photoimpressionsandrandomthought

Moving Day

Since the establishment of my dedicated photography website (susnapattonphotography.com) I have given the function of this site a lot of thought. I came to the conclusion that a more traditional blog site might serve my needs better. With that in mind I began perusing the internet and have finally settled on blogspot.com. Today is moving day. The new site is up and running and open for business.

The web address is susanpatton.blogspot.com. You can also get there by clicking on Life in Color located on the right side of your screen under Favorite Links.

I hope you will all join me there....soon...like today!

No Seeums

Let’s go to the beach for sunset D suggested. And since I’m always (well almost) ready to head to the beach, I quickly accepted. We were soon on our way with tripod and camera in hand to what we hoped would be a dramatic end to our day. Once at our destination it took even less time to encounter what would prove to be the ruination of the evening.

NO SEEUMS. Those pesky little creatures that emerge at dusk, so tiny they are barely visible to the naked eye, yet pack a knock-out punch of annoyance. We met them on the boardwalk, took note, and proceeded on our way. After all we were headed to the water’s edge where we knew their effect would be minimal. Not. As the sun dipped closer to the horizon the more lively they became, as if the dimming light was some high-octane energy source.

If you have never encountered No Seeums (I’m certain there is a more technical name but no seeum works for me) count yourself lucky. They never travel alone. Not even in pairs, but in swarms that include every 1^st, 2^nd and 10^th cousin twice removed. They dart in and out around your eyes and your ears, taunting, teasing and tormenting the likes of which you have never experienced. Then they sneak under the hairs on your arms, hovering with the precision of miniature Blackhawk helicopters on a mission to annoy.

There was so much swatting, dancing and fidgeting going on that the sunset and the camera were almost forgotten in the mayhem. We tried to wait it out, really we did. But our sensitive skin was no match for their persistence. We soon found ourselves waving the white flag of surrender and retreating to the safety of the car.

As we drove off I peered out the window wanting desperately to confront our attackers. I know they were there, I could here them laughing. But the squadron remained as invisible as a stealth bomber. They don’t call them No Seeums for nothing.

Silly Girl

As I've mentioned previously little Miss Allie does NOT like to have her picture taken. She says cheese with a silly, cheesy grin and never looks at the camera. She puts her head down and most often she just turns on her heel and stalks off. That's what makes this little series of Allie shots all the more special. I think we bribed her with chocolate, but mostly her Pappy stood behind me and made her giggle and even laugh out loud.

I'll take what I can get whenever I can get it!

Sweet Home Alabama

They say you can’t go home again, but it sure is fun to visit. We spent the last five days visiting with family, reconnecting with old friends, and trying to avoid getting lost in the community we once knew so well.

We called Madison, Alabama home for fifteen years. We raised our boys there, helped start a church there, made a lot of friends, and left a piece of our hearts there when we moved away. And like most good intentions, we haven’t returned as often as we promised we would. But little Anna’s wedding changed all that and the prodigal children returned.

D told me I couldn’t make up for 13 years in a few hours, but I certainly tried. There were old friends and acquaintances to catch up with at the wedding and Sunday morning we were privileged to hear a concert presented by Asbury UMC’s C.H.R.I.S.T. choir who had just returned from their annual tour. S was a part of this 120-member youth choir during his junior and senior high school years. We ate lasagna that didn’t want to cook with B’s parents. (I think maybe we left it partially frozen in order to spend more time with them.) They are family in every sense of the word. And believe me when I tell you that there were not four prouder grandparents than the ones doting on Allie and Gabers on Sunday afternoon.

Then making good on a promise we spend our final two days with the Carboni family, first at their home in Birmingham and then at their lake house in Weedowi, AL. (Can you say country?) There was more laughter as old stories were told and new memories were created. Memories that will be brought out and dusted off for embellishment during future visits.

Yes, they say you can’t go home again. But is sure is fun to visit.

There are more Alabama pictures to come as soon as I clean the house and finish the laundry!!

Andersonville

On our way to Huntsville, AL for a wedding this weekend we decided to take the scenic route and do some exploring. Andersonville, Georgia is home to the Civil War’s largest Confederate prisoner of war camp and the National Prisoner of War Museum. You don’t have to be a Civil War buff to appreciate what transpired here during the final stages of that bloody war.

To quote the brochure “during the 14 months the prison existed, more than 45,000 Union soldiers were confined in the stockade. Of those, almost 13,000 died from disease, poor sanitation, malnutrition, over crowding, or exposure to the elements.” Those who perished were buried on the grounds, shoulder to shoulder in shallow trenches. Today those graves are marked in row after row of white marble headstones bearing only the number assigned to them at death, their name and the state they represented. It is a sobering and humbling site.

Union soldiers confined at Andersonville were forced to provide their own shelter, usually makeshift tents constructed from old blankets, and received little in the way of food and medical care. The small stream, their only source of fresh water, soon became contaminated and as the prison numbers grew so did the disease.

Looking out over the lush green hillside dotted with monuments, it is hard to imagine that 45,000 weary men once lived here in conditions so foul that almost 1/3 of them died as a result. Their presence permeates the air at Andersonville, begging us not to forget. Not to forget them or the cause they so courageously died for.

K-K-K Katie, Beautiful Katie

For the past month I have been taking a natural light portrait class. For the most part portraits just aren’t my thing. I love to take photos of children, especially Gabers and Allie, but serious portrait work is something I avoid. What prompted me to take the class you ask? (I know that’s what you’re thinking.) I was so impressed with one of the speakers at the St. Augustine Summit last month that I came home and signed up for his class.

It has been an interesting journey, especially the part that requires me to recruit models. I have a hard time asking people to pose. So it was with some anxiety that I knocked on my neighbor’s door Monday afternoon to plead my case. The proposal was this; her ten-year-old daughter Katie would pose for me and I in turn would gift her with a cd of 25 or 30 pictures as well as an 8x10 of her choice. She didn’t hesitate for a second and quickly agreed. Somebody hit the EASY button please.

Yesterday was the shoot and the picture you see above is part of the treasure trove of shots I took of this young lady. (Patch, I’ll hook you up the next time you come to visit.) In the end it was a win win for all of us. I got my assignment shots, Mom got pictures of her adorable daughter and Katie had fun playing America’s top model. Now if I could only find a victim for next week’s assignment.

But Grammy

Bed time is the best time of day if you are the harried parents of young children. It is also the golden hour. A sliver of time at the close of a busy day when it is just you and the child, a time when memories are created through silly conversation and a window to their soul is open if ever so briefly.

Bedtime with our little Princess is much like this. It is wrought with the routine of teeth brushing, good night kisses, and stalling. But once the rituals are completed and you snuggle into bed the magic begins. There is always a book to be read, or two or three, selected with thoughtful care and consideration. (I’m convinced the criteria for selection is based more on length than content.) This is usually followed by a song (or two or three). It is most helpful to have a working knowledge of the lyrics from Disney movies and Sunday school melodies. However, our little Princess loves music and her taste is quite eclectic. And then comes the conversation. The subject matter is also varied, ranging from movie characters to pets to dinosaurs and often to the human characters that pass through her life on a daily basis. On one particular evening we took turns creating diamonds on her bedroom walls through the magic of a small flashlight and the crystals dangling from the light fixture in her bedroom.

The problem is this; the Princess does not want the magic to end. And she is well versed in stall tactics and bedtime rituals designed to prolong the inevitable well into the night. I am convinced that her selection of bedtime administrator has less to do with her affection for said person but more likely who might be the easiest mark for her well honed charms. On our most recent visit that mark was me. Just close the deal her parents would say. That my friends is easier said than done. Night after night I attempted and failed to exit the room in a timely manner. But Grammy what about my water, but Grammy I need my bear, but Grammy lets talk about, but Grammy, but Grammy…..and on and on it would go until finally, FINALLY I would ever so slowly make my way to the door and when the moment finally came, when she had to stop talking to breathe I would quickly slip through the opening to freedom.

And as I closed the door behind me and tiptoed down the hall I could hear that sweet little girl voice growing fainter with each step still calling BUT GRAMMY.

Bermuda

Traveling is such great fun. But you must go home, eventually. We arrived on Marco late Monday evening. Tuesday the let-down set in. It is all related to unpacking, laundry, grocery shopping and cooking. Things one doesn’t do a lot of while traveling.

Bermuda was everything the travel brochures claim it to be. It is a quaint little island in the middle of the Atlantic with brightly colored homes and crystal clear turquoise water. The inhabitants are amazingly friendly considering their little paradise is inundated with tourists at this time of year. Just smile at one and you are likely to find yourself engaged in conversation with your new best friend. We met the Assistant Mayor of St. George who asked what took us so long to visit his beautiful country, a woman on a bus who shared her nightmare story of being yanked out of bed at 4:00 a.m. one morning and hauled off to jail for failing to pay a power bill several years previous. We coddled the baby of a sweet young couple waiting at the bus stop with us and shared the same bus with 50 or so middle school students heading home for the day.

It was an opportunity to get a taste of the real Bermuda. The one that huddles behind the dock yards and luxury hotels. The Bermuda of speeding scooters, secluded coves, bright pink buses and of course Bermuda shorts. In spite of the high cost of living and the isolation I believe I could live there. It was that beautiful.

On the Road Again

On the road again

Just can't wait to get on the road again

The life I love is makin' music with my friends

And I can't wait to get on the road again

On the road again

Goin' places that I've never been

Seein' things that I may never see again,

And I can't wait to get on the road again.

Other than the “making music” part, ole Willie pretty much nails my feelings these days.

Early Wednesday morning we packed up the beast, and headed north on I75. Our destination, Greenville, SC. We have a brief stop here to see the grandkids (be still my heart), and say good-bye to Henna. From here we will be moving on to Charleston where we catch our ship for Bermuda.

Bermuda has been on our “Bucket List” for several years now and this just seemed to be the time to make it happen. As usual we will have limited internet coverage for the next week so check back in after the 16^th. In the meantime enjoy a couple of photos from out little outing yesterday. We visited Whitewater Falls, just over the NC border. It was a perfect day for pictures and traveling. It’s a good thing too since we made a one hour trip into a 2+ hour drive. But we won’t dwell on that.

See you next week^. On the road again…

Dinner and a Sunset

When the phone rang early Friday morning, the voice on the other end asked if we liked pizza. Who doesn’t like pizza? Add to that an invitation to a dinner that I didn’t have to prepare and the deal was sealed in minutes. Seven o’clock was the time, Briarwood Court the address.

As we pulled up to the concrete block structure that currently occupies the designated location I had to smile. A less adventuresome soul might question the motive behind an invitation to dine here. The home is little more than a promise, a construction zone littered with discarded wood and piles of concrete. Remnants left behind when the foundation was poured.

We made our way through the debris and the maze of scaffolding and were warmly welcomed at the front entrance (sans door) by our hosts. At the rear of the house a make shift table was set with paper plates; coolers filled with cold beverages were perched on wooden planks, and a single small lantern provided the illumination. It all looked inviting. It didn’t take long to settle in to the meal, hot wings, steaming pizza, cold beer and great conversation with good friends. We were honored to be a part of their first dinner in their new home, and we toasted our good fortune and theirs.

After the meal we sat back and watched the main attraction unfold. A glorious sunset transformed the sparkling water of the bay that is their back yard. The evening sky moved from pink to red and back to pink again as the sun dipped low and finally disappeared behind silhouetted palms.

Looking back it was a perfect evening, cool breeze, good food, a beautiful sunset and the company of friends. It just doesn’t get any better than that.

Oh So Good

A few weeks back I wrote that Chris was coming for a visit and that there would be fish for dinner. I must be psychic (maybe I can get a job on the psychic hotline), because fish we did have.

It had been windy for several days prior to his arrival and the forecast for the weekend wasn’t promising. High winds equate to high seas and our little 24-footer just isn’t cut out for 4’ swells. But luck was on his side and Saturday not only dawned calmer but with an invitation to go off-shore fishing with our neighbor and some friends. It took less than 2-seconds to accept the invitation and a portion of the yield from that little expedition is shown above …can you say Lane Snapper? We had a feast on Sunday evening and even set aside enough for a second feast in Nashville on Tuesday. (Jennifer loves fish too.)

Sunday afternoon the fishing wasn’t nearly as lucrative, but the day was beautiful and all three of us enjoyed an afternoon on the water. There is nothing quite as relaxing as soaking in the warm Florida sun while skimming across the Gulf of Mexico or drifting along wherever the tide takes you.

Come back soon Chris. We miss you.

Once Upon a Dream

Our little princess has discovered Disney. Not Mickey and the gang, but Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, The Little Mermaid, Beauty and the Beast and the rest of the Disney princess movies. She sits mesmerized by the music, enchanted by the romance, and held captive by the battle of good vs. evil. It would be fascinating to peek inside her mind and watch the fantasy unfold through the innocent eyes of a 3-year old.

But the magic doesn’t end when the music stops and the credits roll. Within minutes you will find her head over heals buried deep in the treasure chest of princess paraphernalia that resides in her bedroom closet. Only to emerge once the proper princess evening attire is located, and suitable accessories uncovered.

As the ball gown settles into place and the “glass slippers” are fastened to her tiny feet the ground rules are explained. (Don’t all fantasies have rules?) First comes the waltz. Little girl and adult (whichever one she can charm into participating) begin to dance and twirl their way around the house singing ever so off –key…

I know you

I walked with you once upon a dream.

I know you

The gleam in your eyes is so familiar a gleam

Yes, I know it's true

that visions are seldom all they seem

But if I know you, I know what you'll do

You'll love me at once

the way you did once upon a dream

As the song ends, the little princess wriggles free from her partner and dashes out of the room leaving, of course, one tiny, glass slipper behind. It is now the prince’s duty to travel door to door in search of his one true love. Once she is found, and the glass slipper returned to its rightful owner there are giggles and smiles all around.

And then, the fantasy begins again, and again, and again……over and over the scene is played out until the little princess is finally exhausted. And if you are the privileged one who tucks her into bed that night, you will have the opportunity to reprise the song once more. And somehow you know that when those bright blue eyes finally close in sleep the little princess is dreaming of waltzes, and castles, and her one true love.... I know you. I walked with you once upon a dream.

The Glory Day

The day dawned bright and sunny, the air charged with excitement. It was the first day of softball practice for the Senior (over 55) Softball league and the first practice for him after a very long absence (20+ years). It’s an active league. The players arrive brattered and bandaged. The teams sponsored by local pharmacies and chiropractors with an occasional pub thrown in the mix.

For several weeks leading up to the big day the internet had been scoured in search of the perfect 14", outfielder, slow-pitch softball glove (his original lost in one of our many moves). Finally a decision was made and an order placed. So keyed up over the new purchase he had it shipped to Nashville where we were visiting over Easter. Upon arrival, the box was opened in the driveway and the new glove examined by its owner and the UPS man. Both awarded it two thumbs up. Several games of “catch” were scheduled in a bizarre turn of events that had the sons warming up the old man and giving him pointers. He was pronounced…rusty.

In addition to the glove, new cleats were purchased. In an effort to cover-up the lack of athletic activity in the past twenty years the shoes were worn in advance, dirt kicked onto the shiny toes.

At the prescribed time on this beautiful April morning he headed to the ball-park, new scuffed to perfection shoes on his feet and the soft feel of leather on his hand. He was ready, but was he worthy?

The story becomes a bit hazy from here but I will try my best to relay it to you as it happened. The first trip to the outfield energized him. He was twenty again, playing the game he loved so much in his younger years. With the crack of a bat a high-flying ball was heading his direction. Could he get it? He knew that he could. Waving off the center fielder he took off in a sprint and as the ball began its descent he knew what he had to do. After all, he was one of the youngsters on the team, and had everything to prove. Stretching those long Jimmy Stewart legs to their limit he reached out, invisioning the catch in his mind. And with his arm extended beyond normal limits he made the catch. When he dared look, the ball was cradled safely in the soft leather; the batter was out and the crowd was cheering.

But wait, what was that horrible searing pain tearing through his left thigh? Could it be? I’m afraid so. A torn hamstring.

The rookie has been benched. Confined to his recliner, with ice and an ace bandage. Wreathing in pain, all the while oiling his new glove. Reliving the glory of one perfect, career ending catch.

Photography Fun

Where does the time go? It seems like weeks since I last sat down to compose something for this site. Who am I kidding? It has been weeks.

I spent this past weekend in St. Augustine, Florida at a photography summit sponsored by BetterPhoto.com. BetterPhoto is a web site that I have been a part of for close to five years. I have taken several classes from them, obtained a wealth of information through forums, met some terrific people and made a few good friends along the way. A couple of times a year they take the show on the road and host these summits, which consist of one day of lectures and one day of shooting. The weekend is fun, entertaining, educational and inspirational all rolled into one package. My mind is reeling with information and ideas. I can’t wait to get out and do some shooting.

However there is one major drawback to these little outings. I now have a shopping wish list of attachments, software, lenses and other miscellaneous photography equipment that would make poor Santa’s head spin. I think a need a job.

Alive and Well

I am happy to report that I am alive and well and have not fallen off of the face of the earth! I returned from the trip 1/2 pound lighter. The only explanation for that was the stomach virus that also came home with me.

I am leaving this morning for a photography summit/workshop/conference in St. Augustine but I promise to get back in the groove next week. In the mean time enjoy my beautiful babies. Could we possibly love them any more?

Come Fly with Me

I went flying Wednesday morning. I knew that you wouldn’t believe it unless I had pictures to prove it. I know, I know, it makes no sense. No sense at all. I hate to fly. But it was amazing.

