I'm Not Staring....I'm Observing

It's taken me almost 37 years, and it was only through my daughter's insightful comment, that I have realized a true fact.

I am not staring. I am observing.

I can't count the number of times as a child that I heard the words, "Stop staring." In fact, one of my favorite stories to hear retold by my Mom is about a woman at seminary with us who told Mom that my sister and I stared. A lot. My thoughts on that now as an adult are, well, that woman must have had something interesting about her.

But it's true. I stare. I've perfected the subtle stare, and if I can't pull of the "you just caught me staring but I was actually looking around the room at a million other things and we just happened to catch our eyes in a completely random accidental gaze," then I will smile to briefly acknowledge that I was indeed looking at you and just move on to stare at the next interesting object that catches my fancy.

As a Mom, I've said "stop staring" quite a bit. In fact, I just said it yesterday to my daughter. To which she replied, "I'm observing. There is a difference."

I think she's right. There is a difference.

So from now on, if you see me watching something intently, just know that I am not staring. I am being observant. And if my observant eyes are on you, well, then you might want to question what you are doing that is drawing my eyes to you.....I only stare at things that rivet my attention!

The Morning Walk From H-E-Double Hockey Sticks

Often, when I walk, I get happy. Or at least, content. I start walking and suddenly, it's a good thing. Today was not one of those days.

I thought about bagging the walk because I had a slight headache, but then I caught sight of my butt in the mirror and thought it's not bad, but walking is what keeps it from getting worse. And when I opened the bathroom door all the dogs were waiting for me.

So I find my sweatshirt, but on my dog poop shoes (when did I step in that?) outside and am ready to harness and leash three dogs.

Emma has other ideas and can't wait. She runs into the alley while I'm putting Olive's harness on. I get Sarah hooked up and walk out to Emma, who of course, seeing the other two dogs ready to walk makes her ready so she takes off running .

She turns right and heads down the sidewalk. I am by now not using my sugar voice, but my scary whisper voice that means if I could be yelling at you, I would. That isn't working. She stops and looks back at me, like, come on Mom, let's go! Instead, I kneel down and cajole her back to me.

I should have turned back home right then. Instead, we went down to the trail and Emma was the lead dog. She would not walk on the right side. She was pulling or stopping suddenly, leashes were tangled, Sarah kept doing the 'the leash is under my tail' squat and Olive held back as much as she could. Half of the walk I didn't see Olive because she was at my heels.

And Emma pooped twice. In less than half a block. And while I was trying to pick it up, she was doing that scrabble run they do, when the leash is too short but they think they can stretch it through sheer force.

This morning, I think I would have found happiness and contentment just as well, sitting on the couch, reading a book and enjoying my cup of coffee!

This Years Bumper Crop

Every year, I have one glorious over abundance of something in my garden. One year it was lettuce. One year it was peas. I'm sure the kids rejoice that it has never been zucchini (try as I might to get it to be).

This year it is a plant that I have had for years, that has always giving me one serving, one year not even, and for it to decide this year, my year of lazy gardening, that this is the year to grow tall and strong and giant, well, golly! That's totally cool with me.

Rhubarb, it's whats for dinner.

Kidding! It's what's for dessert! I love me some rhubarb cobbler. Or pie. Or coffee cake. I love rhubarb.

I still remember my first taste of rhubarb pie, how the tart sweetness burst on my tongue and I wanted more, lots more. When my Grandma offered me part of her rhubarb plant, I was thrilled. I'd been going out to her place to harvest rhubarb every year, so having some of my own was awesome.

But it didn't like where I planted it. I moved it and it liked the new spot better, enough so that I felt it wouldn't die out on me. This year, Grandma asked me to come out and dig up her entire rhubarb plant. She was just cutting it and freezing it for me anyway, I might as well own it and the work. Gladly!

I split it with my sister, then haphazardly planted it, because seriously, this wet summer has lead to my laziest garden experience. Maybe it was all the rain. Maybe it was the immense weeds that crowded around it, but whatever the reason, this year we've had three rhubarb cobblers and I foresee more in our future!

Rhubarb isn't to every one's taste, but it is to mine. And thankfully, the rest of my family. Otherwise, I'd be eating rhubarb cobbler all by myself, and as delightful as that sounds, I don't need to eat all that alone. Want to, sure, but that's a whole different story!

The Summer Of Sunburns

I spoke too soon when I called this the summer of winter.

This is the summer of sunburns.

This is the summer were we rush outdoors at the first hint of sun and warmth and frolic and play and don't even think about sunscreen. Sunscreen? What's that?

As we bask in the sunlight, we are giddy with joy. This hot day is super fantastic.

And then the next day rolls around, cold and wet and damp, and we all sport various shades of red, in interesting patterns.

Mine came from riding around in my little red convertible, not really thinking twice about sunburns. I'm driving, for gosh sakes. I will sing the praises of a convertible, though, both arms are red, not just the one hanging out the window. No drivers burn for me!

And The Moth Along For The Ride

It's time, you say. Past time, I say, let's get going. Put the top down on the car and don't forget my pillow. Kiss the kids and leave them some money for dinner. Pet the dogs and say goodbye.

We are off, your right hand clasped with my left. Point the car towards directions north and drive, drive, drive.

We arrive at the hotel in the waning summer light, grinning from ear to ear, happy to be together, proud to have almost 18 years tucked into our belts, celebrating a few weeks early due to schedules of our now grown up selves, but still dreamily in love with each as much as our kids selves had been.

Pull the top up over our heads, latch the roof, kiss and get out of the car. Stand at the trunk and stare at the giant moth flapping around in the back window.

Holy Moley. That thing was in the car with us. You try to catch it to let it out safely, but it resists. When you finally put it on the pavement, you shake your head. You tried, but it's probably done for. I feel sad that it is hurt and dying, and even though moths freak the crap out of me, I step closer to look at it with pity.

And then it flutters towards my foot.

And then I scream.

And then you laugh and turn it so it gets its feet under it and it takes off.

It'll be okay, you say as we watch it fly. That's a much better way to start off our trip, I say. Just picking up hitchhikers, not killing 'em.

I don't think I'll ever put the top up again, without checking the back and having the door open for easier escape!

What I'd Forgotten

In a family fun magazine, I read about a great summer reading challenge for the whole family. I broached the idea with the kids and they jumped on it. We set the time frame (until August 31) and decided how we'd count (by book or by page....by page won) and made a chart and agreed that the books we were all currently reading would count from page 1 and invited Dad to join our fun and made the prize be the winner picks a family outing.

Now, I read all the time. I'm on book 85 for the year, and yes, I know that because I still am keeping a list even though it's not like last year when I just wanted to know how many books I could read in a year. I still keep a list because I like to make lists. I probably read more than anyone in the family and when we started the challenge, there was some mutterings that it wouldn't be fair because Mom reads so much....

Well, I have other things I have to do. I can't read all the time! I have laundry to fold, tubs to scrub, gardens to weed, scrapbooks to make, dinners to plan.....plus actually going to work takes a chunk of my day away from reading. But I remained confident that I would blast the competition out of the water.

What I'd forgotten is that the same daughter who wore a groove into the couch last year watching Law and Order every day because she loves that show, is the same daughter who raised (by the sweat of her brow) $1600 in less than a year to go on a school trip. Once she determines she is going to do something, she does it with single minded focus.

This last week she's worn a groove into the couch because she's reading.

I've got 994 pages in the last 6 days. She has 1128.

I huff and puff and shake my fist in funny frustration, but I'm terribly proud of her. She's a reader and she comes by it naturally.

The Summer Of Winter

I just read that the Pacific Northwest has had 78 minutes of summer this year.

78 Minutes Of Summer.

And judging by the fact that I shut all the windows, turned off the fan, wore winter pajamas to bed and pulled up the heavy quilt to once again be part of our bedding, I would whole heartedly agree with that.

It's been a brisk summer. A tad chilly. I haven't really broken out the tank tops or short skirts. I didn't put away the winter quilt, even though I threatened to. I kept all my long sleeve shirts in the dresser instead of switching out to my summer wardrobe.

But you know what? That's okay. Sure, I want sunshine and hot weather. I'm not really in the mind set for it to feel like autumn, and pumpkin harvesting is just around the corner and it's only mid July. I'd like to sit outside around the fire pit without actually needing a jacket and sweatshirt, long pants and thick socks in spite of the fire throwing off heat. I did watch my kids put on layers of shirts, jackets and even a scarf to go walk down town last night. That isn't what this summer is about.

It's the summer of winter! I kind of prefer this than the summer I remember of my childhood, with a drought going on and everyone praying for rain.

Guess what? Those prayers have been answered! Let's just be thankful for the day. I'll try to stop complaining if you try. It'll be a joint effort. We will agree to not begrudge other people in the country who have hot weather and actually have enjoyed a popsicle and a run through the sprinkler. We will slip on our jackets and agree that it could be worse.

Our lawns could be dead and brown from lack of rain. Actually, that is one part of summer I don't mind. Less yard work when the grass quits growing!