For 40 years, the holidays started for me the week before Thanksgiving. It was a short work week, and I’d start packing on Monday for my one-and-a-half-hour trip to Jonesboro, Arkansas from Memphis. I couldn’t wait to get in the car and drive over one of Memphis’ two bridges crossing the Mighty Mississippi River.
I’d carefully plan what to wear on Thanksgiving Day with the family, and to church on Sunday morning. Saturday night after Thanksgiving we would always celebrate my birthday with a big dinner of Mom’s homemade chicken & dumplings, my favorite.
When Jim and I married in 1986, we split our time between his family and mine for the holidays, which made it even more special. Different traditions only added to the festive feeling and I happen to love turkey and dressing.
When we had children, packing became more complex. If you’ve ever traveled with infants and toddlers, you know what I mean. And, of course, they had to be dressed perfectly for the holiday pictures. Through those years, the packing and anticipation of the trip became part of the fun of the holiday.
When we moved here to Jonesboro in July 2019, I gave little thought to the holidays and focused on getting settled and helping Jim get started in real estate.
In November, when the subject of Thanksgiving came up, it occurred to me that there would be no packing and driving, no bridge crossing, no overnight stays. It’s a short 15-minute drive to my sister’s house, so if I forget something I can easily drive home and get it.
When I expressed this to Jim, he replied by offering to drive me to Memphis so we could drive across the bridge. Sometimes men really don’t get it, y’all. But it was a nice thought.
Change is a constant. I don’t fear it, I welcome it, because it always brings new experiences to enjoy and new insights.
If you take a close look at “Santa,” you’ll notice a family resemblance. That’s because Jim wore the Santa suit at our neighborhood party. We were hoping the girls wouldn’t notice.
I think as we age, the changes in our lives help us adapt to the challenges. I miss the days of young children and smocked dresses. I miss staying up late to finish matching sister outfits for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.
But I no longer have the energy to stay up late — this one-time night owl is now regularly in bed by 11:00 p.m. I’m too tired at the end of a day to spend hours preparing a full dinner. I’m thankful that I no longer have to worry about diapers, carseats, strollers, and the like — at least not until and unless I have grandchildren.
My mom, at 86, can no longer make the homemade chicken & dumplings, so we’ll do something different for my birthday. I really don’t care as long as we’re all together. But I’d be lying if I said I don’t miss the gathering around Mom’s dining room table and those yummy dumplings.
Our youngest, Sara Ann, is coming in from Little Rock, so she will be the one packing the car and driving. Elizabeth, our oldest, is in San Diego and can’t make it home. I’m still not used to having a member of our family absent on Thanksgiving.
Tonight, the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, we’ll stay in our own home, prop up our feet and watch TV like a regular weeknight. And maybe toast the holiday with a nice glass of wine.
Then tomorrow we’ll pack up Artie (our puppy), an appetizer, and homemade cranberry salad and drive 15 minutes to my sister’s. And it’ll be a great day, except I’ll miss Elizabeth something fierce.
This was shortly after I tried to dye my hair purple. IDK what I was thinking. These are two of the few dresses I didn’t make for the girls. But I love velvet, so I couldn’t resist. My girls with their young twin cousins
You know how sometimes you are in the middle of something stressful and you focus on one little, tiny thing? Yeah, that.
So I splurged on new shower curtains and those cute little rings that hold them up. You can get some really cool ones now.
Which I did. One set of rings for each (really lovely) shower curtain. And one set came in and I hung the master bedroom shower curtain, put in those adorable rings, stood by and admired my design choices.
The shower curtain for the guest bath came the next day. But no rings. You have never seen a person get so rattled by shower curtain rings. Everyone was looking at me as if I had finally taken that trip around the bend. Someone said, “Please do not say shower curtain ring” again. Ever.
The rings came the next day. And you know what I realized?
Prepare for the wisdom, because here it comes. When you feel out of control with the big things (moving, anyone?) and like you’re not going to make it, sometimes it’s easier to stress out about shower curtain rings. Yes, there is misery, poverty, and sickness in the world and I’m upset about shower curtain rings.
And, rather than go deal with it, or even think about it, here I am writing a post about shower curtain rings.
This is not really about shower curtain rings, though. They are only standing in for my (near) panic as we approach this last week of moving preparations with so much not ready.
