As Sisters ....And Cousins... We Make It Through

We three dreaded it... I think Daddy did too.....Christmas Day 2011. Maybe dread is not quite the right word. Perhaps apprehension...uncertainty..... better expressed our feelings. What we found were indeed a few moments of joy, of laughter, of being together, of peace. But all were interspersed with a sadness.... a something missing.

Kate and I went to Christmas morning services. We left our significant males at home and found an often elusive moment of peace for a mother and daughter struggling to reach a meeting place in our often volatile teen/mom relationship.


As always, I saw and revelled in that look of pure excitement that only Christmas morning can bring as it was reflected in my children's faces and eyes. Their joy is always my joy at Christmas, and for last year's Christmas, that was very important.


Times shared with my sisters are always special, and last Christmas Day was no exception. Thinking our day might be easier if our setting changed, we opted not to gather in my mom and dad's home, but instead to meet at my youngest sister's, a strategically central and yet "removed" location for all involved.


We shared gifts and stories, love and support, laughter and teasing, a glass of wine, fun. But there were moments when last Christmas was everything we had worried it would be. That striking moment we three saw our daddy leave our Christmas gathering alone, lip quivering ever so slightly, to travel home alone. At that moment, everything came flooding back. The especially emphatic hug and kiss he gave each of us three before he left.... yes, it was getting easier, but not easy yet....

There were moments I will always remember. Cousins Andi and Lori had earrings made for Di, Donna, and me.....earrings designed from a strand of beads Mother often wore. There each Christmas are gifts. There are only occasionally gifts that transcend gift giving. The beautiful gesture of our precious cousins was most decidedly one that transcended.

Now, quite unbelievably really, Christmas 2012 has come and gone. Again this year there were gifts and stories, love and support, laughter and teasing, possibly more than one glass of wine. (Note to Dee...keep imbibing husband and my sisters apart as much as possible to avoid unintended and/or unwanted sharing of secrets.) In 2012, amidst a little more fun and a few fewer tears, an at least partly healed trio of daughters and a husband, their father, were finding a new path.

This year, Daddy arrived at our holiday soire' bearing fifty years of Mother's and his Christmas ornaments. Three sisters gleefully pounced on the sentimental, and some not so much so, treasures. Some were lovely. Umm....some were not. We argued over which sis had made the pretty ornaments and accused the presumed maker of the ugly ones, each sister refusing to admit creatorship, instead pointing at another. I myself remain quite convinced that all the lovingly, delicately cross stitched ornaments meticulously made with care and pride were without doubt produced by Dee. I likewise am sure that anything that involved cotton balls was undoubtedly born of Diane's artistic endeavors. All Clemson ornaments were attributed to our youngest, the rally cat of the crew. A few rather unfortunate incidents of ornament comingling had occurred in the big box, but we shall save that story for a future blog.

We had FUN! But, through our scrumptious dinner, our chatter, our gifts, our great ornament divide, it was still there. I heard it yet again in my father's voice as he said grace before our Christmas meal. As Daddy asked God to continue to be with us and to see us through another year, there it was......that same quiver......the one I had noted in his voice and lip as he left our gathering last year.

For those who experience loss, especially around the holidays, I am not quite sure any Christmas is ever the same. Nor, I suppose, should it be. We love you, Mother, and miss you still. Some things will never change. Two years....and counting.

Dear Audrey....A Love Letter

Dear Audrey,

Mommy misses you more than words will ever explain! You were my puppy from the very first time I held you! I knew you were special, and I knew you had to be my puppy! I remember how excited I was when Daddy brought you home. You were the prettiest and most precious dog I had ever seen!

I know sometimes I got angry at you, like when you chewed up my brand new Rainbows, but I always loved you, Audrey.

I miss your face when you knew you had done something wrong. I miss your bark when Drew or I would run with your toys. I miss your licks on my face and hands. You always comforted me when I was upset or scared, and at the end of the day, no matter how much I had yelled at you, you were always standing right beside me, making sure I was safe and happy.

You were my little fighter puppy, Audrey. You fought so many near-death experiences. I guess you were just too tired to fight anymore. I am sorry I left you at the vet that night. I know you were probably calling for me and wondering why I didn't come help you. I'm sorry I promised you I would always keep you safe and never let anything hurt you, then broke that promise.

I love you so much, Love Bug, and NO dog will ever replace the paw print you left on my heart. God picked the sweetest and prettiest puppy to join Him!

Love,
Kate

PS: I hope God had you plenty of toys and Chick-Fil-a beside Him when you entered heaven.

Daughters and Doughnuts

Last week-end, I had the opportunity for a quick dash to Durham. My sister and I think it had been over a year since we were last together at her home in the Old North State, though I find that quite impossible to believe. But admittedly lives get busy and time flies by, so perhaps it had indeed been that long.

