Time to go....

I went for a walk with Mikey this evening. I was wearing my short cotton muumuu with nothing underneath. The warm breeze pushed the material gently across my bare buttocks and thighs and the humid air caused sweat to build under my breasts before it rolled down across my stomach and hips. I watched as Mikey played with a stick on the sidewalk but my heart was calling me other places. The whispering in my soul was telling me that it is time to move on.....Mikey stood, took my finger in his little hand and smiled up at me, his face dirty with the juice of a green popcycle. A jet flew over head and he pointed, calling out excitedly "jet, jet, jet". My heart swelled with this image, later to be added to my scrapbook of mental memories, but still, it is time to go.....

Twenty-One, A Government Mandated Age of Maturity

It began in the 1970’s when states took it upon themselves to change the legal drinking age from 18 for wine and beer to 21 for all alcohol. Students and young adults across the nation were angered that this Rite of Passage was denied them after so many years in anticipation of its forthcoming. Petitions were written and protests were formed, both sides having valid and strong arguments for their defense of what they felt was right. These arguments were put forth and have been debated on a regular basis since the first legal limit was changed. But it is my belief that we are fighting to change the wrong law. Let us keep the twenty-one year old drinking age in place and use it as a guideline for everything else. In other words, have the government mandate the age of maturity as twenty-one years and make it law that all adult responsibilities and pleasures are limited to only those who have attained this legal age of permissible adult rights and privileges.

One of the biggest privileges as an adult is the right to vote. To have the honor of choosing our leadership should be limited to mature and responsible human beings. The voting choices placed in front of an individual can be overwhelming especially if the voter is not old enough to fully comprehend or appreciate this heavy responsibility. The drinking law proves that the government presently does not feel an 18 year old is responsible enough to make the right decision when it comes to alcohol (not just wine or beer but any alcohol) so therefore it can be assumed that the government does not feel an 18 year old is responsible enough to make any major decisions to include voting for an elected official. This is further stressed by our own Constitution that states no one can serve in an elected position until the age of 25. The logical course would follow that even our own government believes only those old enough to make decisions are intelligent enough to make the right decisions. Hence, the 21 years old Government Mandated Age of Maturity (21GMAM) would apply to the legal age of voting and the right to choose any and all elected officials in every State of the Union.

Another grossly debated point made in this continued under-age drinking argument is the fact we have 18 year olds (and younger) serving in the military. Some of these young people have had the sacred honor of fighting (some sacrificing their very lives) in wars in order to keep us and the rest of the free world safe, a grievous burden that should not be placed on the shoulders of these teenagers. And these same young adults who dedicate their lives to the protection of American freedom cannot even partake in a pint of beer after blasting the brains out of our enemy. This problem can be completely eliminated by the 21GMAM which would not allow anyone under the age of 21 to serve in any of the armed forces. That law would work twofold by eliminating the entire old enough to carry a gun but not old enough to drink argument and as well as guaranteeing that only our adults are getting killed serving in our military. Our children would not have to be sacrificed for our freedom. It also may increase the number finishing high school and maybe, continuing to higher education which in turn would make for a more productive and educated adult society decreasing the need for such things as government supported services aimed at those persons under the age of 21.

And to continue on the decreasing need theme, the driving age should be changed to 21 as well. Insurance premiums for teenage boys 18 to 21 are higher than those of adults (though it usually decreases for both sexes at 25). Why not save money and expense across the board and not allow anyone under 21 behind the wheel? This would limit insurance companies’ abilities to set premiums due to age and sex as 21GMAM would verify adulthood and responsibility for both males and females. This law would also rectify a plethora of other issues to include (but not limited to) fewer vehicles (all those driven and/or owned by teens) on the highways, teens talking on cell phones while driving, teens laughing and chatting with other teens in the vehicle while driving, teens searching for the songs on iPods and radios while driving, teens texting teens while driving, and teen drivers racing vehicles against other teen drivers. Circumstances such as these are factors resulting in the following statistics; “motor vehicle crashes are the leading cause of death for 15-20 year olds” and “77% of teen crashes involved avoidable driver errors” (as posted on the Arizona Driving School website). These types of fatalities can be completely eliminated under the 21GMAM Law. And finally, this law would prevent teens from using their vehicles to partake in sexual activities.

