Funny How Things Work Out

I took a deep breath and listened to the old bray of my heart: I am, I am, I am.

Sylvia Plath

Nineteen years ago, my oldest child went off to kindergarten followed two years later by his younger brother. Four years after that, his youngest brother joined the ranks of student. On the first day of school, they arrived home with backpacks filled with papers for me to peruse and sign, forms to fill out. I hated the big pink ones - where you filled in health info, social security number, who to call and all the other garbage required. Someday, I said, someday, I won't have to fill out these stupid forms.

Someday has arrived. I bypassed the Back to School ads and the watchful eye to identify locker, book, and schedule pick up days for my kids. The familiar angst that summer is over and my days now dictated by defined schedules and childrens events, didn't elapse. Finally, finally, my days of public school over.

Of course, life isn't complete without irony. I no longer have kids in the public school system, but guess who's still there? That would be me. The substitute teacher.

Gave me a very odd feeling to walk those halls of the high school yesterday. I didn't hear the familiar "Hey, Mrs. Anderson" calls. The most heart stopping, I didn't hear "Hey, Mom." Just as his friends that greeted me so warmly have begun new lives at college, so has my Ian. Gave me pause to consider that he is now so far away.

But the boy is doing well. In an effort to grant him his wings, I've only called twice in more than two weeks. Texted twice. Where a little homesickness invaded his world at the beginning, he now says things are going great. Activities joined, classes attended, new friends met. An adventure well on its way.

Ian and his new roommate, Zach.

The family farewell. Ian and I had driven from Austin to Tuscaloosa after flying back from Green Bay. Bob and Jordan drove in from Green Bay. A little rearranging in the midst of schedules gone awry.

I'm not very good with goodbyes, so our last morning whipped by rather quickly. "See you again sometime," is all I mustered before climbing into the car after a quick hug. Shades of the goodbyes my brothers and I shared with my dad, and one my oldest brother, Jon, so eloquently recalled at my dad's service. Thank you, Jon.

A parting glance.

I thank everyone for your most kind thoughts, prayers, and comments from the past two posts. I appreciate the Fragrant Liar's contribution to this blog in my absence. It totally fits that she would choose the photo where she looks best. Ahem! That other blond in the photo? That's our friend, Carolyn, of Backyard Pearls fame.

Okay, now that I've sent you to three different places in one paragraph, time for a bit of relaxation. After my week of solitude spent raking the lake, I had a few friends join me. For some odd august reason, clouds and cool breezes replaced the heat and allowed us to not spend our days dodging the sun. Our focus of the day became taking turns replenishing the drink and food trays. Lazy day indeed.

Just a bunch of old bitties, slacking off. Swimming with the swans.

Back to work.
Cheers!

The Man Wall - A Project Complete

Beauty comes in all sizes, not just size 5.

Roseanne Barr

Back in September, I wrote a post about the shed on the dock. Remember this white wall? Or perhaps my suggestion for a neon Blue Moon beer sign or ONE large round sign with the name of our place?

And my husband developing his own interpretation of that suggestion and ordering 17 signs. The last sign finally arrived the other day and with the help of a neighbor, they drilled the signs into place. For eternity.

Click on the picture to get the full effect. My husband is most proud. Our true "lake people" neighbors think it's great. The McMansion folks - well, maybe not so great. Me? Whatever keeps him happy. I like that he let me add a few of my own. Squeeze Me, Stomp Me. Martinis in the Twilight Lounge anyone?

The Man Wall

Beauty in things exists merely in the mind which contemplates them.

From David Hume's Essays, Moral and Political, 1742

See that big white wall out there? When we built the dock, that baby was just a narrow rectangle on the plans. A small storage area. Turned out much larger and I didn't recall the odd "fit" with the roof. I first saw it toward the end of its construction and I wanted to throw up.

"What the hell is that?" I asked my neighbors.

They shook their heads. We stared at it further.

"Sometimes we get a hard west wind," one of them said.

I laughed. "We can hope."

Further discussion with my husband only wrought an indignant attitude. To him, the beast was aesthetically perfect. Beautifully constructed. Masterfully planned.

"An eyesore?" he said. "It's functional. Serves it purpose completely. Paint a cool mural on it."

"I had a cool mural there," I said. "A real one. A view of the lake."

The past two years, I have provided hints on how to mask its beauty. I suggested a neon Blue Moon beer sign. He nixed that. Hates Blue Moon beer. I suggested a sign like the little resort in Minnesota my family has visited since 1958 and where we took our kids for 20 years. Maybe something on that line.

ONE , big, round sign.

I think all he heard was the word "sign". Next thing I know, packages arrive at the house. He has ordered the wall's new design. He spread his purchases out on the fireplace. See for yourself.

Our very own Man Wall, complete with a see-through nightgown.

I asked if I could order a few signs, to break it up a little. He agreed. Not sure he likes my choices (Blue Moon silk stockings, Schwinn bicycles, Popsicles, and the Twilight Lounge .)

At present all the signs are laid out on the floor with the precise spacing only an engineer can bring to the party, ready to be drilled for eternity into the white wall. I guarantee, the wood wall will rot or blow over before any of those signs move even a squinch.

I'll send a picture after he gets them up.