So if you have followed my blog for a while now, you know that I am married to a man, Robert, and that we are very close to my ex-wife Donna.
We actually took her out for lunch today. (Five Guys, Burgers and Fries— in case you are wondering. I’m a big spender.)
I was recently looking through my storage bins of “old stuff” and came across this …
A little gift from Donna years (no decades!) ago.
The incredible truth?
IT’S STILL TRUE!
Today was granddaughter Isabelle‘s first day of pre-K.
Isabelle’s expression … “I’m not so sure about this school thing.“
A great first day of school! So much to learn. So much to do.
I just don’t get the ongoing racism in our world. Even though I am sure as a 70-year-old white man, I have racist assumptions and probably racist actions now and again.
As you know, if you follow my blog, I am married to a black man, HR (Husband Robert), The joy of my life.
Today we were at my grandtwins’ 10th birthday party (more about that in another post).
Three -year-old granddaughter Isabelle was all about Robert holding her throughout the party. Not me. Robert. He was more fun.
Isabelle kept wanting to have her foot pictured. And of course Robert obliged.
If only we all had the intelligence and the footprint of three–year-olds.
Grandson Daniel, who you may remember just finished a run as Joseph in “Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat” here in Savannah, is at a three-week drama camp.
I have been sending him silly cards of encouragement. Here is my latest. In order to understand it, you must know that the family dog is named Coastal. (We live in Savannah, next to the Atlantic Ocean, and my daughter’s medical company is called Coastal Care Partners.)
Puppy dog Coastal …
And here’s the card …
Grandfatherly Fun!
When I was growing up, this short poem was painted on a fancy plate that hung in the entryway to our house.
As a kid I thought it was a little too simplistic, a bit silly.
I have lost both the plate and my mother but not the enduring truth of the “silly” poem’s sentiment.
“Memorial”
Today would’ve been, well is, HR’s (Husband Robert’s) mother’s birthday.
She died far too soon. At age 44.
RIP, Deborah Elaine Smith.
So Husband Robert and I took grandtwin Matthew to his rec department basketball practice this evening.
Matthew is the one with his arms spread in the white T-shirt.
His team is in a basketball dance, of sorts.
After practice:
Abu (my grandchildren’s name for me): “Did you have fun?”
Matthew:”Yes!”
That’s all that matters.
About five years ago my cousin Jennie gave my 94-year old father this little Christmas cactus, after he had a serious fall. He was a resident at Cameron Hall Assisted Living in north Georgia at the time and in the early stages of dementia.
It sat on the window ledge beside his bed, keeping him company with small splashes of pink for a couple of years, until he had to move on to the Georgia War Veterans Nursing Home in Augusta. There was no place for the little plant there, so I brought him home for Robert and me to care for.
My dad passed away in 2020 during the height of the pandemic.
The little Christmas cactus (Schlumbergera x buckleyi) grew quiet. All green leaves. No tiny pink explosions. Hushed.
But this winter he sprang back to life. He started talking!
“Life goes on. The cycle continues. Just wait, you’ll see.”
My family. I own it …
To be awkwardly continued …
NealEnJoy 