Dear Grandmother

Today you would be 107 years old. It has been a long time since I wrote you a letter. You were such a good letter-writer with beautiful handwriting. Even when you apologized for your handwriting in the last years of your life, it was better than my left-handed writing is now. I remember going to my mail box when I lived in the dorm, reading your letters. You sent me letters no matter where I lived. I miss you and I miss those letters.

 EM and I continue the same, older, but not much different. At least, we don't think we are different. I'm sure photos show something different and AT insists were are different. You would not believe how much AT has changed and how much she has stayed the same. She was just almost four when you passed away. She is now a 13 year old teenager, in every sense of the word. She is beautiful, and strong, just a little taller than you. This week she is at cheer camp, her first camp away from home. She can do a backflip. You would not be surprised at that, but you would laugh aloud. She was always athletic, even as a toddler. She is at the push-pull time of trying to push her parents away, then reaching back for them. It has been painful for me. I am tearing up now as I write this. I have been the most important person in her life since she has been born. No longer. at least she tries to make it seem that way. Now, she is careful not to give me too much attention in public.

 We are still living in the same house. I know you loved my gardening efforts years ago. That all seemed to fade away once we had AT. I diverted all my attentions toward her. Now, that she is growing up and having more responsibilities around the house, I find I have more free time. Your naked ladies still come up around our house. I still have your hostas but they have not flourished in the hot Oklahoma air, like they do in more humid areas. Your pampas grass is doing great. Somehow your deep blue asters have disappeared. I suspect that EM had something to do with that. I plan to get some more someday. Your bridal veil bush bloomed and there was a successful tulip stand this year. I plan to add to the tulips for next year. I have just a few daffodils. I remember the thousands of daffodils you had in the woods lot. We just had a four inch rain yesterday. I'm not as confident a vegetable gardener as you were. Or maybe I'm just not as hard a worker as you.

 You might be disappointed that I do not quilt any more. It surprises me because I thought I would never give it up. But then there was a bouncing girl who would have made me prick my finger or would have landed on the needle or would have yelled for attention every time I moved the quilt onto my lap. And now that I have the time again, I don't have the interest. I still stay very busy in the craft area, mainly when I need to be practical and want to decorate for cheap. I love to paint walls and think of how you liked to paint because it made the room clean. You were so proud of the time you painted every piece of furniture in a bedroom green. Guess my favorite color!

 I think of you often, especially on Sunday mornings in church. Remember when I used to call you on Sunday afternoons and report on AT's behavior grade in church? It always made you laugh. Even at 13, she often gets a "C" for church behavior.

 I still have so many questions to ask you. For all the hours we spent talking, there is much more I need to know. How often did you ride a horse? How often did you go to town when you were a child? Who was the young man in the photo and what was he holding? He wrote a note to you on the back of the photo. Was he a romance or potential romance? I asked you how you met Granddaddy, but was there romance for you before Granddaddy? I'm sure you would have told me all of this and more. You loved to tell your stories. I remember you telling me about the first time you tasted chocolate, the first time you remember being angry. I've been the same way, telling stories with AT (although she's outgrown her need to hear my stories now). She used to beg for them, until I would say, "no more stories!" or "I can't think of any more!" Now, she quickly says "no more stories", herself.

I plan to age as you did. You were so practical. What happened, happened. With each stage, you seemed to adjust and find a way to enjoy that time. You are my model for the future. Happy birthday and I miss you very much...

 Love, Your Granddaughter

700 Sundays Book Review

I like to journal and, when I do, I imagine my daughter reading my words someday.  Maybe I'll pass on wisdom that she doesn't want to hear right now.  Maybe she'll see how intensely I loved her when she reads my entries 40 years from now.  I love to read the wisdom of other people, how they record their thoughts.  Sometimes I write down passages that move me.

I just completed Billy Crystal's memoir 700 Sundays.  I enjoy Billy Crystal, but, until I read this book, he was just an entertainer to me.  Now that I've read 700 Sundays, he will never be just an entertainer to me again.  He describes the love of his family as he relates the bittersweet mile markers in his life.