We had a hectic but fun week-end, shopping all my favorite stores, and most especially shopping and swapping my sister's closet. The moment, however, I may remember from my visit, this week-end's "moment in time" as it were, came on Saturday night. Two sisters, two Clemson grads, found time to squeeze in the Clemson/Duke game. It had been one of the reasons for my trip, but a day of shopping had left us with sore feet and serious contemplation of watching the game in our pj's at home. We eventually found a second wind and headed over to the beautiful Duke campus and the intimate stadium the Devils call home. As we made our way toward the sizable seated contingent of Tiger faithful, we passed a stand-alone concession advertising warm homemade mini doughnuts. We could not pass it by. After a quick stop to purchase our doughnuts and coffee and cocoa, we continued on our way.

As we slid into our seats, and opened our bag (all right, more correctly bags) of mini doughnuts, we looked at each other, both thinking the same thing. Almost simultaneously, two sisters said, "Mother would have loved these." The moment froze. There we were.... I in Mother's orange coat snared from her closet after she died, my sister and I each wearing rings that had been hers, warm cinnamon and sugar from our doughnuts blowing ever so slightly in the chilly Triangle breezes, much like Mother's popcorn always blew over everyone around her at Death Valley. Here we were in Durham, surrounded by Clemson Alums, looking out on stands of and a field of Tigers that she loved as if she had been one herself...probably because she loved one particular Tiger so much and so long.

Mother treasured her treks to Tobacco Road....to Wake and Duke, to Chapel Hill and Raleigh. She loved the away games and the week-ends they brought. She loved her trips anywhere near Durham and the opportunity they presented to visit her precious Diane. And yes, on last Saturday night, she would have loved the doughnuts.

Cornbread in my Coobie

Before readers dissolve into disbelief upon seeing this post title, and as surely they wonder whatever happened to the oath that Dee would Definitely...at least usually... be PG13, give me a moment to expound upon my title. As you wonder if it is a really, really bad country song title or a personal or proprietary problem I definitely would not or certainly should not be writing about, I have to say that although he makes me crazy on occasion, there are a couple of things my better half does pretty much....well.... better than anyone else. And, once again, stay with me for a moment as I am quite sure the minds of some have gone straight to the gutter.

Backing up a step, perhaps the first explanation due is exactly what is a coobie. As many have discovered, some perhaps not, a coobie is quite simply the greatest bra ever! I think I and a generation of women of all degrees of endowment are hooked on these comfortable cotton wonders.....great under tee shirts, great under anything. They in my humble opinion have liberated women in the most needed of ways.

But, on to my second clarification. Not what some were surmising I am sure. My husband makes THE best fried squash I have ever tasted, yes even better than the famed Wagon Wheel. And secondly, he may bake up the best cornbread I have ever eaten. Hejust doesn't do either often enough. And again, please, I ask that we may all guard against taking single sentences of this blog out of context.

Finally this week, after repeated requests from my hubby that I stir up some chili beans, I relented. But, only if he agreed to provide the requisite cornbread to accompany my soup. I am not quite sure what makes his cornbread better than mine. It is a mystery much like that of my friend's fabulously decadent homemade chocolate cake. I have her recipe....I have attempted the cake. Mine just isn't the same.

Yesterday, as his warm muffins came out of the oven, I couldn't wait to dig in. Who needs the chili? I just wanted the bread. And warm as it was, my digging in was slightly messier than expected. So glad no one was around with a camera as I not so daintily stuffed the muffins into my mouth, tiny cornmeal bites fluttering down my shirt, and right into....well into my coobie.

Funny isn't it, how favorites seem to find each other.....Soup and salad.....grits and gravy....beans and rice....cornbread and coobies....

Hags and Czars

I have blogged before that a friend got me H-O-O-K-E-D on the Facebook Zynga Game Words with Friends. And it's been a good thing and a bad thing.....good because this newest and wordiest of obsessions has helped me from somewhere pull really great and otherwise long since forgotten words back into my vocabulary. On the other hand, when I look at some of the words I have recalled I wonder if it is possible that I might need therapy. Today, when I cleverly built hags onto my previously inserted czars and note both tzar and czar are accepted spellings of this strong scoring word....(how does my mind jump like that), I just had to wonder where do these words come from?

I have known for awhile that I have lots of words floating aimlessly around in my head......lots of words....did I mention LOTS of words? Blogging has helped me exercise some of those suckers, as has Words With Friends. Oh, and look, as tonight I play T-E-A-R-S and M-A-T-H, my friend offers up H-E-A-T and T-O-U-C-H. Guess her night is going a little better than mine....I am wondering if B-I-T---- will play. (Just J-O-K-I-N-G, of course.) And anyway, I can't bring myself to play that word, no matter how sometimes I would want to. I know SH-- will play. Although there have been a few days lately when that was the most perfect and fitting word for my mood, I haven't been able to bring myself to play that one either. After all, even a WWFer (now that doesn't sound quite right) has a certain....je ne sais quois.... to uphold.

