Skelly makes a splash

How did we get ten days into November and I'm still thinking about October?

Well, at least I was several days ago when I looked outside and saw what you see in the above picture.

No; I did not stage that. It happened naturally.

Allow me to elaborate.

First of all, let's get one thing straight: at Mon Reve we do not celebrate Halloween.

However.

I do decorate for October, with my various and sundry campy, tongue-in-cheek cemetery-related things.

I also wear my humorous skeleton t-shirts rather regularly in October. I have one that shows two skeletons standing beside one another while one holds up a short bone to the other.

I found this humerus, it says underneath the skeletons.

I have the one with two skeletons, one of which is brandishing a spinal column while the other grins broadly. I got your back, it says.

Many compliments come my way when I wear my skeleton t-shirts. (I have possum t-shirts too but that's a blog for another day.)

As you know, I go to cemeteries year round. I walk in them, take pictures in them, and enjoy them thoroughly no matter what the month or the season.

I am often planning my next trip to a cemetery. I'm a card-carrying rank-and-file taphophile, and that's what taphophiles do.

This one I staged

So when I bring out my October decorations, they are not going to be ghosts and witches. I don't have anything like that. Nothing even remotely scary. But skeletons and graveyard motifs tend to take front and center.

I have a hearse that sits on the table. I have a bird skeleton in a cage (I call him Cassius Crow). I have a black cat peeking out from white shreds that make him look like a mummy.

I have a table runner that is black with small silver studs arranged to look like spider webs.

I have in my large-ish collection of seasonal (see what I did there) salt and pepper shakers, ones that look like tombstones (Here Lies Salt and Here Lies Pepper, for example).

These October salt and pepper shakers have more of grave than of gravy about them, if you will.

It's all meant to make you smile, and people always do smile when they see my October table.

No; I don't make my front yard into a mock burial ground with plastic tombstones and hands reaching up out of the earth and so forth. No sheets with eye holes hang from the trees. Nothing spooky allowed.

(My neighbor put out a ten-foot-tall skeleton this year, and beside him a huge dog skeleton. The dog even has a stick in his mouth. I laughed out loud at that.)

But I do have one outdoor October decoration, and that is Skelly.

I bought him several years ago at Walmart. He's life sized.

Sometimes he sits on the apple green bench under the white oak, for October.

Other times he spends his October out back at the picnic table, poolside.

This year, he Octobered sitting at the little bistro table on the front porch. He wore a pirate baseball cap.

What? It's refreshing!

But on November first, all October decorations are put away and full-bore fall decor comes out. All the turkeys and twinkle-light-lit fake autumn leaves and so forth are added to the pumpkins and gourds that already featured in and among the October stuff.

So it was that this year (actually it was November second, because the first was a Sunday), I hauled Skelly's plastic bones around back and sat him beside the pool while I opened up the shed that houses all of my decorations, and began hauling out the bins.

First I had to deconstruct the October table, putting away the grave-y decor and leaving out the other fall things that were interspersed throughout.

Then I redesigned the table for Thanksgiving. I'll try and remember to show you how it turned out.

By the way, something odd happened on Halloween night this year and I guess this would be the time and place to tell you about it.

I think I have mentioned before that we never ever ever get trick-or-treaters.

Our neighborhood is large and peaceful, but there are no sidewalks and I must admit that it's pretty dark out there. Add to that, our front door is up fifteen steps and if I don't leave the porch light on, that's black as pitch too.

So although one would think that kids would see our area as rich pickings, given that there are so many houses, I guess they hit up better-lit streets or what have you.

TG has always had a soft spot for children who come begging knocking for candy, though, and years ago he used to stock up even if he thought some child might emerge from the darkness all by his onesie and petition us for treats.

But year after year they did not show up, so we stopped making any sort of arrangements for them because for the rest of the year we'd have to eat the candy TG had bought.

So it was that this year, on Halloween which was a Saturday, I was sitting in the front room working a puzzle.

It was extremely dark outside. The porch light was not on.

When what do you know but a gaggle of kids came up our steps and started banging on the door!

Maybe a bird will land on my head

I froze. I had nothing to give them! As I commented on another blog, kids aren't looking for Edgar Allan Poe stickers (I have those in abundance) or gospel tracts or celery sticks! They want sugar.

Eventually I heard a voice say that no one must be home, and the children went away.

Five minutes later I was mortified to remember that I had a whole jar full of shiny new packs of Extra sugar-free gum! I got a huge stash at Costco! All of the flavors (although no one wants anything but Polar Ice)!

I could have offered them at least a pack of gum apiece. Fifteen sticks!

I grabbed the jar of gum and went to the door and flung it open, flicking on the porch light, peering into the darkness to see if maybe the kids were out on the street, within earshot.

They weren't.

I'll do better next time, although I promise you it will be a decade before another kid knocks on our door on Halloween.

At any rate, where were we -- oh. I sat Skelly beside the pool while I switched out the October decorations for November decorations, last week.

He looked funny there and really quite natural, so I'm not surprised that when I was finally finished with my doings in the shed and had closed it up, I forgot to stash Skelly against the back wall where he waits for eleven months until it's his turn to come out and play.

The next morning, I went outside to put Randall in the pool and realized I'd left Skelly there sitting on the edge and it made me chuckle, but I did not immediately fetch him and put him away because I was about to enjoy my coffee hour.

Imagine how I cracked up when a few hours later I looked out and Skelly was cruising around atop Betty, the solar-powered pool skimmer.

I know what happened; Betty skimmed by and caught Skelly by the ankles and flipped him onto her back.

You couldn't have planned such a thing even if you wanted to.

Betty poised to attack my shadow

So of course I took a picture for you because I knew you'd want to see it. I bet it made you smile.

We have lots to celebrate, what with the holidays coming. Are you making plans for your Thanksgiving table, and your Christmas tree, and all that will go along with those happy things?

These are dark days; we need to focus on the light.

Let's purpose to think on whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report, until the day break, and the shadows flee away!

And that is all for now.

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Happy Tuesday

Can I get a meow

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On a recent evening I was relaxing on the sofa in the front room with Rizzo by my side.

It was blessedly quiet.

Rizzo is the sort of canine unit who will wake and jump up barking so suddenly, bounding off the sofa, hackles elevated, stubby legs like springs propelling him to the back door, demanding to be let out by the pool area, in such a way that you are convinced he has sensed the presence of Bigfoot on our property.

I call them roses gone wild

Once outside, he will race around, barking and growling and snorting at absolutely nothing, until I tell him to pipe down and come back in. Nothing is accomplished.

It’s like when you hit a traffic slowdown and sit for what seems like an age, then eventually it eases up and you’re moving again, but you never see what the cause for the jam actually was.

Rizzo will exhibit the above-described behavior several evenings a week, and never have I been able to figure out what he is going on and on about.

But on the aforementioned quiet evening, as my dog snoozed beside me and I worked a word puzzle, I began to hear something suspicious.

