Pulling the Trigger

I am going to learn to "pull the trigger." No, I am not taking shooting lessons....there's a scary thought. I am going to do some of those things I say I am going to do but just never seem to get done. Coming to this resolution is at least partly a result of losing my mother suddenly and without warning. I will always regret things I did not say or do while she was here. Oddly, it's that very tendency to procrastinate, to put off doing both the big and little things, that I saw in my mother and my relationship with my mother and frequently see in myself.

For purposes of this blog, I am thinking more about those fun things...at least they should be fun.... the sometimes material things that we all postpone for every possible reason. We don't have time. We don't have the money. We don't know if it's the right thing. We worry about the economy. We just can't decide to "pull the trigger."

As a realtor, I see this kind of thinking all the time. And, although as an analyzer myself I understand it, I do worry that buyers who overanalyze today's market may miss out on one of the best home buying opportunities in years. Just pull the trigger, right?

Recently my sisters and I helped my dad remodel the beachfront condo he shared with my mom for nearly forty years. In all that time, the only upgrading they did was when hurricane water damage forced a few minor improvements. I commented to my sister that it made me sad to think that our mother never saw the "new condo" and never had a chance to enjoy it. To that my sis commented, "Mother talked about it all the time. She just would never pull the trigger." That is so....well so....Dee.

I talk with my husband all the time about making memories with our children. Those camping trips we continue to postpone, the Disney discussions, the promises to go here or there or do this or that are so well-intentioned but just never seem to happen. One day soon we will be begging the children to go somewhere with us, and they will simply be too busy or have better things to do. It's the circle of life, I suppose.

Speaking of children, there is no doubt, no room for discussion, no discourse whatsoever....my Baby Girl Kate is a trigger puller. Her "Ready, Fire, Aim" attitude drives her mother crazy at times. But it is probably going to take her places I can only imagine. My tendency to get hung up in analysis paralysis is most assuredly a character trait I inherited from my mom and just as certainly, thankfully, one my daughter missed.

Whether buying jeans or furnishing a house, I just have trouble making up my mind. There are so many choices out there. Why is it so easy for the "Kates" of the world to make a choice while others of us wrangle with the details of a seemingly endless game of pros and cons. I never could have been a guest on "Let's Make a Deal." Three weeks after stepping up to the mike with Monty Hall (or whoever this new guy of the new version is) I would still be trying to rationalize the decision to choose door number one or door number two.

We have postponed for years doing some needed things in our home. Again, I am proving to be my mother's daughter. I either don't have the money or time or can't decide what I want to do....always some excuse, some reason for delay. But, this fall, I am stepping out of the seeming comfort of indecision. I may not have the money or the time, but By George, I will have a master bath! Look out world......I'm pulling the trigger!

Sheets, Snoring, Sleepwalking, and Things That Go Bump in the Night

Labor Day week-end at the river left me lazy, listless, and longing for a nap. It wasn't supposed to be that way, but there were more than a few adjustment problems as we experienced our very own version of 'Sleepless in South Carolina.' One culprit....high thread count sheets. Yes, that's what I said....high thread count sheets, a recent gift and much more expensive than those to which I am accustomed, proved so slick that I literally slid off the bed at least twice. Where were my scratchy 250's when I most needed them?

Drew chose the week-end to contribute to this increasingly sleepy scenario by starring in his version of the infamous Blakeney sleep walks. Exhausted after a day of play, he had fallen asleep on the couch. I woke him up to move to his room upstairs. In only slightly slurred syllables, Drew told me he had something he had to do first. Thinking perhaps he was being discreet about a needed trip to the bathroom....I should have known any explanation involving discretion on the part of my son was unlikely....I watched him walk instead to the kitchen counter, pick up the phone, begin furiously dialing, then just as suddenly put the phone down and walk away. The obligatory fast and furious phone beeps ensued. I stepped over, replaced the phone, turned, and asked my befuddled son who he might be calling at this late hour. He looked at me with the unmistakable confused and dazed look of a sleep walker who had no idea why he was doing what he was doing or where he was or even for a moment who I was. I needed a camcorder because, of course, the next morning Drew was sure my story was pure fiction. I didn't tell him that I easily recognized sleepwalking, having early and frequently been exposed to his aunt on occasion actually leaving our house in various and sundry states of sleepwalking. More than once, our dad found her halfway up Hickory (Street, that is), walking who knows where, but definitely sound asleep. To this day, at least one other of the grandchildren's generation and now apparently Drew, carry on the great sleepwalking legacy of the Blakeney (or could it be Griggs) family.