Here is a passage that made me cry.  While I am often moved by good writing, I almost never cry.  I cried with the wisdom and love in this passage.

From 700 Sundays...

     We're sitting at a table.  I'm sitting across from "Him," and there are five cards spread in front of me.
     I pick up the first. . ."Maybe five foot seven?"  Oh, come on.
     I turn over the second. . ."Lose your father when you're fifteen."  Can I get another card?
     My third card. . ."Have your mother her entire life."
     And the fourth. . ."Marry an incredible woman, have two beautiful daughters, and now your first granddaughter."
     The last one. . ."Get to do what you've always wanted to do since you first made them laugh in the living room."
     I hold the cards in my hand.  He stares me down.  I look at them one more time, but I don't really have to.  "I'm going to stick, and I'm going to raise you everything I have.  What do you got?"  I stare at him with confidence, waiting for God to make his move.  He stares back.   I smile.  He folds. . .He can't beat me.



Then my tears started.

Rainy Day

Today was such a relaxing day.  I have been working like a crazy woman over the past week, mainly house painting.  Serious house painting requires prep work, emptying rooms, moving furniture, sanding (furniture) removing ceiling fan blades and outlet covers, then replace everything.  Then see the small spots I missed.  I have finished painting a dresser, the hall bathroom and AT's room.  I had a self-imposed deadline.  I wore myself into a sore body.

So today, painting finished for the time being, my plan was to be unscheduled.  It rained this afternoon and I snuggled up on the couch behind AT, who was on the floor, watching childhood movies.  The room was darkened; the couch was so comfortable.  AT insisted that I was encroaching on her "alone" time.  I understand that she needs her alone time.  I enjoy mine.  Often, I try to give her the space that  a teenager craves.  But, sometime, I think I need to push in and ignore her protests.  I got oh-so-comfortable and watched The Incredibles and Sky High.   I think I snoozed.  I kept my comments to a minimum.  Did you know that Warren Peace in Sky High is VERY handsome and dangerous?  I did.  Did you know that, if I had a super power, it would be to be stretchable, like Mrs. Incredible?  I would use my arms to stop children from running in the halls at school.  

Meanwhile, AT's cell phone was going Bzzzz, Bzzzz with incoming texts.  So I decided to add my own.  I texted, "Smile at your mama if you love her."

I got my smile.

Blessed

Last night, I just sat by the TV all evening. I wondered if I was just lazy or if I still had lack of energy from this cold I have been nursing. Was I turning into a couch blob? But tonight, it is 7:00 and I am sitting down for the first time. Now, if I still had a little person, I would not be sitting down yet at all. But I am learning to enjoy my free time with having only a teenager at home. Today I came home, cooked a real supper, cleaned up, ran a store errand, and weeded half of the backyard. That's as good as it gets these days. In my 20s, I was free to lounge on the couch, as much as I wanted. We moved to a house and there was plenty to do, although there was plenty of rest then, too. We had a garden, Unfortunately, we did not grow vegetables; for some reason, I am hampered in that arena. I did grow herbs and flowers. At one point, I had collected over 100 varieties of plants. I know that because I have it recorded somewhere. In the 90s, we moved to the house we are in now and renovated it. It was a foreclosure house and it was as bad as you can imagine. There was always much to do. The first year or two, we did a great job with our flowers. With the renovations, EM was the primary worker and I was the minimum-wage, unpaid helper. He said I talked more than any helper he had ever had, but I pointed out that his other helpers were paid. I could be silent for a price also. This new house, along with renovations, was over twice the size of the old house. That's twice the vacuuming, dusting, bathrooms, etc. So I stayed busier. The gardens fell by the wayside.

