Hot New Upper Body Work-out: The 30 Minute Prune

With all the spring rain and the unseasonably hot weather we had last month, our little slice of the prairie was beginning to look more like the jungle, so I pruned (That is such a funny word. Prune, prune, prune. Aw, yeah, say it with me now: Prunity-prune-prune ... ) all the shrubs in our yard yesterday and hauled all the trimmings out to the road side.

And this morning I can't lift my hands above my waist. (I think I might be a little out of shape.) (And people? Edward Scissorhands I am not.) (But it doesn't look too bad, really, if you just go ahead and imagine that a strong wind's blowing in from the North whenever you look at it.)

Anyway, the upshot of all this is that blogging was a bit of a challenge earlier today as I had to type standing up at my bathroom counter and could only stretch my forearms out far enough from there to use the keys on the nearest rows of the laptop to my person, which means my entire 5 Minutes for Parenting post had to be comprised solely of "z,x,c,v,b,n,m,<,>,?" and the space bar.

But I did it. Completely vowel-lessly. Right here.

(Oka-a-ay, I used a few vowels. And we'll call the post over there a prologue to what I'm hoping I'll soon be able to write about our trip and Grandma's funeral. Once my arms are fully mobile again, I mean.)

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Jiggity Jog

Just a little quickie to tell y'all thanks for the sweet messages of sympathy and condolences. They meant so much to both of us.

We're home again, after a whirl-wind trip down South for Grandma Carrie's funeral, which OHMYGRANNY, I hope to tell y'all all about very soon (I was debating it in my own mind, but Al says I MUST!), after addressing a few more pressing items on my agenda, not the least of which is a trip to the grocery store.

Because we do not have any butter in this house.

Not even a single little pat.

A situation which renders me quite useless in all of my respective roles as a woman.

Knowing that I have plenty of butter on hand for any butter-related activity I may be pressed to pursue, like, say, lying on the sofa reflecting contentendly upon my readily-available ample supply of butter? Well, that's just fundamental to my sense of well-being. Without the firm knowledge that there's a at least couple pounds of butter in the fridge, I'm reduced to an addled, mumbling, hand-wringing mess, just standing forlornly in the kitchen with my eyebrows macrame'ed into one of those monkey-hand bracelets you used to craft-up at summer camp.

Thus the butterlessness must be rectified before I can move on about my life in a confident and, well, lucid fashion.

You can't say I don't have my priorities straight, people.

I'll be back.

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Beautiful Carrie Bell

I went to find Bean in the waning hours of a neighborhood party last night, in the filtered, sparkling light of dusk, to take her home with us for the night. I crossed the grass of two back yards and saw her sandals haphazardly kicked off and abandoned on the back porch next door and I looked at them for a long time, those shoes a symbol of so much to me - her joy, her freedom, her love of these summer nights (and summer days) among all the people she loves so much.

And then I heard her shrieks of glee and looked up from my reverie to catch a glimpse of her, those wild blonde curls bouncing and blowing in the wind as she appeared, skipping around a rich green, grassy corner toward me. In that instant her face absolutely radiated happiness and belonging - her beautiful smile lighting up every corner of her, and every corner of me, too. I looked at her, paused a moment, and turned and walked back to the party. I just couldn't be the one to make her leave, this time.

So I sent her father.

He sauntered off and returned minutes later with his daughter in his arms. I looked into Bean's eyes, searching to find out how this abrupt end to the fun time with friends made her feel. She wasn't grinning anymore, but as she lowered her head to her father's shoulder and relaxed into the safety and comfort of his strong embrace, I knew she felt as joyful as she had just minutes before, perhaps more so. And peaceful. She had the peace of knowing she was with her Daddy, who would safely and gently carry her tired little body home.

Al's mother, Carrie Bell, for whom our Bean is named, passed away this morning. She was 90 years old. I know that although she'd grown frail and feeble and worn down, her Father found her with a happy, full heart and swept her tired body up in his strong arms to carry her home, just as her precious eighth child did her twenty-something-eth grandchild less than twelve hours before. I know her face is peaceful, her soul full of joy to be snug in the arms of her Father, whom she has loved and trusted and believed in her whole life long.

Praise God and thank You for Grandma Carrie Bell. Thank you for her strength, which came from You, for her love and faith and joy and wisdom born of sitting at Your feet all through her long and sometimes difficult life. A wonderful mother and wife, she gave her children and husband and extended family and community every ounce of herself, and will forever be one of the standards I'll hold myself to as I continue to care for her son and grandchildren, of whom she was so proud. Hold her tightly, God, and please be with her family, those who will go on for a while without her and miss her every day, but in whom she still lives on because of her love for You, and for them. Amen.

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