toasted

Sometimes, you find that sweet spot. The place where memories past and present collide. It can be bittersweet, but oh what a marvelous feeling. A connection, proof that we go on, threaded together in ways we can't anticipate. This morning was like that for me. A brief moment when I felt so connected to the past that I felt like a bridge between generations.

Maddie stayed over last night. Dunc stayed with the boys at Jim's house next door. This morning I told the kids we were going to have scrambled eggs and toast for breakfast. Maddie chirped in "I know how to scramble eggs!" I told her I was glad, that it would be fun to cook breakfast together. We counted heads and realized it was going to take a lot of eggs and bread. The eggs were no problem, a huge skillet fixed that. Maddie helped me break eggs into the bowl, and I finally turned the eggs over to her. She broke, beat and I chunked some butter in a skillet. We discussed adding cheese, decided that was a go, and then I faced the toast. I had a problem. The butter was hard because Jen had put my butter dish in the fridge (we always leave it out to keep it spreadable), and my dilemma was how to get the butter to melt on the toast when it was hard as a rock.

Then I remembered that little Revere pan I had inherited when I got married. Mom had given me the whole set and I had been cooking with them for 46 years. With the set was a little pot, which would hold about 1 cup liquid at most. It had been used for one thing when I was growing up.

Melting butter.

I got it out of the cabinet, added a chunk of butter and melted it, then grabbed a brush out of the drawer. By the time I was ready, Maddie had several slices of toast waiting for butter on a paper plate. I started brushing the butter across the toast, thinking about how Dad used to do the same thing.

I closed my eyed briefly and could see Dad in my mind, standing there smiling at me and his great granddaughter making toast the way he used to when I was her age. The funny thing was, I didn't appreciate that moment back then, but now I savored it. I smiled as I told Maddie the story of Grandpa and the buttered toast.

Memories past, memories present. Threaded together by a small pot and buttered toast.



...life is good... i am @jonesbabie on twitter and Instagram

the ghost of gma mary

A couple weeks ago I woke up to my first cup of tea and some quiet reading.

Or so I thought. What actually happened was that I entered the living room and got sucked into a skirmish. The kid variety. Gramps had already been sucked into the vortex. This was how it went down...

Maddie: Grammy, Duncan and John lost the key to my 4 wheeler and I can't find it.
Me: Can you ride without the key?
Maddie: No. I looked all through the couch, but all I found was popcorn. (Last night was popcorn movie night...Duncan misses his mouth more often than not, but that's another story.)
Me: That could be a problem then. (I'm not the sharpest knife in the drawer before my morning tea.)
Maddie: Grammy will you help me look?

So that was when I felt that first gentle tug into a situation I had accidentally stumbled blindly into. We searched between all the cushions, and I ran my hands down into areas of the couch I hadn't felt in years. We found a missing sock, but no key. Gramps lifted the couch and turned it over and we searched every nook and cranny. We did the same thing to his chair for good measure.

No key. But the floors under the couch and chair got vacuumed nice and tidy, sans popcorn and other unidentifiable food and garbage.

By the time I finished that (still without my first cup of tea), I was a bit irritated at two boys who had spent the whole time we were looking for the key THEY lost, playing in the bedroom with army men. That was when the ghost of Gma Mary materialized inside me. I marched into the kids' bedroom and informed the boys that they needed to use their brains to remember where they had left the key, and find it.

Both boys looked at me like I had sprouted two heads and was speaking a foreign language. I repeated myself, and told them to get UP and come and look for the key. They moaned and groaned and dragged into the living room. John had to recover from two feet he said weren't working before he could get to the scene of his crime.

John said he had left it on the couch and that was all he could remember. Dunc said John had the key last, trying to absolve himself of any connection to the crime. I told him his alibi didn't work, because he had started the chain of events by removing the key from the four wheeler.

After a half hearted search, the boys thought they were free and clear. I upped the ante at that point, thinking they would make a better effort to FIND THAT KEY. I told them they could not ride on the four wheeler anymore since the key was gone. They wouldn't be able to start the engine.

John: Dat's ok. I got my own four wheeler.
Dunc: I don't care. Doesn't matter to me.

This was when things started to escalate. I decided to hit them where it hurt, because Maddie was the only one upset by the missing key and loss of four wheeler riding time.

Me: Ok then, no more video games when you are here too.
Dunc: Fine.

Hmm, Dunc was playing tough guy. While I thought about my next move I looked for John, who was so crushed he had locked himself in the laundry room. My next statement was meant to win a stunning victory, but it worked out somewhat differently.

