Pondering Lost - Assistance Welcome

Some people get lost in thought because it's such unfamiliar territory.

G. Behn

I don't watch much TV. My favorites? Jeopardy, The Daily Show, Deadliest Catch, and Lost. Every Tuesday night since Lost returned to the TV screen in January, I've missed the show. Baseball games. My youngest son, Ian, and I have kept watch on www.abc.com. Baseball's now over. Last Sunday night, I saw the finale in prime time. I'm still thinking about it.

What was that all about? Any enlightenment welcome.

Were the passengers all killed in the original plane crash - the plane found filled with all dead in the ocean far from the island a true scenario?

Was this island a purgatory "the survivors" endured until death?

Why were women not able to have babies on island? No new life because everyone was dead? Except the Dharma people weren't dead, were they? What was the point of them, anyway?

Who are the rest of the lost souls, like Michael, that whisper in the forest.

With the ending focusing on the characters, does it seem like the island's mysteries were immaterial to the story?


How come nobody ever came across that cave with the light? And the Man in Black couldn't ever find it again? If it were just beyond the bamboo?

Did life go on at the island with Hurley and Ben in charge after Jack died?

Desmond? How did he fit in there?

Was the gathering at the end just a gathering for Jack's demise? That the rest all lived their own lives and died at different times? Had Ben not died yet and that's why he sat outside?

That it has provoked such thought suggests that our invested time was a worthwhile venture. The ending focused on the characters, which is also what makes a good book. The scenery and the workings of the island used as the vehicle to aid the characters in their search?

That these lost, troubled souls gathered to put their lives together and all found their own peace.

Aside from my questioning, I enjoyed it. Did you?

Now, back to my date with my vacuum.

Before the Next Party, I Putter

One of the most delightful things about a garden is the anticipation it provides.

W.E. Johns, The Passing Show

We're having a party on Saturday night. Imagine that - the Andersons having a party. After all, it has been about two weeks since the last one.

This next event is a high school graduation party. Held in honor of the third and last kid graduating from high school, this party is a no brainer. I can do this one with my hands tied behind my back. With the Eagle Scout Court of Honor pushed to the end of the month, this day began without a feeling of rush. I embraced that. I have accomplished nothing.

Have puttered the day away. Put my pretty silver shoes from the wedding into their box and onto the shelf in the closet. I unpacked my suitcase from the college graduation and buried it in another closet. Emptied the bag in the living room that held the wrapping paper from the 18 year old's birthday presents. Watered the new flowers I've yet to plant.



The school year is winding down so no teaching today. I could drive to the YMCA and swim 3/4 a mile, but can't muster that much effort today. I'm enjoying the quiet while anticipating a rousing houseful on Saturday night.

I have brushed my teeth, read 50 pages in a library book, ate breakfast, put some handwash items in the washer. Excited to discover I won the Peterson's Field Guide to Birds from Susan at City Girl Moves to Oz Land.

Now I think I need a nap while I ponder last night's Lost finale.

Not only have I read two books in the past few days (remember my lack of concentration for reading), I also took a look around my yard. Stopped to smell the flowers, as they say.

Remember my tomato plant wars of past years?

Look what I have growing on my five plants. I did have to squish a few green tomato worms, so I'm not home free. But, oh, my. How proud of myself, I am.

Yes, I do need to add weeding to my list of things to do - tomorrow.

My Job is Done

Graduation day is tough for adults. They go to the ceremony as parents. They come home as contemporaries. After twenty-two years of child-raising, they are unemployed.

Erma Bombeck

Tomorrow, my middle son, Jordan, will move to a new town and begin his new job. When he returns home, he will have his own home, now only arriving at mine as a visitor. I'm trying not to think about all that means, instead choosing to express my confidence for his success in the world. A poker face, laden on the inside with wonder at how quickly the time of raising him passed.

All along I felt my job was to teach my children independence. My heart holds a two-faced reaction to the accomplishment of that goal. One of pride for their success and one of sorrow that they no longer need me like they once did. Selfish, perhaps. I admit it.

Last weekend we had the distinct pleasure of attending Jordan's college graduation from Northern Arizona University. Very proud of him. Jordan didn't talk until he was 4 and didn't read until 3rd grade. Teachers said he'd never do well in school. Perhaps I should mail them a copy of his Bachelor of Science degree in Biology.

Now he moves to another town to begin his career in Wildlife Management. Employed. Self-sufficient. Off our payroll.

And the best part? Only three hours away instead of 17.

He had planned on antlers for his mortarboard, but came up with this instead. He wanted it to read "My Job Here is Done", but ran out of room for the "here" part. My husband -- glad to hear he knew more work lies ahead. His job at college is done, but he embarks on the world and a career working with wildlife, as he hoped. What fun to come as that path evolves.

I am having such trouble with this new camera, but I thought this looked cool.

Proud parents and grandparents.

Such fun we had in Flagstaff, Arizona. Great town. Beautiful location. Enjoyed our time with Jordan and his friends. We stayed at this funky, old hotel. I'm not sure my in-laws enjoyed it as much as my husband and me.

