Too Good Not To Share.

A perfect hike with mom.

At the Res. and to the top of the top of the spot that Dec reached at Camp this Summer.
The spot he promised to show us. Before the summer ended.

We ate together - gourmet food of sorts from the new local shop down the road.
It was nearing sunset.

On the hike to and fro we laughed, slipped, marveled at buttercup's new "kneesocks", laughed,
listened, did some heavy breathing and loved. Each other.

At the top, mom handed over the pound cake she insists she "finished half of" during the storm.

I take it willingly. I know the recipe well, and recall that the word pound is not figurative.

Especially when it comes to the butter line item.

Yum.

Two proud and exhausted hikers sat in the back of my car as we made our way for home after the hike. They quietly munched on Granny's Cake and passed the luke warm water bottle back and forth between each other.

The open tub of pound cake sat next to me in the passenger seat the whole ride home.
Tempting? But of course.

During the drive home, we all used the same word to describe the evening, the stroll in the woods, the walk with Granny....

Perfect.

It wasn't until we rounded our last turn to home that we slowed.

Flashing lights and large cherry picker trucks were blocking our road.

I took a bite of the pound cake calling my name to the right of me. Darn, that is good stuff.

Then I turned my attention to the traffic delay.

My first thought: I can't believe they are still out here working at dusk - a full one week after IRENE hit

They seemed to be moving on from this post.

Three trucks went roaring past our idling car.

WISCONSIN DEC AND NONIE! DID YOU SEE THAT PLATE?! THEY ARE FROM WISCONSIN.

Without much thought I found myself frantically waving my flabby white arm out my car window just in time to catch the fourth truck.....

WHAT AM I DOING? I KIND OF THOUGHT. Then, my next thought was: I BET HE THINKS I'M GOING TO COMPLAIN ABOUT SOMETHING. Since everyone has been grumpy without power.


The ginormous truck slowed and then grinded to a halt, just in time for our windows to line up perfectly.

I took a glance at the driver.

HE'S YOUNG - A KID! (I THOUGHT).

And this darling young thing with a crew cut and midwestern accent lowered his window as I offered up some pound cake.

DO YOU CARE FOR SOME POUND CAKE (I SHOUTED - OVER THE ROAR OF THE ENGINE)?

Gee, sure I'd love some. THANK YOU! Said the young kid (couldn't have been older than 19) and he grabbed a slice and roared away.

Then came the next, fifth and final, truck.

I put my flabby white arm to work.

MY MOM MADE THIS POUND CAKE. WOULD YOU LIKE A SLICE?

And he said

WOW! SURE! THANKS!!! and he grabbed the tupperware and was off.

(Gran, sorry - but the electrician from Wisonsin has your tupperware. However, I think it was my container anyway. I recognize the lid, which is all I'm left with as I type this post up.)

In every way imaginable....this evening, buttercup's mud stockings, eating really close to a copperhead snakeskin, Gran's pound cake, and offering up all I had at the time (WHICH IS A LESSON MOM HAS ALWAYS TAUGHT ME) the whole day really -

was too good not to share.

These Boots Were Made For....

Resting.

(Cape Clear Island. County Cork. Ireland. August 2011)

The Post to Make Me Remember...

We are just 5 hours in from a 2 week stay in the Motherland.

Our Holiday was all we could have every hoped for + a great big big bowl of cherries on top.

In so many ways, I return from two solid weeks in Ireland and think that Americans complicate life more than they need to.

Let this be the post to make me remember that

bigger isn't always better

closer doesn't always mean close

a shortcut isn't always

families stretch far beyond the limits of bloodlines and lineage.

We (Dame and I) joked about the amnt of photos we'd taken along the way....

I guessed a good 700+.

As the computer churns out the 1,500+ pictures, I have nothing to do but await them....

Humbly.

Ever so Patiently.

And of course, above all...

Anxiously.

I think I know my favorite photograph already.

(But only time will tell).

Ireland was spectacular in every way. Do I even need to tell you that?

At nearly all crossroads, I felt a first line of a blog post brimming up inside me and I felt a tug on my heartstrings to set down and write.

So here is to the pots of gold awaiting my little ones,

and me,

and you...
at the end of each rainbow.

May we appreciate them and
May we know them

when we reach them.

(More pics to follow....God willing).

To all things green, gold and everything in between.


And to our super lovely leprechaun of a chauffeur this afternoon who helped us through the transition from dreamland to reality.