Late last Friday I received an invitation to go flying on Saturday morning. The invite was received too late for me to have time to react and I was not bummed at all about missing the outing. But high winds grounded the expedition and when it was rescheduled for Wednesday I had a decision to make. I determined that I could either live life or sit on the sidelines and watch. I accepted; surprisingly I had no regrets, nor attacks of panic.

Mid morning on Wednesday I found myself climbing into the back of a single engine (the thought of what could happen if that single engine decided to quit did cross my mind) Commander 4-seater. We taxied to the runway and as I sat observing the pilot completing the final flight check with engines roaring I had my moment. What the heck was I thinking flying 1,000’ above the earth in a tin can? I needed to have my head examined. But the moment passed and we were soon airborne. Before I knew it south Florida and the Gulf of Mexico were spreading out beneath me in a symphony of blues, turquoise and greens.

We turned south towards Marco Island and I got busy with the camera. Unfortunately the wind was a little too brisk and the sky a little too hazy to capture the scene in all of its glory. I might also add that I was in the “back” seat and had to shoot out over the wing. Although on request the pilot would dip the wing and allow me an obstruction free opportunity to get my shot. (This is my way of telling you the pictures are far from perfect.) The atmospheric conditions and technical issues didn’t keep me from the task at hand and I got a couple of photos that are quite representative of the day. I had done my research. (Aint the internet grand?) I knew I had to shoot at as fast a shutter speed as possible in order to compensate for the movement of the aircraft. I also added a polarizing filter to help cut the haze. It helped, but not enough.

I think I was too busy taking pictures and absorbing the beauty below me to give much thought to where I was and just what was keeping me there, suspended high above the treetops. It was a once in a lifetime opportunity. I am not only grateful for the chance to participate in the adventure but proud of myself for pushing away my fears and anxieties and for once grasping the brass ring. It is one of those memories I will carry with me always.

However, I can assure you that there will be no skydiving in my future.

Update: Sweeping Overhaul

I am fast approaching the 2-week point in the project and I am pleased to report I am 25% of the way to my goal. The evil scale told me I am down a whopping 5 pounds. I have added light weights to the dancing. Sometimes it doesn't work so well, but at least my arms are in motion. It is far too soon to be able to see any progress except for on the scale but I am pleased thus far.

We leave Monday to visit both of the boys. There are rough seas ahead.

I Can Taste the Fish

C is coming today. He is taking a short break from the rigors and frustrations of job hunting in a rotten economy and is coming to south Florida to fish. I can almost taste the snapper.

He loves Florida. He loves the water. He loves to fish. And he is the only male member of my family who will actually keep some of his catch to bring home to Mama. (He cleans them too.) He has some sort of inbred thing about the water (actually both of my boys do). For the next 3 days our boat can be spotted darting around the islands to the south, fishing the fertile grass beds found there, or drifting 8-miles off-shore. The captain will be reeling in snapper and hopefully a grouper or two. C can leave the house before sunrise and stay out on the water until after sunset and not find it unusual. His frustrations lie in the difficulty he has finding crew for his marathon fishing trips. His love of the sea is an amazing thing.

Yes, C is coming today. I can almost taste the fish.

Shark Valley

Last Friday we packed a lunch and headed south on SR41 through the Everglades towards Miami. I was excited because we were finally moving past our usual swamp haunts to a place I had been itching to explore, Shark Valley. I believe this is a misnomer. No, I know that it is a misnomer. There are no sharks at Shark Valley, a lot of birds and alligators, but no sharks. But I digress.

Shark Valley is one of three entrances to Everglades National Park and it offers a view of south Florida wildlife up close and personal. We didn’t venture too far into the park as we were advised by rangers that the better photo ops were close to the entrance. D was relieved at this bit of news as he was beginning to develope hives at the thought of a 7-mile round trip hike through the wilderness. There was a tram available for an additional fee, but since it wouldn’t stop for photo ops we limited our sight seeing to the area recommended by the friendly ranger. We weren’t disappointed.

I wish I were more familiar with birds, (I am adding a book about Florida birds to my shopping list) because there were so many beautiful species that unfortunately neither one us could identify. One of those unidentifialbe critters was a thief too. It swooped down and snatched the Cheeto D was eating right out of his hand. We saw Great Blue Herons, Little Blue Herons, Green Herons (we learned this was a banner year for those cute little dudes), Cormorants, Ibis, Egrits and ALLIGATORS. Talk about up close and personal. The walking trail ran alongside a small stream. There was roughly a 4’ embankment between the path and the water and long about mid-morning those ginormous reptiles from the past began to rise up out of the cool water and plant themselves on the embankment to soak up a bit of the warm Florida sunshine. These fellows, and we know they were fellows since we were told the woman were busy tending their nests waiting for this seasons egg to hatch, were not well informed regarding the park rules. Especially the one that states that the walkway is for humans and the embankment for wildlife. They plopped down wherever they pleased sometimes almost blocking the trail. And no one, and I mean no one asked them to move. We found it a bit intimidating at first, but after a long conversation with our new best friend the friendly ranger, we relaxed and enjoyed the show.

Mr. Ranger told us that alligators usually only eat once or twice a week and mostly at night. He also advised that they were as much afraid of us as we were of them (ya think?), and that as long as we stayed about 15’ away from them there wouldn’t be any problems. We did and there weren’t.

I shot a lot of pictures, most not so good. My long lens, the one that is supposed to shoot nice close ups from far away, isn’t very good. It only allows me to shoot mediocre close ups from far away so the pictures aren’t the best. But I thought I would share a few of them with you; and tell you that if you are ever driving from Miami to Naples on SR41, when you get to the Micosoukie Indian Reservation you better slow down. It’s a speed trap. And since you are slowing down, why not make that turn into Shark Valley and do some exploring. I don’t think you will regret it and I know you will live to tell about it.

And most likely by the time you are ready to leave the nice Micosoukie tribe policeman will be having his lunch.

Disclaimer: No we didn’t get a speeding ticket.

When Two Become One

He has become his car. Do you think that is possible? It has been said that couples begin to look and act like each other the longer they are married. Can this happen with your vehicle? After all he is married to the thing in a manner of speaking.

When D was still gainfully employed he had a company car. In order to entertain customers in style his boss, who was no longer able to drive, furnished D with a shiny, black, Cadillac DTS. The big Daddy. The type of vehicle driven by old men who live in Florida. When the company sold last year, D inherited the car. I’m not complaining, it was a wonderful gesture. But this thing is a beast. It is so big it beeps when it backs up. It is so big that when we travel, it’s almost like being at home. We can ride for hours on end and never see each other.

But here’s the thing, D has taken on his car’s persona. For example, the other day as we were exiting the grocery store and waiting to pull out of the parking lot, there was a landscape truck towing a trailer heading in the opposite direction. Most normal people would have realized that there wasn’t enough room to enter the roadway until the truck passed by. But in typical old man in a big a$$ car fashion he plowed ahead. Forcing his way into the intersection like an old woman at an underwear sale at Bloomies, tires up over the curb, forging ahead, intimidating anything that had the nerve to get in his way.

I won’t even tell you about the time he was exiting a parking space at the movie theater and someone honked at him to hurry up. Let’s just say it wasn’t a pleasant scene. The beast and its owner have become one and they are a force to be reckoned with.

Maybe I should buy him a Corvette.

Call for a Sweeping Overhaul

The time has come for the ride to end. This roller-coaster that I am holding onto for dear life is reaching a low point and I think I’ll jump off while I can. Translated, that means it is time to make healthier choices about the quality and quantity of food that enters my mouth. (You did notice how I conveniently avoided the “diet” word didn’t you?)

I love to eat. It’s a simple as that. I not only love to eat, but I love all of the wrong things. Pasta, oh yea baby, give me a plate of spaghetti or some mac and cheese and I’m in hog heaven. Mashed potatoes? Bring em on. Fresh baked bread dripping with butter? Who can resist? Fruit? I think I’ll pass. Fresh vegetables? Boring. (I see your heads bobbing up and down, you know what I’m talking about.)

But it has gotten out of control in the past 18 months and it’s time I put my foot down and reign in the munchies. Kind of like our new President reigning in the financial system. I read this morning that he has called for a sweeping overhaul. That’s what I’m doing, calling for a seeping overhaul of myself. It’s all about control. A gene obviously lacking in my DNA, along with the ones for long, graceful legs and slim hips. (Who do I talk to about that anyway?)

I told D this morning that when I die, on the off chance that I get to meet God face to face, I’m going to ask him why he created these tempting treats if they aren’t good for me. D is in the middle of reading the “Shack” and informed me that I would be told that I had free will and it was all about choices. So much for spousal support.

This whole dancing thing got me motivated. It’s fun and I’m actually moving and not in the direction of the refrigerator. So I have decided to put it out here. Make a public declaration so to speak, if you can call the ten people who actually read this the public, and state my intentions to lose 20 pounds. Again. This way I am committed. I will keep you updated weekly on my progress or lack thereof.

If there is no report for two weeks running, you can assume I fell off the wagon and am stuffing myself with spaghetti and chocolate chip cookies.

Stella Lost Her Groove

It certainly is quiet around here. For the past four days there has been no one in the house except for Henna, D & myself. The beds are all clean and tidy. There is no daytime television and the dancing has ceased. (Well not really, it is rather addicting, but it was much more fun when SHE was here.) Henna wanders aimlessly looking for someone to scratch her back and D has no one to force food upon or fuss over. For forty-eight hours it was rather pleasant. After all we have had a steady diet of houseguests since early February. But now I’m finding the solitude annoying. I guess I lost my groove and I don’t know how to get it back.

Maybe it’s time to visit the grandchildren.

Key West and Thoughts in Between

Amid all of the dancing last week we managed to sneak in a trip to Key West. If you have never had the pleasure of visiting the Florida Keys and Key West, you are missing out on some of the prettiest scenery in the continental USA as well as some spectacular people watching to be sure.

We left early, sort of, as early as we could considering we had to drop Henna off at dog jail, visit the bank, the drug store, and….well you get the idea. We were running late. Of course time loses all meaning once you are retired, it’s all relative.

We stopped first to view the alligators, which had congregated at the visitor’s center in the Everglades. One little guy was putting on quite a show for the small crowd that had gathered. Something would catch his attention and he would quietly sink below the surface, those big, bulging, black eyes the only thing visible above the water. Quickly and silently he would glide through the murky stream. Then BAM, before you could say fish dinner, he would raise himself up out of the water, and plunge below the surface, emerging seconds later with an unsuspecting fish flopping helplessly in his massive jaws. Soon there was a loud crunch and the poor fish was quickly put out of its misery. I guess it’s a good thing to be at the top of the food chain.

We continued on our way, heading south through the keys. In some areas there is water on both sides of the highway, the Atlantic Ocean on the left, the Gulf of Mexico on the right. Key West and all of the sights, sounds and smells the tiny island town has to offer was our ultimate goal. Our stay was short, a mere 24 hours, but it is always fun. It is home to some of the best people watching this side of the Mississippi and I love sharing the experience with Key West rookies.

What follows is a random collection of thoughts that crossed my aging mind as the mini vacation unfolded:

- Just how many shades of turquoise can there possibly be in one body of water?

- Does the 5-second rule count on a picnic table?

- Pelicans are such opportunists.

- If we don’t get to a bathroom soon there is going to be a problem.

- Is the Seven Mile Bridge really seven miles long? Maybe we should clock it next time.

- What is that big, black cloud doing hovering overhead, it hasn’t rained in months.

- Young girls in short shorts and pasties should be ignored.

- Why is there only seating for 3 in a place that sleeps 4?

- Street performers have chosen a hard way to make a living.

- I knew it was more than a seven-block walk back to the hotel.

- Does Jimmy Buffet ever just randomly show up at Margaritaville?

- I could have sworn that man in the wheel chair whose picture I snapped was supposed to be Ernest Hemingway.

- Is the southern most point really the southern most point?

- I hope nobody spills the coffee, I only brought enough for one pot.

- Is that bar outside our bedroom window actually going to stay open until 4 a.m.?

- Do these people act this way when they are at home?

- Did God have directions when he created all of this beauty or did he just know what to do?

Until next time....

The Dancing Queen

She arrived last Saturday, legs a little wobbly from the flight (fear of flying), and more than happy to be earthbound once again. Her suitcase was small, carry-on size and I marveled that she was able to pack all of the female necessities for an entire week in that pint sized bag. So you can imagine my surprise when she emerged from the bedroom with software in hand and a large “blanket” tucked under one arm.

I sat spellbound, mesmerized by the scene that unfolded. She worked quickly, loading her software into the Wii and unrolling her bundle, which turned out to be a 4 x 4 foot pad marked with bold arrows and letters. She turned, smiled at me and stated matter of factly, “it’s time to dance.” And dance she did.

With music blaring at decibel levels not heard at our house since the boys left home, she began to bounce, slowly at first, picking up speed as she caught the beat. Moving at times with the speed of light, feet flying, jumping and spinning, tapping left, then right, up, down and around until I became dizzy just watching. It was a sight to behold, this fifty something woman moving with the speed and the agility of a teen. It was down-right depressing to this overweight and out of shape grammy! The dancing continued for hours that turned into days. It was an endless stream of manic activity. The woman never tires. She is a virtual perpetual motion machine fueled only by Miller 64s. When she needed a break she grabbed an all natural, calorie free, Boca Burger and headed out for a 3-mile jog on the beach. Try and live with that for a week.

But I have to admit my interest was piqued. After all, I’m not much older than she. I could do this, couldn’t I? It looked like fun, not a work-out at all. A late night run to the local Wally World, scored my very own dancing machine. And there we were, side- by-side, movin and groovin the hours away. She was graceful and quick. I was clumsy and slow. But I wasn’t giving up. Stubbornness and stupidity rule when faced with a challenge such as this.

D & J were around some place. I think. Someone must have fed them. Perhaps it was the neighbors. I’m just not certain; it was difficult to focus on anything but the dance. For six glorious days I had rhythm.

She’s gone now. Left this morning. There are no more Miller 64s in the frig. The music has died. My back aches, my ankles are swollen and I can barely stand upright but it was great fun while it lasted.

The Assignment

I am involved with an on-line photography site, BetterPhoto.com. I have taken several classes with them and met some wonderful people who have moved into the realm of friends. Currently there is a membership status on BP that operates somewhat like a class, although not officially one. Confusing, I know, but it works. We receive monthly assignments, which we complete then sit back and wait (and hope) for feedback.

The assignment for March in it's most basic form was to visualize the shot, plan ahead, think about the scene, what you want the end result to look like, what time of day, what lens, what f-stop and shutter. All things photographers should be considering if attempting to capture the grand scenic. The famous Ansel Adams was used as an example. Now here is the real kicker, in this day of digital cameras and cards capable of hundreds of exposures, we were asked to limit ourselves to our smallest card.

When I first read the assignment I really didn't read it, if you know what I mean. Maybe interpret would be a better word. At any rate, along came a fellow participant who publicly stated his intent to limit himself to three shots, much like Mr. Adams in the example we were given. While I knew I wouldn't strangle myself completely with the 3 shot limit, I decided to approach it as if I had one roll of film with 12 exposures. Remember the old days? Well let me tell you, I stressed over this assignment for a couple of weeks. I thought a lot about the subject, the time of day, the lens, the shutter, etc. I checked the sunrise times and the tide tables. I stressed some more. After all I had one chance to get it right and folks I'm just not that good.

Friday was the big day. All systems were go and let me just say that I was a nervous wreck. I didn't sleep well the night before and I had giant butterflies fluttering around in my midsection. We (D tagged along as my trusty assistant and body guard) arrived on the scene as daylight was dawning. And after a few minutes of panic, when every bit of photo and camera knowledge I had accumulated in the past ten years fled my aging brain, I settled in and began to shoot. I am pleased to say I got my best shots in the first four frames. I am not happy to admit that most of the others were throw-aways, cast-offs destined for the recycle bin on my trusty Mac.

I did learn a lot about myself as a photographer in the process. I learned that I can capture my vision, or at least an acceptable version of it. I learned that I will enjoy this all-consuming hobby of mine more if I slow down and treat each exposure with the same care I would have in the old days when the cost of film and processing was at stake. In other words make each shot count. Of course all of this wonderful new-found photo philosophy flies out the window when faced with the grandchildren. There is just no way that I can think as fast as they move.

Helplessness and the Harem

Our Golden Girls are gone now. They have flown the coupe so to speak, taken the silver bird back to Pittsburgh and temperatures well below 50 degrees. It was a reluctant departure. South Florida has been serving up some spectacular weather the past two weeks and the arthritic bones of our houseguests were settling in quite nicely. And while we will miss them and the comic relief they provided, it will be good to get things back to normal. At least until Saturday when the next round of travelers swoop in like an arctic blast of cold air! (Just kidding R & J, really I am.)

I can’t however, let the Golden Girls and Goldy in training (my sister has been here for the past week) pass into houseguest history without recording for posterity the final days of their visit.

It appears that the damsel in distress gene carried by we females does not diminish with age. In fact I’m convinced it grows stronger with each passing year. Over the weekend D was playing assistant carpenter to a friend of ours up to his eyeballs in windows. The girls and I stopped by to check out their handy work and tour the home currently under construction. Now as most of you know one of our “girls” has a bit of a mobility problem and the sandy ground we were about to tread was littered with mounds of dirt and construction debris. A fractured hip mine field if ever I saw one. However, Goldy Junior’s offer to assist was met with a stern and inflexible “I don't need help.” Off she went, plodding along, cane in hand, teetering precariously, but stubbornly on unforgiving arthritic limbs. UNTIL, she was spotted by our friend, who scurried to her rescue, offering assistance and escorting her to the safety of the house. At this point our willful octogenarian, looked up at the tall knight on his white steed, batted her eyes, smiled her sweetest smile and greedily latched on to the offered arm. And in a voice dripping honey thanked him profusely for coming to her rescue, all the while looking coyly over her shoulder at those of us bringing up the rear. There was no mistaking the look of self-satisfaction that was firmly in place.

