Friday, August 28, 2009

Just a Thought

Rumor has it that these are my great-great grandparents on my father's side. . . his Grandma S's parents. I have cool things that came from him. I have a corner shelf and a dresser he made with his own hands, and I have two plots in the family portion of the old cemetery. Who'da thunkit?

I have been trying to think of something to update this stupid blog for a week, and can't come up with anything. In desperation, I uploaded a bunch of random pictures and we'll go from there. Themes are a good thing, and I would prefer to stick with them, but my horizons are very limited lately. I suppose I should do something about that. I get up in the morning, get on the computer and have coffee, go to work, get on the computer and work, come home, pop a beer, get on the computer, have supper, then go to bed and read or watch tv. Wow. I'm a fireball, ain't I?

This is something I do on the computer. I have a killer camera and some good photo programs, and Sister is teaching me how to do things. It's a lot of fun, but my lack of imagination and creativity throws a monkey wrench in the works. I'm a copier.

Do you realize summer is nearly over? Next week is September! The six year minimum I have until I can retire doesn't even worry me, because it will be over in a flash. Heck, last week I was 30 and the week before that 16. I wonder what my kids would think of me if they had known me when I was 16. They wouldn't recognize me.

This guy will always be a favorite of mine. He represents so many people, doesn't he? He goes through his daily life having his arse chewed off, and it's business as usual.

Who determines who is the chewer and who is the chewee? Chewees of the world, wake up! You don't have to be a chewee! Bite back and you might be surprised. It took me long enough to learn that, but it works. You don't have to turn into a chewer, but refusing to be a chewee is empowering. Whew! That got my blood pumping.

This picture was interesting to me on a few different levels. First and foremost, how was Grandpapapapa going to get up off the floor with his two new knees? Little Guy likes to climb up into his lap and demand to be beaten. "Beat me up, Grandpa." Just like that. Sweetie B usually minds her own business and he tickles her anyway, Sweetie K puts up with it for a minute then goes somewhere else.

By the way, he got up from the floor, but it was a process.

Being of a morbid nature, The Old Burying Ground in North Carolina caught my attention. It was too early in the year, or the wysteria would have been a blooming canopy. The place even has a guide pamphlet. It has burials ranging from the 1600s to the 1940's. There are soldiers from the Revolutionary and Civil Wars, children and the aged. It was a fascinating walk through history and I could have spent hours there.

You see, I'm a person who lives in the past. If I ever figure out a way to go there and stay, I'm gone.

This is the gate outside of the Tryon Palace, the governor's mansion, in North Carolina. We took the grand tour and I've never seen anything so grand in my life. Look it up on the internet and you will see what I mean. It isn't as big as Williamsburg, but I loved it. I would have liked it even better if Grandpa had felt better. He was a trouper and refused to hold us back, even though I'm sure he felt like death not even warmed over.

Do you ever dream of things like this? Again, too early in the spring, but it was awesome. I can't even remember what you call it, and it has a name. Maybe it will come to me another day. There was a huge magnolia tree at the end of the back yard and I could see why my friend from Louisiana wanted one in his yard.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch . . . . . I haven't done any knitting to speak of in nearly a year. Can't concentrate. I can tell it's getting closer, because I'm starting to read again, and that means knitting isn't far behind. I'm nearly done with a stole that I'm working on for a very dear lady. I wanted to give it to her for Christmas last year, and there's no reason that I shouldn't have had it done, but it isn't much farther along now than it was then. A good 24 hours of work would finish it, so I'd better get in the mood again. I have a red one to finish too. I have another white one to finish too. I put those aside because I had bitten off more than I could chew with them and set them aside until I learned more. I should be able to do them now. I know what to look for.

Oh look. She's an old hippy and she don't know what to do. Can I just tell you that this was the best summer of my life from then to now? We'll just leave it at that.

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

Bits of My Family

My oldest daughter came home from Ohio/Tennessee for a visit last week. I haven't seen her since she moved about three years ago. We talk on the phone often, but it just isn't the same.

Sunday was her last day here, so we decided on a photo op. This picture has the majority of my crumb crunchers displayed. Don't miss the top tree hugger! We missed my son and a few of the grandchildren, but I'm grateful for what I can get.

The cemetery is a great place to take pictures on a Sunday afternoon. There is a clump of umbrella trees in the center of the old part that is right out of a fairy book. Hmmmm. Elves or tree frogs?

This was a fun thing to do with Daughter A and her kids. I like the vintage look and it's easy to do. This shot will bring back memories for a long time to come. We can look back on the warm, fuzzy memory of getting busted by the cops taking pictures in the cemetery. Honest! We were snapping and posing and laughing at Grandson #1 getting leeches on his bare feet, when a cop car drove through. Since I know the cops from work, I waved. The car stopped, and the officer strolled across the grass toward us. He said a neighbor called to report a group of teenagers horsing around taking pictures in the cemetery and being generally rowdy. I laughed. Not everyone saw the humor, but it turned out all right. Officer Jim told us to go ahead and take all the pictures we wanted and to have a good time.

This is one of my big little girls. She's growing faster than her parents would like, as children do. She's a good girl, and we had fun taking pictures of her with her mom and brother. She had fun with her cousins too. This was a rare, quiet moment when her light shown through.

These are my four bigguns. They loved the "punk" wall. They practiced looking tough for these pictures.

It is an adventure being the oldest generation. I look at these kids and I think, holy cow I'm my aunts Leona/Fern!

When I was the age that these kids are now, way back in the 60s, I was almost a hippy. Leona and Fern were my grandmother's sisters and we saw quite a lot of them. Leona worked in dress stores or JC Penney's uptown and Fern was a typical upper middle class housefrau, involved in clubs and charities. They didn't leave the house unless they were fully dressed with heels, hose, hair done, accessories, and the whole deal. I remember when they wore gloves and hats. When they saw sisters and me uptown in our cut-offs and with bare feet, they would cuss us out and try to send us home. If they saw these kids, they would probably wonder what the world was coming to all over again.

But look at this kid. His blue hair looks more like grey now, he's wearing his stylin' hoodie even though it's 98 degrees outside, and he looks like the tough guy he isn't. This is the best kid in the world. He's almost 16 and is just plain a good kid. I'm as proud of him as if I'd trained him myself. I didn't raise him, but I taught his mom to be a terror!

The child was always the runt in whatever group he was in. We were afraid he would wear child size shoes to college. Then one day he grew. I take that back -- he didn't grow, he exploded. He outgrew clothes monthly. He went through shoe sizes like water. He grew and grew and grew. Now he is officially a galoot. He put his sister in the air without a pause, and held her there. OK, she's only 80 pounds soaking wet, but still. He's very strong, and she's very brave.

I'm the same age my parents used to be. Let me rephrase that. I'm the age now that my mother was, and my dad would have been if he'd been alive, when I was 25 years old. That was 1977, so do the math.

The people in these pictures are most of my children and theirs. Not all, but most. Do you suppose I'll live to see their children? Who knows? I wouldn't mind it. We'll be great-grandparents in a few months and I'm feeling some age. Then I think I agree with sister. She's says we're in the old age of youth and the youth of old age. I've got seven years on her, so I'm in an older youth of old age than she.

Did you ever wonder what your legacy to the world will be? Here's mine.

Saturday, August 1, 2009


Jim Croce wanted to take time in a bottle. I remember when he said just that, because I was already an adult when the song came out. I was on my own with two babies and two sisters to take care of, and vice versa. Poor Jim Croce could have put his time in a baby food jar by then, because he died very young. I was very young too. Now I'm not.

Just look at these galoots. They are not my babies from the Time in a Bottle days, they are my babies' babies. One of my babies hadn't even been born in Time in a Bottle days. It's even conceivable that my babies' babies could start having babies in the next few years or so. Well, the one in the red hat is 18, and Sunglasses Boy is almost 16. There is no question that they are WAY too young to reproduce, but the family track record says different. RH's mom was 20 when he was born and SB's was all of 17. See what I mean? These two boys love each other like brothers rather than cousins, and they both used to fit on my lap at the same time.

Do you see where I am going with the time thing?

This is my first boy. My first grandchild. Is there any question that I spoiled him rotten? He lived with me for many years and then went his way. My boys do that.

This is my second grandson. He's bigger than the first grandson, and it generally ticks first grandson right off. Not enough to matter. Second grandson lives with me now, along with his parents, sisters, brother, and dog. He is a good boy. Sometimes he acts like he's almost 16, but he'll grow out of that. Some do, and I think he will. if he sits on my lap he will squash me like a bug.

As a group (a mighty large one at that) we value family, love, and having a good time. We like to laugh, and it looks good on us. Looking at these boys reminds me that I'm not almost 16 anymore, even though it feels like it from my side of my eyes. Some of the best laughs we get are when sisters and I try to do things that were a breeze at almost 16, or even at the ripe old age of 18, and our old bodies fail to perform as they should.

At least I have one boy who can still be my baby. In this picture, he is three years old, almost foy. He's foy now and growing fast, but he says he will always be my baby. That's what they all say. At least he is still young enough to believe that if you have a goob, you should dig a goob. He usually brings me whatever he has liberated hanging on the end of his little finger. Lucky me. "Nana, I got a goob!"

Time will make this little guy keep on growing until he is as big as his bubby or his cousin. When that happens in 15 or 20 years, I'll think, "Dang. And I thought I was old when he was foy!"