Friday, September 16, 2011

Surprises!

Some members of our family love surprises. In fact most of us do. I think that the tradition started a long time ago with my parents. Those two people loved to spring surprise parties and surprise, somewhat extravagant gifts, on each other and their children. One of my special memories was the Christmas that Daddy bought Mother a new car. He was about the to "bust" with excitement when he told me how we were going to pull off the surprise. The plan involved a fairly complicated hiding of the new wheels in a garage that belonged to the church two doors away from our house. Daddy hid the car, a sporty yellow Chevy, in the garage a few days before Christmas and gave my sister and me the ribbon to decorate it. Janet and I sneaked over there and pulled the ribbon around it and attached a big red bow on the roof. On Christmas morning, Daddy snuck out of the house in the dark and drove the car into the driveway beyond the front porch and past the dining room windows so that Mom couldn't see it. As was our custom, Daddy would always go into the living room to "check and see if Santa had come" while we slept. Daddy would always say, "No, he hasn't come yet, so go back to bed." We knew he was joking! We'd storm into the room and exclaim over all the loot and then we'd settle down to open presents. Mom would always be the last to open hers. That Christmas, Janet and I could hardly contain our excitement as she opened the usual stuff; clothes, new pjs and so on. The last gift was handed to her by Daddy and as she opened a box of silky panties a set of keys on a shiny new keyring fell out. Mom held them up and asked Daddy what they were for. Daddy just laughed his deep chuckle and told her that maybe she ought to check outside for what Santa had left for her. Mom did and was beside herself with excitement. In our pjs, we took the new car for a spin around the block! Daddy was grinning from ear to ear because no one enjoyed surprising his loved ones more than my Daddy.

The tradition continued well into our adulthood. Once, a month after our move to North Carolina, over six hundred miles away from home, my parents decided to surprise us with a weekend visit. Gene was working late and I had had an especially trying day. The move and getting everyone settled into our new home far away from our friends and family, had left me very lonely and unsettled. After getting the three children fed, bathed and into their pajamas, I told them that they could watch a little TV before bedtime. They were happily watching TV in the den, so I told the oldest child to keep the two younger ones quiet just long enough for me to take a quick shower. A promise of buttered popcorn sealed that deal and on my way to the shower, I casually reminded him to not open the door for anyone, except of course Mimi and Papaw! ESP? You guessed it! When I got out of the shower, there they were on our front porch. Happy Birthday to me, for a few days later it really was my birthday. Surprise!

Next month is my husband's birthday. For months I've been contemplating what I could give him that would really please him. Racking my brain for the perfect gift became an obsession. I finally decided on something that I hope he will love. He doesn't have a hobby or at least one that he spends time doing because between coaching baseball, working and raising four kids with me, there never seemed to be enough time nor money to devote to a hobby. His family _is_ his hobby. Time spent with us is what he loves best, so I'm giving him time. With my trusty laptop I've booked time for us. We can't take the whole gang along for this time, but maybe next year we will.

My parents are both gone from me, but their tradition of surprising each other lives on. They taught me a lot about spending "date" time without kids and enjoying each other, so for his birthday this year, I've planned a weekend in New Orleans followed by a cruise. I hope he likes it. I have been daydreaming for weeks about strolling hand and hand with him through the French Quarter, as we did many years ago before we had children. He loves to "people watch", so I'm sure we'll do a lot of that during that week too. We don't have to be anywhere in order to spend time together, but a trip together is a reminder of the time before the race began. Time is the most important gift I can give him. Our daughter jokes that he gets out of sorts when he doesn't get enough "Linda time", so I hope that this gift will give him what he wants most! I'm crossing my fingers and hoping !

Happy Birthday, Honey. I love you more today than I did over forty years ago when I first saw you on that hot summer night. You out-shone all the stars then and you still do. Even with all the craziness, I'd do it all over again. May you have many more birthdays and always with me!
 XOXOXOXO always,
L

Sunday, September 11, 2011

9/11 Reflections

Has it really been ten years? Ask anyone who was alive then and they can probably tell you where they were and what they were doing when the towers fell. You don't even have to say; What towers?  We all know. I am really no different and my personal story is not earth-shattering nor especially enlightening.

We were having work done on the plaster ceilings upstairs. Several days before the 9/11 attacks, one of the workmen reported that our ancient dryer in the upstairs laundry room was was heating up all by itself. The next day, the repairman pronounced  it dead. So on the morning of September 11, 2001, I was getting dressed in our bedroom after seeing our baby boy, then high school freshman, off to school. I remember watching Katie and Matt talking on the "Today Show" and then the first announcement and news break that a plane had hit the World Trade Center. They switched to the coverage and then a few minutes later, another plane and the news kept getting worse. You know the rest of that story. Well, I was in shock of course, but I continued getting dressed and drove to Sears. Inside the store no one was doing anything but watching the floor model TVs . I stood with the idle salesmen and cried while I made a dryer selection. Back at home the workmen had stopped pulling down the old plaster ceilings and together we watched in horror as the morning became mid-day and the nightmare continued. I found a a small American flag, a leftover from the 4th of July parade, and stuck it in a flowerpot on the porch.

Those who know me well know that Tuesdays are a day apart from the rest of the week. Tuesdays are reserved for a lunchtime ritual known as lunch with the "Bazaar Babes". There are 11 of us now, but then there were 12. We had planned to be at a restaurant, but decided instead to gather at our friend, Ann Griffen's, house. Ann, a victim of MS, had a large TV on which we continued to stare at the events unfolding.

Back at home, I passed by the little flag and swallowed the lump in my throat. The freshman was at home by then and had questions about the day. I didn't feel comfortable answering them, but tried instead to assure him that he would be safe no matter what. Isn't that what mothers do? He had a soccer game that night and the schools had decided to go ahead with it despite the events of that day. He went upstairs to his bathroom to shave and dress for the game. I was sitting at the computer looking at the pictures of the towers falling of people jumping to their deaths and of firefighters trying desperately to save people and loosing not only that battle, but of dying themselves. Suddenly this man-child ran out of the bathroom and said, "Mom, I need a candle, quick!". Stunned, I asked why. He said that he'd heard at school that someone had posted a request on the internet for everyone to hold a lit candle high at an appointed hour in respect for the lost lives of the day. So with a bit of shaving cream clinging to his chin and without a shirt on his still hairless chest, this sweet man-child of ours stood on the steps of the sidewalk in front of our house and held a lighted candle in one hand and the little flag in the other hand. Behind the cover of the front door I wept as only a mother can. Proud, questioning, frightened, and struck dumb, I hugged him to my chest and stifled the urge to scream. The next day, I picked out the color for the front door and by 5 o'clock that day our door sported two coats of a color named "American Beauty". It just seemed right as did the new large American Flag hanging from the porch .

9/11 changed us all. We are more fearful now. We experience more delays when we travel now. We no longer trust the way we did before 9/11. We have evolved in many ways and not all of them are bad. We, as a nation, I like to believe, are more patriotic. Our hopes are are realistic and grounded. Call me a "Pollyanna", but seeing a skinny, man-child holding a little candle and an American flag proudly on the steps of a humble, but proud home will do that to you.
God Bless America and all our sons and daughters!