The “bubbas,” also claiming helplessness, managed to win a couple of games of Wii bowling from the younger set. It may have been beginners luck, but the truth was in the score. The rest of us are far too competitive to give them the game, the wins were legit. The highlight of the evening occurred when Goldy Junior began receiving advice from our seniors on how to improve her game. (Well one senior anyway!)

The recounting would not be complete without a big thank you to D, who gets the husband and host of the year awards for entertaining four women over the course of the past few weeks. His Harem, although advanced in years, are all young at heart and eagerly followed wherever he lead.

Deviled Eggs and the Lady in the Mirror

They don’t call them “deviled” eggs for nothing. Those tasty little delights can be a devil to make as I found out yesterday.

It seemed like a simple task, to whip up a dozen or so to take to dinner last night. After all, most people like them and their sunny yellow appearance on the dinner table always brightens up the landscape. I boiled the eggs, set them to cool in cold water and doused them with ice to speed the process. But when I went to peel the little suckers the shells just wouldn’t budge. You know what I’m talking about; I know that you do. It was as if mama hen had Super Glued the shell to the white on every single one of them. I could hear her cackling as I worked to remove the shell bit by tiny bit. “You take that you greedy human, that’s what you get for stealing my babies.” After hours of labor, (ok maybe not hours, but it was a long time) I stood back to inspect my work. What I saw was not twelve sleek, shiny, white eggs, but 12 pitted, and pock marked orbs. Some so badly scarred that there wasn’t enough white left on them to contain the yolk. It was down right pitiful. But at that point I was committed. There was no turning back. So off I went to dinner with my humble platter of deviled eggs. They looked like a bedraggled collection of cheerleaders with the perky ones dressed in yellow standing proudly on the legs of a dozen white clad men battered and badly mauled by the Grizzly that had escaped from the local zoo.

And talking about escapees from the zoo….when we entered the home of our host last night one of MY house guests became very excited to see someone she recognized in the crowd and shared that with the others in attendance. (Although she was a bit disappointed that the woman was wearing the same blouse.) Turns out she was correct. But much to her dismay, on closer inspection she found that the woman she thought she recognized was non other than her very own full-length reflection in the mirrored wall of the dining room.

Don’t laugh you’re going to be old one day too.

Babe

He’s a button pusher, my biggest frustration, and a thorn in my side. He knows me better than anyone else, and he loves me. He is my biggest cheerleader, always encouraging me to move forward with whatever endeavor I’m pursuing. He is Dad, Pappy, and Babe. He is intelligent, thoughtful, and kind. He can’t spell to save his life. He never puts his shoes away and watches cable news for hours on end. He puts up with me and my daily eruptions. I would not be the person I am without him in my life and I am always uplifted by the example he sets. He is the fixer, the rock and the anchor of our family. I love him more than he will ever know and can’t imagine life without him; and today is his day. Happy Birthday Babe.

Golden Nuggets

Week one of our visit with the Golden Girls is quickly coming to a close. We are enjoying our time with the ladies and it never ceases to amaze me how much one can glean from their elders.

In fact in just six short days I have learned the following:

- growing old gracefully requires a sense of humor

- you are never too old to play the Wii

- when you go shopping it is a good idea to keep the shoes you would like to purchase in their box; if you carry them around the store and set them down to examine a second pair it is helpful and time saving to remember where you put them.

From Diapers to Depends

There has been a dynamic shift in the median age at our house from last week to this. The babies were delivered safely back to SC on Sunday and yesterday our Mothers arrived from the frigid hinterland of western PA. It was a mad scramble on Monday washing sheets, mopping up apple juice and stowing away toys but we managed.

The “bubbas” (as we fondly refer to them) are enjoying day 1 of their annual 3-week pilgrimage. Their needs are few and they require little in the attention department. At 88 and 90 years young our Golden Girls have a deep appreciation for the finer things in life. An occasional seafood lunch or dinner, a shopping trip to our local Bell’s Outlet and a steady diet of warm Florida sunshine are all they desire. Most days are spent on our lanai (porch for those of you not familiar with Florida speak) soaking up those inviting rays, reading a book or working a cross-word puzzle.

However, over the years we have established a few “house rules” for the girls. They go something like this:

1. Please, don’t soak your dentures in the kitchen.

2. Your cane is to be used only for walking assistance. Do not hit the dog with it.

3. Hearing aides are to be worn at all times, replace batteries frequently.

4. If you repeat the same story more than 5 times at dinner you may be asked to leave the table.

And lastly

5. If you drink beer with the neighbors while we are out, please refrain from tossing your empties into the canal. It draws unwanted attention from the authorities.

Disclaimer

If you believe you are seeing more photos of Gabers than A, you would be correct. The reason has nothing to do with favoritism, just so you know. It has every thing to do with cooperation. She is a 3-year old perpetual motion machine who has learned the ways of the adult world. Translated means she does not like to have her picture taken and vehemently exercise her voice in such matters.

He on the other hand stays where you put him and smiles on command. At least he did until two days ago, at which time he discovered how to coordinate his 7 months old arms and legs in such a manner that he is now mobile. Dogs live in fear and the coffee table has been banished to the garage. Yes, he is crawling and pulling himself up to stand whenever the opportunity arises. Grammy & Pappy are delighted that this has taken place on their watch. They can't wait for Gabers to show off his new moves to his unsuspecting parents. We will smile broadly as they pull away from our house contemplating how they will now deal with this new eventuality. Ok, I admit it's payback. And it's oh so sweet.

Is it Saturday Yet?

It is 9:15 p.m. A is tucked in tight and Gabers is FINALLY resting quietly. It is unfortunate I will be waking him in 45 minutes for his evening bottle. Unfortunate because I am struggling to keep my eyes open and D has already gone to bed.

I have been to the zoo, the spray park, the playground, the pool, and the beach. I have fabricated sand castles and hauled water from the gulf to fill the moats. I have crawled through the playland at McDonalds, slid down the slides at our local park, watched Cinderella twice and the Little Mermaid once (the week’s not over yet). I have cooked plain noodles for dinner 3 times and worn carrots on my shirt. I am an expert at making play dough spaghetti and I almost have the crocodile book memorized. In short I am EXHAUSTED and Saturday is a distant 3 days away.

I have also had the privilege of experiencing the arrival of two new teeth, the first tentative advances toward crawling (and getting better every day), bedtime prayers, and a 3-year old imagination that is creative and adventuresome.

If I could get both of them to take a nap at the same time I just might survive to see Saturday's arrival.

Morning Coffee Journal

I’m delighted to report that morning coffee with Gabers has resumed. We have a lot of catching up to do as it has been three months since our last rendezvous. Two new teeth are popping through red and swollen gums. He is managing the pain as best he can but he does like to cuddle more than usual. No complaints here. He finds his big sister quite entertaining and laughs loudly and often at her antics. He is also beginning to become quite attached to his Mommy, but has agreed to hold off on that drama until she returns on Saturday.

I have missed these early morning chats, just Gabers, his bottle, me, and a dog or two checking in. I plan to saver each and every one because I know they will be short lived. Soon he will be giving up his bottle for a big boy cup and sleeping longer into the morning. And even if he doesn’t remember our time together, I know that I always will.

Childish Things

As adults we no longer see the finer things in life, yet alone enjoy them. Seriously, when was the last time you took giddy delight in a bathtub near to overflowing with billowing clouds of white bubbles or beating those towering puffs into submission with your magic sword just so you could start the jets and do it all over again? Or run around the house wet and naked just because you could. (Ok, so maybe we better not go there.) But you get the picture.

We should all have the privilege of spending time in the company of children. Children who laugh freely at whatever tickles their funny bone, who sing loudly and off key and who love unconditionally. Children not yet burdened by the inhibitions of an adult world. Children who make us remember the good things in life and who entice us to act like the children we once were, complete with chocolate milk moustaches and dirty knees.

Thank you Allie.

They're Here

They're here. Let the fun begin.

They're Coming; Must Get Sleep

They’re coming. In just two days, they will be here. Must get sleep. Must get lots of sleep. A & Gabers & Izzy arrive in Florida on Wednesday evening and Pappy and Grammy are gosh darned excited. Henna would be too if she understood.

Their parents are taking a page out our playbook and going cruising. We get the munchkins for a whole week. Plans have been made for visits to the zoo, the spray park, the beach, and the pool; spoiling them rotten so they will always want to return; and showing them off to anyone and everyone on the island. I’m almost certain posting will be limited for the duration of the visit. If I have the time, I won’t have the energy. However check back anyway there may be a snap shot or two or fifty chronicling their stay. You won’t believe how much Gabers has grown.

They’re coming. In just two days, they will be here. Must get sleep. Must get lots of sleep.

The Pretty White Tents

In recent years I have given strong consideration to participating in one or more of the numerous arts and craft fairs that pop up all over south Florida at this time of year. You know, the ones with the pretty white tents all lined up enticing unsuspecting shoppers to open their wallets and part with their hard earned cash?

I did some investigating into the matter and found that one had to purchase one of those pretty white tents to even be considered as a vendor. Do you have any idea how much those things cost? In addition, one must submit a photograph of one’s “display” in their pretty white tent as part of the approval process. Once approved, one then has the pleasure of paying the organizer somewhere between $150 and $300 up front for the privilege of erecting their pretty white tent in the show. Since there is absolutely no guarantee that one will be able to cover the cost of admission in sales, yet alone make any money on the event, it seemed prudent to drop the matter entirely.

This weekend I finally had the opportunity to participate in one such show at no cost. Six “artists” shared one 10x10 tent. Can you say crowded? There were four painters, one fabric artist and one photographer (me, in case you hadn’t guessed). We convened at 7:30 a.m. on Friday morning, arranged and rearranged our wares in our tiny quarters all the while sending anxious gazes skyward as the storm clouds gathered. We took turns manning the store, keeping each other company and sharing a cup of coffee or two. As the foreboding cold front crept ever closer we donned sweatshirts and dashed for cover a few times to avoid the rain. Fortunately, precipitation was limited to a couple of short bouts of misting rain and the show went on. The same process was repeated on day two. There were two major differences: 1) the sun was shining; 2) the temperature was much lower and the wind was brisk. To compensate we donned several more layers of clothes, dragged our chairs into the warm sunshine and increased the intake of coffee. We watched couples strolling arm in arm, groups of women sharing a laugh while on the hunt for a good deal, and children impatiently tugging on the arms of the adults who dared to stop and browse. They all had one thing in common. They weren’t spending any money.

And so it went. For two long days we sat. And waited. Waited for someone, anyone to wander into our pretty white tent. We didn’t pounce when they did. We learned early on that as long as we were in the tent no one else would cross the threshold. We tried the hard sale, the soft sale. But all we got was the no sale.

I am now cured. I will no longer stare longingly at all the pretty white tents lined up to entice unsuspecting shoppers to open their wallets and part with their hard earned cash. Because now I know, I know the truth about the pretty white tents. No one and I mean NO ONE opens up their wallets and parts with their hard earned cash. We thought perhaps it might have been the weather. In fact we’re pretty certain that their wallets were frozen shut.

Success

As June and retirement approached I promised myself that I would get out and shoot photographs on a regular basis, twice a week to be exact. Maybe I should add it to the New Year’s resolutions in the top drawer of my dresser because it hasn’t happened. It could have. But it didn’t, not until this week. Accompanied by my trusty assistant, tri-pod holder extraordinaire, and default re-setter, I finally managed to accomplish that goal.

Monday morning an attempt was made to replicate a photograph that has always been one of D’s favorites but was lost in the crash of 06. The light was right; the tide was not. It didn’t really matter. I had fun sloshing around in the mud under the bridge basking in the glow of first light and came home reenergized. Motivated to try new things and find fresh approaches to what has become mundane and stale over the past few years.

The weather has been near perfection and this morning the thick fog gave way to warm sunshine as we breezed down Route 41 and into the glades. I had a couple of ideas I wanted to try. Marsh birds were feeding and gators were everywhere. My ideas didn’t work so well. Let me rephrase that, my ideas were good; my technique was not. I think I’m a bit rusty or perhaps have just gotten sloppy. Either way, the pictures did not work.

I know what you’re thinking. How can she possibly be rusty when she is always taking pictures. But I am, was. That contrasty morning light has always given me grief and I left the polarizer at home, which would have helped cut the glare on the water and…you don’t care do you? That’s ok. I’ll get it right next time and then we will all like the end results.

Travelers, Part III

There has been a confession. Apparently my Mac IS invincible, it’s my husband who is human. I am still not certain I comprehend the chain of events that led to the “error” message that led to the demise of all of the software on our computer. But apparently a message appeared stating that there was a problem with a link and (here’s the important part) did he want to reset the defaults. A simple click yes and poof it was gone, two years of concentrated effort to be organized. Now I’m a forgiving kind of a girl and he’s a handy kind of a guy to have around, so I’m giving him a pass on this one. Just so you know.

Now back to Central America.

On day seven we found ourselves portside in Puerto Limon, Costa Rica. Looking back it is hard to believe we had such a difficult time settling on a shore excursion. In fact we almost passed. That would have been a mistake as this turned out to be one of the best days of our trip.

Costa Rica is a country of coffee and banana plantations, beautiful coastlines, and a dense tropical rain forest. We hopped an antiquated passenger train and set off through the jungle. Our fearless leader for the day was a 14-year veteran as a flight attendant for a major airline and had a sense of humor that would make Jay Leno proud. As our train chugged along inching its way through the jungle, we tried to peer into the dense foliage. But like a pea soup fog, the growth was so thick you could barely see 3-feet in front of you. Sporadically we would come to a standstill when something of interest was spotted along the route; a 3-toed sloth suspended upside down from a tree branch catching some zzzzs; hollering monkeys high overhead swinging from branch to branch screeching their encouragement for us to move along; and termite nests the size of basketballs encircling the trunks of trees that most likely wont’ be standing upright for long. Occasionally we passed a small clearing with a plywood shack hanging precariously from spindly stilt legs. A place someone called home. At one of these clearings the train ground to a stop and we were encouraged to disembark for a short walk to the beach. It was well worth the trek through the mud when the path widened and the broad expanse of charcoal colored sand came into view. They were waiting for us, the natives, but no hard sale here; just a friendly hello, welcome to our country, would you like to try a bite of coconut fresh from the tree?

We learned that education is Costa Rica’s number one priority. That they have 4% laziness rate (our guide’s version of unemployment) and that Costa Rica fights the battle of the illegal immigrant just as we do. Their invasion comes from the north, from Nicaraguans anxious to do a day’s work for a day’s pay. We learned that Dole, Chiquita and Del Monte are not only household words, but household supporters, that a banana tree only bears one bunch of fruit in its lifetime and the proper way to ripen bananas is to wrap them in newspaper and put them in a dark cupboard. We learned that Costa Ricans are a proud people with a fierce love of country. I would like very much to return again one day.

Day eight was another 24 hours spent rocking to the tune of 15-foot seas. Some were queasy but mostly we all just smiled as we staggered from place to place.

George Town Grand Cayman was our stop on day nine. We had once again returned to the land of white beaches and turquoise water. And since this was a repeat visit for us, we decided to spread our wings and venture outside of George Town. The Cayman’s have English roots, which translated means they drive on the wrong side of the road. We visited a rum factory, a pirate’s cave, Hell (yes, there is a town called Hell), and even stopped at the highest point on the Island, a whopping 60’ above sea level. Tourist traps all. We learned that hurricane Ivan devastated the western side of the island, taking ½ mile of real estate with it when it blew out to sea. We learned that there are approximately 200 banks in the Caymans (got some cash you need to stash?) and almost double that number of churches; that tourism keeps the economy buzzing; and that Hell’s not so bad. All in all it was a pretty good day.

Day ten was spent lamenting the fact that it was day ten and the port of Miami was our next destination, watching the Steelers clench the AFC championship and another trip to the Super Bowl, winning a couple of bucks in the casino (well D did, not me) and lamenting the fact that it was day ten.

Be a traveler not a tourist. We heard these words on one of our first cruises, have taken them to heart and live by them wherever we go. It is a privilege to visit foreign countries, places I thought I would only read about in the newspaper or in a history book. And while some of these places don’t have the creature comforts of my home, they are inhabited by proud people deserving of my respect. Be a traveler, not a tourist and you will find fulfillment wherever your wanderlust takes you.

Macs are People Too

The computer gods have frowned upon me and I am now doing penance for some unknown infraction. I am convinced that the large white box sitting on my desk is human and more vindictive than Alexis Carrington. (Does anyone out there remember Alexis Carrington?)

