On this date in what has become my youth, we were blessed with the birth of our second child. For us, the preceding seven years had been a harrowing succession of attempts, failures and the sad finality inherent in knowing we were to be the parents of a single child. (Our son sent a sad text this morning, the anniversary of what he's fond of calling "The Golden Age".) Words fail (Imagine!) whenever I try to express the emotions, actions, changes, relationships - the gestalt of experiences attendant to this 'business of parenting'.
This morning I was speaking with an accomplished, beautiful, married, mother of two delightful children (full of the 'devil', as they say), who is a most successful professional in the medical arena which has additionally rendered her a world traveler and had to keep reminding myself that I was still also speaking with that shrieking, slippery, black-haired baby miracle who from the dawning of her exciting, loving, caring life showed a determination, spirit and destiny directed to keeping 'things' right - HER way - much like the Julia, the Grandmother for whom she is named.
Pity,the lack of cooperation by this 'machine'regarding the photos.We tell our eight grandchildren to develop an interest in a serving profession Mia and Wes charm Santa
because it is highly doubtful that robots will ever have the ability to care. (To which seven year-old Patrick moaned,"I'd HATE to be a WAITER!").
And all of this happiness I've had writing this jaunty little piece this afternoon was trebled by preoccupation with shady thoughts of finding out I actually didn't need a new prescription for glass lenses. Rather - and far more exotic - is the foreboding news that I've been using a magnifying glass to read because of VERY early stage ( Odd. I'm generally LATE for everything.) macular degeneration. We'll just see about THAT. Ha! I had already selected killer frames.
AND. That silly rash I've had on my legs since I got ONE rose bush thorn in my shin ( taken out and washed and treated with antibiotic ointment right away) while removing the six rose bushes planted by the builder's landscaper who had orders NOT to plant ANY flowering shrubs. That was February. Been a long, hot, pale Spring and Summer.
On the other hand, 1) it makes for decent copy, 2) I love surprizes. They're 'SPECIAL', and 3) YOU get to 'live' it, too. That's how WE roll.
IF IT ISN'T SPECIAL, IT'S NOT ONE OF OUR DAYS. And THAT'S the truth!
because it is highly doubtful that robots will ever have the ability to care. (To which seven year-old Patrick moaned,"I'd HATE to be a WAITER!").
And all of this happiness I've had writing this jaunty little piece this afternoon was trebled by preoccupation with shady thoughts of finding out I actually didn't need a new prescription for glass lenses. Rather - and far more exotic - is the foreboding news that I've been using a magnifying glass to read because of VERY early stage ( Odd. I'm generally LATE for everything.) macular degeneration. We'll just see about THAT. Ha! I had already selected killer frames.
AND. That silly rash I've had on my legs since I got ONE rose bush thorn in my shin ( taken out and washed and treated with antibiotic ointment right away) while removing the six rose bushes planted by the builder's landscaper who had orders NOT to plant ANY flowering shrubs. That was February. Been a long, hot, pale Spring and Summer.
On the other hand, 1) it makes for decent copy, 2) I love surprizes. They're 'SPECIAL', and 3) YOU get to 'live' it, too. That's how WE roll.
Later, Lorane. . . .
