“If you move around all your life, you can’t find where you came from on a map. All those places where you lived are just that: places. You don’t come from any of them; you come from a series of events. And those are mapped in memory. Contingent, precarious events, without the counterpane of place to muffle the knowledge of how unlikely we are. Almost not born at every turn. Without a place, events slow-tumbling through time become your roots. Stories shading into one another. You come from [stories…events…people].”
-Anne Marie McDonald in The Way the Crow Flies
In Des Moines
The basement apartment
The Washington Street house, earliest memories
Me at the Washington Street house…on the Anderson-Erikson Dairy milkbox
1310 York Street, 2 doors down from Grandma Baker
1723 York Street, the first one my parents ever bought (across the alley and one street over from Aunt Rosie)
In Davenport
3536 Jersey Ridge Road, the acreage with ponds and baseball games
5506 North Howell
In Cedar Rapids
the “parsonage” on some street I can’t recall
In Robert, La
“the parsonage” on highway 190 east of Hammond
with Ginger (and Miss Clara for a few weeks)
In Gary
4995 Roosevelt Place
In Minot
Dorm Room
Trailer in married student housing park
barn-shaped house
In Kokomo
1106 Armstrong Street
In Sioux City
Leeds neighborhood house for one week (house had major problems ;[ )
Jackson Street-the yellow house
across from school, our first house to ever buy, huge!
In Norfolk (don’t ask)
N 10th, loved this house
N 13th, historical Victorian, loved it, too
Park Place, just passing through
“orange” house, endured
“Bob” Nebraska, torture (not the house, the season)
In Denver
Acoma Street house (where we had “Graceland Home School”)
In Brighton
Pheasant Ridge, land of grandbebes
There was actually some zig and some zag between some of these. But these are all just houses. They aren’t where I am from, though I enjoy looking at them again via Google-maps. They are just places I lived. Home is where my heart is. And where my heart is held with great care
Where thou art ~ that ~ is home. Emily Dickenson
“It’s anywhere I’ll ever go and everywhere I’ve been
Nothing takes my breath away like my front porch looking in”
It was beautiful. In the hotel (The Palace) and away from it.
We were treated like royalty around-the-clock. The staff at The Palace was absolutely amazing!
Two words: ALL INCLUSIVE! 24-hour room service, gourmet dining from various restaurants anytime, any way we wanted it.
$1500 worth of activities included in our deal, among them: snorkeling, Dolphins and diving, photo sessions with their photographers, manicures, pedicures, wholistic massages, tours, and anti-aging facials, baby! Oh, yeah!
Hunter made friends everywhere he went. One little boy he played with kept saying ” Oh my gosh!” this. And “Oh my gosh!” that. Finally, Hunter thought he’d bring some correction to his little friend and he offered this advice: “Why don’t you just say ‘Oh, my goodness? Or sheep dip!’?” Hunter is his daddy’s boy!
There were scooters and an open-air Jeep zooming down the coast. Snorkeling and swimming with dolphins. Chankanaab was wonderful. WHEN I return, I shall do at least 2 days there, whereeven the fish dine on homemade corn tortilla chips (how I crave them even now).
There were reefs and ruins. Soft winds and gentle waves.
The food, oh the food! Mexican Caribbean, delightful. Mmmmm…!!
The pool looked like it flowed straight into the ocean. The air: hot, humid and lovely.
Romantic! The days were long and sweetly languorous, the evenings hung endlessly in the sky for dancing and dining.
Oh, I will return to Cozumel! ;p
Mood Music for my pictorial slideshow…Hunter and I put this together today and fondly remembered…and wanted to go right back!
Hunter may even honeymoon at Cozumel someday, he is thinking.
Push play on the mood music then the slideshow at once.
Feel the moist, warm air; feel the ocean breeze, hear the waves gently lapping against the dock?…aaaahhhhhh….I am swaying in my hammock….
Dave and I on our last night there ~ way more rested and waaaay more tan than when we arrived. Lovely!
