Claybourne Project

This little project has been taking up a large amount of my time. I've loved almost every minute of it. Last week was a bit terrifying, however: I stood, fingers crossed, uttering silent prayers, while four guys tried to heft an 800 lb. piece of granite down the stairs (one piece of 8 granite slabs they had to transport from the driveway to the basement). It's the closest I've come to heart attack, I think. To ease the pain, I went and sat in my car in the rain until they'd made it passed the point where the staircase turns. The stone is now safely installed and looks beautiful. We're getting there. Furniture--the fun part--is next.

what's the rush?

Yesterday evening, after dashing about rain drops and hopping over puddles I found myself safe withing the confines of the car. I wiped big beading raindrops from my black suit pants onto the rubber mats of the car, and began to wonder. Why is it that we dream of this glamorous grown-up life, full of business-casual, and pearl earrings, and electronic devices with which we can check our email, look up the word "careful" in Spanish, while simultaneously talking to someone four states away about a project that is bigger than us both? Why, I wondered, do we rush rush rush to this point in our lives, only to get here in all our high-heeled glory, only to find ourselves hoping we didn't miss significant steps in our childhood?

I replayed the day in my head on my way to my next destination: a room full of 150 or so grown-up women, all gathered together sitting shoulder to shoulder to listen to a real grown-up woman, tell us that we're going to make it, and questioned whether or not I believed her.

under the sea undertaker

My sister had a fish named Gills. He lived for two years, which in fish years is practically 180. One night after my sister's piano recital, we came home with ice cream stained faces to find Gills belly-up in his bowl in the kitchen. We sent him to his watery grave the only way you can when you live in the suburbs.

Once, my neighbors asked me to feed their frog, Marvin. Marvin was five years old, which in frog years is basically prehistoric. It was just for the weekend -- a few flakes of food and that was that. He'd kick about his glass bowl world, bobbing his head above the surface when no one was looking, and they'd be home before he knew it. The saddest part wasn't telling them Marvin had gone the way of all the earth. The saddest part was telling them the only spot we could find for his final resting place was a narrow strip of dirt beside their driveway.

just around the corner

We walked down over around and up after dark -- the first official walk of the season past the Magic House. It was all flowering plums and sweet smelling blossoms along the way, and people tucked snug inside their houses until warmer nights when windows will swing wide and screen doors will clap shut with the in and out of summer. Our cheeks were rosy red upon return, but we stood in the driveway like always and chatted for a few minutes more. Life seems to roll on at a steady pace, yet my most favorite things remain the same: twinkle lights strung over the arbor, the sound of basketball games after supper and the feeling that summer is just around the corner.

word to mother earth

On the eve of Earth Day, I found myself in the presence of one powerful woman. After spending a few hours chatting together, she reached in her bag to fetch her car keys and, instead, pulled out the keys to the entire zoo. An all-access pass to everything lions, tigers, and bears (oh my!) I then professed my love for elephants, and she for orangutans which lead to a discussion on the game wherein someone asks the following: If you were an animal what would you be? My answer has always been an elephant. I'm not quite sure what that says about my subconscious -- the urge to be the largest land animal, or what it means in the gigantic nose(ish) and huge floppy ears department, but if we're going off of what comes to mind first, it's always been an elephant. And I guess the whole idea of a zoo doesn't really jive with the save-the-earth-and-everything-on-it-in-its-natural-habitat idea so much, but I just had to boast about my connections. And put that whole elephant thing out there. Maybe it's why I remember all the lyrics to "Do Your Ears Hang Low."

bloom where you're planted

It was August. And hot. Taking a brief respite from the crowd of city park goers, she stepped aside, feet ceasing to scuff the sidewalk. She picked a curb in the shade and sat. Reaching down, she scooped up an acorn. She loved acorns, the feeling of holding the promise of a pedigree in the palm of her hand. How can something so tiny become so big, she wondered. The very tree under which she sat had started from a single seed and now loomed large and sweeping, shading an entire section of the cemented city scape. She thought twice about pocketing it, taking it on a cross-country journey and adding it to her acorn collection from favorite big city parks such as the one in which she sat. But, in a bloom where you're planted sort of way, she decided to leave it. To keep it authentic to time and place and natural habitat, which happened to be in the middle of a giant city. Dropping her hand down, she opened her palm and let the acorn roll out. Watching it gain speed as it tumbled along the sidewalk, her steps quickened, joining the shuffling feet and the sounds of the summer in city.

100

This sweet lady turned 100 years young on April the 8th. What a milestone! And that handsome dude behind her celebrated a birthday that same day. We tied balloons in the Primary colors along the balcony facing the sunset and lined the driveway with red, yellow, and blue to welcome all well-wishers. 100 balloons in total. This woman is loved by oh so many. (That guy in the tie behind her ain't short on fans, either.) How lucky I am to call her Grandmother. Happy Birthday Dad and Grandma!

happy weekend