Look who turned three

It started up before I mentally tuned in. And then, as I gradually became aware of the noise, I realized that it sounded sort of like a cat.

Mow (rhymes with now) the tiny voice said. Moow.

Rizzo neither flinched nor woke. He was snoring. No reaction whatsoever from the Riz-man.

It certainly was not my cat, Sweetness, making the noise; she never goes outside, much less out of the fence and around the front. She was snoozing in the sun room, as far as from where Rizzo and I sat as you can get and still be in the same house.

The tiny faint but persistent plaints continued: mow … moow … meow.

Blooming: they've been inspired by something

By then I deduced that the sound was coming from the other side of my front door. I got up. Rizzo did not move a single solitary muscle except the ones it takes to form his patented whiffle-snore.

I tiptoed to the front door, bent over so as to place my ear closer to what I perceived was the source of the lament.

Meow, came distinctly from the front porch. There was no doubt in my mind that a feline unit was at my door, with some sort of agenda.

He plays as though there is no tomorrow

I opened the door. Like a flash of lightning, a ghostly cat figure whipped around and fled down the length of our front steps and out into the darkness.

The cat did not ask for advice, but I hollered some after it anyway: Buy low; sell high! Don’t take any wooden nickels!

Edgar Allan Poe had an inky black bird perched upon the pallid bust of Pallas OVER his door; I had a snowy white cat mewing from the rubber scrollwork mat AT my door.

That’s October for you.

I should explain that there are feral cats in abundance in our neighborhood. As far as I know, they do not bother anyone and it’s rare that we see more than a swiftly departing whisker.

I talk to them every day

I’m sure that the said feral feline population would like for me to sprinkle a generous measure of Sweetness’s Meow Mix into a dish somewhere on the Mon Reve premises for their dining pleasure, but I am disinclined to acquiesce to their request. I like cats in general but I love only one cat in particular.

Speaking of the Mon Reve premises, it is bursting out with roses. Roses! In October! 

You who are knowledgeable of plant life in general and flowering bushes in particular, especially in our neck of the Southeast (Zone 8b), may be thinking, well, that’s not unusual.

But recall that this is the first year that the pirate (she of the distinctly black thumb to match her black heart) has had governance over flowering bushes, unless you count the unruly azaleas in the front, which I most certainly did not plant.

Rhett helped Elliot celebrate being three

My knockout rose bushes are going crazy. It’s like they cannot bloom enough to satisfy themselves that they’ve made their contribution to the blooming season of this calendar year.

This makes me exceedingly happy. I wanted to share them with you.

Speaking of being happy, our youngest grandchild, Elliot a/k/a Skippy, turned three at the end of September.

He loves Waffle House, so Erica threw him a WaHo themed party.

The soiree took place after church on the Sunday night before the Monday of Skippy’s actual birthday.

Sweetness never meets other cats

Cherica collaborated in preparing and serving a scrumptious waffle bar. In addition to toaster waffles, there was an abundance of scrambled eggs, bacon, and cheese grits. Chad made the grits and I can assure you that my son-in-law knows his way around a southern kitchen.

There were multiple toppings for the waffles, in addition to butter and syrup. I made a berry compote that was truly delicious, spooned warm onto the waffles. There were sprinkles and other kid-friendly additions to the waffle bar too.

Erica had dropped by a Waffle House and told them about the party. They contributed hats, cups, napkins, and other various decorations in keeping with our theme.

TG and I gave Elliot a set of dinosaur scooters and a dinosaur headlamp that also roars. He was thrilled with all of his presents, and the next day — his actual birthday — he shared a small cake with his family.

TG and me with Andrew, last Sunday

Speaking of grandsons, I got to spend some time with our next-to-youngest one, Guy, this past weekend.

Andrew and Guy cruised our direction early on Saturday morning because the son and heir had snagged three tickets to the football game at Williams-Brice stadium in Columbia that afternoon.

That would be the contest between the University of Tennessee Volunteers — of which Andrew is a lifelong fan — and the University of South Carolina Gamecocks.

He and TG and Chad attended the game together. Chad, being a USC alumnus, is naturally a huge Gamecocks fan. TG likes both teams but leans more heavily towards the Gamecocks.

TG and I are well known at "our" WaHo

So it was that Andrew was left with a long face that day when, after leading for all four quarters save the last two minutes, the Vols fumbled the ball and gave the game away.

TG and Chad were thrilled but hey … it’s only a game. As for the pirate, long ago I said no to football and yes to black lace.

While the guys were downtown for several hours, Guy hung out with me. The girls came over and we all took a walk, since our weather has been so nice. Later, Guy and I chewed sugar-free gum, sampling several flavors, and watched some YouTubes about camping.

We missed Ember, but she stayed home with her mother so as to attend a cousin’s birthday party. Brittany herself had a birthday last week, and we sent her a gift. She is busy finishing up nursing school.

Andrew and Audrey

On Sunday, Andrew and Guy came to church with us before they had to get back home for the work- and school week. They ate lunch with us first. It was a short but sweet visit.

Speaking of longer but no less sweet visits, my sister-in-law, Ruth Anne, flew in last Tuesday from Ohio and spent four days with us. She is TG’s only sister and she and I love hanging out together. We filled the days with relaxing and talking and walking and cooking and listening to music.

And speaking of music, there are now two Mon Reve playlists on Spotify. They are windows into my soul, in case that interests you. One is entitled simply Mon Reve, and the other is named Mon Reve Bluegrass. I am working on a third, which will be called Mon Reve Gospel. 

If you have Spotify, you can listen to my playlists. You are welcome. If you have not named your house yet, perhaps listening to them will inspire you to do that.

Ember and Guy on a recent Sunday morning

Speaking of naming houses, while Ruthie was here, she insisted that I name hers. You may recall that Ruth lives on the property in Rossford, Ohio (a suburb of Toledo), where TG and his two siblings grew up. Their family home burned down several yeas ago, and Ruthie rebuilt on the land.

I asked Ruth, who was widowed three years ago, what her home means to her. She replied: Safety, security, and beauty from ashes.

One day the name for her house came to me: Sweet Spot. She loved it and immediately ordered her sign to go beside the front door. Last night she sent me a picture of it and soon it will be installed.

TG was leaving to take Ruthie to the airport for her trip home, when Andrew and Guy arrived.

Andrew and Erica

Guy helped me to get the guest bed sheets washed and dried and back onto the bed for himself and Andrew. The nights are nippy and the Mon Reve furnace has not yet been activated, so we added an extra blanket. And we had it covered.

Speaking of covers, you won’t believe. 

If you don’t read Made In Heaven by my friend Donna Staas in Texas, you should. 

Donna is an expert quilter and in recent months, she has shown us a series of wonderful rag quilts (throw size) that she’s made for various loved ones.

I kept asking her how I could order one of those, because I desperately wanted one. Eventually Donna emailed me to ask what my favorite colors were.

