Fall, Fake Fall, and I Better Not Trip and Fall

After False Fall in Georgia, which (obviously) was only brought on by a hurricane, we've had blistering summer again. There's nothing so discouraging as having a whiff of a cool breeze, only to be followed by the sun laughing in our faces, the sweat rolling down our backs, dogs lolling about on porches like they're in a coma. There ain't no way I'm buying pumpkins for my front stoop right now, even if they do look adorable out there. But I did check the weather a minute ago and another hurricane is headed to the gulf. Pity that people have to suffer for us to get some cooler temperatures. It's late September. My California neighbors came driving in last night. They live here part-time, and I'm sure by now they think we've all lost our sanity with all the fluctuations. But they also say that they love the Southern kindness and connection that they have found here. I need to work harder at being Southern...

Our musical Italy trip in June left me reeling with so many thoughts and ideas, but it also left me with a messed-up Achilles tendon. You'd think with as much time to prepare for that trip, I'd have been walking on the daily. But no...I had better things to do -- chatting, doing puzzles, eating bon-bons.  So now, after various attempts at healing it, I've been in a boot for many weeks. At the beach, I thought it prudent to leave it off, with so much sand and trips to the pool. Who wants to strap on that monstrosity, when you're just going to take it back off? Upon arriving home, my doctor gave me the stink-eye as he asked me where my boot was (I forgot to put it on and keep up hypocritical appearances). I blithely told him I was feeling pretty good and that I'd been at the beach all week. He reached down and gently squeezed my Achilles, which resulted in wailing and gnashing of teeth. More of the eye-thing, and he said, "You're going backwards. Get that boot back on, go back to physical therapy and come back in three weeks." So again, I'm dragging it around like an appendage, thinking "What hump, Master?" I know this travail is very small potatoes, compared to other peoples' pain and trials...I see people in stores with contraptions where their knee is bent into a 90 degree angle and they are hobbling around with some sort of trolley. Then there's the guy at the gym (not that I've been lately) who only has one leg and looks like Adonis. My apologies to him and the others, but apparently I'm milking it for all it's worth.  I've got stuff to do but God keeps slowing me down. 

So here's to cooler weather, prayers for folks in hurricane paths (including us) and a dream for pumpkins on the porch. I'm not even gonna get started on the fact that I put all four of my decrepit Christmas trees at the curb last spring (yes, all of them). I just might be on a waiting list for just the right tree at Home Depot, jus' sayin'...  

Practice Makes Perfect

I hit the floor running this morning, well...it was more like hit the computer keys running. I've had lots of vacating, so it was time to try and catch up with work and communications. I sat here, a hunched-over nerd all day, took a break for a very late lunch and then wore out a few fingertips this evening. It's 9:16 and I haven't even played my scales today, but I'll stop and do that now... 

There. That feels better.

Our Maestro says that if you miss one day of scales, you know it. Two days, he knows it. Three days, everyone knows it. Or something like that. I can't always manage to practice, but that mantra presses me to keep on keeping on.  I never did all that in high school. I was too busy playing basketball, running from activity to activity, chatting with friends and doing my homework on the bus. Scales, meh, who needs them? I've grown to appreciate the merits of practice and the muscle memory that helps my brain to connect the musical dots. And my fingers get real stodgy if I don't keep 'em moving. Didn't have to worry about that when all the oils were flowing freely and everything was still glossy. 

As usual, Fall is going to be full of musical endeavors. The Carrollton Wind Ensemble has a packed calendar, starting with a fundraiser September 26th (Rapha) and then our fall concert on October 18th at the Carrollton Arts Center (get your tickets -- they sell out!). October 29th finds us in Villa Rica for our annual "Creepy Concert" at the amphitheatre...a fun mix of music that always delights the audience. And all that is just for starters...there's Christmas music coming and caroling around town and pop-up candlelight concerts with a new woodwind quintet I'm playing with. 

Music is so many things. It is easy to take it for granted, in our digital age where it's so easily available. This last week at the beach, when it was my turn to cook and I had a kitchen full of adorable girls helping me, I turned on a playlist of movie soundtracks. It upped the mood instantly. There was laughing, dancing, moving into the strains of the music. Last evening, at home alone and vacation already a dim memory, I was feeling melancholy so I turned on some soothing tunes. Instant magic. A cool breeze wafted through the house and suddenly life was a mysterious song. My work became lighter, tolerable. Hope and possibilities sprang forth. Then there was my practice session with my flute, which started with obligations and ended with noodly, French pieces that floated out the window. 

Do your scales.  

Greater Purposes

They are piled around us like a litter of puppies. We have ten grandchildren with us this week (along with their parents) -- missing two of the grands who are with their folks at home. They are all aged 11 and below, full of energy and spice and nerve. The cousin love is palpable, with plenty of laughter and healthy competition. There's nothing like cousins...they're related, so they're permanently connected. 

People have always raved about the awesomeness of grandchildren. But until I experienced them for myself, I didn't understand the joy of them. I remember my own grandmothers. They were as opposite as two people could be, but both of them had this unconditional love for me that translated to my heart, even when I didn't see them often. That is what any grandparent can give to their progeny. We're not having to raise any of ours...I cannot imagine how difficult that must be. My get-up-and-go has done gone-up-and-went and we were lucky to have had our children young.

For decades, the message to young people has been to get educated, get your career in place and then play the field until you find just the right person. Take a few years to make money and travel and enjoy yourselves. Then think about having a baby, and never more than one or two. Overpopulation and all, you see? This was the preaching I got from society when I was young, but not from my parents. They had three and then regretted not having more (when it was too late to do so). We had happy, healthy childhoods, with very little money. One income, plenty of outside play, robust work and talk. When people say that it's impossible to live on one income, they might be talking about the importance of the magic of going to Disney as a child. Our magic was our Dad throwing us the softball, taking us fishing down the road at a local creek; Mama making simple but nourishing meals, Mama being home when the bus let us out; Daddy teaching us to help him mow, till a garden. Our vacations consisted of driving to Illinois to visit Grandma and the Yankee relatives, eating bagged lunches on the way there. Summers were long, hot, glorious.  The library was free, but supplied us with all the imaginative worlds we needed. 

Yes, I rhapsodize about the good old days, but realize that these are the good old days too. Trying to not miss a minute of the glory (and agony) of all that is in front of me. Everything takes longer, hurts more and feels more like mountain climbing than it should. I am convinced that half our problem is that we quit using our "parts" and they rust on up. Some people, wonderful ones that I can't relate to, stay the course and never quit all the moving, so they seem younger, longer. As for me, I have a terrible problem of being all-or-nothing, as well as easily distracted. So the rust builds up and I'm again "mountain climbing" when it's really just a stroll down the lane. I alternate between all-in and all-out. This is not a good plan, but it is my reality. 

Meanwhile, the grandchildren. How I love them, with their clear, sweet eyes and easy laughter. I see the miracle of DNA, how they reflect parts of both their parents, beautiful people that I also love. All from two sections of the helixed amalgam of one egg and one sperm that God picked out special to make that single person, that single month, that particular day. I worry about them, all twelve and also the one that is still in her Mama's womb. I pray for them, their particular bents, their particular gifts and flaws. The world is a scary place and getting scarier by the year. I could be overwhelmed by the thought of their futures and what they might have to face. But then God comforts me with the knowledge that not a sparrow escapes His notice, and that they were born "for such a time as this." No fear...