A Labor Day of love

These sunflower and bumble-bee gnomes went up on the ledge the first of August

As per usual when Labor Day rolls around, we had a big fancy to-do at Chez Weber on Monday.

Just as we celebrate our Erica's birthday each year on Memorial Day, we celebrate our Stephanie's birthday on Labor Day.

Those occasions sort of book-end the summer.

Once again, we had a birthday to celebrate

The grandkids and even a few of the adults enjoyed what will likely be their last swim of the summer -- and they swam and swam, for much of the day.

It's hot again. Not AS hot, and certainly cooler during these late-summer nights, but still hot and bright enough to find a multi-hour swim-and-play time refreshing and enjoyable.

Naturally, I was in the kitchen.

Melanie is happiest sitting off to one side, observing. Piper was a sentinel.

There was nothing exceptional about the meal (in fact it may have been a carbon copy of our Memorial Day feast): burgers, hot dogs, and chicken tenders on the grill; bacon to go on the burgers; barbecue beans and baked macaroni and cheese; an assortment of chips; deviled eggs; soft drinks and sparkling water.

It was all so simple but tasty and plentiful, and everyone was famished by two o'clock when we sat down to eat.

For Stephanie's birthday dessert, on Sunday night while waiting for them to arrive, I'd made an ice cream sandwich cake and popped it into the freezer. 

Yet another sunflower-bearing gnome sat his ground on the lazy Susan

Stephanie and her family, as they do every year, drove from North Carolina after Sunday evening services. Our Joel, her husband, is a pastor.

They got in around eleven o'clock. We sat up and talked until one o'clock in the morning.

There was no rush to get up early on Monday, but I was showered and dressed before nine and made a pot of coffee for Stephanie, Allissa, and me.

If you do not have an egg slicer like this one, at least you have my condolences

By one o'clock or so, everyone had arrived for swimming and the meal.

There had been one or two store runs for last-minute stuff. Most everybody ended up sitting around outside before lunch was served.

Meanwhile I had prepared all of the meat for TG and Chad to throw on the grill, but I had to make the sides.

Bees Wrap covered the freshly cooked thick-sliced bacon

Earlier that day I had put together the crock pot of barbecue beans. There is no recipe for this but in addition to the beans, it involves ketchup (some), mustard (a decent amount), Sweet Baby Ray's (lots), brown sugar (don't be stingy), and Creole seasoning (liberal sprinkling).

You make them with your heart. They are tangy and spicy. I do not serve bland food.

Then I cooked the noodles and assembled the semi-homemade baked macaroni and cheese.

Semi-homemade baked macaroni and cheese ... before baking

Next it was time to make the deviled eggs. I fired up my Dash egg cooker.

Oh and I have a new toy -- again, influenced to buy by a Korean housewife -- which maybe you already have.

But if you don't, you need one.

The birthday cake, aflame with golden candles

It's this multi-level egg slicer. It will cut your egg in half, or dice it, or slice it into pretty wedges.

I don't know what I ever did without it.

My deviled eggs were so precisely cut, they looked as though they'd been rent asunder with a laser beam. The velvety yolks practically jumped out of each half.

The birthday girl admiring her confection

I made the filling extra fluffy too. Probably my best work involving deviled eggs, to date.

Sorry but I forgot to take a picture of them after they were complete. And they didn't last long.

Another nifty kitchen tool I've had for some time, but never told you about, is Bee's Wrap.

Early evening and time to head for home

Audrey got me this for Christmas last year and I reach for it so often, I will definitely replace my supply once it has lost the qualities that make it so useful.

The package I got contained three pieces of Bee's Wrap. One is pretty small; you might use it to cover a lemon you've cut in half, or at most an apple.

The middle size sheet is larger -- ideal for placing over the top of a small container, maybe the dimensions of a cereal bowl.

The large size will cover a whole dinner plate and you have enough on the edges to fold it under.

TG and Little Andrew looking more pensive than they actually were

You rinse off and reuse your pieces of Bee's Wrap. They smell like honey.

I love them.

On Monday I used a sheet to cover the thick-sliced bacon I'd made in the oven, to go with the burgers.

So anyway we ate, and then everyone hung out while I cleared the table and made the dessert coffee. Then we had our ice cream sandwich cake.

Many conversations were going on at once

Stephanie loves pink so I had decorated the top with pink sanding sugar and festive sprinkles.

We put seven golden candles to add a little drama.

She blew those out and we sang to her, and then I carved out huge hunks of the cake for everyone to enjoy.

Then Stephanie opened her gifts. She got perfume and jewelry and a jacket, among other things.

Allissa and Dagny are never ready to say goodbye

Everyone pretty much dispersed then, for the next few hours. The kids got back into the pool. TG got in with them.

Melanie, who loves to simply sit and observe, spent much of the day seated at one end of the pool with Piper right at her feet.

It's as though Piper were guarding her.

Eventually it was time for everyone to think about leaving. I say think about, because we stood around in the yard for at least half an hour before anyone left.

Everyone gets a hug

It's sort of a tradition. Weather permitting.

Stephanie's group had a three-hour drive ahead of them, and Tuesday was a school day for little Andrew, who is in sixth grade.

Allissa, a tenth-grader, had the day off -- I don't remember why -- and was planning to go to the bank and open a checking account, since she now has a job and gets paychecks.

The Tar Heel bunch were the first to pull away

We waved and blew kisses as they drove away.

Cherica were next to leave. They still haven't chosen a name for that baby who will be here in four weeks. I've made many suggestions but for some reason they do not seem ready to let me name my fourth grandson.

I don't know why; I would do a good job at naming him.

