Falling from the Nest

Mama sparrow flapped and chirped

With great fury

As my husband and I peeked in

on her babies,

Eyes open, feathers formed,

Nearly ready to fly.

The babies squawked at my camera lens.

One fluttered.

Was it fear or anger

At these intruding giants?

He beat his wings

Until launching over the edge of the nest

Onto the pavement

Where he could only overcome

Gravity’s pull by inches.

Oh how Mama raged impotently then.

What could she do against us

Even as my husband

cupped her baby

To set him back in the nest?

I apologized to Mama,

Prayed that my own children

Would fly rather than plummet

in the coming days,

And that I’d have grace to trust

In unfamiliar forces

Which I could mistake as malevolence

Should my fledglings fall.

I'll just be over here getting ready to move to Mackinac Island*

August: My car is totaled while Isaac is driving it and another driver hits him. He is not injured.

September: Diana totals her car.  She is not injured.

October: Calypso is in a minor fender bender with Isaac's car while hers is in the shop getting transmission work done. No injuries.

Early November: Isaac hits a deer with his car.  Deer is a casualty.

Mid-November: Driver in front of me stops short, I rear-end him.  Still waiting for word as to whether or not the car to replace the one totaled in August is...totaled.  Minor sprains and strains.

Late November (today, in fact): On her way back to Georgia from Pennsylvania Diana is at a full stop on the interstate in Virginia in heavy traffic and another car hits her so hard she spins and winds up in the median.  She finds he glasses in the back seat.  Diana is concussed and whip-lashed. 

Dear God thank you thank you thank you from the depths of my heart for protecting my girl from serious injury.  Please, I beg of you though, no more accidents. Every time one of my kids calls me with this information my heart stops and then restarts at levels normally only achieved in cardio classes.  I'm so grateful no one has been seriously injured or worse.  I'm also feeling quite emotionally whip-lashed by it all.  Surely, you understand what this sort of thing does to a mama's heart.  I know I am a fortunate mama because I get to hug my kids again but ya gotta know it all terrifies me that one day that may not be the case.

Dear Diana, Calypso, and Isaac, I know you think I am silly because I always want to hug you before you leave the house and tell you I love you.  Please indulge me.  This is not frivolous.  I needed to do it before all this crashing began occurring.  Even more so now.

Dear family from North Carolina,  thank you thank you thank you for getting to my girl and taking her someplace where she can rest peacefully and for helping her sort out practical logistics while letting her head rest and heal.

Now someone please remind me how exactly this breathing thing works.....


*Mackinac bans nearly all motor vehicles.  Sounds good to me right now.

Just Give Me the A Already Because My Other Classes Are Killing Me

School has resumed.  It's been an odd start to the year.  t was very strange not to have to engage in the typical back to school preparations for children who are still in public school.  Very weird indeed since Mr. Lime and I still had to get ourselves ready. 

That said, Calypso (who would like me to post some touching sort of post about her...sheesh, kid discovers your blog and all of a sudden wants to be the star!) has begun a program at a community college.  After a couple of online classes in which she did very well she has begun attending full-time on campus classes this fall.  Here then, instead of a warm and fuzzy Hallmark sort of post, I present some observations on school.

She is not loving Statistics.  I can't say as I blame her.  If you recall, I burned my stats textbook when the class was over. She has a particular classmate who is driving her even crazier than the topic itself.  The classmate is a middle-aged woman who has just returned to school for the first time in decades and is understandably insecure about it.  What annoys Calypso is not the insecurity but her inclination to ask the same question repeatedly because she can't be bothered to actually listen to the prof when he answers her. The incessant questioning is so constant a disruption that other members of the class and the prof himself are finding their patience strained to the limit.  Calypso, though she is struggling with statistical concepts seems to have grasped at least one in assigning a nickname to this one classmate whose age is no where near the range of fellow classmates and who doesn't seem to grasp any of the social cues within a polite classroom.  Said classmate is now referred to as Outlier.



Here then is what she related as the conversation with her Literature prof who said genres won't be covered individually but rather under themes such as Death, Alienation and Loneliness, Nature, Love and Desire.  Under each theme there will be poetry, short stories, and dramas relating to the theme.

C: I was looking at the textbook and the syllabus and noticed there's a TON of Poe in the textbook but none was listed in the syllabus so I was wondering why.

Prof: Oh?  You think we should?

C: Well, um, since you mentioned he's pretty much the father of the short story and we have a theme of DEATH, I thought his work might be relevant.

Prof: Hhhmm, good point.  Which works do you think we ought to use?

C: (incredulous) Well, it's a safe bet that anything he wrote would work but how about a short story AND a poem?

Prof: You may be right.  I'll add that.

C: Well, and I also noticed a lot of Plath in the book but none on the syllabus.

