Tag: raising daughters

Ride the Elephant

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I’m officially an empty nester. I’ve known since May my daughter was going to be living on her own, but it was daunting when she came to pick up some of her things to take to her new home. The next morning, I walked through the house and could see and feel the empty spaces.

One of my books for morning reading is Simple Abundance by Sarah Ban Breathnach. Recently, she wrote about her family vacationing years ago at a beach resort and one afternoon there was a surprise activity for the children: a ride on an elephant around the hotel parking lot. Her little girl was delirious with excitement and that night as she tucked her daughter in bed she said, “Some mornings you wake up not knowing what will happen during the day and you get to ride an elephant!”

Delirious with excitement. We were designed to be that way, but life can bury the child in all of us over years of trying to make it through the day. I don’t wish to simply make it through the day, but instead see what the day has to offer. The weekend is here and I purposefully didn’t make any plans. I want to leave plenty of space for these two days to unfold on their own. If I was sitting on a beach near a hotel with activities for a child, you know me well enough to know…I’d have to ride the elephant.

Photo by Geran de Klerk on Unsplash

The Writing Robe

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I changed my WordPress theme again. My daughter was surprised to see a dark background, but it’s intriguing. What really snagged my interest is what it does to the photos. At first glance they look aged, similar to the old black and white, but hover your mouse, or finger over one and it refills with color.

It was cool in the house this morning, and I was thrilled to slide on my writing robe. Oh, I have lots of robes, but this one has been worn for years and well loved. It’s heavier than the other ones, but doesn’t weigh you down. The cooler temperatures in Texas are disappearing, so this was a treat.

I get most of my writing done in the morning while wearing this robe. Neighbors see me step outside to feed the birds, or walk to the mailbox to retrieve yesterday’s mail in pajama pants, house shoes, a t-shirt and the robe. A stranger may think I’m a meth head, but in my minds eye, I look like a Writer. Before they painted the house next-door, the builder came over and asked that I move my truck. It was a considerate ask, but I remember being disappointed that I had to put on real clothes and give up the robe.

You see, once it’s removed, I don’t put it back on that day.

It’s the same look every morning in the cooler months, but I recently realized I don’t have a writing robe for summer. I have a spa-like robe to use when stepping out of the shower, but it’s not a writing robe.

I began thinking of what feels good to wear in the warmer months, and I have this one jacket I could wear all day. It was designed by Honest Cotton for a friend of mine named Jordan, so it’s rightfully called, The Jordan Jacket. I bought mine last year while visiting with her, and it’s navy in color.

The Honest Cotton website shows they make a robe. I see two designed similarly, but different weights, so one’s for Fall, and the other for Spring. I wonder what it feels like to slip it on and if Jordan has one in her shop?

Let’s find out, shall we?

The Cotton Robe

To be continued…

PS. I’m not alone in my love for Robes. My friend LA, over at ‘Waking Up on the Wrong Side of 50‘, shares her love for robes that you can read by clicking here.

The Extra Mile

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Walking to a neighbors house, I saw another neighbor who asked, “Walking down to the lake?” I replied, “No sir, I’m going to get fresh eggs.” He looked rather puzzled and replied, “You need a golf cart to scoot around in. It’s easier.” I just ginned and said, “But Dan, I don’t do easy.” He chuckled.

My daughter brought home flowers and it was the most magical bouquet I’d seen in years. They were freshly cut, wrapped in brown paper and when she handed them to me I could feel the weight of them. There was a florist card laying inside I didn’t recognize, so she went on to reveal the whole story.

She had stopped at the market I frequent for flowers, but didn’t see anything that spoke to her, so on she went to a flower shop she knew I loved. The lady inside told her to walk into the cooler and pick out what she wanted. I can imagine the look on my daughters face walking into a cooler filled with flowers. I’m sure it was overwhelming in the most delightful way.

She chose a few of my utmost favorites. A couple of long-stemmed roses, daylilies, a few gladiolas, and the most ginormous hydrangea blossom known to man. She remembered I like greenery to be used as filler.

She was holding a paper bag from the market as well with chocolate cold brew and Brie en Croute. You see, she just wanted to stop time that day amidst our schedules and celebrate her sober Mom. It was my AA birthday, and I don’t very cry often, but with all of this the tears were near.

I’m sure there’s a much easier way to buy flowers, but my darling, fill it with meaning and go the extra mile.

Feel the Music

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Every time I listen to this song, I hear something different, but it holds the same message.

On the dating apps there’s a series of questions some want to go through. I answer them, but find myself not asking many in return. One man even asked, “Do you have any questions for me?” I replied, “Yes. Tell me who you are today.” That helps decide if they get a date.

It’s fun talking with my daughter about dating. She just turned 22, so the guys she’s talking with don’t have much of a past. They have so much life ahead of them to learn from. Some of the men around my age, or older are beat up by their past, and hesitant to try again.

I’m thinking about dating men younger than me, but not as young as my daughter. 🙂 By the age of 45 they’ve lived life, and have at least one divorce under their belt, but still have life in them. They haven’t let their past define them, instead they seem to know…

All the boats I’ve missed
All the hell I’ve caused
All the lips I’ve kissed
All the love I’ve lost
I got kicked around
I’ve been black and blue
On my way to you

If the video doesn’t show up, click here to view.

Missing the Wave

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Scrupulous. Intentional. Breathing in moments.

That’s how I envisioned last week would be. Daily life landed me far from the mark, and I missed some moments. One moment in particular hurt my heart a little bit, but sometimes that’s what it takes to snag my attention.

I was working in the yard moving plants as my daughter walked out of the house toward her Jeep. I walk up alongside her, give her a hug, and as she backs out, I stroll over to the pathway of stepping stones in the middle of the yard and wait for her to drive by. Except that day, I had a shovel in my hand and was moving one more plant.

This is something new we began doing this year, and it’s become ritual.

Normally, I stand on the path, wait for her to drive by and give her this wave filled with exuberance, like Miss America after drinking way too much coffee. She waves too, but that day when she drove by, I was in the side yard, so I missed the wave. It’s difficult to know how important something is until it’s missed.

A few days later she was leaving the house and we stepped through our leaving ritual. I suggested when she reached the end of the driveway to turn in the opposite direction and drive by the house one lot over that had been beautifully repainted. She sat there a moment and said, “But if I go that way, I’ll miss the wave.”

I smiled and on que began walking toward the middle of the yard to the path. This time, there was no missing the wave.

There once was a guy who named his dog, ‘Stay.’ When he called him to come the poor dog heard, “Come here, Stay.”

Live a Life of Band-Aids

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My new thing is wearing nice clothes when leaving the house, but let’s set the bar. I live in faded, blue jeans and t-shirts, so dressing up means nice jeans, a silk shirt and smart looking shoes. 😉

As mentioned in Feel the Music, my friend and I met for our monthly coffee/tea. I wanted to wear something nice and took time to choose my outfit the evening before. Some of my prettier shirts call for ironing and my people are important enough to use an iron if needed.

When we met, she appreciated my choice in clothing, but there was one small problem. I was wearing the wrong shoes. These shoes were one of my favorite ‘slip on and go’ pair of shoes. I remembered them being comfortable enough to walk in all day long, but it’d been a while since I’d worn them and they were crucifying my feet!

It was all I could do to get back home in them. It was odd how they were once so comfortable, but turned into shoes from the devil himself. Entering the house, I kicked them off with a sigh of relief. This made me wonder what else in my life looked comfortable, but capable of pain.

I sat on the edge of my bed to inspect my foot and a blister had formed above the instep. My daughter stood in the doorway inquiring what happened and I told her about the devilish shoes. She said, “You slap three band-aids on it and keep moving.” It didn’t call for three, but I did slap a band-aid on it to continue stepping through life.

Keep living life my darlin’, and stock up on band aides.

“God will take care of what you go through. You take care of how you go through it.”

Zig Ziglar