A treasure from a treasured friend

Oh dear, I fussed inwardly, now she’s going to just up and make me a rag quilt and send it to me, and she won’t let me order it and pay for it in proper fashion.

Which is exactly what she did. And it didn’t take her long, either, even in the face of a recent scary diagnosis and the prospect of impending surgery and treatment.

LOOK at what Donna embroidered on one square of my rag quilt:

For Jenny the Pirate

at Mon Reve

with love by

Donna Staas

October 2026

Ps. 91:11

It is a treasure, as is the sassy lady who made it. And this quilt qualifies as an instant heirloom, and as such it will be left to one of my heirs in my Last Will and Testament.

Which I need to get around to writing, haha. Maybe in the new year. The year in which, God above willing, I will turn seventy.

Guy, loving life at his favorite playground

Oh and I have fixed Donna’s little red wagon by sending her a gift as thanks for my quilt. She gave me permission to write about her beautiful gift to me, because I wanted you to know about it.

I’m not sure why I want to tell you this next thing, except I love them so much. I have some new kitchen scissors. The handles suggest a bat (the kind that is blind and flies at night), and there is even a little bat figure in the middle.

She is named Elizabat. And she is an excellent scissor. I love bats and Elizabat will remain in my utensil crock year round. Bats aren’t just for October anymore.

Which is a good thing, my friends, since it’s nearly November.

Cut it out: Elizabat

The early dark is coming this weekend. Drat it all. I despise the early dark. But it comes with cozy moments, so we will go with it since at the end of the day (see what I did there), we have no choice.

I’ll be reminded when snugging up with my warm covers and my faithful pets, of the Scripture whose reference Donna embroidered on my quilt:

For he shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways. ~ Psalm 91:11

So it shall be until the day break, and the shadows flee away!

And that is all for now. 

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Happy Thursday

Tar heel torment

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Did I tell you about TG’s and my recent trip to North Carolina?

I don’t think I’ve got around to it yet. So let’s get started.

The occasion prompting our peregrination on that day a few weeks ago, was a wedding.

The groom was our great-nephew, son of our nephew David, who is the second son (of three) of TG’s only brother.

David and his wife, Sandra, live in Charlotte.

TG and his only brother, Ron

The afternoon wedding took place at a ranch-type venue in Waxhaw (say Waks-haa), North Carolina, just over the line from South Carolina.

So, less than a ninety-minute drive for us.

I had looked forward to the wedding for months, ever since the invitation came.

The reason being, I love to see family members at these events. Most of TG’s extended family live in Michigan and Ohio.

So let’s face it: at our age, unless someone throws a family reunion, the only times we’re going to see some of these people anymore are at weddings and funerals.

Our nephew Dan and his wife Chelsey

With a few exceptions. One of them being, TG’s only sister, Ruth, is coming to visit us in a few weeks.

I am giddily planning our activities and meals and so forth, because Ruthie is a treasure and I cannot wait to have several days for us to talk and catch up. I’ll keep you in the loop.

But back to the wedding. I love weddings! That’s a pirate line (IYKYK), but not really true in my case. I have no active dislike for weddings, but nor would I describe attending a wedding as something I actively crave.

But I had planned my outfit (we’d been enjoined to dress up, as the wedding was at four-thirty, with a dinner to follow) and, as the day approached, I was truly excited about it.

I remember when the groom’s father attended TG’s and my wedding in June of 1979. He was two years old. I still have a mental picture of how he looked at that age (much like he looks now, only smaller).

Our great-nephew JR

We were there when he was married to Sandra in October of 1998, also in North Carolina.

And when their son, the groom, was a toddler, I remember him swimming and playing in our pool along with his big sister.

He had found a beautiful bride and it was going to be a happy occasion to see them united in marriage.

Now here’s where the torment comes in.

I should pull over and park here for a mo. And be what I am sure will be interpreted by some, as controversial. 

Pirate!

Our great-great-niece Emmaline

May as well come right out and say it: I despise outdoor weddings.

They strike fear in my heart. Actual dread. Why? Oh dear. Where shall I begin.

The weather. Sun. Heat. Humidity. Rain. Wind. Bugs. Exposure to the elements. Unpredictability of any number of conditions (on this day, our niece Angie was being bitten by fire ants during the vows ... I rest my case).

I have planned three weddings and not a one of my daughters would have dreamed of suggesting getting married outside.

We will never know whether that’s because they didn’t want to or they somehow knew I would refuse, but it doesn’t matter.

There was a breeze for a while

I am old-school without apology. I’m of the get-married-and buried-from-church ilk. Think tradition-core.

Now: can an outdoor wedding be charming? Can it work? Of course. If the stars align just so, on your luckiest day of your entire life. Go ahead and come at me.

Andrew and Brittany married (also in North Carolina) outdoors, and they were extremely fortunate with the weather conditions on the day.

It was neither cold nor hot; the sky was overcast but rain was not threatened; and there was no discernible wind. We were able to dress sumptuously for the semi-formal occasion, and not be uncomfortable.

Like I said: extremely fortunate. Because for everything to come together like that, is rarer than I have the stomach for. There are far too many uncontrollable variables.

I'll wager there was air conditioning inside

So, fast forward to a few weeks ago, when TG and I found ourselves the willing participants in an outdoor wedding in Western North Carolina towards the end of September.

In fact, it was still summer. For a few more days.

And brace yourselves because here comes the torment part: On the day, it was ninety degrees, with no cloud cover, and approximately seventy percent humidity. Maybe seventy-five percent.

Yes. You read that correctly. In other words, may as well put me in a blast furnace with a lawn chair and a good book and tell me to have a fabulous time. 

Virtually impossible.

The scene of the initial torture

For extra misery, add that the one hundred guests had dressed up in accordance with the couple’s stated wishes.

Which for me means, a nice dress with all appropriate attendant underpinnings, high heels, and full makeup and glam hair and jewelry and all the flourishes.

I mean, for me that’s a normal Tuesday (although this was a Saturday), but still. I’m used to being dressed up.

But what I am NOT used to is standing around in full sun. No matter how I’m dressed. Anyone who knows me knows, because they’ve heard me say it a time or ten: I don’t do the sun.

In fact, TG and I brought from our car a big golf umbrella because I had looked at the pictures of the venue online, and realized that the actual wedding would take place out in a field with zero cover from direct sun.

Our s-i-l Marcia, grandmother of the groom, being walked

(We sat in the back row so that I could hold that umbrella over my head and that of our niece-by-marriage, Chelsey, who wisely sat beside me, to shield us from the onslaught of overzealous rays.)

The ceremony was blessedly brief. The officiant even commented, tongue-in-cheek, as we were being dismissed for a pre-dinner social hour, about the “balmy” weather.

Because that weather was balmy like a straight pin is a steel rivet. That weather was brutal. But wait! There is more.

