What Mama Says About Mama-ing

It was tradition that every night Mama or Daddy, or both would sit on the bed or lie down with us and tell us a story or sing, and pray.  They'd pray for us to have good thoughts and good dreams and a good night's rest.  After that, we knew we must lie quietly and even if we couldn't sleep, Mama would tell us to "close your eyes at least, and rest them".  Of course, this meant falling asleep almost as soon as we thought we couldn't.  Anna Grace and I shared a room until I was nineteen, so from the time I can remember, we learned what sharing meant and without meaning to, we shared so many memories and windows of history together that we can go back now to almost any of them and look out those windows, smiling and often shaking our heads in amusement at what we see. This window I step back to look through views our room one night. She was two, and I was four, and Mama lay between us in the dim light, humming.  I liked to lay my head on her chest and listen to her voice from the inside. It was softer than daddy's, and more musical.  Mama's voice and the rise and fall of her chest made me drowsy with a comfort so thorough within, that I've often gazed through that window of time, and others like it, relishing the sweetness of moments like those. Mama wore a purple silk robe, and I stroked it over and over. Surely, there must not be anything in the world as soft and nice as that purple robe, nor so fine, I thought. She paused in her singing and guided Anna Grace's and my hands to her belly, which was several months pregnant.
"Keep your hand here and be still," she said.  In a moment we could feel a twitch from the inside and Mama explained that it was the baby, kicking. How puzzled and impatient I was!
"Why must we wait to meet the baby? Why does it stay in the belly?"  I smoothed out the ruffles of curiosity by stroking that purple robe and soon mama's singing and the gentle rocking of her intonation as she prayed, left me curled up in comfort and sound asleep.

What is so strange to comprehend now, is that I am a Mama.  I am the one with a baby in there, and I still find myself amazed, if not disbelieving. It's one thing to go from single to married, but from married to baby? Grandmama has told me so many times, "I still feel seventeen inside. When I look at the mirror and see such a wrinkled old face, I almost want to laugh! What is that old woman doing in there?" More and more I'm understanding her. I still feel like that seventeen year old too. Even younger than that, sometimes.  What am I doing with a baby? Girls much younger than I have raised babies and started families, but somehow that fact doesn't seem to matter. Self doubt slides in from the narrow cracks, if I let it.  Recently I was at an appointment for the baby, and they asked when I'd first felt the baby kick.  Couldn't say. Really just couldn't remember the first time…was it 12 weeks or 15? I felt ashamed and irresponsible, and wanted to cry. So I got home, called mama, and did just that. And you know what? She laughed at me. Actually laughed at me and said,
 "Hun, that doesn't even matter. What in the world are you feeling bad over that for?" Then she set me straight. "Having kids isn't something you go into being an expert at. You learn with each one."
"But what if I don't love it enough?" And, as unreasonable as it sounds, I've honestly questioned that.
"You will. It's built in.  You may not know how much you love it now, but you've already begun to love it. I didn't know I had such a bond with the babies I was carrying until I lost them, and then it was like a piece of my heart was torn out.  Now you're just worrying. So don't do it. The way God designed things is that when that baby gets here, you'll love it and it'll keep you company, and you'll figure out how to be a Mama. Won't even have to figure it out, really. It just comes to you."

One day a couple of months ago, I felt that fear of "what if I'm not a good mama" creeping up the back of my neck and I stopped it there.  I said to myself (because I do talk to myself),
 "You know, G?  If God puts a baby in your life, or a child, or a person, it's not because you can't do what you're supposed to with it.  He puts those people or children or babies in your life because He's already equipped you to deal with them, and to fulfill what they need from you. So, there's no use fretting that you're not the right person. You are. And that's why you're where you are, with the people and kids and babies you have in your life, Right Now."

Since then, I've felt more of a peace and a joy spreading over me - and I suppose simply the freedom to enjoy this journey. There are so many gifts to motherhood, and it's humbling to know God's allowing me to be a part of that. Sometimes my eyes get shiny from being 'eat up with the sweetness. JB coming home from work and talking to the baby, his head right up again the bump, and both of us feeling the little kicks and turns of that miracle inside.
"Baby," he says, "This is your daddy, and I love you.  I love your mama too, and we're so glad you're our baby.  We're going to meet you soon, and then we'll  hold you and get to look at you, Little Watson."

 I'm thankful. Thankful for a husband who loves God, and loves his baby and me. I'm thankful for a mama who will laugh at me when I need it, and will straighten out my overanalyzed thoughts. I'm thankful for a baby to raise, and love and learn from.  And I'm thankful God has already given me what I need to do it, by Golly.

 These small hours are the ones that count. 

happy birthday to a heroine

"Oh honey, there's not a day goes by but that I miss him," she said in answer to my question.
