In Memory of Jerry

Last night my neighbor died.  I had spent the day in my flower beds.  I am an avid gardener and can't wait until spring.  Even now I can remember how excited I was on seeing the little green shoots as I began to pull back the heavy layer of leaves and compost I had spread to protect my perennials this harsh winter. Daffodils and sunflowers and dayliles were all showing signs of life.  I was tired and dirty when I came in to shower and get some dinner.  While towel drying my hair I noticed the red flashing lights of the security car parked in Jerry and Helen's drive.  By the time I had some clothes on, the ambulance had arrived.  I ran across the street with wet hair and no makeup to have Helen tell me that her husband, Jerry, had a heart attack.  I watched as Jerry was taken away and Helen scrambled to follow the ambulance in her car.  Jerry did not make it to the hospital.  There is a saying that happy families are all happy and alike in the same way, but unhappy ones in their own special and sad ways.  Helen and Jerry seemed to be a happy family.  As I age I notice what brings happiness and what characteristics you see over and over in those happy families.  First, there is the happy woman, the mother.  Its impossible to say if she is loved so dearly by her husband because she is happy, or does being loved so dearly make a woman happy.  Then there are the children who have successful lives and friends and respect their parents.  The parents are there for their children and supportive but always the children are managing their lives and forging ahead in their own independent ways. At the center of these happy families I believe stands the father, the nucleus of the family. He is the one that always surprises me and who I believe actually sets the stage for the home to either be happy or sad in its own way.  I know that literature and love songs say that its the hand that rocks the cradle, the mother.  And it may be that her hand does rule the world but it is father who makes the home.  If he is strong and caring, his wife will be also.  If he is loving and good, so are his children.  One of my favorite songs now is about a father who prays that God will help him, guide him to be strong and wise for his family knowing that they are looking to him.  Depending on him. I know in our world we make fun of the Homer Simpson and the Tom the Tool Man Taylor stereotypes, the Charlie Sheens get a lot of press;  but nothing in this world outshines the soul of a good man. Nothing takes the place of a father who is wise and loving.  Its very important to have those good mothers, but when you see a God fearing man, a man like Jerry; well, that's something.  A man who takes care of his family, who loves his wife, and makes his kids mind and serves as a deacon in his church.  More and more we seem to be losing our respect for our fathers.  And more and more they seem to be failing their homes.  Yes, when you see one like Jerry; a man who obviously just adored his wife, a man who loved his kids and a man who was a fine and good neighbor, you understand the tenderness of the term "father". And so I thank Jerry for allowing me to watch him from a distance, watch him be a good man.

Spring is in the Air

Oh, the joys of springtime.  All around me I see evidence that nature is once again in its most beautiful and amorous form.  The daffodils are blooming on the hillsides. The bluebirds have arrived in N Georgia and I see them building nest in my boxes and on my porch eve in preparation for the mating season.  Herds of female deer prance through the meadow by the house and in the evening I hear them sprint down the street toward the lake, looking for Mr. Right Deer.  The bear have awakened and are prowling for quick meals and someone to share with them the berries and small chipmunks who make the mistake of looking for a date rather than watching for bear.   Even the bunnies are jumping around and switching their little noses looking for the one to make their wishes come true.  Yes, spring is in the air and with it comes love.  There is nothing like springtime to fill the heart and head with thoughts of love and being loved.  For weeks now my profile has sat idle on Match.com.  Not a soul has beckoned at my door (except that stupid one who stood me up) or even bothered to wink at me.  Sadly, I was truly contemplating giving up but... what's this??  You've got mail, and mail, and wink and wink.  I get request after request to respond.  Man after man seeks me out and tells me how charming my profile, darling my photos, alluring and interesting I seem.  I pull up my public view and look at my profile and my photos.  No, that's me.  I haven't changed.  No one has gotten me confused and put Jennifer Aniston in my place.  It's just springtime and the thrill of the chase is on for males of all species.  Suddenly, I am hit with shades of Middle School.  Doesn't this feel a little familiar, I think.  Don't I remember something like this happening right about this time back then?  Oh, yes, now I remember: men break up right before Christmas and never want a girlfriend again until after the dreaded Valentine's Day Massacre.  Then its full steam ahead, running all over each other in a futile attempt to secure a promising female for the mating season.  Everywhere I look, there's facial hair.   Seventy year old widowers with really bad teeth and bald heads tell me of their interest in seeing me sitting in their Miatas or traveling cross country in their Winnebagos. Seventy -five year olds ask if I can still drive at night and could I pick them up, or we could do lunch.  The older ones (yes, there are older ones) ask if I have looked into assisted living arrangements and suggest we might split the cost of a room should we find we enjoy each other's company. I wonder that if I am dating my father, does that mean I'm becoming my Mother???  Yes, love is in the air.  And it stinks.

Birdhouses 101

Just before Christmas I had a call from a local carpenter who asked if I would be interested in becoming his assistant.  We talked for several minutes and he explained that he needed someone to do some painting, pin striping on furniture and lettering of some signs for his business.  Hold things steady.  I knew I would be really good at that.  Being the completely trusting individual that I am, I said yes and told him to call after the holidays and we'd talk again.  I spent the next few days running background checks, credit reports and talking to everyone in town. Checking the local papers for crime reports and going on line to check out the Sheriff's Department"s Most Wanted List.   Of course I checked out my man dictionary which never fails to provide me with the real story.  I  looked up "wood working".  Under the definition for wood working was "likes to work with wood".  Now I knew that had to be wrong so I tried several different approaches.  Man who likes to work with wood, Man who says something about carpentry, Man who mentions he likes to build things in wood.  Over and over again I got the same definition. "Man who likes to work with wood".  Nothing with men could be that simple. But as I said I am very trusting.  I met with my new carpenter friend, George, and was pleasantly surprised to meet someone who "works with wood".  It would be an understatement to say George is unusual.  And very talented.  He has a barn filled with projects, table bases, tops, legs (not human), tons of different kinds of drawer pulls and piece after piece of furniture that showed great potential but was unfinished.  George already says I am a slave driver.  I see us becoming famous for our quirky little tables and corner hutches.  Of course, I have only built birdhouses, but I have now built several birdhouses. I have found the entire thing an adventure.  You can build 2 birdhouses out of one fence board.  Simple cuts, nails and some imagination.  I have also learned that different birds need different size holes for their comfort,  its best to clean the houses of old nest each spring, and a perch is optional. The most interesting fact though is that just as with men and women, the female bird selects the nest.  If a male bird tries to force a female into a certain nest or house, the female will become very aggressive and the male may even loss his mate.  Same with women.   I've never seen a man end up happy in a marriage in which he insisted on a houses contrary to his wife's wishes.  So the saying " If momma ain't happy, ain't nobody happy" also appears to apply in the bird world.  George and I are teaching a birdhouses class here in town on Friday afternoons.  Of course, I am just his assistant, but I am learning all I can and look forward to the day when I get to run the table saw. Power tools are a big turn on.  I better check my male dictionary again.  Hadn't thought of that one.  I will admit though I really think George is just a wood worker, a carpenter.  I have to say though last week he asked if I would like to get a cappuccino after class.  George said, " Want to run down to the QT and get a cup?  They make a good cappuccino".  I pleasantly declined since I don't do caffeine after lunch so I can't tell you if that's true or not. I really am not sure if it was a "date" you know.  I mean, I guess it could have been. If  it was, well,  I am certain it was the first time I'd ever been asked out to a filling station.  But I do just love my birdhouses and I am making a good assistant.

Imaginary Lovers and Romance

Three older women stand in the floral department of Kroger, buying left over Valentine's flowers. I am one of them. We laugh at ourselves.  Yesterday I saw a wonderful story of a couple married 70 years. They were holding hands. He said he gave her candy for Valentine's and she said she gave him a kiss, just want he wanted. I can't remember ever seeing my parents demonstrate one moment of romantic love. No flowers, perfume, boxes of chocolates. I have always blamed this on my mother's propensity to complain very openly about her asthma, allergies, weight.  But sometimes  I wonder about that.  While I was growing up my mother loved her "shows".  The soaps that dominated daytime television. I can't tell you the number of times she "forgot" to pick me up at school, delivery the cupcakes for a party or run an errand for me because she was either watching her shows or terribly depressed about the brain tumor, weight gain and/or impending divorce of one of her "ladies".  All of which could occur on any given day/to the same person/ in an hour's span. When in her late 80s, a series of small stokes forced my Mother to a nursing home for her safety, she began to live the life she had witnessed in her shows.  Although she had never exhibited the desire or even the slighest inclination to romance, she found it the nursing home, in the form of her imaginary lover, Robert. He truly must have been the most romantic man ever.  Mother's world was a whirl of flowers, love songs, and lavish attention and gifts.  When Mother couldn't decide between the Cadillac and the Lincoln Robert wanted to buy her, he insisted she take both.  Once when I came to visit, Mother sat starting in wonder at her ceiling. Lifting her finger she pointed up and moved with great care her head slowly around. "Look", she said, " Just look at what he's done now.  Written I love you, I love you, I love all around the room".  I always thought she was just living the stories, imaging all sorts of accidents and incidents that would occur weekly on the soaps.  But now I wonder if it had not been the lure of the romance that Mother loved.  On several occasions, Robert passed away in the most horrifying and tragic of circumstances and Mother played the grieving widow to the hilt.  But always the love over came the rattlesnake bite or the automobile accident, and Robert returned from the grave, ever devoted and generous. Maybe instead of the drama, it was the romance that brought him back.  All those years Mother may have wanted to complain about flowers and chocolate and didn't get the chance. A few weeks before she passed away, I found her in a huff when I came into her room.  I asked what was wrong and she looked at me with one of her famous indignant looks. She asked me if  I was interested in Robert.  I immediately told her no and reminded her that I was married and very happy.  She nodded and seemed to forget her jealousy and the threat to her happiness. Just before leaving her though, I did ask about the age difference that she had so often had mentioned to me. You see, Mother said that Robert, despite several funerals, death in both war and peace and varied world adventures was only 47.  Almost half my mother's age.  Mother laughed slightly at my lack of worldliness and rolled her eyes in the most coquettish of ways.  "Well", she said "We don't plan to have children".  Maybe romance never dies. At least not in our imaginations.

That hurt

Tonight I got stood up.  Its not like this is the first time it has happened to me in my life.  But it always surprises me when someone purposely hurts another person.  I am always caught off guard because I think everyone is like me.  Scared and a little nervous, but mostly open and honest and trying.  It doesn't appear to be that way anymore. And to be honest it may never have been. Do you remember in the movie You've Got Mail  when cute and innocent, Meg Ryan gets stood up by the savvy and successful Tom Hanks, who played a character, appropriately named "Fox"?  Meg is hurt beyond belief but still finds it in her heart to email the cold and calculating Mr. Fox telling him of her feelings and asking so sweetly "why?".  Trying to understand the subtleties of human nature and the callousness of males in particular.  Their love affair was complicated and all finally came out right in the wash but still I think of how she felt as she walked home that night through the streets of New York; placing a single rose in the garbage, signifying the end of a dream.  Disappointed, sad and hurt.  I didn't walk home or sit in a cafe and wait.  Instead I waited by the phone for a call that did not come and man who did not say "I am sorry".  I don't suspect roses will arrive tomorrow with a note saying his dog died, he had a wreck or a meteorite hit his home just as he was dialing my number.  No, I suspect I will never hear from him.  And I am not Meg Ryan.  I will not email him a kind and loving note wishing to understand.  Instead I will take a long bath and sink under the warm water far enough to hide my tears if not my disappointment.  Tomorrow the sun will shine and I will go to Scott's Antique Mall and shop and laugh with girlfriends and buy something I don't need to fill a house that is full of stuff I don't need but that makes me feel better for having loss so many things that I did need.  With each disappointment in life we look again to see what truly matters, what is real and what makes us whole.  If it a call that doesn't come from a man we don't even know, we are in some deep do-do.  If we know ourselves and the people we love and the God who loves us, we just need a popper-scooper and a good bottle of wine.  I have the wine and can find the scooper at Scott's tomorrow, laughing with some of the people who matter.

Dating

I am trying to date.  If I say that in such a way that it sounds like I am trying to run a marathon or I am trying to lift something extremely heavy, it is because that's exactly the way this feels. Impossible and very painful. Something that could put you in the hospital.  Maybe give you a hernia. Yesterday I spent an hour on the phone with what appeared to be a nice gentleman from Blue Ridge, Georgia, right up the road.  He was several years older than I and did not appear to be overly attractive. Nice, but normal looks.  He did not appear in his photos with his shirt off or talk about long walks on the beach. He did not mention splitting the cost of a date, or motorcycles.  I thought he was looking for more than sex or to get married. Male code for that is "I like romance. I am a very romantic guy". We hung up without any mention of getting together again.  Feeling a little let down I went on Match and did a search and found someone in my town. I was shocked.  He also did not mention long walks on the beach (this is man talk for I want sex on the beach) and had on his shirt. I mention this because my ex always appears on everything without his shirt. This must be man for I want sex but with someone 30 years younger (or 40 if I don't think there will be criminal prosecution) and dumb. And possibly evil. This guy looked good, lived here, loved dogs (man for goodhearted and I am a dog person!), American Idol (that's my favorite!!), dressing up (my middle name!!!), eating Italian (me,me!!!!), in public office (I used to run for anything!!!!!), and looking for someone who could travel (did I mention I am unemployed!!!!!!).  A true match made in heaven. I winked.  This is female for I am interested.  He ignored my wink.  I sent a very short email.  He ignored my email.  He did look at my profile and was on line during the evening because I am now beginning to become extremely obsessive compulsive and am checking his every move.  I am insulted and soon to be in raged.  I sent another email telling him all my qualities, except the unemployed part(or course), he ignored me still.  I feel slightly warm and check to see if I am running fever. I notice a small rash on my neck.  My stomach is hurting and I feel faint. He is still on line and ignoring me.  I get out the phone book and try to put his name together from the stupid hints in his profile. I know now I am running a fever.  I think about driving around and looking for him in town. What is wrong with me?  Have I lost my mind?  Do I have a strange mental illness?  No, I am just trying to date. Should I say more?????? PS  A friend reminded me, its Lord and Taylor. Lord, I hope someday I can afford to go back in there.