Also at issue on our river rat week-end....that is if 800 thread count sheets and river rats aren't mutually exclusive.... was a soundly snoring member of the family, who shall at least for now remain nameless, further complicating my attempts to catch up on the definite lack of sleep brought on by the first weeks of school. I was 'dee-cidedly" delighted....note the sarcasm....that someone was getting some sleep. Only my mildest muttering could have been heard as I descended the steps to replace my recently relocated son on the den couch. At least there I found a little traction and a tiny window of opportunity for sleep.

Don't you love the restful relaxation of holiday week-ends? Does anyone else need a nap?

A Kindle Conundrum

I love to read. I'm not as prolific a reader as I once was, but to this day I do love to read. Reading is an integral part of my vacations and a vital ingredient in my relaxation regimen. Now dawns the birth of a new age in reading and the unavoidable question....to Kindle or not to Kindle. You've seen them....the sleek, portable personal e-libraries for avid and thoroughly modern readers.

I know and freely admit that I sound like a voice from the Dark Ages. But I think I will (or would) miss holding my book! I would miss... am I actually going to write this.... turning my pages. Is that silly? Looking back over the past five years, I have most definitely experienced a personal technology transition. I, quite reluctantly at first, moved from a "dumb" phone to a blackberry to a (drum roll, please)droid! Now I even wonder if there could there be an i-phone in my future? I also, again quite reluctantly, moved from film cameras to digital. And, although I miss the artistic side of catching that perfect picture the old fashioned way, this move has most definitely cut down on the boxes and boxes and yes more boxes of photos I was accumulating in my home. I will also have to admit that it is much easier to locate a photo from years back with the digital/computer storage system. My technological transition is yet further evidenced by the fact that my computer savvy is much, much improved as I excel and word and google and power point and search and e-mail through life as a real estate agent.


Back to the books. I laughed as I read from the friend of a facebook friend that she wondered why everyone was talking about wood...... kindling.....get it? I suppose I am at least one step beyond her point of view.

I have heard the late night comedians and the recent commercials making fun of the same "excuses" I above offered, and I suppose even more of the people who make them. I am sure Steve Jobs and other techie gurus are laughing all the way to the bank. But I struggle to decide to give up my books!

Last year, Size 4 Banker Sister caught a wiff that her hubby and sons were thinking of giving her a Kindle for Christmas. In typical sisterly fashion....we do have to stick together.....she called me to put the skids on that idea. That didn't go so well. Deciding the best and safest course of action was the direct approach, I called my nephew to tell him his size 4 mom wanted no part of a Kindle. Period. End of discussion. Nephew, also deciding the direct approach was best, told his Dad, Size 4's husband and coincidentally the originator of the Kindle gift idea. Household chaos ensued, matrimonial malaise temporarily set in, feelings were hurt, etc. etc. But you know, when a crisis, such as the wrong Christmas present for your sister, is about to occur, what else can one do but spring, or in this case sprint, into action?

Now, again to the current quandary as I face the perplexity head on....does my reading need to step into this amazing new century of technological advancement? Or is there some justification for staying the course in the comfort, the soothing simplicity of the pages , the tactile experience of a good old fashioned book?

I began to lean a little more toward giving "Kindling" (does that even sound legal?) a try when during our recent vacation I dumped an entire of course brand new bottle of tanning lotion all over and through a book I had borrowed from my sister. So, yes, there is one sticky, gooey, smelly, twenty-five dollar argument for.

A second potential argument for.....no one knows what you are reading. Now there's a good argument for all of us who, on occasion, find time for guilty pleasures of the literary variety. Where was kindling when thirty years ago I wanted to read..... or at least view the pictures in.... "The Joy of Sex?"

The debate with myself continues and the question remains. Will next year's vacation pics include a shot of a Kindling Dee? I suppose only time, technology, and tanning lotion will tell the tale.

The ABC's of Cousins

My dear sweet cousin called and left a message the other day that the Jackson 5 classic ABC was playing on her car radio. She had to call to say she thought of me. I know what you are thinking....Dee and Michael Jackson.....what is the connection?

I knew exactly what my now grown up and gorgeous cousin referred to. We were elementary school age. My family and I were living in Greenville, and my cousin came for a summer visit. During her stay she, My One Day To Be Size 4 Banker Sister, and I worked tirelessly to reprise the famous Jackson moves and music in the basement (or should I say studio) of our home. As you might imagine, it was quite a show! I am sure there is video somewhere....we can only hope it never surfaces!

Oddly, the only additional memory I have of my cousin's visit that year is my mother insisting that she (the visiting cousin) remain in her chair and at her place at the table until she completely finished eating something, possibly pancakes or peas .....memories can be fuzzy and fleeting, can they not..... that my cousin simply wouldn't eat. Sadly, 'The Jacksons' lost quite a substantial bit of rehearsal time because of that culinary stand-off.

A couple of years passed. My dad finished his residency, and my family relocated to Pageland. But the simple matters of location and logistics couldn't keep the aspiring Jackson 3 down. After all, we thought, why should Pageland miss out on the amazing performances to which Greenville had already been treated? Our dreams of being Jacksons, albeit somewhat blonde Jacksons, absolutely refused to die. We same three, two sisters and our cousin, and now a third sister only just toddling (we may not have been getting better, but at least we were getting closer to the requisite 5), again put together a Jackson show for the ages, this time on the front porch that ran the length of our Pigg Street, umm yes that's Pigg Street , home. I should note here that there was in fact another cousin, only a little older but older enough that our concerts were anything but cool to her. As "I'll Be There and "Everybody is A Star" (at least those were slow and we didn't have to dance...much) and "I Want You Back" (ooh ooh baby) rang out on Pageland's Pigg St, we were sure we would one day find ourselves front and center on the Motown Stage. Neither race nor sex nor a decided and definite lack of Motown moves....you know, we danced like white girls.... would stand in our way. You have to love the, with apologies to Justin Bieber, "never say never" attitudes of the very young. (Perhaps we should have saved those videos after all.....I think JB turned his home movies into an empire.) Now, anyone who knows me or especially Size 4 Banker at all knows there is nothing about us that remotely resembles what Adam Levine of Maroon 5 would today call 'moves like Jaggar' or that later to become King of Pop Jackson himself might have applauded for that matter. And I should add here that our cousin and littlest sister would eventually become quite the dancers. But, in those early days, what we lacked in talent and moves, we more than made up for in enthusiasm.

My sisters and I were discussing last week-end that we have relatively few memories of our childhood. But the Jackson 5 shows......now those, I will remember always. And, as for my cousins, those relationships are among the ones I treasure most. They are definitely as the Jacksons said "easy as 1 - 2 - 3!"

The Dance

This summer brought me a special performance with several encores, and I didn't even travel to see it. (Note to readers: if your mind is in the gutter, get it out....this has nothing to do with.....that!) Outside my bedroom bay window on most evenings, particularly earlier in the summer, I watched with fascination the dance of the fireflies. With simple but beautiful choreography and an almost lyrical light show, this display of nature's tiny dancers will this year be added to my list of summer loves.

Fireflies or lightning bugs....I believe but am not completely sure they are one and the same.....are truly a sign of the Southern summer. And what a treat! I don't know if other regions experience the firefly. I think not, and if I am correct, it is truly their loss and yet another reason to love the south. A little break from the sweltering summer heat, a little simplicity in a world of craziness, a little light in the evening darkness, don't miss the dance of the fireflies to be appearing in a location near you.

As do many in these times of uncertainty, I go to bed often with countless things on my mind. This summer, my lightning bugs brought a delightful distraction and a sense of relaxation that on numerous nights lulled me into a sweet sleep.

In the beginning, on a June evening when reading didn't hold my attention and nothing on tv caught my eye, I happened to glance toward my window and into the fallen darkness of our backyard just in time to catch a command performance..... the dance of the fireflies. In the days and weeks that followed, I found myself watching for and eagerly anticipating the show that I hoped was to come. On days that had been tinged with sadness, and this summer there were many, I fancied the fireflies blinking as if to say, "We see, we understand." On days that could only be described as crazy, I imagined the lightning bugs were winking and encouraging me to keep my sometimes elusive sense of humor. On some nights, I saw in those lights my mother's lovely but tired eyes, twinkling as she listened intently to some story of the grandchildren one of my sisters or I was sharing. At times, the show was frenetic, almost wild with motion. At others, there may have been only a lone firefly sharing a quiet and singular dance for my enjoyment. It was as if they knew and noted my mood and provided the dance that would best soothe my soul.

Adam Young wrote the beautiful lyrics for the hit Owl City song Fireflies...."You wouldn't believe your eyes if ten million fireflies lit up the world as I fell asleep......to ten million fireflies I get misty eyes as I say farewell....."

I will miss the tiny lights of my southern summer of 2011. Until next summer, I will miss my fireflies.

Lumps, Bumps, and Bahamas Bits and Bytes

Just back with suitcases full of dirty clothes, still a little sand between my toes, and an ever so slight longing for a cool 'miami vice' at poolside, but I just had to blog a little.

