A Daughter's Song

Tomorrow is your birthday. I find myself immensely relieved that it will be a busy day for me. It will be a travel day, full of all the hustle and bustle travel always entails. Maybe I won't have time to stop and think of you and how much I miss you. Maybe I won't remember those last days and hours and wonder what if. Maybe I won't recall all those birthday celebrations, all those times you told us that we had done too much, or those occasions we knew how very much you loved having your family around you.

This year has been a year of firsts, and not the firsts for which I might long. My first New Year's without you, my first Mother's Day without you, our first Father's Day, Daddy's first birthday.....the list seems endless. I am so glad I won't be here to experience this next, and possibly hardest first ..... your birthday.

Even as I am away, it will indeed be another and inescapable first..... a vacation when you aren't checking on us and fretting about us the entire time we travel. We are flying out of the country on your birthday, and this trip will be without your never fail parting instruction, "Be sure to call me as soon as you are there." Sometimes I did, sometimes I didn't....I would give anything if I could call you this year just to say, "We are here and safe. We are okay."

We continue to wear our brave smiles. We press on with our busy lives. Rarely a day passes that there is not a memory trigger for something you said or did. And those triggers still occur in the oddest of circumstances and the most surprising of times. They devastate me. At the same time I pray they will never stop. One of life's oxymorons, I suppose.

Do you know how I feel when I slip into your Lilly dress altered to fit me just so I might wear something that was yours? Or that I cry when I wash things that were yours because I know I am losing those last lingering traces of your scent.....Elizabeth Taylor's Passion, I believe? Do you see my eyes well up with emotion each time Kate wears one of your necklaces, the ones your daughters chose for mine? Do you know my smart phone contacts still read 'Grandmommy and Pop', not just 'Pop'? Do you see that tears have become an ever present ingredient in my peach cobbler because it's your recipe I make and love best? And no, Mother, mine is still not as good as yours always was. Do you know that I have not yet been able to make the frozen pink salad you loved so much, the one Daddy learned to do so that you could have it anytime you wanted instead of just on holidays and other special occasions? Do you know what I'm really thinking when I stop for a moment at your grave?

Have you seen your father, My Granddaddy Griggs? Have you found Aunt Gail and your mother? Have you seen my precious Olivia? Have you met Sharon's mom? Have you seen your Republican hero Ronald Reagan? I have so many questions, and frighteningly few answers.

Things will never be the same. I will never be the same. I do not so easily take for granted things I once did.

I never believed we were losing you, Mother. Why didn't you tell us you were leaving, that your fight was ending? I think you knew, so why didn't you let us say a proper good-bye? Why didn't you give me a chance to say those things that now I wish I had?

It is easier, but it's not. It is better, but only sometimes. We are moving on, but not completely. This week-end, as was often the case for your birthdays, Daddy bought you flowers. But this year, your blooms and greenery grace the FBC Sunday sanctuary in your memory. Daddy is here. Your girls are here. You should be here. You should be here for your precious Matt's graduation from Wake and for the first wedding of a grandchild. You should be here when your great grandchildren arrive. You should be here for your birthday. You should be here for our trip.

You were such a worrier if any of the three of us were travelling. I can recall you so often saying, "I can relax now. My girls are all home."

I know you still watch over us. You must know how much we miss you. There were moments, many moments in fact, when I was so frustrated with you I could not stand it. Now, I would love to have just one more of those moments. I will have to find a degree of comfort in knowing this year it is you who are safe and "at home." On this your birthday, I do hope there is frozen pink salad in heaven.

Heroes, Bird Watching, and Other Musings

Isn't it always about having the right tool for the job? I, the pragmatic one, the planner would certainly have thought so. Yesterday, a bird flew into our house. Why is the movie title "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" rolling around in my head? No matter, at any rate, I arrived home from work to find Drew in quite the tiz. It seems this afternoon a bird had flown into our house. Although no one was admitting who let the wren in, Drew with ten year old chest out and head held high proudly took credit for trapping the feathered intruder in his (that's Drew's) room. Drew, ever the thinker...truly his mother's son....had also tried putting Landen the Cat in the room with the bird thinking perhaps the cat would or could chase the bird out. I gathered that plan failed.

As I started up our stairs to ascertain the fowl situation, Drew on my heels quickly interceded to tell me Daddy was on the way, and Daddy would handle the bird. This I had to see. I retreated down the stairs nearly plowing into Adrian determinedly rounding the corner with...no, I couldn't believe it....a Clemson orange kid's crabbing net! Are you kidding me? I laughed and laughed. I told Adrian to hold everything. The bird would simply have to wait while I found my camera. Some moments just cry out for photographic documentation. Hands shaking severely from the laughter and eyes full of laughing tears, I barely managed to snap the photo, but photographer that I am, I did. And then up Adrian went, fittingly past my beloved antique bird prints that line our stairway, to save the day....with a crab net! I could almost hear the "Rocky" score as I watched the purposeful ascent. (Two cinematic references in one post.....good for me!)I am not quite sure whether my husband was saving us from the bird or the bird from us. I am also not certain what happened or how it happened in my son's upstairs room. But, quite unbelievably, after about 75 seconds, down came Adrian with his orange net and, flapping furiously inside, the wren! Why didn't I go upstairs to see the rescue mission? Why did I doubt that Drew's hero Daddy would again save the day? How does he do that?

Yes, quite obviously, it is critically important to have the right tool for the job.

My Inner Zen

Kate told me last night that she wished I would find my inner zen. I agree with her. What I don't know is how my thirteen year old knows these things. And what makes her think my zen is misplaced?

I will admit, Kate, that I lose my zen from time to time. Busy schedules, children going fifty different directions, a house without a housekeeper for now, it is no wonder that I occasionally forget where I have put my zen...along with my car keys, my office keys, the toaster, and my earrings. Some days are just like that, aren't they?

This year has simply not been my most zenful, and my zen state has most dee-cidedly been a work in progress. Indeed, I am still working at it. Definitely Dee has helped....an outlet I suppose. A week at the beach helped, but I think the benefits of that vacation are long gone. A couple of great books have helped me achieve at least a few zen moments. A quick post script...readers must check out The Help and The Art of Racing In The Rain.

Zaxby's did away with their Zen-sation salad and with it most definitely went some of my zen. I loved that salad! And yes, I know it probably had 1000 calories, precisely why it was so zen-sational. How is it that every promotional fast food menu item I find and like is done away with as soon as I realize I have found something I really like. The same is true for nail polish and lipstick. My favorite colors are always discontinued!

Well, now that I have vented about my frenetic schedule, my proneness to misplace, my long forgotten vacation, my lackluster lunch options, my no longer available nail polish and lipsticks, what is that feeling coming over me......could it be zen?

The Help

I read and loved the novel The Help by Kathryn Stockett. I most loved the book because it reminded me so vividly of my beloved Ruby.....Ruby who was far beyond my help but became my lifeline, my confidante, and almost a second mother to me.

I met Miss Ruby in the pasture in front of our house shortly after Kate was born. I’m sure I must have previously met and spoken to Ruby, but my first strong memory of her came that early spring day in, of all places, our Shiloh Unity pasture. Kate refused to settle down. Every new mother knows the sense of helplessness bordering on hopelessness of those days, and with Kate there were many.   I was exhausted. I simply could not get my crying baby calm. Ruby had sat rocking on her own front porch across the street, arms crossed, shaking her head disapprovingly, watching me from a distance as I walked laps with a crying child for as long as she could. Finally, I suppose at her wits end, she rose from her rocker, crossed the street, walked into the pasture and up to me, took Kate out of my arms and held her up to her large and loving and experienced bosom. (I thought for a minute she was going to smother my baby.) But Kate almost instantly was calm, and I distinctly and embarrassingly heard cooing.  Miss Ruby glanced at my shall I say somewhat lacking upper body, especially in comparison to hers, and said, “Honey, all that baby wanted was a big bosom to find comfort in.” Well, on that count, I quite honestly and obviously needed help.    I instantly knew we had to hire Miss Ruby.  And just like that, she became part of our family and part of our lives. With utmost respect I will say she became my help.

Time passed.  Drew was born. Miss Ruby remained totally and completely a part of us. My children may have said “Roo Roo” before they said “Mommy.” Years passed. They first crawled, then walked, then ran to her for comfort, for congratulations, for hugs, for love, dare I say for lunch. Ruby was always ready with whatever they needed. She took them everywhere. She rocked them, cooked for them, played with them, sang with them, slept with them. More than once after Drew was born, I walked back to Ruby’s bedroom in the late afternoon to find Kate, Drew, and Ruby cuddled up sound asleep in her big bed, tummies full of whatever good cooking Ruby's magical kitchen had rendered that day. She refereed their arguments and restored the peace. Ruby may yet be the only person who has ever effectively handled ‘Miss Kate.’ She told stories of them having to go get their own switches for a spanking.  I knew they were only stories, for Ruby could never have disciplined these children in that manner.  I do think she scared them straight! It was tough love, and somehow Kate adored her. And Ruby's bond with Drew, "My Little Man," as she called him was unmistakable.

We travelled fairly often in those early years with the children. Kate frequently would ask Miss Ruby what we could bring her from our trips. The single Miss Ruby always answered, “Bring me a man.” (That's 'mayan' of the two syllable variety.   Miss Ruby must've thought those were even better than  the one syllable version.) It never failed that when we returned home,  Ruby would ask Kate if she had brought her a man. I did catch Kate on a couple of Caribbean trips trying her best to talk a young Jamaican into coming home with us to be Ruby’s ‘gift.’ Oh my, wouldn’t Ruby have been surprised? Then again, maybe not. The wily Ruby may have known exactly what she was asking.

Miss Ruby had a large and extended family with many children of her own lineage. But, there was never any doubt that she loved mine as if they were hers. Any visitor to Ruby's home saw pictures of my Kate and Drew mingled with her own children, grandchildren, great grandchildren, nieces and nephews and other children actually related to Ruby.

Ruby was a woman of strength, a woman of conviction, a woman of compassion, a woman of God. In her darker moments and in her happiest, she held fast to her faith. She lived an example that spoke far louder than her words.

I still see little bits of Ruby in things Kate and Drew say and do. I thank God for the memories of Ruby that I will have in and with our children. This remarkable woman enriched our lives in so many ways. She was far beyond my help. She was my friend.

Day 3

So, here I am in Lancaster, worrying about Kate, her injured ankle, how she's doing, where I might generate a sale, what I'm having for dinner..... shall we just leave it at worrying. Suddenly my daughter texts, and no, she is not supposed to have a cell phone, that the amazing chef Mr. Wilkie has tonight served the campers pork tenderloin, potatoes, veggies, and yogurt parfaits for supper. And now Kate is waiting to go to "spa night." Where do I sign up for Camp Springmaid Mountain? Pork tenderloin and pedicures for my and thirty other thirteen year olds. Why did I think she may be 'roughing it' just a little? There is 'dee-cidedly' something wrong with this picture!

The Next 24

The clothes were unpacked, the Bieber posters hung, the roommate met, and the fun began. But, did I mention that Kate, much like her mother, is not the most graceful or balanced or athletic child? Perhaps Springmaid Mountain Camp was a questionable judgement call on my part.

As I should have predicted, the second twenty-four began with Kate, seemingly graceful as a cheetah, happily running on a mountain trail, somehow falling and injuring her quite oft injured ankle. Yesterday's snake expert Stephania morphed into today's medic. By the way, you could not pay me enough to be a camp counselor for thirty teen and tween girls. Stephania's initial diagnosis....the ankle might be broken....the camper was in serious pain....the recommendation.....a trip to the local hospital for an X-ray. But first, a call to mom, three hours away, for an opinion.