Then Cherica and Rhett, with that as-yet-unnamed baby on board

Dagny and Audrey left last and it was only about seven o'clock.

I will admit that it's nice to retreat to one's chair and relax after so much sustained activity and action.

So it was a pleasant, quiet evening with some reflection on the events of the day.

The boy gnome has hold of a handy honey dipper

Autumn looms.

What did you do for Labor Day?

Are you enjoying September?

Tell me in the comments.

And that is all for now.

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Happy Wednesday

I'm a wreck for Weck

This cavernous glass jar holds four bricks of Cafe La Llave Espresso

The pirate's love for glass is well known. To some. 

Keep it glassy is one of my favorite sayings that I made up all by me onesie.

There's something about glass that just sort of sends me. I know I am not alone.

I alluded recently to a few YouTube channels to which my consciousness had been raised by my daughter Erica.

The first one was Hamimommy. The channel's content consists of no talking (I like that) but rather a South Korean (she lives in Seoul) wife and mother going about her daily tasks as a homemaker.

(Cooking, cleaning, shopping, and the like. Taking care of her home and family.)

There are English subtitles which you can choose -- handy because Hamimommy does add captions in her language.

These accounts include some of the cutest dogs you will ever want to hug and kiss, if only you could reach through your screen and grab them.

The strawberry motif is so endearing

Dogs are the same everywhere. They have no language. It is soothing and delightful.

Then Erica said that if I liked Hamimommy, I needed to watch Honeyjubu. She was right. 

Honeyjubu is a South Korean lady in a slightly different phase in life; as in, she has more than one child and they are older than Hami, who is for now a singleton.

Honeyjubu cleans things that are already clean, but I overlook that. Cleaning what is already clean will never enrapture me but it's her house and she can do what she likes.

I don't like much of anything these ladies cook, either, but that's not the point. It can be mesmerizing to watch them make kimchi, for example. Just go with it.

Food is incredibly important in this culture. Fresh food is much more important there than it is here. At least that is the conclusion I have come to. If I'm wrong, and you can correct me out of personal experience, please do.

Moving on. Since discovering the above two channels, I found the account/channel of Ssoberry, whom I find utterly bewitching.

And that's saying a lot because of all the things I despise in this world, camping is at the top of the list.

These jars are much larger than you probably think

When you read my memoir, you will understand why.

I shared Ssoberry with Erica. I see your Ssoberry and raise you Kitchen Story, she said.

And yes, we are all devoted to Hamzy. Hamzy predates all of the others.

Hamzy is a vibe all unto herself and you can't take it away from her. IYKYK.

There are dozens and probably hundreds of channels similar to these. If you go looking for them, you will find them there on YouTube.

I and my girls are nuts about the Koreans -- their zen culture is amazing. Much admiration for these women.

Not being by nature a very calm person (I dare you to snicker), I am drawn to their peaceful and purposeful demeanor. I love their dresses and especially their aprons. (I am a certified apron junkie).

It's the unabashed domesticity that gets me right where I live. As I often say, I am domestic to my core. I identify as a homemaker, haaaha. And a pirate.

You can use the gasket and clips if you need to

Just to clarify, it's rare (although it does happen) that we girls in our respective domiciles just sit and stare at our flatscreens while these videos are playing.

We like for them to play while we do other things. It's not like there's a plot; you won't miss anything if you go put the roast on and fold a load of laundry, then later grab a snack and pick up where you left off.

But for sheer relaxation that IS fun to just watch -- especially if you are stressed out -- try Seoul Walker.

Simply marvelous. Off the charts great. That is my kind of TV.

Another great channel gifted to my consciousness by Erica is Bread Story. It is the work of a Japanese baker. Must see to appreciate.

If I could just hang out at bakeries all day, that would be fine by me. With frequent breaks to visit a candy store.

Although I have little patience for social media in general and practically no respect for the term "influencer", let's face it: if you watch, if you read, if you pay attention to anything at all, sooner or later you are going to be influenced.

That happened a few weeks ago when I was watching a Hamimommy video. It was this one.

It's hard for me to resist cute glass jars from the dollar store

She was making milk pudding and placing single-serve portions into the most charming jars. These had white plastic lids but I had seen her use other, similar jars, that had glass lids.

I began to experience a deep need to know what kind of jars these were.

I'll spare you the gory details but shortly I got to the bottom of it: 

They are Weck jars. A German brand that is popular in Europe. Erica says that practically all of the Korean housewives use them.

My mouth began watering for a Weck jar.

And so I ordered one. It was this one.

When Erica came over several days after my Weck jar arrived, and it was ensconced on the workbench next to my Peugeot pepper grinder, holding the Kosher salt without which I can neither cook nor eat, she breathed a sigh.

I can't believe I am in the presence of a Weck jar, she said reverently.

Careful or you too will become a wreck for Weck

I know what she's getting for Christmas.

She said she didn't even realize that the Weck icon was a strawberry.

Adorable. Stunning. I wish you could experience this gorgeous jar.

It comes with a rubber gasket and two adorable clips in case you want to store something in it more important than salt.

But I like the glass-on-glass look and feel. I love lifting the large glass disc of the lid very carefully and dipping in to get a pinch or a measuring spoonful of salt.

I love the pale green color because bottle green may be the most beautiful color in the world.

Well. There is pink. Maybe I should stop right there. 

Anyway, there you have it. It's official: I am a wreck for Weck.

Call me nuts but I store my sliced almonds in this skull jar

Tell me what you are a wreck for (it does not have to rhyme) that you have been influenced to acquire.

And folks, that is it for August 2023.