Even before then I had spied, a distance from the altar, a party tent with three open sides. Tables were arranged within. And that’s when I knew that there would be no relief from the heat and stupidity humidity for many hours.

I knew there were barns on the property, probably air conditioned, where receptions could be held. I had been hoping against hope that that was the plan. But no.

TG talking to our niece Angie

Post-ceremony, TG and I stood around conversing for a while. I introduced myself to the bride, the latest Mrs. Weber, and told her that now for the rest of her life when asked her name, she will say “Weber with one B” — because she will soon learn that if not, she’ll be given the extra B by default.

Something I will never understand, if I live to be ninety (with seventy percent humidity). It’s Weber like the grill. Easy. Maybe that’s what I should say going forward, when asked my name: Weber like the grill. I’ll think about it when I’ve cooled down. 

At any rate we caught up with various relatives and marveled at how big all of the kids are getting. I produced my handkerchief and mopped my radiant brow more than once. I took a few pictures.

Eventually TG and I pulled away from the clots of revelers and walked towards the reception tent. I thought, if I could only rest, and get a drink of water, maybe my internal temperature would come down a degree or two.

We found our table number and claimed our seats. There were cups of water already at the places, but the ice had melted. I drank some anyway. Pretty sure I was dehydrated by that time.

A remembrance of the wedding

It was no cooler in the tent. In fact the sweltering air seemed trapped in there. As a guest favor, each place had been set with an attractive gift candle. Perhaps in case we needed to generate more heat! How thoughtful.

Eventually everyone wandered that way, found their seats, and the party began. We had a nice meal. It was difficult to have meaningful conversation at our table, because we were all so hot and it was exhausting.

Two hours later, as it was getting dark and the party seemed to be picking up in pace, TG and I decided that it was time to throw in the towel. Nothing more could be accomplished here. Go home, take showers, and enter the recovery phase.

And so we did. The next day was Sunday. On Sunday mornings, unless providentially hindered, we go to church.

The sweetheart table

And TG did get up and go to church. But I was still so wiped out from the hours of heat torment, that I could barely wiggle, much less get dressed up again and go anywhere.

I rested all morning and afternoon, and went to church for evening services.

But even before then, I had made a decision, which I announced to TG and Audrey and Erica (who had not attended the wedding).

I said, and I quote: Never again. Never. As in, I do not care who is getting married; I will never again attend an outdoor wedding if the temperature is predicted to be above sixty degrees. And I mean it.

I’ll send a present but my presence will not be possible.

Me and my beloved niece Angie

Because folks, this is what is baffling to me: Why on earth would anyone think that a hundred people will enjoy sitting and standing around in direct sun and stifling heat and withering, soul-stultifying humidity, for four to six hours, with no relief?

Why would anyone think that that’s the recipe for a grand old time for wedding guests? When in fact it is a disaster dressed to the nines, full of Wheaties, and waiting in the wings to eat everyone alive? 

If anyone can enlighten me on these points, feel free and I will try to see it your way. But it won’t change anything.

Never again.

That is where I stand, until the day break, and the shadows flee away!

And that is all for now.

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 Happy Thursday

Name it and claim it

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I promised to tell you something new and interesting about my house.

First we’ll have some context.

If there is one thing about me that will be true one hundred percent of the time, it’s that, no matter where I am, I would probably rather be at home.

My paternal grandmother's maiden name was Freeman

It’s not that I’m not having a good time … at least sometimes. Or maybe even most of the time.

(My next post will thoroughly cover that topic, so stay tuned and watch this space.)

But by and large, overall, my desire is towards the domicile. In fact, I think that the word domestic pretty much defines me as much as any other.

Betty, doing her job well

I’m sure that if someone were taking a scan of my brain, the kind that shows different areas lighting up at various stimuli, mine would glow at an impressive wattage at whatever part of it was activated by thought or mention of domesticity.

I know I’m not all that unusual; the vast majority of people are most comfortable at home. After all, it’s the one place where you can be yourself and relax to the utmost extent, without judgment or prying eyes.

But for me, the idea of home is all wrapped up in safety and comfort and peace and quiet and identity and personality and hospitality and tranquility and rest. It is in every sense a sanctuary.

I like stuff hanging around

Again, I realize I’m not unusual in that respect.

And although I’m not a person that anyone would describe as outdoorsy (don’t ask me on a hike because I will politely decline), I love being in nature and I have always been grateful for our back-of-house pool area.

This year, circumstances allowed us to make some improvements in that area of our property, that were badly needed and most welcome, and which have been thoroughly enjoyed.

Rock or swing: your choice

Namely, we tore down our old privacy fence and had a new one built (there’s a story in that too, and maybe I’ll tell it to you soon), and we installed a new pool liner, and we had some landscaping done.

Our new fence is red cedar in the cap and trim style, and the builders made it eight feet high on the right side, where our neighbors have put not one but two hideous sheds.

We inherited this bell with the old fence in 2005

TG stained it in the color that I chose, and put up all of my things on it, and it is truly beautiful.

Here’s the thing about my pool area: I want lots of certain things. Things that are pretty to look at. Lots of lights. Lots of plants. Lots of flowers. Lots of hummingbird feeders. Lots of wind chimes. Lots of pillows and cushions. Lots of places to sit and to swing. Lots of shade.

And although there are still a few details that need our attention, this year I was able to do all of that.

Randall busily cleaning

We got a pool vacuum for the first time ever — in fact, we have one for the bottom and one for the top. The one that scours the floor of the pool, we call Randall. The one that skims the top is named Betty. 

Together they get the job done.

The last time we had a new pool liner installed was the spring of 2011. It was still technically functional but badly faded and needed to be replaced.

The first nod to autumn

We learned that pool liners now cost twice as much and, due to new government regulations put in place since 2011 having to do with how they break down in landfills, will last perhaps half the length of time that the older ones did.

(Folks, get used to it: you will pay more and get less, and you will be required to like it. Probably from here on out.)

The numbers were on our old door

But once the fence was up, and the pool liner installed, and new pine straw put down and the flowers planted and all the lights and feeders and chimes hung and mounted and filled and arranged, our pool area became a truly special place. Like a dream come true.

We swam and splashed and dove and paddled and floated and lolled in and beside that pool significantly more this summer, than we have in recent years. It was such a blessing.

I got this swing chair on Temu

In fact, Dagny and I swam just yesterday, on the last day of summer. The water was still eighty-two degrees, and the high ambient temperature was ninety.

The hummingbirds are still here. They swoop and dive and dart from our queen palms to the feeders and back to the palms, then over to the oak tree, perching on twigs before chasing each other, chattering all the way, to the mini jungle on the other side.

I like lots of flags too

It has been delightful and I will miss it; I have been in the pool nearly every day this summer. The days and nights will be cooler now, and the glories of autumn will occupy our time, keeping us indoors more as the weeks go by.

I wish that each one of you reading this could come and see me, and stay for a few days, and sit with us outside in our pool area. Consider yourself invited. But wait.

The hummers have drained it several times

Recently I was scrolling through Instagram for a few minutes and saw a reel about bougie things to do to your house, that don’t cost much but which make it stand up and be counted in a unique way.

And the first thing on the list was to give your house a name. It’s a distinctly southern thing to do, but also a trend that has seen a resurgence in recent times, mostly due to social media.

The knockout roses are fixing to bloom again

But naming houses is nothing new; I grew up reading classic literature, much of which takes place in Europe and the UK, and honestly aren’t all houses named there? But it’s done everywhere, and not just in books.

The doomed Rebecca DeWinter’s successor dreamt of Manderley; Jane Eyre longed for Thornfield Hall, and Elizabeth Bennett ended up at Pemberley. Scarlett had Tara and Elvis had Graceland. Martha Stewart has Cantitoe Corners. The McCormicks had Cantigny, and I have been there.

Now, to be fair, I had considered naming my house before, but only in a fleeting way and not with any real intent. Last year, as we played in the water, Dagny and I talked a lot about naming the pool area Shrimpy Shores or Prawn Paradise.

It is nothing if not welcoming

Which is just silly because I wouldn’t name my house or my yard after seafood. But then we were just goofing around and laughing a lot about it.

This time though, the idea stuck in me pirate brain and I began seriously mulling the idea of coming up with a name for my house.

I knew that the notion would have to develop organically; I would need to let my mind work on it in the background and, eventually, it would come to me. There was no hurry. The name would emerge and when it did, I would recognize it.

This gazing ball came with the house too

One morning a few weeks ago, I did what I do every day: I launched a game called Spellbee that I keep open on my desktop and work at little by little, until I solve the puzzle much later in the day.

It consists of seven letters, arranged in a hive-like pattern around a single letter, which must feature in every word. You study it and come up with as many words as you can until you’ve guessed them all.

And on this particular day, the moment I saw the puzzle, I knew what my house’s name would be. I mean, I saw it immediately.

Pea gravel and solar lights along the retaining wall

The letters were RMVOINE. Arranged with six in a circle around a middle one (I don’t remember which letter was in the center).

But what I saw was MON REVE.

Which in French means, MY DREAM.

Several precious pets are buried here

And voilà! Our house had its name: Mon Reve. The place I always dream of being.It’s a gentle nod to my parents, who were both from Louisiana, with its Creole French roots. My father was born and grew up in Shreveport, and my mother, though born in Mississippi, was reared in Baton Rouge.

Now, if you think this is dumb, it’s okay to think that. If you think it’s pretentious and over the top, that’s okay too. And if you’re nice about it, you can even say so.

The slightest breeze and you hear a chime

My son did, haha. Andrew looked at me like I’d lost my mind when I told him I’d named our house Mon Reve. He said words to the effect that it was the most ridiculous thing he’d heard in a long time. Like, really, Mom???

Yes like really, I said. And he shrugged. He doesn’t have to live here and he doesn’t have to name his house. It’s an individual thing.

TG, however, liked the idea right away. He thinks it’s neat. Stephanie remarked that it’s so YOU, Mom! Haha. Audrey and Erica like it too. Erica says she’s going to name her house the Pig Pen.

This umbrella lights up

Which truly is ridiculous, since her house is not only clean but completely charming.

I set to work shopping on Etsy for a way to brand my house with its new name. And I found it in an Amish shop that does custom metal creations. I ordered a sign heavy on scrollwork to match the design element that is prevalent on my front door and in the house’s wrought iron accents.

The view from my kitchen

And TG hung it for me, right beside our house numbers.

Next is to come up with a signature scent (I’m working on that), which will waft through the rooms, and merch. 

So that when (not if) you come to see me, and spend the night, you will leave not only well rested and amply fed and all of your comforts seen to, but also with some material reminder of your stay at Mon Reve.

My Dream

It may be a coffee mug; it may be a fridge magnet. It could be a t-shirt. I have not decided yet. Maybe we'll even have an app. Just kidding.

What I have decided is that although the house where I dwell is not necessarily my dream house, it is the place where I love most to be, and where it is the most comforting and comfortable for me to be.

I imagine it will be, until the day break, and the shadows flee away!

And that is all for now.

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Happy Tuesday :: Happy Fall

Word of the day: No

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If you wish to simply read, stay put.

If you've got something to say, read and comment here.

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Andrew and I had an interesting experience about ten days ago.

He had come to Columbia with the children to celebrate Labor Day, and I’d asked him to take me to Costco.

I needed a pork loin to use for the barbecue pork sandwiches I was serving, and also a birthday cake.

In my memory, Costco used to sell pre-made plain sheet cakes that you could get them to decorate.

Well, they don’t do that anymore; now if you want a sheet cake, you have to order it in advance.

Which I had not done.

Three-year-old angst

At any rate, their half sheet cake (there is no one-fourth sheet cake, which I also thought I remembered being a thing) serves forty-eight people, which is approximately thirty more pieces of cake than we needed.

So, as I have done before, I opted to buy their excellent cheesecake.

We picked one up and got the attention of a lady working behind the scenes, in the bakery.

I asked if she could pipe a greeting onto our cheesecake and she said of course, and gave me a piece of paper to write on. 

I wrote:

Happy Birthday

Stephanie and Guy

Andrew suggested that we ask for both pink and blue icing on the sentiment and the names.

Elliot a/k/a Skippy: almost three, in church

Because we were killing two birds with one stone.

Our Stephanie always has a birthday in the week of Labor Day, so our tradition for many years has been to combine the definitive end-of-summer celebration with her birthday party.

But our little Guy had turned three on August twenty-fourth, and we had not been with him at his party in East Tennessee on that day.

So we decided to make the birthday party for both of them.

OK now here’s where we got into the weeds. Apparently.

I wrote on the paper and handed it back to the nice lady, who got to work with tubes of pink and blue icing.

Impromptu name change

In no time, she had handed our cheesecake back to us. We thanked her and walked away.

And then I looked at the cheesecake.

It bore these words:

Happy Birthday

Stephanie and Gruy

You read that correctly: GRUY.

No.

I stopped in my tracks and told Andrew to look at the cake and he burst out laughing. What in the world??? He said.

Gruy, paying attention in church

It took me awhile (but not too long) to figure out what had happened. Of course it was my fault.

When I write a capital G, the way I do it is, I make the big C and then I make a line OUT and DOWN to form a G.

The lady with the pink and blue icing tubes interpreted the OUT and DOWN part of the G as a lower case R.

But, Andrew spluttered. Who thinks Gruy is a name???

Well I mean, have you seen the names floating around these days? You can’t even pronounce them, much less have any hope of spelling them.

But, I reasoned, what I would have done is clarified. I mean, we were standing right there. I would have read what the customer wrote, and then just to be sure, I would have asked — is this name Gruy? G-R-U-Y?

