Spring!

Spring has finally sprung. We had one tree (I think it's a magnolia), come into full bloom this weekend. All the other trees are still bare, but everything's starting to turn green. It'll be beautiful before long.

The house is buried somewhere behind all the giant shrubs.

Boo Hoo

Daughter went to her first sleep-over on Saturday. She was very nervous, having only ever slept away from home at her grandparents' or her uncle's house. This was the first friend sleep-over. She waffled for two days -- "yes, I'm going" -- "no, I'm staying home."

She finally decided that she was a big, brave girl and would go stay at her friend's house. Unfortunately, no one there got my memo saying don't tell daughter that your house is haunted. Yup, that's right. Daughter went to spend the night at her friend's two-hundred-year-old farm house. All was well until daughter's friend told her that the house was haunted. When daughter asked her friend's mom if that was true, the mom said yes and went on to tell her about a woman who had been dragged from the house and murdered on the lawn. Nice!

So, we got the phone call at 8:30 p.m. She needed to come home. What were these people thinking????? Daughter was crying. Friend was crying because daughter insisted on going home. The whole thing turned out to be one fine mess.

And what, exactly, was that mother thinking? Even if you believe in ghosts (I'm a skeptic), would you ever, in your right mind, tell an eight-year-old girl that someone was murdered on your lawn and now roams the house?

Daughter is now concerned that our house might be haunted. You see, this entire area was once one big farm. So, how could we know that there aren't ghosts all around? After much talking and stretching the truth just a bit, I finally convinced her that our house is not haunted. But friend's mom will be lucky if I don't haunt her for the rest of her life!

Sidewalk Sounds

Tuesday must have been the day for music. After my little incident at the grocer (embarrassing hint for Mary: "Well he's tickling her fancy, rubbing her toes, muzzle to to muzzle, now anything goes"), I was well into earworm (love that word) land. It was a beautiful day so daughter and I took a walk around the neighborhood.

On our way around the block, we ran into an old friend and neighbor of mine who's a well-known blues man in these parts. He greeted me with, "Hi beautiful. You're out walking with your girl, and I'm out walking with mine (his dog)." We chatted for a bit, and he mentioned that he'd been in the studio making a record with his new band. I told him that daughter wanted to hear him sing in person because she liked listening to his CDs and that when he played an appropriate venue, I'd bring her. So he asked her, "What do you want me to sing?" She shrugged and hid her head (oh to be eight and able to hide my head whenever I feel embarrassed). Then, right there on the sidewalk, he breaks into a bluesy version of "Would You Like to Swing on a Star." What a great choice for a little girl! She loved it. The next thing you know, the three of us were dancing (really more like swaying) on the sidewalk. After performing our little routine, we said our goodbyes and went on our way.

Daughter was loaded with questions. "Why did he say 'record'?" "I don't know. He meant CD." "I think it's because he's old. I think he's 60." (Dave would love to hear that -- he's young 50's.) "Didn't you say he doesn't sing unless he gets paid?" "Hmmmm. I don't remember saying that. I think I probably said he gets paid to sing because he's a professional singer." "Well, why didn't you pay him?" "Because, honey, he sang that special song just for you. I don't think he'd want us to pay him." She blushed with pleasure. "Because you are still friends?" "Yes. We're still friends." "But he doesn't come over to visit." "Oh, I know. But when we were young we used to spend a lot of time together. Now we're both busy doing different things. It's kind of like all the friends you have in school. They're your friends, but they don't all come over to visit." "No, Mom, I think it's because he has bigger and better things to do." That's telling me. "Okay, I'll go along with that." "Why do you kiss him when you see him?" "I don't know. That's just what we've always done." "Does Dad mind? You kissed last time right in front of Dad!!" "No. Daddy doesn't mind. I don't kiss him the same way I kiss Dad." "Oh. Well why does he call you "Beautiful" every time we see him?" "I don't' know. He always has. I think he calls all women "Beautiful." "No he doesn't. When we saw him when we were with Denise he said, 'Hi, Denise. Hey, Beautiful." Gee, she remembers everything. "It's just because we've been friends for so long, and he doesn't know Denise that well."

It was getting to the point where all the questions were starting to drive me crazy. Plus I feared she'd ask something that I'd really rather not answer. So I started to sing, "Would you like to swing on a star, carry moonbeams home in a jar..." "Um, Mom?" "Yes?" "Dave sings way better than you do." Maybe I should have reconsidered and stuck with the talk. Instead I chose to hum, but in my head the words were 'Would you like to be an old mom...sing in public, you'll surely bomb...."