Tomorrow begin my adored -ber months. Four of them, culminating in Christmas.

I hope you enjoy them to the fullest because they pass like the briefest of vapors, yet contain so much joy while they last.

And that is all for now.

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Happy Thursday :: Happy September

Say what

Cadged from the internet

TG came at me several days ago with a fun fact. He'd heard it on the radio.

The average person lives four thousand weeks, he said. 

I let that sink in. Just for a moment. Then:

Huh? I said. I mean, I was thinking about how fast a week goes by.

BOOM! It's Monday. Sleep a little, walk a little, read a little, take a picture or two, text some friends or the kids, do some laundry, load the dishwasher, go to church, and BOOM! It's Monday again.

A week.

On a never-ending repeat cycle.

Only four thousand of those? A ten-year-old has already lived more than five hundred of them!

I whipped out my phone, located the calculator, and attempted to do some nitty-gritty math. 

Finding I could not do it that way, I consulted the internet.

Are you ready for this?

Not counting the nine months I was in the womb (I was born on the very day I was due, owing to the fact that I'm nothing if not punctual), I have already lived three thousand, four hundred and sixty-nine weeks.

Of four thousand.

Siblings. No rivalry ... yet. Photo courtesy Andrew Weber

That's IF I make it to age seventy-seven, and you know as well as I do that there is no guarantee of that.

Of course I could go beyond age seventy-seven, and I know we are all hoping that I do. Aren't we?

And not for nothing but here are the balance of my grimtastic statistics. I dare you to put in your own birthday.

Why oh why do you devote so much of your wee tired pirate brain to deliberating on such things, you may be asking.

Because as I write, Baby Guy is already four days old. Almost one week!

I haven't even met him yet. And already I am wondering -- just out of curiosity -- if I will live to see him graduate from high school.

Unless he turns out to be a child prodigy, that's about nine hundred twenty-six weeks from now. Class of 2041. I will be eighty-four years old.

Long past threescore and ten and well past threescore and seventeen.

Let's face it: this may all be moot.

One thing we know is that we don't know. How many more weeks we have to live, that is.

Some of us may make it to age one hundred. It's not unheard of. 

That's five thousand, two hundred weeks (ezpz).

I'd better check and see if Mom has ordered my cap and gown ... Photo courtesy Andrew Weber

But if best-case likely scenario is that we have a mere four thousand weeks?

And most of them are already gone with the wind?

I'd better go get a load of laundry started.

And that is all for now.

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Happy Monday

One of the good Guys

Photo courtesy Brooke Maxwell

Baby Guy Preston Weber has arrived. Our seventh grandchild.

It was yesterday, between four and five in the afternoon. He weighed eight pounds, eleven ounces.

Brittany delivered in a snap, with no problems.

I have arrived

Ember was able to come over shortly afterwards, to greet her baby brother.

No; we were not there. We're going to meet him in a few weeks.

When some of the dust has settled, as it were.

Hi Mommy

In five weeks or so, we will have another baby boy: Chad and Erica's second son.

Our eighth grandchild. Then we will have four girls and four boys.

I think I'll sleep. No; I think I'll eat. Wait.

Four being my favorite number, I'm really into the sound of that.

Meanwhile we have all hungrily devoured the pictures and videos Andrew has sent.

Photo courtesy Brooke Maxwell

As I commented on one of our family texts last night, you'd think Andrew was proud of that kid or something.

I admit to having some verklempt moments, remembering the day our own baby son was born more than thirty-four years ago.

Andrew Guy and Guy Preston

And now his baby son has been born.

And the years will tumble on willy-nilly like a blur, and we'll be astonished at how swiftly this baby grows.

And on and on it goes.

And that is all for now.

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Happy Friday :: Happy Weekend

That about summers it up

Classic South Carolina late-August sky: hot blue with huge puffy white clouds

As summer is on the wane -- two thirds over but somehow it seems like more than that -- and something in the quality of the air makes us think of fall (although it is still scorching here), I feel the need to report.

I'll be honest: as life goes through its many and mini-phases, I am always pondering the ways that beginnings segue into endings, and vice versa.

It's deep water. Even for a pesky pirate. Perhaps too deep. But let's wade in.

Where to begin and where to end?

Well. Our grandson Guy Preston Weber is set to make his appearance later this week.

We are all beside ourselves with excitement, not least Baby Guy's parents, Andrew and Brittany, and big sister Ember.

I began working at age fifteen too ... at Burger King

Speaking of Ember, she started back to preschool a few days ago. Her second year.

She also got her first haircut -- that being significant because both Ember and her mother are known for their abundant strawberry-blond tresses.

(To me, Ember's features resemble her dad, while her coloring -- especially her hair -- are all her mother.)

If possible, after the chichi cut and style, she looks even more like Brittany.

Ah well. She is about to experience the life-changing realities of having a sibling.

That certainly has the potential to curl your hair.

Ember in the stylist's chair

Allissa, one of the (three) original Tar Heel Tootsies, just this week started her sophomore year in high school.

She has also landed her first job.

Our second-eldest granddaughter will be working part-time (mostly Saturdays, plus one or two days a week after school) at Leap of Faith Christian Bookstore in Lenoir, North Carolina.

I'm sure she'll be an asset there but can you believe? Our little Allissa, gainfully employed?

It strains credulity.

There's been a new beginning for our Dagny too. She has begun fourth grade.

She exceeds the legal limit of cuteness

Only, this year, for the first time since beginning her academic career as a kindergartner in 2019, she is not matriculated at Grace Christian School in West Columbia.

She is being home schooled. Classes started last Thursday.