Grandmama has a comforting way of turning from one thing to another in her kitchen.  Every drawer and shelf and pan knows the long felt touch of her strong, small hands. I stood leaning on the doorway as she moved about the little space. She was making pie crusts and roasts and would turn from counter to stove poking and checking the meat, then she'd turn again to stir and roll the dough.
"We were best buddies.  We did everything together.  Sometimes it's funny to me because we were so different, but I knew God had his hand in that match.  You know, when you think about him coming all the way from Spain at only 8 years old, and how we even met - why - it's a miracle we even DID meet!  He was a night owl, you know, so we'd be in bed and it'd be late late at night and he'd have the lamp on reading. He slept on that side near the window because it had a lamp.  Usually he'd want to talk and talk before I ever went to sleep. That was our time, you know, because the kids would be in bed and that's really the only quiet time we had!" She chuckled.  Grandmama has the merriest chuckle and she does it so often that she seems to sprinkle her own life and others with that merry-ness.
"He loved to read the Bible and he'd read it into the night - sometimes until three o'clock in the morning!  And he got excited - you know - so he'd wake me up and say 'Patty, you have got to hear this!'
Sometimes it feels like years ago when he died, but most of the time it feels like yesterday.  But I don't let myself dwell on it except for one day in the year and that day I'll let myself think about it and look at photos and read our letters. I like watching the video of his funeral.  He always said "I don't want there to be moping around and crying at my funeral. I want it to be a celebration.  Feed everybody barbecue and sing songs and have some fellowship. That's what I want."

Grandmama is eighty-four today.  She's lived seventeen years without Granddaddy, and from the moment she lost him, she continued to spend her time loving God and serving others. So much of Grandmama was Granddaddy, but she's been a wonderful example of joy through sorrow and beauty through pain.

We were lying on her bed one night not too long ago. {Granddaddy eventually converted her to a night owl and now she sleeps on his side by the lamp.} She was reading - she is always reading something - and said,
"I never thought I'd live to be seventy! So I kinda just laugh every birthday when I get a year older. 'Ah, well!' I say, 'If I'm still breathin' there must be a reason!'.  I'm happy to be living. I just pray that as long as I am alive God will grant me a zest for life.  Some people lose that, you know, as they get older.
He's still blessing me. I have everything I need."

That's what I want to be like... She's the happiest, contended-est person I know, and if you know her, you know that.

~~~ Happy Birthday, Grandmama ~~~

"You know, I remember seeing old people when I was young and thinking, 'My, that person must feel very old. But you never do! You just keep seeing the reflection in the mirror growing more wrinkled and white haired and you think 'Well, my body isn't wanting to do such and such anymore', but you never feel old. I almost gasped one day when I looked in the mirror. I thought 'Who's that old person?' And then of course I saw it was me!"  She laughed that funny, happy laugh and it made me think what a funny Bender of Things Time is.  Grandmama feels 17, and still could be, 

that Bright Soul, not in maturity, but in spirit. 

She's really, quite delightfully,

 Spunky.

a very tall mama

The freezer seemed very tall, and so did Mama, which is how I know I must have been quite young.  She was rummaging through the icy insides of that freezer, trying to find cool whip for a special treat she was making. I consider my childhood, for the most part, to be a sunny one. It was adventurous and bright and full of freedom - until school, that is, and even that was something Mama tried to make enjoyable.  Learning to read under her was an experience she guided so that words came alive and wriggly under my fingers. When spring came we got itchy and excited and Mama knew we had cabin fever, so she'd let us out of school for a few minutes to clear our minds in the air and sunshine.  But May First was the day we waited for with bouncing excitement, for on May First and not a day sooner, we could go barefoot at last. This we'd do as soon as we woke up, running outside in dewy grass and poking our toes in moss that grew under the Maple tree.

That is what most readily comes to mind when thinking of my childhood. Sunshine and adventure.
But this day, as I stood looking up at my very tall Mama and the even taller freezer she was rearranging in her search, there was a little cloud that hovered over my bright sky and quaked and threatened with a feeling I'd seldom known before. There were three teenage boys and lots of little mouths to feed and clothe and pay life's way for. Believe it or not, there were some days of concern with nine kids to raise. Perhaps I sensed this, or heard something, but whatever the case, I'd gotten the idea into my head that there would not be enough money or food for all of us. And this was terrible. { I'd learned not too much earlier that money was some strange thing that everyone who wanted to live must have.  Therefore It was the most terrible thing I could imagine, for if there were no money, there must be no food and I was sure we'd all die.}  This was the only rational reasoning I could put to my dark little cloud, at least. What filled my cloud most with fear, however, was the sense that Mama herself was worried about it and that she might not be able to fix it.  What a foreign idea, "…..Mama, not fix it?"  She'd fixed everything in life, from scraped knees, to belly aches, to fevers and colds to nightmares and bad attitudes - I was absolutely confident that there was't a thing she couldn't fix.  You could bruise up life any which way you pleased and I'd be fine with that, because I'd be sitting right in her lap as I watched her patch it up again.  But I wondered, with a slow dread, "…Could it be that Mama is worried?…." And that is when I felt the pit in my stomach - a tight little knot, right in the middle somewhere - because I knew at that moment, she was worried and she couldn't fix it. To this day, when I recall that image to my mind and the moment it dawned on me that all might not be well - that Mama herself might be upset and worried with life, and that she could not help or fix it, or make it better - I can still feel that knot in my stomach.