Me: John, there are mice in the laundry room. (Actually there are only traps.)
John: I am getting a chocolate milk. (YooHoo, a drink made mostly of chocolate, water and sugar.)
Me: You can't have a YooHoo if you didn't eat breakfast.

zombie grandkids- yes that is a YooHoo in John's hand

Gramps: He ate a cinnamon roll. (WTH did that come from? Now they were triple teaming me.)
Me: A cinnamon roll does not count as breakfast. It is sugar.  (Giving Gramps the stink eye)...Now he wants to follow sugar with sugar.
John: I will eat my egg then have chocolate milk.
Me: The egg that was on the table? I threw it away when I cleaned the table off.
John: But I wanted that egg. (Chin quivering and pitiful eyes.)
Me: (Gma Mary standing firm.)Then you need to eat it when breakfast is served. I don't leave food on the table all day.

I could feel myself gaining ground. I was ready to zoom in for the kill, play my ace in the hole. Then John started to cry. Which of course made Gramps totally crumple. I was breathing hard by this time and my eyes were beginning to bulge. Gramps took a breath to say something but I shot them both down before anything could be said. I included Dunc in this shot. I was going to overwhelm them with THE TRUTH.

Me: Have you ever heard of nutrient dense and calorie dense foods? Nutrient dense means that there are lots of vitamins and minerals in the food you eat and calorie dense means...

I noticed their faces. John was looking at me like I had sprouted a third head, Dunc had one eyebrow raised almost to his hairline and a smirk on his face, and Gramps' eyes were rolling in his head like he was having a seizure.

Then the ten year old slipped in and struck the final blow.

Dunc: I don't know and don't care.
Gramps: I was going to say the same thing.
John: (speechless and staring at me...)
Me: OK THEN. Since my money is what buys most of the food around here, I just won't buy any more CINNAMON ROLLS. EVER. And no more YOOHOO either.
Dunc: whaaaaat? Fine then, I WON'T COME ANYMORE.
John: (crying...suspiciously fake sounding sniffing)
Gramps: (seizure continues)
Me: FINE THEN, Maddie can come alone. Maddie, the next time you come, we will do lots of fun things together. We can shop, and go to the park.
Maddie: There is a park here?
Me: No, it is in Jasper. In fact there are LOTS of parks in Jasper. (I see Dunc is unimpressed, and I know I have to dig deep and find his Achille's heel.)
Maddie: ok Grammy that sounds fun.
Me: Oh, and we can go fishing Maddie. Lots of fishing. LOTS. (Dunc's eyebrows shoot up, and I am pretty sure he is buying this.)

So I play my trump card.

Me: Oh, and Gramps, sell Dunc's fishing rod, since he won't be needing it anymore. (Duncan has forgotten he doesn't own a fishing rod here, he uses Gramps' tackle.)
Dunc: WAIT...WAIT!!!! YOU CAN'T SELL MY FISHING ROD! I need it to fish!
Me: No you won't need it, since you won't be coming anymore.

At that point, I began to grin, and saw Dunc starting to smile, Gramps started to chuckle, and Maddie was laughing. I looked around for John, who had been strangely quiet...

He had downed a nutrient rich banana in 2 seconds. While we were skirmishing. He was going to do whatever it took to get that YooHoo.

Gma Mary had won again. She taught us well.  Jones women never lose a skirmish.

And John got his YooHoo.

...life is good... Cath
i am @jonesbabie on twitter

the lesson of the shawl

When my mother recently died, my sisters and I had to sort through her things. It wasn't a conscious "ok now it's time to go through Mom's stuff" sort of a decision. There wasn't much to go through.

Years ago mother decided the best way to make it easy on us when the time came was to get rid of as much stuff as she could. She was moving into my sister Vicky's house and was downsizing anyway, so we had a big cleaning out for her, and divided up what meant to us then, sorting and passing stuff to our kids. Mom was happy it was taken care of.

That meant that when she died, all she had left was what was in the room she occupied at Vicky's. So there was no huge task of sorting things out. That had been done and dusted a few years before.

What the task of going through mom's things became for us was a trip down memory lane. Especially her jewelry. Mom didn't have expensive jewelry. She had never believed in spending a lot of money on it. So what she had was a collection of good and not so good costume jewelry. Some of it was so tarnished we couldn't tell what it was. But as we sorted through it, we talked about where the pieces came from, who had given it to her, and what she wore it for, if we could remember.

We laid things out on her single bed, walked away when it became an emotional overload, and then one by one over the week and a half I was there, I noticed we would drift quietly into the room, touch her things, and sort through our own memories. That was how I discovered the shawl.

It was under some things mom had crocheted, and as soon as I saw it I recognized it. It was made by my grandmother many years ago for my mom. Grandma had a special tool called a daisy maker, and she had made the daisies then crocheted them together.

I pulled the shawl from the drawer slowly and wrapped it around my shoulders.  As I looked at myself in the mirror on mom's dresser, it seemed almost as though I was looking at mom. I closed my eyes and could almost feel her presence there with me, and I felt a calmness wrap itself around me like the shawl had.

The truth of life is that no matter what you do or say there is never enough time.  Letting go of the anxiety and fear of my own mortality was the lesson I learned that day.

I miss you Mary, more than I ever thought I would.