Things are going well so far. Audrey invested in the abeka curriculum, which includes a great deal of instruction by video as well as one-on-one learning via parents and maybe even the well-placed tutor.

Several weeks ago Audrey, Dagny, and I were walking in my neighborhood when we saw that a homeowner had placed an interesting piece of furniture at the curb, with other trash.

It was a table with a sturdy steel frame and a black glass top. Audrey set it upright and put the glass pieces on, and was impressed.

We called TG, who came down with the car and picked it up to, we hoped, serve as Dagny's school desk.

My brave sister battles cancer ... for the second time in ten years

(She has a couple of options for desks, but this was the roomiest surface-wise).

A small piece of glass was lost in translation but TG amended the design to include only one section, and it was the bigger one, so home it went with Audrey and Dagny.

A new beginning for a cast-off table that no doubt believed it had reached its end.

In other news, my sister, Kay, has completed her three chemo treatments for gastric lymphoma and is now going through a course of radiation.

Pierre-Philippe took her out for lunch a few weeks ago, to celebrate finishing chemo. This was huge, because for several months she had been able to eat so little, and had lost a lot of weight.

She is tolerating the radiation treatments well and we are hopeful that soon, she can start all over, cancer-free. Again (she survived breast cancer eight years ago). And her appetite has returned. Begun again, as it were.

A table at its end has begun again ... as a desk

Kay's son-in-law, Jacob, husband of hers and Pierre-Philippe's youngest daughter, Joanna, has ended one thing and begun another as well.

In May, Jacob completed his Doctorate of Musical Arts (DMA) in Piano, at the Cleveland Institute of Music.

He is currently pursuing a career path as a concert pianist, and recently received some good news which I am not at liberty to share. But I will when I am able.

I wrote in late 2021 about the sad news of Jacob and Joanna losing their baby son, Noah.

They already had Freddie and now God has given them a new baby son whom they named Andrew.

We are officially lousy with Andrews in this family.

Jacob and Joanna in Asheville last February

The pirate really digs classical music so Jacob's achievements hit big-time for me. I hope they will for you too.

Jacob was guest pianist with the Asheville Symphony Orchestra last February. He played the Norwegian composer Edvard Grieg's only piano concerto during their Masterworks 4 Aurora Series.

If you'd like to hear Jacob play, treat yourself to this half hour on YouTube. That's our Jacob, playing Sergei Prokofiev's Piano Concerto Number 3 in C Major, Op. 26, with the Cleveland Institute of Music Orchestra.

It's all jaw-dropping but the last minute or so of Jacob's performance is positively hair-raising. For all the right reasons. So if you cannot or prefer not to watch all of it, at least watch that.

This is Russian collusion I can get behind.

I'll keep you posted on Jacob's pursuit of his dream job, but for the nonce he has joined the faculty at Cleveland Institute of Music.

We treated Henry to lunch at Cracker Barrel. Photo by Dagny.

Meanwhile Henry, my late mother's widower, turned ninety-one on August fourth.

TG, Dagny, and I met him at the Cracker Barrel in Simpsonville a few days later, and treated him to a birthday lunch.

Henry looks good, feels good, and is more active than many men half his age.

An ending will eventually come (of his life on this earth), but the Grim Reaper does not appear to be dogging his steps.

Perhaps the sickle-wielding ghoul is distracted. One can only hope. At any rate, we are grateful.

As you know, our brother-in-law, Johnny, did not fare as well and has been gone now for two weeks.

Dagny's fourth-grade classroom. Click to embiggen.

A celebration of life in his honor has been scheduled for early September, in Ohio.

Lord willing, TG and I will be in attendance for that, and will stop in Knoxville both on the way north and on the way back south, to spend some time with Andrew, Brittany, Ember, and Baby Guy.

They say anticipation is part of the fun, but waiting on a baby to arrive is the most exquisite agony.

And I'm just one of the grandmothers.

I mentioned that, being the end of August, it is hot here.

And I mean H-O-T like, fry an egg on the sidewalk and bake a batch of cookies in your closed-up car, hot.

Rizzo occasionally wakes up and looks around, then goes back to sleep

Try not to boil your own brain walking into the store and back to your car, hot.

For the most part I stay cool, in the house. If I'm out of the house, I am in the pool.

With one exception: I have begun rising just before sunup, so as to get in a half-hour walk before the heat begins to be an issue.

So far, it is working well. Oh, so you're an early riser? you may be thinking. That's surprising.

I will thank you not to snicker. No, I am no stripe of an early riser. The pirate is a stay-up-late-er.

But I can get up to walk, because do you know what?

Sweetness a-doors being given free roam of three rooms instead of only one

When I get home after that walk, it's only seven fifteen. The birds are barely up.

And I return to my pillow.

Sometimes I even go back to sleep, for a little while. 

And then I get up for the second time -- a new beginning -- and make coffee and empty the dishwasher and feed the pets. And do all the things.

It seems to be working well and I know that before too long, setting my phone alarm for six thirty will no longer be necessary.

Temperatures will become less nuclear and I'll be able to start walking a tad bit later in the day.

Ember is up early a few days a week, for preschool

I look forward to that but for now, I enjoy walking down the street in the early morning. The air is sweet.

Also as I go, I am listening to a book. That way, I don't get bored.

Rizzo and Sweetness don't seem bored either, but then how does one tell if a dog or a cat are suffering from ennui?

Sweetness has been allowed free roam of part of the house -- kitchen, TV room, sun room -- for an hour or so most days.

She scouts around for anything to get into and then, finding nothing, slouches in a corner or in front of the door to the upstairs.

Not being confined to the sun room all day seems to appeal to her, but then she is not hard to please.

Stay cool my friends

Rizzo sleeps the requisite sixteen hours a day but still knows how to tell time, as in, when it is time to wake up for a meal or a treat.

I know when it's time for a treat, too. I shall now treat you to this post finally being over.

And that is all for now.

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Happy Monday :: Happy New Week

Fun times when you're having flies. Or cicadas.

All its problems are over

It is once again the season of flies. In the house. Every time you open the door.

Nasty varmints pert' near drive me crazy. I am often brandishing a purple flyswatter but more often than not, if I succeed in taking out a fly, it's with the edge of my dishtowel.

I am amazingly accurate with my dishtowel so watch out.

But! Also, the Cicada Killer. Outside the house -- as in, right outside the door.

We have lived in our house for eighteen years, come Labor Day weekend.

According to this very blog, for at least twelve summers (because when I first -- and last -- wrote about them, was the first time I noticed them), we have been blessed plagued visited in late July and throughout August, with Cicada Killers.

Here's a conundrum: I hate bugs; I mean, don't get me started. But I love cicadas. 

More to the point, I love the sound of them. Every year, just after Mother's Day, I begin listening for the first whine of a cicada.

(I would not go so far as to say that I want one to crawl on me, and have no desire to keep one as a pet, but since they are not interested in that, it is a non-issue.)

Me and my shadow

This time of year -- the dog days of summer, as it were, and here in South Carolina, the dogs are nothing if not foaming at the mouth (as in, it is HOT) -- the cicadas' super-loud, concentrated morning-time busy, buzzy choruses (more sing than wing) thrill me through and through.

I could go on and on about that but, in all honesty and for reasons not entirely clear to me, the post I wrote about this many Augusts ago (linked above) is better than anything I could write about it today.

So please read it.

But unlike that long-ago post, this time I got pictures of our deck littered with cicada bodies.

And according to this short but excellent article on the subject, the Cicada Killers swooping and diving on patrol for hours on end just outside the French doors leading from our kitchen to our pool, are females.

Also according to the article, fierce and scary as they look, they are docile.

All they want is to take the dead cicadas back to their dens and leave the corpses there for their young to feast on at a later time. When they wake up.

Or something like that.

Although the last thing (or near to it) in the world I want is to be stung by any kind of stinging insect, these critters neither bother nor frighten me.

We've fallen and we can't get up

I figure, the bugs have their role to fulfill and they are just doing what God told them to do.

May that be said of all of us.

The children look vaguely alarmed when they see the CKs but I tell them: Just keep moving. They don't want you.

It's poignant to see the CKs struggling, unwilling to let go of their latest inert cicada conquest, to crawl between the deck boards to what I assume is some kind of gathering place below decks.

They can't get through, so cicada remains proliferate on the deck.

(I am assuming that the CKs successfully deposit some of their victims where they intended to, but that is only an assumption so don't bet the farm on it.)

Erica and Audrey and the children were here for hours yesterday, and we were all swimming because if you're going to be outside, it's advisable to be up to your shoulders in cool water.

One intriguing thing about this time of year is how many cicada shells are to be found, both on the ground and clinging to trees and even the side of the house.

Audrey whipped out her phone and learned that the winged cicadas emerge from those dull brown shells (after emerging from underground where they can live for up to seventeen years) that they leave behind. 

Belly up

And then they live for two to six weeks. Just long enough to complete a few assigned tasks.

That's the approximate life span of the Cicada Killer, too: a few weeks for males, maybe four weeks for females.

A house fly can do its worst for maybe a month if it avoids my dishtowel.

I don't mean to dwell on death on such a beautiful summer day, but yesterday evening, we lost a family member.

TG's and my brother-in-law (husband of Ruth, TG's only sister) passed away at the age of sixty-three.

Rest in Peace, Johnny.

We will see you in a better day, in eternal summer.

Dr. Peterson: My favorite Canadian and current desktop wallpaper

As Jordan Peterson says: Accept the terrible responsibility of life, with eyes wide open.

The Pirate adds: Life is too long not to recognize every day how short it is. 

And act accordingly.

And that is all for now.

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Happy Tuesday

He's an ICK

Rhett Gregory Porter, age two ... wearing the birthday outfit we bought for him

Yes I said ICK.

Our Rhett is an Insanely Cute Kid. 

We celebrated him all last weekend because on Sunday, he turned two.

No one could ever say we don't thoroughly enjoy all of our babies.

Rhett was thrilled at the prospect of turning two

And he got the most out of his birthday, loving every nanosecond of it.

On Saturday we had his actual party. 

It was at our house and featured a menu a lot like our other summer parties: hamburgers and hot dogs done on the grill, potato salad, barbecue beans, deviled eggs, baked macaroni and cheese.

And birthday cake.

The theme for the party was motorized modes of transportation

In this case, Rhett's mother made him a cake in the shape of a great big two. Chocolate, with chocolate icing.

The theme Erica chose was transportation. That's because like most little boys, Rhett loves cars and planes and trains and so forth.

Plus, she said, it was easy.

Ever notice that all kids' birthday parties now have to have a theme?

I wish I had pictures like this of my kids but alas, I do not

It was not that way when I was a kid. In fact I don't remember any birthday parties.

Well, there was that one where I invited a bunch of kids from school and nobody came.

We moved a lot -- usually twice each school year. As a result, no one knew who I was.

(No; it wasn't because we were military. For various reasons, most involving the law, we were transients.)

I put my stash of toy cars on display

But I digress.

Now with the grandkids, when the subject of an impending birthday party arises, I always ask: What is your theme?

It's the new normal.

