Summer walks
Late-night porch talks,
Over a firepit outdoors
Chocolate and marshmallows for s’mores,
Tomatoes and cucs off the vine
Warm breezes, feeling so fine,
Picnics and bbq’s in the yard
Summer fun isn’t hard…
Fall is now coming
Bringing it’s own times of fun
What will you miss most
When summer is done?
-RLT, channeling Dr. Suess (albeit poorly!)
Does anyone else think it’s strange that there are so many open seats left in the men’s gymnastics team final at the OLYMPICS? Wha??? Had I known there was a spot with my name on it, a plane ticket would have been purchased long ago!
I am a great fan of the Olympic games. I can remember crowding around the television set with my parents and brothers, cheering on athletes of the likes of Mary Lou Retton. My best friend from Augusta, Georgia, and I even got haircuts like Mary Lou (as did many other all-American little girls of that day)… Sarah looked exactly like the gymnast and I looked like a little boy. Another haircut for the photo album.
Tonight props go to the Japanese men’s gymnastics team for winning, fair and square, the gold medal! Of course, I was rooting for the USA guys, but totally happy for them and the Japanese. These events are so intense… I hold my breath during the rings and everything gets paused for the vault. Love the vault! If there was one single Olympic event I’d want to compete in, it would be the vault… “flying through the air with the greatest of ease!”… So much power and airtime, it looks like fun.
It’s too bad our Blockbuster-pseudo-Netflix-dealie is done this week, because baby, the Olympics are on!!
The sunflower heads bloomed a few weeks ago and now we can admire the lovely and enormous flowers in a new way. The tallest one’s head is so large that the body is bent underneath it somewhat like a geriatric case of sunflower scoliosis. (It’s a virtual planetoid!) The rest of the garden is faring decently, though I’m sure a few more hot August days would be perfect for the tomatoes. We’ve been having the most beautiful fall-like weather… Temps in the 70’s, sometimes going down to the 40’s at night. It’s been a very, very unusual Nebraska summer.
Yesterday we joined some friends at Mahoney State Park. It was a great opportunity to get out of Lincoln and enjoy being together as a family… First we strapped on the Baby Bjorn and climbed the observation tower to enjoy lush views of the rolling hills near the Platte River. My knees began to buckle a bit halfway up the tower but I told Livia that her mom’s not a weenie and thus ignored my shaky, heights-fearing innards. I couldn’t help but chuckle empathetically at this young couple on the top of the tower… The girl was really nervous and wouldn’t step foot any closer to the railed edge. The edge is fairly unnerving, as the floor is made of metal links and you can see straight through to the ground, however many feet below.
After checking out the landscape, we popped Livia into her stroller and walked around the Butterfly Garden (presumably more interesting in early summer), the James Conservatory and wandered various foothpaths and bridges. Mahoney is a family place—perfect for kids a little older than Livia. You got the swimming pool and waterslides, the marina and paddleboats, horseback riding and carriage rides, and a fairly new activity center. Wintertime (and snow) sees sleigh rides at Mahoney. Hmmm… Romantic birthday outing, perhaps? With the start of the Olympics and our out-of-town afternoon, the weekend was quite enjoyable.
Tasting – Burt’s Beeswax lip balm on my teeth.
Aching – In my sinuses.
Buying – Eats, Shoots and Leaves from Barnes & Noble.
Behaving – Like a procrastinating mom. It’s time to mix up some formula and I’m blogging instead.
Desiring – More time (and money) to spend at Barnes & Noble. I had forgotten how enticing their book selections are… and how aromatic their coffees are… and how comfy their furniture looks…
Planning – To spend a long weekend of relaxation with four old friends at a lake house next month.
Snuggling – With a blanketed Pookie on the front porch during a gentle rain.
Choosing – BBQ Chicken Pizza and Crème Brulee for dinner tonight.
Regretting – Too low an insulin dosage.
Living – As a stupid diabetic and a satiated diner. The two are quite compatible.
I’m an escapist when it comes to literature.