It all started Thursday evening when for some unknown reason our internet main page reverted back to Apple. No Comcast, no Yahoo, no bookmarks. All gone. It was a minor setback, but a setback non-the-less. I mean how can I possibly remember the web addresses of all of the photography sites, blogs and other places of interest I visit on a daily basis. And then….

when Friday dawned, the full extent of the wrath that had been unleashed upon us was revealed. All of our software had seemingly been reset to its default position. It was as if overnight each and every program was uninstalled and reinstalled with the slate wiped clean. Now you may be thinking what’s the big deal? The software has not been damaged right? Right. It still functions the way its creators intended for it to function, right? Right. Well, I’ll tell you what the big deal is ….MY SETTINGS ARE GONE, MY LINKS AND KEY WORDS, MY ENTIRE PHOTO FILING SYSTEM IS GONE! Vanished like Amelia Earhart or the Girl Scout Cookies in my pantry. Two years of carefully labeling each photograph I downloaded with a key word that makes it possible to recall any photograph I may need at any particular time. Also gone are my personal settings in Photoshop and several sets of Actions that were purchased and loaded to assist me with post processing.

We have a Mac. These things are NOT supposed to happen to Mac users, only poor, pitiful PC users chained to Microsoft Vista. Oh yes, I’ve seen the commercials when Mac puts a whoopin on PC; and I have laughed. Laughed out loud, secure in my knowledge that Macs don’t get viruses. Macs don’t get runny noses or indigestion. So what the heck happened to my Mac? Or perhaps more to the point, who happened to my Mac?

At this juncture D came charging in on his white steed to help right the wrong that was done and found that he too had been victimized. Files were missing. Files were hiding. Files were visible in one location and not accessible in others. A virus scan was run and came back clean. I’m not convinced. Something or someone messed with my Mac and I demand that justice be served.

Admittedly there is good news. All files have been accounted for. They were hidden, had been relocated to new folders and it took awhile to locate them. This is nowhere near the disaster that occurred two years ago when we withstood our second hard drive crash in two years. We lost everything then. Thousands of photographs, some needed to see the bottom of the trash barrel, but many were priceless. It was a sad day. The day we turned our back on PCs. The day I learned a very difficult lesson…B A C K U P.

So for now I guess I’ll lick my wounds and start the slow process of rebuilding that library. I will continue to back-up each and every one of my files. I won’t laugh out loud anymore when Mac makes a fool out of PC. And I will no longer drink the Kool Aide of Mac's invincibility. But so help me if I ever get my hands on the culprit that did this to MY Mac I’ll…..well, you know.

News Bulletin

We interrupt our regularly scheduled travelogue on Central America to offer BIG CONGRATULATIONS to our resident genius, Patch. Patch has been recognized by his school board for OUTSTANDING ACADEMIC ACHIEVEMENT in his local academic games. I assure you the accolades are well deserved. I can also state with great confidence that I am NOT smarter than this 5th grader. Patch will be moving on to state competition in several categories. In addition, Patch is also our resident expert on all things football. He has not only mastered the off field rules, regulations and statistics but he plays the game as well. And that is what makes this young man so very special...he is not only brilliant but well rounded, down to earth and full of fun.

Congratulations Patch. You totally rock dude!

Travelers, Part II

The morning of our 6^th day had us up before dawn. Initially we gathered at the bow of the ship with many of our shipmates to wait for daylight and our turn to enter the Panama Canal. As darkness gave way we found ourselves inching ever closer to the first of the three locks on the Caribbean side of the canal. Two ships can navigate the locks at the same time and today was no exception. One of Holland America’s vessels entered on our port side (left) slightly ahead of us giving us the opportunity to see the canal operations first hand. Both ships were so large they barely squeezed into the chambers; we had a slim 12 inches on either side.

Once we were attached to the “engines” that would aid our navigation through the locks we moved to our balcony on a lower deck and settled in to watch and learn. The enormous gates closed, the locks filled with water, and slowly the ship was raised 80 to 100 feet to the level of the next lock. As the process was repeated three times we marveled at the engineering designed so long ago. While the canal operations have been upgraded with the benefit of modern technology, the lock system designed and put into operation in the early 1900s remains the same. As we looked out into the dense tropical jungle that crowds both sides of the route, we couldn’t help but think about Yellow Fever, Malaria and the many other obstacles in the path of completion.

We learned that our ship was charged close to $300,000 for the privilege of using the canal. And that is $300,000 CASH, paid in full prior to entering the first lock. Ships are assigned a date and time and if they are late arriving they not only forfeit their place in line but the toll that has already been paid to Panama. Talk about a cash cow! We learned that the water used to operate the lock systems is taken from Lake Gatun, a man made lake in the center of the canal. Currently there is no way to recycle the water needed to run the operation. All is dependent on the rainy season to replenish the water in the lake.

We ended our Panama Canal experience in Lake Gatun where we tendered into shore and boarded a bus for a trip to Colonial Panama City on the west coast. We saw substandard housing dotting the dense foliage but I have to say we did not see the level of poverty we expected to see. Panama seems to be thriving. There was construction at every turn and we had the impressions that work was available to those who wanted it.

In Panama City we transferred to smaller buses that would enable us to navigate the narrow streets of the old city. We had a quick stop at a local craft market (translation…tourist trap) and what I noticed here was the quality of the goods was much better than what we saw in Haiti and Colombia. Add to that the fact that prices were fair and vendors did not harass as they did in our previous stops. My interpretation was better quality of life.

In colonial Panama City we found contrast. Block after block of high-rise tenements where residents can live free of charge melted into blocks of beautiful French/Spanish homes, some restored, some in disrepair. Here we saw remnants of the U.S. invasion of Panama. But it was possible to visualize what the city had once been and has the potential to be again. We walked narrow streets lined with gift shops and private residences. We saw the French embassy sitting proudly in the same block as Manuel Noriega’s bombed out headquarters. The Pacific Ocean borders the sprawling city protecting the entrance to the canal from the west. It was a long bus ride east to Cristobel Pier where the ship was docked.

As I reflect on our day in Panama I found it informative, historical, interesting, beautiful and thought provoking. I would like to visit again some day.

Travelers, Part I

We’re home, safe, sound and a bit more worldly than we were a mere ten days ago, having been exposed to the realities existing outside of our own borders. I will start by saying we had a wonderful time. We met some lovely people (hello Aaron & Bonnie and Mark & Lisa), and saw some interesting places. We wined, dined and dropped a penny or two or three in the slot machines. We endured a couple of days of rougher than average seas, danced the night away to the tunes of the 50s and 60s, traveled in buses along substandard roadways, and soaked in the sun on tropical beaches. We awoke each morning to find a sense of adventure in the air and retired every night exhausted and awed by the experiences of the day. There are places I know I will never visit again, and if I were I honest would admit that I don’t want to visit again. Yet there are places I fell in love with and can’t wait to explore a second or third time.

The first stop on our itinerary was Labadee, Haiti. And while we may have been on Haitian soil, we did not visit Haiti. We spent a relaxing day in one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen. Picture if you will, the stereotypical tropical beach, crystal clear turquoise water, light sandy beaches, hammocks lazily swinging from swaying palm trees, and the lilting sounds produced by native musicians on handmade instruments. Haiti is a mountainous country whose lush green slopes dip gracefully to the sea. But great care was taken to hide the real Haiti from our tourists’ eyes. Rampant poverty and crime was carefully kept at bay behind barbed wire fences and security guards. The Haiti of the six o’clock news was not on our itinerary. I haven’t decided how I feel about that. But I can tell you that the Haiti I saw is one whose wealth resides in its natural beauty.

Following a second pleasurable day at sea, if not a bit rougher than normal, we docked in Cartagena, Colombia. A port that brings to mind romantic visions of Michael Douglas, Kathleen Turner and one very large emerald. Cartagena was anything but romantic. Fascinating, yes; romantic, no. We left the ship to peruse the old walled city. Built in the 1700s to protect the inhabitants from invasion, the wall may or may not have succeeded in defending the city from marauders but it has succeeded in keeping progress at bay. Along with detailed accounts of the Spanish Inquisition and the horror it wrought on many unsuspecting souls, we encountered street vendors who did not comprehend the word no. They pleaded, cajoled, begged and persisted when most would have packed up their bags and headed home. Sometimes it worked, most of the time it only succeeded in leaving a sour taste in the mouths of the travelers. We ventured into modern Cartagena where high-rise condominiums lined the streets adjacent to crowded beaches. We learned that the school-aged children were enjoying their last week of holiday before returning to class. We also learned that the relentless street vendors were not confined to the old city.

More to come…

Answering the Call

Once again we have surrendered to our demons, are feeding our addiction and answering the call to the sea. In other words, we are going cruising again. We leave this morning for Miami where we will board Royal Caribbean’s Jewel of the Sea for ten blissful days. Ten days of someone making the bed in the morning and turning it down at night. Ten days that someone else will do ALL of the cooking. Ten days of something to do every minute…or nothing to do at all.

It has been three long months since our cruise. And recently I have noticed twitching developing in both of us whenever one of the cruise line’s commercials danced across our television screen. Before long we would be in full-blown withdrawal, so it is best we indulge ourselves now and save everyone the embarrassment of that ugly scene.

And so we’re off. We are heading south, to Haiti, Columbia, Costa Rica, Panama and the Cayman Islands. Places with exotic names such as Labadee, Cartagena (remember Romancing the Stone), and Puerto Limon. I know that cruising affords only a quick snapshot of each stop. But one gets a sense of place and the spirit and pride of its inhabitants even in those few brief hours ashore.

Sprinkled among the ports of call are my favorite days of all…sea days. Picture me relaxing with a book on deck sipping a Pina Colada, winning big bucks in the casino or lazily watching the endless sea of deep blue drifting by my balcony, the new yellow camera bag faithfully at my side.

I will be thinking about all of you, wishing you could join me on this little adventure. But since that isn’t possible I will make the sacrifice and travel alone (of course D will be there too, wandering aimlessly from deck to deck exploring all the nooks and crannies of the our home away from home). I will however, lift a glass and make a toast in your honor.

Bon Voyage…see you in ten days.

It's Here!

Isn't she a beauty? She arrived early, late on Wednesday afternoon and she does not disappoint. I told you she is fun, fashionable, functional and FABULOUS! No one but you will ever know this is anything but a very stylish purse. Yea baby!!

Thursday is Only Two Days Away

I am getting a new camera bag. I am fairly certain that the idea of a new camera bag will not excite most of you, but for me it’s up there. I don’t need a new bag. I own 3 already. Which is why I have drooled over this one for almost a year before actually taking the plunge. I would place this little defect of mine right up there with coveting purses or shoes (well I do love shoes too). J collects purses. When she travels I swear she carries one suitcase that is filled only with purses. Hey, a girl’s gotta be fashionable doesn’t she? Wonder how she’s managing now that the airlines are charging for bags. (Note to self: ask J how she is dealing with new airline regulations.)

But this camera bag is special. It is fun, functional, fashionable and fabulous. It is also very trendy and doesn’t seem to be a camera bag at all. Out with the drab, masculine, black or gray bags of the past and in with fashion forward design. This bag was designed by a woman (Jill e) for a woman. This woman…ME.

I would post a picture to show you what a beauty she is, but she hasn’t arrived yet. Thursday is the day. On Thursday I will wait anxiously by the door for the big brown truck. (Sorry Queenie no FedEx for this delivery.) I will oohhh and aaawww over it, show it to D until he gets so annoyed he goes to the hardware store to escape. (He thinks I don’t know why he makes so many trips to Ace, who does he think he’s fooling?) I will arrange and rearrange my equipment. Explore all of the pockets and pouches and select just the right accessory for each one. Oh what a glorious day Thursday will be. I must cancel all other plans for that day. Because also on Thursday….

My new lens arrives too!

Happy Birthday Baby Girl

Our baby girl turns 3 today. How can that be? It was just last month that we waited anxiously by the phone for news of her arrival. And I know it was only last week that I gave her a bottle and tucked her into her crib with her mountain of blankets.

I have so many memories associated with this sweet little girl. (Well most of the time she is sweet, today not so much. She ran and hid when we Skyped her to sing Happy Birthday to her. I know we’re not very good, but the effort had to count for something!)

I remember:

Walking the floor with her trying to get her to sleep when she was just a few weeks old.

Digging out her passy from it’s hiding place (this is a confession) to get her to stop crying after her parents took it away from her. (Do you think when they read this that they will still let me keep them for a week next month?)

Tearing apart magazine after magazine at 6 months. It kept her occupied for long periods of time.

Watching her play in the sand on a beautiful Florida morning.

Jumping in the pool “I do it” all by herself for the first time and realizing that floaties on her arms would keep her from sinking.

Making a mess with our first ice cream cone together. It was all over both of us.

Straddling poor Henna like a horse and bouncing up and down.

Meeting her baby brother for the first time.

Jumping on the bed.

Monkey Joes

Stinky Breath

And saying “I love you Grammy,” just because she does.

I love this little girl, with her devilish blue eyes and bright smile. She is smart. She is witty. She is fun. She is shy. She is mischievous. She’s a princess and a tomboy all rolled into one. She is perfect.

Happy Birthday Baby Girl.

Resolutions and Procrastination

Goodbye 2008. Hello 2009, and hello New Year’s Resolutions. I don’t know how you deal with yours, but I actually keep my list of resolutions folded neatly in my dresser draw. Every year I carefully take it out, look it over, smile, fold it back up and return it to it’s resting place. I don’t have to read it. In fact I have it memorized. It never changes. That says a lot about my ability to sustain doesn’t it?

And always numero uno on the list is to lose 15 pounds and get into shape. I have actually succeeded in achieving this one from time to time. But invariably my resolve crumbles and the pounds creep back onto my hips and thighs. This usually coincides with little girls knocking on my door selling cookies. What is it about those cookies? I for one can’t say no to them even though the price per box is astronomical.

Retirement has also been on my list for a couple of years now and I believe I just might have accomplished this one in 2008. Hopefully it has been banished permanently. In it’s place I’m hoping that D will retire in 09 instead of pretending to like he did last year.

My list of resolutions isn’t long. I wouldn’t attempt to tackle it if it were. That doesn’t mean there aren’t a lot of things that need resolving in my life, it just means I’d prefer not to think about them. However my procrastinating has become a major issue for me. And it always remains at the top of the list right behind weight loss. I don’t know why I have such difficulty with this little personality quirk but it is one resolution I can put off confronting indefinitely. In fact it seems I make absolutely no headway from year to year. Which is why no one ever receives a birthday card or gift from me on time, (if they get one at all). And why I missed the deadline for the church newsletter this month; the laundry is piling up; and I am overdue for a trip to the dentist.

However it is a new year and I am hopeful. After all it’s only 3:00 p.m. on New Years Day. I haven’t over eaten yet and I am not going to be late wishing you a Happy New Year. I hope 2009 brings you health, happiness and a visit from me! That is if I get the laundry finished, my teeth cleaned, and D really does retire.

Happy New Year everyone.

Winter Wonders

As much as this pains me to admit, I just might make a good snowbird. Aaaach, I’ve said it, (but don’t tell anyone). During the months of November and December I pine for cold weather. I love frost on the ground so heavy that it crunches when you walk on it. I love inhaling cold air and exhaling those little puffs of mist that drift off like clouds on a summer day. I enjoy bundling up in heavy coats and sweaters. And who doesn’t love sitting by the fire on a cold snowy evening?

But come December 26^th it’s over. My longing departs, lifted like a heavy fog dissipating in the morning sun and exposing all of the wonderful things Florida has to offer at this time of year…sunshine, 80 degree days, no humidity, more sunshine, cool ocean breezes, white sandy beaches, emerald green water (sometimes) and still more sunshine. I hate the increased traffic and overcrowded restaurants that come with the “season”, but hey no place is perfect…

unless maybe southwest Florida in the winter.

And I have to add that during the past few days I have been receiving bits of encouraging news from C’s brother with regard to his progress and finally this evening some pretty terrific news. He is awake and alert. His memory has returned along with his personality. He is now getting out of bed for some short walks in the ICU and has amazed his doctors with the progress he has made in the past week. There is still a long road ahead and some rehab will be needed but his recovery to date is truly a Christmas miracle. Thanks to all of you who added your prayers to the many offered in this young man’s behalf.

Christmas Merry

We have been having major DSL problems the past two weeks and I have been limited on my Internet time. It’s a frightening thing to experience when you are so tied to the outside world by this wonder of modern technology, but I am confident that I will survive. I hope to have a connection at some point today that is long enough in duration to allow me to post this entry and change up the photos.

Christmas has arrived, or almost. I’m not certain how or when it happened but as usual December has vanished in the blink of an eye. Gifts were bought, wrapped, and shipped in nick of time. (Procrastination is my middle name.) The cookbooks made it out of the printer and into the bindery (thank you D for your assistance) and FedEx arrived like a knight on a shiny white, blue and orange steed to save the day. The internet god showed mercy and allowed me a tiny window of connection time on Monday to order and have shipped the last gift on my list. It too arrived safely. I finally finished the video from our cruise in September that we shared with some very special friends. It made a wonderful surprise Christmas gift and aroused enough pleasant memories that last night over dinner we agreed to do it again in the spring. Somewhere in the past couple of weeks Henna and I volunteered a few hours of our time to wrap Christmas gifts at a local bookstore. A fun and rewarding fund-raiser for our favorite Golden Retriever Rescue organization. And finally 7 pans of maple cinnamon rolls were baked and distributed to smiling neighbors.

As I look back on the past weeks I am once again reminded that in the rush of the season it is the simple things that mean the most. The gifts of time are the ones that will be most remembered by the recipient and the giver. A pan of cinnamon rolls, a 20-minute video, a framed photograph sent to a friend, and a cookbook filled with family recipes, photographs and love. It should be a reminder to all of us what this season is truly all about, not how much money is spent (as the media and the retailers would have us believe) but gifts of self, given in a spirit of friendship and love, gifts from the heart.

Merry Christmas to all.

