Glad It's Behind Me

Such a frustrating week.....they happen to us all at one time or another. Mine was last week. First on Sunday, a shopping excursion with my teen who has discovered Victoria's Secret. This trip, sure to result in all the usual arguments about underwire and thong and writing across the rear....who ever thought that was a good idea.....this trip at least had a silver lining. Perhaps I should say a cotton lining as I, I was lucky enough to have a coupon for a free panty! At least this trip, I should get something for myself besides a headache.

In we went to the store where all the sales persons are size one. I proudly presented my coupon and asked to be directed to the panties that were indeed free. Little Miss Size One walked me to the appropriate rounder and loudly announced that the "hipsters" and the "full coverage" styles were the choices for the current free panty promotion. And then in an even louder voice, she leaned around in the general direction of my derriere and announced, "For you, I would suggest the full coverage." Gathering my dignity and my free full coverage panty, I made my way to the cashier. Could things get any worse than this?

Fast forward to the next day at work. I am the agent on duty, rushed, late, generally disheveled. At almost lunchtime, my work sister, who replaces my absentee biological sisters in that she can and often does tell me most anything that few others could, rushes out of her office to whisper that I might want to check into the ladies room, as she frantically points to my derriere. Oh no, not my backside again. I just went through this yesterday. "What is it, S, did my pants rip, are my undies showing, what is wrong?"

"I think you have a trail of tp following along behind," she says. No, no, no. As I hastily exited to our ladies lounge, I thought back over the clients, several in fact, I had oh so professionally led to this office or that office in the last three hours. How many people had looked me over in approval....until they noted the toilet paper trailing behind as they followed me to their various appointments. Always a super sexy look, right? Victoria's Secret would be most proud. I wonder had I worn those recently acquired full coverage undies, might they have at least kept the tp in? Another beloved agent, she the practical and pragmatic one, wanted to know what brand I used that was quite apparently strong enough to hang on "through it all" so to speak.

I thought back a few years to an experience a biological sister (readers to choose which one) had shared with me. She left a restroom in a crowded restaurant and proceeded across the densely tabled dining room in her knock out outfit with the back of her skirt tucked firmly inside her panty hose. She thought she sensed a number of appreciative stares as she passed patrons along the way, only to learn they were actually making note of her fully exposed bottom. Are genetics at work? Or simply the frantic and frenetic pace of all our lives these days?

Are you as glad as I that last week is behind us?

Paper Airplanes

Picture credit to Jennifer Holmes, Cousin of Blake Hubbard.

In life, there are those moments, those singular experiences that leave one totally and completely without words. Even for this want to be writer so rarely without words, recent experiences have put me in a totally....well... wordless frame of mind.

Over the last three weeks, I have on more occasions than I can count sat down to write a note or card, to blog, to get ideas of some description on paper. I find...... nothingness. I sit with pen in hand....waiting. Nothing comes to mind. There is only silence. My words float and flutter aimlessly just out of reach in my writer's mind. Like paper airplanes I cannot quite rein them in.

Three weeks ago, a child was lost....a child I once met but didn't really know.....a child who seemingly sometimes preferred the security and solace of small places and yet on that day sought out the wide open expanse of a boy's imagination....a child playing paper airplanes......a child who simply wanted his plane to soar higher. Out with two friends, enjoying one of the unlikely days of this unusual Carolina winter. These children of science and of creativity meticulously fashioned their airplanes and set out to take advantage of the breezes created by the mighty and majestic pines of North Carolina's Triangle. But how to get the best flight, the highest soaring....should we climb?

How can the innocent play of children take such a fatal turn? How can the beautiful amateur flyer be here one moment and gone the next? Parents, family, friends turn to God for answers but in the end must rely on their faith, simply trust that God is in control, and pray that He will somehow comfort all left behind.

They do find great comfort in the knowledge that the child, the paper airplane pilot, is without doubt in the arms of God. They know he had accepted and even reaffirmed Jesus as his Saviour; that though young of age, he strove diligently to be a child of God.

Three years ago, another eerily similar moment took my words. This time a beautiful girl.....a mother concerned about illness, a trip to the hospital, and suddenly and inexplicably an entire town left with no words. This child I did know. This child I did love. This precious dancer child of beautiful words and pictures and thoughts and movement, quite unlike any I know or have known. Such a grown up heart in such a little girl. This child of the liberal arts.....a reader and writer who loved to draw, another indeed remarkable and imaginative child gone so, so soon. This one, too, a young but without doubt true child of God. And again, those left behind find comfort and strength in their faith and in her faith and the absolute knowledge that this beautiful, forever young angel is with her Saviour.

Amidst the innocence of paper airplanes, the unimaginable happens. For a child of so much heart, it is the heart that ultimately gives out. Loved ones on two fronts left with cherished memories. His flight of the paper airplane.....her heart. I am left with mental pictures.....of a charming smile, dancing eyes, a breathtakingly handsome boy, breezes and paper airplanes.....of an astonishingly beautiful girl....a ballerina, the biggest, deepest blue eyes I ever saw and a heart more open than even any adult I know. Yes, I am left with pictures, but the words.....like paper airplanes .... flutter just beyond my reach.

He Left Me

Oh yes, he did. He left me with two children, two dogs, a cat, and a bottle of wine. Sounds a little like a bad country song, doesn't it? He left me. Nevermind that it is only for five days. My day today......6:00 AM.... Up preparing breakfast for Drew. 6:50 AM....... Drive Drew to elementary school. 7:50 AM...... Drive Kate to Middle School. 9:00 AM...... Appointment for Mommy. 11:00 AM...... Back home because I remembered that I forgot to put the cat out. 2:00 PM Drew from elementary school. 2:40 .....Hair stylist calling to find out why Drew missed his 2:30 PM haircut. Really? 3:15 PM.... Kate from Middle School. 4:30 PM....... Kate to tutoring. (All who read Dee know of the 8th grade algebra challenges.) 5:30 PM.....Kate from tutoring. 6:30 PM...... Drew's basketball game. Previous game went into overtime.....It'll be the Chick Fil A drive-through again for late supper. Can you believe a car dies in the drive thru? Finally home at 8:30 PM. Check Drew's agenda. Oh great....Drew has a test tomorrow. Obvious as I begin calling the material out to him that he is just too tired tonight. Oh wait, is that Drew reading himself to sleep in the cat basket? Note to self....must do quick test review tomorrow morning while he eats breakfast.....and check for cat hair.

Oh no.....tomorrow .....rinse....repeat......

I am so reminded of why I actually enjoyed working a full time and often extended hours job....someone else had to run the taxi. Additionally and more importantly, I find myself wondering if one bottle of wine is going to be nearly enough for this week-end.

There was that moment though, that moment in time as I like to refer to them. I was letting Drew out at school, slowly pulling through the drop off line, still half asleep and not even half dressed. A new addition to my prayer list.....thank you, Lord, that I had no flat tire, no speeding ticket, or any other malady that would have had me out of my car in this particular morning's state of disrepair. But, back to my moment, Drew unbuckled his seat belt, leaned over and kissed me on the cheek, not once, not twice, not three times, but repeatedly all the way down the line. He must have given me half a dozen of those sweet kisses only a son and his mom can share. And if that weren't enough to make my day, as we reached the drop off destination, Drew swung open his car door and shouted back over his shoulder, "I love you!" These are the times, the moments of motherhood that I adore. I truly revelled in the moment. I soaked it in. I was so busy soaking it in that I missed his next question... "Mommy, did you hear me? Do you have a dollar?" Guess I should have known. Oh well, my perfect moment of kisses and "love yous" was only partially spoiled. So what if he had an ulterior motive. It worked. Dollar in hand, huge smile and wave, my soon to be middle schooler was off to his day. And I to mine.

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)