...life... ~cat
i am @jonesbabie on twitter

Writing prompt for Friday Reflections:
Tell us about something you have in your home that has been handed down to you. Describe it, take a photo, and tell us the history and meaning of this item.

favorite places and spaces in my mind

tea time

The prompt for July 3rd that caught my eye at Friday Reflections has had me thinking for days.  How could I pick one favorite place?  There have been so many of them.  I think about all the places I have traveled, the things I have seen and done.  How could I possibly whittle it to one favorite?  Janine Ripper at Reflections From a Redhead described her favorite place so colorfully, I was ready to pack a bag and leave right then.

But picking my favorite place?   It finally dawned on me.  The place that is my favorite of all is....

the grapes of cath

my mind

That's right.  All the places I have visited, the things I have seen, are all trapped in lovely memories.  They are stored away, like a filing cabinet full of cards and photos, and I can revisit and think about them whenever I want to.  This ability to pull memories and close my eyes and be there is something I have always done.  It is especially helpful right now, at this moment in my life when there is so much going on with so many people in my life that I often wonder what will happen next.

watercolor, pen & ink

Today, I have pulled out a memory of one of those places.  My sister Vicky's back yard (garden for those of you who don't call a yard a yard) and one of the most peaceful places I have ever been.  It is a place I can sit quietly, looking at the flowers, birds, bees, and listening to the breeze blowing gently through the trees, stirring the leaves to a soft rustling sound.  It is a place I have painted, photographed and long to be when things are overwhelming.  It is my morning refuge, my favorite place to drink my tea and think about all the vagaries of life.

vix, watering her plants

It is a place I return to at least twice a year...and where I will return once more in October of this year.  Until then, I have my memories, filed away in my mind to pull out and relive over and over whenever I feel a yearning for peace and quiet.

morning in the garden

   

 

the perfect rose

 ...life is good. ~cath
i am @jonesbabie on twitter

my best photo

Today is the last day of May and the last day of May NaBloPoMo. Thirty one days ago I started this daily blog prompt centered around photos. One reason I joined the blog prompt over at BlogHer was that I had not been writing much for an extended period of time, for personal reasons. My focus was elsewhere, and I couldn't seem to focus on writing, photography, drawing or painting.

Today's NaBloPoMo prompt is: your best photo. I thought about that one for several days now. It is hard to pick out my best photo. I thought about all the photos I had taken that I felt demonstrated an increase in my skill as a photographer. Then I thought about what is important for me to share with my photographs, and the answer came to me.

Plain and simple, I think the most important thing I can convey as a photographer is emotion, or the story I am trying to tell. I chose this photo to share. It was shot quickly, not the technically best photo I have ever taken, but I see it now, and I feel strong emotion wash over me. It is a photo of my daughter holding my granddaughter's face in her hand. In Maddie's eyes I see pure love. And I know, because I took that photo, that the love in Maddie's eyes is mirrored in her mommy's eyes, and felt through the touch of her hand.

Total devotion and love of a child for her mother, and a mother for her child. Unplanned and blurry, this may be the best photo I have ever taken. It is certainly one of the most important moments in my life. Captured now, forever. That is the magic of photography.

Life, lived moment by moment, photo by photo. Shared. Experienced.

My best photo.

...life, lived, is your best photo... ~cath
i am @jonesbabie on twitter

food for the soul

Food. The prompt for today from NaBloPoMo on day number 29. Fitting that today the focus is food. I wondered if I had any photos of food worth posting. I've taken some doozies, and some $%*&ed up shots too. Minions and Marmite (#20) figured high on my list of considerations. Then I saw the photo, and the food became secondary. It was not the focus of the photo for me.

ragu with rotini, served on my Grammy's dishes

It was the dish it was served on. Food keeps the body going.  But love and memories feed the soul. I ate many meals on the Franciscan apple dishes shown in the photo. Years ago, I acquired my mom's and Grammy's dishes. So old that many of them say "made in California" on them. Later dishes say "made in the USA" on them. I have both. I don't own any that say "made in England" which is where they are manufactured now. Mine came from my childhood, and I am of an age that the dishes are close to being antique. A fact that does not faze me one bit. I can close my eyes and remember so many meals, so many conversations. The strep throat I unknowingly had as I struggled to eat chili, each bite setting my throat on fire. Learning to eat squash and like it. Talking to Grammy as she washed dishes, watching her rub each plate dry with embroidered dish towels.

concoction

Many memories.  Memories that will last longer than the food that is served on those plates now. Food served to my family. Plates that are hand washed by me now. Plates and memories that are a common thread of love that runs through my family, from generation to generation.


...life is delicious...   -cath
i am @jonesbabie on twitter

day 19: vintage treasures

Seems a good night to sit back and think about family, memories and smile as I look at the photos I took for today's prompt over at NaBloPoMo.

the sugar in my lemonade

I was going to write something pithy and wise today, the day before Mother's Day, about something that would be so important it would change your life forever.

