The Pope and the HTS

One of my bleeps who hasn't flown in a while was asking advice about what to wear on the plane. Naturally I had many opinions to share with her. My general thoughts are these:

• Wear comfortable layers*. The temperature on planes vary widely. A cardigan sweater can come in handy even in the middle of July. (*This doesn't mean "feel free to dress like a slob". No need to wear sweatpants with the word "Juicy" on your ass and your beloved sorority t-shirt that may, or may not, still fit. )
  
• For the love of god wear shoes you can slip on and off without laces, buckles, etc. I don't care how much you work out; when you bend over to untie/unbuckle them? It will not be a pretty sight.
  
• Wear SOCKS! You WILL have to take your shoes off and you do NOT want to be walking through security in bare feet.
  
• PLEASE leave your enormous watch, belt buckle, chunky silver necklace at home. They will set off the metal detector and I will feel like beating you with them when you have to stop and remove them.

My rules, however, kind of fly out the window on international flights. If I'm spending ten plus hours on a flight? Dashing through multiple airports? And trying to get some sleep in uncomfortable surroundings? I'm wearing the track suit people!

Several years ago we took a trip to Ireland with the Precious Daughters. Who were MORTIFIED that their mother was wearing a track suit on the plane. They dubbed it the HTS (Hideous Track Suit) and took great glee in poking fun at me and my "old lady" need for comfort over style.

About a year later the Saint and I went to Italy. Against their protestations; I once again wore the HTS. You do see where this is going don't you? The plane landed late, we arrived at our accommodations (a convent BTW, by show of hands who wants to hear THAT story?) with only enough time to dump our luggage in the lobby before LITERALLY RUNNING down the hill to the Vatican to meet the Pope.

So let this be a cautionary tale. Comfort is all well and good but remember; what you wear on the plane MIGHT end up being what you wear to meet the Queen of England. Or the Pope.

Today kind of kicked my ass

Do you have Redbud Trees where you live? I've come to appreciate them. (Just over my right shoulder are the soon to be dismantled remnants of Precious Youngest's childhood.)

Lovely heart shaped leaves will follow.

White Dogwood








Pink Crabapple

A Red Dogwood out front.

















Columbine in one of the front beds.

And a carpet of Creeping Phlox in another.

Overheard

Fannie: remarks to the Saint whilst looking out the kitchen window at the swing set in the back yard "The seats on the swings are looking a little ragged; do you think we should replace them?"

Precious Youngest: with disdain "No one even FITS in those seats any more."

Fannie: thoughtfully "Well maybe not you, but......You know? We don't really have that many little ones visiting any more. Maybe we should take the whole thing down."

Precious Youngest: now horrified and filled with dismay "Geez mom, way to dismantle my childhood before I'm even out of high school!"

I tried to warn you

The next time I tell you I have nothing in draft mode but a bunch of whiny, self indulgent shit? Run for the hills people! That said, this would be a good time for you to offer up thanks that even I'm tired of my own whining. So I'll be moving on.

Spring is very pretty here. I have wonderful pictures of all our flowering tress. Still in the camera of course, but I'll try to get them up soon. The weather was decent enough over the weekend for me to work in the gardens. There is still a possibility of a frost, so I have to be careful what and where I plant. I have a ridiculous amount of garden area which requires an early start if I want to get everything done. The majority of my gardens are planted with perennials, but it's almost impossible to keep color here all summer without throwing in some annuals.

I got all of my pots (Begonias, Verbena, Vinca) planted because they're easy to move and protect if the weather turns. I also got most of a flat of Sweet Alysum in the ground; they don't seem to mind a little cold weather. As anxious as I am to put the tomatoes and herbs out I think the ground is still a little too cold. The asparagus, on the other hand, is producing like crazy!

Come the heat and humidity of August I'll be cursing the upkeep of all of this. But right now it just feels good to be outside in the fresh air - anticipating warm weather, fresh flowers and the flavors of summer.

The Worst Thing

I'll never forget the shock of that day. Being alone; no thought that something was terribly wrong. Coming back with the Saint later in the day to have another ultrasound, done by the technician, because my doctor was hoping beyond hope that she was wrong.

Having to go to the hospital two days later to have a baby I knew was dead. Having my milk come in because my body didn't know there wasn't a baby to feed. Not wanting to leave the house because I couldn't face anyone. I didn't want to have to talk about it. And I certainly didn't want to see anyone else with a baby.

I was sad and I was angry. For many years I couldn't talk about it without crying. I still think to myself: "He would be ten. He would be in fourth grade. He would play these sports with these kids." And I wonder what our lives would be like.

At the time I thought this was the worst thing that could happen to us. That would ever happen to us. I was wrong. There are worse things.

Ordinary Day

Twelve years ago my alarm went off at 6 a.m. I got up, brushed my teeth and threw up. I had done this hundreds of other mornings, it felt ordinary. I showered, dressed, got the kids up. I fed them breakfast and drove them to school. Ordinary. I drove to my 9 o'clock doctor appointment. The first appointment of the day – very important so as to not be late for pre-K pick up at eleven.

Kathy, my Ob/Gyn nurse of ten plus years, called me back. I peed in a cup. We chatted about our kids and the weather. Ordinary. She weighed me, took my blood pressure and asked if the spotting had returned. A routine we’d repeated for the last fifteen weeks; so familiar, ordinary. I lay on the table and Kathy measured me, then she pressed the Doppler to my belly. Nothing. "Ornery" she said, "hiding this week". She went to get Dr. B, see if SHE couldn’t get the kid to pipe up. Dr. B came in. Moved the Doppler here, there, everywhere. Still nothing.

"Placenta must be in the way" Dr. B said. "The tech is not in this morning, but let’s go do an ultrasound" she said. Ultrasound? We'd done this dozens of times. We laughed; "Thank God we’re past the transvaginal stage" we said. We talked about summer vacation and how far I might, or might not, be able to travel. New room, new table, cold gel, transducer. We’re looking at the screen. He looks so big! Oh my God, I can see fingers...

Wait. I can’t breathe. All the air has been sucked out of the room. The only light is emanating from the screen. Nothing is moving. This isn’t right. I’ve seen dozens of sonograms. There should be movement. His heart should be ...

We can’t look at each other; only the screen. We don’t speak. But we know.

How does your garden grow?

Every year I anxiously await the arrival of the asparagus. This is a picture of some early asparagus shoots taken on Saturday.

This is a picture taken today. I'm always amazed at FAST it grows.

I love asparagus and I could eat it every day!