She must have heard the groans coming from the thumb-sucking figure lying on my bed, for she came in and sat beside me.  She said I was having growing pains in my leg, so she held my hand and sang me the songs she'd sung to me for years: "Angels Watching Over Me", "God's Gift To Us", and "He's Got the Whole World In His Hands".  I guess I'd thought growing pains were just that: things you grow out of once you get old. But I'm realizing more and more, they're pains you grow into. They do help you grow. That day, standing there watching Mama by the freezer, a growing pain took hold and stretched me a little bit. And while it was stretching my childish mind, Mama gave me some advice I guess I'll never forget. I stood there and spilled the beans,
"Mama, I'm afraid…is there enough food?  What if we run out of food?  What if we don't have enough money?" She looked down at me for a moment then said,
"Darlin' don't worry about that. We don't always know how God will provide, but He's promised He will take care of all His children. That means, even if things look bad, you still trust in your Heavenly Father and ask Him to give you what you need.  But while you're waiting on Him to answer, you remember to have a calm and quiet spirit because He says that is of highest price to Him."

That day I saw a ripple in what has long been a Calm and Quiet Spirit.  Mama doesn't lead by word. She leads by example and reinforces that example with her words. Since that time I've seen her deal with circumstances she could have easily yelled at or said cutting, biting words in response to.  But she follows examples of Great Women like Mary who "pondered all these things in her heart".  Whether dealing with circumstances inside or outside of the home, she has strived to have that calm and quiet spirit.  She does this by directly handing over her concerns, hurts, fears, dreams and heart to God, instead of reacting to those words or threats, people or situations of life.  "Anything that is enough to take up your time worrying or hoping, dreading or desiring it, is enough of a reason to pray about it," she's told me.  "Don't react to people; give it over to God and He'll handle it for you."

Though we're about the same height, Mama is taller now than she ever was that day by the freezer.  Taller in wisdom and kindness and maturity and in knowing how to love people and in understanding life itself.  I can't be thankful enough to my Very Tall Mama…

p.s. she's 5'3"

view from the bottom of the hill

I remember standing at the base of our driveway, looking up at our house, and thinking how ugly it was.  It lay flat and broad, like a large nose that had been smashed against one's face. One of its many faults was that it had no stairs and that day I was especially bruised in my heart, that all the times of playing house I had to pretend there was an upstairs instead of having real ones. Later, I told my brother, Chris, how sad it was that we had to live in that house.  What a mean thing it was that we didn't live in some nice old mansion.

It must be one of Satan's more disgustingly pleasant jobs to watch the simplicity of childhood fall away. As He pulls back the curtain of Oblivion before the eyes of that child, I imagine he receives a warped glee from it.  Before that time life was beautiful in a way that was sweetest…We loved our things, not because they were nice or pretty, but rather because they were ours. A toy need not be shiny, nor clothes be new, nor a house be pretty,  to be loved deeply and best. Sure, we'd see lovely things - a friend's house or family or horse or toys or yard, and could admire it. We might even fight over it for the time, but it was not ours and therefore it would never hold the same beauty as the old things at home that we'd known and loved so well.  At the end of the day, it's the comfort of the ragged old blanket or teddy bear we reach for, not our friend's foreign niceties.

Oh how greedily Satan must anticipate that moment of unveiling. You may not remember the moment exactly, but you can remember the after effects of it, I am sure. As he he pulls the cord, opening the curtains to a so - called Reality, he watches our face the whole time - that wretched Beast. He absorbs the horror in our eyes of seeing our sweet and beautiful World of Oblivion, crumble…Oh the smile - the twisted, evil smile that comes over his face. It is done.  He has implanted a concept - a feeling - a doubt that we are all too familiar with and for the rest of our lives there will be a struggle between This Bad Seed, and what we knew before. Do you remember it?  Do you remember the first time you felt the effects of what he'd done?  I speak of Embarrassment.

Oh what a plague it was, constantly challenging my happiness…ever haunting my sense of contentment. It was especially bad up to and through my teenage years. But don't we see it everywhere? People are embarrassed. Embarrassed of things we have no business being ashamed of - family, home, standards, morals, convictions…We're embarrassed.  It drives people to try and set up a standard of life that is ridiculous.  Instead of doing what is sensible and honest and what we like, we'll often do whatever it is we think will be "Accepted by Friends"…{ I believe it's often an attempt to appease our  so-called friends so that they won't talk badly of us…we fear that stab in the back and go to great lengths of worry and stress to please them.}  It's ultimately not a true reflection of what we can afford, or what our lifestyle is like. {And may I say that if you're so concerned with the gossip and backstabbing of your friends, perhaps you should consider deepening your friendships beyond material things, or letting go of such friends altogether? It's not worth such non-essential stress in life.}

 I remember going out to eat with my family. That number of people doesn't escape notice, especially looking as much alike as we do. My face was red because I blush at the times I wish I wouldn't. There was so much to be embarrassed about. We were behind the times - who wears jean jumpers anymore? Who still has a beeper? We were so loud and everyone was looking at us. The girls didn't have their hair fixed and buffets are humiliating establishments of society.  I was embarrassed, and with doggone good grounds. There was so much to be embarrassed about.
 
Or was there? What would happen if we were to stop being embarrassed? Most often, when we are brave enough to look that embarrassment in the face, we'll see it's no more than a bully's attempt at making us ashamed of the best things in life.  Giving into that Bully is willingly robbing ourselves of a rich contentment and happiness. I've been on a quest for over a year now, not to give into the lie of Embarrassment. Oh, I find myself wondering in fear many times, "What if they think - " and then I stop. When I've gotten that far, I realize I'm not living an honest life; I'm playing to the crowd if I let "What if they think", sway my decisions. So what if they do think? Go ahead!  Face the worst. What if they think I'm fat or tacky or my teeth are crooked or my arms are hairy or my ears are too big or my shoes are clunky? What if they think my family is weird and rowdy and don't use good manners? Well? What if it's True? A lot of the times it is. And that's when I've got to face the truth myself. I'm not perfect. Neither is my family. Neither is my home. Neither are Any Of Us Humans.  There is a freedom in looking your fears square in the eye, then moving past them. Let them think it. Let me accept the imperfections of my own life.  We all have them.

But stop beating yourself up. Quit letting Embarrassment beat up your life and the things you value.  Love the people and places and things in your life because they are yours. Be thankful for what you've got and you'll find embarrassment slinking away in a shadow of its own shame for ever having tried to make you regret the Honest and Best Things in life.

The other day I was standing at the base of our driveway, looking up at our house.  That old house is beat up, worn out and lived in. It's seen more life in these 30 years than some houses see in a lifetime. I love this old house. This long, grey Submarine of a house. This place full of memories and love and protection and freedom; this haven away from the storms of life. I love this house. And as I stood at the end of our driveway looking up at it sitting on its little hill, with shrubs and bushes nestled before it; with its tall pines on the side and with the elm and maple standing behind it - those solid old watchtowers  - I saw the prettiest place in the whole wide world.

home fires

One of the things that has made me smile today was waking up to the clatter of dishes, the shuffle of feet and daddy singing "Count Your Blessings" in a bearish growl, all by himself in the kitchen. Daddy cooks breakfast during the week, most times, and he and I are breakfast buddies. He does a bang up job of doing it all just so.  He fries bacon first, in the large skillet and turns them only once.  Then, when the bacon is perfectly brown and crispy, but not too crispy, he forks it onto a plate lined with a paper towel so that it soaks up the extra grease. When the skillet has cooled a little, Daddy cracks an egg on the counter with one hand and eases it into the pan with the remaining bacon grease.  The edges of the egg crackle a little and bubble, and when daddy flips them, he does so gently.
"A leedle crahhcks tooo de ehgg ahhnd theen intoo deh pahn, mahn, ahnd eez' een' thehhre' mahn," he says and hums and sings to the stove.
 We sit at his end of the table to the predictable goodness and, depending on who's up, there will sometimes be a third or fifth to join, but however many are present, we join hands and daddy prays over the food and the day.

This week I've been thinking about the blessing of having parents who love God and me. They love all their children, but I have personally tested their love - sometimes sorely - and have found it true and enduring.  I was not a nice child. I was temperamental and moody and pitched fits about anything I didn't like.  There seemed to be an anger that had a grip on me and as I became a teenager, this only grew worse.  Though I didn't pitch tantrums in the same fashion I had, that rebellion knew how to manifest itself in hurtful ways. Mama would put an arm around me, or ask how I was, or do any number of things she could to show that she was interested in my life and that she cared about me. I'd say terrible, mean things to her and as soon as I said it I could see in her eyes that my arrows had struck their target.  It's a horrible and wretched thing to see your mother's eyes full of pain that you've just inflicted. And yet, she has always reacted in a calm, quiet way, still reassuring me that she loves me more than I could ever know.  I can still be moody.  Can still pitch fits inside and deal with that dreaded Old Man.  But by God's grace I've seen love in action in a consistent way and it has done much to shape the person I've grown into. Thank goodness, I am still learning from the example of parents God has given me.