This works as a great segue into another issue that is rampant in society today and could be eliminated with the 21GMAM; underage sex and its financial and social ramifications. These would be decreased if only individuals of legal adult age could partake in the pleasures of the flesh. It should become law that no one under the age of 21 be allowed carnal knowledge of another without the threat of physical incarceration of the teen and monetary fines to be paid by a teen’s parent(s). Any child conceived from such an illegal means should be put into homes sponsored and paid for by Pro-Life and/or religious organizations. This would lower teen pregnancies, would slow the advancement of STDs among the younger generation, and therefore have a positive effect on the population, sexual health and moral problems plaguing society today.

I realize that the 21GMAM would mean that we would need special facilities to house these types of criminals; after all, one does not want to put an underage drinker or sexually promiscuous teen in the same facility as a hardened, violent criminal. But I feel they could be put into the public housing being utilized by those welfare adults and their families who refuse to find employment that are burdening our society. The orphanages, now sponsored by pro-Life non-profit organizations, can reopen to house the children born to those giving birth under the age of 21, which in turn would provide jobs and housing for the unemployed who used to live on food stamps and welfare in the government housing now being utilized by criminals. The children in these facilities can be raised to take low-income employment (construction, manufacturing or leisure hospitality jobs) which would eliminate the illegal immigration problem that is rampant in our country. It is true that the automobile industry as well as the oil industry would suffer as the number of vehicles on the road would decrease drastically, but the result would be lower toxic emissions in the atmosphere and a greener America which would put a smile on the faces of the left-wing liberals who would probably find issues with the 21GMAM law. And finally, our children would not be dying on foreign soil in a war begun by a leadership voted into office by legal, mature, responsible, twenty-one year old adults.

Love Under the Catalpas

The baby’s cries echoed through the monitor. My daughter sat frigid, her arms crossed tightly against her chest. With each decibel the baby’s voice increased in volume, Bravard’s patience dropped. Another high wale caused her to clinch her teeth and a tear squeezed from her closed eyelid.

I went into my room in search of my bag of those orange, foam barrels that could be squeezed to fit snuggly in one’s ear preventing sound penetration. I found them under the bed with several dust bunnies and a forgotten crossword puzzle.

I put the little bag in my daughter’s lap and kissed her wet cheek. “I’ll rock him a bit and you try to get some sleep.”

“Mom, I’ve tried that, nothing is working!” Her frustration was palpable. I just patted her cheek and headed to the baby’s room.

Michael had worked himself into a tizzy. He was standing and turned his head toward the door when it opened. When he saw me he fell onto his bottom then to his back sobbing louder. His poor face was sopping wet and bright red with pain and frustration. Teething was hard enough cutting one or two, but this little guy was getting a mouthful at once.

I cradled his body to my chest as I made my way out the front door and into the spring air. The catalpa trees in the yard stretched to the top of the old farm house. They were fully dressed, covered in new green leaves the size of dinner plates. Mother Nature had done a fantastic job this year, adding pearly jewels that the breeze rained upon earth. When they floated past their fragrance, something between frangipani and orange blossom, lingered.

I walked down the steps and toward the hammock strung tautly between two trees. Someone had used it earlier and the old, stained quilt lay across the woven mesh.

Gently I sat. As I hugged my grandson the hammock hugged me. Leaning back against the cotton I noticed how beautiful the last of the daffodils and the tulips were. They bowed and waved, dancing to nature’s music; young birds sang as they found love for the first time, squirrels chattered excitedly over a horde of nuts, bees gathered pollen to make their golden sweetness, lilies of the valley, those tinkling bells that only garden gnomes and fairies can hear, rang gently in the breeze.

As I relaxed more fully and pushed at the damp dirt with my bare toes, I was surprised at the myriad of color. I never realized there were so many shades of green. The hammock rocked and the colors changed, darkening through the layers of thickness, lightening as the sun’s rays pushed their way down to my face.

I heard several cows conversing somewhere in the near distance and the neighbor’s dog barked an answer.

And the baby laughed. I turned my head toward little Mikey and noticed a catalpa flower had spiraled downward landing on his face. Several others were parachuting toward us and they spun lazily on their ride to earth. Mikey swung his arms outward in excitement, his eyes wide and unfocused on the display that was taking place above us.

I kissed his forehead and began to sing quietly. “Go to sleepy little baby….go to sleepy little baby….it’s just you and me and the devil makes three…you know I love you little baby….” My foot kept the hammock swaying slowly.

A cloud moved overhead blocking the warmth of the sun. I continued humming but was reminded of all that was going wrong with my life; my partner had really messed up the money and was losing the house and business, my husband of twenty plus years had packed his things and begun a new life with someone he loved more than me, my mother had died, I was no longer communicating with my Dad or my sisters, and I was dead broke. At that moment I felt small, fragile, lost and without want of breath.

