I fully admit to being a snob is soooo many ways. I am snobbish about grammar and spelling. I typically hide Facebook posts from people who are educated yet type exclusively in text speak and with bad grammar. I own up to sometimes missing something - I type horribly on an iPad and phone, but typos and occasional misspellings do not bug me while phrases like " I done" and "we wasn't" and "I seen" make me twitchy.
Perhaps worse than language, I am a snob about cooking. I grew up in a house with a mom who worked and still had time for homemade bread almost every week. I am not even sure I knew you could buy pie crust in the freezer sections of grocery stores until I was grown. Let me say that I am not mother. I have never made cheese or yogurt after milking a cow. I have never butchered a chicken. I don't make sourdough. I don't make pickles or any of the thousand other things mom does so well. However, I do cook and if possible, I cook from scratch. If I run across a recipe that calls for a cake, pancake, or bread mix it is automatically discarded just because I don't keep those things in the house.
I have always enjoyed cooking, but several years ago, I abandoned shortcuts like canned cream soups and mixes. On one hand, I find making a cream soup starting with a roux to be magic; satisfaction swells in me as I transform something as simple as butter and flour and cream into rich, smooth, thick, bubbly sauces. I have a love affair with my stand mixer, food processor and blender, but I am happiest when my tools are an old fashioned wire whisk and wooden spoon. The simplicity of tools while making something divine appeals to me. It is amplified when I am using ingredients from our land and garden to make something for my family, but that is a different post. For now, just know that even though that wild plum jam was a mess Saturday, I loved the doing of it. An added bonus is that Bella is taking some interest in the kitchen happenings. For now, she doesn't have to learn how to make jelly or pie crust right now; it is enough that she knows these things can be made instead of just purchased.
On the other hand, over the past few years, we have been conscious of how much processed food we eat - the more I cook from basic ingredients, the less processed food we eat. Look at what is in my mixing bowl on bread day. Look at the label on a loaf of store bread - they are not the same. Salad dressing, salsa, cornbread dressing, pimento cheese salad . . . The list is never ending and has the same results. These foods are full of extra junk that I am convinced our bodies just don't need. I really do avoid products that have more than five ingredients and I buy organic when I can, though where we live, it often isn't even an option.
While I love to cook and love to make sure we eat clean, I also recognize that my family doesn't buy into this as much as I do. I also know sometimes, we just have to break the rules. I still buy Bella ice cream because she doesn't care for homemade (but I am choosy and a careful label reader). We buy mustard and mayo and sandwhich bread and so many other things. I buy chips and cheese and pasta, and sometimes, I even buy a pizza because while I love to cook and care about what we eat, I also work and exercise and have a kid and a husband and a garden. I have a life beyond the kitchen and garden.
Yes, the pancakes Bella has been consuming daily are from basic ingredients found in my cabinet and fridge and not from a box. Yes, when I made shortbread and peaches and whipped cream last night, the whipped cream started out as a carton of heavy cream in my mixing bowl. Yes, I am puzzled by what other people put in their shopping carts (at least until we are in a trip and I am buying some of those same premade packages of food, hoping no one looks in my cart or until I am neck deep in papers and handing my kid a frozen pizza for supper).
Yes, I am a hypocrit - I sometimes fall off the wagon of clean eating and whole foods, not processed
foods while at the same time wondering why my grandmother even owns pancake mix. But I am also
snobbishly pleased when good food, real food finds its way from my stove to my family mouths.
Tuesday, July 14, 2015
Monday, July 13, 2015
Forty Panic
I stood in front of the mirror this morning doing a bit of serious lamenting. Fine lines are beginning to etch the corners of my eyes. There are some splotches on my cheekbones, the kind that come from sun and age. There are five more pounds than there were this time last year and I just can't seem to shake them. My shoulder and knee joints hurt more than they don't. But this morning's lament was not sparked by those things. Instead, for the second time in one week, I found a silvery hair. The second time. In one week. My stylist told me a year ago that she saw a bit of silver, but I had never spotted it until this week. It came as a bit of a blow.