Cooking with Mom Volume II

I mentioned previously that in recent months I have had an extremely uncharacteristic interest in cooking. In part I think it’s the discovery of another creative outlet and, in part it is the result of a Christmas present I have been working on for the family…Volume II of Cooking with Mom, the Patton family cookbook.

Volume I was printed in 2001 (can it possibly be that long ago), the outcome of frequent phone calls from my sons requesting recipes from me. The same recipes, over and over and over again until finally the light bulb went off and a cookbook was born.

As some of you may know, nothing like this is simple with me. And as the seed of an idea took root I began watering and fertilizing until it blossomed into a time consuming monster. (Not a good thing when you begin the project 3 weeks before Christmas and are working full time.) I had to make this thing look like one of those church fundraising cookbooks complete with photo cover and spiral binding. To fill the bland and boring white pages I added family photographs and sarcastic commentary.

Fast forward seven years, add a couple of additional family members, a few new favorite recipes, and I’m pretty certain that you can see the handwriting on the wall. Requests for an updated cookbook have been increasing in the past year and I finally succumbed to the pressure. Volume II is at the printer as I type. (Printer i.e. desktop printer that I am babysitting to make certain it spits out the pages in proper sequence and with the appropriate quality control.) I spent the months of October and November testing new fun and easy recipes that everyone might enjoy and collected several more from the kids. I thought I initiated this in plenty of time but as usual I am finding myself under the gun to get it printed and delivered in time for a Christmas morning unveiling.

I know I shouldn’t have procrastinated as long as I did. But seriously, it takes a long time to select just the right photos for publication and check and double check the recipes for accuracy not to mention all of the testing that was done in my kitchen. It’s been a labor of love, and I really do mean that. I am pleased that my family wants to carry on the traditions that stand behind many of these recipes (vegetable soup, spaghetti sauce and Dad’s Awfuls to name a few). And as Christmas Day looms ever closer on the horizon I am also very pleased to know that FedEx WILL deliver, hopefully on time and to the correct address! After all, who wants to miss Christmas?

Monday Morning Update

I have some encouraging news to report with regard to the young man who is battling addiction. The family had an intervention of sorts over the weekend and he agreed to be placed in a long-term rehabilitation facility. He was taken there on Saturday. While there are no guarantees with this type of illness, the family is very hopeful.

I wish I had better news to share with regard to C, the accident victim. He sustained severe head injuries and as long as he is kept in a medically induced coma his intracranial pressure remains at a satisfactory level. They are hopeful that the swelling will begin to subside this week and this will lead to some improvement. I might add that he has also developed pneumonia. His condition remains tenuous.

It is hard for me to imagine this vibrant young man so seriously injured. C has always been full of life with that twinkle of mischief in his eyes, a perfect match to my own C. It was their younger brothers whose friendship provided the original connection between our families. But whenever the families would spend time together there was never any doubt who would have the most fun. To this day, the two of them can light up a room. I continue to pray that C’s light will not be dimmed.

Maw Maw

Last night I received a call from Maw Maw. Maw Maw is the OTHER grandmother in the life of my grandchildren. She is also a good friend. In fact we were friends long before our children got that gleam in their eyes and started us down this wonderful road. In case you’ve never heard the story, it goes something like this….

Maw Maw and I met while working together in a job that was not a fit for either one of us. However, there was an instant connection and the friendship that evolved long outlasted the positions we held at the time. At work, Maw Maw and I would talk about our children. Don’t we all? When I would share something about S Maw Maw was always quick to add that he needed to marry her B. She just knew they were meant for each other. (Do I need to tell you that they were 12 or 13 at the time?)

We both resigned from our jobs within months, and shortly thereafter I went to work for Pop (Maw Maw’s husband). Our friendship continued to blossom and we began adding our spouses to the mix. Our children knew each other, but they went to different schools and had little interaction or interest in each other. Until….one day…. 4 years after this saga began, S and I were enjoying a bite at a local restaurant and ran into Maw Maw, Pop and B having lunch at the same location. I noticed the two of them (S & B, not Pop & Maw Maw) slyly checking each other out and before you could say can this really be happening, she invited him to her homecoming celebration. He said yes and the rest is history.

Oh there were a few bumps along the way, but after surviving a year when she was still in high school and he in college and spending 3 years at Auburn together they tied the knot and made their parents extremely happy.

Now, why did I start writing this story? Oh yes, I remember. Maw Maw called last night. (B and the little ones are visiting them in Hunstville for a few days.) And guess what? She has stinky breath too!

Update

I was hoping to have an update for you this morning with regard to the young men I asked you to pray for on Wednesday. As of yesterday morning, the one in the hospital was in critical but stable condition, which according to his brother was a slight improvement from the previous day. I hope to have some encouraging news to report on the other young man over the weekend. I also would like to thank all you for your prayers and for caring and I promise to keep you informed on their progress.

A Request

In the past 12 hours I have received devastating news concerning the sons of two of my dearest friends. One is clinging to life in a hospital bed, critically injured in an automobile accident. The other is clinging to a life so encased in the fog of addiction that he can no longer see the light of day.

These families are shouldering burdens that most of us cannot begin to comprehend. Burdens so heavy that they must be shared with others in order to survive the pain. And so I have a request of you, my friends and family. I ask that you stop for one moment today and lift these two families up in prayer, a prayer of healing and strength for the young men clinging to life and the families who love them.

And while you might not know them personally, I believe that God does. And I know that He will hear these prayers and hold these families in the palm of his hand, providing each of them with the strength needed to survive the coming days.

Thank you for caring.

Monkey Joes and Stinky Breath

Is there anything as enchanting as a child’s squeals of delight over the simple things in life?

On our way home from Virginia we couldn’t ignore the magnetic pull to Greenville. It was a long drive back to Florida. We had to stop somewhere overnight. Why not Greenville? After all it was on our way home, or could be. So we surrendered to our desire to see the grandkids just one more time and stopped for a quick visit.

We had one day and we had to make the most of it. With that in mind we gave A a couple of options for a fun Friday morning and she chose wisely. She picked Monkey Joes. For those of you not familiar with MJs, it is a delightful spot filled to the brim with inflatable slides, bounce houses, and other goodies designed for the child in all of us.

Our little sweat heart was about as excited as I have ever seen her. She drug her Pappy to the door with urgent pleas of “Tome on Pappy, hurry up.”’ (She has an endearing way of pronouncing hard Cs. Something I’m going to hate seeing her outgrow.) Once inside MJs, she stood bouncing from foot to foot; her little arm outstretched impatiently waiting for the attendant to slip the ID band on her wrist.

As we hit the slides, her eyes were sparkling; her smile broad and full. Her squeals of delight filled the air as she darted excitedly from slide to slide, her baby doll tucked safely under one arm. It was fun watching her toss her doll onto a slide, step back and get a running jump in order to avoid asking for help to get on the equipment. Two fun filled hours later as we buckled her into her car seat, her eyes were heavy but the smile and sparkle were still intact.

We had set out to do something special for her that day, but in the end she gave us the best gift of all….a memory. One that her grandparents will treasure for many years to come.

However the magic of the morning came to a screeching halt when I leaned over to give my little darling a kiss and she looked up at me with her big blue eyes and proclaimed “Grammy, you have stinky breath.”

Musings of Historic Proportions

It is impossible not to think about the past while occupying an extremely uncomfortable pew in a church constructed in the 1700’s. A church attended at times by George Washington, Thomas Jefferson and other of our founding fathers. A church that remains virtually unchanged since it was first constructed some 300 years ago.

As I sat quietly listening to the Christmas offerings of the Bruton Parish Handbell Choir, I found myself drifting back to a time that didn’t include computers, mega stores, or automobiles, a time when life was less cluttered and revolved around church and family. When the woolen stockings, long skirt and cape of the day would have afforded better protection from the elements than the jeans and tennis shoes of this century. A time when the woman serving as master of ceremonies for the concert we were enjoying would have been segregated on the right hand side of the sanctuary with the rest of the women and children. A man would have made the introductions that night.

As the concert concluded and the attendees spilled out into the dimly lit street it was easy to picture the scene as it might have unfolded in the 1700s. Couples strolling arm in arm; dressed in tri-corn hats and bonnets stopping to admire the evergreen wreaths adorning the front door of every home on the block. Children laughing and calling out to friends, heedless of the chill in the air and happy to be away from the constraints of 18^th century religion. Masculine voices echoing from the local tavern where men had gathered to lift a pint or two and discuss the politics of the day. The clip clop of horses’ hooves tapping a cobblestone tune while guiding the carriages of the affluent home to a house warm from fires stoked by servants or slaves.

My romantic side would have loved living in those days. When the reward for hard work was survival and satisfaction came from a job well done, no matter how menial the task. However my practical side prefers the comforts of the 21^st century. And by the time we reached the parking lot that evening, I was grateful that my carriage seats were heated and that a cup of hot chocolate was a mere push of a button away.

Rock Band and Snowflakes

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow. The southern branch of the family tree enjoyed several days and several inches of the pretty white stuff this past week. It was a beautiful sight and the icing on the Thanksgiving cake so to speak for us southerners. Although little A was not impressed, she made it known in no uncertain terms that she preferred to spend her days in-doors, warm and dry. Even a bribe of M&Ms failed to entice any enthusiasm for the annual Christmas card photo. But baby Gabers was nothing but smiles. He didn’t seem to mind the snow and cold and rewarded everyone who held him with a toothless grin and a shot or two of sour milk.

Bubba’s apartment was painted, new cousins were introduced and Rock Band was the hit of the week. We learned to let J have control of the microphone. She seems to be the only member of the family who doesn’t sound like a sick cow. B played a pretty mean guitar and S was just waaaay too into the whole thing. I think he missed his calling. There were a couple of scuffles over drumsticks and whose turn it was to play which instrument, but only in the under five set. It was a wailing good time for the cousins and the decibel level sent the rest of us searching for quieter quarters.

The Annual Turkey Bowl went off without a hitch. The organizers were pleased and the only losers were those who didn’t participate. Fantasy Football dominated the conversation and Gram did not cheat at UNO. However other family members did. We females tested our luck at the casino during Black Friday’s Girl’s Day Out. We should have just gone shopping, at least at the end of the day there would have been something to show for the money that was spent! And yes k the weather WAS dreary!

It was a typical Pennsylvania Thanksgiving. Everyone was present and accounted for, even my Dad. His presence was felt in the love we have for each other and the missing piece of Pecan Pie!

I Love You Grammy

Life just doesn’t get any better than having your almost 3-year old granddaughter throw her arms around your neck and say in her sweet little girl voice “I love you Grammy” for absolutely no reason at all. Oh yes, life is good.

I love you too A.

Excellent

As I have mentioned previously, I don’t consider myself a cook. However, in the past 3-months I have been spreading my culinary wings and experimenting with new recipes. (There is a reason for this, which I will share at a later date.) I have even entertained guests for dinner. That was big. Especially when the meal did not involve tossed salad and D manning the grill. I have discovered that given enough time to plan and prepare I really don’t mind cooking. I have tried to keep this nugget of information a secret as I know it will raise expectations. (If I see the phone numbers for our favorite pizza and wings take-out venues disappear from the refrigerator door then I will know I’m in trouble.)

The food network has become one of my favorite places to spend an hour in the late afternoon. Paula Deen may just be my new hero. I have learned to overlook her southern fried cheesiness because, well, because, dang that woman can cook. One afternoon last week she was rustlin up some pulled pork that had my taste buds a grinin. And ya’ll it looked so mouth waterin delicious that I just had to try it.

For some reason, which I have not quite figured out, when I visit my children, especially the ones in Tennessee, I find myself in the kitchen. (They don’t seem to find their way to my kitchen when they visit me.) I knew this trip would be no exception and decided that it might be a good time to unveil that new recipe. You can imagine my surprise when foraging the cabinets for ingredients I actually found Liquid Smoke. I think these two are keeping secrets from me. But I digress.

Silently I moved about the kitchen, painstakingly shaping this culinary piece of art. The aroma of that slow cooking pork permeated the air all afternoon. It contained a message of hope, the promise of an era of change in my kitchen. New and exotic spices just might replace the stodgy relics of my past cabinets.

When dinner was finally placed on the table, my anxiety level was high. I was afraid that the taste would not live up to the smell. It was a tense moment as I watched my elder son, the family’s biggest food critic, prepare to sample my humble offering. As the first bite hit his mouth and the wonderful flavors began to tickle his taste buds, I saw it. That sly little grin started slowly, and by the time it reached maturity it was a large scale smile. The ear to ear kind. This is EXCELLENT he pronounced. Wow, Mom, this is excellent. I almost fainted. I have never received an excellent before. A good yes, an ok frequently, but an EXCELLANT, never. And if that wasn't cause enough to celebrate, I got an “I’m impressed Mom” when he sampled the carmel apple cheesecake I had whipped up for dessert.

I think I’m headed in a new direction here. Some restructuring needs to occur but I’m up for the task. I wonder what one has to do to get in line for some of that bail-out money Congress is doling out? I could use some new cookware.

Over the River

and through the woods, up I75 we go. The car knows the way to get us there, in time for Thanksgiving Day.

Ok so I’m not a poet. We used to sing that song to the boys when they were little and we were en route to PA for Thanksgiving from Dansville, NY or Huntsville, AL. Back then we used the real words to the song, to grandmother’s house we go. Grandmother’s house went 10 years ago but the message is still the same, we’re going home for turkey day.

I promise not to get melancholy this morning. After all, a cold front passed through south Florida over the weekend dropping the temperature to a brisk 52 degrees, our bags are packed (almost), and my mood is elevated. A long day in the car tomorrow will get us to Nashville and C& J’s house. If I know J, the poker chips will be dusted off and ready for a game or two of Texas Hold’em. C & J see sucker stamped on my forehead. But I don’t care, the fun is in the company we keep. (And we won’t tell them that I usually let them win…wink, wink.)

While there, I’m having lunch with one of my internet photography friends. Yes, I have internet friends! We met a little over a year ago through a website that we both frequent. (We even met in person in Chicago at a photography conference sponsored by the same website.) She happens to live in Nashville, not too far from C&J. We both share a love of photography and she has a brand new granddaughter. I think we’ll have plenty to talk about, don’t you?

From there it’s on to Pennsylvania. S, B & kiddos are arriving early this year so I will have a full week to spoil A & little Gabers. (Believe me when I say that right now my favorite sounds in the world are hearing the word Grammy spoken in A’s sweet little girl voice and Gaber’s squeals.) We have a tentative date for breakfast or lunch on Wednesday with my oldest and one of my dearest friends. We met in junior high, were inseparable throughout high school, and somehow managed to stay in touch for the next 40 years in spite of moving to opposite ends of the east coast. This could be a long meal; there is a lot of catching up to do.

Of course there is plenty of family time sprinkled throughout the week. D’s side of the family added 4 new members in the past year. Three bouncing baby boys and one beautiful little girl, all to be introduced to each other and the rest of the clan for the first time. My boys are the oldest and youngest of 7 male cousins, and that doesn’t include the other 9 that came before and after the male boom in the mid-late 70’s. So to say this is a rowdy group when they get together is an understatement.

My side of the family tree, while much smaller in number, is equally as vocal. The decibel level in the room on Thanksgiving Day is almost unbearable at times. There is the annual football game (weather permitting) coordinated by our 11- year old genius and football fanatic. And there is always a game or two of Uno. Contrary to popular belief, Gram does not cheat…at least not since her 80^th birthday.

The drive home includes a 4-day stop in Williamsburg, VA. I have always wanted to see Williamsburg decorated for the Christmas holiday. We’re missing the big “light-up” event by a few days but I’m certain that there will be candles a plenty in each and every window.

It may not sound like a lot to get excited about, but excited I am. After all, it’s Thanksgiving. It’s a time for old friends and new, a time for family. And when you get to the heart of things, it is always about family.

Mystery Solved

In case any of you ever wondered where my head full of white hair came from...now you know. I hope that I inherited some of his other qualities too.

Thanks Giving

In keeping with fall being my favorite season, Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday.

Most everyone knows that D & I hail from western Pennsylvania. Our childhoods were spent there, most of our families still reside there, and a piece of our hearts will always remain there. We moved away some 31 years ago with a 6-week old baby and a trunk full of dreams and possibilities. That 6-week old baby will soon be 32, has a wife, a brother, a sister-in law, a niece and a nephew. All reside in the south, hundreds of miles away from their northern roots. But when the end of November approaches their internal clocks take over and a reverse migration occurs.

There is nothing glamorous about Thanksgiving in western PA. It is usually cold & dreary, the landscape barren. There are no fancy parties or gourmet meals. The light that leads these transplants north is the light of family, the promise of laughter, a turkey and stuffing cooked the old fashioned way, and time to be shared with parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. Insuring that the bond of family remains as strong as the steel that was once produced in the now abandoned mills that line the rivers of western Pennsylvania.

For me it is also a melancholy time. I miss my Dad; the patriarch who always sat at the head of the table, and always offered his heartfelt gratitude to God before the meal could be served. Who in later years sat quietly watching his grandchildren and great grandchildren at play. Who always allowed us to pick on him. I think in part because he knew we did it out of love, but also because if the truth were known he loved the attention. He was husband, father & Pap. I believe he embraced the Pap more than any other role he played in life. I regret that he never had the opportunity to meet the last two additions to the family. He loved children, and little girls always occupied a special place in his heart. He would have adored our little A. Her devilish smile and flashing blue eyes would have had him beaming with pride.