The True Meaning of Grace

Last night it snowed, again. My record of being quarantined here in the snow is 6 days. I look out over the beauty of the mountains and I am moved by the quiet of this white morning. And the reality of my alone-ness. I would say loneliness but it sounds pitiful and I am not a pitiful person. Being a person who prides herself on resiliency I immediately think that I am grateful to be warm and have my second cup of coffee. Yesterday I awoke to find myself in my own little igloo.  I immediately thought I had lost my electricity but the familiar hum of my now constant companion, a cool air vaporizer, said no. I adjusted the thermostat, ran to the gas logs, checked the pilot on the stove, all coming to the same conclusion. I was out of propane. After four calls, a trip to the propane office, and sitting by the phone half the day, the young man came and filled my tank. We discussed the double homicide in Jasper where I live, the harshness of this winter and my fear of gas.  He patiently lit my pilots again and hurried on to others who were like me, fearing the impending storm, and the huge bill he tenderly laid on my kitchen table. Now I am warm. And filled with a true sense of gratitude. I won't say that I didn't worry. I cried, fussed, cussed, laid on the floor and reasoned with God that I have had a lot on me and that I am truly trying in all that he presents to me. But still the bill for almost $900 did not evaporate in the blue flame of my gas logs. After an afternoon of  gnashing of teeth, I made soup and watched American Idol and crawled into bed to read.  A terrible head cold has ended my promising Zumba career but I am determined to wiggle again next week. Within moments the phone ran and unexpectedly, God answered my prayer with the voice of an angel telling me that an unexpected check was coming.  While I am certain God does not usually answer our requests for what we want, He does seem to figure out what we need. My life has not been easy and I would put it up against any soap opera character, past or present. To say it has been a complete and utter mess would be an understatement. But I  know that I have been blessed over and over by the true meaning of Grace. A gift that was not deserved nor expected.  I will pay the bill, have some left over and send a small check to Pickens Animal Rescue.  I am alone.  Sometimes I am lonely.  But I am not abandoned.  Now if God will just think about finding me a date. There is nothing in my life that a good manicure and a strong helmet will not fix.

What is a blog?

For several years now people have told me "You need to write a book" and I have really tried.  But its very difficult to write a book.  It takes time, attention, dedication and the ability to say something of worth in a way that others will read it and find it entertaining.  Now my daughters say "Mom, you should blog". I say, OK.  "What is a blog?"  I wonder how will people find it or why will they read it.  After watching that movie about Julia Child, I have decided though to give it a try. I do have time, will give it attention, are a little dedicated, and definitely have things to say.  Most of what I have to say is about what is happening to me.  I am growing old. I know everyone is surprised when it happens to them.  But the truth is, I am shocked. I keep thinking I was young such a short time ago.  Age does have some appeal and I think that it could be interesting, if not fulfilling in some sad and pitiful ways.  I  am single and live alone in the North Georgia Mountains where I see deer, bear and heavily bearded men on a daily basis. Since I can't move, don't know where to go, or what to do; I have decided to try and stay here and grow old with some civility.  And so, here is my first installment of my blog "Growing Old with Grace".  I am Grace and trying to live up to my name. My first advice, buy a good foundation.  And I don't just mean bras and control top panties. I mean don't just cover up the body, soften over the face. Use a good liquid foundation and a great neck cream. My favorite is Alexander de Markoff.  20 years ago, I used to buy it at Lloyd and Taylor in Mobile but now only find it online. Usually $55 a bottle but it last and covers well.  You can be thin and have your hair done but if you are a mess of wrinkles, it won't matter. Don't skimp on the neck. Buy the best you can afford.  We all ruined ourselves with the sun so a good foundation is like a good friend.  Get a good one and stick with them. And I still love the sun so a good sunscreen and a cute hat won't hurt.