The more things change

This is my childhood home.  They put a new red steel roof on it and painted it salmon pink, but that doesn't matter.  The grade isn't as steep as I remembered it, but the stone retaining wall I spent a day watching Uncle Ed repair is still going strong.  My sandbox is gone as well as the fence, but the lilac was still there.  The road isn't quite as busy, though it still worried my husband.  It's beautiful.

We took some time to visit my church/school and my grandparent's house.  Best of all we ate at D'Atri's.  the food is equal to my memories and that is high praise.  Before I became a Catholic I was going to have my ashes scattered over the creek that flows under my old school.  It is still my favorite place in the world.

Packing Up

I'm always looking for a way to make things easier.  This vacation I've decided to embrace the joy of having them lug their own stuff.  Each kid has a backpack for their clothes and toiletries, and a small drawstring backpack for sightseeing.  In Washington, DC practically everything is free, any other town would have us broke the first day what with ticket prices and such.  The only place where DC really gets you is food and drink.  The sightseeing bag will allow us to mitigate this last struggle and give the kids a chance to record their experiences.  Each kid will have two Propel Zeros, one or two snack boxes, sketch book, and either crayons or colored pencils.  I figure we can refill the Propel bottles and get through a day without buying five dollar Cokes.  It's going to be an adventure.  We might as well be prepared.

A very good day

It began with my birthday cake picked up yesterday by my handsome husband.  It continued with a great free swim day at swim class.  I had lunch at McDonalds with the younger half of my kids.  My kids had all worked together to give me a clean house for my birthday.  Three fascinating teenagers arrived to spend the weekend with us while they attend J-fax at GVSU.  My husband brought me my favorite pink roses and baby's breath.  We made homemade paninis and tomato soup for dinner, and then we murdered that cake. And now I am having a quiet evening in my room because all the kids are worn out, overstimulated, or soaking up precious face time.  Birth day's don't get better than this, especially when you get to be the answer to life, the universe, and everything for a year.  I love my life.

Hope Note

I Am,

Sorry.

I was mad.

Beholden Gratitude.

I've been thinking about the difference between being beholden and being grateful.  Because I feel both most of the time, I'd mentally lumped them together, but they are two distinct experiences.  To feel beholden is to owe a debt, to face inadequacy, to put a relationship into the negative.  You might never be able to escape feeling beholden.  To feel grateful, is to feel free, to rejoice in one's good fortune, to elevate a relationship to hero status because by it you have been saved.  You never want to stop feeling grateful. The difference isn't in the experience.  It's in the person owed.  At least that's how it's been for me, now that I come to think of it.   

Girl's Preparatory School

This current stretch of Harriet is so dry and full of disappointments, that I'm having trouble giving it life and movement.  Fortunately I had the good sense to enroll Harriet in Chattanooga's famous Girl's Preparatory School.  It comes with tons of ready made life, and thanks to a research trip and the school's generosity I'm painting in the much needed details to ease the struggle to read about Harriet's unmooring depression.  

It's making it easier to write about it too.  So far I've discovered that there was both a Harriet and a Lucy in the class of 1964, and that they shared interests with my Harriet and Lucy.  When I can't stand how sad it's getting I reach for that annual, and something perks things up, if only for me.