When I read, I want a book that takes me away from my familiar living room sofa to a land or time far away. I want to become someone else, to feel what they feel and experience what they experience. Perhaps this mentality explains why I never make it through a book that is overtly trying to teach me something. I have the best intentions of reading books on grace, marriage or apologetics, but I rarely get further than halfway through the publication before it begins to gather dust on my bedside stand.
So here I am, an escapist reader, saying out loud that I love a good John Grisham novel.
Last night I finished up The Last Juror (Doubleday, 2004). Classic Grisham, it tells the tale of a young newspaper publisher and editor in small Mississippi town in the 1970’s. Of course, being a Grisham novel, it also encompasses passionate crimes, a host of attorneys, one crucial jury decision and racial tension. Ah, good stuff. I was drawn further into the story by the following description of Calia Ruffin, an elderly black woman, and her prayer before lunch with the young protagonist:
It would be a lengthy prayer. She thanked the Lord for everything good, including me, “her new friend.” She prayed for those who were sick and those who might become so. She prayed for rain and sun and health and humidity and patience, and though I began to worry about the food getting cold I was mesmerized by her voice. Her cadence was slow, with thought given to each word. Her diction was perfect, every consonant treated equally, every comma and period honored. I had to peek to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. I have never heard such speech from a Southern black, or a Southern white for that matter.
I peeked again. She was talking to her Lord, and her face was perfectly content. For a few seconds, I actually forgot about the food. She squeezed my hands as she petitioned the Almighty with eloquence that came only from years of practice. She quoted Scripture, the King James Version for sure, and it was a bit odd to hear her use words like “thou” and “thine” and “whither” and “goest.” But she knew precisely what she was doing. In the clutches of this very holy woman, I had never felt closer to God.
There is a rocking chair, passed down from mother to daughter, carted all over the United States during various family moves, from Georgia to Nebraska by way of California and Oregon. It’s been painted several colors, the most recent being an aqua blue, and it has an old fashioned woven seat that is falling apart in several places. This story has been told before… The chair was stolen off our front porch sometime last winter. Considering the depths of snow on our porch during that time, it’s no surprise I didn’t notice the crime for some time.
I noticed this time. The latest story goes like this. I walked over to my neighbors’ house Monday evening for a book shower in honor of Livia around 7:15 pm. While all the merriment was occurring, another thief (or perhaps the same one, who knows?) crept up my front steps and stole a 12 inch clay pot, full of soil, salmon-colored impatiens and some small white trailing flowers (I can’t recall their name). This pot is quite heavy, so I imagine a male committed the act. When I came home from the shower, our front porch light hadn’t been turned on and our blinds were still open. The thug could see right into our house and could plan his actions based on the absence of movement within the living room. I noticed that the pot was gone around 10:30 pm.
Just now, after checking our mailbox, I noticed something else was missing… Two small solar garden lights have also been taken. And my anger and frustration is once more aroused.
The sheer INJUSTICE of this is what gets to me. I can only imagine how angry I’d become if a drunk driver killed a family member, or if some other true atrocity was committed against someone I love. These fairly small incidents make me so annoyed! How dare someone simply take these items from my house? They didn’t pay for them. They didn’t spend 30 minutes at Earl May being particular about the color and size of bedding plants. They didn’t water them every other day with love. They didn’t install the lights and appreciate them night after night. They didn’t move around the country, carefully hauling a Southern rocking chair.
It’s not as though I live in a “bad” neighborhood where porch furniture needs to be chained to the floor or where bars should cover windows. Fortunately my neighbors don’t seem to be missing anything. We’ve only had to call the police a few times for fairly small incidents. Argh. No rhyme or reason to someone’s foolishness. I just pray that our thief will be convicted of the wrongness of his actions and that something will make him change his ways… Getting back my flower pot, solar lights and rocking chair, along with a note of apology and a more positive plan for his future, would be nice, too.
* The flowers in the photo are vinca. All pots of vinca are present and accounted for.
