a date on the deck

Friday night after the kids go to bed we can slip away to the porch swing and clink our bottles together. We can talk about anything we want to because there aren't any little ears around to hear, and their aren't any little mouths around to interrupt.  We can sit comfortably in silence as we sway back and forth.  Or, we can erupt into crazy laughter as we threaten to bring back younger days with a skinny dip in our pool- under the cover of darkness of course.  I love when you leg bumps up next to mine and when your hand finds its way under my hair to the back of my neck.  The ease of being "not young" and "not old" make this such a sweet time together.  When the sun goes down we linger in the breezy dusk- not wanting to be the first one to suggest going inside.  We sit a little closer, and I tuck my hands under your warm arm. Eventually my head finds its way to your shoulder and it is quiet.  We wonder why we spend so much time behind the screens of the televisions or laptops, and vow to spend more time outside with the sounds of the quieting birds, crickets and the neighboring sprinklers. 

The comfortable-ness of together-ness is grand despite our simple surroundings. Meet you on the deck tonight...

Unpacking

It had been hanging around here for a couple of days.  I kept finding that old "mental suitcase" of sorts- packed full of emotions every where I went.  For a while, I tried to pretend that it wasn't there.  Then, I just hoped it would go away.  When it didn't, I sort of just scooted it out of my way and said, "yes, I'll take care of this when I have a quiet moment." I have been a mother for 8 years now, and that title brings me such joy.  There is nothing that is sweeter, nothing that brings me such deep-rooted happiness.  But, since my mother died 16 years ago, I have to admit, I usually approach Mother's Day with a bit of dread. I wish it weren't true,  but there is still a fair amount of sadness associated with this day.  It seems to serve as a cruel reminder that one of the most beloved figures in my life remains absent.

  

So, yesterday when Carl took the girls shopping for my Mother's Day gift I found myself alone.  In the quiet house. All by myself.  I was thankfully sewing away downstairs, enjoying uninterrupted productivity.  No music, no podcasts, no movies playing in the background.  Just a humming machine....and then "the suitcase".  I don't remember choosing to open it.  It sort of just flung open. I began to sob.  It was the kind of cry that you hope no one ever sees you wallowing in.  Mascara everywhere, wiping my dripping nose with my sleeve. The dog was extremely concerned. Every now and then the grief finds me.  It found me yesterday.  I usually tuck it away in that suitcase, but I guess it was time to unpack some of it.

I was crying because I wished that my Mom would come waltzing into the room and say, "Wow, Sis, I really love the way you've decorated in here."  I was crying because I wanted to sit next to her and have her softly rub my face the way she used to .  I cried because I can't call her up and ask her for her yorkshire pudding recipe that I'm sure I lost!  The tears kept coming because I can hardly remember the way she smelled. I was crying because she'll miss the birth of another grandchild (my brother's wife is due in a month). I cried because I wanted her to teach me how to swim better for this damn triathlon. I cried because our family is forever altered and no matter how much I want my Dad to be happy it is still weird to see him with another woman. I was crying because I know that she and I would get some great laughs together at Carl's expense. I was crying because I still don't understand, and it seems so unfair.

 

I cried because she is not here, and because I miss her.  Sometimes, I just need to say that out loud. I am at peace with the suitcase now.  It is back in the closet, a little less full.

Kiss your mother today...however imperfect she is.  She is precious.

Bittersweet Apples

I didn't mean to take a whole week off.  My computer and I had to have a little sit down talk.  It refused to upload or store any more pictures/files on the hard drive.  Maximum memory capacity.  I just hate dealing with stuff like that.  Who wants to sit down and file manage?  Blech..

So, I am back and have lots to catch up on. 

Two weeks ago we went for a visit to my Uncle's farm.  I cannot say how much this piece of ground means to me. 

 

It is just one of those places that no matter how much time changes it, you can't erase it from your heart.  I spent many a summer visiting here.  I lived with my Aunt and Uncle while meeting lots of local boys (and going to college on the side).  In fact, it was at this place that I first kissed my husband.  But don't tell my Aunt...she didn't allow that kind of thing. 

I've swam with polliwogs here, rode snowmobiles here, been thrown off of horses here, snuck out late at night here, snuck in early in the morning here, picked flowers/cherries/peaches/apples here, been snowed in here, spent Christmas and Thanksgiving here, buried my Mother here.

It had been a while since the last visit, and my girls really hadn't ever been to the farm.  I was anxious for them to discover the magic that it holds. 

 

Upon arrival to the farm you are always greeted by this white haired guy- my Uncle (and a dog or 10). 

 

Having grown up in the country, I sometimes forget how much I miss it.  We're not exactly "city folk" now but it sure was good to get some bugs in my eyes and dirt in my teeth when we rode 4 wheelers out to see the horse- Patches. (see you did make the blog Jen- or at least your hand did)

 

The tree house was pretty amazing.

The purpose of our visit was to get a little lesson in apple growing and picking.

 

My Uncle taught the girls how to "lift and twist" the apples of the trees.

 

Watch out girls, if you stick around too long you'll be pruning, spraying, and mowing too!  I have been on the receiving end of many early morning wake ups courtesy of my dear Uncle.  However, he did send us home with over 50lbs of apples.  Labor free-- this time!

 

Of course we couldn't leave without climbing on the hay,

 

or taking the tractor for a spin.

Sometimes it is bittersweet to travel back and see the legendary places of your youth.  The realizations that come with seeing stretches of land that have become vulnerable to time and seasons are sometimes hard to swallow.

It isn't any different with people.

 

Age allows us to see our childhood heroes for who they really are.  Just people.  People who make mistakes, people who get gray hair...people who love us- deeply.  Maybe that is the sweet part.

Thanks Uncle, I love you.