Saturday, October 12, 2019

Exploring Duluth with Jessica

Today Jessica and I went to Duluth, Georgia (not far from where we live) to explore and take pictures and have supper. Here are some of the pictures I took:

Sunday, August 11, 2019

It Was Twenty Years Ago Today

Today is the twentieth anniversary of our first date!

This is what I wrote and posted two years ago, on the eighteenth anniversary:

As it happened, the day we first went out--we met at Marco Polo, a Chinese restaurant, in Roswell--was also the day I bought my first digital camera, and one of the first pictures I took with it (after a couple of myself and the inside of my car) was this one of the twenty-three-year-old Annie:

That was a Wednesday; the following Saturday we went on what might have been our true first date, to the zoo. I took this picture that day:

Thursday, August 8, 2019

On Grits and Grannies

Every morning I wake Elyse up at 6:55 and say, "It's time to get up, Honey." She mumbles and turns over to face the wall, and I ask, "Do you want me to make you some grits?" She says "Uh-huh" into her pillow, and I ask, "Do you want to stay in bed until they're ready?" Of course she says yes.

So I shuffle off to the kitchen to make her some grits.

I'm quite happy using instant grits, Quaker Instant Grits with Butter Flavor, to be exact. I do wonder how a grits purist would feel--and I'm pretty confident there are grits purists; I'm sure a quick Google search would return many very opinionated grits Web sites--when I recall that scene in My Cousin Vinny when the witness on the stand asserts that "no self-respecting Southerner uses instant grits." Well, maybe I'm not a self-respecting Southerner. In many ways I'm only southern at all by an accident of geography: I love but can't personally relate to the works of true Southern writers like Flannery O'Connor and William Faulkner and Eudora Welty. In fact, if I were able to go back in time and have a conversation with any of them, it's possible I wouldn't even be able to understand them through their thick Southern accents.

But about those grits....

When I was little, starting (I believe) when I was five years old and my family was freshly returned from our brief life in Maryland, and lasting at least until I was eight--this I can say for sure, and I'll tell you why in a minute--I would often be left for a morning or a day with my grandmother at her little brick house in Tucker. I suppose my mother needed the time to go to work at a part-time job, or run errands, or maybe do some shopping; I don't know that it ever occurred to me to wonder where Mom was going when she dropped me off at Granny's. In any case, I remember those times with Granny with a great fondness, as something I very much looked forward to. Whether that is exactly what I felt at the time I really can't be sure, but I can tell you that now I miss them terribly; I would give nearly anything to be a kid again on my way to Granny's, where we would read stories, color in coloring books, and, when I got a bit older, sit and watch "Wheel of Fortune" with its original host, Chuck Woolery, on that small rabbit-ear-antennaed color TV that sat on the rolling cart in her living room. (And that is how I know that these times with Granny went on at least until I was eight: in 1974, when I was seven, we couldn't have watched "Wheel of Fortune," for it didn't begin its lengthy run until a year later.)

One of the details I've been remembering the most lately, the thing that makes me wistful as I prepare my breakfast these days, is seeing Granny make grits for me on those mornings more than four decades ago. I was much more interested in eating than in cooking, so I didn't pay close attention to what she did, but I know it involved bowls and pots and measuring cups and water from the tap and grits from a bag she kept under the counter--she probably used quick grits, for I don't think instant grits existed yet, and even if they did, I want to believe that my grandmother wouldn't give in to them, as I have. Finally, when the fixings were all prepared, she would ask me, "Soupy or not?" Some days I would want them soupy: plenty of water for very thin, easily slurped grits. Some days, not: only the proscribed amount of water, or perhaps even a bit less, for thicker, more substantial grits.

So when I fix a bowl of grits for Elyse every morning, I am temporarily taken back to the early seventies, to that small kitchen in that little brick house in the suburbs of Atlanta. It's one way to keep my grandmother alive and with me, and to keep alive within me the memories of people and places who were once so important to me. And in a very real way, it keeps me alive within me; the me that once was, many years ago, and in most important ways is still here. Someday when this story will mean something to Jessica and Elyse, I hope a little of my grandmother--their great-grandmother--may live within them too, and perhaps a bit more of their father than is already there. Someday I hope it will resonate with Elyse if I ask her if she wants her grits soupy or not. (If I asked her that question now, I'm pretty sure she would just wrinkle her nose and say, "Make them like you always make them." Which, by the way, is a little bit soupy; I use five ounces of water for one bowl rather than the four ounces the directions on the box call for.)

The thing about getting older, if you're me, anyway, is that you can look back and see how wonderful, how nearly perfect, many of the pieces of your past have been. But you also realize that you slogged through these near-perfect times largely blind to how truly wonderful they were. Back then, I took it all for granted, as children--as we all--are wont to do. I was clueless. I still am.

I'm not the first person to say this--it is, in fact, something of a cliché--but it helps you understand the importance of appreciating every moment, of realizing how lucky you really are, of trying your hardest to take nothing for granted. The importance of really taking the time to enjoy a good bowl of grits. It's such a simple thing, and yet, as you can see, it's really not.

I'm glad I get to prepare grits for my daughter for breakfast. I'm sorry I didn't realize what a precious thing it was, all those years ago, to have a granny who would make them for me, just the way I wanted them--soupy, or not.

(NB: I started this several months ago--actually, in a different form, several years ago--but am just now getting around the finishing and publishing it. Everything I've written here is still true, except that lately Elyse hasn't been eating grits as often; now she's more given to requesting Pop Tarts or Honeynut Cheerios. Maybe I'll write an essay about my lengthy history with Pop Tarts and breakfast cereals some day.)

Monday, August 5, 2019

First Day of School 2019

Today is the first day of the new school year! Here's Elyse, about to go down the bus stop:

Wednesday, July 3, 2019

Critters in the Planet Burdett Backyard

We have a number of bird feeders in our backyard and one attached to a living room window. We do get a good variety of birds that visit (and probably live in) our backyard, but for this post I'm concentrating on some of the other critters who regularly visit our yard, and also on the cats who watch them.

Most of our bird feeders are "squirrel proof," though the squirrels aren't yet convinced of that:

The squirrels love eating the peaches in our backyard peach tree:

Our resident chipmunk felt sufficiently hidden from predators on our deck rail, with its cover of wisteria and whatever that bush is, to sun itself and groom for several minutes:

(I realize most of these picture are actually focused on the leaves, not the chipmunk. It was the best I could do.)

The rabbit in back kept a close watch on us--I don't even know for sure if he could see us through the window, but he sure acted like he could--while the rabbit in front ate. I don't know enough about rabbits to say if he was more likely a parent or a boyfriend to the other rabbit--or even if he is a he--but this rabbit was a good vigilant companion.

We haven't yet gotten many birds to visit our window-mounted feeder, but the squirrels love it, and the cats, especially Halle-Bopp, love watching them:

Monday, July 1, 2019

These Are a Few of My Favorite Things

In Mr. Putter and Tabby Write the Book, one of my favorites of Cynthia Rylant's Mr. Putter and Tabby books, Mr. Putter sets out to write a mystery novel (The Mystery of Lighthouse Cove he intends to call it, and the title is as far as he gets), but instead, after a series of distractions and procrastinations, he writes a book called Good Things which lists, as the title suggest, things that are good. His ever-supportive friend and neighbor Mrs. Teaberry tells him not to worry, because, as she says, the world is full of mystery writers, but writers of good things are few and far between.

Inspired by Mr. Putter's literary efforts, and Elyse's recent (but now waning) fascination with the song "My Favorite Things" from The Sound of Music, I am going to write an annotated list of the Good Things in my life, the things that make me happy (a few of them, anyway). Here they are, in no particular order but the order in which they occur to me:

Napping and Reading 

Probably my favorite thing to do lately is to settle down in the reading chair downstairs with a cup of coffee on the end table and a book of short stories, and to read a short story, drink the coffee, and, when the need strikes, put a bookmark in the book, lay all the way back in the recliner, and take a nap.

I try to steal a glance at the clock just before I nod off so I'll know how long I slept; it usually ends up being twenty to thirty minutes, but is occasionally as long as forty-five minutes. (Once I slept a whole hour, but that's pretty rare.) (Also, if I do need to be awake by a certain time, like during the school year when I need to be sure to open the garage door before Elyse's bus comes so she can get in, I set a timer, but I try to start reading early enough so that that won't interfere with my nap.)

Reading and Napping 

Reading short stories is one of my favorite things to do, and combining a good short story with a cup of coffee and a nap (as described above) is heavenly. For a long time my favorite short-story writer was the late Nobel laureate Isaac Bashevis Singer, but I recently finished his The Collected Stories (which is not the same thing as "complete stories," for there are over a hundred of his stories not included in this collection) and I don't have anything else by Singer to read. I've also been reading Flannery O'Connor, Eudora Welty, John Cheever, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, and Grace Paley, among others. I don't read nearly as much science fiction, fantasy, or mystery as I used to; I seem to have lost most of my old interest in genre fiction. Maybe I'll come back to it one day.

Roaming Around Stone Mountain

Another favorite thing is when we all (me, Anna, Jessica, and Elyse) go to Stone Mountain Park. I especially love it when we take the Summit Skyride up to the top of the mountain (someday I hope to be in good enough shape to walk all the way to the top, but I'm not there now) and walk around, enjoying the wind and the view of Atlanta in the distance.

I also love going to what they now call the Historic Square (formerly the Antebellum Plantation) with Jessica to explore the old houses and take pictures, and riding the train and/or playing miniature golf with Elyse.

Years ago, before we had kids, Anna and I used to go to Stone Mountain to spend a Saturday or Sunday afternoon on the lawn in front of Memorial Hall, mostly reading. Before I met Anna, I used to go there by myself to read on the lawn. Often I would walk up to the top first, back when I was young enough and in good enough shape to make it, and then change clothes and spend a whole afternoon reading on the lawn—I read all What Hearts by Bruce Brooks there one afternoon—and sometimes even writing, on a little Hewlett Packard palmtop computer I used to have.

Watching a Movie and Eating Pizza

I'm also at my most happy when we stay home on a Friday or Saturday night to watch a movie and eat pizza. It's pretty challenging these days to find a movie we all agree on; sometimes we watch what we call a "cooking show" ("Best Baker in America," "Cupcake Wars," "Kids Baking Championship," etc.) or, when there's something available that we haven't seen already, a family-friendly scripted show, like episodes of a new season of "Just Add Magic" on Amazon Prime or "A Series of Unfortunate Events" on Netflix (though I believe both shows are now concluded). Lately we've been watching "The Worst Witch" on Netflix.

We don't always watch TV, but when we do—no, wait, we do always watch TV. Or at least it seems that way sometimes. But a good TV show—or movie, when we can all agree on one, or when Anna and I decide to watch something (Condorman most recently) whether the girls stay with us or not—makes me happy.

Working on a Puzzle and Listening to Podcasts with Annie

Okay, we don't literally always watch TV. In fact, Anna and I don't watch that much television on our own; when we're awake enough to do something after the girls have gone to bed (rather a rarity lately, frankly; we're usually both exhausted by then) we go downstairs and work on a jigsaw puzzle and listen to podcasts. For a long time we listened to "Radiolab" or "The TED Radio Hour," but lately we've been listening to "Planet Money." We've probably done fifteen or twenty puzzles in the past five years, many of them prominently featuring cats (not a surprise) and/or small-town general stores.

* * *

This is hardly an exhaustive list; there are plenty of other times when I'm happy (when we go to Rock City or the zoo; when there's ice cream in the freezer; payday and the following two or three days, until the money's all gone), but this is a pretty good introduction to the kinds of things that I believe make life worth living.

Sunday, June 23, 2019

Happy Anniversary to Us!

Today, Anna and I have been married for eighteen years!

This is Anna and me at our reception, married for only a couple of hours, talking to some of our guests:

Saturday, June 22, 2019

Jessica and Her Typewriter

Jessica has wanted a typewriter for a long time. Today we went to a flea market in Loganville (the one more or less beside Community of Grace church, where her Girl Scout troop meets) to look for one, and, incredibly enough, they had one that is perfect! It's a portable Royal Mercury, and it's in really good working condition. She was very excited to get it:

Thursday, June 20, 2019

Kevin and Me

This picture was taken at the ExecuTrain office on Abernathy Road in, I think, 1992; it shows a twenty-five-year-old me and Kevin Eames, who was one of the finest people I've ever been privileged to call my friend. I'm grateful that I knew him for twenty-nine years--a long time by many measures, but not nearly as long as I'd hoped.

Kevin passed away two weeks ago after complications from open heart surgery. I was devastated to learn that he's gone. I miss him.

* * *

I'm quoting this from Kevin's obituary in The Chattanoogan:

"Survivors include his loving wife of more than 29 years, Lisa Hamlett Eames; daughters, Hillary Eames and Hannah Eames; mother, Jill Eames Hanson and sister, Jenny Kinsler along with numerous extended family & friends."

The full obituary is here:

Friday, June 14, 2019

Helen Tubing 2019

Going tubing on the Chattahoochee has become a summer tradition for Anna and Elyse, and today was the day we went for this summer:

While Anna and Elyse went down the river, Jessica and I walked around Helen:

On the way home we stopped for pizza in Cleveland and ice cream at Mountain Fresh Dairy in Clermont:

Thursday, June 13, 2019

Mom and Elyse Go Camping at Stone Mountain

Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday of this week Elyse and Anna went camping at Stone Mountain. Here are some of the pictures Anna (and in some cases Elyse, using Anna's phone) texted me of their adventures: