That's it. We're getting a raccoon.

The Power of Music

I've had more than one conversation lately about how under-funded arts programs are.  Every life story has a musical soundtrack and it's created by people who spend countless hours in practice and education.  It's timely that I ran across this sweet short video today.

What are you gonna wear?

Olivia's switching schools from a small private setting to a large public setting this year so there's a lot of change going on with that.  She's eager to try all the things a large school can offer. She feels like she's in the real world now. So far she's done a volleyball clinic, her regular swim club on campus, tried out for show choir and this week she's at band camp. She is loving all the fun of meeting new people and being part of something that involves more than 20 kids.  We've never had to worry too much about dress codes and regulations. I get the impression that at the new school kids wear something other than what looks like pajamas on campus and that there's some attention to straps and appropriate lengths.  I'm trying to make sure we follow all the rules and she doesn't end up embarrassed by some oversight on my part.

I don't like to be at odds with my daughter.  I'll admit, we get along so well that I'm usually not prepared for some disagreement.  My lack of preparation usually means things are gonna escalate. It's because I don't have enough time to consider whether this is worth the battle. This morning Olivia bounced downstairs in her Rolling Stones t-shirt (the logo with the open mouth, tongue out) and some decent length shorts. I love the Stones and I love the logo, but since she cut the sleeves out of the shirt there's a little gapping that happens that concerned me.  If we were still at the beach, no problem, but a new school is not where I want to push the boundaries and if we are going to have an argument about what you're wearing, especially since I purchased it, I'm going to WIN the battle.  I'm not asking for a collared shirt buttoned up to the top, but I was thinking adding a tank top to the ensemble would prevent any skin showing under her arm area and I was thinking at 7:30 a.m. that I don't need to explain the laundry particulars about how a shirt stretches out by the end of the day and even her sports bra is gonna still leave some problems.  I was thinking how mortified she'd be if she were to be the one kid singled out for not following the dress code. Also, I was thinking that we've had this very same discussion about this very same shirt before. I was unhappy.

She was thinking it's hot. She was thinking maybe this time she could win the Last Word Contest.  I reminded her that I hate arguing and that I'd rather save that for the big stuff like lofty ideas instead of shirts.  I made some threats.  She made some smart comments. I told her to get her own damn breakfast out of the oven and went outside with the dog to cool off.  She was unhappy and muttering on her march back upstairs. Probably shot me a few birds while she grabbed her tank top. We both agreed to stop talking.

I acknowledge that I could have handled my part better. The storm passed, but I believe wholeheartedly in apologies so I made sure to apologize for losing my temper on our drive to camp. I assured her that no shirt was going to keep me from loving her.  We talked about some stuff on the news. Laughed about that 94 year old store owner who told the robber he could take all the Tootsie Rolls he wanted, but she wasn't opening the cash register.

So everything was all right. She was back to her polite, happy self when she got her saxophone and lunch out of the back seat and breezed right past a male student sporting a shirt that says I LOVE BOOBIES.  I'm sure he's dedicated to finding a breast cancer cure or something.  I just had to take a moment with my head on the steering wheel while I guffawed.

Welcome to the real world, baby.

And we're back

I learned a few years ago not to complain to people who aren't at the beach about having to leave the beach.  They are the least sympathetic crowd.  Really, there's no one who wants to hear you whine about how hard it was to leave the sand and sea after a few months.  That look on their faces is not at all sympathy. If you look closely, you'll be able to identify the secret loathing. I used to dread when other friends would explain to new people I met how we'd be gone ALL SUMMER because that's really no way to introduce yourself and because I never felt entitled to such a wonderful existence, just fortunate.

This is an atypical summer for us.  Olivia's at the age where she's becoming involved in lots of extracurricular activities so that meant cutting the beach time short this year (and maybe for a few more).  I have to remind myself that it's temporary.  When we first started (almost 10 years ago?) spending summers at the beach I imagined that we'd always do that.  And I also did that thing that humans do and caught up thinking that time away from the water was not valuable time.  It's this game of opposites all humans do. If one place is good, the other must be miserable. If one spouse is good, the ex must be horrible.  The truth, in my experience, is that I have 365 days a year and I'd like to enjoy most of them so it doesn't work, even just as a practical matter, to offhandedly accept that the other 42 weeks of the year must inherently be horrible if these 10 weeks are so wonderful. Talk about undermining your own happiness.