I fully realize that in a few months I will be forty. I know I cannot complain because if I am headed to forty, then Dear Jack is headed to fifty, but I am starting to panic a bit at this whole aging thing. Some of it is panic that we aren't doing what we want relationship wise or career wise, mostly because we are stretched too thin time wise. What if by the time we can get the farm and orchard going, we are too old? What if by the time we aren't responsible for Isabella and Rubilee and Harold twenty four seven, we don't have what it takes for crazy, passionate sex? What if we aren't able to travel and see the world? As it is, I see some serious lags in the amount of energy we have compared to even fiver years ago.
At the same time I was lamenting this whole aging problem, I was also satisfied, even pleased, with what I saw in the mirror this morning. Right before school was out, one of my students made the "Wow! You are older than my mom!" comment and then asked if I missed being young. You know, despite the silver hair and the lines and aches, I really do not miss being young. Most of highschool was stressful and miserable. I had a few close friends but I mostly was on the fringes of highschool society. Often, I was on the receiving end of the cattiness that is so ore lane taming highschool girls. I don't think all that bothered me, but what did bother me was my own lack of confidence or feeling of self worth. I don't think I ever walked into a room confident about ALL of me until I was in my late twenties.
I am not sure when I began looking in the mirror and seeing something I liked, but at some point I did. I know that my body is not the same as before I had a child - perkiness is a foreign idea but stretch marks certainly aren't. My body is not as trim as it was even three years ago, despite my frequent workouts and mostly good choices in eating. So, yes, there are flaws, but at some point I began seeing myself as attractive too. Sure, doubt still assails me at times, but mostly, I am good with what I see, with how my body moves, with the way my clothes fit.
It doesn't hurt to be married to a man who freely pats my backside when he walks through the kitchen while I cook, whose eyes enjoy the me has, who touches me even while he sleeps. However, a lot of this comes from generally figuring out who I am as opposed to who I tried to be to fill the role I thought was expected of me. It is not a realistic job to fit the image of beautiful women portrayed in media when your workout time is often sacrificed to take care of a family or grade papers. I am not great at being as good of a cook as my mom and as good of a teacher as Amy and a sometimes caretaker and . . . I am just not Wonder Woman, but I am okay with being me. I am okay with my political thoughts and opinions and likes and dislikes and even my body. It is certainly more fun to enjoy all of me than to fret about what I am or am not. It is okay that I don't fit into the images expected of me. I will take this me, silver hairs and all.
I fully realize that in a few months I will be forty. I know I cannot complain because if I am headed to forty, then Dear Jack is headed to fifty, but I am starting to panic a bit at this whole aging thing. Some of it is panic that we aren't doing what we want relationship wise or career wise, mostly because we are stretched too thin time wise. What if by the time we can get the farm and orchard going, we are too old? What if by the time we aren't responsible for Isabella and Rubilee and Harold twenty four seven, we don't have what it takes for crazy, passionate sex? What if we aren't able to travel and see the world? As it is, I see some serious lags in the amount of energy we have compared to even fiver years ago.
At the same time I was lamenting this whole aging problem, I was also satisfied, even pleased, with what I saw in the mirror this morning. Right before school was out, one of my students made the "Wow! You are older than my mom!" comment and then asked if I missed being young. You know, despite the silver hair and the lines and aches, I really do not miss being young. Most of highschool was stressful and miserable. I had a few close friends but I mostly was on the fringes of highschool society. Often, I was on the receiving end of the cattiness that is so ore lane taming highschool girls. I don't think all that bothered me, but what did bother me was my own lack of confidence or feeling of self worth. I don't think I ever walked into a room confident about ALL of me until I was in my late twenties.
I am not sure when I began looking in the mirror and seeing something I liked, but at some point I did. I know that my body is not the same as before I had a child - perkiness is a foreign idea but stretch marks certainly aren't. My body is not as trim as it was even three years ago, despite my frequent workouts and mostly good choices in eating. So, yes, there are flaws, but at some point I began seeing myself as attractive too. Sure, doubt still assails me at times, but mostly, I am good with what I see, with how my body moves, with the way my clothes fit.
It doesn't hurt to be married to a man who freely pats my backside when he walks through the kitchen while I cook, whose eyes enjoy the me has, who touches me even while he sleeps. However, a lot of this comes from generally figuring out who I am as opposed to who I tried to be to fill the role I thought was expected of me. It is not a realistic job to fit the image of beautiful women portrayed in media when your workout time is often sacrificed to take care of a family or grade papers. I am not great at being as good of a cook as my mom and as good of a teacher as Amy and a sometimes caretaker and . . . I am just not Wonder Woman, but I am okay with being me. I am okay with my political thoughts and opinions and likes and dislikes and even my body. It is certainly more fun to enjoy all of me than to fret about what I am or am not. It is okay that I don't fit into the images expected of me. I will take this me, silver hairs and all.
Saturday, July 4, 2015
The Books That Make Us
I spent some time in the plum patch this week, just me and my thoughts working our way down the line of trees with our five gallon bucket. I mostly thought about why I am who I am.
For sure, my parents and upbringing shape me, as do my faith and education experiences, but there is another force just as important. Books. I have always been a reader - if my mother had ever really wanted to punish me, she would have grounded me from reading. I remember devouring everything from all of Beverly Cleary's books to Laura Ingalls Wilder, Lousia May Alcott, LM Montgomery. As I grew, my mother made sure I was exposed to all the classics. I remember reading everything from historic fiction to Mary Higgins Clark mysteries. I am still this way, though somewhat pickier - I have little time to read so if I find myself fifty pages in and bored, I have no compunction about tossing it aside and picking up something new.
These books I grew up were often fluff, but they also often were meat. I think the first book that I was conscious of being shaped by was Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry. Later, I know some fiction and non-fiction about the Jewish Holocaust left its Mark, but as a young teen, I think To Kill A Mockingbird was the most important book I read. Since then, I have no idea how many times I have read it . . . but enough that I can quote passages. Every time I read it, I love it a little more than before, I find new depths, new poetry, new truths about life.
Sunday, Jack spent the day with his dad at the hospital and I am sure was tired, but while getting his dad prescriptions filled at the CVs, he saw this month's copy of Life with Gregory Peck reading Mockingbird, and despite being tired, he bought it for me. I made it to the second page before I was crying. Of all books I have always wanted to teach, mockingbird is at the top of the list, yet I really have not had the chance. At Comanche, it was a sophomore book while I taught freshmen, and at Elgin it is a freshman book while I teach sophomores - (thankfully, I always get my dose of Gatsby with my Juniors). From a literary standpoint, the book is just so teachable, but really, I wanted to make someone fall just as in love with Lee's words as I was. This book. It is just so full of hard truths and beautiful truths, of innocence and love, all tempered by the evils of the world as seen through the eyes of a my favorite narrator of all time. I am always right there with Scout and Jem and Dill as they sneak into the Radley's porch, while they sit with the reverend in the balcony as Atticus tries to do the impossible, with Scout as she walks with her hand tucked in Arthur's arm. I still haven't made it all the way through the magazine - I have to read every caption, examine every photo, put the lines down for awhile when tears blur the words, ponder over Lee's passages again. I am savoring.
To be sure, it affects the way I see classrooms with the inevitable Burris Ewells and the Walter Cunninghams and occasionally, even a Scout Finch. I have not actually seen first hand much discrimination of race, but I have certainly seen it concerning socio-economic status and sex and Although the problems with race still abound, they have been subtle around me. It affects the way I see the world and people around me, for all those characters are indeed in our world, the many Miss Stephanies and a few Miss Maudies, the rare Atticus. They are all here if we look - we even see Dill under the collards. There are rabid dogs and monsters to fight, though they may not be monsters in the flesh. The narrowness of lives and minds still abounds.
Mockingbird does not stand alone. Before I left highschool, I had discovered Michener and more importantly, Leon Uris with his books of Ireland and then Exodus, perhaps the most influential book of my highschool life. Later, I found Thoreau and Emerson and Houseman and Yeats and even Kingsolver and Quindlen and Moyes and so many, many others. So many wonderful, hard books. Even just a few years ago we were blessed with The Help. But I often wonder if that novel and so many other modern books would have been what they are without Harper Lee's words that dared to make people question, that dared to step on toes.
Thank you to all those authors who so bravely committed their immortal words to paper.