We all have ’em, y’all. You have shower curtain rings, too. They are the little things you obsess over when you’ve got bigger things in your to deal with. I survived my freakout about the rings. You will too.
P.S. I’ve probably lied about the Final Phase title of this post. I should change it, but right now I need to finish packing up the kitchen.
A week or so ago we visited my niece and nephew in Little Rock. They just bought this great house, and she’s an artist, so, of course it’s decorated fabulously.
One of my favorite things to look at was her aquarium. It was a small one, with a betta fish, a snail, and some plants. I’ve always loved betta fish and have probably killed more of them than some of you have ever looked at. Talking to my niece, Jackie, I learned that it’s not true that bettas can flourish in a small tank, and they do, after all, need filtration. Hence my poor, dead fish.
We got back in the car to continue our trip and Jackie texted me a link to a series of videos on YouTube by this Australian woman with a lovely accent. I started watching the videos on my phone and I was hooked. So was my husband, Jim.
I was looking for a two- to three-gallon tank. I found this three-gallon tank on Amazon. It’s 10.2″ in diameter and 14.5″ tall. I liked the tall shape because I don’t have a lot of extra table space in my office for it and this one can sit right on my desk. I find it so relaxing to watch fish.
Mind you, it currently looks nothing like this. It looks like an empty clear plastic cylinder.
In the next few days, the supplies for setting up the aquarium will begin to arrive from Amazon. I cannot wait.
I’ve decided to chronicle each step from empty cylinder to lush fish environment over the next few posts. So here’s the before.
This is what it actually looks like at this moment.
I was excited because I had found what I thought was the perfect decoration for my tank. I was looking for something tall rather than wide, and this looked like blue coral, so I thought it would be perfect. Boy, was I wrong.
It was way too rough and had too many sharp edges, and bettas can easily tear a fin. So it went back to the store (we had ordered it online) in exchange for another decoration that was way too large.
It covered almost the entire bottom of the tank. Which leaves no room for the filter and the plants I’ve ordered. We decided to save it for our next, larger aquarium.
Pro tip: It’s probably a good idea to actually measure your tank before you buy stuff for it.
I’ve ordered these small, smooth rocks, which I think will do nicely. Not sure if I’ll use all of them, but if not, it’s just another excuse to get another aquarium, right? 😀
As my cool new stuff begins to arrive, I’ll be adding substrate (kind of like underwater soil that gives the plants a way to grow), live plants, and a snail (and he’s so pretty). Stay tuned.
P.S. I could have gotten SO much Sponge Bob stuff. It seems that’s really popular. Sponge Bob was a no.
I’ve always believed in miracles. I’ve known some really big ones in my family.
Big miracles are like the fireworks on the Fourth of July — they make an instant impression amid the ooohs, and ahhhs, and the jaws that drop. Small miracles are different; they give us joy when life is easy and good, and peace and comfort when things aren’t quite going our way.
Our small miracle this summer has been in these flowers. In April, I planted my usual three to four flats of impatiens, in red and white; caladiums, fuschias, New Guinea impatiens and some ferns. In May, we had to cut down a huge tree in the middle of our yard, the very tree that provided the shade for my flower bed. As my once-shady spot was now receiving several hours of full afternoon sun, I held out little hope that my plants would continue to flourish.
I’ve been proven wrong. Here’s Exhibit A. In these 99 – 100-degree temperatures here in South Hell Memphis in August, these babies have somehow survived. In fact, they’ve done better than my tomatoes, which are withering in the heat. This container is at the back corner of the bed, and gets the most direct heat. And now, in mid-August in Memphis, they still bloom. I’m going with miracle. These flowers are not supposed to be alive, let alone blooming.
These impatiens are the ones who have borne the brunt of the July and August afternoon sun. A little leggy, but I think they’re doing darn well considering.
This is the shadier side of the bed, but these plants still get more sun than they like. And still bloom.
It hasn’t been the best of summers for us, but this yard remains, as always, a sanctuary from stress and struggle. A quiet place where the birds sing so loudly you sometimes wish they would tone it down a bit. Where our dogs run and chase sticks and the other dogs they hear behind the fence. On our (at least) 10-year-old patio table I’ve set many a glass of wine, numerous books, and held too many outdoor work sessions on my laptop to count.
