The title of this post has everything to do with a bit of advice my Dad gave me when I turned sixteen and I was deemed old enough to start dating—in groups at that time—but I’m getting ahead of myself. Dad had certain strict rules and gave me scads of advice when I began to go out on dates.
At this spring’s Retreat From Harsh Reality, I bid on and won a huge sack filled with children’s books. When I showed my grandchildren my newly acquired treasure trove, they immediately asked if they could take them all home. They always ask the same question about my crayons, paints and other craft items, and the bins of toys I keep in the family room for them to play with when they visit. Each time they ask, I give them the same answer: if they take them home, there won’t be anything for them to play with when they come to visit Grandma.
The granddaughters also ask if they can take home my old lipsticks and all my costume jewelry they love to play dress up with. In fact, the elder granddaughter, a high-maintenance little female her daddy dubbed “The Princess,” has designs on my real jewelry as well—serious designs.
My dad was a fantastic amateur photographer. I caught the shutterbug fever from him, and I believe I inherited his eye for composition.
I love taking photos. I especially enjoy outdoor photography. I love framing a subject or a landscape, shooting from just the right angle, and capturing as much beauty and uniqueness as I can. The camera becomes a part of me, almost an additional appendage. Continue reading »
We traveled west of the Mighty Mississippi last week for Macho Guy’s high school reunion. If you’re bracing yourself for a blow by blow description, you may relax. Not going there. No way. No how.
After the reunion ended, we stayed on for a family visit, mainly to help MG’s older sister in her quest to downsize from a three-bedroom split level to a one-floor condo. An additional quest involved persuading her to be more active in communicating with the rest of the family via email and on Facebook. She needed a device that was more user-friendly and more mobile than her old PC minitower so she would be more apt to use it. To that end, we [that is, I] helped her shop for and select an iPad.
We have a squatter on our front porch. Not on the porch, exactly. Suspended over the porch, sort of. Remember those hanging flower baskets my grandchildren gave to me for Mother’s Day? A Mama Robin is squatting in one of them.