It was a memorable day.

Today's Embarrassing Moment

Lots of errands to run this morning, including a stop at the local grocer. Towards the end of my visit, I was perusing the frozen food section. I don't know where my mind was at, but I was standing there with one of the doors open looking for something. After grabbing what I needed from the freezer and closing the door, I noticed a woman standing there, waiting for me as I had blocked the entire aisle. I said, "I'm sorry." She said, "No problem. I was enjoying your singing." Singing! Then I realized that I had indeed been singing along with the muzak. And I knew every word to a song I'm too embarrassed to name.

How old am I?!! Singing to muzak without even realizing it! Sheesh. Way to go, Elsie.

I'm a creature of habit...generally. Awake early...usually. Perc a pot of coffee...always. Walk the dog...if he's awake. Sit at the computer...if the kids are still sleeping. Power up...log on. Pull up a favorite blog...I'm off. Now I often have every intention of writing something on my own little blog, but then my idea will seem silly and not nearly as interesting in the light of day. Today I realized that perhaps it's because I much prefer reading blogs to writing one. And, wow (surprise), that's a-okay.

Life happens. My (our) life lately has had its share of ups and downs and downs. When I sit and try to put all these feelings into words, it can be overwhelming. And boring. It's a relief to visit other blogs instead. And it's amazing how often someone else writes about something I'd been thinking. I like seeing how my blogging friends handle everything so gracefully. Philosophically. How they use the power and beauty of their words. I'm envious. But I love it.

Fits and starts and feeling uncomfortable about my own space has definitely been good for me. Being out of my comfort zone is sometimes just what I need. But I, as I imagine most people do, prefer feeling comfortable. And where I'm most comfortable, and what I most enjoy, is visiting you all at your places.

A few weeks ago, at the playground, I watched how small children approach and befriend each other. It's so easy for them. It's hard to make new friends as an adult. I thought how we adults should have our own playground, too. Then I realized that we do. It's this blogosphere we've created. It is the one place where an adult can simply pop in to say hi, and a friendship may very well be born. It's comforting to me to know that there are places where I'm welcome, where I can go play. It's certainly more fun and less boring than being stuck "at home." The brief time spent each day visiting your playgrounds energizes me. I laugh and cry and think about things in ways I may never have considered, thanks to your insights. It's the gentle prodding that I, personally, often need.

I suppose it's about time that I've finally become comfortable with this blogging thing. The reading works best for me, but I'll continue to write, too. Friendships, even virtual ones, aren't a one-way street. So, dear bloggers, welcome to my playground. I'll work harder at making it a fun place to visit. In the meantime, I'll be seeing you at your places, where I most like to play.

love, Elsie

P.S. Congratulations and my very best wishes to Liz and her family on this special Wedding Weekend!

Who Knew?

Who knew that a middle-aged mom could be so cool?

Son: "Mom, can we go to the music store so I can buy a Who CD?"

Me: "Who?"

Son: "The Who. They're a pretty good rock band. I've been listening to them with my friends."

Me: "The Who?"

Son: (sighing) "Yes, mom, they're called The Who."

Me: "Go look at our CDs. There's probably at least one in there."

Son: "The Who?"

Me: "Yes, The Who."

Son: "Really?"

Me: "Yes, really."

Son (after looking): "Mom, I found one. I can't believe you have a Who CD. Pretty cool."

Me: "The CD or me?"

Son: "Well, the CD for sure. You, yeah, I guess you're pretty cool, too."

Who knew?

Miscellany

• Son's height makes me feel older than his age does.

• Why do I put off preparing the taxes when I almost always get some money back?

• Why did I give up chocolate for Lent when I had such a hard time doing just that last year?

• Why is it okay to smell like dirt after working in the garden, but if you smell like dirt any other time, you're just dirty?

• Daughter told me that I looked "bulky." She said it as though it was a compliment. Bulky?

• How much is too much to spend on Easter candy? And do the calories count if the candy you eat was stolen from your children's baskets?

• Why was I so sad when our stockbroker died recently? I never even met the man.

• Why do I care who the father of Anna Nicole's baby is? And why do I hope it's Larry?

• Am I the only person who doesn't care that CDs replaced vinyl? Am I the only person who finds CDs preferable?

• Why do I feel embarrassed that son's school guidance counselor called while I had music blasting? Isn't it better that she heard tunes than the t.v.?

• And once again, why do these thoughts, and others equally inane, swim about my brain?