The Other Side of Awesome.

Nonie's favorite book right now is the Big Red Barn.

She chooses it always as one of her bedtime treasures.

Tonight was no different.

She cluched it along with Brown Bear, Brown Bear and hopped on into bed.

Emah actually turned me on to this book - I never appreciated before she exclaimed,

"it has every farm animal in it - Xave loves it - of course, Nonie will love it - read it to her.."

So out of the goodwill pile it came and I read it.

It is pretty awesome.

Tonight though, when I asked sweet Nonie what each animal says her response surprised me.

Instead of Moo, Quack, Neigh, Baa - I got "No Nos" "No Nos" "No Nos".

For those who aren't down with her lingo, "No Nos" is her name.

Or at least according to Xave and her.

Here we go: What does the cow say? "No Nos" Really? What does the pig say? "No Nos!"

Each animal. They all were reading from the same script. Apparently.

When the book was finished I tucked her in and asked her the million dollar question.

Nonie, what does the other side of awesome look like?

And she pointed to her heart.

Just when I think I have it all figured out....

Less than one hour after I took this picture, this little guy was on his back in the MV ER, getting sewn together like a rag doll. A sad rag doll, by the way.

I have close to 300 pictures from our last jaunt to the island - but this is the one that makes me pause. I can't stop looking at it.

At the moment this picture was taken - if you'd asked me if Dec could conquer the world, I'd have said yes. Without hesitating, "Yes".

But in the hospital minutes later, as I held his tiny hand tight, wiped the crusty blood from his chin and read him boring stories from the kids water safety magazine we found in the lobby, I'd have had a very different answer.

He's a gentle, breakable, split-table, fragile baby.

How often we think we've got it all figured out.

How often I think that my hours spent planning each bit part, or managing each minute will give me more control - only to find that I have no control over any of it.

I'd had Dec's lunch made and waiting for him when Dame ran through the door shouting that we were on our way to the ER and to "grab the keys....quickly..."

Hard to swallow but important to note that it's not my job to have total control either.

My job is to save each memory scrap and kiss each memory scrape and wipe the dirt from banged up knees.

Oh and it's my job to enjoy it too. All of it.

Because just when I think I have it all figured out. I totally, totally don't.

Around each corner is a surprise. In this case, it came by way of blood-soaked tissues and big salty tears. And hours spent looking at gruesome food-clogged stitches and a mouth four times it's normal size.

Even though I'd planned for it to look something like a ham & cheese sandwich with a tall glass of chocolate milk.

(Followed by an afternoon at the beach.)

Oh well.

Then and Wow!

I've gone ahead and made some changes around the room. Most everyone who comes in says "WOW it looks so BIG in HERE".

Come Monday it will feel like the inside of a crowded train car and probably that smelly.
You know, because kids smell.

I've got the handi-wipes ready to scoop up soot from dirty hands and anti-bacterial soap waiting to cleanse the hands that spend half the day up the noses.
Not my nose.

I'll tell you what, too. I'm exhausted. It feels like December and I'm ready for the break.
But now's the time to turn it ON, the pizazz, the charm, the jazz hands.

Jazzzzzzzz.
Nap.

I Could Be A Runner.....

I could be a runner.
I've figured out the secret.


Wait for it.
Cause it's a good one.




MOTIVATION.


But not to be in shape or tone my bum.




But I have found a new way to get motivated.


Its all about the end of the run.
Getting home, or to the pool, or the best one in the past couple of weeks....TO THE PORT MAC.



So really it's all about the dropofff..or the pick up.


The one way run. None of this loop, out and back juvenile stuff.



I can run with a purpose, and if I have to.

Yesterday, I got dropped off by the boys 3 miles from home.

And it was an uphill climb back.





I have no excuse, I have found the secret to my success.



No where is that port mac??

A Heaping of Reaping

Any recipes for cucumbers?

Out with the old

I am thinking of doing some reverse-back-to-school shopping this year.
When I looked at my bank account and looked at my closet I realized I had my own money-making machine hanging right in front of me.
Do I really need THREE tan jackets for fall? There is usually about a week of "fall" clothes weather before I break out the heavy down and fleece stuff.
And that brown sweater I wear once just because I still have it.
What about those shimmery black corduroys?
No.
I don't NEED this stuff. Don't even think I want it.
Why do I get attached to these things? Why do I feel like my drawers need to be jammed full and hangers crammed together.
Jammed and crammed.
Crammed and jammed.
That is so not me. Well maybe it is. But I don't want it to be.
So OUT out with those things. (Sorry if some of them are yours.)

These Are My Stories.

It all started last week.

It was bedtime. So I told a story. And the minute I started to tell it, Nonie and Dec set their books down to listen. I couldn't help but notice that they sat a little closer to me.

***

It all started with...

A quick one about picking corn at Katama Farm and getting into "corn wars" with the other farm hands.

I talked of chucking ears of corn high into the sky - over 3, 4, even 5 rows at a time - with the hope of hitting an unsuspecting picker on the other side. From the old dirt road, Farmer McCarthy saw his investments flying in the air (ear by ear) and he knew we were up to no good. What a site! I still smile about it.

That story led to one about cleaning cow tails. Wearing long rubber gloves and armed with buckets of diluted clorox bleach we approached the cattle. All 100 of them. In one swooping motion, we'd scoop the buckets up the tail (to wet the arse too) and then scrape the arse and the tail with a rake-like contraption. Caked on poop would fly to the ground (and to our clothing, hair, shoes....) with reckless abandon. It was messier than my words can describe.


Oh, and it smelled too.

This was a totally unrewarding job. Most of the time the cow would get stimulated and poop on the arse we'd just cleaned.

Dirtiest Jobs Discovery Channel? You've got nothing on that one.

***

Dec's eyes grew large when I explained that these were my "jobs" as an eleven year-old summer resident of the Vineyard - and my payment, each day, was one single scoop ice cream cone.

We'd work our arses off for that ice cream. And trust me, it was delicious.

Dec's wide eyes made me wonder: was he amazed by the tasks I described, or intrigued by the "payment". I couldn't quite tell.

But I did notice that he was on the edge of his seat.

***

I have stories about exercising the horses along Katama Bay where the cars drive out toward Norton Point.

I told the kids about the one time my horse spooked when it walked by a milk crate stuffed with Quahogs in the shallow water. Sent me running for 1/4 mile. It was scary and exciting all rolled into one bumpy ride.

Trade that experience ever?

Never.


These Are My Stories.

Horse vs. Clams.

(Scooch a wee bit closer and and I'll tell you who wins.)

***

I have stories about taking outdoor showers in the rain. Told that to Dec this evening while he disappeared then reappeared in his bubble bath.

***

I have stories about being able to collect 2 rings on the Carousel and watching the "real islander kids" collect one on each finger.

Still can't get more than 2.


But, These Are My Stories.

I did win the brass ring once. And Dec relived the experience with me the other day on our car-ride home from the Island.

***

I have stories about deep-sea-fishing with Mark, Chris, and Dad on the Skipper, a charter fishing boat. There was a cooler of Sunkist sodas. I drank one and I felt like I was sinning 'cause I was about 10 years old and 10-year-olds in our house aren't allowed to drink sodas. Especially ORANGE ones. But I guess it was okay 'cause I was on a boat and it didn't really count.

Anyway, the captain taught us to drop our line 'til it hit the bottom...then reel it up three times...then wait for a fish...and wait for a fish and stand on the boat and wait for a fish.

Well, when my line caught on something I reeled it in with all my 10-year-old gusto only to find (10 minutes later) that I hadn't caught JAWS (much to my disappointment/relief) but I'd caught the person on the other side of the boat.

Our hooks caught under the boat!

***

At the end of that story Dec belly-laughed at the mere thought of his mother catching another person with a fishing pole.

And, Miss Nonie? Miss Nonie said "boat" every time I did.

"Boat" "Boat".

"Boat" "Boat".

(Priceless I tell you).

***

Yup, I have stories.

These are MY stories.

They are the stories that make Dec and Nonie set their books down and listen.

And sit a little bit closer to me.

Something's Missing

Oops.

It seems I've lost my toenail in the garden.

Remember KICK THE CAN?

And S-P-U-D?

And sharks & minnows?

And greased watermelons in the deep end?

And squeezing in during sardines?

And water ballet? (that's been coming up a lot lately....point your toes and put down that bubble gum cigarette)

Remember bubble gum cigarettes? I mean.... what?!?

Do you remember ice cream by the 6-gallon (friendly's containers - were they 6, or more???) in the freezer in the garage?

And the swim team sleep-over with sleeping bags lining the chaise lounges?

And making towel hammocks?

Do you remember chits?

Grilled cheeses at the quarter deck?

The guest book from Norcross Drive?

And little white bags of candy exposed to salty air for a few too many hours?

What about the draft horse pull at the fair?

Washing cow tails?

Needle point on the beach?

Illumination night?

Rice in salt shakers?

Scooping ice cream?

Serving fritters?

Harbor tours on the "S.S. Fresh Off"?

Peddling t-shirts?

Walking out water street with ice cream in hand?

Gidget bikes?

Deflating tires to drive over-sand?

Looking way up at the blue ribbon sunflower?

Do you remember summer as a 6-year-old?

As a 13-year-old?

Summer as a 16-year-old?

There is magic in these fleeting minutes.

Magic.

Harvest Time.

Dirty knees...

Lead to these.

bbbbb......itching

i have the ivy.

that is poison.

in the crack of my ear.

my earpit.

my earpit is itchy.

it started on my leg, then to my arms then of course

my face, and ear.

just the left one.

i have turned into one of those, walk by the ivy and the poisonous venom jumps from the plant onto my person and then it goes....

...WILD.

In places I shouldn't be scratching in public but am.

So I dosed myself some magical antitode (praise the gods of antiimflammatories) and am waiting for the relief before it jumps again.

Should I tell Bri I used his razor to shave my ivy legs??

(photo of google chat with ourleen- note us in bottom right corner taking picture)

Yesterday, Today and the scissors of Tomorrow

It appears that Andrew's cannon-ball induced neck injury has given Drake a case of the woopses. What? You don't follow?
Well, yesterday morning I awoke with sympathy-neck-pain for Ange. It's lingering because I keep forgetting to ICE then heat, ICE then heat. Or so Tinker says. Anyway, my body said "As long as you've got a broken neck" (maybe exaggerating) "might as well have a mid-summer cold, too".
And I do.
Drake, ever the gentleman, was feeling my pain. So he decided to throw up on the rug this morning. Drake! Chances are he'll chuck it all up again because I forced him to eat some peanut butter bread and rice. Tinker says not to feed him for 24 hours. I'm starting to think she's a know-it-all. But it's too late.
I declare the best scissors for broken necks, colds and barfing are these bad boys.
In the last two days I've cut: fabric, Drake's hair, my Flav-or-ice, and 12 cardboard lady bugs, a butterfly and a net. Maybe I even cut the grass with them.
I didn't.
Things are productive around here with this broken neck cold and barfing dog. I can only imagine Drake's sympathy illness during Swine season.
Might need 2 pairs of scissors for that.

Inside MY Room

I really love my word wall.
Don't you?

... don't you?

I've been pushed around by some pushy women lady and I. Don't. Like it.

I'm not really sure I like putting periods after every word to emphasize a point either. But I just did it, so maybe I do like it? Does that mean I might also like pushy women?

No.

Do I?

No. No.

These women. These WOMEN. Lordy. They say something that they think, and sometimes it's not nice. And then they say "don't you?" in a way that implies you have to say "yes" or else. Or else, who knows? They're pushy, they could be capable of anything.

One women said "Oh I HATE writing in books" (the textbook kind) "don't you?" Well... I WAS writing in one. So, no? But I kind of do. So, YES, me too. Plus, just back off lady!

I made the mistake of agreement to Eric's aunt this weekend when she asked me if I liked tea... well "I joost loov tea, don't you?". She's from the Netherlands but lives in England and tea drinking is clearly her favorite part of British culture. More tea than Annie could handle! But wait, I do like it, so "YES!" And I do, but when we got home at 1 am from the wedding and I bee-lined to the bathroom to brush my chops - she followed me there, asking if I wanted tea... well... BACKFIRE! She couldn't believe I didn't want any because I had already confirmed that I looved it as much as she did.
I was half falling asleep on the loo and she was about to pound the door down to force-drink me tea. For shame woman!


As for the bunnies, I wasn't even asked if I "don't you?" like them. Apparently it was just an assumption that I do, so the poster was left above the classroom door.
Well guess what? Bunnies freak me out! You can now find them in the trash can.

Maybe some day I'll muster up the courage to say NO to the pushies. No to your non-book writing and NO to your tea loving and NONONO to your bunnies.

I just want to live in a land where I don't get pushed around.

Don't you?

Cleaning out the sugar bowl.

After entertaining, I never remember to clean out my tiny wedgewood sugar bowl.

In the excitement of the day, it gets shoved to the back of the cupboard up high - lumpy sugar and all - waiting for the next Happy House soiree.

And the next time I need it, I usually think to myself "Damn, the sugar bowl has ten-year-old-sugar in it and I should really dump it out and start anew...."

But, I'm ALWAYS in too much of a pre-party rush and decide to dump loose sugar on top of the sugar rock that has formed in the bottom of the bowl and move on to the next task - hoping my sweet-toothed guests won't care..

But this morning? This morning I cleaned out my sugar bowl.

And it was a nice way to start this summer Monday.