Fledging My Birds

This nest was knocked out of my crepe myrtle tree during the storms this weekend. When I saw it, I lifted it carefully, fearing that it had turned out eggs or sweet baby birds, but it was completely empty. The babies were gone - already fledged. I hope they were okay.

That process of fledging is such a quick one for birds - it takes only a few short weeks to go from hatchling to fledgling. The process for humans is decidedly more complex.

My babies aren't babies any more, but it can be so difficult to remember that when they fall asleep on the couch after a hard day of play, or when they wake up in the morning with their hair all mussed from a good night's sleep. I think it is less obvious in their transitional times between sleeping and waking.

Why is it so hard to let them grow up? I spend all my time teaching them to fly and wishing they would just stay in the nest. No one ever tells you, when you first become a parent, that the entire time your children are growing up you are teaching them to leave you.

But that really is our only task. As much as we would like to shelter them in our nests until the day WE die, that is not our calling. We (and by that I mean "I") often miss that point by coddling and protecting and keeping them from doing things they are fully capable of doing.

Like laundry.

And then I spend a weekend watching them play tennis in a tournament. I watch them deal with frustration and anger and conflict resolution with the other player in an incredibly mature way. I watch them lose big and not fall apart. I watch them almost win, and then lose graciously in the face of their opponents celebration. I watch them shake hands across the net and walk off chatting amiably with the guy that just beat them. I listen to them plan how they are going to work on this thing or that with their coach the next week and I realize something.

I realize how amazing these little people are. I realize that they've reached a place where my parenting is little more than a gentle nudge in the right direction occasionally. I realize that they are steering their own ships with rudders much larger than me and that somehow they know how to do that. Somehow, miraculously, they understand how to do things that I've really never taught them.

Now - those of you with older children will laugh at me and tell me to get ready for the teen years, and I completely understand that my job is not finished. I know that. Teens are a whole different story and we'll deal with many NEW! and EXCITING! ISSUES!

I know that. I know that. I know that. We'll just call those years the flight lesson years.

Right now, my little chirpers are testing their wings - stretching them to see how big they are and how well they will hold them up when they do leave the nest. And I'm going to let them - even though it is hard to watch them grow away from me - even though they may fall and get hurt - even though it may break my heart.

I'll be there to help them up, dust them off a bit - help them reset their goals. And maybe feed them a worm or two.

Or a taco.

Happy Father's Day

For all you wonderful men out there - fathers, uncles, grandfathers, mentors, teachers, coaches, good neighbors - who so positively impact the lives of children...

I wish you a wonderful day full of the things and the people that you love.

I know the papa in this house is getting lots of extra kisses and hugs today!

xoxo to you all!

Too Soon Gone...

I recently joined in a Facebook discussion about real and virtual friends, and if one could be friends with someone you've never actually met. I took the side of "absolutely," and today I feel it even more.

A great light has gone out in our little blogging community. Char was a one-of-a-kind soul. Her photography and writing were both so poetic and dreamlike. She was kind and thoughtful and she will be missed tremendously by any who were privileged enough to know her, in real life or in this virtual one, as I did.

Any of the wonderful compilation of posts here can tell you what you should know about Char. Take a few minutes to read them, look back at the lovely images she shared so freely with us.

Godspeed, Char. And thank you.

Flashback Friday

With a nod to Deb...my own Flashback Friday...

This is what five years looks like. The photo on the left was taken in July, 2006. The photo on the right was taken last weekend.

My baby is not such a baby anymore.

I'll just be over here in the corner, rocking and weeping.

A Utopia of Temperance

The Smarty and I went riding around last weekend, looking at houses in the country with huge tracts of land. This is not because we are selling our house and buying anything out in the country with huge tracts of land, but because for some reason we like to dream about having a house out in the country with huge tracts of land.

Usually, we go out and see how much land 34 acres really is and then laugh ourselves silly at the thought of actually taking care of so much land and then we drive around and just enjoy the scenery around here in east Tennessee. Then we say things like, "But Father...I don't want the land...I only want...to siiiiing!!"

Bonus points for knowing what the heck I'm talking about.

Anyway, on our travels about the rurality of our region, we stumbled across Harriman, TN. We had, of course, heard of Harriman, but hadn't ever had reason to visit there. On this day, though, they were having a car show right on the main drag, and Dr. SmartyPants can't pass up an unexpected car show any more than I can pass up an unexpected art show.