A Summer’s evening at the Neighborhood School Ball Park.
Baseball is summer’s game. We didn’t have a TV most of my growing up years, but the radio was tuned in to St. Louis Cardinal’s games as the sun went down on summer nights. The cracking sound of the bat hitting the ball and the crowds going wild, along with the rev-the-crowd organ music drifted through the open windows mingling with the sounds of playmates and I chasing fireflies and whirling hoola-hoops around our waists. The screen door slammed, as in and out we’d go and beer commercials would ring out between innings.
Tools of the trade.
We don’t do it enough, but now and again, Rocky will get a group of us together to run up the street and play softball at the elementary school. And each time we say, “We have to do this again soon,” because even my grown children, now, have become nostalgic as they remember the years they played ball all day every day with the neightborhood kids.
Uncle Rocky pitching to Gav-at-bat. The cheering crowds. DP up to bat.
When I feel the morning grass I let down my guard
Because love comes from the dirt in my own backyard
Everytime I think I’ve finished being young
I catch myself having fun
My husband, Dave, up to bat.
Recently, on one of those lovely evenings that make you wish summer could last forever, Rock got us all together, the fam and some good friends. There is just nothing like some bats, a good, broken-in leather glove and bases to run around. Good times!
Pepler. Guini and Nonna (me). Gavin hits it!
But the moment passes as the sun moves on
So I turn myself back to you…
And it’s depressing that I can’t forget the tune the organist played
La – da da da da da da, la – da da da da da da…
Dave at bat. The boys taking a breather.
Everytime I think I’ve finished being young
I catch myself having fun
But the moment passes as the sun moves on
So I turn myself back to you
Is our season over? No four leaf clover?
The boys of summer: just coming down “Front Street,” as DP likes to say. Shirt by Stormie
Hunter and Gavin will climb anything. Tristan swinging the pipe…as a lefty!
I feel it’s getting colder…
But can you still remember?
April to November
You and I were members
Of the best team in baseball
So we play our games…
Guini’s birthday celebration was delayed by the Heaven Fest craziness. So how could I refuse when she asked for a really big cake, purple and yellow, chocolate with buttercream icing and lots and lots of color and flowers…plus sparklers on the top. Presents first, dinner and swimming, then cake and ice cream. A lovely way to spend a summer Sunday evening.
And as you feel it, you’ll know it’s true
that you are blessed and lucky
It’s true, that you are touched by Something
that will grow and bloom in you
Left: Amelie Belle is 4 and a half months now and she is good buddies her Aunt Stephanie. Center: Guini the birthday girl loves her baby cousin. Right: Aunt Tara is always popular with nieces Averi and Gemma May.
My amazing and insightful sister-in-law, Dawn recently commented that these family times together, the little cousins playing tug-of-war over some toy or the other and whatever mischieviousness they can all find to get into will be memories they will cherish as they grow up. I hope they’ll know that they ARE “blessed and lucky” and that the love of these days will grow and bloom in their lives, too.
These are days you’ll remember
when May is rushing over you with desire
to be part of the miracles you see in every hour
Here we are, Dave and I and our 6, very longsuffering grandbebes. They pose for us, they smile and coo and endure photo ops. They act silly and one day, when they are old enough, they will really wonder about us! Perhaps they already do.
You’ll know it’s true, that you are blessed and lucky
It’s true, that you are touched by Something
that will grow and bloom in you
It was Guinivere’s birthday celebration. She just turned 5. Hunter is 5 and a half. Gavin who is holding baby Amelie Belle, is 7 and baby girl is 4 1/2 months now. Best friends and cousins Gemma May and Averi are 3 and 2 1/2 respectively. These are the grandbebes on a summer’s evening in August.