Definitely had cocktails in the lounge.
Proud and happy Dad.

Had an incredible meal to celebrate Jordan's success. With beautiful food - like this dish. Grilled leg of lamb, Mole Style Lamb Chilaquiles, Salsa Roja, and Queso Seco. Incredible. I wish my kids could graduate every day.

Now, on to the high school graduation of my youngest. I can begin grieving for that son who leaves for college in the fall. However, he'll only be a mere 12 hours away. Much easier for me as that is only a day's drive, instead of two.

As for Jordan, like his mortarboard said, my job is done. I think (I know better.)

Jordan,

May you always have walls for the winds,
a roof for the rain, tea beside the fire,
laughter to cheer you, those you love near you,
and all your heart might desire.
Irish Blessing

I Give

A woman my age is not supposed to be attractive or sexually appealing. I just get kinda tired of that.

Kathleen Turner

Okay, I give. Watched Facebook for photos posted of my son and me dancing at his wedding. Haven't found one yet that flatters me, so figure, perhaps I'm just not in a flatter-available posture these days.

But, off to the next adventure. Middle son's college graduation. I can only hope that after a year or more of listening to me, you will understand that I don't seem to live up to my expectations in these photos.

The song choice? The Beatles - In My Life.
Did we have fun? You Betcha Baby.
(And the site where I would now play that song while you look at the photos? Can't find it. Tired, I guess.)

Thank you, Busy Traveler, for the photos.

The proud mom and dad of the groom, awaiting the bride. We so love her.

The family.

The Groom's Cake - the Fraternity House, less the beer cans. Notice the old red photo in the background. Bob and me, 1978. I recently learned that the reason all our photos from the 70's turned red is because of the paper used. You can't imagine all the fun comments from my son's friends on his dad's long hair.
A friend described the picture tonight at dinner - the hippie and the Amish girl. Oh, who said compatibility comes from sameness? Nowadays, the roles seem reversed.

As some of you may know, my mom, the Old?Who?Me? lady suffered a severe fall at the lake. I'm happy to report she is home just today, safely, and recovering.

I have so many great photos. Fodder for the next year. I remember She Writes, who posted one post of her son's wedding, equipped with a long series of photos. I plan to do that in one swoop, but I never seem to do what I plan. Is that a midlife prerogative?

When I get all the pictures, I say. So far behind in my blogging. I promise to catch up soon. Onward.

Meanwhile - 8 Days Later

Marriage is a book of which the first chapter is written in poetry and the remaining chapters in prose.
Beverley Nichols

When I last left you, a wedding lingered before us. Four days after the event, I'm still exhausted, but after a fairly good night's sleep, wanted to offer a glimpse of the festivity.

Such fun we had. Such laughter. Old friends, fun family. Beautiful weather. And the newly married off on their honeymoon. Below, a couple of photos. Will catch up more as soon as I catch my breath.

I wish. Ian's 18th birthday last night, Senior Awards tonight, baseball games Friday and Saturday, my mom visiting. Graduation in Arizona next week. Dream on, Julie. Dream on.

P.S. I will post a photo of me in my dress as soon as I get one that isn't all blurred. That IS me on the right in the top photo. Purple lady.

Photos by B. Schraeder, F. Fredericks, H. Conrad, me

Launching a Life - Almost Wordless Wednesday

RPT FROM 100 LOVE SONNETS

By Pablo Neruda

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz, or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off. I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers; thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance, risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride; so I love you because I know no other way

than this: Where “I” does not exist, nor “You”, so close that your hand on my chest is my hand, so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

This is Going One of Two Ways

For each new morning with its light,
For rest and shelter of the night,
For health and food, for love and friends,
For everything Thy goodness sends.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

One day remains before the festivities of the next four weeks begin. All that stuff that's collected on my mantle the past few months take place starting next week. (I'm so glad I took that picture. Reminds me I need to get the Spring painting and pictures up there.) Tomorrow my mom arrives for the wedding, my youngest son goes to prom, two baseball games before that, and I must get my shower cleaned. My mother would probably appreciate clean sheets on her bed. I promised myself I'd get the bookcases in the living room dusted.

(In other news, middle son has landed a job after college graduation in May. Working on a deer ranch. Will only have 5 days to get home from Flagstaff and begin new job in Texas. So glad he will now live within a couple hours, however, with 128 fawns ready for his care come mid-May, probably won't see him until September. Most proud of that boy.)

I must say other than a brief meltdown Tuesday night and a butterfly stomach on Wednesday, I have weathered the planning for a wedding, two graduations, college visits and choices, high school senioritis, and an Eagle Scout Court of Honor - I think. Remaining on my list of things to do is checking in with the rehearsal dinner crew and putting together a small book of information for the honeymoon trip.

My husband and I looked at each other a couple days ago and said, "We need a vacation."

Too bad we can't afford one. Damn kids.