Forget that. I do good to put two sentences together. So I decided to respond to the +FridayReflections prompt of who has impacted my life for the better. I could say something about my mum, because it is almost Mother's Day here in the USA. She and I haven't always seen eye to eye, but she did contribute one important thing to me. She gave me a backbone of steel, and the belief that I could do anything I wanted to do. 

But the people I want to talk about today are two of the most important people in my life. Throughout my whole life, they were there for me. During hard times, lonely times, times when I didn't have an answer, there they were. They didn't always have the answer either, just as I often didn't have it for them. But they loved me unconditionally, and without judgment. Even when we disagreed, it was always with the understanding that it was ok to disagree, and that it would not affect our trust or feelings for each other. I think of them every day, and especially today. 

They are my sisters, Vicky and Debbie. The sugar in my lemonade.

Vicky, Debbie, and Cathy

day2

We have another side too. A raucous, wicked side that lets us make fun of each other, laugh at each other, and gives me a feeling of zest and joy that last for days. Yesterday we were texting each other, asking Vix if mum's gifts we sent had gotten there. I just KNEW I was gonna have the most unique gift. I had thought this through, plotted, and planned it so that I would be mum's favorite daughter by Mother's Day. I sent flowers:

day 1

Vix Gave mother flowers:

We were both texting back and forth, pretty proud that we had made mum happy.  Then Dooj's GIFT arrived and Vix sent me a picture:

that is a balloon on top and chocolates too

Our text chat then proceeded along these lines:

Vix: the #$&%@ has outdone us Cath. LMAO.

Me: how dare she do that! I think that $(#*#@$ balloon is a $%*#&@$ bit over the top. 

Dooj: LMAO

Vix: is that the one you wanted Dooj, or is this arrangement too small?

Dooj: lolololol

Me: you sure you didn't tell them that was for a funeral Dooj? It's big enough to cover a casket.

Dooj: lololololol...I did tell them no lilies but I'm not going to tell Mother that.

Vix: Momma is getting a kick out of these comments. She did say it was big enough for a funeral. I told her if she kicked the bucket before Sunday (Mother's Day) we would use it.

Me: lololol.

Me:(to Vix) I hope Dooj's flowers die first....

Vix: lolololol....

I have a secret weapon though...today mum got these:

Score one for the big sis...

NaBloPoMo photo prompt day 9 is: Light

...be positive...the best is yet to come... ~cath
find me @jonesbabie on Twitter

day 4: my energy

A recent photo of my sisters having a chat. The connection and love between them is evident in their hands. 

throwback thursday

way back in about 1986

Maddie was looking through some photos I had posted online and found one of my kids and me in about 1986.  She identified everyone in the photo but one person, and asked me "Grammy, who is that?"  I told her it was me, and she repeated her question two more times in disbelief.

She finally said:  You're as little as your kids!
I said: well Maddie I was a lot younger then, and the kids had mostly gotten as big as me (with the exception of Wretch, who was about Maddie's age).  (No way was I going to comment on what she obviously meant, which was that I was THINNER.)

Then Duncan started in: that's you?  that's YOU?  THAT'S YOU???
*sigh*
Me: Yes Duncan it is me.
Duncan: You look like you need to be married.
Me: I was Duncan, to Gramps.  That's why I was as LITTLE AS THE KIDS...I got married when I was a kid...(sort of...I was 17).  :)

Gramps, me and some of the kids and grandkids in fall 2014

Link up any Throwback Thursday photos you would like to share, in the comments below.

...laugh, life is good! ~cath
find me @jonesbabie on Twitter

my too late friday reflection

By now, if you read any of the words I throw out on this blog, you realize that my writing doesn't have much of a theme, and I bounce around.  Which is ok, because that is the way I've always been.  I learn something, then move on.  For me, learning isn't about becoming an expert at anything.  The joy is in the learning.  One thing I am learning, and that the #Friday Reflection prompt supports and encourages me toward, is to take time to reflect.  Learning cannot impact your life if you don't stop to reflect that learning.  As far as I am concerned, if you wake up every morning and are breathing, you have the opportunity to learn.  That is why I chose the second prompt to respond to this week.  My Friday reflection is coming after a busy weekend with 3 of my 4 grandkids, with not much time for reflecting or writing.

I had some time to reflect, time to read a bit this weekend and think about the prompts as  I was racing around.  The prompt that resonated with me the most was the second one:
What is the most influential book you have ever read?

That is a hard question to answer, because there is no one book that has influenced me the most. That would be an impossible task.  I thought about this all week as I transitioned from one position to another in the organization I work for, and decided I would have to share a few, maybe three or four.  I could easily list 25 or more, but this is supposed to be a prompt for a post, not a novel.

Vermeer

Byzantine icon

The first book I remember was a coffee table book of art history.  I don't remember the title, but it was one of those beautiful, large, printed books you display on your coffee table when you want people to think you know something about a subject you know nothing about.  This book was located next door, on our neighbors' coffee table.  Frannie and John were good friends of my parents, with John and my dad stationed at the same Air Force base.  While the adults played pinochle in the dining room, I sat in a living room seldom used (back in those days we had dens, or family rooms, where the TV was located and real life occurred).  I couldn't have been more than 8 or 9, and was already drawing. What that book did was show me what art was about, the creativity of artists through the ages.  Where I saw my first Pieter Bruegel, Jan Vermeer, Michelangelo Buonarroti and so on.  My strongest memory was of my amazement in the difference in art periods, and especially from the Byzantine period to the early to late Renaissance.  My love of Impressionism and Modern Art came long after that first book, but what that book did was show me world history through the eyes and hands of artists.  I can still close my eyes, and feel the smoothness of the pages as I carefully turned them.

Pieter Bruegel

The second book I think about is one that was required reading during my Baccalaureate program in nursing.  From Novice to Expert: Excellence and Power in Clinical Nursing by Patricia Benner, PhD in 1984, it was a thin volume, and I started it with the intentions of getting through it because I had to.  But soon found myself taking in every word as I read about the acquisition of skills and experience in nursing.  Written for her dissertation by Dr. Patricia Benner, a nursing theorist and academic leader in nursing, it had such an impact on my understanding of the experience we gain as nurses, and how we go from being greenhorns straight out of nursing school to expert practitioners.  Benner's theory and research was qualitative, rather than quantitative, and she has been criticized for that, but I have found that the model she provided describing the acquisition of skills through experience have been mirrored by my own practice and transition through the five stages she described.  That particular book was a priceless gem to me as a nurse.

The third book I think about is the book that I enjoyed with my last baby.  Or rather that she enjoyed with her grandmother, my mother in law.  The Grown-Up Day, written and illustrated by Jack Kent, was written in 1969 and acquired by me for my children somewhere along the line, when I was collecting books for them and 45 singles for me.  Reading and listening to rock and roll were two things we did almost every day in my house.  I think that is a solid foundation for any kid, and it paid off with mine.  But The Grown-Up Day belonged strictly to Ma and Deb.  She was barely speaking when that became her favorite book, but after sitting in Ma's lap (we lived right next door) every day and hearing the book a thousand times, Deb had it memorized.  Ma would turn the pages as Deb recited it from memory, making it appear that she was some child genius who could read at the age of two.  What I learned from that book is that books have a way of connecting us as human beings.  They are a way of spanning the gap of generations and passing along knowledge.  As well as love.  That book was the love between a grandmother and her grandchild, and the joy it brought them both is something that I have never forgotten, even though that baby is 36 now.

And that is how books have influenced my life.  One at a time, each carries a message, and is an opportunity to go to a new place, learn new things, think new thoughts.  To expand our minds, and connect as human beings.


...laugh, life is good. ~cath
find me @jonesbabie on Twitter

joy, from the mouth of a child

Duncan was unusually quiet around us this weekend.  That means he didn't talk much to Gramps and me.  Until we were headed home with him.  I don't understand how his child's mind works and am surprised at what it produces.  Yesterday it was this:

Dunc: Dogs are the best animals to use in the Army.  They can protect people and find stuff.

Me: You mean sniff out stuff like bombs?

Dunc: Yeah.  Cats aren't any good though.

Me: Why not?

Dunc: They are just pussycats.  Pussycats aren't any good in the army, cause they won't listen or do anything except sit on landmines and blow soldiers up.

Me: (Silence.  What do you say to that?)

...life is good. ~cath
find me @jonesbabie on Twitter

slapping john

John has been sick.  He is the youngest grandson, a 4 year old trying to mix in with the world of his 9 year old cousins.  They don't always have patience with him, and being the youngest, he gets shoved aside sometimes when they are tired of him.

John had a flush on his face yesterday, cheeks so red that his mom took him to the doctor.  The red cheeks were caused by Fifth disease, also known as Slap disease, for the obvious reasons.

Gramps walked into the living room later that day and saw the three oldest sitting quietly on the couch, watching television.  He threw his hands on his hips and said in the booming voice he uses when he means no nonsense:

"John has Slap disease.  I want to know... who's been slapping John?!"

He said all three of their mouths dropped open in shock, like baby birds in a nest, as they loudly started protesting their innocence.

He was doubled over in laughter, telling me about it.

Sometimes, Gramps can be as evil as Grammy is.

...life is good. ~cath
find me @jonesbabie on Twitter

fake eyebrows

Maddie was standing watching me put on my war paint yesterday morning as I got ready for work. I was aware of her intent staring, the way a worm might feel (if it could feel), right before a bird pounces.

Suddenly, she pounced. 

"Grammy, are those fake eyebrows?"

I stopped drawing my fake eyebrows on and laughed loudly. 

"Yes Maddie, they are fake eyebrows."  She seemed content with the answer, but I proceeded to explain to her why I had to fake my eyebrows. She calmly listened, then stretched and looked at her own eyebrows in the bathroom mirror. 

"I don't have much eyebrows either,"

That was when I veered off into a lengthy explanation about genetics. She hung with me for about 5 minutes, then her eyes went blank and I knew I'd lost her. I laughed as she eased out of the bathroom and moved onto something else, her interest in fake eyebrows evaporated. 

This morning she came in to watch me draw my fake eyebrows on again. I sneaked a look at her out of the corner of my eyes. Then Evil Grammy took over and I grabbed her and drew fake eyebrows on her. She liked them, but said in critique "they are red!"

"Yes Maddie, because I have red hair."

Maddie twisted her mouth, smiled, and didn't say anything else. The fake eyebrows stayed on. She left the bathroom and went to eat breakfast. 

And drew the line when I tried to lipstick her mouth on my way out the door. Her reason?

"Grammy, I NEVER wear lipstick when I'm eating. It will just come off."

Life is good. 

the saromony

It's been an eventful year for our family so far.  That is one reason I haven't posted anything in the past month.  Events in my life have had me so busy I just couldn't focus on writing a single post.  Then the desire to write began to go (similar to exercise, if you don't do it consistently the interest and routine begins to fade.) I was beginning to worry about ever feeling that push in my gut to put my thoughts down again, and then something happened to light me up again.  It was something big in our family, but not important to anyone else, and I thought to myself "I'll post this, so I won't forget it."

So here I am, typing away again on the computer, putting down another memory and laughing about it while I do.  It started with the marriage of my daughter and new son in law.  A second marriage for both, they had been hemming and hawing about getting married for a while now.  Jen, being the planner she is, had planned and postponed their wedding a couple times.  First the mountains, then the beach, no back to the mountains, no, let's go to the beach. That sort of thing.  Then she decided she needed to plan it far enough in advance she could lose some weight...

Then cancer struck.  Several months and three surgeries ago, Jen was diagnosed with cancer on her vocal chord.  The left vocal chord to be specific.  I know where it is because I saw an endoscopic photo of the monster in my baby's throat.  Every three months, a trip to the outpatient surgery.  She would be put to sleep and her vocal chord stripped.  Over and over until I began to despair.  Then, after the last surgery the surgeon gave us wonderful news.  It had been downgraded from cancer to dysplasia.  That means abnormal cells, NOT cancer.  We celebrated and took a deep breath.  And said a prayer that the surgery in May will be the last.

So the wedding plans were on again...this time it was the beach...no it was too cold in spring for the beach...it was going to be in the beautiful yard of a coworker and friend of Jennifer's, in May.  The race was on and shopping trips and online browsing ensued to find the perfect wedding dress and clothes for the kids and Michael (the quietly suffering uncomplaining groom).  Texts were passed back and forth, and photos of dresses, discussions about how to add red to the black and white theme Jen had decided on.  I was stoic, and promised to help with the alterations and anything else I was assigned to.

Then a week or so ago, on the 28th day of March, while I was in another state on business, Jen did something that made me proud of her.  It was totally out of character for my superplanner accountant daughter.

Jennifer and Michael slipped off to the county courthouse and got married.  When I got out of my meeting and turned my phone back on at the airport, I was hit with a barrage of texts.  The first I saw was Steve saying we have a new son in law.  I kind of disregarded it, because this is the same man who told me his parents had an outhouse right before he put me on a plane (2 weeks before I gave birth) to Alabama to stay with his parents until he was mustered out of the Air Force.  (There was no outhouse.)  Other texts confirmed it, including the one from Jen to us all, announcing what she had done, after the fact.

What Jen didn't count on was the disappointment of one of the kids.  She said Michael's daughters were ok with it, and Duncan could care less.  But Maddie was disappointed.  Steve confirmed it when he said she looked crestfallen when Jen told her on the phone what had happened.  Maddie had looked forward to being part of her mommy's wedding and told me later "you won't have to make my dress fit now, Grammy, since Mommy and Michael got married."

I figured that was the end of it, and Maddie would get past it and move on.  Then last weekend I got a bizarre text from Maddie.  This was the text I got (remember she is 8 years old):

I thought they were on their way to the wedding of a friend and just laughed at Maddie's spelling and telling me Dunc was the "ring guy".  Then I got this from Jen a while later:

THAT was what Maddie was alluding to in her convoluted way!  It touched me that Jen would make the extra effort to include the kids (as many as she could get together at one time anyway) and try to make them feel part of this marriage.  And if it took a little time to put something together, then it was all worth it.  I sent Jen the text Maddie had sent to me, and this is how that went:

So now I have a son in law and three beautiful new granddaughters.  I see the happiness in my daughter's eyes and it warms me to know she is happy.  

Congratulations Michael and Jennifer.  Sometimes it is the little saromonies that mean the most, and have the most significance.

...life is good. ~cath 

find me @jonesbabie on Twitter

remembering Thom

consciousness approaches slowly.

as the morning light approaches the sky,

she breathes softly next to me.

the birds awaken and greet the dawn...

she rolls into my side, hiding her head under my shoulder,

remaining locked in Morpheus' arms.