I think perhaps one of the saddest losses of character we have experienced society at large, over the past several years, is that of Shame. Shame is an agent of that Noble and Blessed thing we call Conscience, I think. It is a tool of sorts that picks at the Dam of Pride and helps us realize we're wrong. It is the thing that gnaws at my thoughts as I lie in bed, knowing I've not acted right or kind to someone and it prods me to get up and set things right, not letting the sun go down on my wrath.  I've done that before, by the way - gone to bed having said words in anger to someone I love and while lying there, I've known that if I didn't get up and apologize and ask forgiveness, that it would trouble me all night. But being stubborn, I'd not get up. I'd lie back down and go to sleep.  Not only have I been troubled by dreams, but by the way I felt on waking.  It's a sense of tension, embarrassment, then pride - not wanting any of that to show.  Often, the fact that I hadn't made things right the night before would carry over into the whole of the day and I'd go about sulking and moody, smoldering like coals doused with water. How silly! Pride hurts to step on, but it's always on the other side of pride that we'll find a sense of peace and resolve, even if we have to make a fool out of ourselves to do it.

Mama says "Family is worth 'It.' .  Whatever that 'It' is in your life, it's worth it. It's worth the hurt you feel when raising your kids. It's worth the nights of caring for sick children and exhaustion and homesickness you will feel; it's worth the work it takes to feed and love and make a home for your family. You'll never regret the love you put into your them. But Satan hates the family, so of course it won't be easy to have one, or to be consistent or to be loving all the time. But the thing that counts is that you keep trying, and you keep doing and you get back up again when you feel like a failure. There will be days that you know all of your time and work, blood, sweat and tears have been Worth It."

A Book We Should All Have On Our Shelves

Perils of the World: Survey of World History And The Classic Struggles of Mankind Hardcover

Author: A. Brum Fulmer

    About the Author

Brum Fulmer was born in Lawsonville, Georgia, in 1982. He entered Dekalb Technical College at age 13 and graduated with a B.A. at age 15. He received his master's at 18 From Abraham Baldwin Agricultural College, and was appointed proctor of the college. He Continued his education at the University of Georgia earning a degree in soil sciences.  He continued there, finishing with a PhD in Agricultural Taxonomy.  He became Professor of Taxonomy at age 36. An expert in Audio Book Production, Reading And Technique, he was appointed to Audible.com's Board of Directors in 2042. He wrote much literature, of which his Perils remains the most famous. When he died in 2083, Prof. Gaute Brown Jr. held a magnificent state funeral for him and had him buried on North Campus. Brown took great pains to make sure the writings and library of Brum Fulmer were preserved.

Product Details

• Paperback: 960 pages
• Publisher: Master Books; imprint (March 1, 2097)
• Language: English
• ISBN-10: 9780890515105
• ISBN-13: 978-0890515105
• ASIN: 0890515107
• Product Dimensions: 1.9 x 8.3 x 10.7 inches
• Shipping Weight: 4.6 pounds
• Average Customer Review:
• Amazon Best Sellers Rank: #157,215 in Books
• #97 in Books > History > Ancient 

Editorial Reviews

Review

A most remarkable and outstanding piece of literature. A must-have for any lover of knowledge and history, which would include the perils that have challenged man down through the ages. -- Roger Howerton, Acquisitions Editor, New Leaf Press and Master Books, October 21, 2003 --This text refers to the Hardcover edition.

Reporter and Acclaimed Reviewer Of Books, Ole' Mr. Fulmer.  In a private interview with Mr. Fulmer yesterday, we learned that he has traveled the world, observing the lives and lifestyles of many cultures. He has served in undercover missions across the globe to study mankind and analyze the workings of the human mind. Though it is only one of the many hats he wears, Mr. Fulmer continues to give insight, not only on Books but on his own observations of Life In General at A Closer Look.
Please schedule A Conversation of Thought with Mr. C.E. Fulmer for a richer outlook on life and books.
to schedule, please call 770.787.4039

 ~ //\\//\\//\\//\\ ~

The e-mail above is one I received a few days ago, with the note:

…."Here's a book we should all have on our shelves…"

The boys are always floating down The Amazon on their raft in search of some sort of treasures or other. Chris, especially goes frequently to the Amazon and receives all manner of mysterious looking brown packages that he says he picked up along his adventures.