I noticed the gentle fuzz of the baby’s hair brush my cheek as he turned his face to me. His eyes, not quite green but still not brown opened and he gazed into my own, now old, grey and sad. And I saw love. My heart swelled so much that I thought, “If I die right now, I will die the luckiest person in the world.” Love filled me; I mean it really filled me. It made me breathe deeply. It pushed against my ribs and raced through my veins. And the sun returned and warmed the earth again.

Yes, I found love, right there, on that old hammock, under the catalpas, in the eyes of my grandson.

Remembering the past

Have you ever noticed how you can be doing the most mundane chore and this colorful memory comes flying out of nowhere implanting itself in your mind's eye where it remains, lifelike, vibrant and constant for a long time? Sometimes it leads to other memories, just as silly but just as emotionally searing. Sometimes those little nuances of time past, the little traits that one takes advantage of are the things that are missed the most when a person is no longer in your life. Licking q-tips before cleaning an ear, biting a lip in concentration, absentminded touches of a pinky as reassurance of someone's presence. And you wonder if thoughts of you fall into memories of those who have gone away to live distant and separate lives. Does that someone ever get a glimpse of something you did that was insignificant but so special? Does it glue itself into their memory bank making them catch their breath? Does it matter?

My father always said there were three stages in life; the first stage is when you are worried about what everyone thinks about you. The second is when you don't care if they think about you or not. And the third is when you realize no one was actually thinking about YOU to begin with. Thinking about you and remembering you....are they so different?

Just wanted to see his precious face on my blog. This is my grandson, Mikey. He is a ball of fire! He turned one on the 7th and the doctor said he was more like a three year old. It's Kyle all over again, size-wise. 32 inches long, 32 pounds. I will say my arms are getting toned!

Big Changes

So much happening this month hence the reason I have not been here in a coon's age. They say things happen in threes and that seems to hold true for what is occuring in my own life.

First, the big announcement from the daughter came at the beginning of the month. She is expecting my first grandchild in January and she and Mikey will marry in August (on Richard's birthday). It will be a very small wedding, held at Mikey's grandmother's house followed by a true redneck (sans alcohol) BBQ that Dick is going to cater. It should be a lot of fun. Send thoughts and prayers their way! I will continue to live here though part time as that brings us to the second big event of June.

We bought the B&B (or I should say Dick bought the B&B). Yes, the Ashton County House in Staunton, VA is "ours" and will be open for business in two weeks! He surprised me with the closing the first Wednesday of June and we've been busy trying to get our lives organized, packed and moved into the new digs ever since. We spent last week hauling personal items south and will probably do that again several times for the next two weeks. Richard is busy with securing licenses and redesigning the website (or having one of his sons-in-law do it) as well as doing everything else that is necessary for his consulting business. I will continue with Williams-Sonoma for the time being, though only two/three days a week and traveling back and forth (thank God Staunton is only 2 hours away). Once the B&B takes off this may change, but until then I will be the happy commuter.

Finally, Kyle graduated last week and is off to summer school at the local Tech school. He needs to take an English course and a math course before heading up to the Culinary Institute of America in Hyde Park, NY. He will also be working this summer which means his plate will be extremely full. Not sure if Bravard will be finishing her Associate's Degree before the baby is born, but I have done all I can to counsel her in that regard. She is an adult and the decision has to be hers.

So, until I have time to do this again, stay safe and be happy. God bless!

Happy Birthday Baby Girl

When I was young there was a commercial on television that showed snapshots of children as they grew. The background music was that sad, lilting song, with the words "turn around and he's two, turn around and he's four, turn around and he's a young man walking out of the door" (or some such schmaltzy drivel that makes sentimental saps like me well up and ball like babies). Every time one of my two monsters has a birthday, that commercial pops into my head and plays incessantly all day long. Today is my daughter's 23rd birthday. Here is my own version of that walk down memory lane...I'll let you fill in the music!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU!
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY Dear Bravard!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU!!!!

Babble, Babble, Babble

I was surprised how long it had been since tuning into the blog-world. I've been riding the roller coaster of life a lot lately, many demands asked of me, many decisions to make and still not quite sure what I'm doing or what I will do. But the clock keeps ticking, I keep breathing, and days just glom together...ah, such is life.