I lie quietly, listening to the cadence of her breathing

remembering the moments of her life

since she first entered mine.

I first wrote that on April 22, 2011.  My first tentative foray into poetry (which I have definitely not mastered) brought a kind comment from Thom Brown, and gave me the courage to keep writing poetry, mostly in the form of haiku.

I don't think Thom realized the impact he had on me.  We belonged to a diverse blogging group, people from around the world brought together by our love of sharing the written word.  Thom and I also shared a love of photography, and even though he wrote about his neglected left arm quite openly, he never let it prevent him from doing most anything he wanted to, such as photography.  He asked my opinion about cameras one time when he was looking at purchasing a model that would produce higher definition images, and I gave him what little knowledge I had on the subject, flattered that he had asked an amateur like me anything at all about camera specs.

I enjoyed Thom's blog in the almost 3 years I knew him.  He was a prolific writer, with a variety of topics on his blog, as well as lovely photographs of his tree, made into a wonderful video from the almost daily photos he took from his office, in every season.  You can see this tree in all its glory, through several phases, by clicking here.  It captured my artist's heart when I discovered it while visiting Thom's blog after his lovely comment on that fateful April day in 2011.  He often made me smile with his posts, or shed a tear or few.  He had that way with words.  They stuck in my mind, and lodged in my heart.  His pride in and love for his grandson was another thing we had in common.  I loved every post, every word and picture about the Mighty Finn, because I have felt those same emotions and lived similar moments with my own grandchildren.

Thom died at his home on February 9, 2014, surrounded by his loved ones.  I don't think I told him often enough how much his friendship, and those lovely comments he often made, meant to me on a personal level. But somehow, I think he knows.

I invite you to visit his blog To Gyre and Gambol, and soak up his wit and wisdom.  Thom finished many blog posts with the words "I am a fortunate man".

I am the fortunate one.  Thank you Thom.

(I'll miss those Sunday jokes.)

...life, often bittersweet, is still good. ~cath
  find me @jonesbabie on Twitter

concoction

Last night I cooked supper for Steve.  I had been trying a recipe I didn't have time for during the holidays, so I decided since I had dessert, I would really shock the s**t out of him and cook a main course.  I am a simple person when it comes to cooking.  I believe in using the fewest pots possible to make a meal.  I measure my success in cooking in the amount of dishes I DON'T dirty...weird I know but since I have never had a dishwasher, there is a method to my madness.

I looked in the fridge and saw some leftover cheese dip I had made.  Aha! I thought to myself, I'll make a concoction and save pots and be thrifty at the same time (i.e., using leftovers and not throwing them away), in effect killing two birds with one stone.

con·coc·tion

kənˈkäkSHən/

noun

1. 1.

   a mixture of various ingredients or elements.

   "a concoction of gables, shingles, stained glass, and towers inspired by English medieval houses"

   synonyms:

   mixture, brew, preparation, potion "a concoction containing gin and vodka" blend, mixture, mix, combination, hybrid "a strange concoction of folk pop and Gregorian chant"

So I took the cheese dip out (it had ground beef in it, always a starting point for any concoction), boiled some noodles (it was either noodles or spaghetti pasta, and I felt egg noodles would be more aesthetically pleasing).  Then I tossed them all together in the same pot I had boiled the noodles in (after draining off the noodle water of course).  Voila, dinner and dessert and I didn't even break a sweat.

As I made the concoction, I thought about how the word came into being in our family.  It is a word my sisters will understand the moment they see this post.  What does this word mean to me?

It is how I learned to cook.  When I was about 13 or 14, my mother was on a journey of self discovery.  She was a good cook, but never wanted anyone helping her in the kitchen, and so I knew nothing about cooking.  Somehow, when mom and dad divorced and mother went to work, I chose the task of cooking for my sisters and I.  Don't ask me why, because it was long before I knew about Julia Child.  In fact, I didn't even know how to boil water.  That was the first thing I learned to do, and it was about that time I started drinking tea.  I had tried coffee with milk and sugar but mom had told me that if I was going to drink coffee, I had to drink it black.  So that stopped my coffee drinking cold, and I fell in love with tea.  Milk and sugar of course, which for some reason didn't offend mom's sensibilities.  It's a habit I still have.  

After I learned to boil water, I began to think of ways to cook something we could actually eat.  I decided to started with ground beef.  That was almost always the base for my concoctions.  After that I tossed in whatever we had in the pantry.  But the magic began the first time I spotted the spice rack and decided to "spice" it up.  I knew spaghetti had spices, and so did a lot of other recipes.  I wasn't working with a recipe, so I decided to just let my imagination guide me.

My sisters will say straight up that my imagination caused epic failures much of the time. There were times what I cooked was delicious, or at least palatable.  Then there were the times the girls thought I was trying to poison them. 

I can hear them laughing as they read this.  What started out as an experiment in learning for me, brought us all closer.  Along the way, we learned to rely on ourselves, and that we could do anything we set our minds to.  An attitude that persists to this day in all three of us.

What a memory.  What marvelous times we had, and we didn't even realize it at the time.

See you soon Vix and Dooj...and I'll make you a concoction while I am there.  I've improved just a bit over the years. xo  

...life is so very good. ~cath 
find me @jonesbabie on Twitter

funny moments

Maddie and Jack age 4

There is enough in life to frustrate and aggravate you on a daily basis when you are an adult.  When I feel like I am about to hit the boiling point, I try to let go and think like a child.  I have four children in my life that help me to keep this perspective.  And the laughter and joy they bring me is what helps me keep a positive attitude, or correct my attitude or mood when I feel as though I am about to take a negative turn.

Steve shared a story about Jack yesterday with me that made us both laugh.  Children are the most guileless people on the planet when they are small.  They can try to put one over on you, but they trip themselves up every single time.  That was what Jack encountered the day he told Gramps he wanted a glass of milk.  Gramps told him that there wasn't any milk, all we had was buttermilk.  That was when the fun began.

Jack: I'll take buttermilk, I like buttermilk.
Gramps: I am not sure you will like it Jack, it tastes different.  It doesn't taste like milk.
Jack: Sure I like it.  I LOVE buttermilk.
Gramps: I don't think you do Jack.
Jack: (Even more insistently now) I LOVE BUTTERMILK.  My Mom gives me BUTTERMILK all the time, and I love it!
Gramps: OK Jack.

Then Gramps poured Jack a big glass of buttermilk.  Jack took a big swig of it, and ran for the sink.  He spewed the buttermilk out of his mouth like a geyser, and into the sink.  Gramps said (with a smirk on his face) "I thought you liked buttermilk Jack?"

Jack said:
I THOUGHT I DID TOO BUT THAT STUFF TASTES CRAPPY!

The whole time Jack was talking, he was scraping his tongue, trying to get every last drop of buttermilk out of his mouth.

Jack has never asked for buttermilk since that day.


...life is good. ~cath
find me @jonesbabie on Twitter

silly stuff

And sometimes it's the stupid stuff that gets you through each day...

Because laughter doesn't have any thing to do with intelligence, but is all about sharing a connection...

Copy and paste this in your browser (it's a safe link even though it looks like junk):

http://www.jibjab.com/view/fr9xTZLhR7uB5LOMoSKIpA?utm_campaign=URL+Copy&utm_content=elf_dance_app_5&utm_medium=Share&utm_source=JibJab&cmpid=jj_url

Or you might try this one (the only thing on my Facebook that I have posted public):

http://www.jibjab.com/view/NN_CU82tS2q4dXX9jgoXiw?utm_source=Facebook&utm_medium=Share&utm_campaign=ElfDance&utm_content=elf_dance_app_5

and if those links didn't work, then you'll have to wonder what I was doing. :)

I call this the grandkid shuffle (I threw the dog in so they would have an extra dancer...it was either that or put Gramps in and he is the brunt of my jokes often enough.  I figured it was time to give Gramps a break and humiliate the dog.  The grandkids?  By the time they are old enough to be embarrassed by this, I'll be dead anyway...soooo.....

Grammy strikes again. :)

...life is good. ~cath
find me @jonesbabie on Twitter

quiet time

The best time of the day for me are those precious minutes after the grand kids have collapsed and before I collapse right behind them.  They are bundles of energy, but when that energy is depleted, they deflate like a cheap spare tire that's had too many miles put on it.  Last week while school was out for the Thanksgiving holiday that is celebrated here in the US, Maddie looked at me and said in her little girl voice:
"Grammy, would you come lay down with me until I go to sleep?"

She is a restless sleeper, and has a bit of apprehension when she lays down at night.  So being the good Grammy I am, I said sure, figuring I would fall asleep too and wake up hours later with my contacts glued to my eyeballs.

But I didn't go to sleep.  I lay beside her on the bottom bunk bed for less than 5 minutes, and listened to her breathing slow down, and become rhythmic and even.  I looked over at her and realized she had drifted off, just that fast.  Then I looked again.  At her smooth skin, her innocent face, and how peaceful she looked.  I took this photo of her, and when I look at it now, I can remember that moment with perfect clarity.

I think of Maddie, and that moment in time when I listened to her breathing, and kissed that soft cheek.

It also brought back sweet memories of my own children, now long grown to adulthood, and the many nights I tucked them in and told them I loved them, before they went to sleep.  Those few minutes each day gave me time to realize that no matter what the day brought, turmoil, happiness, sadness, anger, or laughter, ending the day with peacefulness and quiet time let my babies put their spirits to rest, and prepare for whatever adventure met them the next day.

Quiet time.  My time to be thankful for every baby in my life, young or grown.  The glue that holds me together.

...life is good. ~cath
find me @jonesbabie on Twitter