Crazy ....And A "C" Cup

What a crazy week. I have had changed appointments, misscheduled appointments, totally missed appointments and so on. What is it with this week? The first full school and work week in nearly a month....actually no, thanks to the Monday celebration honoring Dr. Martin Luther King. Yesterday came the straw that broke the proverbial camel's back. I was one more time in this hectic week rushing out to an apppointment and so very late. I wore a crocheted skirt that I love and found myself puzzling as to why I so seldom wear it.

Five minutes after slipping into the slip on skirt, my much beloved charm bracelet had picked it three times. And not just tiny picks, these practically ripped the skirt in thirds. Now in full on damage and time control, off came the bracelet. But as time would tell, sadly on stayed the skirt.

I rushed out of the house, now in a total tiz, but finally at least on my way. How late am I....eight....ten minutes already? But I am on my way. I jumped into my car, more accurately into Adrian's car as I am currently carless. I screamed into the Tate parking lot, on two wheels I am sure. I jumped out of the car....deep breaths.....composure.....smile.... much better now. Just as I reached the office door, from the very corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of ...something....what is that hanging on the hem of my skirt? Oh no, it can't be, but it is....a bra......trailing me across the parking lot, hanging on by its tiny clasp hopelessly entangled in my 'oh now I remember why I never wear it' skirt. This has to be my worst fashion flub since I one day wore pajama pants under my regular pants to work at Springs. Having not yet entered the Tate office and fervently hoping this happens only once per career, I was thankfully unseen by at least most of my colleagues. But, across the way, how many patrons of the bustling January tax office saw my contraband? How many do I see pointing, smirking, laughing?

Were the bra an ample 36 D or more, maybe I could laugh this off. I could perhaps even proudly drag such a brassiere hanging on my cute skirt into work or anywhere else. As it were, my 32 B....okay... maybe A .... just didn't allow that luxury. Maybe I could blame this on Kate....yes, yes, this must be her lingerie clinging to the hem of my crocheted skirt. But anyone who has seen Kate lately knows that she has, how shall I say, blossomed far beyond the dimensions of this delicate undergarment.

What's the old saying, "Momma said there'd be days like this." What did Momma say about weeks....and bra sizes?

Word Up

So, my dear friend recently invited me to play the Zynga game "Words With Friends" on Facebook. Fancying myself a bit of a word guru...is that a wuru.... I thought it might be good fun and possibly a way to remind myself of some words with Dee possibilities.

I think my first word entry was around 4:30 pm that first day. My friend, apparently having much more fun than I this week-end, responded with her first word around 7:00 pm. What am I missing? What I thought would be a lively back and forth brain teaser with a good friend seems to be instead mostly me playing with myself. Ooops....for someone pretty good with words, that last sentence needs work. But, if you play this game, you know what I mean. Either that or I am most "dee-cidedly" missing something.

The crossword game is great....but I find my thoroughly inquisitive self wondering just what my friend is up to that keeps her from responding to my words. Is she with a client? Not fair if she is and I am not! Is she at the movies? Did she get an offer too good to be true for dinner? Just what could she be doing that keeps her from such an important competition?

I may be too nosy for this game. Or maybe just too impatient. Or both. I am so full of .....of words. (You thought I was going somewhere else with that, right?) But my playing partner can't get back to me fast enough for me to use them.

And then her words.....they are just so much more fun that mine. I have recipe and axle. She has broad and yeah and something else that just said fun to me. Where does she get those fun letters? I did come up with food but then couldn't bring myself to build on the obvious fa-t, even though that gassy follow up to food might have given me 30 points. I do have standards to uphold, even in this game. I did manage to use the letter 'z' in one of my favorite words gaze. That was a nice one, if I do say so myself.

The jury is still out on Words With Friends. I am just glad to be able to call this one who invited me f_r_i_e_n_d.

Mais Oui, She is Her Mother's Daughter......