Great trip and great vacation...I cannot help but comment on a few observations.....definitely what you would expect from Dee, right? Although it was hard, it was very good I think to leave my cell phone at home. As a realtor, I am never 'disconnected.' To avoid any possible misunderstanding I will define disconnected for my purposes here as no text, no e-mail, no calls, no computer. Some might argue that I am quite frequently disconnected in one manner or another. But that's for another blog. This week I, for the first time in months, had a chance to take a deep breath and relax. It felt good, and I highly recommend it if you possibly can temporarily disconnect yourself. Of course, the Monday after finds me painfully crashing back to the reality of our all access all the time world. And I do mean painfully as I found it incredibly hard to push my feet, now so accustomed to flip flops and flats, back into heels for work. I nearly fell out of bed this morning when my screeching alarm clock began doing its part to get me back on schedule and in my routine. I am definitely longing for 'island time' today.

Now to the trip......


My daughter's rapid maturity and take charge attitude again, as is so often the case recently, surprised me this trip. Our flight out of the US was sold out, and as a result my family of four was seated separately on the plane. At least, it all started out that way. Five minutes after taking our seats, Kate had maneuvered herself from her assigned center to a window seat...she loves the window... then convinced the person now next to her to swap seats with me ten rows back so that Kate and I could sit together. I would happily and comfortably have remained in my assigned seat ten rows back, avoiding any possible rejection that might have come from asking an unwilling traveller to relocate, and read. But not my Kate! I think she would have rearranged the entire plane if necessary to achieve her objective. If only she showed such determination in her math classes!

My first vacation with a teenage daughter definitely had other moments. This year, horror of horrors, she met dare I say.... boys. Imagine my surprise, or should I say chagrin, when she and we travel hundreds of miles and out of the country only to meet a boy from Charlotte who previously lived in our hometown. That was only the beginning. This trip, Kate wanted to "club." Now, before everyone gasps in disbelief, this is a 13 - 17 teen club in the hotel, very tightly controlled from what I could see. As Kate, nearly beside herself with shame and disgrace, stood beside me I grilled the greeter at the Club Crush receiving desk with an onslought of parental questions....what supervision was provided....could the kids leave....was there any alcohol....what id were they checking...other rules....etc, etc. I did feel much better (yeah, right) when I read one of the posted club rules that stated "public displays of affection that might be considered sexual in nature such as prolonged kissing, suggestive dancing, groping (does a thirteen year old even know what groping is) as well as any other potentially offensive PDA would not be allowed." Why is it that I thought a PDA was a phone or even a reference material for a doctor? Nevertheless Kate was, I suppose, clubbing, and I was most assuredly not ready for this.

As for me, I was dealing with a little reality of my own. On Day 2, noting my struggle to climb a high and somewhat awkward (meaning there was absolutely no way whatsoever to maneuver it in a genteel and/or lady like manner) step up from the beach onto a hotel walkway, a young Bahamian male commented my direction, "Beautiful Lady, the step will build your core... is good for you...will work your six pack....I think you have an eight pack." "Why, thank you," I said. But, as I turned, I suddenly horrifyingly realized that unlike being rated an eight or a ten as opposed to a six, being told you had an eight pack versus a six pack probably wasn't a compliment at all. What is it about the island winds blowing through your hair, the shimmering turquoise water and the glistening white sand that lead you to believe you are the most famous of all 'tens' Bo Derek, perfect braids and all, romping down the beach? Couldn't the guy just have stopped with the "beautiful lady" part? Of course he couldn't. Much as was documented in a previous blog after my son told me I was "jiggly," I found myself desperately digging through my beach bag for the cover up I should have been wearing to begin with. When will I learn...

And that brings me to Drew. I noticed that my son may have a few more of his mother's genes than I might have previously thought. To all appearances, Drew is all and I do mean all Daddy. From the way he walks, to the way he talks, to the way he thinks, Drew is all Adrian all the time. Readers who know Adrian will join me as I pause to think OMG! But this trip, as Drew and I stood at a photography kiosk choosing vacation pictures to purchase, I finally saw that elusive flash of Mom. As the operator pulled up a particular photo, Drew said, "Can you please zoom....note I might have said crop, but no matter....that one so I look bigger, and can you make it brighter, and what other choices in borders do you have?" I looked at my pint sized ten year old and thought, "That's my boy!" The clerk looked at me as if to say, "Really....you must be kidding me." As I looked over with pride I mumbled that you can never spend too much time or effort on your vacation pictures. Never mind that the kiosk operator totally disagreed, you go, Drew! A camera just may be on your Christmas list this year. By the way, I have 350 of my own pics from this trip! Surely at least a few more Dee stories will be found there!

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.