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.

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."

a good day's end

         "Rose!" Dawn shouts to Merry, whom she calls 'Rosamond', "I'm going to take a shower, and by the time I get out, you had better have made those chocolate chip cookies!"  But then she runs to Merria and puts an arm around her neck and says winkingly "I'z jest kiddn, kid.  We love you…now make us some good little cookies, Rosamond…"

It's old carpet and blue and very walked and sat and wrestled and laid on.  I sat on it, back to a doorframe and watched her play.  She's tough and short and spunky, and I love her. I love watching her play.  It's a doorway to her very soul, I think. D Formsma bakes cookies too, and the most steamy, crusty-on-the - outside- soft- on-the inside - kind of bread you ever tasted. And cinnamon rolls. But this day she was out of the kitchen and at the piano, just for me, and I felt as special as I should have at this token of kindness. She introduced to me Franz Liszt and his  "Three Concert Etudes S.144 No.3 "Un Sospiro".  I've never forgotten him since.

  It's not just the piece. It's the way she plays it that made all the hot wet things come splashing on my cheek and hands.  I love it now, for many reasons, and have listened to it over and over again today.

  Good old home. I'm glad to be back after a summer of traveling.  I love traveling, but you know, it's good to walk in and be home and to see and hear all the things of home that make it what it is…The smell, the creaky benches, the way the front door slams, the way the back door stays open because no one remembers to shut it; the faucet that, even though it's new, has now followed in the footsteps of its Elder Faucet and keeps sliding down and turning off, most inconveniently; the lantana that has bushed over the very mailbox and stretches itself in all directions, oblivious to its eccentricity and merely absorbing all the beautiful sunshine it can manage; the way the purple bathroom trashcan is forever being turned catty-cornered then straight again, and how the rug never stays in one place, because some like it by the toilet, others by the tub, others by the sink; the sunflower in the back yard that we watched and waited for, and is now here, tall and gangly; the way the school room fan bangs when it's on high and how the books keep trying to fall out of the bottom of the piano bench, because it's so full; the back closets - the closets at all - and how they have too much, and ever room for more; the oven with a broken handle, the teapot that gets turned on without any water; the perpetual pot of coffee; the crickets outside the windows at night and the way the summer light comes through the kitchen window in the evening…home is a wonderful place, nor would it be without its little imperfections. 

 Tonight at prayer it struck me again what an unworthy recipient of all my Father's goodness I am. 

Does He not daily, even moment by moment open the windows of heaven to pour out His kindnesses on my life and family?  Daddy took my hand and squeezed it in his big calloused one as I sat on the side of his chair {I declare, one day that chair is going to have a panic attack and fall apart}.  Everybody went around and prayed.  That quiet evening restfulness.  Our family with that Great and Kind Friend who is always with us.  I like the way daddy's stomach rises and falls under my hand when he's holding it and the way he keeps holding it, even when mine gets hot like it does, and I like how the whippoorwill who lives in the front yard's evergreen tree seems to know the right time to sing his sweet, melancholy summer song. 

Merria just came and gave me a thumb full of chocolate chip cookie dough.

"Without chocolate chips, just for you," she says. 

All in all, I'd say that's a Good Day's End.

uh …..m. help..plerse.

Today is one of those days, you know?  The kind where I just shake my head.  It's the kind where everything meshes into one HUGANTIC MESS… and I realize that::

* the outfit i'm wearing is dreadfully nineties, and dawn is horrified and i am too, but she can't know that, so i pretend i love it, and we go to the store.
*my hair is dying and i need to get a hair cut, but there's something about those straggly ends that won't let me let go of them without weeping and gnashing of teeth.
* i have no idea how computers work
* i have no idea how to work my editing software
* i have no idea how to use my external hard drive and i have thousands…thousands of unorganized, mixed up photos on there…NOT IN FOLDERS!!!! 
* my camera batteries are dying
* all my cf cards are full
* and I HAVE A SHOOT TONIGHT!!!!!

I feel like I should go on a walk or work out, but then I think of all this unorganized digital life-work of mine, floating between the balances of LIFE AND DEATH  and then I can't get away!!!!!  I don't know why external hard drives being unorganized gives me such a go' round in the head, but it's as if my whole life is cluttered and crazy when that thing is not right.

All of the thoughts running through my head are in bold italics and in a word, I want to be a cave woman.  No more digital files. Just me and my lion skin and rock paint.  I would paint my whole cave with rock paint canvases.

