A post from back in 2014 about my grandson Gabriel, aka “G.”
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I have FOUR grandchildren. (Yes, you’re right, I’m FAR too young. We all know that. It’s a given. But sometimes Mother Nature has a way of bypassing her laws of when people should have grandchildren–and presents them in, well, early, early middle age.)
Anyway, the second-from-the-oldest-grandchild is Gabriel, 5, a rambunctious bundle of pure little boy-ness. He’s often affectionately referred to simply as “G.” In his most recent pre-K school report, the patient-as-a-saint and give-her-a-raise teacher wrote that Gabriel is “smart, funny, with many friends … and has a touch of naughtiness.”
Here’s G (on the far right) with a few school buddies,
And here he is the other night with older brother Daniel (8).
Today I received this text from my daughter/G’s mom Amy:
The brutal honesty of children.
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Back to 2022. Here’s Gabriel yesterday trying on his new contacts.
And over the weekend playing basketball against a much bigger fellow.
G’s team won! Think “David and Goliath.”
After I finished this post, I shared the old picture of Gabriel and Daniel with Amy. She found an old video of the same night when they were dressed in the oversized jackets…
A post from about a decade ago. What was I thinking with my outfit for the day?!
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Anyone who has been to Savannah on or around March 17 knows that Saint Patrick’s Day is a pretty …
… in this city! From the Greening of the Fountain and Tara Feis onward, Savannah embraces its Irishness, shamrocks growing and showing up everywhere, an already diverse and fesitval-driven city photosynthetically converting excited energy into green Gaelic joy. And since 2013 St. Paddy Day was Sunday, Savannah opted to hold its primary celebration on Saturday with the parade (the nation’s second largest), River Street revelry and other merrymaking events.
Since Yours Truly lives DIRECTLY on the parade route along Abercorn Street, and since some green Irish blood flows through my veins (Saye =”one who lives by the sea”), I decided to host a little parade-viewing party.
Party Prep Notes: For some reason I will never fully grasp, I decided to make Cabbage and Ham in the Crock Pot (or as I call it, Beverly Hillbilly-ishly, “the Slow-Cooking Pot”).
Now cabbage sounds fine, and even a bit Irish, until you understand that my place is a little under 800 square feet, positioned at the front of a beautiful old building completed in the 1800’s. Well, the slow-cooking cabbage produced a Rather Strong Aroma (try not to imagine it), first in my apartment, then wafting across the hall to my next door neighbor and fellow party hostess Audrey’s place, then throughout the entire old building, and probably up and down the parade route and on to the South Carolina border across the river. People were so nice and pretended that the smell made the party more “Irish authentic.” But a bunch of folks had drinks in their hands, so I’m not at all certain their sensory perception was on target. AND I noticed they would get a bowlful of steaming, fragrant cabbage and then quickly run out the door to see the next band or float they “had been waiting on.”
Here’s me helping to set up the area for guests to sit and watch the parade outside my building (my windows have the St. Patty tacky shamrock cutouts and green garlands).
Before the parade started, I made a quick tour of the squares close to me. A few sights:
I met some cool green-clad new friends:
I found this pretty lady pirouetting in front of my apt, so of course I had to get my pic with her:
Here’s across-the-hall stylish neighbor Audrey:
And here’s party guest/good buddy Ellie and her brother encouraging the crowd:
I wish I was brave enough to dance in the street!
Hip green-haired son/father duo Ethan and Kevin:
Former Everyday Creative Writing Student Jaymes stopped by for a while. (He knows what’s rocking in Savannah.)
Buddies Rich and Edward (who brought party-hit basil lemonade):
Cool St. Patty Baby:
Made great new friends with some folks visiting from Maryland and staying in the vacation rentals in my building (so of course they were party guests too)–Kathy and Karen with their husbands. And don’t they look SO Saint Patricky?
Preparing to kiss the parade marching men:
(Public Service Announcement: I think I will rent out my place next year for St. Paddy Day. Is $2000 for the holiday too much? I plan to include a HUGE bowl of frozen-but-on-the-table-in-a-jiffy Authentic Irish Cabbage and Ham.)
New kayaking friend Tom with Edward, Rich and me:
Church buddy Diane with Rich, Edward, Robert, Jaymes and me:
Good friend Zach and brother Josh marching in the parade (marching, that is, before I ran out into the street and made them stop). Their Irish family has been in the parade for something like 1000 years.
What a wonderfully fun Savannah Saint Patrick’s Day Celebration!
But sitting here after the parade, I started to worry: “What if my Crock Pot Cabbage Smell keeps those hundreds of thousands of visitors from coming back to Savannah next year? Can they trace it all back to me?”
Since Robert is doing so much better after Covid AND serious pneumonia, he wanted something special, “as a reward.”
Seriously?
(Just between you and me, he’s long past the I-need-a-reward stage. But he is still on oxygen. And sometimes you just go along. But not much longer.)
He didn’t want a new blanket, or a Cadbury egg since it’s so close to Easter, or a new pair of hospital non-grip socks.
No, of course not, he wanted something healthy: Whiskey! But not just any whiskey. He wanted Oban. You don’t know about this Scottish whiskey? Of course you don’t. I wish I didn’t either. It is preposterously expensive.
A blog category about finding “art” in unexpected places and situations.
On a recent Atlanta trip, Robert and I ventured over to the Callanwolde Fine Arts Center to experience their yearly Christmas extravaganza.
After we enjoyed the very festive inside, (you can read about it here if you have any interest, and why on earth wouldn’t you?), we ventured back out. Robert, always on a quest to find the perfect photo op, hightailed it up these steps to Dr. Goldman’s Memorial Garden (which just looked like a bunch of shivering bushes to me) …
I think they plagiarized that quote from Judy Garland or somebody.
But HR (Husband Robert, remember?) hightailed it a bit too soon, if you ask me. Look back up in the pic above at that flagstone step leading up to Dr. Goldman’s “Garden.”
No, not the middle of the step … to the right. Do you see what I saw? Look closer!
Okay, I’ll help you. Here’s a professional reenactment of the moment I saw her/him/it/they.
A fat little bluish gray bird!
Someone with creative eyes saw the gray flagstone, placed a berry for an eye, and a piece of wood with a leaf for the bird’s wing!
For some reason, that little bird thrilled me (it doesn’t take much) on that cold Atlanta day. So, not to be creatively outdone, I found another little piece of wood and a leaf, and made a baby bird for the fat mama bird!
Maybe it looks a little rough, but give it a break, it was just born! How would you feel if someone posted a picture of you seconds after you were born?
Art in unexpected places.
And look what I found when I Googled more of the lyrics from Dr. Goldman’s plagiarized quote …
Somewhere over the rainbow, BLUE BIRDS fly Birds fly over the rainbow, why then, oh why can’t I? If happy little blue birds fly beyond the rainbow Why, oh why can’t I?
Grandsons Daniel and GabrielDaughter Amy and her nephew/my grandson Matthew Me … and a heady salad Robert … seriously offering some croissantsGrandtwin Matthew (a little older) excited over a giftRobert timing a photo while grandtwin Madison poses—and ex-wife Donna and I wonder how much longer this can go on.