But, my meltdown - not quite sure what that was. I had to pick up my dress on Wednesday morning. Took myself off the teacher list for the day. The wedding will take place in the country, on a ranch. Outdoor for the ceremony and a restored, rustically elegant barn for the reception. However, it is located in a remote area and I decided to spend the morning finding the best route there for our families staying at the lake. One where when driving home at midnight, they might not get lost on country roads. Looked very easy on the map, but after driving for hours through the hill country, winding this way and that, dipping down to cross one lane creeks beds already flowing with water over the road, I decided sticking to the main highways might be best.

I arrived at the lakehouse to find trailers and trucks parked in my driveway. The new neighbors are extending their dock. The workers decided my gravel driveway was the best place to park. Wrong day to make that decision. Women running away from home to settle their minds and find a little peace do not fare well when a trailer loaded with pipe found in their parking spot. Not to mention the noise of the generator and the pounding of pipe driven into a granite bed. So loud I had to shout at the guy to get their vehicles out of my driveway and park where they worked - not at the neighbors. To be honest, the shouting didn't bother me. And I wasn't a complete bitch. I smiled while I said it.

But the noise. Incredible. I found some ear plugs I keep in the bunk room, in case a snorer bothers the other sleepers, and poured myself a vodka tonic. Went into the small bedroom where the noise traveled the least and pulled out my library book. Read for four hours. Didn't get any work done other than a few plants potted and I moved the swifter around the floors a bit when I'd get up to get a refill.

I took this after the workers left for the day. Tell me they will be done by the time we have 20 people in and out at our place next week.

I did venture also to take a photo of the ducks. The males are enduring a lack of female companionship as the mother duck sits in a pot at the end of the dock, nurturing 8 eggs.

The point of this story? I felt much better when I drove home to work on Thursday. And, with all the activity of next week, my blog life is going to go one of two ways. Either you won't hear from me for a while or I'll be on here every day, seeking solace.

Everyone take good care while I enjoy my company, these most blessed events, and welcome a daughter in my life. As much as I love all my men, having female camaraderie, other than my cat, makes me most happy.

My azaleas have chosen to bloom just in time. This time next week - full bloom.

There's No Place Like....

I base most of my fashion sense on what doesn't itch.

Gilda Radner

Time once again to return to the shop for the final alterations on my dress for oldest son's wedding. Two months after the initial shopping trip with the Bunco Bitches to find the dress they decided looked best on my bod, I found myself back on the elevated step in the dressing room.

Following the instructions of my peers, I wore the chosen bra and even arrived with the cute little silver shoes I'd selected at the shoe store the day before.

Yes, those are bruises on my legs and there is a woman's hand up my dress, that belonging to the little Russian lady that does the altering. Next to her, out of camera view, is my friend Linda, also a seamstress, who worked the Russian chick to make sure she did an excellent job.

Don't I look like I'm having fun?

The lap swimming I've done for the past year seems to finally have made a dent in my body. The dress needed two inches taken up on top seams. Also, the chosen bra didn't quite fill out the top. Someone in the room finally uttered, "Face it, girl. You have no tits."

The little Russian lady sent for the bra lady and once again I bared by body in front of my friends. No modesty left although I told them if they made me put on my Spanx, they would have to leave me to my self. You know those things - they barely fit over your ankle and then you have to pull them all the way to your armpits? No, I will never let anyone see that wrestling match.

Alas, the Spanx wasn't needed and we progressed to another bra fitting. The little lady pushed and prodded at my bosom, moving it this way and that. She instructed the bra lady to bring her best push up bra. I had no clue what they were going to push up. When handed the tendered bra, I leaned over and followed the instructions to shake my girls into the cups, then reach my hand in and move them around. I put on the dress and my alterer again stood before me, adjusting me this way and that. I could tell she just wanted to reach in there and move them around herself. At that point, I could have cared less.

Anyway, all pinned up and hot flashing and my Fred Flinstone feet aching from standing in my pretty little silver shoes for an hour, it was, finally, time for lunch...

...and a margarita.

I found a different pair of shoes to wear. Hopefully, I can keep these on long enough to get down the aisle and through the dance with my son. Two weeks until the wedding. It truly has been fun getting ready and I can't wait to have a grand time. Family, friends flying in and if someone would just come and clean my house, I'd be in good shape. I'd do it, but I'm off to a double header. Youngest son's baseball. Comes before cleaning, of course.

And if I had my way, these are the shoes I'd wear to the wedding. There's, indeed, no place like my Birkenstocks.

How Beautiful the Bonnets

I will be the gladdest thing
Under the sun!
I will touch a hundred flowers
And not pick one.

Edna St. Vincent Millay, "Afternoon on a Hill"

Spring had indeed arrived as evidenced by the Texas countryside. Wildflowers abound. I wasn't able to stop the car on the windy roads last Saturday, but happened to catch these few photos near my house. Imagine an entire field rolling in blue.

Last year's drought? Long forgotten. The winter's rain has provided a bumper crop of beauty.






So much for that brief visit to nature. Back to completing my taxes. When I come out of the number blitz, I'll resume regular life again.