Rain

Atlanta has been in a drought for the past 3 summers. Our first summer in GA was rainy (our basement even flooded-but that is another story for another day). There was rain and more rain and then a little bit of rain. Everything was cool and green and mossy-even moldy with rain.

The next summer I took up gardening and the rain stopped. It stopped and it never came back. I spent the last 3 summers trying to keep my yard alive. It was nearly futile. The drought was so bad that eventually, as the lakes ran dry, we weren't allowed to water at all. I used gray water to nurture my plants. I took fewer showers. I used bath water to flush the toilets. If anything, the 3 years of drought taught me to live simply and appreciate the small things in life (like water). I learned to live a more earth friendly existence and I taught my children to nurture the earth and protect it's resources.

But now the rain is back. Oh the glorious rain. At first I though it was a fluke. But it keeps coming. I'll admit that after 2 or 3 hot dry days in a row I get a sick feeling in my stomach-thinking it will never rain again...but then it does...it rains...and boy does it rain....our lakes are full and we can water again-but who needs to with all this rain. I hope I can continue to live with the environment in mind-but I am so thankful that we no longer have to.

Too Many Tables

Or maybe I should call this Consumer Excess or Keeping up with the Jones' if the Jones' shopped at Goodwill or There's another table in the basement-too! Either way, last weekend we ended up with exactly 4 tables in our dining room. A beautiful antique drop leaf table that is too old and delicate and "nice" for our family to actually use. A very old walnut veneer table, that many years ago, was being used as a saw horse in the wood shop at the school where my father taught graphic arts before my father rescued and repaired it for my mother. Derek's table, that he bought for his first post divorce-pre Katherine bachelor pad (he is very attached to this one) and finally the new table I purchased at the thrift shop last weekend. It has carved legs. Carved legs!

OK, it seems more than obvious to even the most casual passerby that we did not need another table. And it became painfully obvious to me at the point I took this photo....we have too many tables. And now, even though we have managed to move two of the tables to other rooms, we still have too many tables and may always have too many tables because we are two very sentimental fools, neither of us willing to part with a single table. Can you say "don't all home offices have dining tables." I know I can.

And perhaps worse of all this new table has no chairs....well it HAS chairs-we have lots of chairs. Actually once I counted all our chairs for a school project and we had about 48 chairs in our house. I love chairs. But the new table (did I mention it has carved legs) needs new chairs because nothing we have-no, not even a single one of the 48 chairs we currently own-"goes with" the new table. As much as I luv this table....I am starting to think I should have left well enough alone and just gotten over myself and my foolish need to have my home look a certain way. After all, the dogs are content to beg at any type of table and the children are not picky as long as they can eventually smear it with gogurt and finger paint.

You can't fake thin

I have learned in my almost 40 years how to fake a lot of things. In academic circles you can quickly learn how to fake intelligence-use a few key buzz words, mention a few good books-and you’re golden. You can fake an accent. You can fake wealth. I live in an affluent area. I know the key to faking wealth (at least in my neck of the woods). You need the right school magnet on your bumper, a fresh pedicure, an expensive tennis outfit, a new car-detailed weekly, throw in expensive haircut, and busy, attractive kids and voila-fake wealth. You can fake who you know. You can fake talent. You can fake love. You can fake success. You can fake almost anything-but you can’t fake thin.

Thus I have decided that where I live-thin is the one true currency for “belonging.” I was thinking about this at a birthday party I attended recently. I felt oddly out of place as I sat amongst the other moms. Although I adore where I live for a variety of reasons, I have never really felt like I fit in. What was it….my hair was cute, shoes (just causal enough to show I didn’t care –but looked great anyway), my toes were freshly pedi-ed, clothes-check, nice car-check, well dressed kid-check, right school-check…..what the heck could it be….I thought some more….then as I crammed another bite of ice-cream cake into my mouth I noticed…not an ounce of cellulite in the room (oh excluding mine). These women were thin-way thinner than the average women. I am not talking size 6 thin-I’m talking if Kate Moss had three kids thin. Then I thought back…yes that is it….nearly everyone in this town is pencil thin. The more expensive the neighborhood-the thinner the women.

