Father's Day

Normally, I tend to think about my dad when this weekend rolls around. He taught me a lot, supported me unconditionally, and probably spent many a sleepless night worrying about his children. On the good side, none of us are in prison, junkies, or basically on the downward slide of life. We're pretty upstanding citizens, in stable relationships, pay our taxes, and keep our noses clean. All in all, he and my mom gave us a happy childhood and a future. We were lucky beyond belief to have them.

This Father's Day, I'm sending out lots of love to my Beloved, who is as good a father as mine was. My Beloved often thanks his departed father for something he was taught in childhood, and remembers his upbringing with gratitude and some wincing at what a pain in the patooty he was as a teenager. He and his brother were as fortunate in their parents as I was. My Beloved shows every day that he learned the fatherhood game from a master. Our girls are very, very special to him, as he is to them.

I wish everyone had as great a father.

Photo Albums

Recently, we were flipping through some old photo albums, having a great time reliving the Galapagos trip, Christmases past, and funny birthday parties. Then it struck me - since the advent of really cool digital cameras, I haven't put together a single photo album. All my pix are on either my camera, or my hard drive. This is not a good thing, since I have been known to lose one and crash the other.

For a while, I printed copies from my hard drive, but the quality never thrilled me. Even with more advanced printer quality, I just couldn't get around to making the copies that I should. We're talking years here. If I don't get going, the task will be too daunting.

How I wish I could go back to an old-fashioned camera and 24 developing. Even with at least 50% of the prints going straight into the trash, I had a record of of our lives. Now I have "devices."

Memorial Day

When I was a child, my mother would buy us red paper poppies to pin on our collars for Veteran's Day. I didn't learn until I was much older that the tradition came from the British in the aftermath of WW I. I had no idea what the poppies symbolized, but I loved their papery crinkliness and the bright color. And because I come from a line of military men, I was aware that honoring our veterans was important.

Today, when I visit Arlington and the graves of my grandfather, father, and uncle, killed in Korea, I never fail to get a lump in my throat when I see the rows upon rows of white headstones. My brother and I considered buying a larger headstone for our relatives, something fancy like those marking the graves of those whose families have eschewed simple white marble. Bu ultimately, we stuck with army-issue, simple and plain. If they're good enough for those thousands upon thousands of men who fought and died for their country, they're good enough for our family.

From our family plots, I can see the new sections, opened to take in the dead from all the wars in the Middle East. The lump in my throat disappears as I cry, openly. Arlington is both a beautiful and terrible place.

I can't believe it's done!

Yes, the grand back yard renovation is finally finished. I want to add about a hundred exclamation points, but I restrained myself. Barely. I love it. Evan Froelich of Fernhill Landscaping did a wonderful job, and next year, I've already told him to start planning the front yard renovation.  What I love is that there's room for growth, everything will have color or scent throughout the year, and the birds are flocking to our new cherry laurels and hollies. In fact, it's a regular chorus of cardinals, bluebirds, chickadees, mockingbirds, robins, and woodpeckers. When I take the dogs out at night, the air is scented and just plain heavenly.

The grand bridal shower is tomorrow (for the best friend of my younger daughter), and I'll try to post pictures.  For now, here are a few of the finished product.

This is what we're doing. . .

Evan and Matt wrestling a holly by the shed

Shawn digging holes for the cherry laurels

Matt, my Beloved, and Evan with holly in a hole.

Now you can see how my life is being consumed by the new landscaping. I'm busy moving azaleas that don't fit the color scheme into other spots in the front yard, still tearing up liriope and periwinkle (I will never, never, NEVER plant that stuff again!), and buying more plants. This is a lot of bare earth, and I'm feeling like it'll never look un-naked. I know this is silly, but I can't control the urge to pick up a few more azaleas, some peiris (Dorothy Wycoffs), and whatever looks good at the moment. which is a lot of stuff.  I'm lucky I have the room for it all! Next week, the perennials and rock garden should come together, then the mulch. Oh, and the maple tree will be set where the hickory once grew. It fell victim to a twisting wind that turned its top into match sticks. This whole yard renovation will give us joy for years to come. 

 

I have many excuses

for not posting more regularly. The biggie - it's Spring! And that means yard and garden, of course. I decided this was the year to rip out all the 25 year old plantings and start over. Little did I know what this would involve, but believe me when I tell you, 36 hours in labor having a baby was easier. At least it was over in 36 hours and then I had a darling little girl. So far, I have weeks of digging out periwinkle and lirope, old azaleas and bushes that had gotten too big for their britches, and heaven knows what else that I'd forgotten I ever stuck in the ground. You know those plants - the ones where you say, "well, if it makes it okay, if not, okay, too." They made it. Day lilies had multiplied past the point of being cute, and the daffodils that didn't bloom this year were all excavated. Here's a pix of the back bed, all cleaned out. Well, almost cleaned out. Four azaleas can stay until they've bloomed, then they're outta here. It's a LOT bigger than it looks in the photo.

I have a wonderful landscaper who came up with beautiful plans for a whole new look to the back yard beds, and it's slowly coming to life. Evan of Fernhill Va has done the legwork finding the new beauties and the creative planning part, and now, I get to sit back and watch the yard come alive, again.

I can't wait.

A snippet

A scene keeps coming to me. It won't work in any of my current WIP, but it's definitely a kickstart for a story or something. I just don't know what. Stuff like this drives a writer crazy, or at least, this writer, because instead of keeping the fingers on the keyboard for the current book, I'm constantly thinking about this wee bit, wondering who these people are, and why in heck are they speaking to me now???

So I thought I'd drop it into this little white box and see if it gives my imagination a bit of rest. It's like when you finally get down and dirty and write that two page list, all the details are on paper so your mind can take it easy until the next blast of to-do ideas pop into your head.

Here's the set-up for the scene: A youngish woman with dark hair is at the buffet table of a party, and the woman next to her asks, "Will your mother be able to come?"  (to what, I have no  idea!) as they fill their party plates.  The younger woman hesitates, then replies, with a look that's both startled and wary, but not sad, "She's not with us." Okkkaaayyy....

Is the mother in an asylum? Dead? A contract killer on assignment? In disgrace, in prison, in a ditch with her head blown off?  Sheesh, I'm not sure, but the answer hinges the story on its frame.

When you read one of my books with this scene in it, you can say your saw the very first rough draft.