She is her mother's daughter......and maybe not in a good way. For my children, the second semester starts this week. Today, I logged onto the parent portal of Kate's middle school website, in an effort to prepare myself for what promises to be not the best of news in my eighth grader's first semester grades. I was prepared for trouble in algebra. I knew things were touch and go in honors English and Language Arts. I knew Kate has been shall I say a little too social in social studies, and her grade might reflect that. But, there it was. It stuck out like the proverbial sore thumb....a 60 on a French History project ! This was a subject in which she had a 98 average at the end of the last nine weeks. I racked my brain. I could not remember any discussion of a French history assignment.

"Kate, could you come down, please?" Bam, bam, bam as Kate's gait is part jump, part bounce, part bang down our stairs. "Kate, what is this French history project, and what happened?"

First came the long, deliberate pause, the one I have so come to dread. Then, "Momma, you could have told me Louis Vuitton was not really a French historical person." Kate, surely you did not do a French history paper on a handbag designer. Even worse, on a handbag designer who I believe collaborated with the German Nazi regime. I am sure that went over well in a French class. But she did. She did her first semester term paper on The House of Vuitton! Aunt Teeny, My Expert On All Things French, at moments like these, where are you? More importantly, where is your influence on my daughter?

I haven't seen the paper. I haven't had the pleasure of reading Kate's slant on how Louis Vuitton became a French hero. I pray that she didn't write about our Canal Street explorations in New York City, searching for the perfect knock off bag, though I would not be altogether surprised.

Kate, like her mother, loves the perfect handbag. And somehow that trait, that blasted Blakeney characteristic took over her brain as she postulated her semester project in French.... on the House of Vuitton. Needless to say, whatever she wrote, her teacher was not impressed.

I wish I could remember just one of the French curse words I once knew. Moreover, I wish I could translate the English, "Will we survive second semester?" into impeccable Francaise.

Auld Lang Syne

Fitting somehow that my and our 2012 began in my parents' Garden City condo on the Carolina Coast. Dee readers know how I love the beach. Sixty five and seventy degree days and mild nights this trip gave us simply unbelievable December/January weather. I have decided I especially love beach jaunts in the winter.....no swimsuits required! (Ummm....note to readers: reference the previously penned "Jiggly" blog!)

I yet do not understand how or why the beach revives my spirits and feeds my soul. I simply know that it does. And, I know I am not alone in feeling the somewhat and sometimes inexplicable pull of the ocean. Herman Melville wrote, "As everyone knows, meditation and water are wedded forever." And it is true. Here I find time to think, to remember, to write.

I recall the too numerous to count beach trips of my early years, the sandy summer vacations with my family in this very Garden City spot. On those early trips there were first the four of us. Then Donna's arrival meant five shellseekers, soaking up the subdued fun of the sunsplashed south strand. The times and trips were easy and uncomplicated. A night out might consist of nothing more than putt-putt or, on a special night, the tiny local amusement park. Many a day ended with scrumptious shrimp dinners and those "dee"cidedly decadent hush puppies and honey butter for dipping. Surely my more than ample hips and thighs can be traced at least in part to origins here at the bountiful tables of Lee's Inlet Kitchen...still in business to this very day.

JFK, whose great love of and respect for the ocean is well-documented, wrote, "We are tied to the ocean. And when we go back to the sea, whether it is to sail or to watch, we are going back from whence we came." Particularly on this visit, one year to the day removed from my mother's passing, I felt this sentiment. I felt the pull of returning to that from whence I came. I felt the pull of the Atlantic. I felt the pull of a place my mother loved.

And indeed, my mom did love this place. Though her family complained frequently in later years that updates were definitely needed, I believe she found comfort and a sort of solace in its never changing. I commented to Drew that I regretted my mother, his grandmother, never saw the beautiful facelift we finally gave her beloved beach getaway place. In response, Drew pointed upward and said, "But Mommy, she did see." Ah yes, even eleven year old Drew "gets" that there is something very special here.

I think, for me, in this year, the most powerful and needed emotion to be drawn from the ocean is hope....hope for a brighter year ahead, for the success and health of my children, for the continued strength of my family. Perhaps my favorite ocean quote should then be, "The sea will grant each man new hope." From a true daughter of the sand, sea, and surf to one who most definitely knew the power, hope, and majesty of the ocean, I thank you, Christopher Columbus. I trust the sea will keep its promise and grant a new year...... of hope.

(Photography by Kate)