We were recently on vacation and it rained for days-in desperation we took the kids to a local indoor kids play area-I was startled by what I saw. The place was full of average and large sized women. I was a little taken aback-until my kids started fighting and I forgot all about it. I don’t get out of town much. My tony suburb is where I spend about 95% of my time. It tends to skew my image of reality. And these women are not reality. I mean good for them. Who wouldn’t want to be a size 2. But sadly I get the distinct feeling they aren’t thin because they are just super health conscious-but because e they too have come to understand that if they want to be a part of the group they must be emaciated. It is a little sad that women have such poor self images that they feel they can’t belong unless they have a great body-and it is a little sad that some days I wish I were just like them.

Sculpture

My mom came this week to teach me sculpture. I have been wanting to learn for a while but I found it to be a maddening process. I am an "instant gratification" sort of gal. Sculpture, even in clay, isn't a fast process. This is what we managed to accomplish in a few days-a few hours a day.

The head is taking shape


The beginnings of a face


Looking more "human"


This is as far as I got

Blooming

I absolutely love this time of year. We are fortunate in Georgia to have an extended spring. In February the daffodils come up, peach, cherry and pear trees start to bloom and so many trees begin to come alive. In March the trees put on leaves, azaleas begin to bloom, red buds come alive and the days begin to warm. I know April will bring the full bloom of azaleas, Asian cherries and apples too. So with all this bloomin' going on I can't stop myself from sharing what's blooming in my yard.

Peach Blossoms (along with pears one of my first flowering trees)


Japanese Magnolia


Creeping Phlox


Dogwood

A Table for Every Taste (except good)

Are you in the market for a lovely new coffee table? Well look no further than your local Craigslist. You will find some remarkable offerings this week and you may even get a "deal."

OK I sort of like this one-very rustic


I think I saw this at Haverty's


Maybe at a beach house....maybe....


Really? REALLY!


Does the trash on the floor come with it?


Hand painted? I assumed this lovely piece was mass marketed.


There aren't enough beach houses.


I hope this is one of a kind


"Let me out"

Good Grief

I have never lost anyone before. Except for my favorite Grandma who passed away when I was 25. She was probably my favorite person in the whole world. But she was over 90 and she pretty much committed old person suicide (meaning she stubbornly starved herself to death). I have slowly mourned her passing for years-I have wonderful memories of her and I miss her terribly but I never grieved for her.

So I was totally unprepared to lose my father this past weekend. I knew he was ill. Only days before he had been diagnosed with Pancreatic Cancer. I spent a day coping with this. I cried. I worried. I knew he wouldn’t have long. I tried to imagine all the helpful things I would do to comfort him in the months to come. I sent photos and had my children draw get well cards. The cards never made it.

On Saturday I got a call. My father had passed away instantly and painlessly in his favorite comfy chair in the company of friends. We should all be so lucky. BUT I selfishly wanted more time. I am grateful my father was saved the agony of slowly dying from cancer but I had so many plans-so many questions-and so much left unsaid. I didn’t get to say goodbye.

My father and I certainly didn’t have a Norman Rockwell relationship. He left my mother when I was 5 or 6. Some years I only saw him once or twice. Dad always took care of me-but he wasn’t necessarily “there” for me. As I grew older we grew closer. He visited more often, doted on the grandchildren, and we talked on the phone more often. Sometimes I was annoyed to have him around-sometimes I anticipated his visits. I often wondered if I would feel anything at all when he died, if I would be sad. Now I know.

Nothing prepares you for the loss of a parent. There is no way to describe to desperate, finite feeling that comes with knowing a piece of you is gone. I don’t think it matters how close you were in life-the loss of a parent signals that you are all alone in this world-you are on your own. And it solidifies, as if there were any doubt, that physical existence is fleeting.

And the saddest things are the little things. My perpetual subscription to Readers Digest, a yearly gift from Dad, will stop coming. I’ll miss the flowers that he sent every birthday and Christmas (an extravagance I would allow from no one but him), and the silly musical cards he sent the kids for every possible occasion. And maybe even more I’ll miss never being able to ask any more questions about family history, the subtleties and details lost forever.

On Saturday I have to attend a memorial service. Dad wasn't big on funerals-the service will be at his home. He was quite pragmatic about death. I know he wouldn't want me to take it too seriously. Still I don't feel ready to say goodbye so for now I will say so long until we meet again.

Grier Yoder in the 1930's


US Air Force Air Traffic Control



Loving Grand Father