In keeping with said theme, Erica had gone to Hobby Lobby and bought Rhett a plain red t-shirt, then embellished it with appliques of a big two, and various vehicles to include a tractor and a taxi and an ambulance.

He sported a Birthday Boy badge

I have four die-cast pull-back cars that stay in a drawer in the TV room. There are red and yellow Chevrolets (I call them ketchup and mustard), plus a black Chevy and a black Cadillac.

Rhett runs to get them almost the moment he walks into the house.

(That's if he's not pulling on the freezer drawer to get at the mini marshmallows I keep in there just for him.)

I got the cars out this time, before he had a chance, and put them on the table as part of the decorations.

Semi-homemade: make it from the box, then add buttermilk and shredded cheese, then more cheese on top, and bake

In no time flat he had filched the cars from the Lazy Susan and was playing with them. Ah well.

Erica kept it simple with a few banners, and several cake decorations that were stuck in on sticks.

It was cute. She also had three big blocks spelling out his age.

We went out on the front porch to get shots of him with those.

The man of the hour poses with his homemade two-shaped birthday cake

Erica had been reading him a story book about a little kid having a birthday, and tying it in with his own.

As a result, Rhett was more than clued in on what the day was all about.

He was so excited and happy to pose. Priceless.

Then I got a few shots of him back inside, with his birthday cake.

Pretty snazzy ... and it tasted good too

In due time the vittles were ready so we all sat down to eat.

Rhett is a foodie and a chow hound from the word go, so he was enthusiastic about this development.

He ate every bite of what was on his plate.

We decided to go ahead and have cake and coffee, and open presents, because everyone wanted to go swimming.

Naturally there were balloons bobbing overhead

Erica gave Rhett a big slab of cake that had been left over after making the two cake.

He devoured about half of that, and then it was time for presents.

Because he very badly needed a nap.

The grandchildren mostly sleep in their pack and play apparatuses, set up in TG's and my room by their parents when they visit.

There were loads of birthday gifts and greetings

Kids sleep really well in our room. For one thing, it's quiet and for another, it's cool and, with the shades down, dim.

But first it was time for those gifts and Rhett seemed to know instinctively that this was the makings of an extra good time.

He carefully looked at all of his cards while his mother read them to him.

She encouraged him to pull the tissue paper out of the gift bags and to tear gift wrap off where necessary.

He was chuffed when this tray of food was presented to him

He got a Stanley FlowSteady Bear Cub bottle from Audrey and Dagny. They had tucked two one-dollar bills into his card, and it was obvious that he was appreciative of the cash.

They also gave him a purple plush crescent moon.

Rhett is fascinated with the moon and looks for it whenever he goes outside -- day or night.

Once he locates it, he begins pointing and saying moooon! Even if it's not visible except in his imagination.

He dug in and ate it all

TG and I also got him a Celestial Buddies moon toy. Like the purple plush moon, it has legs.

We also got him a copy of Goodnight Moon in board book format.

Aunt Stephanie and family gave him a Leap Frog 100 Animals book.

Uncle Andrew and Aunt Brittany sent a toy push lawn mower that produces bubbles as you work.

This was taken on Father's Day, at church. Rhett is known for his woebegone look.

Our friend Andrea from church had been invited to the party. She gave him a Spike the Ankylosaurus toy.

TG and I also got him a whole outfit, including suspenders and a bow tie, plus several more shirts and pairs of shorts.

There were coloring books and crayons and snack pods and all manner of other things for him to have and play with and enjoy and do.

Contemplating the many implications of turning two

That portion of the party concluded, Chad and Erica put Rhett down for a nap.

We all went outside and most of us got in the pool. Eventually Rhett woke up and joined us.

He is obsessed with jumping off the side into Chad's arms, then climbing out and doing it again.

After about fifty times, Chad was tired of that game and Rhett was encouraged to let his mother hold him as she walked around in the shallow end.

This will be nice to take on trips

Several weeks ago Audrey was at Aldi and saw an adorable bath towel that has a hood and covers the whole child and even snaps on the sides.

She got one for Rhett, and when I saw it, I sent TG to Aldi so that he could get one for me to send to Ember.

Hers is pink and blue with a whale motif, but Rhett's is a dinosaur theme.

Also I think you will like this story. A couple of weeks ago Erica was bringing Rhett over so that they could swim.

Ember Rae in her towel from Aldi. Photo courtesy Brittany Weber

Bring a sun hat for him, I said. We were texting.

Rhett will not wear sunglasses -- we have tried -- but he needs something to keep the bright hot day out of his eyes when he's in the pool. 

It's brutal this time of year.

But -- He doesn't have one, she responded.

Show me the money, honey

TG was going out. I asked him to stop by Dollar General and see if they had a child-sized sun hat for Rhett to wear in the pool.

He came home with not only a doozy of a hat, but a tale to tell.

There had been some confusion in the aisle where he found the hat -- labeled, weirdly, One Size Fits All -- which he suspected would be technically too big for Rhett, but which might work nonetheless.

A near-total lunar eclipse

But he couldn't figure out the price. Indications in the area where he found it were that it would run him either five dollars or eight dollars.

He took it to the till and asked the cashier if she could tell whether the hat was five dollars or eight dollars.

I know you're thinking, just scan it. I said as much during the story telling phase of the completed mission, once TG had come home with the hat.

Mowing the concrete around the pool appears to be serious business

He held his hand up as if to say, Wait for it.

The cashier rang up the hat. It cost one cent. As in, a penny.

One cent! That's all they wanted for that hat.

TG said well he thought he'd take it at that price. If Rhett couldn't wear it, someone could.