I’m in the midst of a transition from part-time administrative assistant to full-time homemaker. First I must say that I LOVE MY DAUGHTER, she’s my joy and delight and I’m incredibly blessed to spend my days with her. Nonetheless, this transition is a bit of a challenge and it’s pulling on my heart some tonight. Tonight I began missing my office. I miss the daily discussions with my coworkers. I miss knowing what’s going on both within the office and within the church. I miss the satisfaction of working five hours each day and mentally calculating my monetary earnings. I miss the organization (don’t laugh, the Zion office does have *some* organization!) of my desk, this posted here and that filed there. I just miss it. My home right now feels like the opposite of my sentimental office longings… There’s baby stuff, Becca stuff, Jeremy stuff everywhere. Here stuff, there stuff, everywhere stuff-stuff. Old McTredway had a house—E-I-E-I-O. My tasks seem never-ending and unrewarding at times. What? Another dish is dirty? Didn’t I just wash that dish??? Huh? A bag of Doritos in the bathroom and baby socks on the stairs? How’d they get there? When Jeremy comes home at the end of the day and I try to give him a synopsis of my doings, I’m left with very little to talk about. The mental calculations add up to: fed Livia, diapered Livia and generally kept Livia happy. Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE LIVIA and would sacrifice my body to wild wolves in order to keep her tummy full, bottom clean and a smile on her adorable face. That’s not the point. The point is that I’m experiencing some change in my life and I’ve never been one to eagerly embrace change. I miss the office. Things just seemed easier there.
The stay-at-home mom’s work apparel is negotiable. She could just as easily wash bottles and clean toilets in her pajamas as well as in shorts and a t-shirt. I was aware of this truth prior to bringing Livia home and was prepared for at least one aspect of the transition from working outside the home to working inside the home. I once heard another mom say that she needed to shower and get dressed each day, just as she would for any other job. (Those of you with kids understand that the seemingly simple tasks of showering and dressing are not simple whatsoever when you are caring for every need of another human being.) I’m quickly realizing that my self-esteem is based, at least to a degree, on the way I present myself physically. If I’m scruffy all day long, in junky jean shorts and a t-shirt with little to no makeup, I don’t exactly feel great about myself. It’s important for me to maintain a respectable persona apart from the dirtier aspects of stay-at-home mommyhood… So this is my goal: to wake up each day, find a few moments to spend quietly in God’s Word, and to bathe and get dressed in clothes other people can see me in. If you happen to see me around town in a sweatsuit and no lipstick, smack me hard, quote this blog entry, and send me home.
This photo has nothing to do with the above paragraph (and yes, I did add it after posting the other stuff)… other than the fact that it makes me feel better about myself when I do go out in sweats and no makeup. Hee hee. (Thanks, Noon, for being so darn photogenic and for being such a good sport as to allow your meanie, blogging sister to show it to the world!)
In an attempt to write about something other than my fascinating baby, I will now turn the discussion to gardening. The garden has been somewhat neglected for the sake of said baby—it’s awfully mean to subject her to 90+ degree heat and hungry mosquitoes—but fortunately we’re at the stage of garden growth where little is required of me. I am reminded why my backyard looks incredibly barren in the winter as our little patch of fruits looks amazingly like a jungle right now. One zucchinni plant is so enormous it can’t even stand upright any longer and the cucumber vines are planning a garden coup d’etat; really, I fear for the safety of our beefy tomatoes. The first Romas were plucked yesterday. They don’t look the greatest, as the “zipper” effect shows, but I’m sure they’ll taste just fine. We’ve been enjoying fresh zucchini and cucumbers for a couple of weeks now. There’s just nothing better than fresh cucumbers and Ranch dressing to accompany a meal.
In the foreground of the second photo you’ll notice a sunflower… This one grew from some birdseed that fell to the ground. In the background you can see another one in the form of Jack’s beanstalk. Last year I grew one of these gargantuan flowers; this year we have two. The bold cucumbers are attempting to overthrow Sunflower #1 as well. Sunflower #1 simply scoffs and continues to demonstrate his skyscraping abilities. We have yet to see the actual flower heads on these mammoths, but they’ll show up before long.