Harriman's downtown is just as cute as a button, people. It has everything that makes small town Americana so sweet and quaint, including a half-restored theater and a couple of antique shops and a group of grannies line-dancing to "Boot Scootin' Boogie."

But the most interesting thing to me was the historical marker I spotted in the middle of the town. While there have been other towns established in Tennessee as utopias, this one takes the prize for being the most high-falutin'. Can you read it?

Harriman: Utopia of Temperance
Incorporated in 1891, this was to be an ideal industrial city, an object lesson for thrift, sobriety, superior intelligence and exalted moral character, where workers would be uncorrupted by Demon Rum. Named for Union General Walter Harriman, former governor of New Hampshire. Leader of movement was Union General Clinton B. Fisk, founder of Fisk University and Prohibition candidate for president in 1888.

Love it. It actually remained liquor free until 1993, although I'm not too sure how they did with the superior intelligence and exalted moral character thing. Such interesting places all around us...you can read more about Harriman, TN here.

Happy Monday. Except that it is Tuesday.

So, yeah. I was going to post yesterday, and somehow I realized it was like 10 pm and I had nothing to say except Holy Smokes, I'm Tired, and that just didn't seem like it was something worthwhile, so I kept it to myself.

Until now, that is. So there you go.

Mondays are just going to be those kinds of days this summer, I can tell. We start early and go late, and every moment in between is completely full of non-stop tennis. Last night, when we finally got home and started cooking supper, near eight o'clock, Joshua lay down on the couch and promptly fell asleep. Joshua never just falls asleep. Joshua lays in bed, reading for hours after lights out.

I love tennis.



Tuesdays involve tennis, though not to the same degree. I'm thinking of having them run laps around the lake in order to compensate for the lack of activity. Would that be wrong?

Nah...

Weekending

Going here tomorrow.

Getting one of these and one of these. Because I am a crazy bird lady.

Watching this and this on Sunday, at least when we aren't playing here.

Hoping to finish cleaning my house this afternoon, so I don't have to do anything domestic over the weekend. Wishing I had a housekeeper. Realizing I do! But it's me.


Sighing.

What are you doing this weekend?

Quietly

It's a typical summer morning. The temperature is mild, but rising. I've been up a couple of hours and have already made my way through a couple cups of coffee, a bit of morning news, the kitchen clean-up, the tennis match water and oranges prep, and a watering can or two on the tomatoes.

My boys sleep. They are still snoozing that childlike summertime way that seems to last for days.

And I'm torn. Torn between the reality that we have school work to accomplish and laundry to do and beds to make and bathrooms to clean and tennis matches to prepare for, and the luxury of letting my kids sleep in - not just for themselves...

...but for the quiet that envelops the house when they are asleep. I love that quiet, for a little while. If it goes on too long, it gets a little oppressive and I start longing for the sound of elephants running up and down my stairs and across the upper floor.

But for now, I think I'll savor it. Maybe I'll fix another cup of coffee and sit on the deck and breathe in the still of the morning and the aroma of growing tomatoes. Maybe I'll close my eyes and pretend I'm at the beach. Maybe I'll crawl back into the bed and take a 15 minute power nap.

Or maybe I'll just sit here.

Listening.

Happy Accidents

I love unexpected surprises, don't you? This photo, from the end of the film, yielded a lovely little double exposure, and I couldn't have planned it any better. The church is one of three in Cades Cove in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. It's a lovely clapboard structure, seated on a foundation of stacked stones culled from the valley. Inside are hard wooden pews, aligned in rigid rows, and a pulpit at the front topped by a heavy bible.

I don't remember which shot came first, but I took a photo of both the outside of the church, and of the open bible, and somehow they melded together into this shot. It looks almost as if the very walls of the church are constructed of scripture.

Seems apropos, doesn't it?

Lazy, Hazy

I shot some black and white film in our Canon AE-1 a while back, where a while back equals last summer. I just got the film developed this week. I'm always on top of things around here.

This is the corner of my front porch next to my gigantic oak leaf hydrangea, and it's one of the nicest places to sit and watch the cul-de-sac go by while sipping a cool beverage. The hydrangea provides shade and perfume, made all the more sweet by the unrelenting heat. I'm half-hidden when I sit there, so I can listen in on conversations and squabbles, territorial disputes and sibling battles, unseen and unnoticed.

It's kind of an eavesdropper's heaven.

Monday Listings

My tomatoes are doing well.

1. I only have to water them three times a day in this heat.
2. I also fill soda bottles with water and poke tiny holes in the bottom and let them sit in the soil around the tomato plants to constantly drip drip drip water to the roots.

It's hot.

1. I'm not complaining. 
2. I'll take the unrelenting 90+ degrees over winter, any day.

Tennis. 

1. It's my whole life. 
2. The boys have practice Monday and Tuesday, matches on Wednesday and Thursday, and we usually play as a family on the weekends.
3. It's a good thing I like tennis.

I had some black and white film developed.

1. It's very expensive.
2. I love digital.

My Sketchbook Project sketchbook is available to view, now. 

1. Just click here.

I have two dogs.

1. They both dribble. 
2. Mostly water. 
3. Dogs are gross.
4. My other dog is a cat. 
5. That isn't true. 
6. He's a dog. 
7. He just acts like a cat.
8. He's very confused.
9. So am I.

Where I Intend to Spend My Summer

Some of it will be spent here, with my sad little plant that either receives too much sun or not enough or maybe I water it too much or not enough. In any case - it's living, and exactly the same size as it was when I planted it. I have other plants that are growing just fine, although not this particular type. I'm thinking it needs replacing.

Pretty much the rest of it will be spent here, where the boys will play team tennis and they have matches or practice every day, Monday through Thursday. Today is Derek's first match, and he's nervous.

But not as nervous as I am. He really has no idea.

Ah - what we mothers (and fathers) go through...

I Love Maters

I love maters.
Do you?
I plan to spend the entire summer eating maters every day.

My favorite recipe?
Pick a tomato.
Wash it.
Cut it into wedges.
Sprinkle with sea salt and black pepper.
Place a wedge in mouth. Chew. Swallow. Repeat.

My second favorite recipe?
Pick a tomato.
Wash it.
Slice it.
Spread mayonnaise (never Miracle Whip, people. that would just be crazy) on two slices of WonderBread.
Place tomato slices on top of one slice of bread. Season with sea salt and black pepper.
Place the other slice of bread on top.
Cut at an angle (not straight across - come one...what's wrong with you?)
Take first bite.
Scrape WonderBread from back of teeth.
Repeat last two steps.
Make another mater sammich and do it all over again.

I'm telling you - it makes me want to bolt a wood-frame screen door to my back door and install the spring a little too tightly so that it slams shut when I go in and out.

Because then it would definitely be summer.

In the Summertime...

We've gone from winter to summer here in Tennessee. Spring popped up for a moment, just long enough to let the dogwoods and azaleas bloom, then she fled south for the year, I guess. In the past few weeks, we've gone from 50 degrees to 90 - and skipped the open window season altogether.

I love open window season - my house gets aired out, my electricity and gas bills go down, my allergies hit an all-time-high. Okay. I can live without the last one, but the other points are valid.

This year, we went straight from heat to a/c. We're supposed to break the record high temperature set back in 1918, today. Hello, summer.
********************************
Derek and Joshua start team tennis today. I'm not entirely sure how all that works, because I missed the orientation meeting on Saturday. I had it in my calendar, I talked to Dr. SmartyPants about it, told the boys I'd be going. Then I proceeded outside to plant my vincas, and an hour and a half after the meeting was to have started, I came inside, picked up my phone and realized I had completely missed it.

Hi. My name is Diahn. I'm a complete flake. I cannot function without my iPhone. It will now be strapped to my forehead like a phylactery.
************************************
I miss Melinda. Mudbug Madness was this past weekend, and I didn't get to go this year. That makes me sad. But I may get to see her soon, anyway. That makes me happy.
***************************************
My mom butt-dialed me Friday. I could hear her and my sister and niece talking about getting food at the grocery store. They didn't hear me. It made me laugh.
*******************************************
My tomato plants have the most adorable little tomatoes on them. I like to go out and gaze at them and smell the leaves. Is that weird? If I were to ever wear perfume, I'd like it to be eau de tomato leaf, but I don't wear perfume, so I guess that's irrelevant.

And weird.
**********************************************
This weather makes me want to sit on my patio in the evenings and drink margaritas. It just seems right.

Anyone want to join me?

Memorial Day

Take some time today to remember and honor those who gave "the last full measure of devotion" in order to protect and preserve a nation "conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal."

quotes are from Abraham Lincoln's Gettysburg Address.

I've Got a Feelin'

The Smarty and I had a date last night. It's not a terribly common occurrence, that. We don't get out as often as we should, I suppose. But we did. Yay!

We went out for dinner (shrimp & grits...mmmm) and a couple of $2 drafts, and then headed to The Square Room to see The Cleverlys.

They are very clever. Now, I love me some good bluegrass music, people. Add good bluegrass music to self-deprecating humor and a whole lot of wit, and I'm completely happy.

We had a great time - it was a good crowd with a strange blend of white-haired ladies and seersucker suited gentlemen mixed in with hipsters sporting super straight jeans while drinking PBR from a can.

And we were there, too.  We defy classification.

So do The Cleverlys...



And oh.  By the way...I have a new boy-fren...

He played the fiddle right into my heart...

Book 'im, Dan-o

I read a book this weekend. Now, that’s not all that unusual – I read a lot of books. I love books. I live for books. Going to the library is like going to church – it’s quiet, it’s introspective, it’s enlightening.

I love to peruse the stacks – wandering from fiction to non-fiction and back again. My favorite thing to do, though, is to let my eyes flick across the spines of the new fiction section – reading the titles and trying to discern which of those beauties is coming home with me for a while.

I totally judge books by their covers. Well. I use the jacket descriptions, too.

Anyway – for the most part, I do all right. I’m generally pleased with my selections, although there have been a few stinkers here and there. I HATE to not finish a book. Even if I don’t love it, I always want to finish it.

That is – I did, until this weekend.

I picked up a novel – I’m not even going to tell you the name of it, because I’d rather shoot needles into my eyeballs than in any way recommend that you read it.  I was staggered by the fact that someone published this novel – it was so bad. The plot was twisted, but not in a good way. The characters were one-dimensional and trite. The setting was undefined and boring. I felt like I had a handle on the twists, though – I figured out the antagonist fairly quickly – thought I understood the motivation for the dastardly deeds, and then…in the second to last chapter...

…out of absolutely nowhere…not a hint…not a clue…

ASTEROID on a COLLISION COURSE with the EARTH.

YES. That is what I said.

There was never any indication that asteroids were even going to be considered. It was not an asteroid kind of novel. It was like the guy got to chapter 20 and realized he had no way to wrap up his mystery and was listening to a little Aerosmith and went all Armageddon on it.

And people? I was righteously pissed. I couldn’t go to sleep. All I could think about was that this guy…this complete dork had gotten paid for that novel – is probably still getting residuals and some kind of income from its sale. Not only that, but that some one had been paid as a reviewer and actually wrote something along the lines of “an author in line to take the place of John Grisham.”

Oh. Mah. Gah.

John Grisham should sue that reviewer for libel.

I did the only thing I could do. I flung the book on the floor next to my bed and tweeted my displeasure. Then I headed to my own personal library stacks and picked up “To Kill a Mockingbird,” in order to cleanse my brain of that other book.

And there I found the sweet nectar of literary genius. I found such nuggets as this:

His sermon was a forthright denunciation of sin, an austere declaration of the motto on the wall behind him: he warned his flock against the evils of heady brews, gambling, and strange women. Bootleggers caused enough trouble in the Quarters, but women were worse. Again, as I had often met it in my own church, I was confronted with the Impurity of Women doctrine that seemed to preoccupy all clergymen.

Sigh.

Thank you, Ms. Lee. While I’ll never understand how you only wrote one novel, I’m forever in your debt for the one you penned…

No asteroids required.

'tis a gift to be simple

We had a list for the weekend...some things got crossed off...some things were added...

We'll probably clean out the garage, instead.
And go to the farmer's market.
And play some tennis.
And watch the A-Team (some of us, anyway.)
And rest.
And watch some Formula 1 racing.
And paint.
And make some beignets.
And drink some coffee.
And take some photographs.
And walk the dogs.
And vacuum.

The beignets were the best I've ever made...from a Southern Living recipe. So dreamy light and fluffy and the taste?

Dang. People. PLEASE. Make. These.







At the farmer's market, the strawberries knocked us off our feet and we bought a gallon of them. Then, when we got home and realized how many strawberries are in a gallon, I realized we'd have to either eat nothing but strawberries for a solid week or make jam.







This is the real-deal, man...not freezer jam. I have six adorable little four ounce quilted jelly jars packed to the brim with summer, right there... plus two bags of sliced, frozen strawberries for shortcake AND a colander full of plump berries for snacking.

It's enough to make me happy that it's Monday...

Weekending

No. We aren't going camping again. We're going to take a break from traveling.

We'll probably clean out the garage, instead.

And go to the farmer's market.
And play some tennis.
And watch the A-Team (some of us, anyway.)
And rest.
And watch some Formula 1 racing.
And paint.
And make some beignets.
And drink some coffee.
And take some photographs.
And walk the dogs.
And vacuum.


And be amazed when it's over so quickly...

Hope your weekend is full of happiness!

A Wee Bit of Ugliness Upon Which I've Been Ruminating

The photo is there to offset the ugliness. It's not the ugliness. It's a pretty mountain laurel.

Here's the ugliness.

A few weeks ago, I was out on the soccer field, helping my neighbor with team pictures. Maybe it was the baseball field. It's been a busy season. It doesn't matter. What matters is that there were a bunch of kids and we were wrangling them into awkward poses for their spring sports photos.

One of the boys was being, well...a boy. He was probably 7 or 8 years old. He wiggled. He squirmed. He got the giggles. He made silly faces. You know...like children that age do. Someone made a snide comment about how his parents might want to look into medication for that wiggly boy. I made the comment that he was just being a boy - I'd get the photo.

And I did. But not before hearing another one of the moms say this:

Listen. I teach second grade - believe me when I say we'd like to have them all medicated. That's the only way we get anything done in school.

I stopped what I was doing and just looked at her - expecting to see some cranky, evil looking cartoon lady standing there, but she just looked like a typical mom - just like me. So I thought maybe she was joking. But she was no comedienne. She was just a normal looking, nice-seeming lady who happens to think that all children should be medicated.

It absolutely killed me. Here was someone who was not only in charge of her own children, but of the 30 second graders that she looked after 180 days a year. The ones she couldn't deal with unless they were medicated.

And it started me thinking. I remember, way back in first grade, we had one of our boys evaluated for any kind of learning disability or attention deficit disorder. There were no neurological tests to see if something was going on in his brain - it was all based on surveys - of us, of his teacher, and of an educational psychologist. Thankfully, none of those involved in my son's evaluation shared the attitude of the lady at the sports field - he didn't need medication, just a little change in OUR thought process of how we deal with his unique personality. None of us were strong advocates of medication, either - I counted that as a blessing. His second grade teacher was not quite as confident of our decision, and it was a very difficult year, one of the reasons which prompted us to homeschool full time.

Now, imagine that there's a boy like my boy in that lady's class - actually a boy like either of my boys...one wiggly and talkative, the other dreamy and distracted...I believe that particular teacher would strongly encourage medication.

Then, take it one step further and realize that she's just one of a multitude of teachers who think the same thing...that second grade boys (and girls) should be required to sit in a classroom all day, with a 20 minute recess, and a lunch period, without wiggling or talking or squirming or losing focus or giggling or occasionally falling out of their seats for absolutely no reason.

Sure, that's what grown ups do. I think we can all expect that high-school students are able to keep their backsides firmly planted in their desks. But even middle-school-aged children can struggle with that, from what I've seen.

I don't really have a conclusion here - it's just been sitting in my brain and wiggling around up in there for a couple of weeks and driving me right bonkers, and I thought I'd try and release it into the ether. I know for a fact that there are children who absolutely need, because of some neurological reason, medications for ADHD. They benefit from it, as do their caregivers and educators - their lives are enriched for having access to medical treatment.

But this woman's attitude is dangerous and unhealthy - it connotes a desire for the drones to maintain their steady droning. At the risk of exposing even more of my nerd side, I couldn't help but picture the Borg ship and their relentless motto, "Resistance is futile. You will be assimilated..."