Blissfully Beautiful Blue Moon

My amateur shots that I've attempted to take so far of our
blue moon 

on this warm summer evening.

Humid and hazy,

the sky is somewhat

cloudy,

the brilliance of the moon

slightly obscured...

but 

beautiful 

and breathtaking...

always.

"I see the moon...and the moon sees me..."

Sing for Me, Sia

seductive

 intriguing

alluring

(In the beginning ... with Zero 7)

This voice.

So unusual and captivating.

Her music makes me stop

everything I am doing

and just

listen.

Or

get up

and dance

or run

-move-

rock it.

~

Keep it coming sia

Blue Moon Coming Soon

DON'T MISS IT

Kickoff Is Underway

Football season at our house has officially begun.  My husband is one of two videographers for the local high school team, and he attends every game, home and away, to video the game to assist the players and coaches for review and strategy.  After the game is over on Friday nights, he spends another hour (+) at their field house running copies and "making film."  A very busy evening for him, week after week, all through football season.

My younger son, a freshman, attends all the games to support his team, and after all home games attends "Fifth Quarter," an event at our local Baptist church that gives teenagers a place to eat, hang out, intramurals, an alternative and safer option than other places they might find themselves.  So I get to taxi him (and usually one or more friends) to Fifth Quarter, and then be available to drive back to take them home when it's over at midnight.  I am not a "late night" person.  I'm usually more than ready to fall asleep by 11:30 on weekends, and sometimes sooner, depending on how much sleep I've gotten that week.  So it's a long day for me too.

Saturdays are Game Day for my middle son at college.  It takes an average of 3.5 hours, or longer, to drive to W&J.  If it's a 1 o'clock game, we have to get up early and leave in time to grab a quick lunch for youngest son and still make it to the game.  We usually take him out to dinner after the game, so factoring in schmooze time by the field with players/families post game, then showering/dress time for him, we usually don't get finished with dinner until 7 or 8 o'clock, then the long drive home.  ANOTHER long day of the weekend.

My youngest son's football games (freshman team) are held on Wednesday and Thursday nights.  Some of the teams they play are very far from home, which makes HIS game day ANOTHER long and exhausting day, especially factoring in our work schedule that day.

No rest for the weary (parents) once KICKOFF is underway.

INHALE. EXHALE. REPEAT.

I've decided to use the Friday night game time to work out at our gym.  My son isn't playing varsity this year, so I would rather use that time in more productive ways.  I dress into gear, drop him and his friend off at the game, then head to the gym for my workout.  Back home, post workout nutrition, relax a bit, shower, do a few chores and a small amount of down time as a wait on his call:

"Game's over, Mom.  We won.  Score ...{insert "kicked butt" ...?}

Come pick me up... we'll be in the last row of the parking lot...

bring my black Nikes when you come,

I wanna play basketball (he doesn't want to get his "best, showboat shoes" messed up)."

I head to the field, traffic slow and congested, as I crunch on a few almonds and guzzle my water to catch up with the day's water quota.  To the church, drop them off, back home.  Down time.  I find myself getting really sleepy.  I was up at 5 for morning cardio, and it's time to Shut.It.Down.  But I can't.  I'm still in Mom Mode.

And this cycle will repeat itself ... all.through.the.fall.

I slept till 7:45 this morning.  Ahhh.  Felt wonderful.  On my second cup of coffee, I am planning my day.  G's games don't begin until September 8th.  I have a little bit of a breather.  Adjustment time for the busy weeks ahead.  I listen to the stillness of morning all around me.  I think of things that hit my happy.  I reflect on people and places and conversations and memories that have filled my world with meaning, past and present.  I think about those people I don't get to talk to anymore and wonder how they are, what they're doing.  I wonder.

Time for more coffee.  I have a list of things to do today.

It's kickoff time.  Let's get it done.

Move In Day on Campus

I had mentioned in an earlier post that I would expand on move-in day on campus at my son's college.  I have a feeling that day is gonna stand out in my mind for years to come.  Not that there was anything truly significant or newsworthy about that day.  Nothing out of the ordinary happened.  Not REALLY.  I think it's more the milestone thing:  "Middle son begins senior year at college."  The beginning of the end -- for college tuition costs for this son, that is.  Thankfully.  (One more to go.)  The tuition at Washington & Jefferson continues to raise each year. And it stings.  It really does.  It puts the skids on the "fun and games" of life more often than I care to dwell on.

Football players had to report to campus earlier than the rest of the student body. They had to be moved into their dorms (not allowed to live off campus, not even as seniors!) by noon on Saturday, the 11th of August, but they couldn't BEGIN moving in until Saturday morning. So we were dealing with a short window of time within which to get all of his "stuff" moved from his packed little Kia (I have no idea how he managed to see to drive) and my car, up the stairs and into his dorm suite before he was due to the mandatory and punctual "lineup" with the football team for their first training meeting and lunch together.  I had brought a load of things that he brought home after the spring semester and that he couldn't fit in his car in one trip.  His father was staying behind to manage commitments dealing with our youngest son, his football practice, training and such.  I was making the trip solo, which I didn't mind at all.  I love driving on long trips by myself.  It's somewhat of an escape for me.  A break in routine.

I drove up to PA that morning, texting him to let him know when I had arrived on campus (he doesn't talk on the phone, he insists on texting.) I asked for directions to his dorm. His description was disjointed and confusing, as I had expected.  And so I drive.  And drive.  Lots of tight and narrow one-way streets, searching for his vehicle -- it's burnt orange, hard to miss -- but no luck. I'm back to where I started. I pulled to the curb, squeezing into a no-parking zone, and texted him again.

"I'm sitting in front of a small basketball court, a parking lot to the left and behind me. Where are YOU?  I'm lost."

I get another very abbreviated text message, slightly more helpful than the last.  (Am I that dense?)  After two more circles around the block and then a quick, last-minute hard left down a small alley, I finally discover his little orange Kia parked in a small private parking lot outside his dorm--the infamous "senior dormitory" he'd been waiting three years to move into. The senior dorms are so much nicer than those for underclassman. Sweet.  A Suite!

His hatch was open and he was nowhere in sight. His stuff was trailing out of the back of his car, all in disarray, no rhyme or reason to his packing. LOTS.OF.STUFF.  Yep, that's his car all right.

As I'm parking, I looked across the lawn to see him exiting the first floor doorway, looking around for something to prop the door open to make the moving easier. He goes back inside and re-emerges with a GIGANTIC colonial-styled exterior lantern-sconce, wires trailing from it. This was no small fixture.

Please tell me he didn't just pull that off of a wall.

He places the monstrous sconce on the ground against the door, just as two parents are approaching the dorm with questionable looks on their faces. I didn't have to claim him at this point, being several feet behind them. I could stand back, wait it out. Be there to bail him out if campus police were notified. As odd as this seemed, it WAS rather comical.

"So if you can't find a door prop, just remove the lanterns and use that instead," they said laughingly. He laughs back.

The sconce, it turns out, had been removed from the exterior of the building by Maintenance earlier that morning for cleaning, repairs, etc., and was waiting for remount.

He saunters to me in his typical "BigG" way, that recognizable cocky gait of confidence. His hair had grown long over the summer, and he'd dropped a lot of body fat, which served to highlight his muscularity and size. I stand there staring at him, with a proud smile forming on my face.  Massive traps, shoulders, arms, and the iconic bodybuilder butt -- tight, round, high and chiseled. Yes, I'm bragging on his butt.  It's okay.  I'm his mom.  I can do that.  I've been there to witness his hard dedication, commitment, effort, and sacrifices to get that hard body, and he wears it well.  As a noseguard, I was used to seeing the SIZE -- he's one big dude -- but with far more "bulk." Now I was seeing the size, noticeably leaner, far more definition and musculature.  Big G?  Lean?  Would his coach approve? Questionable. They want their noseguards as big as they can get 'em.  He may have to return to his signature insatiable eating habits.

We spent the next hour plus moving his things into the dorm. I met two of his teammates/roommates, both of whom commented openly (and favorably) on his longer hair and his conditioning. He ate it up. "Thas right, I'm lookin' mean and lean," he's thinking. I read it on his face, in his body language. The Ham.  King of the Hill.

His room was more spacious than in years past, well-furnished, great view of campus, central air, a large living room area and kitchen in each quad. Someone had already moved a gigantic flat-screen into the living room. Priorities. His bedroom had a large closet with shelving above and below, more than ample to hang and store his clothes and belongings in an orderly fashion.

"Will you please hang your clothes up this year instead of leaving them in trash bags, baskets, boxes or strung all over the floor? There is plenty of space here, and you'll be able to find everything easier if you keep your stuff organized."

"Yeah. Sure."

Man of many words. 

And I'm sure mine fell on deafened ears.

We joked around, discussing random subjects briefly. I then implored him with my eyes, a signal that I was about to make The Speech, reminding him how important it was to apply himself this year toward his studying, his grades. Make this year his best. Make it count. Focus. Really focus. It was his last year and he needed to make it mean something toward his future career goals. He had the rest of his life to pursue personal interests, relationships, etc.

"I know. I've already thought about this," he said reassuringly.

I reached up and hugged his broad shoulders.  He hugged me back tightly, and with feeling, a lingering strong embrace. That one display of affection spoke far louder than all of the words we had exchanged in recent days.

"I'm proud of you, Gavin. Make it happen this year.  Make it count."

"I will, Mom."

"I love you, son."

"I love you."

"Well, it's time for y'all to go eat and get started training. Show 'em how it's done, K?"

"You know I will."

"Let us hear from you in a few days. Okay?"

"Yep."

"Later...," and I turned to start down the steps, my heart feeling heavy. Happy and sad all rolled into one.

"See ya, Mom."

And as I walked down the steps, down the hall, and out to my car, I stopped to look around me at the beautiful historic campus. Talking and laughter filled the air as athletes made their way to and from the dorms, parents saying their goodbyes. In a flash, my mind was escorted back into time, sixteen years previous. A little rough-n-tough boy is smiling and talking with other children, making friends, fearless, void of the typical anxiety of "first day of kindergarten," a new territory.  He turns to wave once more at his mother who had left the classroom moments before and was now standing paused outside the window, looking in, needing assurances that it was okay to go now...he will be fine...and she sees the look on his face...I'll be fine, Mommy...and turns away just as her tears begin again.

Another milestone.  The beginning of his final year of schooling.

It takes my breath away -- How can that many years pass so quickly?

One thing is for sure:  He's as fearless today as he was sixteen years ago.

That's my son.

his name is gavin.

(Written by his younger brother for a class assignment.)

(With big brother Z)

Live daringly, boldly, fearlessly.

Taste the relish to be found in competition,

in having put forth the best within you.

Harry J. Kaiser

DEFY FATHER TIME

DEFY FATHER TIME
MOVE WITH EASE

Reduce your weight with a regular fitness program

and you may stave off future joint problems.

New data indicates that

inactivity and obesity are major factors

in the development of arthritis in women.

To keep your inner framework healthy and happy,

exercise at least five days a week

using a combination

of cardio and strength training activities,

eat clean, and stretch regularly.

Oxygen June 2010

Fortune Cookies - Words to the Wise

We dined out Friday night at a local Asian restaurant in celebration of my friend's birthday.  Her choice.
The evening began at The Wine Valley,
with artisan cheeses and a glass of wine.  I choice a yummy Rio Madre.

We shared a Treasure Roll during dinner...

... and it ended up being a delightful evening.  Good wine, good food, good company.

And then, as we opened our fortune cookies in playful anticipation...

and I began reading the folded revelation
that I held in my hand

It summoned a thought-provoking moment.

I suppose there's a bit (a lot) of truth in that sentence, given that I recently decided it was best that I not follow my heart's desire to compete again.  Competing takes a lot of time, financial investment, and sacrifice.  I'm a mother.  If I didn't have the pain of increased college tuition costs and the expenses associated with a freshman athlete just beginning high school, not to mention their need of my time and attention at this stage in their lives, my selfish desires would be given first priority.  No question.

And on the ride home, as I reflected on the words of that little strip of paper wrapped in a sweet, crunchy cookie -- one that I preferred to be double-dipped in chocolate and then rolled in toasted coconut...and maybe some crushed pecans...oh, and maybe atop a bowl of "melty" vanilla ice cream...it dawned on me, if only THIS would have been my prophetic inscription:

Cheer Up, T - The Worst is Over

July

My least favorite month of the year.  The stifling, smothering heat makes me lazy and irritable and does wacky things to my hormones and my otherwise "cherub-like demeanor," as John Pinette would say.  I bitch more.  I eat more.  I sleep more.  I withdraw more.  My cravings for crappy junk food go off the scale, likely because I'm in need of .... comfort?  Yes.  In search of comfort to escape the heat, I find myself ensnared by the White Decoy -- SUGAR -- seducing and charming me with false hope of lasting reprieve.

So I languish.  My energy is drained, my spirit wounded, and my craving for sugar and crappy food becomes a vicious cycle.  I snap out of it for a few days, eat clean, gather a limited amount of resolve and rationality, play a few mind games to outsmart my psyche, but I never seem to stick with it very long.  Before long, I'm wallowing in self-pity.  Withdrawing to my "corners," I resume bitching, brooding, self-loathing, and feeling sorry for myself again.  Low on serotonin, I begin once more reaching for the ice cream, the chips, chocolate, pizza, crackers, cake, pie...the list goes on.  Ugh.  And I'm miserable all over again.  Stop the insanity.  Enough.

And then Mother Nature decides she's had enough fun with me, and the heatwave of mid summer recedes, replaced by slightly cooler temperatures and the occasional (and forgotten) soothing breeze.  This, followed by that first unexpected early morning surprise of drastically lowered humidity.  "Oh, yes, yes!  I'm so ready for this, Girlfriend," I plead submissively with Mother Nature.

Suddenly, I'm sleeping better, laughing more, moving more, eating less.  Rediscovering my energy and zest that had been imprisoned far too long, I cop an attitude with a vengeance, and this time my grip holds.  Not letting go this time.  I got this.

This scenario repeats itself like clockwork, year after year, and always in the month of July.  I can expect it.  As much as I try to fight or resist it, I know that I'll succumb to its dominant powers.  I usually end up gaining 5-10 pounds during the month of July, partly fat, partly bloat, but a burden to shed nonetheless.  It's now been a little over a week since I've felt that long-awaited invigorating energy to get and stay focused on the path of feeling like me again.  I'm eating cleaner, leaner and strategically.  My workouts are more regular, structured and have slowly increased in intensity.  I'm craving less, sleeping better, and have less inflammation and discomfort.  My skin looks better, my clothes fit better, my mood is enhanced.

Wow.  Welcome back to the world, T.  Indeed, the worst is over.  

And with the beauty of autumn just around the corner, from this point forward it only gets better.

I spent a few hours enjoying girls night out a few weeks ago, and we had decided to try out a new and inviting little 'wine bar' in town.  We were welcomed by a friendly staff into an elegant, cushy and comfortable atmosphere, lovely decor, and best of all...JAZZ!  We were pleased to discover an interesting selection of delectable artisan cheeses and crackers and bread to complement their extensive wine list.  I spied an oversized painting of a wine bottle on the far wall near the bar -- OH.I.WANTED.THAT.  It was so me.  I tried to snap a picture of it, but with all the people around, I could never get an unobscured shot of it.

My husband and I are going there tonight with another couple.  We'll be celebrating her birthday, starting with The Wine Valley, and then to her choice of restaurants for dinner.  We'll cap off the evening with chill time at our house, either on the back screened porch or on the patio.  I am going to try to bake her favorite cake -- yellow, with cream cheese icing  (Really?)  to surprise her with for dessert.  I'm looking forward to the evening, our last hoorah for our ritual Friday-evening chillout with friends.  Beginning next weekend, football season is underway.

I've deliberately cut back on carbs and calories the last couple of days to let go a little tonight and to enjoy a cheat meal.  And a little wine -- or maybe more than a little...

After all, it IS Friday...

And it's time to CHEER UP.  The worst of the hot weather is over.


You made it through.  Life is good again.

Raising Children -- Raise The Bar

With great and lasting pride, I can brag that I am a mother of three fine young men.  Having grown up the youngest of three daughters and a younger brother, very much a girlie-girl, preferring Barbies and doll babies, playing dress-up with my mom's shoes and jewelry, make-believe friends, tea parties, frequent baking marathons with my Easy Bake Oven, zero athletic ability (But boy, could I sing!  Yes indeed!  Loud and long!), and raised single-handedly by a divorced mom (with the help of a grandMOTHER), one might expect that I'd have pined never having been blessed with a daughter.

Well, I did, but that pout session was short-lived.  I wanted a daughter when my boys were little ones, before they hit puberty.  I wanted someone to go shopping with, to dress up with bows and frillies (baby girl clothes are and always will be far cuter than baby boy clothes), to buy dolls and Barbies and all that I enjoyed as a little girl.

But then puberty hits.  And that's when I began noticing the behaviors of my friends' daughters.  Ouch.  Mercy.  I actually began to feel sympathy for them.  The never-ending drama!  Girls, it occurs to me, are far too needy.  Too dramatic.  Over the top.  They whine too much.  Too hormonal (I know, guilty as charged!).  They are jealous and catty.  Backbiting bitches.

Boys have their share of vices.  Challenges.  But the kicks and punches -- play on words -- are worth the trade-off.  A mom learns to deal with the struggles of raising boys.  Our skin toughens.  We get meaner.  Cockier.  We take on that whole in-your-face fearlessness.  

I was reminded last weekend of one of the most significant reasons that I'm relieved not to have to deal with the challenges of raising girls in today's society.  Young girls today have few inhibitions or limitations on modesty.  They are incredibly sexually assertive in the way they act, dress, talk, flirt, date.  OMG.  The stories I've been told by other moms.  Girls in their TEENS!  It's beyond shameful.  What has happened?  What about values?  What about self-decency and pride?

I had stopped at a mall over the weekend on my way back from PA, having taken a load of "stuff" to my son at college, helping him to get moved back into his dorm for the fall semester of his senior year (whole 'nother blog post pending).  I was strolling along, zoned off into my own train of thoughts when I saw her walking toward me along with her friends.  She looked to be about 14 or 15 years old.  She was wearing a T-shirt, hideously ugly shade of green, with huge neon letters dancing across the front advertising:

FREE KISSES

So call me old-fashioned.  Call me a stick in the mud.  Whatever.  But why would a young woman send that message?  Or want to?

Lesson Number One:  Self-Values.

I give kisses free.  Anybody, everybody.  You don't need to earn them.   Or impress me.  I'm easy.  I just give it away.  It's that simple.  No standards, no expectations, no substance. I'm free to everybody.  Stand in line, lucky person, for your prize handouts.  

Okay.  Whatever.  At first it was annoying to me, and then I just began feeling sorry for her.  For her and countless other young women of today and where they're headed.

I also realize that not all young women are like this.  Young women raised in Christian homes with honest upbringing and strong morals, though not infallible and just as subjected to the evils of today as any other teenager, stand a far better chance or maturing into responsible, respectable young women of substance.  And as I've seen time after time over the years I've spent as a court reporter and my exposure to the juvenile court system, 99.9% of the time the blame is to be placed with the parents (or lack thereof).

I could have turned out far worse than I did, given my broken home and the struggles we faced.  But my mother, God bless her, was intent on RAISING THE BAR while she raised her children.  She made certain that we knew our Creator, His Son, and believed and hoped in the Gift of Eternal Life with Him as a result of our faith and Christian upbringing.  We knew that to live fair, work hard, and to respect ourselves and others placed us on an unwavering path to success if we held tightly to Our Compass.

Yes, I too would have raised my daughter "in my mother's shoes," and I would like to think she would have grown into a fine young woman of decent morals and values.

But it was part of God's plan that I should have sons.  And I have raised them in the way my mother raised me and in the way that God teaches us in His Word.  I can only hope that that legacy lives on in my grandchildren...

... whether boys OR girls...

And yes, I do find myself STILL hoping for a granddaughter some day.