Prof:  You think I should be covering Plath?

C: (looking around for Candid Camera) Well, uh, yes.  She seems a good candidate for alienation and loneliness since, you know, she was feeling alienated and lonely enough to literally stick her head in an oven and all.

Prof: Hhmm, another good point.  I hadn't thought of that.


Calypso then told me she needed to write a thank you note to her ninth grade English teacher who loved nothing more than when a student found death as a theme in any of the works discussed during Lit Circles (something Calypso found a real challenge at the time).  I'm sure such a note will make that teacher's day.

Leaving the Nest

Mr. Lime has built a bird feeder and a nesting box for our yard.  This Spring we had a house wren take advantage of the box.  We were excited when seven little eggs appeared.  And by little I mean about as big as my thumbnail.  Itty bitty.  Still, it was exciting to see.

 Eventually they hatched.  It looked like only three of them got that far but boy were they hungry.

They grew and started to get feathers.  I had hoped to get one last picture of them looking more developed before they flew out on their own but then next time I checked they were gone.

And so it goes...thinking you've got just a little more time.  Then suddenly the young ones are gone.  This week Diana moved to Georgia.  She's been on her own before but had been at home the last year saving up money to take the next step.  She's now over 800 miles from where we are and I have to admit that though I am happy for her I'm a little sad for me because Georgia ain't quite as accessible as when she was just a couple hours west of here.  When I was her age though I moved to an entirely different country so I guess I can't complain.  It's her time to fly now.

Prom 2014

 It's that time of year again.  I have to say, Prom is quite different when getting a boy ready as opposed to a girl.  No hair or nail appointments, not accessory shopping.  We go to the tux shop, pick a tux, match the vest and tie to the girl's dress and we're off.  Getting dressed, also easier.  Basically, I saac and I both got home about 20 minutes before he had to get to his date's house.  A quick shower for each of us, thrown on our respective clothes and hey, we even had time to take a few pictures at home.  The boy is ever a clown.  I'm glad he indulges my photographic drives.  So I present a few of the many faces of Isaac.

 Do I not make these flowers look extremely manly?

 GQ look or wondering what exactly those two birds are doing in the tree over there?

 Hiiiiii, I'm yer date.

I quite like his very adorable date.  She was lovely but not inclined to take herself too seriously and thus willing to mug ridiculously for the camera with little prompting.  This earns points with me.

And then there was the post-photo op, pre-prom ping pong match.  Yeah, say that five times real fast.  I forget who won but I know she was doing well enough early on that the boy defended his poor showing with, "But I'm in a tux!"  We were unsympathetic.

She ain't no pushover, is she?  Have I mentioned I like this girl?

They may not have been prom king and queen but they get my vote for the most fun and most adorable couple at the prom.

Woody's Appearance

 Mr. Lime has long had a contentious relationship with the squirrels in our yard.  The birds are a different story.  He has built bird feeders and checked into which kinds of seeds attract which birds.  This winter he added a couple of suet feeders dangling from the main feeder.  They have attracted several woodpeckers, which have been especially fun to see a bit closer as the feeder is just outside out living room window.  With so many snow days recently I've had time to play with Boom-boom.  I hit the jackpot this week and caught three different species in one morning.  Here is a female Red-bellied Woodpecker.  She's about the size of a hefty cardinal.

 Next up we have a male Downy Woodpecker.  When I was taking the pictures they were flitting around so quickly I thought this was the same bird as the one above.  It wasn't until I got the pictures off the camera that I was able to see it was a different species and gender.  Sorry, fellow.

Here's another shot of the Downy Woodpecker that shows the markings more clearly.  Mr. Lime tells me identifying these as different from the Hairy Woodpecker is a challenged as the markings are so similar but the main thing is the beak length.  Apparently Hairy Woodpeckers have beaks as long as their heads.  I'll refrain from comments correlating beaks and other bits. You may thank me later.




Here is the bird I never imagined I'd be able to capture with Boom-boom, the Pileated Woodpecker.  This is a female.  We've heard them in the neighborhood for years and every once in a  great while we have a fleeting glimpse of one as it flits through the trees.  They are shy creatures.  Since we put up the suet feeders the Pileateds have dared to come closer to the house.  I was thoroughly excited when this girl clung to the suet feeder for a good long time so I could play paparazzi.

And now, gentle reader I shall share a story from about 8 years ago, which was shared way back then on a long since defunct blog I shared with another blogger.  I figure it's unlikely any of you have read that.

One weekend, since there was much sickness in the house, we watched a lot of movies. During one movie scene a particular character referred to another one as a "pecker." The entire family, save Isaac giggled. Not wanting to miss any of the humor, my then 10 year old son asked what was so funny.

I informed him that pecker was slang for penis. He laughed, then paused to think and came back with, "So, that really makes woodpecker a funny name for a bird."

I replied, "Yep, and even more so when you consider that "wood" is slang for an erection." He doubled over laughing. Mr. Lime became disgusted with the entire conversation and told me I was being inappropriate.

I intoned the poor boy would be forced to learn the alternate meanings for "bird" on the school bus.

Yes, I am that mother.

Where Lime Whines

I've learned to cook for diabetics.
I've learned to cook for people who can't eat gluten.
I've learned to cook for myself when I was on an iodine elimination diet.
I've done all three at the same time for crying out loud!
I've learned to cook vegetarian.
I've learned to cook vegan.
I've made major overhauls in the family diet for various health reasons.
I still like to cook.
I still love to bake though I do so far less often.

I am not happy about having someone in this house decide to follow the Paleo Diet.  That is just plain pissing me off.  Not the person, the diet.

I've had enough.  I 'm glad she feels well on it.  I'm glad she cooks a lot of her own food.  It still just bugs me. Maybe cook one of these meals for the whole family once in a while instead of letting us know you're just loving that piece of salmon you bought for yourself....oh, right, we can't flipping afford salmon for FIVE PEOPLE.  Perhaps if certain people were paying for their damn car insurance and cell phones we could....But please tell me what the hell is so evil about legumes and why will you eat them if your sister makes them but not if I do?

I'd like to be able to cook one damn meal for all five people in this house and sit down at a table and eat together.  No one seems willing to commit to one night a week to do that though.

Yes, I know I am whining.  No one is out doing hard drugs or frequenting orgies or committing crimes.  In the big scheme it doesn't matter.  It just doesn't seem like such a huge request since everyone lives under the same roof.

Meh.  Whine complete.  Thank you for your indulgence.

Conspiracy Theory

We live in the woods, on an acre of land.  Our neighbors all have spacious lots as well.  There is also an unbuildable lot adjacent to ours.  And trees.  There are LOTS of trees, mostly oak.  In addition to flowers and shrubs which people so graciously provide as buffets for the local deer, acorns are a prized delicacy for deer.  All this is to say, space + food sources = deer in our neck of the woods.

This does not make us unhappy because you may recall we like to eat venison.  Mr. Lime, Diana, and Isaac do not have to travel far to find places to hunt.  In fact, although we cannot use rifles in our neighborhood, there is an area where bow and arrow can safely be used.  It just so happens to match up to the area where our kids' tree house was built when we moved here a decade ago.  Imagine that.

Normally, my band of fearless hunters get doe tags when they apply for their hunting licenses because for us it's about the meat rather than the trophy.  That's not to say we'll pass up a buck that walks within range but if a doe suitably sized for filling the freezer wanders by first that's what they go for.  This year, they were slow in applying for doe tags so they are limited to only being able to take bucks.  It increases the challenge since 50% of the population is now forbidden.

Sunday morning Mr. Lime dragged me to the window to show me the herd of does that had invaded our back yard.  It's been years since we've seen that many in our yard at once....and close enough to nearly pet them if we stood on the back porch.  Next he called Diana to the window.  Here then is the conversation that passed between them.

Him: Can you believe how many there are?  When's the last time you saw that here?

Her: Never.

Him: They know.  I swear those stupid things know I can't do anything to them.

Her: Yep. They have calenders.  They know it's Sunday. (No hunting on Sunday)

Him: They know I don't have a doe tag too.

Her: Assholes.  They tell each other.

Him:  I'm sure they have cellphones too.

Trying to Cure the Crankies

It's been a helluva week.  That last post is the tip of the iceberg.  Yes, even with its vast detail of my work activities, it's just a hint.  Work has been thoroughly frustrating.  I could rant at length but I'm trying to get out of rant mode.

More aggravating than being at work and dealing with the fools determined to send the school district crashing into the iceberg like the Titanic, is sitting at home unable to do much more than alternate ice bags and heat packs on my lower back and sacroiliac. It's been such a joy what with the intense pain every damn time I try to move and not being able to get outside in the gorgeous fall weather to enjoy a hike....or even just stay in my own back yard and do some yoga to help myself chill the heck out...or hell, just SIT and not feel like my lumbar spine is going to erupt.  Unrelenting pain is just such a joy.

I'm not a happy girl this week.  I'm throwing myself quite the pity party, aren't I?  Wah wah wah...

Ok, so I'll share what I was doing last weekend because it was a pretty swell time for the most part.  Last weekend I was busy turning 45.  Woohoo!  My dear pal, Gwennie, had reserved two spots for us, on my actual birthday, at a chocolate cooking class at some wellness center she goes to.  I was admittedly just a teeny bit suspect at the venue for such decadence but she knows me well enough to know I can't resist chocolate.

Last Saturday we were off to class.  After introductions it was explained that all the recipes were designed to be gluten free and mostly dairy free as well as organic and other forms of nutritional goodness that generally translate into food being less than fabulous.  I looked over the packet of recipes and found avocado figuring prominently in a couple of recipes.  Avocado is not my favorite.  There were chocolate mint smoothies with spinach.  Now I love spinach...but in smoothies?  I dunno.

After some briefing on the ingredients we were split into teams of two to produce various recipes.  At the end of the morning we'd all taste each other's handiwork.  Since it was my birthday it was determined that Gwen and I should make the cake recipe.  They were also kind enough to adapt one of the smoothie recipes to substitute avocado and apple for the banana since banana has this habit of making my tongue swell until I can't breathe.  It was very thoughtful of them not to want me dead.

Now you have to understand Gwen and me.  She and I are very different in many ways.  One venue in which this is quite evident is the kitchen.   She has participated in my annual Christmas cookie insanity and has alternated between calling me the Cookie Nazi and the Cookie Goddess.  I'm not a Nazi or a Goddess but there is some need for efficiency when producing between 75-100 dozen cookies within 2 or 3 days.  Also, with regard to the Christmas cookies, I am making recipes that are family favorites so I don't muck around with the ingredients.  I know what works.  Other recipes I muck with, not my cookies.  Gwen, on the other hand figures as long as most of the listed ingredients wind up in the same bowl and get mixed together it's all good. 

We were to bake a cake together, using a new recipe with far from traditional ingredients, after being told to halve the recipe as it was printed.  Ladies and gentlemen of the blogosphere, I submit to you, this is the sort of thing that could further cement our love or end the relationship.  Fortunately we were able to breathe and laugh at each other through this particular challenge.  Imagine if you will, me measuring the dry ingredients into one bowl while Gwen measured the wet into another....well measured the original amounts then fished half of the partially mixed wet ingredients out since we were supposed to halve the recipe.  She's got degrees in psychology.  I suspect she may have been setting me up to see how well I coped with this on turf other than my own.  I went to the microwave to heat some water is how I coped. 

Once we got the batter all mixed it became apparent that we had still managed to get twice the amount of fats into the otherwise halved recipe.  I wondered how this recipe was going to turn out since it was made with some bizarre flour I've never used before and the proportions were off.  Into the oven it went while we made the filling and the frosting.  Oh, and I licked all the bowls.  Gwen loves me and it was my birthday so she said I got the beaters and scrapers all to myself if I wanted.  She is indulgent of what child-like behavior I cling to. 

I indulged her own child-like glee in a high-tech ionizing squirt bottle that allegedly makes water a disinfectant. She was enamored of the gadget so I found things for her to spritz and wipe up.  She was happy. The place was clean.  The teacher was happy.  The cake needed to be removed from its pan but was sticking.  She asked what to do.  I said let it cool more and her inner child was displeased by having to wait.  When a few more minutes passed and it turned out of the pan with ease she said, "I told you all that was needed was a little patience."  I almost spritzed her but instead we laughed at our respective kitchen personalities.

Finally it was time to taste everything.  I have to tell you I was truly surprised in the best way.  the cake was yummy and I would not have thought it was made from anything strange.  There was an equally tasty cookie recipe.  The smoothie, although it was kind of a sickening shade of drab green, was one I would make again.  There was fudge that was edible but not impressive to me.  The recipe that was truly stunning was a chocolate "pudding."  Instead of milk thickened by cooking it was made with pureed avocado.  It was one of the recipes I found revolting to read but I have to say...it was DELICIOUS!  Color me pleasantly surprised.

Since we started with dessert, Gwen and I followed with a lunch of veggies at a cute little place nearby.  Then I went home and was welcomed by Mr. Lime, the Limelets, and a house ready for more birthday celebration.  The table had been set with the nice china.  Diana surprised me with my favorite wine and a birthday hat I was required to wear.  Calypso made a fabulous veggie lasagna and chocolate chip cake (of the traditional variety).  Mr. Lime and Isaac had exchanged the old fridge in the basement with the one formerly in the kitchen as I had been asking for some time since the door shelves kept falling off the kitchen fridge unless the door was opened VERY carefully, in spite of significant reinforcement by duct tape. (We are classy folks here.)

It was a happy day with gorgeous weather, good food, and loving friends and family.  I was feeling the love and basking in the glow. For the drive home I took the scenic side roads to enjoy the fall foliage and enjoy some quiet time.  I'm pretty sure Hugh Jackman and I were sending each other good vibes on our shared birthday too.

And it was the 8th anniversary of this blog.  I never imagined where this thing would go 8 years ago.  I reflected on the amazing friends I've been blessed with both in 3-D life and through this crazy little world of ours, friends who carried me through some dark days over those 8 years.  It was a very good day all the way around and I was grateful.

Hey Look! It's a Post That's NOT About Libraries!

Diana has recently moved back home and Calypso has opted not to leave just yet.  That means we once again have a full house.  It's been a bit of a re-adjustment.  It's a strange thing to have a house full of alleged adults who have spent most of their lives together but who now have to figure out new ways of relating to each other. Of course we're all on our own schedules and we don't always get to sit down to a meal together but when we do things like this happen.  Isaac posed the following questions:

Would you, armed only with your own bare hands, prefer to fight off 100 duck-sized horses or a single horse-sized duck? Assume in either scenario that the creatures are intending to kill you.

Cat or dog for dinner? Assume rotisserie preparation.

Chocolate-flavored poop or poop-flavored chocolate? Assume the danger of some god awful infection is eliminated.  You may chose which creature provides the poop.

The negotiation of terms regarding each choice was specific and debate around the table was quite vigorous.  I mean really, even in a large herd mini horses don't seem all that terrifying to me though Isaac says their ability to bite should not be underestimated.  The issue as to whether the cat or dog had been a pet, was feral, or was farmed was also discussed. Various breeds were also considered with regard to taste, ease of preparation, and overall meat yield. There was extensive conversation as to the poop and chocolate issue which resulted in the agreement that the poop was somehow devoid of it's disease-bearing qualities.  In retrospect we should have spelled out whether or not the poop-flavoring was all natural or artificial. Such is the dinner conversation a House of Lime when the gang's all here.  Apparently some things never change.

If you think that's disgusting, at least we are more productive in our discussions than Congress is in theirs.

Da Count-Da Boy

I nuzzle your newborn cheek,

inhaling your innocence,

sighing out my thanks,

savoring the softness of your skin.

I realize one day

your cheek will scratch mine.

I wrote that poem many years ago.  It expresses my thoughts on the day my son was born.  That was eighteen years ago.  Although he was by no means a tiny baby at 9.5 lbs he just plain dwarfs me now.  He stands 11 inches taller than I do.  More than the size of his body I am struck by the size of his heart.  During his teen years he has worked in local soup kitchens, gone to Coney Island, New York to work with the homeless, spent significant time in New Orleans doing post-Katrina recovery work, traveled to a Navajo reservation and kept in contact with some young athletes there as a means to encourage their continued development in sports, and this summer he went to work in an orphanage in Haiti.  Am I bragging on him?  Yes, I think that's a fair accusation.

He's the youngest of my kids and the quietest personality of them.  His two older sisters are the types who can fill a room and in our house it has often been suggested he had not one but three mothers, although I have reminded his sisters more than occasionally over the years that the position is filled and they can just relax and be sisters.  At times as the youngest sibling he felt a bit like he was in their shadow but I'd say he's been able to cast his own.

Although, I pondered the metaphorical prickliness of having a son when he was born he's been a really even-tempered guy for the most part.  We all have our moments and Isaac certainly has his, generally he is pretty easy to get along with.  He doesn't like conflict and avoids people who like to stir the pot.

In spite of the fact that he likes to slack on schoolwork and only does his laundry about once a month (listen, I don't want you coming away thinking I believe this kid is perfect) he does have a work ethic.  He roofs with his dad and helps bring hay in for a farmer friend in the summer.  Both of those jobs are hard work involving long, hot, sweaty days.

He makes me laugh.  Sometimes it's with wordplay.  Sometimes it's with his willingness to act like a complete doofus in public.  Sometimes it's because even though he's really intelligent he can be quite oblivious.  Often it's his great appreciation for irony.

So by and large, there has not been too much "scratchiness" to endure in terms of his personality.  Instead it comes from knowing my baby, my last child, is now eighteen.  It comes from knowing he is pulling away, anxious to get on with his own life on his own terms (or so we all think at this age). It comes from watching him wrestle with himself over which direction to take.  It comes from knowing Mr. Lime and I are no longer parenting children who adore us simply because we are all they know, but we are parenting young adults who have their own goals, and plans for achieving them.  Fortunately, there is a great deal of soothing to be had in a youngest child who is not prickly in nature and who has a genuine decency about him.

Happy birthday, Isaac.

Got My Dye On

 I'm a bit behind in both getting around to visit you all and in posting myself.  Here though is some of what's been keeping me busy.  Last weekend I broke out the dyes and shirts.  I wound up making over two dozen shirts.  I have some other stuff I want to get done as well but that took me two days. 





 This is what motivated me to get dyeing.  It's a pattern designed to approximate the Trinidadian flag.  I had a specific request for it from Van over at Furiousball.  He has run several marathons in order to raise both awareness and money for Epilepsy research and for Leukemia and Lymphoma research.  He has run to honor his wife Abbe, who has epilepsy (and who is amazing for many reasons but not the least of which is that she herself ran a half marathon a day after having a severe seizure) a cousin fighting leukemia, other friends fighting cancer, and in memory of my own Aunt who lost her battle with Lymphoma.  He's running another marathon soon and asked me to make a tie dye incorporating the Trini flag somehow to wear it during the race as a way to show support for me since I had my own fight with cancer (and it still feels bizarre to type that out).  I was touched by his gesture.  If any of you are able and willing to donate to his support raising for Epilepsy and Cancer research I'd be grateful if you'd pay him a visit here to do so.  If you're not able to at this time, just a word of encouragement in his training might be appreciated.

In addition to making Van's shirt I played around with some new colors I found.  One of the reasons I hadn't dyed in a long time was I had run out of some important colors and needed to find a new place to get them.  I could have ordered the  dyes online but I was kind of appalled by the shipping charges for small and very lightweight jars.  Anyway, I rather like how this shirt turned out with two shades each of purples and pinks.











This is one of several I did in some earth tones I picked up.  I wasn't sure I was too crazy with the colors themselves but some other people saw the results in their sizes and begged for some new shirts.














The funny thing is they both refused to wear tie dye for many years because they felt I had caused them to OD on it.  They were hardly able to wait for me to finish with these two shirts though before grabbing them up and putting them on.  As you can see, Diana was less enthused about modeling but Calypso helped get a smile out of her.

Hair Today....Gone Tomorrow

This is the hair both friends and former coworkers have tried to convince me to dye. I have refused except briefly adding a pink stripe for a friend who had breast cancer when she asked me to do so.  This is the look that Diana once referred to as my wild, drugged-out hippie hair.  This is also the hair I recently decided to cut  drastically.  I intended it as a symbolic thing to mark having completed treatment, a visual reminder of my new beginning.

This is the the new do.  My idea of cutting it really short caused my hair dresser to nearly faint.  In fact, she more or less refused very politely to do so.  This is, however, the new do that caused Calypso to grab me and weep because she missed what she referred to as my wild, bohemian hippie hair.

"Wait...what?  You and your sister have given me a hard time about my unruly mane for years,"  I protested.

"It's only because I'm so envious of your hair," she confessed.

Color me stunned.....just don't color my hair.

Isn't It Romantic?

Calypso and Diana were discussing the show Game of Thrones when Calypso swooningly made mention of how one character referred affectionately to his wife as Moon of my Life.  I snorted and remarked that it sounded like she bared her buttocks derisively to her husband to have earned such a pet name.  Calypso was annoyed by my interpretation.  Mr. Lime was inspired and told me I was the hemorrhoid of his butt.  I smiled sweetly and cooed how he was the pus of my pimple.  We were off an running.  Allow me to share the list of other terms of endearment we swapped as we gazed lovingly across the living room.

He is the eye crust of my morning.

I am the scab of his kneecap.

He is the wax of my ear.

I am the snot of his cold.

He is the flake of my eczema.

I am the cavity of his tooth.

He is dandruff of my scalp.

I am the fungus of his feet.

He is the ingrown nail of my toe.

I am the lint of his navel.

He is the stink of my armpit.

I am the canker sore of his lip.



With that our daughters groaned in complete revulsion and left the room...which is more or less the reaction a big, wet smooch used to get when they were younger.  Some people just have no sense of romance.

To My Son on Father's Day

Yes, Isaac, I mean you, even though you are only seventeen, even though you are not a father.  You're a good kid.  For that I am grateful.  It makes me proud when you behave maturely and when people comment on what a considerate, kind, respectful, and hardworking guy you are.  But you are seventeen and you do have your moments.  We all did at that age.  Yes, your father and I did too.

Which brings me to your father.  When he was a little younger than you are now his world was completely rocked, turned upside down in ways that seem inconceivable.  If you saw them on TV you'd laugh at the implausibility, and yet, this was his reality.  You've grown up knowing it was his reality but really only in a theoretical sense.  To you it is just a fact that carries no real emotional weight and that's understandable.  For your father it is the great and overwhelming sadness that colored his world forever.  It destroyed some of the people he should have been able to rely on, leaving him bereft of support when he needed it most.  It damaged him, but it did not destroy him.  That is important for you to understand.  It did not destroy him.  And he did resolve to do better than what was done for him.

You and your dad go head to head sometimes, in ways you never have until recently.  I know this is not unusual for fathers and sons, though please understand I also lacked an example of "normal" and "healthy" where fathers and sons were concerned so sometimes I am unsure of how to respond.  I know you are a sensitive young man.  You are quiet and always thinking, always processing. I know that the conflict is painful.  I know you want things to be better.  Your dad does too and so do I. 

Here is what I want you to know and remember.  Your dad and I both had fathers who let us dangle in detrimental ways as we were growing up...but we both actively sought to be at peace with them, in spite of their imperfections and in some cases, willfully harmful decisions.  We didn't do so by enabling bad decisions from them or being willing to be subjected to continued harm.  We did set some boundaries and we did find ways to forgive and to build something better.  In some cases the response we got was a similar effort.  In other cases, not so much.  Sometimes people can change, sometimes they opt not to.  But we have to be willing to do our part in seeking and creating peace.

You and I have discussed how to make peace.  I am deeply grateful that you trust me when you are feeling hurt.  I have seen you try to put into practice things I have suggested.  I have seen you enjoy some fruit in so doing.  I've also seen bad days when you and your father just continue in stubbornness. 

I know you alternate between despising and being perplexed by some of your father's exhortations.  I admit to being surprised by some of them.  Understand they are sincere because they are hard won lessons he has learned.  Some of these lessons are recent to him and so you are inclined to judge him as hypocritical because it's not what you grew up seeing demonstrated before you.  He is trying very hard to pass those lessons on to you now because he realizes the mistakes he has made in the past. 

On this Father's Day I want to encourage you.  I want to remind you he loves you and wants a relationship with you even if his way of expressing it is clumsy. He has worked hard to redeem the name his own father besmirched so you need not be ashamed of it the way he has been.  He has given to you things he himself never received.  Your dad has already chosen to do better by you than his dad did by him in a myriad of ways. 

A Whole New World

 Long-time readers know I've been through a couple of proms with my daughters, Diana and Calypso.  This year it was Isaac's turn even though he was a junior.  He tells me he was asked by several girls simply because he is tall and they all want tall dates.  It ain't the way prom was when I was a kid waiting to be asked by a boy but I am glad the girls are making things happen for themselves rather than just hoping someone they actually want to spend the evening with asks.  The girl Isaac said yes to is the valedictorian.  I found out she asked him by presenting him with a cake decorated with the word "Prom?"  She is valedictorian due to academic success but she is obviously smart in ways that don't translate to mere GPA.  Well played!

 I have to say it's a lot easier having a boy going to prom.  There's no need to shop for a dress.  No trying to schedule a hair appointment.  No worrying about make-up.  The hardest part is renting the tux.  You walk in get measured and decided which of about 6 suits you want and match the accessories to the girl's dress.  Easy! 






Since the guys take so little effort to get ready here is how they fill their time....standing around waiting for the girls while they are primping.  It was funny watching them instead of having to worry about a girl whose dress was falling down or hair was needing to be fixed or whatever.  Underneath the formal wear they are still a bunch of funny teen-aged boys.

And here is the lovely couple.  Isaac's date shows her smarts in another way.  All the other young ladies in the group had chosen strapless gowns.  During the obligatory pre-event photo session I saw the other girls tug at their dresses roughly 843,792 times.  I remarked to Miss Valedictorian that she was wise to go with spaghetti straps because she'd be so much more comfortable.  She nodded and replied, "You got it!  I didn't want to worry about my dress all night.  I want to have fun!"

My attempt at artsy-fartsy

 It really was something to see my boy all cleaned up and looking so dapper.  When he was about seven or eight he once told me I could tell how much fun he'd had by how dirty he'd gotten.  More dirt equaled more fun.  He still kind of lives by that rule but he does seem to clean up well!  It was a dramatic difference to see him all decked out and so suave looking.

Happy Mother's Day

 For Mother's Day one of my requests was to be able to take some family pictures.  We usually do that on Easter but folks were flung in all different directions.  My family indulged me on Sunday.  Aren't they a lovely looking bunch?

We all get a bit bored with traditional, everybody say, "Cheese!" pictures. So we decided to get some good actions shots.  What?  You don't canoe in your moss covered front yard?  Well, I can't help it if you lack a sense of adventure.

We needed to practice looking our best.

I wanted Calypso to be well-groomed so I decided to emulate a proper chimpanzee mother.










Diana found the whole process very tiring.

Isaac is 6'3" now.  I needed to squish him down a bit to fit him in the frame with shrimpy little me.










Everybody ready?  Smile!

Oooh, look what some smiles and a black and white filter does for this bunch.

Run Like the Wind

 

It's that time of year again when my young man's fancy turns to track and field season.  In the past he has competed in the high jump and hurdles.  This year he is running hurdles and 4x400 relay.  Last week I made it to the first home meet.  He place first in all three of his events.  I missed the first race (110 hurdles) but made it in time to see the second and third events.  In the 300 hurdles he was so far ahead no other competitors were even in the frame...not that I am bragging about the boy or anything....ok, I am.

I love that my 70-300 mm lens on Boom-boom can really pull him in close.  Isaac hates seeing me take his picture so I can go way up into the stands and not annoy or distract him but still get a nice shot.

Post-race catching of breath.  I look at this huge guy (6'3") and wonder where on earth my little boy went.  Though I can honestly say that when he was little and taking running leaps to jump over anything he thought he could clear I did predict he'd be a hurdler.  Mr. Lime, who is a jock, didn't put much stock in that prediction. (insert smug grin)

Receiving the baton for the second leg of the relay.  Our guys were behind.










Staying on the other runner's shoulder.  That's fancy track-speak for staying behind the guy intentionally so you can see what he's doing and decide when to overtake him.  Since I actually enjoy this sport I'm trying to learn...unlike what I refer to with a shudder as "the football years."  I loathe that sport thoroughly and on multiple levels for various reasons.  My ignorance on that sport was carefully cultivated over a lifetime and even Isaac couldn't change it....but I digress.  I like track and field...a lot.

Starting his kick to take the lead.  Wanna know one reason I like this sport?  It's simple and clear cut.  Whoever runs fastest, jumps highest, and throw farthest wins.  There aren't ridiculously complicated rules and time outs for no apparent reason and other stupidities.

Oh yeah, he's got this.











Eat my dust, pal.

Still two more legs of the race to be run, which our guys won, but it's always nice after you finish your part to be congratulated by a coach for doing well.....and to have a pretty teammate  rub your shoulders.

Where I am Tempted to Bang My Head Agasint a Wall

So it's 9:30pm Sunday night.  I have just finished reading the paper Isaac handed me to edit, which also happens to be due tomorrow morning.  It's the history class research paper for he's allegedly been working on for two months.  He told me his topic way back when he began the research.  I offered him several excellent reference materials.  He looked through them and indicated he thought they were a bit dense.  I told him how he could find specific information in them so he could prepare his note cards.  He opted not to use them.  He did not show me any of his work or ask for any other input from me in his process.....until now.  I figure since he is a high school junior he is a big enough boy to do his work without me inserting myself into the process uninvited beyond enforcing consequences if his grades slip below a certain level.

His paper contains adequate paragraphs full of reasonably well-crafted sentences indicating he has a respectable vocabulary and grasp of grammar.  That's where my praise begins and ends.  The content of the paper is about as substantial as wet Kleenex and offers virtually no support of his thesis statement.  Instead he relies on a synopsis of events and offers his opinion upon them with zero back-up.

He disagrees with my assessment but claims he is going to heed my editorial advice and revise it tonight.....after he finishes watching zombies being beheaded.  I've also offered my opinion of that plan.

Yeah, let me know how that goes and don't be surprised when your social life is stunted as a result of the grade this paper is likely to earn.....unless, God forbid, your teacher is dazzled by style over substance, which I fear since you tell me she thinks Wikipedia is an acceptable reference for research papers.

Boston by Proxy

Calypso has gone to Boston to nanny my cousin's son for a week or so while my cousin the chiropractor is going through some intense training for software allowing her to go paperless in patient records. 

Calypso has never been to Boston before and she is a brand newly licensed driver.  She drops my cousin and the boy off at work and school then drives back to the apartment for an exciting day of cleaning and cooking and errand running.  Today was her first day there.  She called me in freak-out mode after becoming very lost on the mile and a half trip back to the apartment.

A meme which has been distributed widely may explain why she got so lost.  The frustration of being in unfamiliar surroundings was augmented by the angst new drivers default to so easily.

She confirmed that she did in fact feel as if the city was flipping her the bird....and I don't mean Larry has taken up gymnastics in his retirement from basketball. As an aside, I vastly prefer getting around Boston because it's a short city as opposed to NYC which is very tall...meaning when I walk around Manhattan I feel like I am walking through canyons and not being able to see the sun is disorienting to me.  Boston feels more like walking around neighborhoods. 

She was nervous about having to find her way back in reverse when afternoon came around.  I suggested she google a map and take a walking tour noting landmarks and such so she'd feel more confident.

I am sure by the end of her time there Calypso will be feeling more confident but in the meantime this is the impression of the city which she posted on FaceBook.

Lessons and Observations in Boston:
1. Everybody drives a Prius.
2. Bicycle lanes are not for driving in. Oops.
3. If you smile to someone while walking, the best reaction you'll get is confusion. At worst, they'll walk as far away and as quickly as possible, and somewhere between the two is a grimace.

Being full of encouragement, I added in a comment, "4. There are few public toilets so don't take walking tours if you are very pregnant or have a small bladder."

Fortunately, Calypso is neither pregnant nor bladder impaired.