My Laptop Valentine

Most of my Valentine's Day this year was spent curled up in the living room with a heating pad, my iPhone, the television remote and my laptop.  Sidelined by my uterus.  The fixings for our annual candlelit dinner remained in the freezer and pantry.  Gift-getting - my annual perfume fix - was put on hold due to our continued unemployment.  Still, my honey and I enjoyed simply inhabiting the same space, content in the knowledge that we've had 26 of these specific February days shared between us.  And God willin' and the creek don't rise, we'll add 27 next year!  At one point during my forced stillness, I perused the random photo collections on my Dell.  Most of the pictures were taken in 2010.  With a few camera downloads from times where I needed the disc space and was away from home and away from the Mac.

I discovered the following:

There they are.  My family.  My nuclear clan of kids and spouse.  This ranks as my all-time favorite Christmas photo.  For a period of years after we moved to Tennessee, we'd all dress up, digging out clothes that would loosely match and quickly iron them, hastily arrange our hair, ensure the makeup was right, and then I would grab a neighbor for a rapid photo session somewhere in our yard or house.  The session itself never lasted more than probably 15 minutes.  Whatever the results, we picked a pose and THAT shot went in with the 80+ holiday cards I painstakingly signed, addressed and mailed to relatives and friends.  Three years have come and gone since last we acted out this little holiday play.  My sending of cards has been sporadic, sparse and often tardy.  Two of my three children now live outside the Volunteer State.  Come June, the third in my trio of offspring will uproot and replant in her own place with her very own husband.  And that will leave yours truly.  AND the handsome hunk in the red shirt.

So let's talk about him.  Because I wanna.  

Because most of the time I'm around him, I wanna kiss him somewhere on his sweet mug.

Because he could care less about the exhilaration of leaping into a pool of freezing water in below-freezing temperatures with his fellow Murfreesboroans to celebrate the new year . . . but he made the jump anyway -- for me, because I cared.  (And, like the chip off the old block that he sometimes is, so did his son!)

Because whenever the opportunity arises to hold a baby or small child, he takes it and makes it a memorable moment for the wee one, himself and those looking on.

Because he constantly declares, "I'm not very good at the guitar."  But he IS good.  Good in the way a guy who doesn't spend all of his time plucking the strings but possesses natural talent and a love for the instrument is good.  Practicing whenever he can carve out a session: his twangy notes filling the house despite the soundproof material nailed to the walls of his small studio.  His personality rounding out the music like the presence of a solid bass-line.  

Because his grown children wanna kiss him, too.  That's pretty darned telling . . .   

Because he passed on that innate quality which draws people to him, including little ones, to his son.  I watch them.  Both of them.  People feel comfortable in their presence.

Because I married an athlete/musician and he ain't a bad boy. 

Because even when I resembled Tweety Bird for a time (and shaved my head in a previous necessary hair adventure), my beauty never escaped his eyes.

Because the man can sleep almost anywhere.  And looks kissably cute doing it.

Because the man likes to SAY he's not a pet person but if you interviewed any of our past or present domesticated animals, THEY would quite disagree with his personal assessment!

Because he loves his mama.

Because he waited patiently through 20 years of marriage for me to start drinking coffee with him.

Because he wore THAT apron one Thanksgiving!!!

Because for every momentous occasion in my adulthood, he figures in each of them, front and center.  

Because my grandma thinks he's a sweet man and a good husband and father.

Because he still throws a mean football . . . 

. . . and passed that skill on to his boy.

Because whenever he kisses me, I still feel JUST like I look here.  And I've felt that way since our very first kiss back in 1980-something-or-another.

Two Different Mornings In America

I'm thinking about Chicago this morning.  Specifically, the 47 schools which were shut down due to low attendance numbers and the resultant financial issues.  Even more to the point, the 12,000+ displaced students who were dispersed to the remaining schools and require city-paid guards to walk them to and from their public education along 'safety approved' routes, oft times crossing through dangerous gang turf, across busy city intersections and into unfamiliar areas.  Officials are calling these escorted forays 'Safe Passage' Routes.  Police officers, fire trucks and even the mayor were assisting today.  Oh, and did I mention the police helicopter?

In Chicago, with gang lines existing quite literally from block to block, things can suddenly switch from safe to unsafe just by crossing one street.  This isn't a new phenomenon.  The media abounds with stories concerning our nation's third largest school district: the money problems, the attempts at special programs to kickstart students, the gang rivalries from school to school which plague classrooms, hallways and sports programs.  National Public Radio (NPR) has exceptional  coverage which affords us outsiders a more intimate glimpse into this mind-boggling issue.  In particular, "This American Life," a public radio program with themed weekly shows covering a vast spectrum of topics (which coincidentally broadcasts out of WBEZ in Chicago), aired an outstanding 2-part series called "Harper High School."  You can download the podcasts or listen online at http://www.thisamericanlife.org, #'s 487 and 488, February 15th and 22nd of this year.