Last night I returned from a trip to Beaufort, South Carolina to see my dad. He'll be 82 on his next birthday, outlived my mother and wants to remarry as soon as his girlfriend and companion is healthy enough to tie the knot. He looks wonderful, if not a bit skinny and, dare I say it, elderly. He used to be this tall, good-looking man, 6'2" Marine with coal black hair and the bluest eyes in the world. Now, what hair he has is white as snow, his ears are almost as big as his head, he's deaf as a post, and I think he's more like 5'10" if he tries really hard. This is the man who taught Superman how to fly...he was supposed to last forever! But he appears to be very happy now, which is exactly what he deserves.

Emotionally, it was very hard being back in Beaufort. Dick went with me, but this was the first time I'd returned since Steve left me. So many memories and so many questions. I realized there is a lot of closure that I will never have and I truly need to move forward and let go completely. So very hard to do sometimes when questions abound. But it is time to move forward.

While in Beaufort, Dick needed to take care of some Pfizer business so I went for a walk, alone. The day was glorious but the heart was heavy and dark. I meandered through the old streets, under great oaks dripping with Spanish moss, finally making my way to St. Helena's Episcopal Church, a lovely structure in the heart of this old town. My mother's family has been a part of that church community for generations and many are buried in the cemetery, in a plot right outside the front door. Mom's ashes were scattered there this winter. I was supposed to attend but was sitting in Dulles Airport which was surrounded by the fog that prevented my plane from leaving. I looked at the names along the edge of the walk, my Uncle Legare, my Uncle Edward, and my mother. I sat down by my grandparent's headstone and cried long and hard, tears for a lost parent whose strength and guidance was lost at a time I needed it the most, tears of dreams shattered and swept in a pile of shards hidden just beneath the surface like dirt under a carpet, tears of a child that still exists deep within the soul of a woman. I laid in the cemetery and cried long and hard and then gave thanks to God that no one came along to see this emotional display as they probably would've called the authorities. And I walked away with swollen eyes and a killer headache as well as the confidence of knowing that I would survive, just as my ancestors before me.

My parent's house looks wonderful, lots of changes in it, furniture moved, pictures hanging where they weren't hanging before, new carpet, etc. It looks better than when Mom was alive (sorry Sarah but it does). It was difficult walking around and making another list of things I want. I HATE doing that. Shoot, I hate making decisions period, but I truly feel that something should be given, even in death, because it is a gift. I hate picking out my own gifts! It doesn't mean as much and makes me feel as though I am not important enough to give it some personal thought by the person bestowing the gift. Plus, it has been made clear that my sisters don't believe I deserve much of anything because I haven't been a "good daughter", but that's another blog completely. I did tell Daddy that I didn't want or need anything but he didn't like that answer at all and told me to make a list "god dammit", so I'm still making a list, three days later, I am still making a list. Is it too early to begin drinking?

I called Joe and Charlene, my ex-in laws, before I left, right before I left. No one was home so I left a message. In all honesty, I'm not sure I'm ready to see them in a place so familiar to me. I think it's best we see each other on unfamiliar territory. I love them both dearly, but still feel the slight sting of abandonment where the families are concerned. Something I continue to deal with but I am bound and determined to tackle. Joe called whilst I was at the Savannah airport and said how he wished we had met for lunch as they would love to meet Dick. They are probably extremely happy that I am "moving on" as their son barely allowed the ink to dry on the divorce papers before he tied the knot again. I think he may have waited 6 months, but I can't be sure.

So now I'm home with so much that needs to be accomplished in a very short period of time, yes that next chapter is soon to begin. The closing on the inn is drawing near and I keep my fingers crossed that nothing will cause this one to fall through at the last minute. Decisions as to what to do with this place will need to be made, where my daughter will live preys on my thoughts as well as the dilemma of continued education for a son who frittered away his high school days so much that even a college/university that accepts those who see lightening and hear thunder won't have anything to do with him. And then there is the money issue...or lack thereof, as the kids and I try to pay for college, applying for financial aid every semester, filling out student loan applications and scholarship applications every six months, etc. etc. etc....but that's another blog as well. (So many blogs...so little time.)

I need to do laundry, pay some bills, figure out finances, etc...but it's a beautiful day. I think I'll sit outside instead, maybe power wash the back porch. It's funny, that's not on my list of things to do, but it sounds more inviting than what is there...so until next time, I'm going outside to do something constructively exhausting.

Relationships: Part 2

The relationships between parents and their children are beyond words, traversing the emotional roads that sometimes have guardrails, but most times just rest on the precipice of a deep dark abyss in which our hopes, dreams and good intentions cloud the views of what has happened and what will come to pass. When children are small, we are so proud. Look what we have produced. We are godlike in our skills of creating human perfection. Then we begin to mold them, forming their beings with creative hands and open minds so they will become what we visualize, nay fantasize, to be the best example of human kind that ever walked the earth, eradicating those flaws we find in ourselves and perfecting the qualities we recognize to be redeeming. And God sits back and laughs! What entertainment we narcissistic characters are!

