I Am a Child of Wonderful Parents

I am from what the media calls a traditional family. My brother, sister and I grew up in a loving and humble household with both of our biological parents. Our wonderful biological parents. 

According to the Washington Times, families consisting of a married couple with children under age 18--traditional families--have not been in the majority since 1967, but we never knew that.

Mom & Dad, back in the day

Giant bonus points for the fact that my parents are open-minded and all-inclusive. We mixed it up with every type of person, every type of family unit. We hosted foreign exchange students from various countries. When kids weren't getting along with their own parents, they’d crash with us until the storm blew over. Our house was the holiday go-to place for people who didn’t have anywhere else to go. Our doors were open to anyone at any time.  My parents always had food, jokes, an empathetic ear, a warm make-shift bed or a funny story to share with whomever needed it. We never gave any thought to differences, to privilege, to haves and have-nots. We were blissfully unaware.

I don't mean to give the impression that it was all Ozzy and Harriet at our house, it wasn't. My siblings and I gave my parents plenty of trouble growing up. We're all strong-minded, opinionated and curious. It couldn't have been easy for them. Still, they doled out the right amount of discipline mixed with respect and love. We always knew they were in charge.     

Mom & Dad now

It’s only when I went away to college that I realized how different my parents were, that we were in the minority. We still are; my mom and dad recently celebrated their 62st anniversary. 

My brother and sister are both happily married with families of their own, doing their part to keep the traditional family going. 

Even though we've scattered, we take every opportunity to congregate as a family unit. We do it out of love and also out of fun. We genuinely have fun together. Loud, raucous, unrestrained fun. Those of you who know us *in real life* could probably tell some tales! 

Yep, I am a child of wonderful parents.

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This post is in participation with the Group Blogging Experience, and this week’s prompt is children and/or parent(s).  If you want to blog with us, go to the GBE2 Facebook page and request to join the group. Everyone is welcome.

Hurricane Irene is Growing Wild

My cousin, my mom and I are having a girl’s weekend at the beach. We’re mourning and celebrating the life of Aunt Dot—and having a big time. One thing we’re not doing is keeping up with the news.

If it wasn’t for Facebook and telephone calls, I wouldn’t know that Hurricane Irene is coming to the coast of North Carolina and South Carolina. So whether I stay at Ocean Isle Beach, N.C. or go home to Charleston, S.C., I’ll likely face an angry tropical storm, or worse.

Hurricane Irene is growing wild; she’s up to a Category 3 storm with 125 mph maximum sustained winds.

Over the telephone, my husband and I made plans; we try to have a week’s worth of supplies on hand when a storm is coming—enough to get us through a week with no electricity. He’s going to find candles and matches, our transistor radio, flashlights, and batteries. He’ll also get our canisters of propane filled, get a full tank of gas in his car and get cash.

I went to the grocery store here on OIB for basic canned food that can be eaten hot or cold. I also got peanut butter, fresh fruit, bread and water. We’ve already got enough dog food and cat food at home.

For now, my plan is to drive from Ocean Isle Beach, N.C to Charleston, S.C. tomorrow morning. When I get back to Charleston, we’ll fill the bathtubs with water and canvas the outside of the house. We’ll bring outdoor furniture, potted plants, yard art (not that we have any, ha) and anything else that can go projectile inside. 

So we’re as ready as we can be. If the storm continues to grow wild, on into a Category 4, we’ll hit the road and travel west. Wish us luck.

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This post is in participation with the Group Blogging Experience, and this week’s prompt is growing wild. If you want to blog with us, go to the GBE2 Facebook page and request to join the group. Everyone is welcome.

 

Happy Birthday to Me

I had a birthday. It was a good one.

Last year on my birthday, I helped my best friend bury her husband--who was also a dear friend of mine. It was a tragic, heartbreaking day.

This year my husband made sure the day was special. During breakfast, he announced he was taking the day off so we could do anything I wanted to. It was my day.

We went to all my favorite places and did all my favorite things. We had a blast. All through the day, he had small gifts planted in unusual places. 

My guy is not Lance Romance, mind you. He's not the guy that plans extravagant galas to celebrate my birth (or our anniversary or anything else for that matter). But it's the little things that make my heart go pitter-pat; our desire to spend unplanned time together, to spontaneously see where the day takes us, to simply enjoy each other's company.

It's the joy I see in his face when he knows he's making me happy. And he knows how to make me happy.

Wine + chocolate + nuts + candles + a Stephen King book  = a great birthday. Thanks, baby.

The Bittersweet Vacation

Today is the last day of our annual beach vacation. It’s a once-per-year tradition that I cherish. My extended family is a riot and we don’t spend enough time together.

The reason it’s been a bittersweet vacation is because my mom’s sister—my sweet Aunt Dot—passed away during the week. Mom would not leave Aunt Dot’s side so she didn’t start the vacation with us, which seemed odd. Our annual family congregation is the high-water mark of Mom’s year; she says she’s never happier than when all her chickens are under one roof.

