Homecoming, Redux

Revisiting being grateful for coming home today, for different reasons. Home is good. Home is "in here" instead of "out there." Home is where everybody is always on your side. That hasn't always been the case in my life, but it is now. And that' s a whole lot for which to be grateful.

Homecomings

Today (well, everyday, really) I am grateful for my dog, Mojo, and in particular for the humongous party he throws every time I come home. No matter where I've been or how long I've been gone, my return is cause for joyous celebration.

He barks, he whines, he waggles his head back and forth. He throws his whole self into the air and spins like a top. He races around the house. He is the very essence of exuberance. The party ends only after I have hugged him and petted him and allowed both my hands to be washed. Thoroughly. He's not sure where I go each day, but he's pretty sure I'm getting my hands all icky out there. He takes his clean-up job very seriously.

It is, quite frankly, marvelous. No matter how crappy the work day or the weather, no matter how tired I am or how achy I might be, how could I not love coming home to that?

And, really, look at that face. How could you not love that?

Considering Tomorrow

Today I am thankful for making plans. For looking ahead and choosing to believe the odds are at least even we'll be around when the time comes to go a concert, gather for the holidays, or travel to a wedding. It's hard to walk the very thin line between this moment we know for certain we have and all the moments to come that are just a promise. Every day is a balancing act between being truly present in the moment and being willing to risk hoping for those moments to come. I don't always strike that balance well and it's good to have reminders that good things just might be lurking around the corner.

Here's a reminder that Halloween will come again: Jack and Anna all dressed up in next year's Halloween costumes (because their mom is super smart and bought on sale after trick-or-treat). I'm planning on seeing these costumes hit the road.

Doing Hard Things

Living, I mean really living and not just getting through each day, might just be the hardest thing I do. Some days it's easier than others but no day is easy and remembering why I work so hard at it takes a lot of effort.

So, since it just makes sense to make things easier when you can, I'm going to spend the next sixteen days making a list of things in my life for which I am grateful. Some will be big and some not so much. In no particular order, each will be something that makes me smile, helps to center me, and keeps me moving in a generally forward direction.

Today's thing, first on my list, are my nieces and nephews; Britt's precious cousins. For those of you who don't know, I have six brothers and sisters (three of each) and among them they have twelve beautiful children. I used to dream of being an only child, but Britt did not love it. She was fortunate, though, to live close to some of her cousins and to get to visit the others. She adored her Capital C Cousin, Christopher. They were inseparable for most of their childhoods. She loved to talk about the weekend she spent at college with her cousin Amanda, and the time she went to Elizabeth City and her cousin Sean took her to coffee shop called "Muddy Waters." She went on a cruise with her cousins Bobby and Megan and her oldest cousin Susan's college graduation made her cry. Her little cousin Anna, born just a few months before her high school graduation, stole her heart. She never met her littlest cousin, Jack; he'll be two next week.

She loved her cousins with a fierceness that, not being an only child, I never quite understood. I love them, too, and am grateful for all the ways they remind me - every day - that good things continue to happen and that time, and I, must keep moving.

And, since no post is complete without at least one picture, here's one of my favorites: Britt as Bridesmaid to her cousin Amanda, in September of 2004.

Even Now, Peppers

Fall is here, not that you could tell from our recent temperatures. We had a short cold snap, during which we remembered that we forgot to have the heat turned on when we ought to have. But it passed and it's been warm, if not particularly sunny, for the last week. And since we're no where close to our first frost, the garden continues to produce. The peppers especially seem reluctant to call it quits. This is the latest harvest and there are still plenty more to come.



There were a lot of grape and roma tomatoes, too, in a pretty yellow bowl. But, a rouge squirrel invaded the house last night and, before Dave could chase him out again, he managed to knock said bowl off the counter and send the tomatoes flying. He and Dave both stepped on a few and the whole mess ended up in the trash.

I really liked that bowl. Stupid squirrel.

Found Treasures

One of the great things about gardening at an old house is the untold number of gardeners who've been there before you. Some of their handiwork is very obvious: the monstrous azaleas that flank the front steps, evergreen and tidy (with regular pruning!) that burst into hot pink glorious-ness at the first hint of spring; the deep-blue hydrangea at the corner of the front porch that blooms all summer and marks North East truer than the truest compass; the stately line of pecan trees that marches down the side yard, shading the house in summer, allowing the sun to warm us in the winter, and providing enough nuts for dozens of pies and cookies and brownies in between.


There are also the not-so-obvious things: the clumps of snowbells that randomly sprout and bloom near the front steps and in the side yard - out of zone and out of season and charming with their tiny white-with-green-polka-dots flowers; the amazing not-an-agapanthus that became three huge plants when I dug it up and moved it earlier this year (which is, by the way, something called a crinum lily and which continues to bloom at regular intervals. This picture was taken about an hour ago using the "night" setting on my camera); the confederate jasmine that has exploded in the corner where the hose-holder-with-faucet lives and which I am training to run down the railing of the back steps.

And, then, there is this:


One lone beautiful red lily that sprouted in the middle of the side yard. I've been here three summers now, and never seen that lily before. And if weeks of intermittent afternoon rains combined with these endless weeks in a sling hadn't conspired to keep us from mowing the grass, that lily wouldn't have stood a chance. I dug it up (obviously) and have every intention of replanting it in the back yard...and when I did, I also found these:


a handful of bulbs, each one waiting to be another lily! Some are now planted by the back gate and some have moved around the corner to my mama's house. All of them are a reminder that at least some of what we do in our brief time on this earth lasts, in ways we cannot possibly imagine, for years and years after we are gone.

Introducing 'Like Fire'

You remember my friend Lisa, yes? Lisa and I egged each other on during May's blogathon and then practically abandoned our blogs together for the rest of the summer. Lisa - though she may not know it - is one of my role models. In all honesty, Lisa is sort of who I thought I'd grow up to be: she works at an Ivy League University in a big city; she's smart and funny and reads both widely and deeply; she's fiercely loyal. She buys used books on the street during her lunch-hour and is devoted to her four-legged friends; she's an incredibly talented artist, an inventive cook, and a master baker of cookies that are as pretty as they are delicious. She has more integrity than anyone I know and I'm not embarrassed to tell you that a rousing round of "What Would Lisa Do?" has become one of my major tools for getting through a difficult day. In short, Lisa rocks and I am a better person because I know her.

While my blog was languishing in favor of sitting on my porch and watching my garden grow, Lisa was busy putting together another blog....this one all about books and the people who read them and how those books change both the world we live in and how we look at it. Here's a link to her latest entry...check it out:

The Light Gleams an Instant, Then It's Night Once More (Like Fire)




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