All A-Buzz

 

 

Ladies and Gentlemen, allow me to at long last introduce you to the newest member of the hive.

My niece, E., was born just shy of two months ago.

She came screaming into the world at a little under five pounds.

But don't let her size fool you- she has a head full of red hair and the sass to match it.

She's been letting everyone know just who's in charge since she was still in the womb,

and that hasn't changed in the short time she's been out.

She has each and every one of us wrapped around her long, slender fingers;

particularly her two big brothers, who are pretty certain the sun sets and the moon rises just for her.

And they just might be right.

xo

Beyond the Sea

 

 

When I was a little girl, my grandparents, like so many of their generation who had spent their entire lives in the Northeastern US, decided to pack up the house that my grandfather had built, the one with the pool and the really big rock in the backyard, and move to Florida.

They built a new house, a rancher, with a screened-in pool and wall-to-wall brown pile carpeting- even in the bathroom. And this new house they built on the Gulf Coast of Florida was butted right smack up against a town with a really funny name: Weeki Wachee.

This new house that they built seemed to be a million miles away from here- we had to either take a plane or drive for days to  get there. But when we did, it was magical.

Because this far-off town with the funny name, the town butted right smack up against my grandparents' new home, had a pretty big claim to fame: it had a live spring full of just as live mermaids.

Real, honest-to-God mermaids.

 

 

And to a six year old girl  in the early 1980's, there wasn't much more wonderful than a mermaid (unless you could produce a unicorn).

The mermaid show at Weeki Wachee Springs has been running since the middle of the last century.

And I went to see it every single chance I got.

I almost think that I was more excited about seeing the mermaids than about seeing any of the various family members who had followed my grandparents' migration south.

For these mermaids were no mere mermaids.

They were also ballerinas, who danced their dance deep under the spring.

They ate bananas.

They drank bottles of Coca-Cola.

Under water!!!

 

 

They were about as perfect as things could get when you were a six year old girl.

Or even a slightly older girl,

who still believes anything is possible.

Even mermaids.

xo

The End of the Summer

 

 

Family vacation.

It's something that has happened every year since Nephew One was born.

After the summer officially ends, after the lifeguards and exchange students and families have packed up and headed back to reality, we slip quietly in.

My parents rent a house on the beach, and me, my sister, her husband, and two little boys happily help them fill all of the empty guest bedrooms.

There is nothing to do, nowhere to be.

Mornings are spent watching the sun rise, my mom and her oldest grandson wrapped in a blanket singing "Here Comes the Sun."

Breakfast is leisurely and often sugary. We watch the dolphins swim by while we finish the last of the coffee.

The days are spent on the beach, wrapped in layers if it's cloudy and cool; otherwise soaking up every last warm ray of post-summer sun.

Books we started reading months before get finished, as do the new ones just begun.

Nephew One pretends to be a pirate, a crab, a tractor moving piles of sand.

Nephew Two is still too little to pretend, he is instead content digging, splashing, and running after sea gulls.

 

 

 

At noon, a church bell rings. We call it the Beer Bell.

It is a signal to gather all of the towels and the toys into one pile and head in for lunch.

Naps happen.

For babies and adults alike.

As the sun sets, we need a stretch from our lazy day.

New wiffle ball rules are made: double points for hitting a beached crab or fish; triple points for an air-borne sea gull.

Cartwheels are done in the outfield.

Nobody wins.

Nobody loses.

Dinner is a poorly choreographed ballet of too many people around a too small stove, conducted and danced in our pajamas, sun-kissed skin and sandy hair.

Nephew One loves the dinner time jammie parties.

And the sleeping parties he has with his little brother, the two sharing a room for the first time ever.

Nights are spent playing Candy Land, checkers, and Vacation Rummy.

But only after we watch the moon come up, and the stars and planets twinkle.

We scatter on sofas and chairs and fall asleep, one by one.

We sleep early. We wake early.

We are lucky for this time.

We are happy.

And we will hope to do it all again next fall.

 

 

She's Crafty

The vein of craftiness runs deep in my family.

My sister, despite the fact that she understands numbers and science, has a natural ability to put together color and pattern.

She might get it from our mom, who once taught people how to do stained glass. You know, 'cause she was good at it.

Or, she quite possibly got it from our dad, whose wood shop tinkerings have produced a sandbox, a big old shed, and a new kitchen, including cabinets to fit the crooked walls of a 150 year old farmhouse.

My Grandmom Tina, my mom's mom, always said my talent came from her. I once saw her draw a horse. It wasn't too bad.

But I'm pretty sure I got it from my other Grandmom, Grandmom Vroom Vroom (named so because my Grandfather had a motorcycle, and it went "Vroom! Vroom!").

 

Just look what she could do with a few old beer cans and a crochet hook!

Not only did Grandmom Vroom Vroom have talent,

she clearly impacted my earliest sense of style, as evidenced above.

So drink up, kids.

Winter's right around the corner.

And I know you're all gonna want to be rockin' a beer can hat when the snow starts to fall.

xo

 

 

 

 

100 Years

That wild-haired little boy in the middle of this picture?

That's my grandfather. He'll be 93 next month.

Which is impressive enough in itself.

The little girl with the big(ger) floppy bow and the crossed ankles?

That's his big sister, Edna.

She is 100 years old.

Which is really impressive.

Tonight, we will gather with family, some of whom we haven't seen in years,

to celebrate such a magnificent milestone.

A very happy birthday, indeed.

xo

To The Sea

It has become a sort of tradition for my family. After the season has ended, and the crowds and the vendors and the noise have all returned inland for the winter, we rent a house at the shore. Last year we were, for a few days at least, nearly two dozen strong, taking over two houses and a large stretch of beach.

This year, we were just a few, with a visiting aunt and cousins staying near by. My parents rented a house right on the beach, and the rest of us followed them to the coast like the obedient children we are. From the deck, just past dunes dotted with yellow flowers and butterflies, was our very own private expanse of New Jersey shore line.

Mornings were spent breakfasting on the deck, watching the sun rise like a ball of fire over the horizon. That first morning brought an endless stream of dolphins swimming by, occasionally jumping out of the water as if to say hi. The days were spent on the beach, digging in the sand and looking for shells. If you are two and the ocean is the greatest thing in the world, incidental things like water temperature don't matter a bit. Adults sat scattered about in various states of covered up, reading and napping and gossiping. Kites were flown, castles were built.

The sun fell, and the layers were piled on. Mugs were filled, either with tea or with beer. We watched the moon and listened to the waves, wrapped in blankets and stretched on lounge chairs. Endless hands of rummy were played, none of them in much of a hurry to total a score of 500.

At night, the only sounds in that deserted beach town were the waves crashing yards away from the windows, and the midnight ramblings of my tiny roommate: "6789!" "Whatcha doin'?" And a late night jaunt that had him stuck and calling for help, on his hands and knees at the bottom of the bed, stuffed duck in hand. He never did tell me where it was he was going to, on that journey in his sleep.

We have all grown accustomed to, and now savor, that late-season week by the sea. The chilly winds having long since blown away the crowds, leaving us virtually alone in the town to make our own amusement. And a long stretch of beach, empty of people save for family.

xo

Happy Weekend

Dear Readers...you're still here, right?

Good! Glad to see you again :)

This last week has been a very very long one,

beginning with the crippling mid-week heat wave that left me a big, lazy,

air-conditionless puddle;

to a looming deadline on a very big and very special custom order;

to a sad goodbye to a very dear uncle.

But the (much needed) weekend will give way to a new week, and a fresh start.

I'll be back Monday with regular posts, full of witty anecdotes and lovely things to ogle.

Until then, have a happy weekend.

(and a Happy Father's Day!)

xo