A little visit…

Gonna put this out there, call me crazy if you want, but….
two weeks ago I lost my wedding ring. Not my original wedding ring but the diamond one George gave me on our 5th. married Christmas, the one he saved a year for and he and dad went to Philly to find. Special, beyond measure.
We tore the house apart. I cried, like a baby. Went to grandson  Jackson’s birthday party and the first thing Valerie said when she saw me was “Whats wrong”.
Spent the last 2 weeks sad. Looked at work, all over the house, the beach house. Its gone. My ring is gone.
Today is the 6th. anniversary of the last meal we all shared as a family before my dad passed. He and mom were staying at our house and I made brisket and all the fixings and we have pictures of all of us, kids, grandkids, all of us, eating, smiling, gathered around his hospital bed in the living room…
I mentioned that to George this morning. How much I still miss dad. How much he loved that brisket. 85 pounds, 3 weeks before his death, he ate two helpings of brisket….

And then, after putting this year’s 20 pounds of brisket in the pot I went in and started to clean up our room. I looked, one more time, on the dresser. Picked up my vanity tray, looked under it. Looked in the closet floor. No, its gone.
And then, I walked in the room an hour later, looked at the tray again, and there it was. Just laying there. It took me a few seconds to realize, but its my ring. The one diamond is slightly bigger than the others. The one prong is twisted a bit. Its my ring. I Yelled for George — and then thanked dad for bringing it back to me. And for visiting  me on the anniversary of a wonderful memory. I watched as George stood at the front door, looking out, giving thanks, I think, in his own special way.  I felt the ring slide into the familiar notch on the side of my finger.  I prayed and thanked and tried to figure out why today was the day dad decided to bring it back to me.  Did he remember that meal that day with the kids?  and was he happy that we continue the tradition?  Was he telling me he knew I was doing the best I can with mom…..

The Bible says not to question. I’m good with that.  I’m just happy to know that dad is still here, that he can visit, that he watches over us.  That he sits at the right hand of God.
I mean seriously, God is at work, isn’t he?

 

waxing so not poetic

I’m sure the site is bursting with Mother’s Day musings.  Emotionally packed tributes to children, sad accounts of the phone call that didn’t come, hopes for a brighter future.

This is not one of them.  Oh, this is  about Mother’s Day, but it may be a little off sync…

Mother’s Day is not about presents. But, I always get gifts.Some years I have been inundated with handprint pictures and potted geraniums.  Some years the gang banded together and presented me with gift certificates and Hallmark’s best.  A few years back it was a plethora of gym bags/clothes/socks….

But this year was one of those years that demonstrates just how in tune  our kids are with George’s and my life.  Its a transition time for us, moving mom into assisted living, selling our home to our youngest, looking for a small place to live up here.

AND THE BEACHHOUSE.

Our dream — always — has been to own a beach place.  Originally it was supposed to be in Cape Hatteras.  My happy place, the place I call home — where I spent weeks on end growing up.  But, its a bit far from the “homestead” where, for now at least, all of our children live within a 10 mile radius.

So, we are doing it.  We are in process of buying a second  home, at the beach, in Virginia.

And, after the phone calls, the facebook messages, the memories of Mother’s Day past…they showed up yesterday, bearing gifts.  A beach mug for my cups of coffee on the deck, two toss pillows — adorned with sea horse and blue crab, a lighthouse wall hanging, our Initial for the door, and a tropical plant.

They get it.  After the teen years, full of angst and self involvement, after the toddler years where their physical and emotional needs could overpower — they adult up on me and find tangible ways to tell us they get it.

loved and bless, that’s this girl.

spirits and wishes

I have a dear friend who lost her son to heroin three Christmas’ ago.  He had been fighting addiction for years — good kid, good family, bad drug, terrible ending.  Tonight she posted on facebook that she received a gift from a friend to attend a medium’s performance today.  Posted a picture of her and her 3 friends, all mothers of lost children, smiling, you could see the hope in their eyes.

And I realized, once again, how blessed and lucky I am. Today I saw all three of my kids. Hugged and spoke with all 7 of my grandchildren.  Saw my kids with their chosen partners, in love.

But for the grace…you know the rest.  I get to hold my children, all three of them.  Love them, argue with them, buy them things, make them things.  cook for them.  My friend visits the grave, fights the good fight, works to make a difference for other families.  Mourns and misses her son every minute of every day.

I really hope she heard from Ty through the medium.  I hope he told her he was fine, living the good life on the other side, clean and clear headed, watching his siblings and his dog and her and his dad fight the war on drugs. I really hope she had the sensation of a warm hug from her son.  One more time.

unraveled

I’m not sure if I have shared this on this blog, but I am a knitter…I spend more hours than anyone knows spinning wool, knitting blankets, hats, gloves, sweaters, scarfs…and socks.  My kids love my socks.  My husband has a pair that he wears every time he shovels snow or goes hunting.  The grandbabies  have left a trail of socks in every car, house or store they have ever visited.

This morning I was one toe away from finishing a pair of beautiful eyelet pattern pink socks for my oldest.  Score.  Finished by Valentines Day.  Fire in the woodstove, steaming mug of coffee on the table, handspun and knit blanket on my lap, all snug in my pride that these were going to be finished on the day I had promised myself they would be.  And then I saw it. Or should I say, them.  What were these holes next to the twist?  Where did they come from.  A little digging and I figured out that  somewhere around the bottom of the leg, where it hits the beginning of the heel and instep, I had become all dyslexic and yarned over before the knit one, instead of between two knit ones.  Hence, several inches of misplaced eyelets, RIGHT ON THE FRONT OF THE SOCK.  I may have been able to convince myself to “let it go” had it been over the heel, maybe she would never look at the back of her foot and notice….Or, had I been newer in my knitting obsession and afraid that if I ripped it out I’d never actually make it again, I might have told myself that it looked deliberate, funky and was an artistic statement 🙂 .

But, not today. Today I sighed once and began to “ribbit”.  pulled stitch after stitch out, smiled a little when I hit the spot where the pink sock ran into the blue top cuff — and they disassociated themselves beautifully — and cast on 40 stitches, joined, careful not to twist, and began the 4 row eyelet pattern.  Again.

And because knitting is always about more than, well, just knitting, I thought a bit about the metaphor of this experience…An eye for perfection, a desire to let things slide, knowing full well that I can’t, the ability to back up, rip out and begin again.  Yup, pretty much describes me…

So what is the next holiday that would warrant a pair of nice pink socks for my oldest???? Mother’s Day!  oh, that means I have to knit a pair for the youngest too…..IMG_20160129_223138202 (1)

Go figure

one month, ONE STINKIN MONTH after I  toss my quilling supplies — saved, stored and sorted since the 70’s (I’m never gonna quill again, havent quilled for years.  blah blah blah) I find a picture of a wonderful Christmas ornament on Pinterest that is — wait for it — quilled.  damn.

wheres this little gem been?

So, this morning, skimming through my “on this day” page on Facebook, (Good Lord  what did we do without Facebook…) I stumble upon this little blog that I started years ago….( and then obviously became distracted and forgot ) .  Dont have time right now to review it but quite impressed with the little balloons I have climbing up the page….. Be back later…unless some shiny object distracts me…

Mother’s Day 101: Advice and musings from a “seasoned” mom

When you’re 5 Mother’s Day is a pretty big deal.  You spread toast with jelly, add the card you made in Kindergarten and carry the tray to mom who is “sleeping”  past her normal 5:00 am wake up call and serve her breakfast in bed.  By the time you are 12, you go all commercial and depend on dad or another willing driver to take you to the mall where you expand Hallmark’s coffer and choose a card — which can range from sentimental ” best mom ever” to a farting “how do you put up with me” piece of poetry.  And, if you’re lucky, dad throws in $10. so you can get her some flowers, or a piece of jewelry…In that strange period of time which marks the transition from high school senior to college freshman you see mom as a bit ( ok,a lot ) of embarrassment a good deal of the time.  So Mother’s Day gets the traditional treatment, maybe you and your siblings take her to brunch ( which consists of 45 minutes in line, past the time of your reservation and room temperature bacon served alongside something they call scrambled eggs and a massive hunk of prime rib, or ham….) .  During college Mother’s Day is, well its another Sunday after another “oh my God, the semester is almost over” Saturday night.  You call, and if you can you visit, hoping someone is making bloody Mary’s or mimosas, you know, “hair of the dog…”

Then, you graduate.  You get all melancholy that first year you have your own place, your own bills, your own, well, life.  And Mother’s day rolls around and you make plans to spend the day with mom, and when you get there she comments on your hair, and those jeans and asks if you’ve brushed your teeth or paid your college loan…and you wonder, “What the heck is this lady doing?  Trying to tell me what to do?”  And  you realize there are now two WOMEN in the conversation.  You realize, she doesnt…so you suck it up.

And then, its YOUR first Mother’s Day.  Glory of Glories you have birthed a child!  Trumpets announce the arrival and you sit royally in your throne awaiting the massive parade of guests and gifts.  NOT.  Your husband gets you one of those ” 3 for $10.” bouquets at Acme, the baby pukes all over the one clean blouse that fits those massive breastfeeding boobs and you are exhausted after 3 hours sleep.  Mom calls to ask when you are coming over and you secretly wish you were in Austrailia, with Alexander….

Years come and go and your children repeat the cycle.  You are amazed at how wonderful that jelly toast tastes, how your children chose the most perfect card — Hallmark must have studied my life to write this one —  You treasure the bacon and sing songs while you wait in line.

If you are lucky, and blessed, you will experience Mother’s day as a grandmother.  Yesterday as my husband and I sat on the beach, breathing in the salt and the calm, I pondered this day, my 7th. as a grammy.  I marvel at my daughters and their amazing babies — at their patience and work ethic and the different, yet equally effective lifestyle that they are living and raising their children in.  I treasure the way my son stepped in and raised his Ava, on his own, after her mom walked out on him, and her, at 5 months.   I laugh when I realize that I have had 6 grandchildren in 6 years, and now number 7 is on the way…

My husband sat a triad of gift bags on the counter on Friday.  He and two of the grandsons had gone shopping for my Mother’s Day gift.  Funny man — doesn’t he realize?  My Mother’s Day gifts surround me every day.

Happy Mother’s Day.  Enjoy the ride.