And while his chair at the dinner table on Thanksgiving Day is physically empty now. I know that he will be there, watching quietly as his family gathers once again. Chuckling at the antics and bantering that might cause a stranger to think we didn’t like each other. Smiling as he observes his great grandchildren at play and leaning in to get a closer look as little Gabers is introduced to his northern family for the first time.

Neither I nor my off-spring can imagine spending Thanksgiving day in any other place than dreary western Pennsylvania, with an old fashioned meal and the encircling arms of family. You did your job well Dad; you can rest in peace.

Goodbye Parties & Nerves

It’s Monday morning again and I am mentally and emotionally spent from the weekend. It was filled with farewell parties and events for my former boss, AKA the Big Guy, who is loved by this community almost as much as he is loved by me.

I don’t particularly enjoy public speaking. It is one of the things that I avoid as often as possible, but this weekend there was no escape. In fact I actually volunteered. That meant a speech on Saturday afternoon at the public send-off for Dana and the “roast” last night, which was great fun, and limited to the Parks & Rec Department. (I think I mentioned previously that we are a tight knit group who love to laugh & poke fun at each other.) To top it off I also volunteered to give the Stewardship talk at church yesterday, both services. AND if all that wasn’t enough I was scheduled to ring a memorized hand bell duet at our second service. That in and of itself is usually enough to send my stomach into overdrive but with the speaking added in, well, let’s just say my diet got a kick start this weekend as I have been too nervous to eat.

Thankfully it all went well. I said what I wanted and needed to say on all counts and although my knees were knocking I also sailed through the duet without missing any notes. (It is always my biggest fear when performing a memorized piece of music that my mind will go completely blank in the middle of the performance and I will freeze, unable to continue.) All in all it was a good weekend.

Except for the good-bye part. And the part where I accidentally Photoshopped one of our most loved staff members right out of the picture we gave the Big Guy so he wouldn’t ever forget us. And I was so proud too, proud that I had successfully removed that offending tree from the middle of the picture. It seems that tree was actually Dan the Man.

I guess you know what I will be doing this morning.

Blue Ridge

One week without the internet. It was difficult, but I survived. It’s amazing how out of touch with ~~the~~ my world I felt. But we’re back home and once again connected. I think it will take a good part of the next couple of days to reconnect and catch up on all of the things that I missed on my favorite sites. But first things first.

Fall was everything I remembered. The mornings and evenings were crisp and cold. The days warm and inviting. From the rocking chairs on the porch to the open air hot tub and the large outdoor wood burning fireplace, our “cabin” in the woods offered ample opportunities to relax and soak in the sights, sounds and smells of the season.

The high light of the week was the arrival of the rest of the family. We spend the weekend huddled around the fireplace making smoars, soaking in the hot tub, playing ping pong, picking on each other, talking, laughing and making memories that will be treasured for many years to come.

I have over 700 pictures to sort through and edit. Pictures of colorful mountains, reflections, cabin nonsense, family and of course the grandchildren. Little Gabe in his cowboy hat and A in the hot tub. It may take me the better part of the next week to work my way through this mountain of photographs. I will post them as I go to the Blue Ridge folder so check back for fall color and family fun.

My Favorite Season

I love fall.

I love the look of fall. I love the reds, yellows and greens of the season desperately trying to outdo each other with their magnificent display of color. One final burst of energy and excitement before nature’s cycle comes full circle and the leaves are returned to the earth to regenerate the soil for next season’s show. I love vivid orange pumpkins, and gold and brown mums.

I love the smell of fall, wet damp earth, dried leaves, and wood smoke billowing from fires set to ward off the chill. Scents that assure me that all is right with the world. No matter what our economic times or personal state, nature is on schedule, marching along to a rhythm set into motion long before my time.

I love the sound of fall. Dry leaves crunching underfoot, crackling fires, and the sound of a breeze rustling the trees, stirring up memories of hayrides and Halloweens past.

I love the taste of fall. Pumpkin pie, freshly pressed apple cider, and maple syrup.

I love fall and I miss it. People who live in Florida will tell you we have seasons here and I guess in our tropical way we do. But I can’t believe that anyone who makes that statement in all seriousness ever lived north of Tampa. For me, nothing compares to the sights, sounds and smells of this wonderful time of year in a place where the temperature dips below freezing, even for a few hours.

When D retired a year ago ( a year already) he promised me fall, and he is making good on that promise. We are heading to the mountains of north Georgia for a week in a log cabin. I have been assured that the leaves are still beautiful, the weather is crisp and cool and that there is wood on the porch for a fire. Who could ask for more?

Time Keeps on Slipping

How on earth did it get to be Thursday already? And what have I done with myself all week?

I spend a lot of time these days agonizing over my productivity or lack thereof. I think it’s part of adjusting to my knew life. But I want to enjoy it, not stress about it. I can sit at the computer for hours (seriously, hours), editing photos or just surfing the net. Wandering aimlessly from website to website (usually photography related) searching for a snippet of advice, or a Photoshop technique to add to my ever-growing arsenal. But is that productive?

I have painting to finish. (Yes, the closets are back in order, organized & nearly bare. The shelves of our local thrift shop are overflowing with goodies unearthed in those dark caverns.) I have bathrooms to clean. I have curtains to hang. I have…much to do. But none of those things bring me as much pleasure as whiling away the hours either taking pictures, fiddling with pictures, or surfing the net looking for pictures others have taken. It’s a sickness.

Now the guilt has begun to set in. Time is precious and it shouldn’t be used so frivolously. Turn off the computer and do something constructive. Yada, yada, yada. I can be pretty hard on myself sometimes. It comes from spending much of my adult life in a task-oriented world. Experiencing the satisfaction that comes from making lists and crossing off each item as it is completed. Basking in the knowledge that the more tasks completed, the more valuable one becomes to the organization and/or family.

In the final analysis, I guess it’s all about moderation. I need to find some balance. Maybe try a schedule. (Eeeeek, I hate that word.) Complete at least one mundane task each day and reward myself with guilt-free hours to fritter away doing the things I’ve come to enjoy. Sounds like a plan. I’ll start right now.

Pick up one pair of shoes from living room floor. Check. Return them to closet in bedroom. Check. Spend rest of day on computer. Check check.

Golden Retrievers, Bubba and Time

I had my first “home visit” last night with the Golden Retriever Rescue organization. This is the final step of the adoption process in order to become a forever family for one of the group’s rescued Golden Retrievers. It involves going into the home of a perspective “parent” in order to discern if it is a healthy environment for a Golden in need. GRIN’s screening process is extremely thorough. And while on the surface might seem a bit over the top, the organization strives to place their dogs in loving homes that can and will provide for their safety and well-being. In other words, they don’t want their dogs back. They prefer to do it right the first time.

My Mother-in-law, aka Bubba, has set the bar for volunteerism in our family extremely high. At the ripe young age of 90 she spends countless hours at her local Red Cross and hospital auxiliary. She was recently recognized as the Volunteer of the Year by the hospital. (Congrats Bubba.) She is a caretaker by nature and lives her life selflessly giving to the two organizations that she believes in. She is a hard act to follow. I’m not even going to try.

But I have decided that in my retirement it is time to give back. To follow Bubba’s lead. To find something that I care about and give the one thing I seem to have a lot of…time. I have a passion in my heart for dogs. So working with the organization that brought us Henna makes perfect sense. I hope that in some small way I can make a difference.

Time is something that most of us have to give. Wouldn’t this world be a better place if we all followed Bubba’s lead? A few hours a month could change someone’s life in ways that we will never know.

Farewell Dana

My boss has resigned. I guess I need to rephrase that. My former boss has resigned. It’s true that sometimes people just need to move on in life. But trust me when I say that his leaving is an enormous loss to the City of Marco Island. People like Dana are not replaceable.

I first met him six years ago when he was hired to serve as the City’s first Director of Parks and Recreation. At the time I was the Secretary to City Council. My duties included working with advisory committees, which encompassed the newly-formed Parks and Recreation Committee. I soon found myself volunteering to do work for him. Yes, I did say volunteering. He didn’t have an assistant. He needed help. I liked the guy. I could see the future and eventually moved out of City Hall and into the trailer in the park, my home for the next five years.

I don’t know when it happened, but at some point our employee/employer relationship evolved into friendship. Oh yes, on one level Dana was and will always be the boss. If he wanted something it was my job to provide it even if I didn’t want to do it. However you can be assured I always let him know how I felt about it. My sarcasm ran rampant and unchecked for five years and the big guy was my favorite target.

To say life in the trailer was good is an understatement. Those years were the best five years of my working life. Someone once told me that there would come a day when he and I would disagree. One would get mad at the other over something and the honeymoon would be over. I am happy to report that day never came. Dana, aka the big guy, the big bald guy, the sexy bald guy, is not only a team player but a team builder. He put together a staff that soon considered themselves family. He challenged each one of us to think outside of the box and always encouraged us to be more than we ever thought we could be. He insisted we have fun while we did it.

He is a manager above managers. I always told him his ability to get the most out of people and keep them laughing is a gift. One not shared by many. Dana is also a visionary. He can look at an empty field and see the future. He can design a park in the blink of an eye. It could take years for the rest of us to see what he sees in that instant.

I love the guy. He will be missed. When Dana turns out the light in the trailer for the last time he will be turning out the light on an era. An era that showed all of us what Parks and Recreation could and should be for this community.

However there is good news to share. You see when Dana turns on the light in his new corner office on the 6^th floor of City Hall. (What no trailer?) He will be turning on the light for a new era in Greenville, SC. A place I visit quite often these days. And you can be assured that I will have a stop at City Hall planned for my very next visit.

Farewell Dana. Your new staff doesn’t have a clue how lucky they are. It would be great fun watching them find out.

The Fish Fry and the Dessert Dilemma

I am not a cook. And I am especially not a baker. I can get a meal together and put food on the table that is edible and often times good but I certainly wouldn’t dub myself a cook. I don’t get weak kneed and giddy at the thought of spending my day in the kitchen. In fact, if guests are involved in the equation the feeling that usually overtakes me borders on panic. (Houseguests don’t fall into this category. Don’t ask me why. They just don’t.) When I do entertain, dessert quite often consists of ice cream and slice and bake cookies. The other option would be McDonald’s burgers and a triple layer, chocolate, cream cake with marshmallow delight frosting. I can only handle limited stress in my life.

So tonight is a fish fry at the neighbors. The company is great and the food is beyond description. The way this thing works is D&S provide the fish and everyone else brings a dish or two. S usually can’t leave well enough alone at the fish so she cooks a few things to add to the spread. Now when I tell you these women can cook, you can take that to the bank. (That is if yours happens to still be in business.) They could all be featured in “Taste of Home” magazine. Do you comprehend my dilemma?

When I was working I had an excuse. (These dinners usually occur on weeknights.) No one had high expectations of me. In fact after a couple of dinners no one had any expectations at all. Once I volunteered to make the dessert and then got the date confused. We ended the meal with Little Debbies.

So you can imagine my surprise when I learned that once again I had been charged with providing the dessert for the evening. I have spent the last 3 days pouring over cookbooks and cooking magazines trying to come up with the perfect recipe. I have searched high and low for a sweet treat that looks gourmet but in truth is idiot proof. I found one. I made it last night. It’s resting comfortably in the freezer. I should quit while I’m ahead. But no, not me. In my quest to redeem myself with these women and to be pronounced worthy, I am attempting to bake a carrot cake, from scratch. The entire day has been set aside for this feat. (Just in case I have to start over a time or two.) I will begin grating the carrots as soon as I gather my courage.

I am nervous. My heart is starting to race and my sweat glands are kicking in to overdrive. But I am confident of one thing…

If I blow it Little Debbie is waiting to come to the rescue.

A Grandmother's Lament

It has been three weeks since my last visit with A and Gabers. I have slept and recouped the energy lost on my last trip to SC. I have eliminated (well, almost) the piles of debris that have littered my house for days. I have caught up on my emails and fulfilled my October obligations. There is no cruise on the immediate horizon. Hmmm…all signs seem to be pointing to a rendezvous with ~~destiny~~ the grandchildren.

I miss them you know. I miss A’s boundless energy and her two year old innocence. I miss her endless chatter and the way her eyes sparkle and shine when she is sharing something new and exciting in her world. Heck I even miss her manipulating me to get what she wants. (Kids learn that real early don’t they?) But hey that’s what grandparents are for right? It is my job to give her exactly what she wants, to see to it that the stars and planets in her little world remain in perfect alignment.

I miss little Gabers too. I miss his toothless smiles. I miss watching him wiggle and squirm, pushing the limits of his 3-month-old abilities in the hope that one day he will roll over all by himself and expand his horizons. I miss morning coffee with him. We have great conversation in the early morning. The house is dark and quiet. It is just the two of us. And that boy is smart. He knows how to listen to a woman. I talk and sip my brew. He smiles and coos his response. (The depth of these philosophical discussions would amaze you.) I miss watching him greedily gulp down his formula of choice, and watching his eyes slowly drift shut in peaceful slumber. I even miss spending my days drenched in spit-up and smelling like sour milk. After awhile you don’t even notice.

Yes indeed I miss those little buggers. I think I’ll just hop in the car and head north. Oh wait…the OTHER grandparents are there. Having all the fun. Getting all the love. I guess I have no choice. I will just have to unpack my bags, clean another closet and wait for another day.

Hope you are having a great time T & M. We have the most beautiful grandchildren in the world don’t we? Don’t spoil them too much…save some for me!

Dazed and Confused

My goal for this summer was to paint the inside of the house. There are several rooms that haven’t received a new coat of paint since we moved in nine years ago. (That long already?) Between Gabers’ arrival and D’s addiction to cruising it is now October and the project is not yet completed. However, great strides have been made.

What is interesting about all of our projects is that they seem to take on lives of their own. This one is no exception. Living at sea level means we have no basement, if we did it would be a swimming pool! This house also offers no usable attic space for storage. Consequently our spare room closets are filled to the brim with “stuff.” You see where I’m going here don’t you? Painting means emptying closets, which has now led to a MAJOR revamp of our storage system. (Now there’s an oxymoron if I ever heard one.)

Currently the house looks like it just threw up all over itself. Can you picture it? The content of 3, count them THREE closets has been emptied into the middle of our living space. Last night it was darn near impossible for D to find a spot to relax and watch the 50,000^th rerun of Walker Texas Ranger. Who knew painting could be so much fun?

There are piles everywhere. One to go to the trash, one to go to the thrift shop and the largest one of all is the one that has to fit back into the 3 closets that are now standing naked and exposed. The task is overwhelming. It requires thought and organizational skills that were abandoned the day I quit work. My head is reeling and I am spinning in circles confused and out of control. I would love to walk, RUN, out the door and not look back. However, I’m trapped. My car keys are somewhere at the bottom of one of those piles.

Monday, Monday

I have come to the conclusion that retirement is not only a state of being, it’s an attitude. And apparently one I haven’t completely embraced yet. Take for instance Mondays.

It’s Monday morning and I should be relaxed, and upbeat. After all the entire week stretches in front of me and I have no one to answer to but myself . (Ok, there is D, but he’s not a big player in this ramble.) My time is my own. My schedule or lack there of is mine, Mine, MINE.

Yet for some reason I am sitting here looking out of the window on a gloomy Monday morning (gloomy, in Florida, yes it happens on occasion) with a sense of foreboding. I didn’t want to get out of bed and I can’t seem to get motivated. The dog is looking at me with longing and a sense of urgency. Her morning walk is long overdue.

Maybe I need an attitude adjustment. Or maybe it’s a result of the DOW futures being down 200 points, or perhaps staying up until midnight watching the Steelers defeat Jacksonville. (Once a Steeler fan, always a Steeler fan.) Or maybe I just haven’t been retired long enough for the days to run together into an endless stream of untapped time. Whatever the reason, retired or not, Monday is still Monday is still Monday.

I think I’ll just pour another cup of coffee and wait for Tuesday.

Politics as Usual

My husband loves politics. The closer the “big election” gets the more enthusiastic he becomes. His eyes begin to glow. His pulse rate increases. He remains glued to the TV, flipping between news channels greedily inhaling the media bias from both sides of the fence.

Me, I hate it. Do I have an opinion? Yes. Do I vote? Yes. Do I enjoy the bickering, back stabbing rhetoric that precedes the first Tuesday in November? NO.

Last night’s Vice Presidential debate was a prime example of why I don’t like politics. Both candidates talked about change. They repeatedly rammed it down our throats how “they” are the party to change politics as usual in Washington. But all I heard from both sides WAS politics as usual. Much too much time was spent rehashing who voted for what 15 years ago with nothing original placed on the table. At least I didn’t hear it. No fresh ideas for improving the economy (and I might add my continued retirement status is balancing on the brink here), ending the war, or getting Congress to join hands and sing Kum Ba Ya. D thought it was informative. I thought it was old news.

No matter what your party affiliation, this is an historic election. But unlike my political junkie spouse I will not be watching. However I've toyed with submitting a write-in candidate. Picture it now, DP for President. Has a nice ring to it doesn’t it?

On second thought I would have to serve as first lady and that would be far too political for me. Besides, I’ve lived in Florida for 12 years. My skin is much too thin for the job.

Confession is Good for the Soul

I have a confession to make. D & I have a problem.

You try something once, just to see what it would be like. You come back for more because it made you feel good the first time. But like all addictions, before you know it you are hooked and you have absolutely no control.

I was the one who first set us down this path of destruction. Come on D, just once. Let’s just try it. He loves me so much that, against his better judgment he agreed. I am sad to report that it is he who now has the bigger problem. He cannot stop. No sooner does one fix end than he is franticly searching for his next hit. I try to resist, but my feeble efforts are no match for the heady aroma that has engulfed our home. I am weak. So after trying to hide our problem for several years, we have decided it is time to come clean.

We are Cruiseaholics.

We are seeking a 12-step program but are having a hard time finding one in South Florida.

We have considered relocation. Someplace farther north that would put some distance between us and the Port of Miami. But the housing market is not what it once was.

The boys are planning an intervention. They have decided that two cruises in one month is over the top. They fear we will spend all of their inheritance sailing around the Caribbean indulging in our guilty pleasure.

As a last resort we thought we might try spending all of our on-board time in the buffet line, gaining so much weight that we won’t be able to fit into our tiny little cabin. It could work.

In the mean time, I wonder which cruise line is offering the best deal for October?

Photographs and Warm Fuzzies

A couple of final comments on our recent trip to SC to visit S & B and the kids. Usually I am the one behind the camera irritating everyone trying to capture the perfect moment. (Trust me it hasn't happened yet.) But on this trip B seized control on a few occasions and the result is a beautiful picture of Grammy and her two favorite grandchildren. (Although Gabe could have shown a bit more enthusiasm.) Thanks B. I'll cherish this one.

Secondly, check out our little man and his thumb. Like father, like son. During my stay Gabers began to show more and more preference for his thumb over his passie. While I don't wish them the orthodontist bills that could be associated with this "cute" habit, I have to admit it warmed my heart. Brought back lots and lots of warm fuzzies remembering S at the same age sucking on his thumb and cradling his blanket. He was such a contented baby. Of course the warm fuzzies came to a halt when at 8 he was still sucking that darned thing! (At one point we contemplated amputation.)

Have a good weekend everyone.

Welcome Home Neighbors

We have the best neighbors in the world. I’m not exaggerating either. Unfortunately for us, every summer, come June, they pack up their motor coach, point it north and head out of our lives for the next 12 weeks or so. The neighborhood just isn't the same without them. But just like the birds they fly home to paradise sometime mid September.

I’m not certain when we first met them, in fact none of us can pin point it. But our relationship has slowly evolved over the past 10 years from waving to each other in the driveway to having dinner once in awhile, to well, being friends. The kind of friends that are always there for you.

However, I do have one complaint. They make us look bad. These two (who have us by close to 15 years) work circles around us. They are up early every morning and work harder than most folks do in their prime. They will work out, wash two cars and clean the windows all before D and I have our first cup of coffee. It’s downright pitiful.

But we love them in spite of their ambition. They always make us smile. We know that we can count on them for just about anything and we hope they know they can count on us. (And besides, they host the best dadgum fish frys in Florida!)

Welcome home neighbors. We missed you and we're awfully glad to look out the window and see the Jeep back in the driveway....where it belongs.

Reality

We're home and back to reality. Although reality is a bit fuzzy right now. The alarm does not jar my blissful dream state each morning and I can wake up when I please. (This morning it was 8:00 a.m. and I feel as if half of my day is gone.) Somewhere around here there must be a list of things to do, clean the house, finish painting, walk the dog, wash the car, but for the life of me I can’t remember where I put it or what exactly was on it.

I’m blaming this strange affliction on a week with the grandkids. All of that playing, diaper changing and picture taking gets me a bit out of kilter. I know I'll feel better after a couple of cups of java.

If I could only find my cup.

The Race

Sometime in the past year Stephen developed an interest in running. At first I think it was more of a marketing ploy since his company prints the majority of the racing bibs used around the country. But is has moved beyond that and seems to be a natural fit for this former swimmer. With Stephen’s support and the encouragement of her good friend Sara, Bethany has also taken up the sport. Last night was her first race.

D and I went along to cheer them on and keep an eye on the wee ones. But what caught my eye was the energy and spirit of the participants. They were all ages and sizes. Some were running for themselves and others for a cause greater than themselves. Two individuals in particular grabbed my attention. The first was an elderly gentleman who appeared to be on the near side of 80, cane in hand and wearing a number. Did he run? I doubt it, but he walked. He was one of the last ones to cross the finish line. Most of the other participants were long gone and there were few around to bear testimony to his feat. But he knew it. How satisfied he must have felt.

The second was a woman somewhere north of 50. We first saw her registering. She was a bit overweight and had an O2 tank in tow. We don’t know for sure if she finished but we do know that she started and made it at least half way.

There were runners with strollers, runners with dogs, and then there was me. I was content to sit on the side-line cheering on those with more ambition than myself. What a sad state of affairs.

By the way, Bethany…you made us proud.

P.S. The pictures above include the pre-race race held in the back yard prior to leaving for the real deal. Please note who is in the lead. Someone needs to tell Pappy and the dogs that you're supposed to let the kid win!

FALL

Fall has arrived in South Carolina. And for this Floridian it's darn cold outside this morning. Although I have to admit is is refreshing to step outside and not immediately be drenched in sweat from the 98% humidity.

The cold front that rolled through the area the past couple of days postponed our trip to the zoo and a local park for a photo op with Allie. (Like her cousin E, she too has to be bribed.) But today is supposed to be perfect so we are off to the zoo this morning. That is as long as I can find some warm clothes...do I even own any?

Making Memories

One of my main motivations for “retiring” in June was to spend more time with my grandchildren. The first 18 months of A’s life were rough for me. Living so far away from them and working meant I got to see her at best every 4-6 months. And as she grew it also meant we had to start over with her every time we saw her. Skype entered the scene a year ago and that has helped immensely. (If you aren’t familiar with Skype it is free (yes free) internet software that allows us to see and talk to her on the computer in real time.) We now talk to A several times each week, usually as part of her bedtime routine.

But as usual I digress. Having the flexibility to hop in the car and head to SC as often as the kid’s will have me is a gift. A gift that keeps on giving by allowing me to make memories and build relationships with my grandchildren

Some of the memories I will take home from this trip are:

Gabe’s gummy smiles

A taking my hand as we entered church on Sunday morning and saying “Come on Grammy, I will show you my class” and leading me to her nursery room.

Playing in the sandbox and baking cakes. When asked if they were done yet A replied “I’ll just put them in the microwave.”

A heading off to bed only to return a minute later to give Henna a big hug and kiss stating she had forgotten to tell Henna good night. A very sweet moment.

Doing the “Monster Dance” around the house to the tune of the musical Halloween dog her Pappy bought her. Everyone must participate, including Henna.

A changing her brother's poopy diaper. The video is priceless.

Morning coffee with Gabe.

And the week is only half over.

P.S. I will be adding photos to the 10 week album as the week goes on. Check there for updates.

Heaven

There is no doubt about it, heaven on earth is holding my grandson in the dim light of dawn and having his 2 month old little self look up at me with his precious blue eyes and flash a toothless gummy smile as big as Texas. A smile just for me. A smile that melts my heart and makes me weak right down to the tips of my toes.

Pictures will follow. (After I've been here long enough to get the camera out of the car!)

Out with the Old

It was supposed to be a simple tile job. Rip out the old; install the new. Pretty simple, right? Wrong.

For those of you who don't know, we live in a 1960's ranch. When we moved in 9 years ago, we stepped back in time to a place reminiscent of, well the 1960s. There was the yellow bathroom, the green bathroom, and don't forget the pink bathroom, outdated wall paper, different colored carpet in each room and windows and doors that circulated more air than the ac unit. Over time we have removed most of the offensive items and replaced them with updated fixtures and colors (guaranteed to eventually become offensive to someone else).

The first bathroom redo was out of necessity. (I stuck my foot in the sink the day we moved in causing it to crash to the floor and break into many pieces.) We did it quickly and as cheaply as possible knowing that one day the sham of a remodel would need to be corrected. That day finally arrived 9 years later. (Isn't it nice that God so kindly provides us with blinders that prevent us from seeing our "problem areas" until one fine morning we wake up and there they are, flashing in our face like gaudy neon lights on the Vegas strip.)

Just a simple tile job, rip out the old; install the new. When the old was ripped out 3 inches of mud followed (this is the way tile was installed in Florida in the 60s, seems they thought no one would ever want to remove it) and half of the bathroom was down to the studs. Of course it made no sense to just sheet rock half of the room, so out came the remaining walls and the ceiling. Then there was the tub. We were going to save it and repaint it. (I was out of town playing with babies and accept no responsibility for this decision.) But, for some reason it was determined that the tub could not stay. Enter new, whirlpool tub. (OK, ok I admit it, I wanted the soaking tub. After all if we had to get a new tub why not get the one I really wanted.) The toilet followed. There was nothing wrong with the existing one. It was white, it flushed and you could sit on it. But, while we're at why not install a new "water saver" toilet? Then came the vanity. Now here I will step up and take full responsibility...I hated the old one. It was cheap and it looked it. So out with the vanity, sink top and fixtures, in with the new. And of course how could we ever consider hiding the beautiful, new tile behind the shower curtain purchased months ago, the one that inspired the project in the first place? No , a glass shower door is the only way to go. Cha ching. Our simple little tile job has swelled to a complete bathroom overhaul. How did that happen?

It's not finished yet, a few little "problems" along the way, (the new toilet leaked and the new vanity arrived with a broken foot) but we're getting there. And in our defense we did manage to salvage one light fixture and one towel bar. Hey, we can recycle with the best of them.

Welcome Home, Love Ike

We arrived home safe and sound on Friday morning only to face the uncertainty of yet another hurricane. In the days since, Ike has decided to traverse a more southerly path allowing us to breathe a little easier...at least for now. However, the problem with hurricanes is that just as we are exhaling our sigh of relief someone else has now become the target.

And just think, we still have 6 more weeks to go before we see this storm season come to an end.

Stormy Weather

Do we go or do we stay? That is the question of the hour. We are scheduled to sail tomorrow (Monday) on a 4-day cruise to the Bahamas. With Hannah poised to strike the Bahamas later in the week and Gustav churning away in the Gulf, we're just not sure where they can possibly send us and not encounter heavy rain and rough seas. We don't care so much about the rain...but those rough seas just might be a deal breaker. Decisions. Decisions.

But our little storm dilemma is nothing compared to what the good people on the northern Gulf coast are facing today. Please keep them in your prayers. I know first hand the sick, surreal feeling of driving away from home, car packed to the max with all of the "things" considered most important. Not knowing when you can return or if there will be anything worth returning to once the storm has passed. This is the second time in 3 years these people have dealt with a monster storm. My heart goes out to them.

Do we go or do we stay? Thankfully for us, it's a question worth pondering. For anyone in Gustav's path, there is no thought necessary. Get the heck out of Dodge.

Update

With an itinerary change, we are sailing on Monday as scheduled. We will head west to Mexico and back to Key West. Hopefully by Friday Hannah will be well north of Miami and we will get back into port as planned.

I've left you with a few pictures from a trip last winter and of course my precious babies.

Bon Voyage. See you next week.

Snips and Snails

And puppy dog tails, that's what little boys are made of. Add in a dash of grimy mud, peanut butter and fishing worms. Mix in 15 bazillion questions. Bake in the hot summer sun and serve with a milk moustache and an untucked shirt-tail. How can you not love a little boy? (OK, so I'm a little biased here; but you have to admit they are adorable.)

In mid-July, squeezed between C&J's visit and the birth of Gabe, we had the pleasure of spending a week with two of my most favorite little boys in the world. Their endless questions and boundless energy reminds me so much of my own boys at the ages of 7 and 10. A time before the adult world seeps into their psyche and they begin to care about their appearance and the opposite sex. The age when shirt sleeves are more than adequate napkins and a dip in the ocean constitutes a bath. When they are still children, enjoying life for what it should be....a new adventure each and every day. Thanks Patch and Logan for energizing things around here and helping us remember the good things in life. We love you. Come back soon....and bring your Mom too.

Why

Why do we do it? Why do we let friends slip out of our lives, like bottles drifting out to sea carried away on a tide of new jobs, new cities, and the grind of every day life?

I'm not talking about surface friends. The ones who come and go. The ones you have dinner and a few laughs with on occasion. I'm talking about that person who is important to your mental health and your heart health. The one you shared pizza with on Friday nights when you had too many kids between you to even think about going out for dinner. The one you snuck out to see Ghost with and told the kids you were off to look at houses. The one whose opinion really mattered, and whose children you loved almost as much as your own.

We were in each other's lives for such a short time. Our kids brought us together. Our kids may yet bring us together again. I can't explain the connection, the strong emotional tie I have with this person. In many ways it doesn't even make sense. But we clicked. Our husbands clicked, and our kids clicked. And the times our families shared are some of the most special memories I carry in my heart.

Why do we do it? And why on earth don't we fix it? If you're out there Becki, I miss you and I love you.

Rescue Me

I think most people know that I'm a dog person. Having a dog in the house is essential for my mental well being, especially in these empty nest years. One four legged, furry creature somehow manages to fill up all of the empty spaces in my heart. The ones caused by relocating away from friends and family, the ones that were drilled when the boys grew up and left home, and the huge one that slipped in when I lost my Dad. That's why, when Rosco succumbed to cancer 18 months ago at the ripe old age of 13, I just could not keep the promise I made to D. The one that said we would wait at least one year before even thinking about another dog. I lasted 6 weeks.

I first saw her mug shot on PetFinder.com. I wasn't looking for a dog. She was in the wrong section. I had made a promise. But there was something in that face, those eyes, that had me pausing to take a closer look. She was the product of abuse and neglect, a Golden Retriever mix, a beautiful little girl who needed someone to love her. I knew that someone was me.

D was easy. He caved without even putting up a fight. (He won't admit it, but I think his heart was broken too.) She was offered for adoption by Golden Retriever Rescue of Naples (GRIN) and it took a few weeks to get through the process. (GRIN is a wonderful rescue organization. They do an outstanding job of screening potential owners because they want permanent homes for their dogs.) There were phone calls, interviews, home visits, more phone calls, visits with the dog in her foster home, and still more phone calls. (I told you it was process.) Finally we were pronounced worthy and Henna entered our lives.

Henna is her own person (dog?). She is a gentle spirit. She carries a lot of Golden Retriever genes; the ones that make her sweet and playful and gentle (you can take food out of her mouth). A drags her around by her fur and rides her like a horse. But I think she has a few cat chromosomes in the mix. She's a princess. She does not like to be wet, avoids water at all cost. (I've tried to tell her she's a retriever but she won't listen.) It's rather comical to observe her prancing around puddles. And, she's aloof. When she has had enough of being scratched and petted she turns around, sticks her feather duster tail in the air and sashays away. Ignoring all pleas to come back for more. She is then content to hang on the fringe of things. But always keeping one eye on the action lest she miss something fun.

I love her. This four legged ball of fur. She brings sunshine on a rainy day. She sheds worse than any creature I've ever owned. She greets me with the same enthusiasm whether I've been gone all day or just stepped out to get the mail. She sheds worse than any creature I've ever owned. (Oh, did I already mention that?) And although nothing can replace the losses in my life, the empty spaces in my heart are once again filled with the unconditional love of a dog.

Fantasy Football and the Old Man

It's that time of year again...football season is upon us. And at our house that can only mean one thing, FANTASY FOOTBALL and the KFL draft party.

This is the 5th year for the boys' fantasy league and the 4th draft weekend (when the teams are selected), held annually in Nashville. Team owners hail from Texas, Misissippi, Tennesse, Florida, South Carolina, Alabama, Georgia and Pennsylvania. They are cousins, friends, and one old man. (Bet you can't guess who the old man is?) They all descend on Nashville to test the strategy they have been planning since December. And I imagine (wink, wink) lift a pint or two in the process.

Before D was invited to join the "boys" in this football odyssey, he had a mild interest in pro football. Sunday afternoons were spent relaxing by the pool or cruising around Marco in the boat. If the Steelers were on, we might watch. Now when Sunday dawns, there is tension in the air. He is in HIS chair. The computer is on his lap. The remote is standing by, ready to surf the networks for all things football at a moments notice.

The draft is scheduled, without fail, on the same weekend each August. it matters not that several anniversaries (including mine) and several spouses' birthdays fall during that time. When this weekend rolls around each of the owners drops whatever he is doing and makes tracks for Nashville. I have been left alone not only on my anniversary, but when hurricanes were looming on the horizon. In fact a couple of years ago D actually changed his flight and left early. He wanted to make certain he was on that plane BEFORE the storm got too close to close the airport.

It's all fun, and it makes D feel like one of the boys. Never mind that they are all 20+ years younger than he is and know more about pro football. (Actually he studies up now in the off-season, but don't tell the guys.) The important thing is, they let him play. He can pretend that he is young again.

Do you think it will ever occur to him that he gets invited back each year because he buys the beer?

Safe travel boys and have a great time. Go get em old man!

Fay

Update 3:30 a.m.

The wind and pounding rain woke me up a few minutes ago. A quick check of the news informs that the racquet I hear is being generated by the eye wall moving across Marco. (We just lost our power so I will post this when the Calvery gets our power surging through the lines again.) It is an incredibly eerie feeling…sitting alone in the dark. It is a silent world except for the pounding rain and relentless wind. That may not make sense but it is how it feels. Maybe isolation is a better word. Alone in the dark with torrential rain, 70 mph winds and no connection to the outside world. It is easy to imagine the fear and panic those must experience when riding out a Cat 3, 4, or 5 during the darkness of night.

Update 7:30 a.m.

Sleep was far from sound following my last update. There was a brief period of calm when the eye of the storm passed overhead and then it began again. Only Fay’s back side did not appear to be as bent on destruction as her front side. Our concern of course was storm surge but it seems we have been spared once again. When the storm made an easterly jog during the evening hours and locked in on Marco we were saved. On the west coast of Florida you want the storm to cross over you, or to the south of you, in order to minimize storm surge. If Fay had chosen to make landfall a mere 10 miles north of Marco we would be mopping up water this morning. Instead, we are sipping our coffee and patting each other on the back celebrating our courage and thanking God that this was only a tropical storm.

Update 9:30 a.m.

Who knew our camping skills would pay off some 20 years after giving up primitive camp sites for the Marriott. But alas we still remember and better yet still own a propane stove and lanterns. Now let me tell you exactly what that means when facing life without electricity. It means COFFEE. It also means we will have hot meals and light. (Dim light, but light) The battery operated television we purchased prior to Wilma also means we are connected to the outside world again. There is no cable and we only get 2 stations but who needs variety when faced with death. (Ok, maybe a little too much drama here.) The worst part of the whole experience is our lack of air conditioning. Fortunately the wind is blowing and the humidity is a tad lower. The doors and windows are open and ladies and gentlemen life in paradise is good…until the next storm.

Final Update 10:40 a.m.

The Calvery has done its job in record time. Power has been restored and the house is cooling. LCEC has my undying respect (until they raise my rates) and as with Wilma I am blown away (no pun intended) by what I know must be endless hours of emergency planning that allows them to respond so quickly post storm.

This will be my final Fay update. I have bored everyone long enough with our saga. It seems we have power but no internet so these will all post together whenever Comcast gets their act together and restores my internet. How dare they inconvenience me in my time of need. (You do know that was a joke don’t you? Well don’t you?)

Complacency

Is complacency a bad thing? When we first moved to Florida in “96” the mere mention of a tropical storm or hurricane was enough to make me break out in a cold sweat. Do we stay? Do we go? Do we board up the windows? All this strife and indecision while living 15 miles inland in Ft. Myers. Well you can imagine the stress I incurred after moving to Marco.

Life on a barrier island is paradise. Having a boat on a lift in my backyard….a dream come true. Except when a storm is brewing and has it’s sites set on our little corner of paradise. For the first 8 years we lived here, we would, at the mere mention of a named storm, board up the back of the house, close the rickety old storm shutters (a feat in and of itself), faithfully move all flower pots, outdoor furniture and the storage box on the dock to safer ground and then beat it across the bridge until the danger had passed. Riding out the storm with other sensible adults (chickens) in the safety (questionable) of our room at the ancient Super 8 on the interstate. (Trust me when I tell you it is hard to find a port in the storm when one of your family members has 4 legs and fur. Especially one too big to sneak into the room.)

Well this time we’re throwing caution to the wind (literally) and we’re staying put. A tropical storm you say, pffftt only a thunder storm. A Cat 1 you say, pffttt just a little wind. I am taking a stand. I refuse to be influenced by those rebel rousers at the Weather Channel whose main goal in life is to induce panic in the masses. I will be a victim no more. In fact we have even decided against putting up the storm shutters in the back of the house. Now that my friends is living on the edge!

Update

Fay has traversed Cuba and entered into the Florida Strait. We are already beginning to see rain from her outer bands. But I stand tall behind the decision to ride it out. Now if for some reason Fay propels herself from a TS to a Cat 4 with a 20’ storm surge in the next 12 hours, you will see us on your local news channel. We will have our 15 minutes of fame. We will be the ones sitting on our roof waving frantically to the National Guard choppers begging for rescue.

Update 1:00 p.m.

Looks like little Ms. Fay is dancing in our direction. I have decided to try and do updates as the storm progresses and as long as we have power. I have also started a Fay photo file and I am going to post photo updates as well. Hey, might as well try to have some fun while we ride this old gal out. It's my version of a hurricane party and you are all invited.

Update 4:30 p.m.

Things remain quiet here in hurricane central. The wind has picked up and right now we are having a little heavier rain but so far things are quieter than one of our typical summer afternoon thunder storms. A couple of hours ago I took a spin around the Island to see what I could find that might be of interest. I found a pesky news truck, a boarded up and closed post office, electric company bucket trucks arriving pre-storm, (oh boy is that good news, it means our air conditioning will be on before we die from the heat and humidity), generators chained to each and every traffic signal (how would we ever survive the confusion in this busy metropolis if our traffic lights were out?), and our neighbor's house safely boarded up. Where oh where is their sense of adventure?

Update 7:30 p.m.

Where the heck are the Olympics? Our local news channels seem to think it is necessary to broadcast storm information non stop. Now if this was a Cat 4 or 5 bearing down on Southwest FL I could understand. But for heaven's sake this is just a tropical soaker...give me a break and pleaaasse give me my Olympics.

Now that my rant is out of the way I should report that things are cranking up a bit, heavier rain and stronger wind gusts. Our main concern is storm surge. We may be up most of the night checking for rising water. The worst case scenario would be (for us) an 8' surge and we are 8' above sea level. We could have water in the house come morning. However we are thinking positive thoughts and hopefully the water will stay in the canal.

The Team

Many years ago when I was young and naive, I thought I wanted a basketball team. Five little boys that would keep things lively and always be well behaved. Fortunately that dream remained unfulfilled. (Don’t ever doubt that God doesn’t know what’s best for you.)

When we moved into this old house on Marco, we didn’t have any grass in our yard. It was all gravel. (I don’t know how anyone could ever think that was a good idea.) When the landscapers were busy installing our beautiful, soft, green lawn, one of the workers stopped D and asked if we were going to need someone take care it for us. Enter Brandon. Brandon is a twenty-something, enterprising young man who was starting his own lawn care business. He has been tending our green ever since. He is always smiling and is quick with some smart comment regarding our failure to perform the routine maintenance that would make his job easier. We love the guy.

About two years ago we were doing a small remodeling project and needed a good tile man. It just so happened Brandon knew an enterprising young tile installer. Enter Jason. Jason is a scrappy little guy who is now working on his 3^rd project for us. He too always seems to be smiling and never leaves without showing us a photo of his 18-month-old son. We love him too.

Now this current project has gotten a little more involved and it seems we need an electrician and a plumber. It just so happens Jason has a friend who is an electrician. Enter Johnny who happens to have a brother who is a plumber. Enter Joe. We don’t love them yet, haven’t known them long enough, but we recruited them.

After all these years I am close to having my basketball team. Not the one I expected to have, but a team none-the-less. Each one of these young men runs their own small business. They are tradesmen. They work hard, show up when they say they will, and do a good job for a fair price. Who could ask for more?

A landscaper, tile installer, plumber and electrician, We are now one player shy of our dream team. Does anyone know a carpenter? Wait, we know a carpenter….what would it take to get you to move to Florida Josh?

Home Again

After a long day in the car yesterday I am now home with my Babe and suffering from a bout of baby withdrawal. My radar however, is still intact and functioning as I woke up sometime during the night thinking I heard Gaber…it was D snoring.

B, the kids and I took off for Huntsville last Thursday. She spent the weekend with her family and I headed to Nashville for some R&R and time with C & J. Had to inspect all the work they have done on their house since my last visit. They did a beautiful job on their kitchen and the tile in their finished basement. J and I did some shopping and the rest of the time we relaxed and watched the Olympics (go Phelps). Sunday came much too soon.

B & I returned to Greenville where I quickly returned to the exhausted state I have been living in for the past 2.5 weeks! G is growing so fast and has already lost the look of a newborn. It won’t be long before he is smiling and cooing like a big boy. Too bad I won’t be around to witness it. Big sis is also growing…she talks so big now. In about 3 weeks her vocabulary is going to surpass mine. I’m not kidding.

I have a few final photos to post from this past week. Then, hopefully I will get out and do some shooting around Marco. It’s time to put some new ideas to the test. I have spent so much of the summer photographing children that it might be fun to shoot something that doesn’t move!

Time in a Bottle

If I could save time in a bottle

The first thing that Id like to do

Is to save every day

Till eternity passes away

Just to spend them with you

I have spent the past 12 days turning back time, living life as it was 29 years ago. (Except that I could go up and down stairs easier back then.) Little Gabe and his parents have given me that gift. Several people have commented on how much our little man looks like his father. The resemblance is so strong that for me it is like saving time in a bottle, taking the days (and nights) out, blowing off the dust, and reliving them once again. I look at that beautiful little baby and suddenly it is August 1979 and that sweet little face staring back at me belongs to my son, not my grandson.

If I could make days last forever

If words could make wishes come true

I’d save every day like a treasure and then,

Again, I would spend them with you

Two Babies and a Grammy

I’m not at all certain what I do all day. I mean really, it’s just a 2 year old and a tiny little baby. But I am EXHAUSTED. Gaber’s first whimpers at 5:30 a.m. are the start of my day. Usually, if I can catch those whimpers before they become bellows, I might be able to cat nap on the couch for another 45 minutes or so. But then it’s diaper change and feeding, cuddling and cooing up stairs and downstairs in my nightgown. Well you get the picture. Add sweet little A to the mix and it’s more up and down until Grammy is sideways. Now you do realize that B is here too and she is doing a lot more of the up and down than I am and she seems to be fine at the end of the day. (Well almost.) But me, I am pooped. After the 8:30 or 9:00 p.m. feeding I politely excuse myself to my bedroom to “read.” I’m afraid that ceased to be a cover a week ago because my pronouncement is usually met with “you tired Mom?” To which I reply, “a little bit, but I really want to read for a while.” Yea right, within minutes of settling in with my book I am out…cold, like a light or whatever else you want to call it. I’ve read exactly 2 paragraphs in 9 days.

Now I love these two babies. They are the light of my life, but believe me when I say I will be happy to go home and SLEEP. I plan on doing that for at least a week and then…I will miss them so much that I will want to return to SC and do it all again.

Early Morning Coffee and Babies

It's 6:30 in the a.m. and the house is QUIET...all except for me and Gabers. I really love the early morning and adding a beautiful 3-week old baby to my morning coffee makes it even sweeter. Newborns are so darn cute and cuddly and they smell better than anything else I know. If they were better sleepers it has the potential for being the best age of all. They look at you with newly opened eyes that don't quite focus and sometimes look in different directions. Do you remember? It's a gift to be part of this...to share his newborn stage and remember.

And speaking of gifts I've just been presented with one from our little man and I'd better go change it! So much for the perfect age.

Rushing

I am leaving tomorrow for 2 weeks to spend time with the SC clan. To say I am excited is an understatement for sure. But before I go I am going to try and get the next set of pictures up from our trip to PA in June. These were taken at my sister's house and represent the looney characters that make-up my side of the family. (Don't argue with me, you KNOW you are all a bit looney...and that includes you too Queenie.)

God's Rewards

I am convinced that grandchildren are part of God’s reward system. If you survive raising your own children, you are blessed with grandchildren. It’s a two-fold blessing. First is the shear joy they bring to your life. There is no other feeling like it. They are yours to love and spoil rotten, but not to raise. That responsibility falls to their parents. And that is the second blessing…watching your own children become parents.

The sight of a son tenderly holding his own son for the very first time can fill you with so much pride and love and joy that surely one body couldn't possibly contain such a rush of emotion. But that’s a topic for another day.

Today is A day. She is my reward. She is the most beautiful and the smartest 2-year old on the planet. We talked on the phone yesterday. The conversation went something like this:

G: Hi A

A: Hi Grammy

G: Grammy’s coming to see you on Sunday. Do you want Grammy to come and see you?

A: Yes

G: Do you want Grammy to bring her car with no roof?

A: Yes

G: Do you want to go for a ride in Grammy’s car with no roof?

A: Yes

G: I love you.

A: I love you.

G: Bye Bye

A: Bye

Is that not the most intelligent conversation you’ve ever heard coming from a 2 year old?

Comments

If you have been the recipient of dozens of emails regarding this site, you have my sincere apology. I didn't realize that was happening. Last night I searched the site's warehouse and I think I found the switch to turn it off. If I didn't and you continue to be bombarded with unwanted email please let me know.

Family and Party Pants

Most people know that D comes from a large family. He was number 3 in line of 6 children. And like most families we have grown older and apart both geographically and emotionally. It happens to all of us. We move because of jobs and have families of our own. Trips “home” become less and less frequent and before we know it we have lost touch with those who shared our childhood.

Well Lil Sis recently took matters into her own hands. She created a family website. It was rough going for a while; nobody was interested. But Lil Sis is tenacious. She coaxed and cajoled and finally resorted to threats and bribery until all but one of the siblings and most of the 16 grandchildren bought into the program. It was innocent enough at first, families posting news, photos and other pleasantries. It deteriorated quickly. People began dragging out old photos and the banter increased. It appears we have forgotten all the years we didn’t communicate much and have remembered every last detail of someone’s bad perm and high school attempts at prose. Someone even found an old picture of D wearing his famous “party pants.” Seems he still has them. We dug them out of the bottom of the cedar chest; he squeezed his expanded waistline into them for a quick picture, posted it as proof that he could still get into them, and then sat back and waited for the abuse. Just goes to show how willing one can be to make a fool of themselves to prove a point.

But I digress. The fact is we are all communicating again. From Alaska, Florida, Ohio, Pennsylvania (various parts), Tennessee and South Carolina. The old and the young. We are family.

Children, Photographs and Donuts

I love to photograph children. Unlike the adults in my life who put their hands in front of their faces, make smart comments, and tell me to “put that d@$* thing down,” children pretty much ignore me. And that can make for great pictures.

Children for the most part go about their busy little lives focused on whatever task is at hand. They know how to live life to its fullest, obtaining great joy from the simplest of pleasures. They are fascinating subjects; which is why I have recently gone through a phase thinking that maybe I would like to take photos of children as a business. You know, make some cash to support my habit. Then I look at the pictures I take and can’t imagine someone actually paying me to do this. (Not fishing for complements here, just sharing my thought process.) The truth is I will never be good enough for me. When I can accept that then I will be content to plod along enjoying this all-consuming hobby of mine and hope that I make a few folks smile along the way.

Now back to children. On a trip home to PA in mid-June (Happy Birthday Bubba) I decided to take my great niece E to a local park for a photo shoot. There is an exception to every rule and E is one of them. She is 4 going on 14 and she used me. Yes she did. She used me to get to the park under the pretense that she would allow me to take some pictures of her. Once we arrived on a perfect for pictures morning this pseudo teen actually informed me “NO pictures….Don’t take my picture.” She also moves with the speed of light. It was a challenging morning for a rookie like me. However with a bribe of donuts I managed to get a few decent shots. We both went home happy.

You Gotta Have Friends

We travel along this road of life meeting people on a daily basis. Some remain forever strangers, some we get to know on a more personal basis. But in truth, they are mere acquaintances. Then there are the select few, the special ones that we click with the minute we meet. These are the few we share our real life experiences with, we laugh together and cry together. We let them in, to those places in our heart that are usually hidden away from the judging eyes of others. These chosen few are true friends. And even as our journey through life takes us in different directions and there may be months and perhaps even years between visits, when we do meet again, the months and years melt away. Conversation begins where it left off and once again we walk the road together.

I have a few people in my life I call true friends and most of you know who you are. Recently I got to spend some time with one of those people. We laughed and cried, planned and reminisced, and walked together again…at least for a little while. I love you K.

Jennifer and Chris

C & J spent some much needed vacation time with us the week prior to the 4th. The weather could have been better but it didn't deter them from fishing and soaking in some sun. (We had two fish dinners compliments of C...thank you C.) Like all the other members of my family, with the exception of grandchildren and granddogs, they shy away from MY camera. I was able to snap a few and I think I caught their playful spirit.

Welcome to the World Gabe

Gabriel Douglas Patton was born on July 9th weighing in at 8 lbs., 3 oz. He has two terrific parents and a very special big sister who is going to love sharing her world with him. We couldn't be more happy and proud to welcome Gabe into our small but expanding family.

Over the past 10 years I have developed a passion for photography. And while I still have much to learn, I wanted to find a way to share the fruits of my labor with family and friends. This site allows me that as well as an opportunity to share family news and my always random (and rambling) thoughts.

Featured pictures

Recent pictures

Thacher Family

Gabe Turns 1

Sweet Home Alabama

Beach

Alabama

Andersonville

Bermuda

Chris

2009-04-26

St. Augustine Summit

And the winner is....

Grandchildren

Aerials

Shark Valley

2009-03-20

2009-03-14

2009-02-25

Odds and Ends

2009-02-08

A & G Visit

Marco and Beyond

Costa Rica & Grand Cayman

Panama

Miami,Haiti and Cartagena

Winter in Paradise

christmas

Williamsburg

SC Christmas

Austin

Thanksgiving 08

Thanksgivings Past

Pap

Fall Folliage GA

Blue Ridge

Bahamas

South Carolina

The Race

10 Weeks

Southern Caribbean

Patch and Logan

Henna

Nashville in the Fall

Fay

Five Weeks and Growing

Odds and Ends

3 Weeks New

PA in June

A.G.P.

Purfect Princess

R & J

Good Friends

C & J July 4th

Gabe

Latest News and Random Thoughts

Moving Day

No Seeums

Silly Girl

Sweet Home Alabama

Andersonville

K-K-K Katie, Beautiful Katie

But Grammy

Bermuda

On the Road Again

Dinner and a Sunset

Oh So Good

Once Upon a Dream

The Glory Day

Photography Fun

Alive and Well

Come Fly with Me

Update: Sweeping Overhaul

I Can Taste the Fish

Shark Valley

When Two Become One

Call for a Sweeping Overhaul

Stella Lost Her Groove

Key West and Thoughts in Between

The Dancing Queen