Wow. You Really Can't Make Some 'Reality' Up

       You know, if you've been 'following' (that's computer-speak for me) this blog, these past 16 months or so have been somewhat sketchy.  (ABSOLUTELY no pun intended.)  Now you know I've NEVER been described as punctual, regular or any other of those 'grown-up' words that are associated with reliability, predictability or good housekeeping even.  That said, you ALSO KNOW that these have been times that would try the staunchest of souls - to say nothing of how they could toy with any woman's complexion, full-bodied, shiny hair and at least NEATLY manicured nails.

       As I'm forced to borrow my husband's computer, the visual that screams "perfection!" at this juncture is unavailable for sharing..  (A dear and glorious Emergency Medicine physician he may be, but his collection of  'unusual' pierce and slashing wounds barely whispers the angst that a pic from MY assortment of  'Frenzy - Unabashed' would bellow your tidy existence into painful disorientation.  And 'alas', alack' and ALL appropriate 'et als', we must endure deprivation of sightly punctuation.

       Rather, we'll (with the frequency and abandon utilized in changing actors) run amuck with 'just the facts, Ma'am'.  Heaven knows it was enough to bring any semblance of my mental equilibrium to near wipe-out. 

       The decision had been made to downsize and move closer to six of our eight grandchildren.  That was January, 2015.  Realtor retained, signage spiked into the patchy lawn (visible from the road and the Linkhorn Bay in Virginia Beach, being a waterfront lot.)  In February, hubby doc trundled off to the highlight of his week (NOT golf), Sams, to stock up on grillables for our free-standing extra freezer for the merrily-anticipated Spring and Summer of cook-outs with the fam whilst we chattered excitedly about what we ALL wanted in the downsized new domicile that only Grams and Poppy would be purchasing.  (Having failed retirement with flourish - after several huge, heart-warming parties given by several staffs - I insisted he stand up, dress and interview because the hole in the sofa created by his read-a-thon was looking like a costly repair.)

       Glumly for him, he returned within days with a stash of repetitive, often ungrammatical queries to be answered ASAP and returned to the Hampton VA Hospital in anticipation of his starting his second - financially saving and skill-maintaining - medical career.  In two weeks.  Seems our veterans' hospitals are constantly in need of qualified, hungry, willing personnel who "hadn't heard" or "didn't believe" the rumors.  Fitting nicely into both categories, our boy was dressed out in his white chaps, stethoscope at the ready and set to :"Never is heard a discouraging word."

       Determined, equipped and enveloped by my new best friend, silence - save the occasional inspirational lyrics and melodies of "The Commitments" and "All that Jazz", I embarked on the recapture of Tuscany and Bari in my house-planning dreams, my jumbo box of colored pencils and my newly-printed (on transparency paper) scaled enlargements of the architect's blueprints.  What would be left behind, what came and the 'transformations' of treasures accumulated over 47 years became the focus of every waking moment NOT spent frolicking with one of our precious offspring - and theirs.

       Then came February.  The day of the rains coming (02/26/15), of 'Motherhood NOT smiling'.  A bit premature, I do believe 'prefaces' remain acceptable.  The foregoing, then, shall be so named.

        Till we meet again. 
Later, Lorane. . . .