These are the days
that you might fill with laughter
until you break
Left: Jovan is such a good mommy to her girls. My son married well. Middle: These are the men of the family – Dave and Tristan, 2 sons-in-law who could not be more wonderful if they tried, my husband and lover of 29 years (and a very flirtacious friend for almost 3 years before that), Dave and Rocker-Bo, the kid probably most like me in the world…only waaaaay better. Right: And my beautiful firstborn, Tara with her beautiful firstborn, The Little Prince.
These days you might feel a shaft of light
make its way across your face
Dave’s hair looks really gray in these pictures, but not in real, up-close-and-personal life (except for the salt and pepper facial hair and a little in the temples). Hmmm…wonder what is up with that? I KNEW that camera was trying to make me look old against my will. This is proof! The little girlie-grandbebes rely on Poppa to keep them safe from the splashing boys in the water.
And when you do
you’ll know how it was meant to be
Left: Averi following the grandbebe swimming ritual, which is, you get out and dry off so you can go right back in again. Middle: Steph loves her cake. Right, Gemma and Averi are always in deep discussion and generally some disagreement about some topic or another. But they are besties.
See the signs and know their meaning, it’s true
You’ll know how it was meant to be
The grandbebe painted, wooden stools…crazy-looking-maybe-I-should-have-planned-before-baking-but-the-brithday-girl-loves-it-anyway cakes…a zinnia that both Amelie Belle and I took a fancy to last night on our way around the yard (where new bikes for Stormie and Rocky, no less, were being assembled, a game of catch was going on, kiddies were splashing in a pool and sweet conversation floated on the summer air). These are the signs…
Hear the signs and
know they’re speaking to you, to you*
NOTE TO SELF: To get over myself {for the love!} and get over my ridiculous heartbreaks…See the signs, hear the signs…it’s true. These are the days…
* LYRICS: “These are the Days” by Natalie Merchant
And the backyard is still, quiet, save for the slight rustling of green leaves and the sound of the pond, water spilling over rocks. The heat of the day has evaporated and the solar lights lining the garden paths twinkle as best they can. Christmas lights in full-leafed trees cast romantic, dancing shadows.
The backyard is magic tonight, I think to myself.
I am wondering what this absolutely perfect tempertaure is, this moment of complete faultlessness? The hour is blue*, for the sun is barely dropped. A cricket crowns the evening with his song for love. Neighbor’s homes glow softly and the stars appear to bid me well, one by one.
In that moment I miss everyone I love and wish each could share this perfectly ripe moment of utter sublimity with me. Sigh. I am a melancholy soul, yes?
A summer night in Brighton, Colorado
Last night was just one of those nights. Aaaahh, mmm…I love summer.
“Celebrate the little things in life, appreciate tomorrow, love your neighbor…never condemn yourself to a life without cause to celebrate and be thankful for what you have. Never forget the people you love and love them when you have an occasion to do so. Celebrate their life and celebrate yours.” ~Unknown
Feu de joie, a French term meaning “fire of joy,” is actually a gun salute, described as “a running of the guns” as they are fired on occasions of public rejoicing and celebration. It can also reference a large bonfire being lit as a token of national joy.
But we have just navigated our way through our very own rapid-fire of joy and celebration. For during a 12 week period between Dave’s birthday (March 23) and Father’s Day (3rd Sunday in June), we do a whole lotta shaking! There are 9 family birthdays during that time…no wait! Amelie was born a few days after Dave’s birthday, so now 10! This is immediate right-here-local family, people! Plus, there was a HF fundraiser, a big baby shower or two, the aforementioned birth of a new grandbebe, some travel among us, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, a couple of theater productions for the patriarch, a holiday, tax-day and some end-of-the-school-year plays and programs. Oh. And cakes.
I think I feel a summer cold coming on. A little worn out, but whew! Still, mostly intact.
Jubilate
Oh, how Averi loves her little Flintstone-esque car; Gemma said of her big sister, “Guini is so nice.” Hunter is a great big-cousin to the girls!
“That it will never come again
is what makes it so sweet.”
~Emily Dickinson
Dave with original 5, and with the 6 grandbebes. On Father’s Day.
