Tag Archives: family


Making 60 look good

Today’s my mum’s sixtieth birthday!

She was supposed to be a Christmas baby, you know, but she got a bit impatient. Instead she arrived to this world shriveled, with nary an eyelash or eyebrow to be seen. Good chance hers was a face only a mother could love. Of course, it didn’t take long for her to turn into the cutie patootie we know and love today . . .


And she just kept getting more beautiful, with each passing day . . .


I’m pretty lucky to call her my mama. The more I’ve aged, the more our friendship has grown true. As a matter of fact, looking at old pictures of her and her friends, it looks no different than when we hang out . . .


OK, maybe the styles have changed a bit, but other than that, totally the same.

Personally, I hope this is the most delightful decade yet.


So to Debra Kaye, Happy 60th Birthday!

Here’s to you and laughter and the best of shenanigans in the coming years . . .


In the company of friends

It was a weekend filled with friends, old and new, and family, near and far. My cousin sent texts—including a photo and a video—so we could be a part of the wedding on Friday. The wedding on Saturday was lovely. I cried, as I’m wont to do. Sunday, I met my cousin for an unexpected breakfast. She’s in town for a wedding. We sat around a table of buttermilk pancakes and bacon, sipping hot cocoa and coffee, and caught up on lost time. We chatted travel; we laughed about stories of tomfoolery; and we decided we simply must visit Europe together, someday. I also received a note from a friend on Sunday. Her son had been the Psalmist the day before, so she sent a video. Again with the tears. But he looked so small and grown up all at once–and he did such a good job. Of course, kids singing in church tend to be more than I can handle. So there’s that. Sunday afternoon found us meandering  next door where we sat with a few of our neighbors, eating grilled Greek-style lamb pita sandwiches with Tzatziki sauce, salad, and more desserts than I’d care to mention. We nursed New Age “Tinchos;” with birds singing and water dancing as our backdrop, we took the first steps in getting to know one another.

As I sat there in the cool of the shade, I thought of all the people with whom I shared my weekend. Some, I’ve known all my life; others, I’ve never actually met in person–only through blogs and emails–yet I call them friends. I guess you might say, my weekend served a good reminder of just how lucky I am–that the small things, truly are the great . . .



Planting hope


For all intents and purposes, the pots on my deck are planted. As usual, there are a few iffy specimens. One’s little more than a stick with wee buds at the top; one’s looking especially droopy around the edges. It does not bode well, my friends. And yet, I can’t help but give them a chance. I take them out of their plastic containers, give their roots a gentle squeeze, and tuck them into the potting soil, right alongside healthier fellows . . . hoping, perhaps, they’ll encourage one another–that they’ll help each other through.

I’m not sure why I love the underdog so, but I do.

Perhaps it’s because I can relate–there’s a lot I hope to accomplish in my life, and I’m the least bit qualified.

Perhaps it’s because I know God never gives up on us–no matter how weak and straggly, no matter how many others have long ago abandoned ship.

Perhaps it’s because, despite all odds, miracles do blossom every now and again . . . and I like to leave room for them to bloom, right in my backyard.


A celebration for the one who taught me how to celebrate

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I showed this picture to my mom and she said, “Gack! That hair . . . and what’s with the pants?” Personally, I kinda love it. In literature, it’s a little thing we call foreshadowing. Just a few short months after this photo was taken, it would be the three of us against the world. Together we would come dangerously close to the sharp, jagged rocks of life and learn to adjust to the ever changing currents.

Of course, it was through those rough patches my mom shored up the belief that we should celebrate in all phases of life. That life is made up of the little things, and those are pretty great, too. That there may very well be laughter, even amidst the tears.  That brighter days are just over the horizon, you’ve just got to keep going.

Looking at this picture I realize we never would have intentionally walked down the path set before us. But I’m glad we did. It proved the true metal of my mama — even amidst hardship and disappointment, she gave us some of the greatest gifts a mother can give.

Gifts I’ll be putting into practice this weekend, I might add. My aunt and uncle will be in town for our annual Mother’s Day Extravaganza. There will be an abundance of food, lots of lively conversation — maybe an eye-roll or two — and plenty of laughter.

I fully intend to frolic for three whole days . . .  just as soon as I clean the house.

So, to my mom — thanks for teaching me the importance of laughter; showing me how to celebrate, in good times and bad; and proving that you truly can get better with age. God was exceedingly gracious when he gave me you.

To all you mothers out there, may you have at least one day that’s full of all you love most.

And to all of us, a heart of happiness and the grandest of memories in the coming days.

Happy Mother’s Day | Happy Weekend, to you!


Sometimes you just get lucky


{Ha! Look at us!}

I recall the day my mom and dad informed me I’d be getting a little brother or sister. Skimming right over the brother bit, I went straight for the sister. Certainly, that’s what I’d get. It’s what I prayed for; it’s what I hoped for–it’s what I wanted.

Lucky for us, God gives us what we He knows we need.

So I got a brother.

I was not amused.

I was not amused when he tattooed my favorite doll with black permanent marker. I was not amused when he, my cousin, and the boys my mom babysat would gang up on me, when they should have been doing the homework assigned. I was not amused when he refused to clean his room when I gave strict instructions to do so.

I was not at all amused.  

But a funny thing happened. We grew up, and suddenly he wasn’t so bad. Suddenly, I found I kinda liked the fellow–depsite the fact he inherited the olive colored complexion, long eyelashes, and height. I liked him even though he understood computers and science and he could cook–from scratch

Like a fine wine, he only improves with age. 

He’s handsome and witty; he can figure anything out; he has a great imagination {oh, how lucky we’ll be if ever he finishes one of his fantasy novels}.

And he’s a really great dad. It’s not so much the gifts he gives or the kind words he says. It’s the way he’s there for his son. He never shied away from feedings or diaper changes (even though he has a very weak gag reflex); he never backed away from spending time alone with a toddler. He always has time to teach, and play, and explore.

You know, word on the street is today is Brothers and Sisters Day. Periodically, you’ll see it pop up on Facebook. Because I’m woefully inept at updating my status–and my brother is all the worse–I tend to ignore such things.

Perhaps it’s for the best. I mean really, how would it look if I were to go on about how wonderful my brother is? Others would no doubt pale in comparison. Yes, perhaps it’s best  I keep it to myself. Sometimes, when you’ve happened upon a bit of luck, it’s best not to rub it in . . .