Rhett and Ember: Rhember in September

At least I like to think that’s what I would have done, were I behind the glass cases at Costco, being asked to pipe names onto cakes.

But I don’t think she even read what I wrote beforehand; I think she just picked up the icing tubes and started piping, and wrote what she thought she saw.

I’m not mad at her, because she wrote it real nice and so forth, and that is more than I could have done. 

But still.

OK so as you know, none of this matters. We all laughed at the cake and called Guy “Gruy” for much of the day. Which he had no prayer of comprehending. 

But since he was busy swimming and pouting and napping and eating and opening presents, there was no reaction.

And when we consumed the cheesecake, with the berry compote I’d made still warm on top, whomever got the icing R that should not have been there, did not taste it.

No one knew why Gruy was out of sorts

However.

Sometimes words, and what they mean, do matter. They do make a difference. Like for instance.

About three weeks ago, our Rizzo had a brief health crisis.

I had to drop everything and tend to it, which included TG taking him to the vet early one morning and leaving him, and my going back later that afternoon after another appointment, to pick him up.

He’d had a procedure and was in some pain, and I babied him for the rest of the evening and everything turned out all right because we have a great vet, who has been taking care of Rizzo since I got him for thirty-five dollars at the rescue shelter nearly ten years ago.

The next day, I received a text from the vet’s office.

Whatever his name is, he's all boy

It said: We just wanted to reach out and see how Rizzo is doing after their appointment yesterday.

? ? ? ? ?

Now, maybe you read that without noticing what they did there.

But to me, it hit like a note so discordant, it pierced the virtual ear. It screeched like the proverbial fingernails on a chalkboard, if there is even anyone left who knows what THAT means.

I could have let it go. But I didn’t. Sometimes you’ve just had enough, and you have to speak up. This was one of those times.

Maybe you would not have engaged. But I did.

I answered: Rizzo is a male, and there is only one of him, so it was HIS appointment and not their appointment, haha 🤗. 

Then I updated them on how Rizzo was feeling and thanked them for inquiring as to his wellbeing.

He perked up for presents

Because, dear reader, I had no desire to be mean but this craziness needs to stop. It is OKAY to refer to people by their correct gender — of which there are exactly TWO.

You are either a male or a female, period, and as such you’re not a they, a them, or a their. You are either a he or a she.

Oh I know: No one is supposed to say that anymore. The plain unvarnished truth is anathema to the left, so the rest of us have to shut up.

No. 

I will not shut up. It’s ridiculous and it’s offensive to refer to my pet with a gender-neutral personal pronoun. Don’t start that nonsense with my DOG.

Brudders

As far as I know, no one has ever confused me with a male. May it ever be so (and trust me; you will never catch me appearing to be physically ambiguous in that respect), but the day someone refers to me with a gender-neutral pronoun, I will correct them in no uncertain terms.

Enough of that.

A few more things, and you’ll probably be saying, but those are yeses and this post is about no.

Well, I wanted to end on a positive note.

Dagny and Rhett are home schooled — she in seventh grade and he in Kindergarten — and classes have begun.

Erica moved the boys into what had been Rhett's bedroom alone, because there are bunk beds, and turned Elliot’s nursery into a classroom which is a firm affirmative to education.

They are having a ball and I’m pretty sure that Elliot a/k/a Skippy will soak up lots of knowledge just by hanging around during lessons.

Rhett says yes to academia

The day before Labor Day, we all said yes to church, as we do every Sunday. It was such a treat having five of our eight grandchildren in services with us. 

It was after lunch at Waffle House (a tradition for TG and me most Sundays) that we put Guy down for his nap, and Andrew and I made the aforementioned trip to Costco for cake and other supplies.

Stephanie and Joel arrived on Monday morning with Melanie and Little Andrew (who is not exactly little anymore, being a freshman in high school).

Allissa is away at Bible college and could not be with us, and it’s hard to believe that she is that grown up, but there you have it.

We had the pulled pork barbecue sandwiches along with smoky baked beans and tangy slaw and freshly deviled eggs and a wide assortment of chips and soft drinks. It was a delectable repast.

Followed by the cheesecake and warm berry compote, and some Costco cupcakes, which were a big hit.

Rhelliot wrung every drop out of a sparkling summer

Then Guy opened his gifts (I think he was bewildered because I could almost hear him thinking, but didn’t we already do this a few days ago?) and said yes to all of his new toys. 

Stephanie opened her gifts and seemed pleased with them, and we visited for a while longer, but all too soon, everyone had to start heading for home.

Speaking of home, in my next post I’m going to tell you something special and new about mine.

I hope you are making the most of your September, which is already half gone.

But we will savor it — and the months to follow — until the day break, and the shadows flee away!

And that is all for now.

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Happy Wednesday

At fives and sixes

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To merely read and contemplate, stay where you are.

To read and comment, go here.

Much obliged for your patience and understanding.

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Our Rhett turned five a few weeks ago.

On his birthday, he came over to my house with his mom (our Erica), baby brother Elliot (a/k/a Skippy), and cousin Dagny for a swim party.

His birthday party was scheduled for a few days later, at his house.

We assembled there in the early afternoon and commenced to celebrate with hamburgers and hot dogs done by Chad on the grill, with all the trimmings.

Erica had decorated in patriotic fashion

Aunt Stephanie came from North Carolina to be there, along with Melanie, who is doing so well and we are enormously grateful.

The theme of our party was the Red, White, and Blue.

Rhett is so enamored of the individual states, that he is proficient in naming them in order, and stating their capitals.

He can also name any state by seeing the outline of it.

Recently there was a discussion around the pool about the identity of a state that someone (an adult) was viewing without benefit of words or context.

The smallest details were seen to

It was shown to Rhett, who at once identified the shape as Iowa.

(Capital: Des Moines.)

But someone in the group expressed doubt about Rhett’s answer.

I’m not wrong, he said quietly but firmly.

It's not a party without Martin's Potato Rolls

But you would have had to hear him say it. Rhett talks with a slight stutter, which is all kinds of adorable. At least for now.

So it came out I’m nooooot wrong. And he wasn’t.

I wish you could have been there.

His mother had decorated the house in the patriotic theme, and had bought his small birthday cake at a local grocery store.

Rhett was so excited about that cake that he was taking anyone who would follow him to the fridge, opening it and pointing to the dessert and saying It came from Lowes Foods.

This creation was sourced at Lowes Foods

Lowes Foods is an exciting place to shop for the boys, since they each get to push their own mini grocery cart.

Erica says it’s a game changer.

By the way, the method by which Rhett learned every US state and its capital, was Erica playing educational YouTubes while the children play in their TV room.

Rhett took to it like wildfire, of course, and tht’s a big part of it. But still. He heard the states and their capitals so many times that he memorized them without much real effort.

The coleslaw added freshness and tang

And he has been able to do this since he was four.