He must have been rafting a few days ago, for I was part of a group who received this e-mail concerning a book he'd found on The Amazon.

   Mama had to stay home from church yesterday,  because she was sick.  She was lying on the couch as all of us came in from from Sunday morning service. A round of "Hey Mama, feeling better? Get some sleep? Do you have the fevers? " was said several times as various kids walked in the door.
"Yes, some better. Thanks, darlin.  No, no fever right now, just tired. Yes, I've slept lots, thank goodness."
"Hey Hun, you feelin' better?" Daddy asked as he came in the door.
"Yes, dear, some.  How was church?"
"Well, they didn't stone me so it must have been fair." said Daddy as he put down his books.
"What'd'ya preach on?"
"Bible and the pulpit," he said, pulling loose the fashionable noose around his neck and unbuttoning the top of his collar.  He said that in his silly voice and his eyes flashed a sparkle as we fired back in smiling groans, "Oh daaaddddyy…."
The general distress of the kitchen was what to make and someone hollered from that direction, "What are we supposed to be fixin' for lunch??"
 Mama's Sunday dinners are like none other, complete with every good thing; but since she was not well, it fell to the hands of the kids and Daddy to scare up a meal. Anne suggested cabbage heads for all of us to share. Daddy was more in mind of wings, or soup and sandwiches.
In the end it was a hodge podge of grilled cheese, mine and Dawn's first batch of caramel popcorn, soup, raw cabbage, nachos, cereal and collard leaves from the garden.  As we set about constructing this  meal some how the matter of Abe and books came into the general ruckus of mismatched conversation.
One snippet that rose above the rest of the clatter began the following exchange:
"Didn't you know there was a man named A. Brum Fulmer who wrote a book called " Perils of the World?" said Chris, peering over the shoulders of girls who were fixing lunch and reaching between them to the platters of food to take some.  A general exclamation of "WHAT?" followed, but especially by Mama, who said,
 "I think that's just crazy that someone with that same name would write a book called 'Perils of The World'. "
{As a helpful side note, Abrum is responsible for much of our stranger vocabulary, and over the past year, the word "Perilous" has come to play a considerable part in our speech.}

"Mama, you read that e-mail about the book I recommended?" asked Chris.
"Ah, no, hun. Well, I skimmed over it."
"You should read it again, carefully," said Chris, taking a chip.  Daddy took four slices of bread and cut  two slabs of cheese to put between each pair for his grilled cheese sandwich and mine and said,
"Well, you know, there was a Chris Fullmer in Swan Valley, Idaho, but he spelled his name with two L's. "
Mama had pulled her computer to the arm of the couch and was absorbed in the e-mail. Soon she was smiling and then she was laughing and after a fair amount of laughing with no explanation, several pairs of curious feet pattered over to the couch and hovered around the screen. We were laughing too after reading it. I especially like that A. Brum lived until he was One hundred and One. I thought that was very fitting and generous of the author to include.
"Chris, did you make this up?" asked Mama, smiling.
"Me, make it up?" Chris was tilting his head back and grinning mischievously as he popped an olive in his mouth.
"Oh, Christopher, you sly thing. You DID make it up! It looks just like an amazon article though!"
The boys should know, if anyone does, what a book description and review on Amazon looks like; they've ordered enough of them to be experts on the matter.

The idea of some mysterious A.Brum Fulmer and the Reporter who supplied the information on him, was enough to set my imagination spinning, so I drug the boys outside with the sweetest of requests to humor me.  They did - those excellent chums. Champs of a sport they are. It was a lovely Sunday afternoon to be outside and I will say that it was a rather fun project. All the photos were taken outside with no flash - all natural light. Dawn was my undercover reporter/assistant who helped me with the reflector.
I was pleased with the results.  Not only was it enjoyable to experiment with channeling the natural light and testing its powers with the aid of the reflector, but also getting to spend time with two fellows that I think are pretty down-right good-looking.
Wish Jeremy hadn't had to go back.  He would have made the perfect addition to our party.
Also, Milly's birthday is coming up in just a few days, and as there was no reason not to, I included a couple of the upcoming birthday girl.

^Dawn and Brum and  the Trusty reflector.  Oh what a difference in the world they make! 

^  gotta love a man with a pair of boots  ^

^it was much too soft in the garden to take photos with shoes on^

^we've made good use of daddy's old hat. it's seen many years of wear.^

 ^this is what I see and hear coming into a room. don't ask me. I have no idea, it's just milly and dawn being milly and dawnish.

i tried not to cry and so did she. but when i wrapped her up in a hug neither of us could help the tears that came down our cheeks.  it takes a lot of strength to leave the safest place a girl knows and the people that you love to walk back into the world. here we have a quiet place away from the current that constantly pulls downward and the wind that beats without relenting against heart and spirit and mind.