Then, an miracle happened. We adopted a little girl. Then we were even busier, snuggling, laughing, chasing. Who cared about gardening? All that could come later. This year, I am determined to increase my gardening. Right now, we have poppies, poker plants, thyme and coreopsis is blooming. Lamb's ear is emerging. Tulips have bloomed and gone. Sunflowers, zinnias, thyme, and four o'clocks are up and blooming. Basil, blanket flower and green beans don't appear to be coming up. The last two Saturdays, I've been too busy to go to the farmer's market for baby plants. I have to have at least two basil plants. I hope to go this weekend. I'm ready to start seriously collecting plants again.

 Maybe I'm not lazy. Maybe I'm just blessed.

A Startle

Every time I step out on the back patio, I get a jolt.  First, because there is the face out there.  Second, because it looks like my good pot has been painted.  It really hasn't been painted.  EM put painter's tape on it.

 So, today, I stopped and decided to pull the tape off.  As I looked at it closely, I see that EM took some time to carefully draw out the eyes, nose, and mouth.  So I decided to leave the face alone.  And, yes, I have already told him that it startled me, so he is satisfied.  But don't you think the nose is upside down?

Middle School Moment

Middle school.  First day of sixth grade, but first you need some background.

AT attended a private preschool and kindergarten.  It was a magical place and was just around the corner from our house.  We often walked to or from school.  The children had to go outside every day for at least a little while to play no matter what the weather. We were encouraged to send them in old clothes so they could get dirty.  Children were allow to climb high in trees, as long as they could get themselves down.  The kindergarten teacher told me she was relieved when the big kindergarteners were leaving at the end of their school year because they almost reached her fear limit.  There were bicycles to ride, zip lines and rope swings to use.  The kids rode on a trailer in parades.   They had hay rides in our neighborhood.  They ran from the mythical "killer beaver" that lived in our creek.  If the city schools were out for snow, the school was open for sledding on the property.  On a snow day, I asked the teacher if she worried about the blades on sleds hurting someone, and she replied, "Oh, they have on thick clothes."  We loved this school.

Then first grade.  It was also within walking distance from our house.  It was a small public elementary school, with a great reputation, with only two classrooms per grade.  I was working where I work now - at a rural school 17 miles from our house.  I could have chosen for AT to attend school with me or stay in town.  Our town has good schools and I was determined that she would stay in town.  I wanted to have every chance to meet as many parents as possible so I would be ready for high school.

So I started AT in school in town with great hopes.  It was first grade.  She did not learn to read in kindergarten, but she had some good skills.  She could not have had more exposure to books.  At home, we usually read books twice a day.  She loved being read to.  She could rhyme words at age 3.  She knew her letters and sounds.  She was ready to go. 

But we hit the perfect storm.  Her first teacher quit after one month of school.  Her second teacher was an entry-year teacher.  The class was heavily weighted with special needs students.  If you have read my blog very many times, you know that I am a strong proponent of inclusion with special needs students, but this class was too heavily weighted with special needs students, behavior problems, and gifted readers.  My child was in the middle of the class and getting no attention at all.  I wanted to be relaxed about her learning to read.  She would do it on her own time.  But I was increasingly concerned at the school year progressed.  When I talked to the teacher, she did not seem to be concerned or have any suggestions.  How could my child, immersed  in reading as she had been, not be progressing more?  Should I be freaking out or relaxed?   Was she not learning to read because of poor instruction or because she had a true learning disability?  It was surely not because of lack of exposure at home.  By the end of the year, I wasn't the only one stressed.  AT was having physical symptoms, health problems, often crying when I dropped her off at school.  Something was stressing her and something had to change.

So, after fretting for months, I took her out of school and put her in my school for the last month of school.  By that point, I did not care what she learned.  I just wanted her to enjoy school.  Within two days, her new teacher sent home words that she needed to learn to read.  I realized I was just given the first piece of prescriptive information to work on at home.  This had not happened in her old classroom, in spite of my expressing my concern several times to the teacher.