Saying goodbye to the sand and our friends is never easy. We just all pretend like it's not happening.  It was a good day to leave, though, because of the torrential downpour.  Normally Megan waves at the ferry and shouts M-M-MISSSSSS YOUUUUUU until we are out of sight, but that morning she couldn't make herself get out of bed for the ritual goodbye.  That's okay because the last goodbye with Kenny and Christopher caused her to sob and eat a half gallon of ice cream, crash in the bed and then take her spaghetti dinner into the bathroom and lock the door. This is a method for resolving grief that I fully endorse incidentally.

So we ripped the bandaid off, hugged our friends and shook the sand off for the 8 hour return drive home. The miracle that occurred in the car was that Olivia and I spent hours enjoying THE SAME MUSIC.  I know. We thought this would never happen, but there it was. 8 hours of togetherness and neither of us were miserable.  We are used to being together and it's not uncommon for us to enjoy some of the same music, but generally an agreeable ride involves me getting comfortable with lyrics that seem horribly disquieting coming from a 12 year old girl's mouth.  No parent wants to hear her daughter mindlessly singing, "When you're ready come and get it." Or even better, "I gotta have youuuuu..."  Ugh.  I should clarify that Olivia has a wide range of musical interests. She's just as likely to sing Johnny Cash as she is AC/DC. She can belt out a little Sheryl Crow and it doesn't keep her from learning all of the words to Macklemore's latest. Thank God she's always been skeptical of Miley Cyrus and all the other Disney princesses.  Still, it's not uncommon for me to spend the drive home frequently changing stations to find one song that we both can nod our heads to.

Anyway, I had loaded up on Kate Campbell music because SHE'S COMING TO SING AT MY HOUSE.  Let me say that again. OH MY GOD KATE CAMPBELL IS COMING TO SING IN MY HOUSE. She does house concerts and I'm beyond excited that she's got time in October to swing by and sing and visit with my friends (let me know if you wanna come).  I wanted to familiarize myself with more of her music and Olivia didn't object so we started listening together.  She loves different ones than I love, but we both sang a little and laughed a little and even cried a little at the same ones. We took a Kate break and after I ran into the restroom at a convenience store I returned to the car to find her shouting at an XM station, "GIVE ME SOME LYRICS THAT MEAN SOMETHING PEOPLE."  I'm not sure I've ever had a prouder moment.

And here we are. No sand, no salt water, no late nights, but still, lots to look forward to and lots to be happy about in Rome, GA. All of the pets in the house are chattering about our return and Kenny's beyond excited that the refrigerator is now miraculously full.  Keep you posted on the transition.

Well this is about the grossest thing I've ever heard

Found on the local newspaper site today was the following article detailing just about the most disgusting attempt at voyeurism I've ever heard of.  Since it's already in my head ruining my dinner I figure I will take you down with me.  Bleh. Here's the link:

Tulsa man arrested after woman spots him in septic tank beneath women's bathroom: SAND SPRINGS, Okla. (AP) — A Tulsa man has been arrested on a peeping Tom complaint after police discovered him inside a septic tank beneath a women's bathroom at a Sand Springs water park. Tulsa C...

Cuteness factor overload

If something happens to me

Since I've got all in the time in the world, check out this blog I found:  Lost Words In the Chamber. This blog is not making any sort of statement on capital punishment. It simply catalogs the last statements made by people on their way to be executed.  I KNOW it sounds ghastly, but if you're going to find sincere words, surely it's the last words of folks headed to their execution, right?  Think about it. How many people actually are of pretty clear mind and pretty good health are informed about the minute when they will die? Not many. In fact, other than suicide (and I'm not sure if that counts as clear thinking) most people don't have the opportunity to see it coming.  I can't imagine anyone asking me, "Any last words?" as the piano drops from the sky.  Nor can I imagine having the presence of mind to actually draft something at that point.  "Why yes, nurse, and I would like for you to gather an audience before I begin. Make sure to include the people who hate me most and the people who love me most."