I have two children, brought forth in the world in the usual manner. Though married, I believe I did the majority of work raising them and probably did the most damage as well. My eldest, a girl child (and believe me, growing up with girls, THAT was the last thing I wanted) was the most beautiful, most incredible little creature with all of her fingers and toes and these enormous cornflower blue eyes surrounded by camel's lashes. What a tiny bit of perfection I had.

As she grew I taught her to be tolerant, animal friendly, artistic, open-minded, loving, understanding and good. I tried to teach her forgiveness but I did not teach her guilt as I thought I had learned that to the nth degree and didn't really like the instruction myself, so I skipped it. Little did I know, at the time, that one must feel guilt in order to experience forgiveness. So, unfortunately, that was pretty much a moot lesson altogether. I taught her not to lie by washing her mouth out with soap if she didn't tell the truth. I showed her that throwing sand in the face of another child is not a nice experience by throwing the sand in her own face. I asked her not to point at people who looked or acted differently than ourselves, and I instilled in her the values that I still hold dear, I think...to accept people for who they are and not to judge them by the standards of others. So strong was my lesson that she morphed into that which I preached should be accepted. She has multicolored hair (today... she was completely bald last spring), she has just had a new tattoo done on her wrist, she wears metal in places I'm sure I don't want to know about, she befriends people who will never grace the cover of Forbes or amount to much (socially) unless they win the really BIG lottery and she loves heavy metal, metallic, head-banging, violent-languaged music...oh, and she has the mouth of a sailor (like her mother).

And as my heart hurts, I question all the mistakes I made in motherhood; and as I feel the guilt of failure as a parent, God sits up there and laughs at me. Sometimes I can hear Him snorting as He doubles over in hysterics. "Yes," he snickers. "You have produced that same person that you so pompously taught your daughter to 'tolerate'. Are you two-faced in your beliefs? Are you a bigot?" Those lessons of accepting all people for who they are and not by what they may look like or where their background may have originated are now standing firmly in my living room showing me her new "ink". And I beg God, please show me the humor; this will be much easier to take if I can laugh about it too. But He answers, NOT YET.

My son is now 17 and on the verge of leaving the nest, maybe. I didn't push him as hard as his sister under the advise of others. In hindsight I wish I hadn't listened but "boys are so different from girls, they learn on different levels and at different times". And besides, Kyle was just so darned different than anyone I'd come across, any of the other children and he, well, Kyle reminded me of me. He was my daydreamer and rather than reprimand him about it, I fostered that "creativity" in him. Dreaming was wonderful, some great creative minds are dreamers, IE Steven Spielberg, George Lucas, um, Steven Spielberg...! And Kyle loved to help me in the kitchen so I gladly allowed him that opportunity. He was not athletic and once we moved to an area of the world where the weather wasn't conducive to outside play, we stopped trying to make him participate in physical games. And now I have an overweight giant on my hands, whose heart breaks at a wrong word, who still daydreams instead of doing his homework, and who has made the success of failure an art form. My young man who is kind, good, gentle, tolerant, sweet, and different from all the other boys because he is gay. And God laughs harder and I shake my head and wait for the punchline.

Today my children who are not really children (17 and 22) are angry with me. As a single mother I lose patience sometimes as I feel overwhelmed by it all. I rue my decisions and shake my fist at God, I yell at the injustice of being the only parent carrying the sole responsibility of these "wrong choices" taken in their youth, I dream of running away as their father did and I ask myself why I couldn't have done it first...then I stop and I realize God is no longer laughing as my words have hurt him as deeply as they have hurt me. Then I remember the report card where the D was pulled up to a B, and I see the excitement in the new art of ink that shines in the brilliant eyes, and I take a deep breath, cry a few tears and remind myself that I have produced two wonderful children. No, they may not be the adults I had envisioned as I held them in my arms. Their experiences in life didn't preclude the shaping of home-coming queens, or geniuses with full-ride scholarships to Yale for there was no participation in the high school booster club and no debate team. There were no piano recitals and no football games.

What they had, though, was love, tolerance, respect, and a plethora of colorful and worldly experiences that will eventually shape them into the incredible adults that they ARE becoming...that is, if I don't kill them first. Then I hear God laughing again, and I finally get the joke!