Sunday, Jack spent the day with his dad at the hospital and I am sure was tired, but while getting his dad prescriptions filled at the CVs, he saw this month's copy of Life with Gregory Peck reading Mockingbird, and despite being tired, he bought it for me. I made it to the second page before I was crying. Of all books I have always wanted to teach, mockingbird is at the top of the list, yet I really have not had the chance. At Comanche, it was a sophomore book while I taught freshmen, and at Elgin it is a freshman book while I teach sophomores - (thankfully, I always get my dose of Gatsby with my Juniors). From a literary standpoint, the book is just so teachable, but really, I wanted to make someone fall just as in love with Lee's words as I was. This book. It is just so full of hard truths and beautiful truths, of innocence and love, all tempered by the evils of the world as seen through the eyes of a my favorite narrator of all time. I am always right there with Scout and Jem and Dill as they sneak into the Radley's porch, while they sit with the reverend in the balcony as Atticus tries to do the impossible, with Scout as she walks with her hand tucked in Arthur's arm. I still haven't made it all the way through the magazine - I have to read every caption, examine every photo, put the lines down for awhile when tears blur the words, ponder over Lee's passages again. I am savoring.
To be sure, it affects the way I see classrooms with the inevitable Burris Ewells and the Walter Cunninghams and occasionally, even a Scout Finch. I have not actually seen first hand much discrimination of race, but I have certainly seen it concerning socio-economic status and sex and Although the problems with race still abound, they have been subtle around me. It affects the way I see the world and people around me, for all those characters are indeed in our world, the many Miss Stephanies and a few Miss Maudies, the rare Atticus. They are all here if we look - we even see Dill under the collards. There are rabid dogs and monsters to fight, though they may not be monsters in the flesh. The narrowness of lives and minds still abounds.
Mockingbird does not stand alone. Before I left highschool, I had discovered Michener and more importantly, Leon Uris with his books of Ireland and then Exodus, perhaps the most influential book of my highschool life. Later, I found Thoreau and Emerson and Houseman and Yeats and even Kingsolver and Quindlen and Moyes and so many, many others. So many wonderful, hard books. Even just a few years ago we were blessed with The Help. But I often wonder if that novel and so many other modern books would have been what they are without Harper Lee's words that dared to make people question, that dared to step on toes.
Thank you to all those authors who so bravely committed their immortal words to paper.
Friday, July 3, 2015
Sync
When Jack came home last week, we started off the week out of sync. Partly my fault, partly his. Neither of us gave what the other needed. He needed peace and I needed back up in dealing with Bell. We ended up meeting in the middle later on, but not until the tone was set and it seemed impossible to unset it.
I hate that. I hate the way five bad minutes can color the next six days. Don't misunderstand me, A lot of good happened in the week and a lot of stress happened in the week, particularly stress for Jack.
On the plus side, with Jack's help, I got the last of the apricots down, processed and put in the freezer. I got a five gallon bucket of plums processed (frozen for now, but will be jam eventually). We got some work done on the blackberry patch. And as Bell said, it was the week of household upgrades. The microwave died which led to going to the the store and fitting not only a microwave, but also four bags of mulch, six window blinds, and a new grill into the subaru. Later in the week, new towels were also on the list as well as a blender that actually blends. Jack got the debri from the flood cleaned up around the lake and hauled off three trailers of junk and trash. I reorganized and threw away a fourth of the hall closet's contents. Jack got to go swim with Bell. He tinkered with the air conditioner and it is cooling better.
On the bad side, there were more ER trips and doctor visits for Jack's parents. There was stress over poor communication with each and between his parents and amongst all of us. There were plans that were changed and changed and changed again. There were conversations about work schedules that were not exactly positive. We didn't fight or argue - we just were off.
Normally, when Jack leaves for a week, I am not thrilled, but I stay busy and the week is gone fairly quickly. Today, I just feel melancholy. Bell and I did very well as a pair - she worked out with me, we had pancakes with blueberries and blackberries I picked this morning. We just generally have gotten along better today than I can remember in a long time, so I shouldn't feel melancholy at all. And part of me is not - part of me is thrilled and has reveled in the perfect connection with Bell. But the rest of me would gladly return the new appliances and towels just for a week of meshing with Jack. Six days and I can try again.
Thursday, June 18, 2015
Balance
Every summer begins with me being torn over just reading and resting the summer away and my need to be busy and do all the projects I don't normally have time for. Some years I have refinished furniture or painted rooms. One year, I rebuilt my entire school year's worth of units for every class I taught. Another summer, I over hauled my recipe collection and threw away half the contents of my desk and book shelves.
This year, I don't have quite such grand plans, but I am already struggling a bit with balancing. Monday morning, I fully intended to do a major cleaning of the kitchen - pull the blue willow China down to wash, scrub the cabinet fronts, clean out the fridge and wash it down, the works. Instead, the apricots began falling off the tree in earnest and all of three of us spent the afternoon putting up fruit. They are small and some have bad spots, but they are free and pesticide free, so even though 4 gallons of raw fruit only equalled 1 gallon of proceeded fruit, it is worth it to me. I will be glad when I am making apricot jam and cobblers in the winter.
I really need to carve out some time for school - I am changing some things for my AP class and grammar for my regular classes. I may need to address these things sooner or later just to let my brain rest. I couldn't get to sleep last night and before long, my brain was running with ideas of how to restructure my research papers and whether or not we could skip chapters of Huck Finn. At the same time, I do intend to deep clean the house, room by room. There will be garden work and canning and mowing and don't forget about the in-laws.
Jack has been fairly busy with his parents this week. Monday, we had to run our car up to have hail damage fixed (the hail damage was from before we bought it) that we finally had time to deal with. At the same time, we took Jack's mom to buy a car. We had tentative plans for a fun day on Tuesday, but Jack's dad wanted to go the shop. He is still weak and not well from his bout with pneumonia, so a trip to the shop means Jack has to go too. Jack had to teach his mom how to work everything on the new car. Before long, it turned into a day. His dad didn't go to the shop, but didn't decide not to go until it was too late for us to go do anything fun. The thing with old people is that they move slowly - what would take me ten minutes, becomes 30 minutes with them. We can't just do everything for them or they lose all empowerment and sense of worth. Patience. Balance.
Here is where the trouble with balance comes in. Tuesday evening, Jack came home saying that Wednesday his mom wanted him to take her to the cemetery to get her Memorial Day plants. We actually got into a bit of an argument and I was not as nice or patient as I should have been: I told Jack no. I believe my words were, " They can't have you every damn day." His response was to ask if I just expected him to say no. It was exactly what I wanted, but we didn't need to have raised, impatient voices. Jack goes back to work today so Wednesday was our last shot at a fun day. I could take her to the cemetery after he went back. I absolutely hate fighting about his parents - they are old and sick and need our help. There is a lot we should do that we don't do, but sometimes, I also get frustrated that they forget that his time off has to be shared. From their point of view, they just want him for an hour here and there scattered out through the day, so they think they are sharing.
We did end up sort of having a fun day - we went to the Grear Plains State Park for a bit of walking/gentle hiking amidst the boulders. We had lunch out, found a geocache, did our hike, and had some ice cream on the way home. It wasn't the best trail ever and we won't likely go back, but it was a day out and we explored a new place, which was worth it to me.
We are also working for balance with Bell. She is very unhappy with me. Her summer expectations involved staying up as late as she wanted and sleeping as late as she wanted while spending her day on the iPad. I am insisting on her getting up at 7, doing some exercise and math practice, and only using the iPad some. We have had more than one battle so far and I don't expect it to get better.
Today, it is back to the normal routine. Jack went to his mom's to do some chores for her and then presumably, will be off to work. I have another bucket of apricots. I think left to my own devices, I could hit a fairly zen stride of productivity, rest and reflection, and doing pleasurable things. Hitting that stride while managing the needs of two households that range from 9 years old to 87 years old is proving to be more of a challenge.
This year, I don't have quite such grand plans, but I am already struggling a bit with balancing. Monday morning, I fully intended to do a major cleaning of the kitchen - pull the blue willow China down to wash, scrub the cabinet fronts, clean out the fridge and wash it down, the works. Instead, the apricots began falling off the tree in earnest and all of three of us spent the afternoon putting up fruit. They are small and some have bad spots, but they are free and pesticide free, so even though 4 gallons of raw fruit only equalled 1 gallon of proceeded fruit, it is worth it to me. I will be glad when I am making apricot jam and cobblers in the winter.
I really need to carve out some time for school - I am changing some things for my AP class and grammar for my regular classes. I may need to address these things sooner or later just to let my brain rest. I couldn't get to sleep last night and before long, my brain was running with ideas of how to restructure my research papers and whether or not we could skip chapters of Huck Finn. At the same time, I do intend to deep clean the house, room by room. There will be garden work and canning and mowing and don't forget about the in-laws.
Jack has been fairly busy with his parents this week. Monday, we had to run our car up to have hail damage fixed (the hail damage was from before we bought it) that we finally had time to deal with. At the same time, we took Jack's mom to buy a car. We had tentative plans for a fun day on Tuesday, but Jack's dad wanted to go the shop. He is still weak and not well from his bout with pneumonia, so a trip to the shop means Jack has to go too. Jack had to teach his mom how to work everything on the new car. Before long, it turned into a day. His dad didn't go to the shop, but didn't decide not to go until it was too late for us to go do anything fun. The thing with old people is that they move slowly - what would take me ten minutes, becomes 30 minutes with them. We can't just do everything for them or they lose all empowerment and sense of worth. Patience. Balance.
Here is where the trouble with balance comes in. Tuesday evening, Jack came home saying that Wednesday his mom wanted him to take her to the cemetery to get her Memorial Day plants. We actually got into a bit of an argument and I was not as nice or patient as I should have been: I told Jack no. I believe my words were, " They can't have you every damn day." His response was to ask if I just expected him to say no. It was exactly what I wanted, but we didn't need to have raised, impatient voices. Jack goes back to work today so Wednesday was our last shot at a fun day. I could take her to the cemetery after he went back. I absolutely hate fighting about his parents - they are old and sick and need our help. There is a lot we should do that we don't do, but sometimes, I also get frustrated that they forget that his time off has to be shared. From their point of view, they just want him for an hour here and there scattered out through the day, so they think they are sharing.
We did end up sort of having a fun day - we went to the Grear Plains State Park for a bit of walking/gentle hiking amidst the boulders. We had lunch out, found a geocache, did our hike, and had some ice cream on the way home. It wasn't the best trail ever and we won't likely go back, but it was a day out and we explored a new place, which was worth it to me.
We are also working for balance with Bell. She is very unhappy with me. Her summer expectations involved staying up as late as she wanted and sleeping as late as she wanted while spending her day on the iPad. I am insisting on her getting up at 7, doing some exercise and math practice, and only using the iPad some. We have had more than one battle so far and I don't expect it to get better.
Today, it is back to the normal routine. Jack went to his mom's to do some chores for her and then presumably, will be off to work. I have another bucket of apricots. I think left to my own devices, I could hit a fairly zen stride of productivity, rest and reflection, and doing pleasurable things. Hitting that stride while managing the needs of two households that range from 9 years old to 87 years old is proving to be more of a challenge.
Tuesday, June 9, 2015
Subaru 34
On our trip, we had two car games. One was counting the huge billboards of a particular lawyer whose face was plastered on every billboard from Mississippi to Florida and back. The other was counting subarus. Once we finally bought a car after of months of waffling, we were so glad that we bought the outback instead of the CRV. We didn't quite realize how few of them we would see on the road. To be precise, from here to Orlando and back we saw only 34.
We have been home six days and I miss our car games. I have plenty of down time, plenty of time to putter, plenty of time to clean and get back in the groove, but it has also been somewhat stressful. Sometimes, I wonder how long we can keep things smooth in my in-laws' world while still managing our own lives and careers. There are weeks in a row when they don't need much other than general checking on. Then there are weeks when they could hire a full time errand runner and chauffeur.
This is one of those weeks. I could be gone almost everyday running their errands or taking them somewhere. Out of the five weekdays this week, I am signed up for three, possibly four mornings. Next week doesn't look much better - we have to take our Subaru in for its first oil change and we are taking Rubilee car shopping. At some point in the next few days, I predict another ER run for Harold. I am not complaining - I am fretting. I have wondered what will happen if Jack has a different job someday and works every day. Right now, our delicate balance is maintained because even when I am at work, Jack is home every other week and we just try to plan all their days out for when he is home or when Jack's brother is home.
Eventually, our luck is going to run out and something will have to give. I am just not sure who or what it will be. For now, I wish for simple things to fill my free summer hours. Picking apricots which will soon be ripe. Reading books in Overdrive. Playing card games with Bell. Counting subarus and looking for number 35.
We have been home six days and I miss our car games. I have plenty of down time, plenty of time to putter, plenty of time to clean and get back in the groove, but it has also been somewhat stressful. Sometimes, I wonder how long we can keep things smooth in my in-laws' world while still managing our own lives and careers. There are weeks in a row when they don't need much other than general checking on. Then there are weeks when they could hire a full time errand runner and chauffeur.
This is one of those weeks. I could be gone almost everyday running their errands or taking them somewhere. Out of the five weekdays this week, I am signed up for three, possibly four mornings. Next week doesn't look much better - we have to take our Subaru in for its first oil change and we are taking Rubilee car shopping. At some point in the next few days, I predict another ER run for Harold. I am not complaining - I am fretting. I have wondered what will happen if Jack has a different job someday and works every day. Right now, our delicate balance is maintained because even when I am at work, Jack is home every other week and we just try to plan all their days out for when he is home or when Jack's brother is home.
Eventually, our luck is going to run out and something will have to give. I am just not sure who or what it will be. For now, I wish for simple things to fill my free summer hours. Picking apricots which will soon be ripe. Reading books in Overdrive. Playing card games with Bell. Counting subarus and looking for number 35.
Highway 30A
Originally, this trip started out with a plan to go to Orange Beach. Once we added the Orlando aspect, we started looking at Florida beaches instead. All the tourist info, satellite maps, and Aunt Kathy concurred that the emptiest beach would be at Grayton State Park along Hwy 30A. Indeed, it was the perfect beach for anti-social tourists such as the Ruckers. Each day, we had plenty of empty beach to choose from when setting up camp. The water and sand were clean, the other beachgoers more family types than party types, the shells abundant - in other words, short of having our own private beach, this was about perfect.
We did manage a little family time as well with my extended family. I have never gotten to know my grandfather's younger brother well because we have always lived far apart, but Uncle Dave and his wife Kathy graciously invited us over for supper. It was definitely one of the best evenings of the trip. They had a granddaughter a bit younger than Bella so she had someone to play with for the first time. We laughed and visited and got to know each other a bit better - it was uncanny how much Dave is like my grandfather even though they have spent so little time together in the past fifty years. I had worried that it be an awkward visit, but the evening was a delight.
Day three got stormed out so we decided to go back and spend another day instead of driving home on day four as Jack had originally planned. Then we found out that Jack's dad had gone to the hospital leaving Rubilee home alone. Plans had to be modified. We packed the car with the intention of going to the beach for a few early morning hours and then leaving directly from the beach, sandy bodies and saltwater hair and all. By the time we left Grayton the next day, it was only mid-morning. Though I had not at all got my fill of sand and sun, I just felt guilty that we weren't home taking care of Harold and Rubilee like we should have been.
We wove our way east on Hwy 30A and stopped at a kitchy tourist shop since souvenir shopping had been neglected. We snaked in out of little beach towns, through Destin, into Alabama, into Mississippi. It was different than our drive from Oklahoma to Memphis to Orlando, but just as pretty; I never got tired of watching the scenery and I remembered how much I love road trips. The going there was as good as the there.
As we drove, I felt tears hot in my eyes. It was one of those moments of reflection, of knowing that this is as good as it gets - holding hands with Bell as she played in the water, laughing with Jack while we watched a fish swim into his shorts, all of us singing along with radio. These are the moments that make the trip, not the where (even if the beach is magic). Would there ever be enough of these moments to fill me, to sustain me? I know we are not to fear or doubt or worry, but I am a worrier. I fret about what might be more than what is. I cannot know the future, but I know that we live but a moment, some for short moments and some for long ones. When we started discussing vacation, there was some worry about leaving my in-laws. They mostly do fairly well on a day to day basis, but there is always the threat of a fall or an ER trip. They cannot do things simple like bring in groceries out of the car so leaving them for almost two weeks was risky. We debated whether we should go, but we also know that if we put our lives on hold, we might be putting them on hold for ten years or more. By then, I would have a 19 year old instead of a 9 year old, so we decided to go. We also know that there is no guarantee of a tomorrow. We know we have to live in the now, make these moments we have count. That means taking the trips, singing the songs together, holding hands when we can. As badly as I already want to go back to the beach, I am beyond thankful for these days living in the now.
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