All evidence to the contrary, wearing this hat did not make Rhett sad

And it IS too big, but Rhett loves it and certainly will have a sun hat now for many years to come.

This hat is nice. Thick fabric and a chin strap and little vents, and it even has the snaps on the sides, if you want to change the look of your brim.

He wears it with his towel and it's pretty comical.

Handy snaps on the side. This may in fact be a fishing hat.

A note about Rhett's woebegone facial expressions. He looks miserable but he isn't. It's just Rhett. He will pull a poker face and refuse to smile even when he's having a good time.

Although Rhett overwhelmingly favors his dad, he looks a lot like his mother as a child when he does what I call his mournful face. She did the same thing as a kid.

Posing with his beloved cousin Nah-nee (Dagny) after church on his birthday

So don't worry that he wasn't enjoying himself. He was. It's just his way. The more we ask him to smile, the more he won't.

In a few months he will have a baby brother to hold and love, and we don't think he knows what's about to hit him. He won't be the only game in town any more.

But that's part of life. And siblings are a pretty great part of life.

Before Rhett gets to meet his little brother, Ember will get to meet hers.

It was an occasion marked with laughter and love

Andrew and Brittany's son is due to arrive in about five weeks.

Two more ICKs in the lineup.

Here on the home front, we'll be lining up the pack and plays in our bedroom by Thanksgiving, for afternoon naps.

I can tuck the tired mamas up in our bed at the same time if need be. It will be fine.

And that is all for now except to say: Have you any ICKs in your life? Tell me about them.

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Happy Wednesday

Three more birthdays and an anniversary

TG came home with these on our anniversary

Before July gets away from me -- yes, it is running from me, as fast as its little July feet can carry it -- I must tell you about our June.

As in, the part of June that commenced when Mari and Bob's visit was over.

June used to mean three things to me: our wedding anniversary, the start of summer, and my mother's birthday. In that order.

Our Andrew was in Greece for much of June. Here he is at the Parthenon.

Until Dagny came along, and then our Chad joined the family, hers was the only June birthday in our immediate family.

Had she lived, Mom would have turned eighty-six on June twenty-fifth.

However, branching out on the family tree, there is also our brother-in-law Pierre-Philippe, who turned seventy on June second (he was born in France on the coronation day of Queen Elizabeth II); our sister-in-law Marcia, who turned seventy on June twentieth; and her daughter, our niece Angie, who turned fifty on June twenty-fifth.)

Uncle Chad and Aunt Erica gave her a lava lamp

But in 2014, on June the fourteenth -- Flag Day, and also, Dagny is glad to say, President Trump's birthday -- into the immediate family was born our Dagny.

Then in 2018 our Chad joined the clan by marrying Erica. His birthday is June twenty-sixth.

So it was that not much longer after the door had shut behind our early June houseguests, we were gearing up for Dagny's birthday celebrations.

I wish everyone had a Hungry Howie's

Of necessity, there were two parties: one on her actual birthday, which was a Wednesday, and the real party on the following Saturday.

So that everyone could come and celebrate with us.

On the actual day, as every Wednesday, in the evening we had prayer meeting.

There were many birthday presents

I brought Dagny's birthday balloon right into church with me and planted it (at a low altitude, where it would not be a distraction) beside the pew where she and her mother sit.

After church, we all headed for Waffle House.

More balloons had materialized -- ones that had stayed in Audrey's car during services -- and Dagny brought the whole bunch into the restaurant with her.

Dagny wasn't sure what to make of that stuffed tardigrade

This garnered a great deal of attention and many congratulations from other diners, for the birthday girl.

Waffle House is likely one of the top ten friendliest places on earth. I hope you get to experience having a fine meal at this culinary temple someday.

Example: A while back, TG and I had a meal at our Waffle House on a Sunday afternoon. We were accompanied by our friend Andrea from church, who was spending the afternoon with us.

Her mother saved the day by giving her a big Squishmallow

When our feast was concluded and Margie (we know all of the waitresses by name) approached our table to (we thought) lay down our check, she instead told us:

Your bill has been taken care of.

We all looked around. By whom? When? We asked.

You can't put too much pepperoni on a pizza for me

They're gone already, Margie announced in her forthright way, and left us to ruminate on that random kindness.

Not being required to pay the bill, we left Margie a nice tip instead.

The experience had an impact on me. So much so that, last Christmas (which you will recall fell on a Sunday), we stopped by Waffle House on our way home from church to give a card to Ashley, our favorite waitress.

I consider this to be the OBP (Official Birthday Portrait) ... taken on the day she turned nine

It contained a fifty dollar bill. I only tell you that because we felt we should be thoughtful of her in the same way that an anonymous person had been thoughtful of us.

And it seemed to mean a lot to Ashley (who goes by Ashes) and it was nice to bring a smile to her face on Christmas as she worked her shift at Waffle House.

So anyway, into Waffle House our whole gang trooped at about eight-thirty on the night of Dagny's actual ninth birthday.

There was no shortage of birthday cake

She opened a couple of her presents -- including the ultra-weird and completely unexpected plush tardigrade I got her -- and decided to leave all the rest until her big party.

We had a nice time and Dagny was treated to more Happy Birthday wishes from fellow diners as we left to go, each to our respective homes.

On the following Saturday, Stephanie and Melanie and Allissa and Andrew drove down from North Carolina for the day, and all the rest of us were there except for Andrew and Brittany.

This stuffed corgi belongs to me. Her name is Candy, just like one of the late Queen Elizabeth's favorite corgis.

(Andrew was actually in Greece for a two-week assignment with his unit, refueling and otherwise providing support to the Hellenic Air Force in that country.)

