Man vs. Nature

Or, Woman vs. Nature

Or, Me vs. Nature

Or, Me vs. My Yard

Or, Me vs. The Rampant Unruly Growth That Has Overtaken My Neglected Yard

Ladies and gentlemen, meet my nemesis:

I liked it when we moved in years ago. Thought it was charming and provided a beautiful backdrop for family photos. I even think it looks pretty in this photo. So richly green and lush.

I'm over that now. I have grown weary of it taking over my trees and my fence and my lawn. I tire of the mosquitoes it harbors.

It's not its fault. But the reign of the ivy is over.







Who else am I warring with?
This guy. I especially like the name of this one - sticky willy. Really. There was an article in the paper on it. It has other names, but sticky willy is my favorite.

A little of this stuff pops up in the yard every year, but this spring it is out of hand. Again, my fault.

But it's easy to uproot and my daughter loves helping me with it.

Gotta use the gloves, though.




Also awaiting conquering:
The leaves. Piles of leaves. Lots and lots of leaves. You may be wondering why I didn't take care of these guys in the fall. Yeah. That would have been a good idea.

Even if I had, though, I'd still be dealing with the live oak leaves, since those lovely live oaks (ah-choo!) love to dump their small hard-to-rake leaves in one big -WHUMP- in the spring.

And finally, the bane of my existence:
The fruit of the chinaberry tree. I hate these things. We've got one chinaberry tree in our yard, and two others that may as well be.

The one redeeming quality of this tree is its blossoms. They are pretty and delicate and our neighborhood becomes heavily perfumed with their fragrance in early April. I love it.

But I'm not sure if a couple of weeks of pleasantness make up for the never ending multitude of gross berries all over my yard. How do I get rid of these things?

I am SO not a gardener. Outdoorsy? No way. But I have determined to reclaim my yard! My ultimate goal is to be able to start a garden of some sort (any sort!) with my darling daughter who dreams of having one. Wish me luck.

The perfect rain

I felt the first few drops as I walked down the street to my bus stop. Sporadic and tentative, they made me happy. It was a lovely day. Ahead of me, the sky was clear and bright and blue; behind me, mildly threatening and dark and gray. A brilliant contrast of sunshine and shadow.

The gullywasher didn't come until I entered the shelter of the bus. Only minutes later, I exited its dry confines with a splash into the unavoidable fast running water on the road surface. The air was rich and aromatic - you know the smell - the indescribable, intoxicating, caressing smell of rain. Spring rain mingled with sunshine. And dirt. For an instant I was transported to youthful days of bare feet and wet hair and rain on my face and girlish joy.

It only took a few moments for my shoes to be soaked through, my slacks wet to the knees. Still, I couldn't stifle the giggles that bubbled up from within. Couldn't unsmile the smile that touched the corners of my mouth. The shoe-preserving dance to avoid puddles and rushing streams was just so silly for all its uselessness. The shoes were drenched. So why not simply walk, in the rain? Why not even skip and dance and shout and allow the water wash over me? How cleansing to heed not the rain!

And I may well have renounced the umbrella altogether, yielded to the joy, had it not been for my good leather jacket and my sensible, grown-up reasoning mind. I clung to the umbrella, salvaged the leather.

But I still giggled.

So you think you can sing

Of course, my brother has Karaoke Revolution Volumes 2 & 3 and Karaoke Revolution Party for his PlayStation. Of course, my brother has a PlayStation. Our household currently has no game system, although the idea of a Wii has been floated on occasion. We'll see. But for now it is enough to know that going to my brother's means excitement and entertainment for the whole family.

On past visits, we have discovered the fun of Guitar Hero. This trip we discovered the joy and hilarity of Karaoke Revolution. And we very nearly got all of the family members involved in the fun. Actually, we did get all of the family members involved, we just didn't get all of the family members to sing. But all were partakers of the fun.

For those of you who know me, I want you to try to picture this: me boldly singing I Will Survive - that 70's disco paean of female resiliency and empowerment. Yes I did. In front of PEOPLE. The mental image is good for a chuckle, is it not? If not, try this one: Titus and I performing a poorly coordinated duet of You're the One that I Want (ooh ooh ooh, honey). Can you see it? In our defense, we didn't get to rehearse, so it is understandable that we got our lines mixed up. A LOT. But with a little practice and some black leather pants we could have rocked it!

I loved watching Emma, the self-proclaimed shy girl, microphone in hand, belting out the tunes. Did she know the songs? No. Did she care? Absolutely not! Tune? I don't need to know the tune of a song to sing it! Music doesn't scare me! She wiped the floor with me with her rendition of I Will Always Love You. My version - cringeworthy. Slightly disturbing was walking into the room and hearing my sweet little 8-year-old girl singing Papa Don't Preach. We quickly removed that particular gem (thank you, Madonna) from her approved playlist.

And then there is the man who has never met an audience he couldn't entertain. Ladies and gentlemen, I now present to you, our host and headliner, my brother. First of all, you should know, the man cannot sing. Absolutely CANNOT. You might be inclined to be embarrassed for him, if he cared. He doesn't. I find it amusing that as a child he was in a choir. With him, much as it was with Garth Brooks before him, it's not about the singing ability, it's about the show. And we surely enjoyed the show. He worked the room, talked to the crowd, and embellished the lyrics here and there (for example, when singing The Joker, at the line, "I'm a smoker" he added, "not really," which tickled the children every time.)

Sure, it was a little awkward when he was singing Against All Odds, moving about the room, personally serenading each one of us in turn. My mom and I put up with it and we couldn't contain our laughter. My husband had to draw the line. Because your brother-in-law singing "You're the only one who really knew me at all" to you just crosses a little too far over the inappropriate threshold. But you've gotta love the guy's dedication to his craft.

Quite honestly, nobody in my immediate family can sing. Couldn't carry a tune in a bucket, so they say. My mother, secure and unapologetic about her lack of vocal talent, would not be persuaded to take the mic. But happily, we did manage to get my dad in on the action. The song? I Got You Babe, vintage Sonny and Cher. Awesome. If you met my dad casually, you would never guess, but the man is an entertainer. I've always known it. Watching him take my mother's hand (not inappropriate), singing, "Babe. I got you babe," was so perfectly hysterical!

I see a Wii Dance Dance Revolution in our future.

Surprise!

This past weekend we traveled to Houston for another of my son's gymnastics meets. We were excited that my parents made the long trip from Florida to see their grandson compete, and that my brother rearranged his work schedule so that he and his wife could also attend. It was a whirlwind mini family reunion.

We arrived Saturday morning and spent the day visiting and playing karaoke on the PlayStation (more on this later). My sister-in-law was baking a cake, which I assumed was for a belated birthday celebration for my son. That night we went out for dinner and when we returned to the house, I hopped on the computer to check Facebook my e-mail. Which is when people started acting strangely, whispering furtively, closing doors, giggling faintly, scattering like rats. I didn't pay this behavior much notice, subconsciously assuming they were getting ready to surprise the boy. Eventually my brother appeared with that feigned-innocence-but-I-really-have-something-up-my-sleeve grin of his, and beckoned me to come into the other room. I still had my coat on.

When I turned the corner I saw my family - my mother, my brother, my sister-in-law (who I really just want to call my sister), my son, my daughter, and my husband - all with big, joyous we-sure-pulled-one-over-on-you smiles on their beautiful faces. And I saw the lovely cake with the candles that tipped me off that this celebration was indeed not for my 11-year-old son, but for his 40-year-old* mother. Balloons cascaded from the landing above (that's where my dad was, in case you were wondering.) They sang 'Happy Birthday' (gloriously off-key as tradition dictates it must be sung.) I still had my coat on.

*I'm not actually 40 yet. I still have 8 more days left at 39. It's important to clarify.


I'm not a party person, I don't like crowds, and I embarrass easily. So I don't generally dream of a surprise birthday bash. But present in the room that night were the people that I love most dearly in all of the world. And I knew in that moment that they love me most dearly in return. It was the perfect surprise. So, precious family: Thank you. And I love you, too.

Not a book review

I just finished reading a book that, yet again, was brought home for my children, and, yet again, became mine. I intended to sit down and write a little review of this book. Because I liked it. But as I was composing my little review in my head, I came to realize that all I really wanted to do was share a quote from the book. Just one. Because her words are better than mine. So, here it is. It's a little melancholy, but then again, recently, so am I.

Looking out over the city, Peter decided that it was a terrible and complicated thing to hope, and that it might be easier, instead, to despair.

The Magician's Elephant
by Kate DiCamillo

This is the reason that I read. Because I, myself, am so limited in my own ability to express, or even to understand, the hidden inner workings of my own fragile heart. This is why I read. Because it consoles the heart to discover that another has articulated for me the very thought, emotion, desire, that my own utterance is too weak to convey. This is the reason that I read. Because my soul is moved by the quiet power of language. Because I admire and appreciate those with both the ability and the desire to construct it into a thing of beauty and of meaning and of weight.

They are just words. It is just a story. But in the hands of the gifted few, the words become potent, full of impact and of recognition and of healing.

This is why I read. What about you?