• Time in a bottle…

    Remember the old Jim Croce song, “Time in a Bottle”?  Time is flying by.  I see the changes in my children, my grandchildren and especially myself.  I didn’t expect to stay young forever and, truthfully – in my heart and mind – I still feel like the young woman my daughter is today.  Too bad the rest of my BODY didn’t get the memo!  😉

    In a couple of months, my high school graduating class will celebrate our FIFTIETH high school reunion.  Unfortunately, I will miss it.  I have a hard time believing that FIFTY years have passed since I graduated from high school.  It seems like last week!  I think I can explain that rationale.  After six decades and a few years, our long term memory is actually better than our short term memory!  Go figure.

    In the spirit of nostalgia, I’ll share a few photos from yesterday – uh, I mean yesteryear…

    My first two children (fifteen and a half months apart) and I were out shopping one day.  Here, they were about two and a half and four years of age.  I decided to snap some photos of them in a Photomat.  I love their expressions!  Priceless photos and memories. 

    They’re all grown up now.  He’s a physician, happily married and the father of three daughters.  He was a missionary doctor in Peru for almost 7 years but thankfully they’re back in the states now.  She’s happily married and the mom of two sons and two daughters.  She has a degree in fine art and is a wonderful artist but has little time to paint between homeschooling and managing everyone’s busy schedule! 

    Where did all that time go?

     I love this photo.  This is my youngest with his beautiful strawberry blonde hair.  We had been camping in the Great Smokey Mountains that week.  Here, he was walking across a beam that was about two feet above the ground…that’s a lot when you’re barely three years old.  What you can’t see in the photo is that his dad and brother and sister were cheering him across.

    He’s all grown up now.  Happily married and the father of a beautiful 18 month old baby girl (and they’re expecting their second late summer).  He has always been an entertainer…for as long as I can remember.  Now, he’s the executive producer of a successful television show. 

    Where did all that time go? 

     In the three photos below, my sisters and I were having our usual “four sisters” photo taken at one of our gatherings.  The first photo was taken about 1961.  The other two in the mid-1980’s.   As always, there was plenty of kidding as we lined up.  The lower two priceless photos were taken at my late sister Gerry’s house on the hill.  Sadly, two of my sisters are now in Heaven.

    Where did all that time go?  

    Parts of this post were originally published in My Southern Heart

  • A little Déjà vu…

    I was thirty-four years old when my youngest child was born.  His older brother and sister were twelve and ten.  Needless to say, he never wanted for entertainment.  It’s a wonder he learned to walk before he was one year old, since someone was always carrying him, but he did.  When he started talking, it was in paragraphs with an extensive vocabulary.  His outgoing and sweet personality was evident early on.  He still has it.

    He grew up, graduated from college and married his beautiful college sweetheart.  Now, they have an amazing baby girl.  She has the sweetest disposition to go along with her beautiful blue eyes and strawberry blonde hair.  Her mom says she’s just like her dad…and she is!

    Above and below:  love their similar expressions!

      

     

    Below:  walking with her Dad, wearing her Urlacher jersey with her tutu and Mary Janes!

  • Time traveling…

    I’m amazed at how our senses can take us back to another time and another place…

    The taste of a delicious, hot Southern biscuit reminds me of my Mama’s wonderful cooking. One bite of homemade banana pudding with the golden brown meringue, I close my eyes…forty six years pass…and I’m home again.

    If I get even a slight whiff of the perfume “Windsong” by Prince Matchabelli or of the men’s cologne, “English Leather”, it’s 1966 all over again and I’m a young newlywed.

    If I hear the song “Aldi-La”, it’s 1964 and I’m sitting in the coffee shop at Mississippi College (I think it was called “The Wigwam”) with my roommate, Linda, who had just broken up with her boyfriend and we are both in tears. If the old movie “A Man Called Peter” is playing on the classic movie channel, I think of a Saturday night in 1963 and a young man named Ross.

    Sometimes our senses can even play tricks on us. Not long after my father passed away, I was shopping at the grocery store and saw an elderly gentleman who looked so much like my father, even down to the slight parkinsons tremor and the gait. I found myself closely following him for two or three aisles in the grocery store…it was almost like looking at my Daddy all over again. I managed to pull myself together long enough to park the shopping cart and left the store in tears.

    Touch. What can I say? I’m a hugger. I come from a long line of huggers. The human spirit can only go so long without being touched…held…hugged. There have been dozens of studies on how many hugs a day a human needs. As a Registered Nurse, I spent many years taking care of patients and made sure I incorporated some form of touch besides the routine care…a pat on the back or arm…a reassuring hug. Perhaps this is also why the studies have attributed having a pet to a sense of well-being and an overall decrease in blood pressure.

    Have you ever noticed how much we learn from our sense of touch? How many times have we seen something that we’d never seen before and our first response is to want to touch it. Ever notice the sign “Do Not Touch” in a museaum or exhibit?

    I walk into a fabric store and my senses are overwhelmed with row after row of bolts of fabric…all different colors…patterns…textures. I’m also overwhelmed with memories of spending time growing up in the fabric store with my Mama. She was an excellent seamstress and made most of my clothes. We’d spend time together selecting a new pattern and find the fabric for it together. I did the same thing with my children…and, now, my daughter with hers. Mama had so many offers to sew for payment, but she reserved those talents for her family. She told me:  “I only sew for love”.  Years later, after I began the tedious work of sewing for my family, I understood and said the same thing to my family. Who knew that would come full circle as now I hear my daughter repeat the exact declaration as she works hard to sew for her family…

     

    Originally published in My Southern Heart.  

    I’m headed to the fabric store this morning for a super sale on patterns and it brought back memories of this past post.  Thought I’d share…

  • Surprise….

    I was standing at the luggage carousel at the DFW airport waiting for my luggage to roll around…easy to recognize with the Scottish plaid ribbon and the large cupcake ID tag.  My son would be picking me up any minute now.  I had prepared myself that my baby granddaughter would be asleep when I arrived and that I would have to wait until early morning to see her.  I had not been here for the past four months and I could not wait to see her!  Facetime and photos are fun…but definitely not the real thing.

    Just about that time, I heard happy laughter.  I turned around to see my beautiful baby granddaughter toddling toward me, arms up and outstretched!  (She had just started walking the week before!)

    My son and his precious wife stood back, laughing at my surprised and happy expression as I ran toward my granddaughter to scoop her up into my arms. I love surprises like this!

    Friday is her FIRST birthday and it’s going to such a fun week!