I can honestly say that there's nothing else enviable about being executed. I read a bunch of their last words and they all had different ways of saying about what you'd imagine - they talked about love and gratitude and forgiveness and God. Some of them were pissed and I guess that sounds about right. It does make you wonder, though, if you knew the hour and moment and if you still had your health and mind, what would you impart to the people who came to watch? Assume now, that this audience includes those you've injured and those who love you. And probably a minister. I'm always instructing Kenny, "If something happens to me, make sure you tell Olivia/Christopher..." and it's not because I'm a fatalist. It's because we all have something you'd think you'd like to make sure people remember.

So I've started a rough draft.  Obviously, to Kenny I'd remind him how much I admire and adore him. I'd tell him how grateful I am for how he commits to his family and for his steady expression of love for me. I'd tell Christopher that our relationship is one of the shiniest treasures I have and that I am so proud of the man he's made himself into. I'd tell Olivia that she's the best I've ever seen and that being her mama was the biggest joy and most frightening undertaking of my life. I'd tell my parents and sister that my shortcomings are not their fault - the left handed scissors were never gonna work out. I'd tell them that I had hoped to be there to take care of them when they were old. I'd not mention anything about eating fruit or using sunscreen. I'd forget to mention all manner of helpful things, but I'd apologize to people that I didn't honor with attention and kindness. I'd tell my friends that they filled me up and that their swapping of secrets and laughs and pain were all an honor and a joy. I'd tell them that the times I didn't behave authentically were times when I just wanted to avoid being controversial because I wanted them to keep loving me. I'd tell them to remember that I wanted so much for people to think highly of me that I accepted a lot of take out boxes from servers even though I don't eat leftovers. I'd tell God that I looked for him and found him in both the ugly and the beautiful and that I really wanted my life to be a blessing. I'd extol compassion and gratitude as the most valuable of virtues and I'd beg forgiveness for the times I'd not remembered that.  If I started with a list of particular favorite memories, I'd probably never shut up.

Are you gonna do this too? The advantage is that, since we don't know the date of our demise, we can keep adding.  Probably when I go to sleep I'll think of a bunch of things I should have included, but that always happens and if I don't get it all said, I'll just have to let my life speak for itself.

Day 4

Day 4 of ALL BY MYSELF.

It's raining here so I was feeling a bit cagey yesterday. I decided to go off the island to see a movie, but when I arrived at the theater the movie I wanted to see was sold out. Since I'm here with all the time in the world I decided to go see another while I waited for the one I preferred.  If there's one experience that can make you feel anonymous, it's going to a movie by yourself. I kind of like having a meal alone sometimes or seeing a movie - I certainly wouldn't let being alone keep me from going to eat or see whatever I had in mind. But boy does it bother other people to see someone eating alone.

I used to eat regularly by myself while Olivia was at swim practice. I had a favorite place and I'd take a book maybe and order something I thought would warm me up, but I finally stopped this practice because the proprietor would loudly march me to my table belting out, "Dining alone AGAIN?" or something to that effect and it became clear that my solitary dining made him sad. I did at least say, "It doesn't bother ME, but it seems to upset YOU."  Also, every server in that place seemed to think that my table for one status meant that I wanted to visit with them individually so they'd stop by the table and come up with all manner of things to entertain me when all I really wanted was some soup and the chance to get a few chapters covered in my book.  I do have a few places where I am friends with the servers and those servers are friendly and welcoming every single time. They are also kind enough to leave me with my book when I open it. If you are also an introvert, you know how this goes.

This morning brought more rain so I'm again confined to house and porch. It's not like I couldn't brave getting wet, but what's better at the grocery store or the post office than my book?  Here's my spot for the afternoon: