Amazing Graceland

I've never understood why there are so many movies about road trips. The plot is usually some exhausting setup where there's bound to be plenty of conflict and trials, usually involving deep childhood trauma and toxic bitterness. Worse than that are the game-shows that combine a race and a road trip...don't get me started. My cortisol levels are peaking already and the thought of watching someone else run in contrived circles makes me nuts. Races are great -- there's a beginning and an end -- everybody hurries and somebody wins. It's when you put stops and starts and strange side hustles in that I exit, stage right.  

I have been on many a road trip. As a child, our vacations consisted of an annual or bi-annual visit to our Grandmother's home in Illinois. Back then, it took better part of a day to get there from Georgia, mostly on Highway 41. We got to see the goat man most years (he traveled up and down that highway with a passel of goats, looking pretty forlorn). Daddy always stopped at Stuckey's on the way, where he bought a giant pecan roll and doled it out to us a chunk at a time. I still pick one of those up (despite my better judgment) when Ken and I travel and it reminds me of my fun Daddy and a rollicking childhood. That's my problem. I need to grow up and quit eating contraband. Those trips were usually done with five of us in a tiny Volkswagen or Ford Pinto, without air conditioning, us kids curling up and sleeping much of the way. We played games (Punchbug!) and sang stupid songs. There were no tablets or movies, just our imaginations and the Sandman. Our folks were content and frugal, but happy. That upbringing still serves me well. Now, the simple things are enough, and the extras are a delightful surprise.

Last week found us on another road trip, this one with Ken's sister and our brother-in-law to visit their brother and his wife near Orlando. We took Ken's monster truck, despite the fact that three of us needed the ladder to get in and out. Sometimes I get brave and twist myself in there without it, then I wonder what is wrong with my reamed-out right arm in the middle of the night. Melissa and I rarely get to talk for long periods of time, so we commenced the ratchet-jawing and didn't stop for some eight hours, with potty breaks, then repeated the same on the way back home. I really love her and enjoy her no-nonsense Norton-ness, which is counter to all my fluff. Besides being smart and level-headed, she is an amazing conversationalist and there is no one-sided exchange. She asks good questions and is interested in what others have to say. She also deserves extra crowns in heaven for taking good care of Ken's Dad the last few years of his life. 

The subject of siblings is always a mixed bag. There are so many dynamics, good and bad, that affect the relationships. There are different seasons of life, spouses, jobs, children, difficulties, and what appears to be luck-of-the-draw that can change literally everything when emerging from childhood. We all take our different roads, leading to who knows where, and we also take pieces of our people along with us. Sometimes it seems like life is laying down a track in our souls, a recording with bits and bobbles of the folks and the circumstances we encounter along the way. This trip included three siblings with very different paths, albeit with similar core values of work ethic, morality and faith. They couldn't be more different in expression, but each as strong-willed as bulls, with a lot of potential for conflict.

And there has been that. I've often wondered what would happen if you put these three strong souls in a room and sealed the door for a week -- who would come out on top? Melissa laughingly says, "Me!" Hopefully, we don't ever have to test that scenario. Without going into too many details, I have seen  forgiveness, humility and mostly the grace of God enable these three to come to peace. Often, death brings out the best and the worst in people. About half of my real estate business deals with estates and the fallout from probate court. I've seen angels but definitely more devils, when it comes to dividing up the old folks' stuff and facing unresolved conflicts in a family. 

We drove, ate, bobbed in the pool while the guys worked on projects, ate some more, talked around the table and just had a generally great time. That grace of God is a very, very good thing. I highly recommend it...  

Larger Than Life

In our little town of Villa Rica (well, it used to be little but something is happening), there's an anomaly sitting on the side of Hwy 61, right as you roll into town. It's a 9-foot-tall bunny named Mr. Atterholt, sitting on the side of a hill next to the cutest cottage imaginable. I am friends with his caretakers, Pink and Red. Pink is an artist who carves whimsical and delightful scenes and characters out of wood. She also has the most creative and quirky eye for decorating I have ever seen. Her cottage is a delightful, eye-watering confection. Each time I've been invited in, I stumble around with my mouth gaping -- her ability to see and find the things that bring joy and the unexpected goes beyond the pale. I don't get jealous, but sometimes I do when I visit Pink, such is her cleverness. What a treat for the eyes, and also a treat for my soul when I spend time with her. She is hilarious, irreverent, sassy and straightforward. I love people that tell it like it is and then make you laugh.  Her husband, Red, is a retired fireman and appears to be completely on board with her outrageous ideas and projects. He builds, paints and kits out whatever she comes up with. What a sweet partnership.

Mr. Atterholt's history is a long and convoluted one. Many years ago, the town of Odessa, Texas had a jackrabbit problem. The citizens fought them valiantly at first but then decided to embrace their dilemma. The humble jackrabbit became their city mascot. Similar to our University of West Georgia project, where multiple fiberglass copies of their mascot, the Wolf, were scattered about Carrollton, with artists embellishing each one with different designs -- a boat manufacturer in Odessa created a giant jackrabbit mold and created six copies of the Odessa Texas mascot. One of them sits in the center of Odessa, but the others have made their way to new homes -- New York, Kansas, and our own Villa Rica, and Pink is not sure where the other two reside (or have met other fates). At some point in the past, a man named Mr. Atterholt purchased one - he owned a daycare in Smyrna, where he displayed him. He eventually sold his business and moved to a horse farm on Villa Rica-Dallas Hwy in Powder Springs, and set the bunny up in a conspicuously-placed pasture. Teenagers at McEachern High School (go blue and gold!) would steal him and move him around, putting him in hilarious spots around town. The Atterholts would retrieve him and put him back in his spot. This went on for years in good fun, until Mr Atterholt died. In 1998, Pink and Red bought him from an estate sale. The bunny had a broken ear (probably from too many late-night raids on the farm), but resourceful Red fixed his ear and the bunny became Mr Atterholt, replete with his own sign. In 2008, the whole troupe moved to downtown Villa Rica, on the corner of Walker Street and Hwy 61, where he reigns as prince of the town for all to see.

As the turning of the years and seasons go by, Pink's creativity and Red's ingenuity transform Mr. Atterholt into different characters. He has been seen as an alien, scarecrow, beach bum, Irish shamrock, Valentine, Princess Leia, Easter bunny, gardener, bus driver, and many more creations. I live here and go by him multiple times a week, but always have to notice what he's got going on. Our grandchildren squeal and want us to drive by, particularly in our golfcart, for pictures and to see what new role he is playing. 

On occasion, Pink has asked me to paint him. Red gets the "base" color and then I embellish various things onto his person. That has always been a blast, and Pink asked me to help last week. What I thought would take an hour or two turned into a half-marathon, because who can stop, when the company is engaging and fun, and Pink's ideas bring the magic to the project? We made him into a debonair gentleman, with white fur and a Alice-in-Wonderland-worthy vest. Fresh nose and eyes and fluff to the fur, and he was brand new. Pink says that he has about 36 layers of base paint, since they bought him in '98. 

I told her they can't ever move, because Mr Atterholt, their quirky cottage and their wonderful personalities bring so much joy to Villa Rica. Thank you, Pink and Red, for a spot of fun and happiness on our way to everything else!

Amelia June-bug

I was putting a little, adorable, Dennis-the-Menace-kind-of three year old to bed tonight. He wasn't really ready for that event, as he had fallen asleep earlier in the car. And even though he'd had a snack, a dance party with his siblings, prayers and songs, he still thought that sleeping was a bad idea.  After a few trips back and forth, to make sure he had every possible need taken care of, I talked to him about his make-believe friend, the Tiger Truck. He likes to tell his Mama and his siblings about their adventures in his dreams. I told him to think about what him and Tiger Truck were going to do, and to also talk to Jesus until he went to sleep. His words to me were: "welllll....uhhhh...but He's dead." I might have cracked a rib, I laughed so hard. After reiterating the story he's heard all of his little life, he commented, "He did? Oh yeah, I forgot." The simple honesty of a child is a wonderful thing. They'll tell you straight-up about your waistline, your inconsistencies and your morning breath and love you anyway. 

We've had quite the waiting game for grandbaby number 14. We didn't go to Scotland, the Grand Canyon or the campground during Ken's plant's shutdown (even though my chances of getting that man to go across the pond are next-to-nothing), anticipating little Miss Amelia's arrival and the need to help with her four siblings. Just about go-time, I developed red, runny eyes (after teaching art to a hundred kiddos at Bible camp. Apparently there was an epidemic going around).  The daughter-in-love that is never late was late. A couple of different antibiotics dripped in my eyes and I was better. Then a crazy delivery, replete with an emergency C-section and at least one quantifiable miracle, and the anticipated baby made it into the world, replete with doe-like eyes like saucers and chubby cheeks that will require many future smooches.  

It's easy to forget the on-game that young children require. They need feeding (and often), vigilance in large crowds, overseeing when quiet and slipping away to other rooms, and  plenty of explanations. There is nothing sweeter at the end of the day when everyone's clean, teeth are brushed, prayers are said and the last song is sung. I remember then my own children, the end of days not that long ago and the turning of the planets and clocks that whisk us so desperately forward. My body aches, doesn't want to move and a brain that wants to revert to the diet preferences of a child. I stood today in my daughter-in-love's kitchen, trying to remember how to plan a decent meal. Just yesterday, I was whipping out meat-and-threes like a chef on fire. When the Preacher in Ecclesiastes talks about us being grass burned up in the oven, I'm just-a feeling that right about now. Grasping at time while the body lags a half-step behind, and in our ADHD-addled society, we've forgotten the importance of slowing down. That it's okay to be simple, to pinch off just a little at a time, to savor, to linger, to turn the stinkin' phone over. I talk about this a lot, because I am my own worst enemy.

Meanwhile, there's a sweet, beautiful baby in the world tonight. Hope and joy mingle together, pushing the worry aside. Tomorrow's another day, and she was born for such a time as this. As were we...