These kids . . . they're still kids . . . average ages around 10, 11, 12, but some older, some younger . . . these displaced students trying to make it safely to school today . . . and safely back home . . . these kids aren't thinking about lunch, quizzes and recess.  Their mothers aren't smiling when they drop them off at the school entrances.  Their teachers are forced to consider if risking their own lives day in and day out is worth the salary and effort.  And to make matters worse -- is that possible? -- there are those families who have thrown in the towel and simply moved to another state.  Thus abandoning neighborhoods, one home at a time, to make way for more boarded up buildings and an infiltration of apathetic, misguided and violent young thugs.  As crazy as it sounds, if things continue to progress at the present rate, I can envision a future in which Chicago officials surrender an entire chunk of their city to the encroaching darkness and simply relocate families and shut down ALL remaining schools in the area.

It's difficult to swallow such a horse-pill as this.  That there exists a place in our America where a kindergartner needs a security detail for his or her very first day of school.  And every day after that.  Where I live, I can walk blocks upon blocks, morning, noon or night, with very little risk to myself.  And my children have run amok for almost ten years within our local neighborhoods, their trouble stemming more from that which they generated than anything coming from an external source.  They're more likely to incur a bite from a random stray dog -- which has never happened -- than to suffer a gunshot wound.  I dropped off my high school senior at school today, not because he was in danger but because he lost his driving privileges for awhile, and we exchanged genuine smiles.  When I pick him up in the afternoon, I watch kids laden with backpacks, bent over smart phones, laughing one with the other, walk home.  Unescorted.  Without a pervading sense of impending doom when they switch from one sidewalk to another.  It's a pleasure to witness these school kids.  (Though I'm OH! SO! glad that only one, 1, UNO, of the numerous teens lives under my roof!)

We've faced many a challenge but they've not been exacerbated by such as I've just set before your reading eyes.  We are blessed.  I don't take that for granted.  In an unsafe world of dangers seen and unseen, my children, my neighbor's children, are safe.

That's how it should be.  For all children.

It isn't.  We should be indignant.

Kids grow up fast enough as it is . . .

    

The Garden Lives On . . . As Do We . . .

Though my gardening efforts have been sidelined since the acquisition of Hankie Mutt:

And shall most likely remain so upon the doubling of our canine pack:

The action amongst the flora and fauna of our partial acre of Middle Tennessee continues to bustle and buzz along.  I thought a guided tour might bring a smile to your face, beginning with this tenacious bumbler I happened upon during a walk earlier this week.  He's actually rolling around in the dropped stamens of a magnolia blossom -- the bloom so large as to allow for this wanton and leisurely collection of pollen.  (I took this with my iPhone and edited with Instagram.  It's my favorite pic of the week.)   

Next up, a series of sparrow shots.  I never tire of these ubiquitous consumers.  Their energy is admirable and their chatter amiable.  Each year, I look forward to watching them feed on the sunflowers and other sprouted seeds which spring up from their spilled meals.  It allows me a more natural peek at their feeding habits.

My husband laid eyes upon the goldfinch for the first time this summer.  You'd have thought he'd discovered actual gold!  It rather tickled me.  Though my mother's feeders play host to a generous population of both the bright yellow males and the olive-oil-hued females, our yard usually doesn't attract them.  But this year they received the memo and sent three couples to enjoy our avian bed and breakfast amenities.  Thus far, my camera has only captured the males in various activities.

Other birds are far less flashy.  Far less vociferous.  Yet still noticed and beloved.

As much as our feathered friends tickle my fancy, their food sources (for some species) interest me just as much.  The insect world is rich with diversity and color.  And the lines of curious onlookers aren't nearly as long as many folks are a bit fearful or repulsed by the poor dears.

Lest I forget the green of it all, how about a few shots of the plants perking along.  My Japanese fern has spread itself out quite generously -- I'm thinking it's time to divide and multiply this beauty!

This riot of color caught my attention while the suds were collecting atop the dirty dishes in the kitchen sink.  My butterfly-bush-gone-wild lavender sprays contrasted quite handsomely against a background of my neighbor's hot pink blooming crape myrtles.

And reining over it all in the peaceful calm of the night sky was the moon.  Waxing.  Waning. Promising a chance of coolness for the next several hours before his cousin comes on duty.

And finally, apropos of nothing more than sheer fun, a few images which I don't think you should be without.  I mean, who DOESN'T want to see a sauteed mushroom from my Five Guys burger in the shape of a cowboy boot?  Or one of the multiple manifestations of my morning hair? My neighbor boy's corn snake warming up to a bit of bling?  The world's sweetest lab?  My favorite guitarist?  Earth Divas splitting their sides wide open in companionable laughter?  Evidence that my mom-in-law lavishes way too much affection upon her grand animals? My son hamming it up with the athletic grace of his man-almost-boy form?  A 'hidden door' on our town square?  A scarred crystal pendant sunning itself at my daughter's wedding venue? . . . and the remains of Gracie Helen's favorite stuffed toy?

Good night.  Peace out, rainbow trout!