We love you Mr. O'Rourke.

And then some.

Spewing.

Here are a few things I'm spewing tonight because (quite honestly) I simply don't have time to organize a real post. There is packing to do gosh darnit.

1. I have no idea who took that picture (above) but it must be a cousin. See post from 7/25/11 for reference.

2. I like that picture. Dear Cousin, you can borrow my camera any time.

3. Dec, in the midst of picking out "American" t-shirts today at Target to bring to all his relations he doesn't know in County Wicklow and County Cork and Tipperary - asked

"Does Auntie Una have any babies?" No. I replied. "Why?" Dec asked. She and her husband decided not to have babies. I replied. "But how do you make a baby mom?" Dec asked.

4. I was not prepared to answer him in the discount t-shirt aisle of Target so I wheeled (quickly) in the direction of the new CARS II toys and avoided the questioning all together. Was that bad parenting? I'm beginning to think yes.

5. Dec paddled his new (birthday present) kayak in the lake for the first time today and within about 67 seconds had an older (7-year-old) girl asking to hitch a ride on the back. He obliged. Of Course, he did. Because he is the best kid ever born (and Nonie too). But, should I be concerned that his new yellow (banana boat) kayak is a chick magnet.

A chick magnet?!

I was not prepared for this.


Please, discuss amongst yourselves and advise ASAP.


Over and out.

I Will Always Have...

When Declan was a peanut (days old)... my BFF Claire flew in from Brazil to meet him.

As if it were yesterday, I can still picture her holding Declan down at the edge of the lake.

I took pictures as the sun set off in the distance, silhouetting Claire and Dec.

And, I can still hear her softly spoken words to my 12-day-old-son, "I am your Auntie

Claire..... and I will always have gum....".

At the time, her not-meant-for-me-to-hear-words melted my heart.

This was my best friend, who had flown in from a hemisphere away,

to hold my dear son in her hands and to tell him, in a simplistic way,

that she'd always have something exciting to offer up -

even on his darkest of days.

For anyone who has ever tuned in to the sitcom "Friends", you'll know that our Dear "Auntie Claire" borrowed her lines from "Aunt Monica", who offers the same promise of a never-ending supply of gum to her nephew Ben (her brother Ross' son).

Regardless, Claire's words meant a lot to me. And they have meant a lot to Declan in the days since, when Claire has filled days with creative and enthusiastic FUN and on occasion, gum.

****

Last night, I lay in a tent in the middle of my backyard with 4 nieces and nephews, 1 son, and 1 daughter.

I'm so proud of my little campers.

They did a beautiful job relaxing under a star-filled sky, snuggling into their soft sleeping bags, and giving way to the power of falling asleep with a cool breeze on their face and far-off animal cries in the distance.

During the night

I helped Cormac scamper from the tent and pee just before dawn.

I made sure Aidan wasn't suffocating himself as he nestled deep in the corner of the tent.

I became surprisingly proud of Anna, who was on her first official sleep over and was the first to give way to her exhaustion. She got my unofficial vote for "best all-around-camper".

I was comforted by the calm, still, presence that Mags exuded from the far edge of the tent. I knew she was one of the last to fall asleep, but I also knew she was enjoying the view of the star-filled sky from her cozy spot.

I was happy to have Declan snuggle up between his cousins on the night of his 6th birthday.

And, I was amazed that Nonie fell asleep so soundly, long before the cousin tent winded down.

****

While the cousins fell asleep, I recounted (outloud) the number of nights I've spent in a tent:

(must be close to 400) - from Glacier Peak in Washington, to the frozen lakes of Minnesota and Ontario, to the Alpe d'Huez in France, and the chipmunk overrun beaches of Cape Breton Island, Nova Scotia - and of course, the sandy beaches of the Vineyard and South Carolina. For a moment I was impressed with the amount of time I've logged in tents. Intense.

I encouraged the cousins to listen for new sounds. NOTTOSLEEP.

And, to try to ID familiar ones. They listened for a long time and finally came the question I was waiting for:

"Can we stop listening and start sleeping now?"

To ease anxiousness,

I twirled the hair of my 6-year-old nephew.

I unzipped and zipped and unzipped and zipped the tent for tiny bladders.

I shined the light on the grass to direct the mid-night peeing.

I sang out-of-tune-songs like "You are My Sunshine" "This Little Light of Mine" "ABCD -" Nonie's request)....and "50-Nifty-United States...."