So, my friend plays P-O-L-E-S; I play H-A-I-R-Y. Maybe I am getting into the swing of things after all. She plays S-L-U-T-S; I play G-N-O-M-E-S. I know, I know. I got nothing.....

I am truly hooked. I can't go to sleep some nights until I check to see if my words with friends friend has played. Her entries tease me, begging for words in response. I can't wait for the litte crossword boxes to populate with their for me tantalizing teasers. I can't leave her hanging; I just have to have that one more play before bed. And there it is...she did it....oh no she didn't(as Kate says 'diunt' totally minus that second 'd') she posts S-E-X-Y....That's it. I'm done. I sigh. I post the sad but true S-L-E-E-P-Y and close my computer.

You Say 'Tomatoes'......I Say 'Teenagers'

One of my favorite seasons recently wound to its sad end. No, not summer.....not exactly anyway. I am already missing this past and counting down to next........drum roll, please.....tomato season. There aren't many things better in my book than fried green tomatoes, tomato sandwiches, fresh tomatoes in my salads....shall I go on?

Adriana Trigiani wrote in her novel Very Valentine that "growing tomatoes is all about patience and process." Gosh, Ms. Trig, I never realized the art of growing tomatoes was so similar to growing children. Had I read that quote out of context I would have been uncertain whether it was teenagers or tomatoes the authoress was discussing.

I suppose both tomato plants and children require just the right and oh so important foundation, grounding, if you will, to prevent unwanted acidity or bitterness. Tomato plants often also require just enough of a binding to keep them growing and going in the right direction, but not so much so as to stunt their growth and development. Sound like anyone we know?

There are days and times I know I fail miserably at both the patience and process Trigiani noted as relate to tomatoes. Only barely into Kate's second year of teenagerdom, I find my patience nearly non-existent. I love her so hard it hurts, but often times that just doesn't seem to be enough.

I have such trouble finding balance between reining her in and letting her go. I know she wants to be treated more like a grown up, but when I look at her I still see my little girl. I want to pull in and protect, while she wants freedom and the chance to fly. Much like tomato plants that at times may need a degree of training them upward, I feel a need to direct my teen's growth. The truth be told, I would like to pause that growth....just long enough that is for me to catch my breath and start again.

I saw such a great metaphor in this character's tomatoes. You may have presumed, as I did, that they grew and thrived in some southern vegetable garden or farm. Valentine's tomatoes actually grew on a New York rooftop. The message....well cared for tomatoes (or teens) might flourish in even the most challenging surroundings.

My patch is small.....I am concerned about the job I do with two growing 'plants'. I like to think I have given them every chance to thrive and produce wonderful fruit of their own.....but who can be certain. With teenagers as with tomatoes, can one ever know for sure?

The Poet

In the spring of 2008, so she would have either been nine or just turned ten years old..... I am guessing 4th grade..... Kate The Poet wrote

The waters blew a salty breeze
And rose above our knobby knees,
then ran away
like a bashful tease.

We ranged across the sparkling sand
with ocean lapping all of the land,
A sunny, funny, happy band.



I found this poem when cleaning out some shelves the other day. Here it is, finally, confirmation that this is my daughter after all.....a beach lover and wordsmith after my own heart. I see alliteration, metaphor.....I would check for iambic pentameter, but I cannot remember exactly what it is. Nevertheless, wow!

FF......that's fast forward as opposed to fairly fantastic.....to August 2012. I am taking Kate to 9th grade registration I ask about her AP classes, to which she responds, "Momma, that's 'After Practice.' We don't get those until 11th grade." Perhaps this child is not mine after all. Really, Kate? Do you honestly think you "practice" in ninth and tenth grades, then get to the 'real stuff' ....the advanced placement....in the eleventh?

I have to believe....or at least fervently hope....sometimes things just slip out of this perfectly beautiful, orthodontically engineered mouth before my always entertaining daughter thinks her thought through. I recall back to Kate's 6th grade announcement that she was in the bachelorette program at her Rucker Middle School, to which I quickly responded that I believed that was a baccalaureate program. I definitely hope it was not a bachelorette program, though some days I might have wondered.

So pretty, so sweet, so funny.....so scattered. She is now one of 387 members of Lancaster High School's Class of 2016. I, like many of the roughly 774 Class of '16 parents have to be wondering, "Are they and more importantly we ready for this?" Why do I have this nagging premonition that there are many more shall we say less than poetic Kate moments to come?