Make merry
Scenes from good times: Jovan and Aunt Dessa with baby Amelie. Gemma and the cone.
The family. We were a strange little band of characters trudging through life sharing diseases and toothpaste, coveting one another’s desserts, hiding shampoo, borrowing money, locking each other out of our rooms, inflicting pain and kissing to heal it in the same instant, loving, laughing, defending, and trying to figure out the common thread that bound us all together. ~Erma Bombeck
Dave with grandbebes, left-right: Hunter (5), Amelie Belle (almost 3 months), Gemma (3), Guinivere (almost 5), Averi (2), and Gavin (7)
Celebrate ~ a LIST of reasons:
Birthdays, anniversaries, firsts, promotions, making the yellow light, getting the good parking spot, your husband’s first novel getting published (buy here!), a moist spring, summer arriving, a full moon in an azure-blue sky, the first sip of amazing morning coffee, a grandbebe tying his own shoes and riding without training wheels, tomatoes ripening on the vine, and a new granddaughter. Also, achievement and success, failures we made it through together, a good movie, really green freshly-cut grass (that deserves an ice cream cone at the very least), a completed project, an upcoming festival, finding out some one is praying for you, healing for dad and brothers in light of heart junk, first teeth, first lost teeth, seeds that sprout, weeds that pull out easily. Moms. Dads. Brothers, sisters, neices, nephews and grandbebes. Aunts and Uncles and family in the faith. Growing love and re-ignited passion. Good times. And even hard times with people who won’t leave.
For these and many other reasons, throw a party. It can be filled with lavish decor and a seemingly endless buffet of tempting tidbits, or as simple as a blanket on the grass with milk and cookies as the stars come out to dance. Find your reason.
Can you over-do on celebrating?
I guess that remains to be seen. On our deathbeds, when total clarity and perspective comes to us, we may realize that some of the extra fancy cakes or over-the-top decor wasn’t themost important thing, but I doubt I will ever regret using every possible chance I could to show the people I love the most their great worth to me by planning, scheming and finding ways to celebrate their lives and existance. And if it should disrupt “normality,” or be a little taxing, so be it. I’d rather know I did it because I loved them. And not regret missed chances to say so.
My family always complains that when I take pictures, I never count and give them warning. See left. Well, when I FINALLY did a one-two-three count, this is what I got (see right). Improvement? Not sure. My photographic philosophy: just snap away and hope for the best.
“Love your life and prove it.” ~You may quote me on this, actually
Nehemiah 12:43 (New Living Translation)
Many sacrifices were offered on that joyous day, for God had given the people cause for great joy. The women and children also participated in the celebration, and the joy of the people of Jerusalem could be heard far away.
I would say our neighbors, based on what has been “heard far away” would think we have!…Jeanie
“The blue hour comes from a French expression, l’heure bleue, which refers to the period of twilight each morning and evening where there is neither full daylight nor complete darkness. The time is considered special because of the quality of the light at this time of day. The blue hour is considered especially flattering for people with blond hair in photography and is often also when the smell of the flowers is at its strongest during the summertime.”
I can’t remember the blue hour anywhere else I have ever lived, even though I am sure it was there. And some say it cannot be experienced with the naked eye, only by camera. But here in Colorado – I have seen it, touched it, breathed it and taken it in. I see “the magic hour” sky as a blue with such great depth, such varied levels of intensity and such deep saturation that it stops me in my tracks – whether I am in the yard inhaling the pungent, floral scent of the early evening flowers or walking a country road or leaving Target with bags on each arm. It just arrests me, intoxicates me. The blue hour with a full, bright moon completel…dazes me (I slipped away for a moment…).
It isn’t actually an hour long, this richly saturated moment in time. It is fleeting and may only last 20 minutes, during which it is ever changing and kaleidescoping across the sky in breath-taking beauty. But when it happens? Oooohhhh-la-la ~ it puts me in a mood. Mesmerizing.
The twilight mood
L’heure bleue is…Suspension in time. I am not young, but I am not old. I am not running from anything, nor to anything. It isn’t sad, but it isn’t grasping for happiness, either. It’s not event, it is a moment, a sense. It is breathing the atmosphere. It is floating in the ocean as if you belong there. It is standing on the summit after a long climb as victory strength surges through your body. The blue hour is a feeling. It is a sound. It’s a taste. It is the rhythm of your breathing, the steady pound of your heart. It is the fleeting memory flash, recognition flickering, then passing quickly. It’s coming to consciousness, then fading again just before your mind can become overloaded. It is an emptying out, a filling up. And voices from another room, muffled, but sweet laughter. L’heure blue is a mix of the darkest sleep under heavy quilts and the brightest morning with a gentle breeze on a sheet-covered sleeping porch. It’s angelic choirs and total silence. It is knowing you’re loved and knowing you love. The blue hour is beauty. The blue hour captures me, it holds me. I am suspended when the hour is blue.
THE PERFECT SONG FOR THE BLUE HOUR~
This song from “The Big Easy” starring Dennis Quaid and the pre-surgically-enhanced Ellen Barkin (sung here by Dennis, Bonnie Raittt and Aaron Neville), captures my l’heure bleue mood beautifully, perfectly, maybe. This is a summer’s eve drive under the heavy-romantic blue-hour sky. Twilight. This is the song of l’heure bleue. Oh, yes.
NOTE: This song is my brother Joe’s favorite because it is about “the smell of morning in a rainy land,” Louisiana. We lived there as kids and Joe carries the bayou in his heart. He very sweetly shared this song with me not long ago and I am loving it. But it is his. It is only on loan to me. And you can’t have it, either. But close your eyes aand listen to this… Thanks, Joe-Joe.
Yes. Spiderman is hot-glued to a non-stick spray cap. That’s right, what of it?
I hand-carved the small Spiderman figurine using from-scratch fondant… NOT! Bought him at WalMart.
10″, double-layered chocolate cake with chocolate icing, tinted black. I used pre-made icing and augmented DH mixes. I cut notches in a piece of cardstock and ran it around the side to create the comb-effect ridges. A little white icing from a tube. A little red icing from a tube and voila!
And to think: my first “specialty” cake ever (or at least since the ridiculous venture into Wilton-type cake decorating in the 1980s…maybe someday I will have the courage to share those pictures…) was for Gavin’s 4th birthday when his mommy requested a dinosaur cake. I plotted for weeks-it nearly did me in. {sigh} June 2007. Time flies…and I get a little more laid-back about the cakes with each birthday. Nicer for everybody!
On the occasion of the celebration of Gavin’s birth
His mommy got him a Spiderman costume. And Aunt Jovan got Uncle Rocky one, too.
Averi looked lovely in lavender and yellow, from her two-piece and cover-up to her flip-flops and matching bag, not to mention her sippy-cup and sunglasses. Her accessories and coordination were flawless.
Guini was all smiles and cuddly-ness.
The girls looked summery. And it was 90-some degrees out, so – that seems appropriate.
As long as everyone has their own purse, everything is just fine.
Grilled chicken sandwiches on bolillo with the sweetest corn on the cob ever! The boys were on edge with some intense Battleship strategy against Aunt Dessa (and with her accusations of foul play, who could blame them? tsk.)…
First grandbebe dip in the pool this year.
Simple toys are best. A freshly cut lawn for running and staining feet bright green. And good, old-fashioned latex balloons, all while using “outdoor voices”. Entertainment in its most basic form!
Click on thumbnails for a larger view
Family get-togethers before Gavin-the-first-grandkid was born were much much quieter. And less colorful, too!
WASN’T SUMMER VACATION THE B E S T WHEN WE WERE KIDS??
Are you ready for the summer?
Are you ready for the sunshine?
Are you ready for the birds and bees,
the apple trees,
and a whole lot of fooling around
Three months of…nothing. Three months of everything! Summer was so great. I loved those last days of school: cleaning out my desk and hauling my No. 2 pencils home where they would be used for meaningless pursuits and drawing whatever I felt like. Time off from school!
I liked school. But I lived in anticipation of summer.
Pictured: Left, The dog just hangs out; Right, I snapped this quick shot of a sedum in my backyard. Then I saw grandbebe playthings in the background and realized THAT is really the beauty of summer…
Summer as a kid…
…Where I would spend inordinate amounts of time reading, playing with friends, acting out plays with siblings, watching baseball, playing jacks, organizing neighborhood projects, making homemade macaroni and cheese or pork and bean sandwiches (which were delicious-take my word for it) and listening to music. I loved basking in the sun and speeding around on a bike at twilight. I loved driving around with the windows down and small dipped cones at the Dairy Queen. Collecting fireflies in jars was fun, hopscotch on the sidewalk was normal and a brand new jumprope begged to be used. I skipped-a-rope and hula-hooped on long summer days.
Summer was never boring because if I’d said I was bored, my chores list would have been increased. So I kept busy and it was fun. And wow, I miss it. Don’t you?
Are you ready for the summer?
Are you ready for the hot nights?
Are you ready for the fireflies,
the moonlit skies,
and a whole lot of fooling around
Shouldn’t we all get a three month vacation when the sun is shining and the birds are singing and the pool is glistening? Shouldn’t we all get so much time off that when the fall comes around again and the lined paper goes on sale next to the argyle sweaters, we are thrilled to throw ourselves back in to it?
No more pencils, no more books
No more teachers dirty looks
No more math and history,
Summer time has set us free
My red onions against the puffy-clouded, Colorado-blue sky. They are simply statuesque, very sculptural.
MY ADVICE:
During my workaholic-super-achiever days, I’d get to the end of summer and realize that, as an adult, I’d “missed” summer. Because even though we don’t get them “off” from all responsibilities more like when we were kids, I still had definite ideas on what “summer” should be, simple things…Like homegrown tomatoes, dinners of grilled steak and corn on the cob, big bowls of potato salad and ice cream in the backyard. I’d think of summer as being how many glasses of iced tea I’d enjoyed on the patio after a long, hard day in the yard or garden. I’d wish to have read a book, a really good book that had taught me something new and to have stayed outside until that last shred of light was gone on countless summer evenings. And yes, there should have been at least one miserable sunburn.
And for too many years, come Labor Day, I would look back and realize I hadn’t done any of those things. Or way too few.
See the bee in the middle picture?
So my advice to you? My advice to me? Plan now. Make your list and check it twice. What will you have to have enjoyed by Labor Day to know, that even though we are all grown up and have jobs and lives and responsibilities, you also had your “summer vacation”? What are those things for you? It will be like a Bucket List for Summer. Let’s call it, hmmm….a Sandbucket List. I will get mine started….(o, there will be more)…
My Sandbucket Summer List (the beginnings) ~
Lemonade on the swing, as many times as possible, in the evenings, on the patio (real lemons, yes, please)
A little getting-dirty-in-the-garden everyday – at least try to make it everyday
Fresh-brewed iced tea every time Tara comes over (because we are the tea lovers)
Sidewalk chalk art days with the grandbebes
Reading stories to the grandbebes on the patio swing
Roast marshmallows in the chiminea
An outdoor movie night
Slow walks around the neighborhood after dark
Fast walks really early in the morning
Fast drives over country roads (with the top down on the Mustang, of course!)
“Summer breeze makes me feel fine, blowin’ through the jasmine in my mind….” Song: Summer Breeze by Seals and Croft
So there you have it. My Sandbucket List for right now. I will keep adding. Get your pen and paper out and start making yours. Tell me what you’ll be up to!
Are you ready for the summer?
Are you ready for the good times?…*
I am now!…Jeanie
*LYRICS: “Are You Ready for the Summer” from the movie classic, Meatballs (1979) starring Bill Murray.