But then, I think about the pros. And the pros about this day are that
*Dawn finally got her chiropractic adjustment after three days of waiting, plus she and I got Häagan Dazs ice cream for half price {which, I'll have you know she paid for because she's just an awesome student and sister and wanted to get me a "Teacher Treat" yes. yes, she is wonderful.}.
* I got a haircut {for less than $15!!!! and noone even noticed.  {It's the best I could hope for…you know how I feel about hair cuts…and if you don't, then you would if you spent any time around me at all.}
* Got to come home to Anna Grace who never fails to make me laugh
* Daddy's burning in the garden. Always a plus, but especially in the fall.
* Patti LuPone sings 'I Dreamed a Dream' like nothing else, so I've played it over and over, because it fits the morbid mood.
*There is a finish line to this day. And to this mess and I'm closer to it now than I was two hours ago.
* I have an amazing Daddy who shops like a pro and who makes killa-shrimp and who is making it tonight.
*It's almost the full moon.  {yesh!!!!}
* When I got home I found some very happy photos from Sunday::
*REally I don't have ANYTHING to complain about because I have a superb life, am very blessed and LOVE what I do!!! I love that Mama has made our home so full of life and joy and love and creativity and free thought and that our church loves being together so much we wait around forever before we go home, and that my brothers talk to me on the phone for hours, and take me on walks make me laugh because they're so sweet, and love me so much and …….really…I have it grand after all.  Amen.

The End.

p.s.

some photos from last weekend::

abe and drew sang "precious memories" to back up the hour long discussion they'd had the night before lauding its excellence. we had a handshake afterwards, everyone hugging each other's necks, saying, 'good to see you brother so-and-so…glad you could be here sister such-and-such'.

saturday hooplas

Along about Friday Mama decided to start sewing skirts for us girls.  Five skirts that we all had to wear by the next night.  So we stayed up until midnight or so, stitching the 'invisible stitch' and listening to as many Doris Day, Cascades, Sam Cooke and Disney songs  as we could until we got slower and tireder…and slower. and sillier and sleepier. The question, of course, was 'would they be finished'???…I felt a little like I was living in one of those atrocious reality shows where there's all this drama and bug eyed tears and a SCRIPT and a happy ending. But there wasn't a script, even though we knew of course that Mama would finish them in time, just because Mama is Mama. And that's that.  We took our skirts to Dawn's soccer game and sewed them there. Dawn almost scored twice, almost tackled a very hideous ref (you know the type) and we all yelled like a good southern family should.  We got things done.  Picked okra in our okra forest after the game, cleaned my room, worked out…. seems like we got more stuff done. I can't remember exactly.  But I know that everyone was 'laid out like flies' as GrandPatty would say. Zonked.  It was a dreadfully good day for an afternoon nap, I'll admit. But then it was time to go, and Dawn needed her hair done, and Milly couldn't find a belt and Chris came - he's so handsome.   Daddy had shined all our boots, so five clomping gals, plus Daddy and Chris and Mama, all shipped off to FSH Benefit for Muscular Dystrophy and the concert we sang in. Cowboy's attire. Amen. A good Saturday.

{to listen to a clip from the concert, click here}

this is saturday all summed up. look at our maple, poor thing. she's all wrinkly and cracked. but she's 

a dear old friend.

cowboy up

villain = merry's nickname for melody

merry to melody tonight:
'villain, i'm going to bed. wake me up in the morning, won't you?
just shake me then talk to me for a while.  but don't do that horrible 'maaayyylaaah…
time to get uuhhhhhhp…uhhhp..up up up!!!!
it's in the moorrrrning….'
because that will make me
 resolve to go back
to sleep.'

night, kids.

Dickens at Sea

 {    Life is so full sometimes I can't seem to pick out one thing from my brain and just write about it because all the other topics are equally bursting at the seams to be written about; so I have to compromise.  Turn away altogether from those thoughts that occupy so much of my time and write or copy something completely unattached to those eager topics. 

 Hence, a sea post, as we just visited it last week and more conveniently a journal excerpt.   }

                                                                                                                      Thursday, Aug. 

16, 2012 

I like the sound of laughter coming from inside our sea cottage and the continual scraping of furniture being shoved around, for there is always a new reason to move it again.  Move it all together for a movie, shove it apart for daily traffic; move it to corners for cozy, low conversations and all facing each other for devotions.
  Our house is a tall thing on stilts and with ivy in a canopy over the archways. 
  We have been happily situated in a quiet nook at the southern tip of the island.  Daddy was preparing to begin Dicken's "Our Mutual Friend" and he said 'Y'all boys come in here and learn how to get a girl!"
It's a stormy day and we've been snugly tucked away with pillows, blankets and arms, hands and hair cuddled and intwined together as we're heaped on couches, much like puppies. 
The dialogue in-between the script is almost as entertaining as the script itself. 
"What is happening? Why are they digging in the heap?"
"It is the bone man and the one - legged guy…" 
"He is a REALLY bad guy now, isn't he?"
"If you get attached to him, believe me, he'll die," said Mercy morbidly.
Uncle Zack nervously rubbed his fingers together, "Oh…gohllly…good grief…get out. shoot, man…this is gettin' kinda…scary…"
"Oh no! Oh no!" Mama shouted. We were all on edge.  "Not the river! not the RIVERRRR!!!" 
"…Goodness…she's going to refuse him…." And Grandmama looked dubious and perplexed.  "She's going to refuse him and he's going to drown…"
"Yep." said Uncle Zack, rubbing furiously and shaking his head with an intensely blank look on his face. "They're gonna drown together…Gohhhly…"
 At the sight of two men struggling at the river drop off, and both drowning, Grandmama exclaimed, 
"Dickens went a little far with that one!………..a little too far, I think."
At the end, Uncle Zack vowed off Dickens forever, Chris sighed heavily and said, pacing, "Boy! I'm just gonna have to think about all' at…." and Grandmama looked at her book "Christy" and said after a moment of silence…"My….Christy just may not be that exciting after Dickens…"
  Grandmama reads and I lie here, my head on her lap. She strokes my face and plays with my hair. Her hands are cool and strong. 

eventide summer

coming home.

  Anne was behind the bathroom door, brushing teeth and doing leg lifts.  We had the same idea.
'What smells like a sweaty spaniard in here, Anne?' She pointed to Abe's shorts laid over the bathtub.

'Anna-Lou!' Merry said through the door, eying us both in the mirror,  'I don't know where you've been, but I've been holding this phone for at least 5 minutes!'  Melody's head appeared in the shadow behind Merry's and she ventured,
'If anyone wants to fix my hair for driveway dance, then…that would be nice.'
Anne explained, 'Merry, I was ready to exercise thirty minutes ago, but you said you had to do your little thing.'
I sighed.  Who's pile of hair is that in the floor?...Y'all…c'mon.'  {I try to…. encourage my sistren to sweep up their locks after brushing them out in the floors.}   Melody started laughing.
'They're mine…remember?'  And I did. Because I had brushed them out yesterday when I'd been fixing her hair. Drat. I'm constantly cornering myself, then slapping me, and laughing.

Today was my second time to "jump off"  a car.

visually: Me leaping from the roof of a car.

   Actually: Me trying to remember all the instructions Chris gave to me over my dying phone the one other time I'd done it before, then acting like I knew what to do this time: 'HEH! Jump off a car? Old hat, my dear, a terribly old hat.'…..But when it came to doing it, all I could think was, "Which one am I supposed to attach first??? Red or Black??? Wait…how do I open the hood??  Didn't he say by all means not to let one of them touch ANYTHING once the other one is attached???  I was just glad that this time all of Chris' neighbors were not watching me from their front porches.  But as I attached them, then sat in the truck waiting, I could imagine a clicking noise, then a deafening explosion, and then later, me in the hospital with hanging head, trying to explain to Chris "I thought I had the right ones attached…?"  Machines are such volatile things in my mind.
You can imagine the victory when the car took the feed and started, peacefully. {though, this was with Mama re-adjusting the cord some}.

And now I am taking a crew of kids home.  A crew of happy tired kids with pine straw taped to their faces because they want to be old men,

  good eve.

saturday

today was absolutely gorgeous. i stayed outside as much as possible and even though our bamboo was chopped down by the hands of angelot, it didn't deter me from taking my usual position in the front side yard beside the now gaping openness of our yard and hers. i wrote and read and was productive, even with them staring at our zoo from their lawn chairs.  

fitly dubbed by jeremy, 'annsanity'

concerning the solar eclipse, or lack thereof.

  We camped out on a back road last night to watch the eclipse.  The sun sank before we could see it, so no eclipse for us.  Five more years...maybe we'll nail it then.  But we did a beautiful sunset.  And then we drove the long way home with our hands out the windows, singing 'swing low' with soul, and as many scripture songs as we could think of.   

        i can't imagine what our world would be like without cosmic radiation.

goodnight, genteel people.