my treeloft villa

The many particulars of cashing out on a 4-BR home with wide porches and decks and yard to pare down to a 1-BR treeloft over what once was a garage, are, and should well be, tasks consuming my body, soul, and spirit, all at once. As I viewed the options surrounding the move, each belonging, each tangible item inhabiting our home, answered the question, "where do you go now?" The responding options reveal my life at this juncture, all avenues heading in dissimilar directions.

Are you being held for later use, for my someday dream? Well then, to storage. Are you used up and on the brink of perishing? to the bin. Do you hold the promise of a second go-round, still useful and lovely? Then to the Goodwill lot. Are you the very thing I require to make this challenge attainable and productive? Then off to the treeloft villa!

And as circumstances would have it, a final possibility loomed as to whether clothes and technology, books and appendages, were comfort fodder for the reprieve of a 2-weekescape to the mountains in the midst of all the moving confusion.After ump-teen (I like that word!) relocations, I have this down to bare emotion and hard facts, almost. It will be an adventure to live in the treetops, absorbing a whole new view.

River Tubing

The experience of tubing and rafting in the mountains of Tennessee, North Carolina, or Georgia has taught me an innate definition of COLD river water. In fact it has become the default setting for my mind when trying to plunge into any water, be it pool, ocean or stream- to tell myself, "It can't be as numbing as a North Carolina river!" and in I go. The Toccoa, the Ocoee, the Chattooga, Nantahala, Hiawasee, -all local Southern rivers, Indian names as well, names that conjure any number of cold water adventures. 

Today, in this tradition, 6 of us donned our gear and drove to Blue Ridge, Georgia for tubing on the Toccoa River. We first chose a cloudy, overcast day after unseasonably chilly weather throughout the South, causing a temperature of only 71, mid-day. After risking directions from a kindly octogenarian named AJ, we persevered beyond his tiny hand-drawn map to locate the tubing company located in the National Forest. Bright pink tubes welcomed us, the only customers. We saw this as a warning, but intrepid enthusiasts, we plunged in; or rather I desperately hoped to not plunge, as the occasional breathtakingly cold splashes sufficed to elicit gasps and chills enough.

Ahhh, the wonder of being one with the river, hearing its tumbling waters, floating safely on my tube, and gathering fodder for future tales. We may have searched and hoped for the rare glimpse of sunlight for awhile, but the rhythm and speed of the river soon took all our attention. 

There came the bend where I was somewhat alone, tho' still in view of the others. Seeing much frothy water ahead, I aimed to the right bank,  paddling furiously with my one green Croc, and too late noticing the drop-off ahead of me!! I grasped overhanging limbs and held myself there, waiting and deciding how to best proceed to avoid a bailout. The looming boulders grew larger, the eddies swirled faster, dropping deeper. My sons with a measure of frivolity noticed my undue distress, and to their credit, all followed to my rescue.  I was certain of disaster, but as I released my stalwart branch, while firmly holding to one son's hand, I  threw caution aside as we sailed over the rapids, relieved and believing for more. With each dousing, growing wetter and colder, I also grew braver 'til at the final huge, boulder-strewn drop, I just held on and laughed. How else to be one with nature? How else to impress my family, but with the bravery of my modest wilderness skills? 

WEDDING

...a perfectly lovely day in May, a day for a wedding amidst the ruins of Old Sheldon Church.

a bench of albums

footnote to baby Mairn

i meant to say not only that i am fond of your 5 uncles, (who now, because of you, will forever be uncle rutledge, uncle andrew, uncle dayne, uncle abram, and uncle drayton,) but that i am also fond of your dad, who will one day be someone's uncle roman. and then of course there is your "pops." 

my dear granddaughter, you are giddily welcomed by an elite but growing minority of women in this nuclear family, that right now comprises  your aunt claire, aunt michel, aunt jen, your mom, and me.  hmmm, i wonder if aunt jen still wants to be called crawdaddy?

SHOPPING with MOM

I grew up hearing Mom's stories of window-shopping downtown on King Street on Saturday with her best friend, Lydia.  They would stroll slowly, arm in arm, past the stores, chatting and pointing to glamorous hats and purses, shoes, dresses, articles for sale. It was a social event, greeting their friends and acquaintances, and being seen out on the town. The tantalizing scents of fresh baked breads and pastries, fried foods, and even popcorn filled the air and their minds with mouth-watering possibilities. She recalled the thrill of a cold Coca-Cola in a frosty glass with a tall straw, sitting at the counter where every passer-by could see. Most of the stores' owners lived in the upstairs rooms with their families and ran their businesses in the first-floor, street-side storefronts. The local retailers were also neighbors to each other. This made for a close community, as was common at the turn of the last century. With these thoughts firmly in place, Mom and I set out to  enjoy an early morning jaunt downtown.  Knowing that cities everywhere have grown and prospered has not dampened her delight in remembering so many tales. She is at heart a story-teller, and her memory at 82+ years rivals my own. Today we easily found a parking place, fed the meter and sauntered into a chic store specializing in fun jewelry. I enjoyed giving Mom this time to shop in her overgrown hometown, as I watched her eager and happy eyes take in all the changes, her sharp mind point out storefronts and places she once knew. And of course she charmed the 2 young sales girls with her Southern graces, topping it off with an offer of wrapped peppermints and a promise to return soon. Replete with shopping bags and stories in hand, we escaped with our wonder intact, and our memories renewed. 

romie and roxie

february has held the birthday rights to my smiling husband, on the romantic 14th day, the day of tulips and chocolate,  roses and tiramisu, a valentine baby, he. it was exactly 33 years ago today on the 18th of february that i strolled in to his office seeking employment, so i could move back home from the big city of atlanta. during and after college i had soared across continents and seas, languages and cultures, exploring me. and now i longed for the coast and the familiar smells and sights that bespeak the spell of family and home, that primitive call to many a wanderer. neither of us knew how fortuitous that chilly february day would be. he recalls i wore a denim dress, and jewelry that he liked. he said i smiled. i remember liking his voice, just deep enough to be masculine, but with a hint of laughter with a strong, gentle and southern resonance.  i say i first fell in love with his voice, he fell in love with my smile. 

happy birthday, girls!!

     

   
Brilliant masks, colorful Mardi Gras beads, great friends, family, food and music yielded  a memorable 60th birthday party for the twins in my life. The party was moved to my home at the last minute when the beach house  was flooded by a pinhole leak in the pipes - time to roll with the punches and shift some furniture. The guys in our lives were invited for cake, conversation, and coolness, then banished so we could have a girls-only movie and karaoke blast! I have always thought karaoke a bit scarey, but with just us girls, best friends, a few glasses of wine, and such a terrific reason to celebrate, we enjoyed the nonsensical idea of being our own form of Rock Stars. Here's  a glimpse of party-goers, both aged and ageless.