See the hanging ferns? They just do not do sun. At least not normally, but this year, in my garden …
It’s not perfect by any means; Southern Living won’t be scheduling the photo shoot any time soon. But it’s ours. And, really, impatiens in afternoon sun in August? Miracle.
The day winds down as Jim puts chicken on the grill.
Don’t believe in miracles? That’s your prerogative. As for us, we’ll just keep enjoying our garden.
When you become a parent, you sign up for a life of mixed emotions.
You want them to sit up, but you know you’ll miss holding them.
You want them to walk, but you fear they’ll fall and hit their head.
You want them to go to school, but it means they will leave you. It means they’ll have 180 days away from you. And they might fall on the playground and skin their knees.
You want them to make friends, but it means someone else will influence them in ways you won’t anymore.
You want them to know what it’s like for a boy to make their heart beat faster, but you don’t want them to get their hearts broken.
You want them to enjoy their first kiss, but you don’t want it to go any further.
You want them to pursue their dreams, but your heart breaks at the thought of them leaving.
You want them to grow up, find their passion, but it’s so hard to let go.
Until you do.
Until you watch them fall in love. And the child that you held on your knee is in someone else’s arms and that’s their home now.
Or maybe they don’t fall in love, but they make a life for themselves far away and you watch them become who they were meant to be.
It’s strange when you realize you don’t know their wardrobe, you don’t know their friends, or what music they listen to in the car.
And even though somewhere that isn’t your house is home for them now, you can hardly contain your joy as you watch one make a home with their love — the same way you did all those years ago — and the other build the life she dreamed of and a promising career.
It’s a paradox that our greatest joy is both in holding them close and in letting them fly on their own. Yes, it’s ridiculously hard to let go. But it is so worth it.
Throughout our girls’ college years, we moved each of them at least three times. From home to dorm, dorm to apartment, and from apartment back home.
Today our oldest, Elizabeth, 25, moved again. This one is for real.
In fact, as I write this, she’s driving a U-Haul, towing her car, somewhere between Birmingham and Atlanta, on the way to Charleston, South Carolina. Which in and of itself is a major Mommy Freakout Moment.
But amid the anxiety is a swell of pride and a sense of excitement for her. She left our nest years ago, but today she flies far away.
Her move reminds me that our primary job as parents is to equip our children to live independently, and to prepare ourselves to loosen our grip as they pursue their dreams.
The hardest lesson for parents to learn is to hold our children more loosely with each passing year. The times we most wish to wrap them tightly in our arms to protect them from harm and struggle are the times it’s most essential to let go. It’s not easy. But I choose to be thankful — and a little proud — that we’ve raised a strong woman who can handle this challenge.
Elizabeth, a three-time marathon runner, ran the last 10 miles of her first marathon after badly spraining an ankle. Rather than quit, she kept running through the pain, and completed the race with a more-than-respectable time. She knows how to gather her strength, but rely on her faith to see her through adversity.
Not far from Aniston, Alabama, the U-Haul truck blew a tire. Every woman’s nightmare is to be stranded alone at night on a highway with car trouble, but Elizabeth kept her head, called for help, and is now on her way again, frustrated at the loss of travel time. She is strong and determined — she is not patient.
As difficult as it is to watch our children take risks, the rewards of watching them face uncertainty with courage as they run toward their dreams are manifold.
I’m letting go for real this time, and I can’t wait to see what happens next. Look out, Charleston!
Hold everything in your hands lightly, otherwise it hurts when God pries your fingers open. — Corrie ten Boom
My brother-in-law is an incredible cook. If he weren’t an excellent physician, he’d own a restaurant and be a highly-regarded chef, I’m sure.
So when he has tips for how to do something in the kitchen, I always listen. Here, he’s demonstrating how he dices an onion. Which is now how I dice an onion.
BTW, that’s the Cardinals on in the background, losing to the Reds. Ohwell. The food was amazing.
In happier days — she loved playing with this foam football. She’d bring it to us over and over until we got tired of throwing.
One of the worst things about being a grownup is having to do hard things.
With “little sister” Gracie napping on her back. I think she liked it.
We did one of those things today. Our beloved 14-year-old yellow Lab, Molly, had to be put to sleep. She has been part of our family, a loving and dear pet, since about 2000. Both girls grew up with her and remember her as a bouncy puppy. Watching her, knowing the pain she was in was heartbreaking for all of us.
We knew it was the right time, but it was a mere eight months ago we lost our sweet Gracie. And, even though we remain positive, with Jim still in job transition, it was almost too much for us to handle.
I struggled with guilt; I would look in her eyes, so trusting, and wonder if she knew what we were about to do. But thinking of her suffering was the difference. You cannot love someone — even a dog — and want them to suffer. And to allow her to continue in a life with no quality would have been cruel.
Both of the girls came over and said “Goodbye” to her, with hugs and tears and memories as they saw her for the last time.
A couple of weeks ago, we were at my sister’s house in Arkansas. Sitting in her pool, she mentioned Molly’s condition. While we knew that it was inevitable, sometimes you just know the limits of what you can bear and I told her so.
So Sara, my sister, offered to take care of it for us, to actually take her to the vet. That was today.
I’ll miss seeing her, even if the last few weeks, she’s mostly laid on a towel on the kitchen floor. I’ll miss watching her chase and retrieve the foam football and bring it back to us to do it all over again. She was calm and quiet and a sweet presence.
It’s not easy to get a photo of four dogs together. You can barely see Charlie behind the patio chair, but I promise he’s there.
This week has been extra hard; knowing what was to happen, anticipating the loss, all the while knowing it was necessary. Even knowing something is the right thing, that it’s best doesn’t make it easier to bear.
Real love is doing what’s best for someone else even when it hurts. Even when it puts you on the verge of tears and makes you pretty much cognitively impaired for the better part of two weeks.
Jim with Charlie (left) and Molly at the lake house in the summer of 2010
Several days ago, a pastor friend of mine reminded me there is theological support for the fact that we’ll see our pets in Heaven. I find it comforting that I’ll see her again, and when I do, Gracie will probably be napping on her back.
Rest in peace, sweet girl. You were loved, you were cherished and you are missed.
If we’re connected on any social network, you know by now that we lost one of our four dogs on Christmas Day. We’re not really sure what happened, but the best guess is that she had an illness we didn’t know about and just found a place in my mom’s back yard to curl up and die. We found her on Christmas morning, after combing the neighborhood for hours on Christmas Eve, thinking she had simply gotten out of the yard.
She was a tiny teacup chihuahua that we discovered at a gas station in Bald Knob, Arkansas in the summer of 2009. On our way home from a lake trip, we stopped for gas. The moment Sara Ann got out of the car, she spied a woman and her daughter with six small puppies in a laundry basket. They were giving them away free. Jim saw them at about the same time and called out to Sara Ann, “Don’t look at the puppies … ” But it was too late.
Bringing her home from the Bald Knob gas station
It was hard to imagine how tiny she was when she first came to us. At her first vet visit, she weighted .8 lbs.
In Sara Ann’s shoe boxSara Ann loved her dearly, as we all did.
She loved to curl up in our laundry room, in this laundry basket that had a cozy blanket in it. It took her a few months to be able to get in and out of the basket, but she finally figured out to do it.
Here she is napping on Ethan’s lap with her sister Layla in my mom’s office
I’ll never forget the way she wanted to be held, with her head in the crook of my arm and my hand cradling her tiny butt. She’d lie still forever in that position, as if she could stay there forever. When I worked in my home office, she’d sit on my legs and curl up between my legs and the desk. We would laugh at the way she ran on those tiny legs, more like a rabbit hop than a running dog, and how she would bark just like the big dogs at anyone who entered our house. We always thought she fancied herself a terrifying watchdog.
She was not terribly well-behaved or well-trained; she didn’t come when we called her unless she felt like it, and never really got the hang of doing her doggy business outdoors. She was so tiny and cute it didn’t matter much, so we let her slide. I’d like to think that we gave her a life filled with love and comfort and that she died knowing how dear she was to all of us.
It’s been a long time since I’ve lost a pet, and it’s already been harder than I remember. I’ll never forget the look of utter devastation on Sara Ann’s face when she found Gracie in the yard. Seeing a child in pain will wrench a mother’s gut. I held her as she sobbed and I watched as Elizabeth and Jim rushed to comfort her.