He sent us pictures of himself with his buddies at the Parthenon.

He also told me he got me two rocks from the shore of the Aegean Sea. I asked him to bring me something.

We all had to choose at least one sticker to wear

No I'm serious; I did not want a souvenir that cost anything. I asked for a rock.

I can't wait to see it and best of all, there is another one to go with it. Two Greek rocks.

Anyway at Dagny's Saturday birthday party, the theme was Corgis. She loves Corgi dogs but she can't have one, so the next best thing is Corgi stickers and stuffed Corgis and a Corgi-themed birthday party.

It's not a party without the bucket filled with ice and sodas and waters both still and sparkling

There was no swimming (the kids were not interested on this day) but Audrey ordered enough pizza for everyone to eat their fill.

She'd also ordered a cake from Costco.

Before everyone left at the end of the day, his three daughters gathered around TG and gave him his Father's Day gifts.

Audrey carried the corgi (and friends) theme all the way through

(Erica and Audrey would see him at church on Father's Day, but we had no plans to get together.)

(The next day, Father's Day, June eighteenth, there were dad pictures all over the big table in the church lobby. I brought a portrait of my dad to display with them.)

When Dagny's big birthday party was over on Saturday the seventeenth, she went back to North Carolina to spend a week with her Aunt Stephanie, Uncle Joel, and the tar heel cousins, and go to Vacation Bible School with them.

Allissa was with us for an entire week

When Audrey met Stephanie halfway the following Saturday to get her daughter back, Allissa came home with her and spent a week with us.

It was a busy time.

I should tell you at this point that on June sixteenth, two days after Dagny's birthday but the day before her big birthday party, TG and I celebrated our forty-fourth wedding anniversary.

I got TG this t-shirt for our anniversary

We made plans to go downtown and have dinner at Black Rooster. Their tagline is It's Frenchish.

Frenchish or not, we enjoyed it.

Also TG brought me two massive gold number-four balloons. Forty-four. Four is my favorite number and I am equally enamored of forty-four so that was just about a perfect gift.

My late father's portrait was displayed with those of many other dads at our church on Father's Day

I got him a special t-shirt.

A week or so later, it was time to celebrate Chad's birthday.

For that, he requested that we all go out to Texas Roadhouse.

There was a banner of corgis wearing birthday hats

We hadn't been there in a while, so we were all in one accord that that sounded like a good plan.

Our party were seated immediately with no waiting, which has not happened in several years.

But then again, it was a Monday.

Dagny is all in for present-opening time

We had a delightful time and a delicious meal together, served by a courteous and competent young lady who was as pleasant as she was professional.

Afterwards, we went back to our house for cake and presents. Erica had made a chocolate sheet cake and I once again decided that if there could be only one dessert in the world, for me it would have to be chocolate cake with chocolate icing.

To fully appreciate that sentiment, you would have to know how I feel about banana pudding.

Allissa was with us for Chad's birthday celebration at Texas Roadhouse. Baby Rhett was ecstatic.

But I digress.

Those observations of the June birthdays of our loved ones concluded, we began looking forward to the Fourth of July.

Our church has a supper on the Sunday night before the Fourth, and it's always a great time.

Erica loves to bake cakes and she had a great time making this one for her beloved

This year there was a fantastic hamburger supper with all the appropriate trimmings and sides, plus homemade desserts brought by church members, and everyone enjoyed it to the nth degree.

On the Fourth itself, we again gathered around the pool for a hot July day of swimming and eating.

There were hot dogs and hamburgers done on the grill, barbecue baked beans, potato salad, deviled eggs, cucumber and tomato (both homegrown) salad, and lemon icebox pie.

Dagny goofed around with props at Chad's birthday party

This is the pie (actually it makes two pies) made by combining one fourteen-ounce can of sweetened condensed milk, one eight-ounce container of Cool Whip, and one twelve-ounce can of frozen lemonade concentrate.

Let the Cool Whip and the lemonade concentrate thaw first.

After whisking those three ingredients together, pour the resulting thick lemony goodness into two six-ounce store-bought graham cracker crusts.

We had simple but sumptuous vittles on the Fourth of July

Or make your own graham cracker crusts if you prefer.

Put the pies in the freezer until time to serve.

Do we live it up or do we live it up?

TG had failed to buy fireworks this year so, as the dusk gathered, he was reduced to lighting some leftover poppers from years when he did buy fireworks, and throwing them into the area over by the privacy fence, and waiting for the bang.

This day rolls around with alarming swiftness each year

That was it for our pyrotechnics ... all noise, no display.

Dagny, sitting beside me on the swing, jumped several times even though she was watching him throw the things. Try as I might, I could not figure that out.

Rizzo paced and growled and fretted and barked and otherwise displayed canine anxiety of the highest order.

Rizzo would join this queue in a heartbeat

He's one of those dogs that despises fireworks. All that evening -- and for several evenings before and after the Fourth -- he glommed onto me and whined and carried on and looked as though he was going to cry.

Two or three times I had to move his crate to the TV room at bedtime, put him in it, and put a blanket over the top before he would quiet down.

Our friend Andrea from church gave us the cucumbers and TG grew the tomatoes

Sweetness -- my cat -- never lifted a whisker, on any evening. She is apparently immune to any variety of fireworks-induced panic.

I wish I had her blood pressure.

TG and me after church on the second of July

After darkness fell we went inside and watched the fireworks display from Washington DC.

Happy Birthday, America.

So now it's come around to mid-July, and even if you are not here, the heat and humidity is.

August is knocking at the door; sooner or later it will have to be let in.

We will be ready.

And that is all for now.

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Happy Wednesday