On to second grade...at my school.  She was still behind in reading.  Her second grade teacher that year told me that, if she had not been my child (meaning she thought we would work at home), that she would have recommended that AT return to first grade.  And within 9 weeks, she was reading on the second grade level.  You decide:  maturation, or poor instruction.  We'll never know.

AT continued at my school until she completed elementary school.  The reading problem never appeared again.  I'm so glad we had those years together, all those rides together back and forth to school.  Inside the school,  AT's and my relationship was somewhat formal.  In general, she can be a very independent being.   If I passed her in line, we would smile and wave, but just as I wave at any other student.  However, there were a few moments when  "mean" girls were overwhelming and she ran to me after school and climbed up in my lap for comfort.  My heart hurt at the time, but now, I'm filled with thankfulness that I had those precious moments. 

The plan had always been for AT to return to the town school system for middle school.  My rationale was that, in high school, the larger school would provide more variety for AT's creative intelligence, her strength.   AT was very happy at my school and had many friends, so the summer after fifth grade, she was very frustrated with me.  Well, not frustrated.  Mad.  All summer, when people congratulated her on moving to middle school, she let her feelings be known.  "My mom is making me change schools.". I stayed firm.  She changed.

Now...back to middle school.  First day of school.  This was emotionally our Kindergarten year, at least in my mind.  Her true Kindergarten year and first grade were long past.  She had been with me at school for the past five years.  Now I was sending her off with strangers.  She was growing up too fast.  She was still frustrated with me for making her change schools.  We wandered around outside the school, looking for the sixth grade gathering area, then looking for the line for her homeroom teacher.  She said, "Don't leave me!"  I assured her I wouldn't until we found the right line.   Ahh, there it was.  I heard a teacher announce her teacher's name.  She was in the right line and I was about to cry.  I quickly told her.   "I'll be here to pick you up after school.  Love you." and turned away.  I did not turn back to look since I did not want her to see me cry.  I was about 50 feet away and I felt a hand on my arm.  I turned.  It was her, coming for one last "Love you."  She said, "Love you.  Are you crying?"  "Love you and no."  We both turned away and went on with our day.

Our Saturday

Marathoners, bikers, bicyclists, yard workers, toddlers, vintage cars, convertibles, everyone was out this morning at 8 AM.  It was a softly windy day, perfect temperatures.  We started our day at Midway Grocery.  AT was required to come with us, and, after she saw the unique grocery store/deli, she was charmed and interested in our day.  Midway is where EM's car club usually meets every Saturday.  Here below she is asking her dad if she can tell the old gentleman nearby that smoking is bad for his health.  She knew her dad would say no, but loved the opportunity to torment dad.

Midway is where the club usually meets on Saturday mornings; however, today it was just the starting point.  We headed our 10 car caravan, hot rods, street rods, vintage cars, south on Route 77 to a vintage airplane show.  We thought there was also going to be a car show, but there wasn't until our group showed up and drove through the barriers, parking next to the airstrip.

On the right is EM, admiring his car.  He loves it so.

The airplanes were fascinating and tiny.  I have only been up in a small plane once or twice.  For a while, planes were landing every 10 minutes.  Except for the heat of the day, which was certainly climbing by noon, I could have watched them all day.  

We heard that the planes used 25 gallons per hour.  Is this true?  Between the small interiors and the expensive gas, we decided that we would rather be in a Buick convertible.

Then, joy, we did some destination dining, one of my favorite hobbies.

EM and I had catfish.  I really wanted the BBQ, but am trying to be more determined about eating better EVEN IN A RESTAURANT!  I know fried catfish is not super healthy, but isn't it better than my first love, BBQ?  I did not have fries!  

We were home by 1:30 and AT ventured off to spend the night with a friend.  Tonight, EM, the convertible and myself are off at 10:30 to see the moon!

Have you noticed that I have photos for the first time in my blog?  No telling what long-winded photo-heavy blogs will be posted this summer when I am out of school.  Maybe there will be photos of the moon.  Don't expect much.  My photography skills and camera are not very powerful.