I believe God always sends us a ray of beauty in the midst of pain. Elizabeth and Jim gathered Gracie up, wrapped her and placed her in a box and we buried her near where we found her in my mom’s yard. Though it was freezing cold, we all stood by while Jim dug a grave for her and lowered her into the ground. We held and comforted one another as a family and, though it’s hard for her to tolerate the cold at 77, my mom stood with us the entire time.
The outpouring of love and support we’ve all received on our social networks has been a comfort and solace to us on a day that should have been filled with laughter, joy and celebration. In a sense, it was. I think Sara Ann summed it all up well with these two tweets.
Still shocked & broken hearted over the loss of my most favorite two pound pup. Miss her like crazy already. pic.twitter.com/mnf5Z7bL
I never try to hide my age; I’m proud of each and every year. I always say, no cancer survivor complains about growing older. I cherish and revel in my birthdays, because each one is another little triumph over the big C.
For those of you who dread getting older, you’re just too young and foolish to know what you’re missing.
This summer, on one of our St. Louis trips, we had pre-game drinks at this great bar called 360, that’s on the 26th floor of the Hyatt at the Ballpark, right across from Busch Stadium. It’s our favorite hotel in St. Louis. The view is spectacular, and, of couse, we loved looking down on the stadium as the Cardinals took batting practice (sadly, closed to the public). We may or may not have creeped on them with the big telephoto lens.
From the top, we could see the buildings, the graceful ones and the eyesores, but we couldn’t see the peeling paint, the cracks in the sidewalk, the litter, graffiti, or any other marks of a downtown urban neightborhood. Busch Stadium, the Gateway Arch, and the beautiful City Hall were easy to pick out, and we enjoyed the overview of a city with which we are only slightly familiar.
Aging is a little like that view from 26 floors up. You see the traffic jams, the road construction, and if you could yell loudly enough, you could tell the drivers below to avoid those streets. Instead, you watch them unwittingly strand themselves in traffic. The higher you climb, the farther out you can see, and the smaller the people and problems on the ground appear.
I love the view from 54. It’s hard to believe how much I dreaded the empty nest; I could not have been more wrong. I love the luxury of eating popcorn for dinner if we want to; making spontaneous plans and running off for weekend getaways with only the dogs to worry about.
But most of all, I love what I know. That money, clothes, houses, cars and other material things are not where it’s at. It’s about the experiences, the memories, and mostly the people.
I remember many moments from my younger days. With the exception of my wedding day, I don’t remember what I was wearing, how much I weighed, or what kind of car got me to my destination.
I remember faces. Voices. Hugs. Tears. Laughter. Love.
Life is short. Make memories.
It was about 104 degrees when I took the photo above. I hate that the sky is so blown out, but I was on the 26th floor, outside, shooting into — and rapidly wilting in — the late-afternoon sun. Jim would’ve shot it much better, but I like to hold the camera sometimes too.
We aren’t quite to “after,” but the new cabinets are in. It took an entire day, and, of course we’re going to have to do some touch-up painting. And some drywall work as, shockingly, our furdown is not completely plumb.
Haven’t used the stove or oven yet, as we have no way to wash dishes. But the new microwave rocks.Love that we have two extra cabinets over where the sink will be. And the drawers are cool.Closeup. We love the finish on the cabinets.
Next phase: Countertops. Which come a week from this Monday. Yes, one more sinkless week.
We’ve been living with an outdated kitchen since we bought our house in 1991. Built in 1978, the kitchen was, and still is, of that vintage, complete with the lovely harvest gold stove and double ovens. The cabinets are original as well and the countertops date back to the 90s, when we were in the bright blue and white kitchen phase. We’ve repainted the cabinets so many times it seems they are at least a couple of inches smaller. Add that to the fact that our stove and oven are all but inoperative and it was time to jump.
So I decided to chronicle the process here.
Before
Sink side. Yes, those cabinets are closed. They’re that crappy.
So I was thrilled to see this:
Which contained these boxes, which contain our new cabinets:
And then yesterday these came:
A brand new stove with burners that I’m betting will actually work
A shiny new microwave that will give us back a couple of square feet of counter real estate
The Jim came home with this yesterday:
A pretty new faucet
And until it’s all done we have to live like this:
Cabinets unloaded – a mess
We’re hoping the installers will come put the cabinets in this week.
And here’s the real before picture: the day after we closed on the house, on our 23-year-old daughter Elizabeth’s third birthday.
