’s ears pierced. I had been afraid of injury to Rachel’s ears when she was an infant, but I figured that my ever- cautious little doll could manage the piercings at the age of six. I had monogram earrings made for her, and off to the piercer we went.
I wonder if they make earrings for Great Pyrenees puppies.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Salivating for Summer
I was treated to three quarters of an hour with Rachel and her third grade students. Rachel has had the same students for two years now, and is grieving over losing them next year. She did admit that she thinks changing teachers may be in their best interest since they are beginning to act like her own children – not bad, but a little mouthy – which some adults may frown on. Since Rachel’s birthday is on the last day that these children will have school this year, and I won’t be in Atlanta on that day, I brought brownies and we all celebrated Rachel’s birthday together. What a joy it is to see Rachel in her child-filled environments!
I planned to take Rachel’s family out to an early birthday dinner, but it ended up being just me, Rachel and Sarah. Larry was getting new tires and Rebecca was studying for finals. As Rachel says, if we wait for all members of her busy family to do things together, we may never get to do anything. We had a lovely time at dinner, but the real fun began when we got home.
I had bought Rachel a cute exercise outfit, which her girls insisted that she try on. Rachel has always been one of the least vain women I know, so there was no way that she would think of seriously modeling any item of clothing. She came out of her room doing some kind of combination dance/ exercise number that was quite hilarious to watch with her bouncing, bending, and stretching all over the kitchen and dining rooms. Larry was quite embarrassed with all the talk centered on whether or not built-in sports bras are actually supportive.
I now sit here being serenaded by Sarah on the piano. She won’t be having a recital this year; she’ll perform a jazz rendition of Amazing Grace at church instead. I love hearing child-produced music playing in a home. Rachel wanted Sarah to pursue her music for the sheer joy of being able to produce these lovely sounds. It seems to be working. Many times, when Sarah has a free moment, she sits at the piano and plays. Sarah and her cousin Nick are also saxophone students; I hope this will equate to saxophone serenades for me this summer. And maybe Miya can do a dance number while Sarah and Nick play.
Summer on the water in Louisiana used to be filled with kids wet from swimming, crabbing, and boating in Lake Pontchartrain. Granny Camp In the mountains has its own set of adventures. We haven’t gotten them all planned yet, but Mountaintop Mary, Josie, and Gold Digger Bill have signed on for some activities.
I wonder if Eda will teach them to bake biscotti or those waffle cookies that she does so nicely. I know Mamie’s garden and gathering eggs will entertain them, and Jack’s knowledge of the surrounding woods and wildlife is sure to be a hit. Come on summer!
I planned to take Rachel’s family out to an early birthday dinner, but it ended up being just me, Rachel and Sarah. Larry was getting new tires and Rebecca was studying for finals. As Rachel says, if we wait for all members of her busy family to do things together, we may never get to do anything. We had a lovely time at dinner, but the real fun began when we got home.
I had bought Rachel a cute exercise outfit, which her girls insisted that she try on. Rachel has always been one of the least vain women I know, so there was no way that she would think of seriously modeling any item of clothing. She came out of her room doing some kind of combination dance/ exercise number that was quite hilarious to watch with her bouncing, bending, and stretching all over the kitchen and dining rooms. Larry was quite embarrassed with all the talk centered on whether or not built-in sports bras are actually supportive.
I now sit here being serenaded by Sarah on the piano. She won’t be having a recital this year; she’ll perform a jazz rendition of Amazing Grace at church instead. I love hearing child-produced music playing in a home. Rachel wanted Sarah to pursue her music for the sheer joy of being able to produce these lovely sounds. It seems to be working. Many times, when Sarah has a free moment, she sits at the piano and plays. Sarah and her cousin Nick are also saxophone students; I hope this will equate to saxophone serenades for me this summer. And maybe Miya can do a dance number while Sarah and Nick play.
Summer on the water in Louisiana used to be filled with kids wet from swimming, crabbing, and boating in Lake Pontchartrain. Granny Camp In the mountains has its own set of adventures. We haven’t gotten them all planned yet, but Mountaintop Mary, Josie, and Gold Digger Bill have signed on for some activities.
I wonder if Eda will teach them to bake biscotti or those waffle cookies that she does so nicely. I know Mamie’s garden and gathering eggs will entertain them, and Jack’s knowledge of the surrounding woods and wildlife is sure to be a hit. Come on summer!
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