It was weird, being at the beach trying to have fun while Aunt Dot was suffering and Mom was with her. Yet Mom insisted we continue with the annual pilgrimage. She insisted we come to the beach and make merry. She didn’t want to let anyone down, especially her grand-kids, so we came without her.

After 2 days, Aunt Dot died. My brother, my sister and I made the car ride from the beach to her funeral. Anticipating this possibility, we had tucked funeral clothes into our bags, right next to our bathing suits and beach towels.

The drive to the funeral is the only time I can remember being alone with my siblings, just the 3 of us, as adults. It was a special time, which added to the complexity of contradicting emotions.

Once we arrived at Aunt Dot and Uncle Jerry’s house, we were greeted by distant relatives that we only see at weddings and funerals. I know that’s fairly typical of big families but it would be nice to see them more often.

After the funeral, visitation and family gathering, the sibs and I made a late night road trip back to the beach. Mom and Dad joined us the next day, so by Wednesday we were all together.

I’m waxing nostalgic because that’s how I feel. It was a wonderful and sad and hilarious and frenetic and heartwarming and heartbreaking week.

We’re already planning next year.   

My Favorite Thing About Summer: Our Family Beach Vacation

Every summer our extended family gets together for a full week at the beach. We’ve been doing this for the past decade and it’s my favorite thing about this time of year.

We’re a tight-knit clan but live in different towns and have big, full lives. So other than a quick, drive-by pre-Christmas gathering (all the kids have to sleep in their own beds on Christmas Eve so Santa Clause knows where to find them) and the occasional wedding or funeral, the annual beach pilgrimage is our only time together as an entire unit.

I love this vacation because there is no agenda, no schedule. We all just hang out for a week. We are a loud and boisterous family so there is plenty of entertainment. We’re an active family too, so there’s always somebody to swim or walk or fish or ride bikes with. And we’re a family that values conversation, so there is always an (over?) abundance of talking.

The kids are becoming little people. My brother and SIL have a 7 and an 11 year old. My sister and BIL have a 2, 7 and 11 year old. Add mom and dad and me and EC to the mix and there are 13 of us in total. That’s a house full of loud people. We love it.

There’s much I could write about this annual beach vacation and still never capture the joy of the togetherness. I don’t have the talent or the time to do it justice.

What I do have is a hope. I hope we continue to rearrange our real-life schedules and make the personal sacrifices required to allow the family beach vacations to continue. I hope we are all willing and able to spend one week together as an extended family for as long as possible.

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This post is in participation with the Group Blogging Experience, and this week’s prompt is summer and/or my favorite thing. I combined the two. If you want to blog with us, go to the GBE2 Facebook page and request to join the group. Everyone is welcome.

How I Met My Husband

The bakery was crowded; a line snaked through the middle of the small room. A handsome, broad shouldered, overly starched man swaggered up to the girl as she entered through the front door. “You looking for somebody?” he asked, smilingly. “Depends on who’s asking” she shot back with feigned confidence. He had a small table reserved at the back of the bakery and motioned her to follow. She complied, checking out his backside as he led the way.

They sat and had a nice chat, learning a bit about one another. His crisp clothes, sharp haircut and upright posture worried her, he looked too neat. She didn’t like men who spent too much time in the mirror. In her experience, overly handsome men could be vain and narcissistic.   

She sat there politely, listening and watching as he talked with animation. Yes, she was listening, watching and wondering 1) is he going to offer me coffee and a pastry? 2) is he always this neat? 3) what’s the deal with those hands?

His hands were gnarled and scarred. It looked as if each finger had been broken more than once—in multiple places. Those hands sharply contrasted with his otherwise perfect appearance. There must be a good story about those hands. 

She wanted to know more about him.   

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This post is in participation with the Group Blogging Experience, and this week’s prompt is The Bakery. If you want to blog with us, go to the GBE2 Facebook page and request to join the group. Everyone is welcome.

2 Men Have my Heart: Wordless Wednesday

My husband & my dad = ♥♥

True Friends

"It is one of the blessings of old friends that you can afford to be stupid with them." - Ralph Waldo Emerson

And so we were. Stupid may be harsh, but we sure were silly with each other.

A few weeks ago my oldest (um, length of time we've known each other...) friend preformed a one-woman show in front of thousands. She's a pro, in fact we met in the theater department in college (Appalachian State University - go Mountaineers) and continue a lifelong friendship. The night was big for her, and several old friends traveled to see the show and offer support. It was a blast, she wowed the audience. In addition to the joy of hearing Starr sing, I got to see a handful of friends I have not seen in over 20 years (don't bother doing the math, we're old).

Starr, my singing friend, earns a nice living with her voice. She has a second home at the beach near my house. As things work out sometimes, she is at her beach house this week. Another friend from the ASU theatre department came through town with her husband last night. The first time I've seen Kim since college was at Starr's show. Now I had an opportunity to see her (and her wonderful husband, she picked a good one) again in less than a month. Happily, we managed a dinner together. It was hilarious. And heartwarming. True friendship is when you can pick back up, right where you left off, no matter how much time has passed. 

I am blessed with true friends.