My Son Scott

One day Scott will find this blog of mine, squint his eyes, and announce, "See. Nothing about me on mom's blog. But lots about Lisa and the Mears family. Proof, as if any was needed, that she has always loved Lisa best." Then, of course, I will have to deal with that all over again. Sibling rivalry. (But nothing serious. Really. Trust me.) Still, it would be very, very smart to insert a little Scott on this blog before the year ends.

As I was saying, when Scott was born my mother announced, "Oh, dear. I wouldn't want anything any different for you; a family is the joy of life. But remember: now your peace of mind is gone forever."

Much has happened to trouble my Scott-ish peace of mind since that day in 1956. There was the concussion when five-year-old Jeannie next door pushed him down the steps backwards in Charlotte, three trips to the emergency room for stitches one summer in Pittsburgh, an open chin from flying over the handlebars in Camp Hill, and then thsee stitches were opened up by a Little League fly ball. Actually, I choose NOT to list everything here. Even now I am not fully recovered. Hence the gray hair.

But, as dad always said he would, Scott grew up in spite of me. He has an enormous gypsy jazz guitar talent, his own picturesque house ( with a unique kitchen and a great backyard swing) a cool car, a degree in Sociology (had to put that in , didn't I?!), two terrific collegiate kids of his own (speaking of peace of mind), and a heart as big as all outdoors. We are all aware that there is a lot of Thompson in him. Get to know him and then you decide if that Thompson-ism is a good or bad thing. As for me, I love him dearly.....worth every piece of mind.

xox Mom

Finding Willie

Seems as though we have all spent a sizable portion of our lives looking for Willie. When he was only in the crawl stage he would hide behind the sofa, under the dining room table, or, really, inside a kitchen cupboard. Later, always in 'scamper' mode, he would hunker down in the hemlock tree where we couldn't see him. It wasn't even easy finding him among the other second-graders at recess on the playground, and once, at the mall, he super-scared us by curling up in the center of the round sweater rack at The Limited.....for 10 terrifying minutes.

When in high school, he was THAT good that we had trouble following him on the basketball court. A few summers ago we stopped to ask how we could find Willie at the Rockbridge County Young Life camp. A young man in a beat-up red truck told us, "That there's the best camp in Virginny. Anyone who don't like that camp.......jist slap 'em silly 'long side the head." Not much later we found Willie and he was in camp heaven....no slappin' necessary.

Just last week we drove to Newport News, Virginia, turned at the sign that said Christopher Newport University, and walked into the magnificent library. We settled on a comfy couch and......waited for Willie to find us.

As his grandmother, let me say this:

If you are searching for hug therapy from a tall, slim, handsome college junior, it has ALWAYS been worth the trouble to find Willie!

Buttering our Scotch

The Military Tattoo* in Edinburgh is something George has always wanted to see/hear/attend. So when the Tauck brochure arrived, I said, "Let's do it!" That was, I promise, long before we even had a clue that Lisa and family were going to England and Scotland for her 50th birthday and for their 25th wedding anniversary. Our respective travel plans will merge in Edinburgh for one day two weeks from today.....what are the odds of that?????

And what are the odds of the online Tattoo update saying, in paragraph 4:

"Show-stopping turns are expected from the United States as the Citadel Band from Charleston, South Carolina will present an inspiring musical display which has enlivened events across the globe." 

For the record, the Citadel and the Virginia Military Institute have been arch rivals for years. My VMI Keydet, on hearing that we were going to be 'inspired AND enlivened' by the Citadel Band said a very bad word. We are going anyway.

Perhaps next year we can all meet at the Dodge Poetry Festival!?

 

*Military Tattoo, you ask? That's thousands of bagpipes from all over the world in one place.....or a billion fingernails scratching across a blackboard all at once.....depending on how you feel about the pipes.

Stone Harbor 2010

I have been working on THE list.....A list.....SEVERAL lists.....ok.....MANY lists for our upcoming one week by the sea in Stone Harbor. One week! I have a collection of lists from years back in almost every drawer, in almost every nook and cranny of the house. Since 1971. Some are even clever and cutsie. Some are sadly simple. Some are trite and way overdone. The 1978 list spells mayonnaise wrong. That's fine with me; only one of us eats mayonnaise anyway.

So I thought: no more lists.

What we need, we'll get.

What we want, we'll find.

What we can't afford, we'll do without.

That pretty much sums up living anywhere, anytime, doesn't it?

(I'm not that secure: the toilet paper is already packed.)

Short Sweet Story

Kayti loved to call Pennsylvania on her mommy's cell phone. She said, in her kindergarten little-girlie voice, "Mammaw! I have on my pink shirt, my pink pants and my white tennis shoes with the pink shoe laces!"

"A N D," she continued, "My mommy is going to put a pink ribbon in my hair!"

"Oh, Kayti!" I  giggled. "You must just love pink!"

"Not really," she confessed.

Father's Day

Mom told me this. In the 1930's affordable houses were small bungalows built close to each other.....so close that there were very few secrets on Oak Street. Illinois summers, actually Illinois Julys, were 'sweat-heavy,' and oscillating (sic) fans from Montgomery Wards were pricey. The only fan in the house was near the kitchen, by the radio, and under the banjo clock. (Google banjo clock.)

On those 3-h (hazy, hot and humid) July nights everyone had trouble sleeping. All windows were open, of course, in a futile attempt to lure a little air in through the screens.  Mom and dad's bedroom windows and the neighbors' bedroom windows almost touched across that small space of yard between their houses. The air didn't do much circulating, but the arguments those neighbors had nightly came through loud and clear.....timed, usually, around midnight.

Finally, on one of those exasperating nights, the exhausted husband,  weary of his screeching wife,  bellowed out, "Why don't you just shut up?"

She screamed back, "You can't shut me up!"

My dad, worn-out, fed-up,  and totally fuming from those evening bouts next door, stormed out of bed, ran to the open window and roared  back, "Hell no. You ought to know that by now!"

Never again any nocturnal sounds at 140 Oak Street ....except maybe, now and then, a hoot from an owl or a hoot from my victorious father. 

Life is full of tiny triumphs. My dad had many.  

Since Lisa was three years old.....old enough to bring home one of Chuck and Donna's kittens.....she has been supplying us with things we seemed to be needing!

The list includes, but is not limited to, pretty rocks, a cell phone, cards and calenders, dozens of dandelions, a coffee maker, Lucky Charms, books and games, acorns, a Wii, tons of Tab (remember Tab?), a DS Lite, pine cones, a couple of red-headed boyfriends who didn't make the cut, colorful leaves, a pair of turquoise capri pants, two construction paper Mother's Day handkerchief holders, an assortment of milkweed pods, a Piggly Wiggly t-shirt..... and a Phi Beta Kappa key.

THEN, from the University of Virginia, she brought home Gary.....and together they have given us Andy, Willie and Kayti.

Bring it on! 

My Baby Blog

So.....now I have a blog!

And I said to my neighbor,"I have a blog." She answered,"Not a problem. I have a stain stick that should get it right out."