yesterday was especially sad because A.G was sick and tired already and seeing her have to leave and go back to books and late nights and early mornings without sleep and stress and being alone was a hard thing to take. 

"man, change and separation stinks, a.g." i'd told her. 

"i know, ray. but it helps us grow and we become better people by it. it hurts and is sad, but why have people done it throughout all history?…because even though we love our lives we can't stay stagnant. change brings growth and we need that."

Jay's left. Anne's left. I guess they've both taken a little of our hearts with them too.  Still, I remember what Mama says.
"Every day is an adventure, and little moments are worth celebrating. Take time to stop and smell the roses and when you feel sad, think and plan and pray and do for someone else besides yourself.  It's the best aid for the blues, and you'll find yourself happier and more cheery in no time."

Oh what hath Jesus

 Done for me

Before my raptured eyes?

Rivers of Life 

Divine I see

and 

Trees of Paradise.

what a good woman won't' do…not much.

"You're gonna do what Mama?" I asked, face squinched.
"Well, honey, it's not often I get to do something for Chris that he really needs or wants.  I'll make a party out of it."
So there we were this morning at 3.00, Mama clanging pans, cooking meat and whipping biscuits.  By 4.00 the kitchen was fairly bustling. We had coffee brewing, all the lamps on and Daddy frying thick bacon slabs.  We were slicing and buttering biscuits and Mama was slapping flour on Daddy's face. When Chris got there at 4.30 or 5.00 he took the sacrificial biscuit and tried it for us, then had two or three more because Mama scrambled eggs and made gravy and there was this season's jam of course, and a strong brew of coffee.
At Delta, there's a policy that if you're late, you bring breakfast one day for the guys on your crew.  Chris has taken lots of breakfasts, but this one was going to put all the rest to shame.  He's day shift, which means getting up at 3.30 am… and for Chris that's not easy, but he was here sharp and bright eyed, poking us and squeezing, kissing Mama, peering at the pots and exclaiming,
"Boy! Smells Good! Think I could smell it from the driveway. Law, law!!!"
"You called Sam, Chris? I want him to get one. You tell him I'm thinking especially of him while I'm making all this." Mama has made food for the guys before, delivered some of their babies, helped out with some life problems they've taken to her, prayed for them, etc. etc.
"Yes'm. I was telling the guys the other day about this and Roger - well, you gotta know Roger. You just can't argue with him, but - "
"He the Japanese guy that gave Dawn the necklace?" Anne shuffled past, fresh from bed, straight to the coffee pot, arm outstretched limply.
"Yeah. He's the one. Well, I told him about Mama making the biscuits and - "
"Honey, stir that right there - Melody, you have those eggs beaten?…Oh! don't open the oven, biscuits rising, Chris, grab that handle."

"Whad'ya say he said, Chris?" Daddy, with black coffee, feet crossed under the table.

"Well, he's all about healthy foods and he sees me eatin' healthy all the time so he starts sayin' 'Ahh…I bet she'll make those whole wheat biscuits….turn out flat!' So I didn't argue with him. Ya just can't."

"That why the number went from 21 to 20?" asked Mama. 

"Reckon so."

"Poor Roger," I say.  "Will Lance be there?"

"Yep, he'll be there."

"I wonder if he'll be wearing Auburn colors." And I laughed to myself because the first time I saw Lance was outside Chris' window, and all I remember was thinking "My…now that's one dedicated Auburn fan." He wore Auburn everything, down to flip flops and tricked Dawn into blindly saying that innocent little line to her soccer coach {an equally dedicated Alabama fan}  'WAR EAGLE'.  He told her just which way to say it, of course.  The intonation, and stress of words. So next time she saw her coach - whom she revered something heavy - she obediently blurted out, "WAR EAGLE, Coach!!!"  Dawn has never forgotten Lance. Nor forgiven him and she is now an unbendable Alabama fan.

 By six we were rolling the ice chest full of biscuits down the walkway to Chris' car, loading it with meats and jellies and notes for him to remember certain things throughout the day, plates, spoons and bags, and then it was Chris rolling out the driveway, in the dark, us waving and dew falling so thick it was almost rain. But it wasn't. We could see the stars bright and clear.

 mischievous mama.

handsome feller.

My eyes were blurry and squinted and I hadn't coordinated my walk yet. It was still the morning shuffle, but I went in the living room at 8.40 after sleeping again and saw Mama chatting with Daddy, Daddy with his boots on and coffee in his hand, hair combed.
  "Mom…you didn't go back to bed?"
"Well, hun," she said airily, "I tried, but every time I did the phone rang or I got a text or something. You'll have to see the text though," and she pulled out her phone.  It was from Chris and said,
"A smashing success," with a photo of empty containers, pots and jars.  Mama wrote back,
"Does it mean all gone?"
"Yep. And all the guys say to thank you."
Mama turned to us and said, "I just thought you'd like to see the fruit of your labors."
"Nothing," Mel and I replied.  She laughed.
"Yes, Nothing!  You've got empty containers and that's it.  Hate to say all that work was in vain, but there you go!"
"Isn't that the perpetual reward of women's labors?  Empty pots?" as I observed that continuous cycle.  "But reckon that's a good thing."

Full bellies make happy men and both are essential to life, as we know full well.

sunday

Heart of Life 

is Good

I don't really have something specific to write tonight.  I'm just happy, mostly.  I think you would be too if you were here right now...there's not really any way not to be happy. Or at least content.
 Michael is here.  So my windows are open and he's playing to all of us girls in the room.  Dawn is wearing a straw hat, asking me if the weight on my renewed driver's license is the same as the first one.  'Is it better or worse, gabe?'
  Anne to Melody,
 'New Hampshire?'
 'Concord.'
But they insist on pronouncing 'Des Moines'  (derh-m'ohns) because it was settled 'by the Frinch.' ...At least the river was named after something French.  Merry is lying on the bed propping her feet on Dawn's back and reading some secret book.  Mama sticks her head in the door and says 'whoosh! y'all need the air on back here...Michael, I'll play your cd in my kitchen if you'll make one for me,'  and Anne keeps smiling at something.  Crickets and guitar playing.  It's just right.  And so is the world tonight at the Grey Submarine.  Disappointment is a part of life.  I guess pain is too.  But beauty is also a part that is only intensified through both of those once we can see it again.  Some how - in some good way - all that is bitter and hard and saddening will be beautiful one day.   Days like this remind me of that.

that He would wash me over

again

with that realization of His 

incredible sacrifice

and the love which prompted Him to do it,

the power which sustained him as He hung in agony on the cross.

i desire to know. 

Him.

that He would grow my heart to be that flourishing garden

where the warmth, comfort, strength, constancy of His presence

is ever known. 

this world is empty, empty. and wasted breath on everything we care about in it. 

God help me to be 

immersed 

in Yourself, lost to the world, won over to you

completely.

on this side of the house

someone's in the shower. someone's always in the shower, which means no pressure and no hot water on my end of the house. but that's ok! life is good! i got a sunburn, a raise, got to say hey to GrandPatty and this evening i had a conversation with a wise man which was one of the best conversations i've had in a long time.
                    think my hair may be getting just a little longer. maybe. oh goodness. good night.

oh my dawn.

    I hear Dawn getting onto herself.  She's sitting across the house in her indian suit, and I'm in the bathroom getting ready for work, but all the doors are open between us so we can hear each other.
 "I DON'T NEED HELP ON THIS PROBLEM!!!"
 "What's the matter, Pocadawnkis?"
"Nothing's the matter!!!  I'm just stupid enough not to get this problem right.  I've been going on with this problem for a while and - It's 25x4...The easiest problem in the world!!!  But I was all like, "... 4x5, carry the 2, whatever...and then I got the answer and I thought..'hey..i know this..YEAH!  I DO know this!! I'm so Dumb! I'm the dumbest person on the planet!!!  Broge, what should I wear to fish in?  I could be super redneck and wear my Georgia Bulldog shirt with my fly fishing vest.'
  

st. valentine's

valentine's day is the bomb. 

 the pinks and reds are like dissonances, 

and it's fun to watch the guys in the stores grabbing 

boxes and crinkly bundles of flowers.

i imagine their women being very happy.

today an older guy came up beside me

as i was walking on the side walk.

golf cap, black jacket, black cane,

he smiled and winked and said 

happy valentine's day. i said it back to him and asked him if he 

had any special plans?

'Nah. Nothin except gonna go home, drink a little wine

listen to some music.

Whitney, Ray....'

i came home to cards.

on my bed and nightstand and table.

moriah wrote me a card

and diagrammed the sentence.

i knew grammar was

 paying off.

mama made chickin

 fettucini, salad, green beans

fruit salad,

cheesecake...

yeah. 

mom is awesome.

goodnight.

oh. 

and daddy's input on love for today was

'Son, cookin' meat is kinda like

loving a woman.

Ya gotta think about these things before hand.

Ya gotta prepare for it...

gotta marinate it, 

butter it up...

You gotta give it some lovin'...'

so there it is. now you know the secret.

happy cookin.