Just the Petals

Mercy Me

The other night Teen Angel and I were sitting on the sofa talking, and somehow we got around to the subject of how I used to read to her every night when she was young. In fact, it was something I started before she left the womb and continued until sometime in her fourth grade school year. The last books we read together were Harry Potter books, and over the years our favorites included the Berenstein Bears, Corduroy the Bear, Little Critter, The Velveteen Rabbit and the hilarious Junie B. Jones. Reading a story every night was mandatory, and when she was little, if you were tired and tried to skip a few words to get through it quickly, she would say, “No,” and turn back the page insisting I read it the right way. Even though she couldn’t read, she had those books memorized and knew if you missed one little word. She loved those books, and that time together each night was one of my favorite parts of being a mother.


As we reminisced the other night, she jumped up, ran to her room and pulled out one of her old books, The Spooky Little Ghost. She read parts of it to me, laughing and imitating the way I used to read to her. I was always a bit dramatic, you see. “Here’s the part where you’d get all excited,” she said, raising her voice, and as she read and giggled I got a bit lost in the moment. I was listening to her, but my mind was running down memory lane. I thought about all those nights we read and chatted, and how fast those years flew. I thought about how grateful I am that she and I are close enough that we can sit and talk and giggle like we did back then over the same books. And those memories brought me great joy.

It was also a reminder to focus more on the day to day joys of life. I supposed the grief I’ve been dealing with lately has left me dwelling on the not so fun parts of life. In the midst of mailing death certificates, writing thank you notes for funeral flowers and fixing broken radiator hoses (again) it’s been easy to get mired down in difficulties and challenges. I have forgotten how blessed I am and how much joy is actually in my life. Long after Teen Angel got up off the couch and went about her business, I sat there and forced myself to count my blessings. There were many. We are all healthy, we’re financially stable, Teen Angel is doing fine in college and Papa T. is adjusting okay to living without Mama J. I told myself that I should make a list more often of the things that bring me joy. Even the small things. Today’s list?

-Hubby loaded up Papa T. and an old buddy of Papa T.’s and took them to one of their favorite restaurants for some lunch together and storytelling about old times. His buddy doesn’t see well enough to drive, so Hubby had to chauffer. Papa T. seems to want to have more of a social life, and that’s exciting.

-Mama and Daddy are headed to a bluegrass festival for a little weekend trip together, and I love that they enjoy each other as much as they when they got married. They especially enjoy music together, and daddy plays guitar with a band at the local veteran’s hospital and senior centers. They are happy, and I like that.

-After a meeting at church last night, I was reminded yet again of how caring and dedicated my church family is.

-My brothers are especially happy in their personal lives right now. (Maybe more details on that later.)

-This song makes me dance in the kitchen:

 
-And the blooms on the sunflowers just up the road are hangin’ in there.


Perhaps, I should make it a habit to write this stuff down every day. And read that before I go to bed.

Among the Blooms

"Never lose an opportunity of seeing anything beautiful, for beauty is God's handwriting."

-Ralph Waldo Emerson

He studied me as closely as I studied him.  I wondered what he was thinking.

Falling Into Fall

One of these days, I’ll get those sunflower pictures posted, but it won’t be today. And it probably won’t be tomorrow. No siree. Nor was it yesterday nor the day before nor the day before that because I’m in the midst of a computer change out that involves moving some massive files from one unit to another and changing my PhotoShop and Lightroom registrations from one computer to another. There’s the slight issue of being unable to find an important software registration number and the need to get some external hard drive set up and oy vey, there I am with my picture files scattered between a desk top and a laptop until I get it all sorted out. Of course, this likely wouldn’t be an issue if I didn’t have 9,598 pictures. And I did not make up that number. So for today, you’ll have to settle for a post with no pictures, only words, because it’s been five days since I’ve posted and if I don’t get something up soon, my aunt M. in northern Illinois will be calling to find out if I’m sick.


The Hula-gen’s are bumping along at what could be deemed an acceptable pace. We are all healthy and walking upright today, so that’s considered great success around our house on an average day. Papa T. is doing okay. He is able to stay by himself with lots of help. We have settled into a routine of Hubby waking him up around 7am, getting his breakfast and making sure he’s up and about. Then Hubby checks in with him by phone throughout the day with visits to the house around noon and three o’clock. One of us takes Papa T. dinner around 6pm and Hubby goes back to tuck him in at 10pm. People keep commenting on how much work that is and asking us how we do it. (Or why we do it, which I don’t even bother to answer.) All I can say is that if you’ve ever been involved in elder care, you understand. You just do what you gotta do until you can’t do anymore. For now, that’s working, and we’ll go with that plan until we need to do something else. We’ve learned not to plan too far in advance.

On my side of the family, we buried my uncle last week, which really hurt, mostly because I loved him so dearly but also because I realized how much more of that there is to come in the next few years. I have another elderly aunt who is not doing well and an uncle whose time is very limited. I like this time in my life because I’m comfortable with who I am and where I’m headed, but I don’t like saying goodbye to the people who nurtured me in my childhood. It’s funny how naïve and rosy your outlook on life is when you’re young. You just don’t fully realize that one day you will look up and will have become the older generation.

Speaking of older, mama has a big birthday coming up in a couple of weeks. Big. Really big. I can’t tell you which one ‘cause she’d thump me up the side the head if I put it on the internet, but let’s just say she’s only two years older than Keith Richards but looks a heck of a lot better. I’m sure we’ll have a good time celebrating, but I’m curious if she remembers which birthday this is. Ever since I was eight years old I’ve been asking her how old she is only to have to wait on her to figure it up. She doesn’t keep track of that kind of thing, and as I get closer to fifty I’m starting to understand why. First of all, you don’t like to admit your age, and second, you can’t always remember it. Hand to God, someone asked me the other day how old I was and I automatically spit out a number three years lower than the real thing. I really wasn’t trying to lie. I immediately corrected myself but felt like an idiot ‘cause I looked like I was trying to shave some years off my age. Nope. My age was just temporarily lost in my head somewhere between sixteen computer passwords and last week’s grocery list.

I felt really old when I ran today. My running schedule has been in a shambles for about a month and a half thanks to the trip, jet lag, Mama J.’s death and an especially busy work schedule. I’ve really had to focus on family matters since Mama J. died, so exercise has taken less priority, and boy, did I pay for it. I got back on the wagon today with a three mile run that I felt in every muscle fiber I have. It just confirms that this running business is never going to be easy for me. However, I shall continue slugging away at it as I’m not ready to give up dessert, and my metabolism gave up on me about three years ago. About the only good thing I can say about today’s run is that the weather was nice. It really was beautiful and just slightly cool.

The weather has started to change around here. While we’re still having some warm days, cooler temperatures are slipping into our nights, the mornings are a bit foggy and wearing flip flops can be a tricky choice, depending on the time of day. I have so many friends who love autumn, and they encourage me to embrace it, but I do so grudgingly. All I can see is winter around the corner. I hate wearing layers of clothing. I hate wearing socks, and I especially hate the gloomy skies. I’m not making any promises, but I’m going to do my best to enjoy the colorful foliage and the bright blue skies. They do make for pretty pictures. In fact, I did a bridal shoot at the sunflower fields last week, and it was wonderful. It was kind of a spur of the moment thing. We had planned to do the shoot early next month at a different location, but when I was standing among all of those bright yellow flowers last week, I couldn’t resist calling her and pitching the sunflower idea. So there we were three days later in the middle of thousands of blooms with a big old wedding dress, a veil and an upholstered chair from my bedroom. Oh, and my red cowboy boots and her granny’s red tennis shoes. And a very nervous mother who worked really hard to keep that beautiful dress from getting dirty. God bless her. Never mind the small crowd milling around taking their own pictures. The golden sunlight was lovely, the bride was a fantastic model, and we came away with some great shots. I’d show you some pictures, but we’re keeping them hidden from the groom. And I have to figure out how to get them out of my computer.

Those Little Moments That Make You Gasp

About the time I get all frustrated with the good Lord and start arguing with him about the way life is going, He puts something like this right in front of me:

And shuts me up. 

Color me Yellow

About a mile from my house are three sunflower fields, and when I say fields, I mean FIELDS. Not small patches, but big spreads. There are acres and acres of sunflowers planted in a wildlife refuge in three separate plots. They stretch as far as the eye can see in one direction and farther than you want to walk in another direction. They are just stunning. I first found those fields two years ago. I stumbled upon them when the flowers were in bloom and thought I’d died and gone to heaven. They were so gorgeous I literally lay on the ground beneath them and giggled at their shiny yellow faces. Last year, I anxiously waited all summer for those flowers, and drove out there in August to find....corn. Corn. Tall stalks of plain old corn. I’ve never been so disappointed in all my life.


Last Saturday I saw a post on Facebook that they were in bloom again, and I nearly broke my neck trying to get there. As I rounded the curve right at the first field and saw those thousands of golden blooms, I hollered, “Woo hoo!” out loud. Honestly, nothing makes a photographer happier than a big old field of sunflowers. I spent an hour shooting pictures and went back Sunday for more. And I called a bride that I’m shooting pictures for in October and November and told her to grab her dress and head my way this week so we can take bridal pictures in those fields. Won’t that be fun? I ran into several photographer friends at the fields this weekend, and several other people stopped their cars long enough to snap a picture or two while I was out there. It’s quite a popular place right now.

I’ll be sharing pictures of the flowers with you this week, but in the meantime I’m showing you the self portraits I took there Sunday. They were simply to express the joy I get from that place. Good thing I was by myself. They might have hauled me off to the nuthouse if I’d been caught jumping up and down in the field all by myself.

iHeart Faces Photography Challenge-"Sun"