I told him he needs to now learn each state’s nickname, so that for Iowa for example, he could have said That’s Iowa, the Hawkeye State. 

We don’t ask for much.

But it seems that our Rhett is transitioning into being able to identify the planets, with an intense interest in the entire solar system. I’m sure there’s a YouTube behind that.

For his birthday, in addition to the aforementioned hamburgers and hot dogs, there were barbecue baked beans and Erica’s excellent coleslaw.

Appropriate burger fixin's

After the meal, the little cake was cut and everyone had a piece.

Of course, there was a five candle and we sang to Rhett.

Then he opened his gifts. He’s also deeply into Numberblocks, so a few of his gifts were related to that current obsession. 

He got the singing Five Numberblock, for example. After five minutes I begged Erica to temporarily disable the singing part.

Skippy at the party

The pirate can already count with amazing accuracy, thank you.

I had found for him, on sale at Old Navy, a picnic and play blanket displaying the United States and honoring the two-hundred-fiftieth birthday of America.

It was a big hit and a quality gift, so I was pleased that he liked it. It will last the boys a long time.

I got him several pairs of pants too, since Erica reported that he’s grown so tall, he needed new ones.

It was a wonderful and memorable celebration.

Rhett and me ... plus Sybil Ann

In that particular family, Skippy is up next, with his third birthday taking place at the end of September.

Since I’m on the inside track, I know that the theme of his birthday party is likely to be Waffle House.

The kid loves Waffle House.

We’re not sure yet whether we will convene at a local WaHo for the actual shindig, or stage a waffle bar at home.

I’ll keep you informed as events unfold.

The moment that he had been waiting for

But first we have our Guy’s third birthday, which takes place in about ten days.

We’re not sure when or where we will celebrate with him, but I’ve already got one present for him and I’m contemplating the purchase of perhaps one more.

Speaking of Guy, recently Andrew discovered him sitting on his (Andrew’s) bedside table, “reading” Andrew’s Bible.

(Guy can’t read.)

Andrew said What’re you doing, Bud? And Guy responded, I’m reading about Jesus.

Reading the Word

Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings hast thou ordained strength because of thine enemies, that thou mightest still the enemy and the avenger. (Psalm 8:2 KJV)

Praise be.

Then we have our Stephanie’s birthday, which we traditionally observe on Labor Day, since it takes place right around there.

I already have her gift. It’s a girly present and I think she will be pleased.

Rhett's USA-centric picnic and play blanket

I also have the menu planned and it will include pulled pork barbecue along with the sides everyone associates with that.

It’s usually the last swimming holiday of the year, which makes me sad because we have enjoyed our pool so much during this sweltering summer.

In fact, tonight we are having a back-to-school swim party with hot dogs, chips, and Mamaw’s semi-homemade mac and cheese, washed down with soda pop and followed by ice cream novelties that Papaw keeps stocked in the garage freezer.

The Chericas will be here, and Audrey and Dagny. Our Mike is in Florida on business, so we will miss him.

Mike had a birthday a week ago, and we celebrated on this past Saturday with a party at his and Audrey's house. My contribution was a pineapple upside-down cake from this recipe. It's Mike's favorite. The cake was scrumptious.

My angelic grandsons in a staged photo

Meanwhile, in the vein of back to school, our Ember returned to class at the end of July.

I think that going to school in July is ridiculous but what are you going to do.

At any rate, she had a stellar first day and first few weeks, and has announced that her favorite subject by far, is Science.

(Which made TG, her Papaw, who holds both Bachelor’s and Master’s degrees in Chemistry, proud and happy.)

This life is full of firsts

Rhett, who will be home schooled, will begin Kindergarten in a few days.

And our Allissa is starting college in East Tennessee, next week.

As for Ember, she was chuffed this past week when, in classic six-year-old style, she lost her two front teeth.

The first one came out at breakfast, and the second one followed later that evening.

She was thrilled with only one missing

Dagny, also home schooled, started back to classes today.

Her mother, our Audrey, has ordered a few Land’s End uniforms for her to wear during her morning studies.

But they found a cute uniform at a thrift store in Asheville, North Carolina, where she and Dagny spent a few days recently.

Dagny a seventh grader? Unbelievable.

Aren’t they the cleverest girls?

Dagny is entering the seventh grade.

All this book learning has exhausted me. It’s strenuous enough just keeping up me pirate standards in other areas.

So we will continue celebrating, and working, and rejoicing, until the day break, and the shadows flee away!

And that is all for now.

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Happy Thursday

Reason to rejoice

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If you're only here to read, the welcome mat is out. Stay as long as you like.

If you wish to both read and comment on this post, go here.

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Our Andrew has been home for a week. He does not live here, but he’s at his own home in East Tennessee.

It was a busy week for us. Rhett turned five this past Thursday, and on Saturday we had a party for him. I’ll share pictures of that event later.

As to the homecoming, we are all ecstatic but no one more than Andrew himself.

The trip home was a long haul, but not as long as the stressful months that led up to it.

Before departing from Chania/Souda Air Base on the Greek island of Crete, where Andrew had been stationed since early February, he let us know how to track his flight on one of the several websites that allow you to do that.

It’s seven hours ahead of Eastern Standard Time there, and the plane was set to depart shortly after midnight. So it was late afternoon for us.

He was over France

TG and I on our separate devices, and Audrey and Erica on theirs, called up his information and were able to find the plane and track it as it made its way west across Europe.

All was well until the aircraft got out over the Atlantic Ocean, at which point the website stopped tracking the plane.

This was at about bedtime here on the East Coast, so I went to sleep knowing that I’d likely be awakened by an early morning text from Andrew saying he was about to embark on the final leg of the journey.

(They had to stop in Bangor, Maine to refuel and reconfigure the passenger list and so forth, before flying to Knoxville.)

I woke up at six o’clock and went to my laptop to see if the website had resumed tracking Andrew’s flight.

Guy wanted to see the cockpit

It had; they were at that point a little to the northeast of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. 

Then I noticed that Andrew had texted me an hour previous to that, or five o’clock in the morning. I’d missed it. 

He said, leaving Bangor. Home in two hours.

Andrew arrived at McGhee Tyson Airport early in the morning of Monday, July 20, 2026, after about fifteen hours of travel.

Brittany was there with the children, having dressed them so sweetly in patriotic outfits.

The homecoming was mostly a surprise for them. They were kept in the dark until the eleventh hour, because military travel plans often change at the last minute.

Talk about a dream come true

But they were more than ready to see their daddy step off the tanker onto the tarmac.

That reminds me of a funny story. 

In the military, nicknames abound. Sometimes they are referred to as personal call signs.

At any rate, Andrew’s call sign is TARMAC. It is of recent vintage — as in, it was attached to him during this deployment.

He showed me a picture of the patch he wears on his uniform, to that effect: TARMAC.

I said, why are you called TARMAC?

TARMAC and son ... on the tarmac

He sheepishly replied: It stands for Took A Rented Moped And Crashed.