Now, I love my daughter more than life itself, and she is quite a special girl. But, the reality is, she has a flair for the dramatic and has on some number of previous occasions cried 'wolf' when perhaps 'puppy' might have been more appropo. Take it from someone who has fallen for her impassioned cries and crocodile tears before. Sometimes the injury is far less serious than the cries and tears might lead one to believe. And, for some reason, for Kate, trips to the ER seem to be social events.

After conversation, all (with the notable exception of Kate) decided that we would try over the counter pain medication, rest, and a wrap before transporting the injured to the hospital.

With several hours sleep and a little breakfast, morning brought Kate's request to saddle Kanawha, the horse she already loves. Yes, the ankle hurts. Broken....I doubt it. Please, Lord, don't let me be wrong in betting that a little injury is just that.... a little injury, made worse by the fact that she is away from home and Mom isn't there to tell her everything will be okay.

Supposings On Springmaid

It's the end of Kate's first day of her week of Springmaid Mountain Camp. I think she is fine. I am a little lonely.

Kate wrote that she saw a snake in the river. Her counselor Stephania told her not to worry; it was not 'poiseness'.... Kate's word. Is that 'poiseness' as in possibly a state of poise, or 'poiseness' as in get the heck out of there? You will remember that Kate is the child who believes spelling doesn't matter; what matters is if you are communicating. Well, I guess she communicated successfully. I knew what she meant.

Her encounter with the snake notwithstanding, I hope Kate has exhibited a state of poise....a 'poiseness'... on this trip. Whether riding her horse Kanawha (folks knowledgeable of the Springs umbrella of companies will appreciate the fitting name for her paint) or tubing on the river of thankfully non-'poiseness' snakes or eating the delicious delicacies prepared by Master Chef Wilkie, whom I grew to love during my Springs days, Kate will find her groove, and campers and counselors will more than likely remember her.

I have worried about how she will deal with her alopecia and the common shower area. I have worried that she might lose her wig in the river on the tubing trips. I have contemplated how Kate might handle her hairpiece falling off in the most inopportune of circumstances. But, you know, my heart and my head tell me she will handle it. She just does.

Ah yes, the first twenty-four hours of Springmaid. All is well.

A Brief Catastrophe

There are days I feel like such a bad mother. Today was one of those. I was almost dressed and ready to leave for work when Drew walked in. He hesitated a second; he knew I was hurrying to get my day started. When I asked if he needed me, Drew responded, "Well, I was just wondering if I was good, can I get some new underwear? All of mine is too little. And, Mommy, I don't want the tight kind. Get me the loose ones." (Aka boxers, I supposed.)

I looked long and hard at my son. If I'm good, can I have underwear.....I ashamedly looked down at my brand new dress and shoes. I stopped my preparations for the day, running late as I were, and went to his room to check the underwear drawer. I already knew what I would find. I have no idea when I last bought this child underwear! His cousin gave him hand me down boxers and briefs (guess I should be ashamed for that as well) for awhile, but when was our last batch...2007....2008? The worst was indeed confirmed when I found that this ten year old child, my silent and long suffering son, had a drawer full.....of size 6 underwear. No wonder he wants the "loose ones."

I have said often that I have one child who asks for, no expects the world and another who never, ever asks for anything. Most Dee readers will easily know which child is which. But to allay any possible question, the perfectly content child who needs absolutely nothing is the one with underwear four sizes too small and the, some might say, slighly higher than usual voice pitch....surely there couldn't be a connection. I thought about the spring MAP or PASS or whatever testing South Carolina schools are doing these days. Was Drew's less than spectacular performance last semester related to the fact his circulation was being cut off by his ummm.... shall I say 'under armour'? I started thinking of all the times I have told Drew to stop tugging on his pants.....he may have had good reason. I thought back to flag football and how he seemed less interested in playing the game than in adjusting his....well.... in adjusting. I must stop. My guilt has my mind going places it definitely shouldn't.

Tomorrow's first order of business.....TJMaxx to return those shoes I didn't need and exchange for the boy's boxers I hadn't noticed we did. Ah, the sometimes wacky world of working women...and the sons who love us even though we might on occasion forget the basics.