Just to be sure that you're sure. I did sing each song out of tune... though I had them begging for encores.....

****

In the midst of all this, I paused

and realized I was so happy.

I took a deep breath of fresh, fresh air.

Then, I took a deep breath again.

I gazed at the stars and at the blinking lights of planes flying high above.

For a moment, I wondered where the planes were going. Ireland?? Maybe.

After a while, I couldn't hear much of anything.

Except the sounds of amazing children sleeping.

Once I knew all the tiny little children around me were asleep,

I whispered to them in the dark of the night:

"I am your Auntie K,

and, I will always have room in my tent for you."

What I Found.

In the living room tonight, Declan and Nonie sleep side by side.

They are camping out.

In doors.

It is summer.

Isn't this what kids do in the summer?

Sleep in different places, and giggle with each other while they feel special about sleeping in exciting and usually off-limits places?

At least, this is what my kids do in the summer.

Just for kicks I took their glowsticks from the freezer (which had been there since the concert the other night) and hung them to the light fixture above them for instant summertime ambience.

It is in the dim glow of fading light sticks, that I'm taking time to reassure my babies that I am with them while they fall asleep in this new and mysterious place.

I pause to think about how, in the future, there will be many new and mysterious places they choose to rest their heads - and I won't with them, to stand guard over them, 4 steps away.

Also, I am using the quiet time to

download my camera. It has been a while.

401 pics to be an exact count of how long the long while has been.

Without further ado, here is a sampling of what I found:

sunny sunflowers growing along the white picket fence - a sure sign that summer is here

at long last.

surfer girl brushing her teeth in front of her

favorite audience and biggest fan.

cousins sharing secrets at the seashore.

fathers standing guard.

little rascals getting herded for a group shot.

no comment.

the hubs, hiding from my lense -

oh I'll find you every time my dear.

the best we could do.

after a few seconds of jostling around, the youngest ended up at the bottom...
like a tiny grain of sand.

and I agree with the look on her face - it ain't fair.

hand holding.

a daughter's sparkle.

we weren't even playing charades.

fences in bloom. 02539.
hats with personality.

anniedeux.

running bases played by the adult relatives. with one token youngster thrown in the mix.

average age of runners? 36.9

in my mind I call this picture "life is a game".

1/2 a picture.

1 story.

high five for granny.

t-shirt competition.

summertime silhouettes.

practicing for his first day of school.

practicing for his first day at school.

jumping in at mile 4.99.

celebrating at mile 5.0.

A treasure trove of memories.

What I found.


oh and as if you didn't notice - a very persistent smudge on my camera lense
yup, I discovered that too.

Old Friends.

I have spent some good and long overdue (like decades overdue) time with old friends this summer.

Dec and Nonie are perplexed by the idea that mom has friends. Mom has "non-family-member" friends. Can't blame them really. Nearly 100% of their days and mine, are spent with family. It is unusual when we spend time outside our DNA circle.

Are you sure they are not our Aunts that we're visiting today? Dec queries on our long car ride to my college roommate reunion. Despite his initial hesitation, I think he was quite pleased to find that my old friends showered him with attention and warmth. So much so that by the end of the night it felt like they were family.

2 hours into the party, the 10 years we'd just spent apart from each other had dissipated.

3 hours into the party, the college style antics and banter had commenced.

Old Friends.

Just the other night, in the midst of her east coast whirlwind adventure - a dear friend originally from Australia and more recently from Maine crashed upon our quiet house and entertained the kids to no end. The children were so smitten with her every move. Dec even offered up his most prized Cars toy and Nonie tried to stand in the bathroom with her while she showered. On her way out the door and back up to Maine, each child tried to out-do the other by quickly drawing pictures for her and shoving them into the half empty duffle on the front porch.

Old Friends.

These short, but sweet summertime visits have reminded me that I don't need more friends.

I don't really need new friends.

What I do need is to make time for the friends I have.

They make me laugh (really, really hard).

Just a few minutes with them and I learn a lot. A ton. About myself.

We have so much in common.

Dear Old Friends,

I am grateful for you.

Sometimes in the Summertime....

Sometimes


in the Summertime....


it is too hot for "real PJs" so I dress the kids in Daddy's big t-shirts.


Sometimes


in the Summertime...


our quick trip to say "goodnight to the lake" is the opposite of quick.




Sometimes we forget to say "goodnight to the lake" because we're so caught up
catching up with our neighbors.




And, sometimes



in the Summertime...


I swing by my sissa's house and grab "the" (her) Costco card so that I can pretend I'm her for the
afternoon.




And sometimes, before I leave her casa, I pull open the fridge door with the hopes that I'll find a
refreshing bevvie inside.




Sometimes



in the Summertime...



I not only find a refreshing bevvie inside (a lemon fresca), but




I also find a salted caramel too.




Sometimes



in the Summertime...



I pause and feel REALLY FULL FREE AND HAPPY about my summertime sometimes.

When play finds us.

Sometimes, our play is organized.


"Decky doo, go get your racket!!!!"

Sometimes, we drive really far to watch others play...
"Hey daddy, how long is 20 more minutes?"

Our drive is so far, in fact, that we are obligated to stop in Mystic for ice cream cones.
Happy to report that more ice cream now goes in (the mouth) than on (the clothes).


And the players who play? They are the best in the world.
"Ole, ole, ole, ole...."

We play around in the car during the long drive home.
okay, Mommy and Dec play, Nonie practices her anti-cavity regime.


We play with Fred.
Have you met him yet? He is Nonie's soul-mate.



And speaking of Nonie, she plays too.
"Mom watch, Mom watch me, Mom do you see me? I summersalted"


Oh buttercup will play.
All day, if you let her.

Of course, all that playing works up an appetite!
How bizzzzaaarrrre (as in ice cream & candy).


Sometimes. We don't even TRY to play.
Really, we don't - we just jump off rocks.

But then, play just finds us.

So, here's to all things al fresco and summer.

And here's to letting play find you.

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.

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.

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.

the sounds of summer....

some summer sounds change from year to year.

when i was little and forced into acting camp the sounds consisted of songs and dances about "green, green, green, green, GREEN HORNETS! zzzzzzzz" (just remember the arm motions that go along with that?)

or when we were on the bike bath selling all of annie's home-baked goods at a price that was way too low the sounds would be "LEMONADE!!! LEEEMMONAAAADE!!

or the sounds of the thunder storms that would send me running to ourleen's bed, so she could protect her big sis from the scary boomers.

or the sounds from the tent of giggles, and silliness, and stories. the sounds of snoring from your tent mate (t and i traded that back and forth), or the bodily functions of the first campers waking up (toot! oops xavy), and the last one to arise ("I was just DREAMING a little" -Dec).

the sounds of summer are so great, so distinct, so vivid, and so cherished.

but there is one sound that is indelible.

it is the sound i used to dread as a child.

for me it marked the end, returning to the 'burbs after a blissful summer on mv. it was the tree frogs, the crickets, the animals. they were loud, and having not heard them all summer the first night back they would keep me awake. all night. and i would wonder how anyone EVER slept with all the racket.

as i sat outside tonight enjoying the NON-humidity i thought if this, and how i embrace these sounds now. for me now summer doesn't mean months of freedom, beaches and awkward acting camps, but it still is special. it means ice cream can be eaten twice a day without the blink of an eye. it means late nights, fudged bedtimes and dirty feet.

i embrace the sounds now. all of them.

and i may even say that the acting camp was not all that bad.

i do make one pretty fierce hornet.

Letting Go. Holding On.

Have you missed me?

Been a little while since my last post.

Busy keeping Nonie's hair out of her eyes, being Murph's swim coach, keeping the local librarians company, building trails with spritely 16-year olds, doing cannonballs in Gran's pool... you know, the summertime basics.

But mostly. I've been practicing the fine art of letting go (of the small stuff).

And holding on (to the good stuff)...

Let Go: And never mind that the caps are all on the wrong markers. (At least) They have caps.


Hold On: To these cute little hands. These sticky, dirty, summer hands (that create the cutest little summer pictures).

Let Go: Of bedtimes...in the summertime.

Hold On: To the smells, the sites, the sounds.

Hold On: To family.

Hold On: To friends.

Hold On: To Miss Nonie up there.

Hold On: To Mr. Murph down here.

Let Go: Of all things weighing you down.


Hold On: To that baby catfish. How cute it is.


Let Go: Of the things that slow you down and block your way.

Hold On: To the things that make the journey enjoyable.

Hold On: To those sweet babies when they let you.


Let Go: Of the mountains made of molehills.

Hold On. Hold On. Hold On....

Oh! Let Go. Let Go. Let Go...