? ? ? ? ? ?

(I don’t believe that “took” in this context means took without permission. It was a rented machine but the “took” fit in to make TARMAC.)

One or more of his buddies came up with that and I think it’s hysterical. Going forward, I shall employ that nickname as much as possible.

Even though I have yet to be told the particulars of the event that led to the invention of that moniker.

Meanwhile Andrew has been enjoying to the hilt what I call the blessing of ordinary days.

Home is where the heart is

He is taking a few weeks to rest and hang out with Ember and Guy before Ember goes back to school. She will be entering the first grade in mid to late August.

I’m sure that there will be some excellent late-summer adventures leading up to the start of the new school year.

So there has been a great deal of rejoicing. I thank the ones of you who I know are rejoicing with us. It means a lot.

We will continue in that vein until the day break, and the shadows flee away!

And that is all for now.

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Happy Tuesday

A dozen years of Dagny

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Bear with me for a while longer. If you wish to comment on this post after you've read it, go here.

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Our dolly-belle Dagny is twelve years old. Can you believe?

Her birthday fell in mid-June, and naturally we celebrated with two parties.

The first event took place on the Friday evening before her Sunday birthday.

TG and I, Audrey, Dagny, Erica, Rhett, and Elliot gathered at the Mexican restaurant of the birthday girl's choosing, for a festive dinner.

Mike and Chad weren't able to come but they got in on phase two of the partying, the next day at our house.

It's not a birthday party without a balloon

Dagny chose a restaurant named El Jimador. It's a chain outfit but the food is good.

Last January we gathered at El Jimador for TG's birthday, right before the snowstorm. Since there are several of these places around town, I thought we were going to the same one as before.

It’s the one closest to my house.

But Audrey specified that Dagny wanted to go to another location, so we all showed up there. It was a stifling hot evening.

(A harbinger of the especially sweltering summer we have had and are having.)

The servers sang to her

Only, it was a busy night and it was going to be a while before we could get a table where we could be seated together.

But the night was young, so it was decided that we'd all get back into our cars and drive several miles to another El Jimador.

There was some dithering about which one, but eventually we got it sorted out.

Or so we thought.

Except, when TG and I and Audrey and Dagny had arrived at said El Jimador and were seated, there was no sign of Erica and the boys.

The next week, the Chericas were in Philadelphia

We have that thing on our phones where we can check on where one another are in the world, so whoever has the ability to track Erica (not me), looked her up.

She was at the El Jimador where we'd eaten for TG's birthday in January.

Which was not the one that the rest of us were at.

But she had realized her error as soon as she got there and saw that the rest of us weren't there.

She was even then en route to the third El Jimador she would grace that day, and pretty soon she'd arrived and we were ordering.

Mount Vernon is in the distance

We enjoyed a delicious meal.

This is the kind of place where, if they know you're observing a birthday, they show up with a complimentary dessert, and the requisite communal sombrero, and they sing to the birthday person.

This may have been why Dagny insisted on celebrating her birthday at El Jimador.

At any rate, no sooner had the child finished her Enchiladas Verdes than she was sporting the sombrero and being serenaded by servers, before tucking into a sumptuous dessert.

She shared with the boys.

The folks at El Jimador did her right

The next day, everyone came over to our house for a swim party.

I don’t remember what we ate for a meal — pizza, maybe — but there was a cheesecake which Erica had made.

And there was a balloon, and there were presents.

In recent months Dagny has become enamored of the old TV show Little House on the Prairie. 

She has already read the books. As I did when I was a child, and my children did when they were kids.

I'd call her Half Pint but she's more like a whole pint

And she’d mentioned more than once to her mother that she loved the aesthetic of the pioneer family — their house, their outfits, and so forth.

Audrey revealed this information to me, and I decided to find a pioneer girl costume for Dagny.

And I did, and it was not difficult to do, and I must tell you that I could not recommend this company any more highly than I am to you now.

It’s called Dress Up America and judging by the depth and breadth of their site, if you want, you can dress as everything from a donut to a doctor.

I found a pioneer girl costume in no time — dress, apron, bonnet — and made the purchase.

Laura Ingalls Wilder would be amazed

When it arrived, I was astounded at the quality of the outfit. And also the way it was packaged.

Just excellent. If you need to dress up as something other than yourself — or dress someone else as someone other than themselves — be smart and visit Dress Up America online.

The next day, which was Dagny’s actual birthday, we had church. 

Afterwards I gave her one last gift which I’d wrapped weeks earlier and forgot about. 

It was this Kobalt mini toolbox, in pink. I also got one of these for Allissa when she graduated from high school in May.

Erica made this confection from scratch

It’s a cute girl gift. Just in case you needed any ideas.

Dagny posed for her OBP — Official Birthday Portrait — and then she and I posed for a picture together.

Then she hopped into the car with TG and me and came to our house, and shortly after that, she and TG were headed to North Carolina.

Dagny would be going to church camp in Knoxville with her Uncle Joel and Aunt Stephanie and her cousins, for the week.

TG had agreed to deliver her to Stephanie’s house on that Sunday. 

She is becoming a young lady

Audrey would travel to Knoxville later in the week to help Brittany with Ember and Guy for a few days.

Then on the following Friday she would pick up Dagny at camp, and the next day come home, bringing Ember and Guy to spend a week with us.

So we had the Tennessee grands for a week, and we packed in lots of fun in the form of swimming and shopping and eating and all the things.

Brittany came to get them at week’s end and spent the night with us. I made a spaghetti supper and we ate it poolside where there had already been much splishin’ and a-splashin’ that day.

Meanwhile the Chericas — that would be Chad, Erica, Rhett and Elliot (Rhelliot) — had packed up early that week and headed for Virginia and Pennsylvania.

Dagny's Official Birthday Photo

They visited Mount Vernon and the Liberty Bell and Gettysburg National Military Park, among many other things, and had a wonderful time.

I was so glad to see everyone when they finally came home.

Speaking of coming home, we had been told a few weeks ago that our Andrew’s tour in the Middle East had been extended to September thirtieth at the very least.

Meaning, it could be extended again if the powers that be deemed it necessary and appropriate.

We were devastated by the news but we decided that we would meet this continued trial with grace and dignity and lots of prayer, plus deep breaths and a one-day-at-a-time attitude.

Dagny and me on her birthday

I actually quoted the Serenity Prayer to my children, in a text: God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

We knew that, as wartime trials and tribulations go, many Americans have faced much worse and for far longer.

But a few days ago, our military leadership in that part of the world made the decision to send a group of pilots home.

Andrew will be home next week.

This is one of my favorite pictures of him

We are overjoyed and so grateful. It is an answer to prayer.

Many of you have prayed and I want to thank you yet again for taking the time, and for caring enough, to do that.

We’ll continue in that vein until the day break, and the shadows flee away!

And that is all for now.

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Happy Friday :: Happy Weekend