A Day In This Life

So I got this picture from Jessie when we were on Dog Island. That's August, gumming on one of the carrots from my garden. And guess what happened the next day?
Yep.
A sharp tiny tooth poked through.
I had forgotten to write about this! How can this be? It's a milestone! So- here you are and it's official.
On Friday, March 18th, August Glinden cut his first tooth. In Lloyd at Mermer's house. 
We are so proud of him.
The boy still hasn't had any real food yet and is thriving quite well on mama milk but Jessie is talking about starting him out with a taste of avocado soon. I trust her judgment and intuition in this matter as I trust Lily in matters involving her babies. As I always used to tell mothers during the postpartum instructions when I worked at a birth center, no one on this earth has ever given birth to this particular baby and just as your body knew what to do to create and nurture this child, so will you know best how to take care of her or him. To listen to what others had to say and then to trust your gut.

Although it is quite obvious that Gus is ready to order from the menu at Japanica!

Oh, golly. It has been such a good day. I met up with Lily and her three and Jessie and Gus and we feasted on our Bento bowls, our sushi, our miso soup. And Gibson played with his Beomax.

I still don't really get that thing but Lord, does he love it.

Here's August with his mama.

And another one of me holding him. 

That boy will not sit still. He's a moving monkey and he wants everything. He's so strong and he likes to bounce and bounce and bounce. He was beyond himself with excitement today in the restaurant. He couldn't move his head fast enough to take everything in.

The lights, the pretty designs on the walls, his cousins, his mama, his auntie. You can just see that little mind figuring it all out. And sometimes he still rests his head up against mine, the sides of our faces pressed together and I die of sweetness. 

Magnolia slept all the way through lunch and I can't believe it but I didn't get one picture of her. Well, just take my word for it, she is getting fatter and lovelier and prettier and smilier every day. 

After lunch we all walked down to the Goodwill bookstore which has become our ritual after dining at either Japanica or the Indian restaurant. The lady who works there knows us so well now that she comments on how fast the babies are growing. We love that place. The boys each got a book and a movie and I bought a beautiful, if somewhat battered, old copy of "Little Women" for 99 cents. 

It's not that old, 1950, but I've never seen this edition and I joyfully welcome it to my collection. "Little Women" was the book that lit the fire of my unquenchable love for reading when I was about nine, I think. I already loved to read but when I opened the pages of the copy my grandmother gave to me and smelled that delicious inky smell and began to read about the four sisters who gave their humble Christmas dinner to a poor family, I was hooked forever. 

And if that wasn't good enough, on our way out, Lily spied a rather hideous stuffed dog and said, "Oh, look. I love the little collar that some kid put on it."

We both moved in to see it more carefully and realized that the "collar" was actually a small sterling silver bell tied with a velvet ribbon. 

Four dollars for the dog and the silver bell came with. 

When I shined it up, it looked like this and I realized that the little hanging link is made in the shape of a tiny belt. And as a bonus, Owen fell in love with the dog and I gave it to him. Of course. 

Lily and I were going to do some Publix shopping after all of that but Gibson, who has not been feeling well for a few days wanted to go home so Owen came with me and I had such a great time with my biggest boy. He was a very helpful shopper, pointing out to me the laundry detergent I should buy, assuring me that it got all of the stains out. He reminded me to buy sweet potatoes. He also said that since he is going back to school tomorrow, he might need a Lunchable and we picked one of those out for him and one for his brother. 

I know, I know! They're crap! But when you're a grandmother...

When I was taking him home, we stopped by the field where the donkey lives and he got out and posed with his new dog, named Rainbow, and here is what they looked like. 

My sweet boy. My precious first grandson. The one who named me. 

We discussed many things, that boy and I as we shopped and drove, including Obama's visit to Cuba and the Rolling Stones' upcoming gig there. Also how there was only one purple one in the package of Airheads I bought him. 

"It's like extra points to get a purple one!" he told me as I was trying to explain U.S. relations with Cuba. My car was infused with the scent of fake-fruit candy as he chewed and I loved it. 

We also talked about the meaning of Easter which I informed him had to do with rebirth and then gave him a small and age-appropriate Pagan version of what that means. The trees with their new leaves after looking dead all winter, the animals coming out again from their burrows and dens, the flowers, etc. No mention was made of any one's crucifixion or resurrection, I can assure you. 

You know what that boy told me today? 

That I am magical. 

"I am not," I told him. "I don't have magical powers."

"You have the magical power of love," he said. 

And so it's been an almost perfect day in my life. I have felt so light and happy that it's scary. When I dropped Owen off at home Magnolia was nursing and after she'd finished, I burped her and as I held her to my shoulder, I told Lily that there was nothing on earth that felt so natural and right as that sweet weight of a baby on me. 

And then I handed her back to her mama and kissed them all good-bye and came home to this place I love so much and now the sun is setting and I have my Goodwill cashmere back on and my husband is on his way to auction and he left me another love note this morning. 

Listen- there is one thing that I will stand by as Truth after sixty-one years on this planet:

The more love you make, the more love there is. 

Which is all the magic I can imagine or ever hope for.
I am pretty sure that Marmee would agree, although she would probably put it in different terms and bring in "A Pilgrim's Progress" somewhere. She was a woman of her time and I am a woman of mine.
Still. The message is the same. 

Love...Ms. Moon

Dance A Little Closer

You can't plan for magic. That's just the plain truth. And anyone who says they can isn't talking about the same kind of magic I am.
Tonight was magic.
Listen- I haven't been out at night in so long I can't remember the last time. And to tell you the truth- I wasn't sure about tonight. I knew I was going to have to drive and I am blind as a batshit crazy bat at night. And Mr. Moon, my designated, loyal not-blind-at-night driver is out on the island. And I would have to wear a BRA! And I haven't exactly felt like a social butterfly lately.
But. Lon and Lis were playing. Had to go. No two ways around it. The table was reserved. Kathleen was coming here and I was going to drive us. Lily and Owen were coming and so was Hank, and May was working at the venue and Rich was coming and Lon and Liz of the West. Did you know that I have a Lon and Lis of the East and a Lon and Liz of the West?
I do.
And so, it had to be done.
And today was so beautiful and easy and restful and when it came time to get ready I did and I put on one of my black Ross dresses. The one that cost Ten Whole Dollars and shoes that weren't Crocs. I painted my eyelids shimmery green and blue and Kathleen came and we drove to town and it was about the most magical night I can even remember.
Jessie's dear friend Melissa came. She's like one of my own. And Jessie got off work and joined us. And then Billy and Shayla and Waylon showed up. And we all ate delicious food and I had one martini when we got there at six-thirty because I knew I wouldn't be driving home for at least three or four hours and the music was incredible and the babies were so happy and good and everyone was so pleased to see everyone else and at one point I looked around and I told Kathleen, "I have seen so many blessings."
Owen was asleep in my daughter's arms and Waylon was sucking on his father's head and Lon and Lis were singing Dance A Little Closer and well, it was just so damn sweet. And everyone was so damn beautiful and people came up to me and told me how gorgeous my grandson was, how gorgeous my daughters are and oh, I have to be May's mother, right?
And I was telling Kathleen about how I'd known this person since I was pregnant with Hank and how he had been friends with the woman who delivered May who has her middle name, which is Ellen, and how that guy there? When he was a baby I had nursed him because I took care of him sometimes when his mother was singing.
It was one of those nights when everything in your life is knitted up in one silvery web that shines, each strand perfect in and of itself and yet, completely and visibly connected to the other.
Magic.
No one had come prepared with silk scarves up her sleeve. No one had a dove hidden in his hat. No one sawed anyone in half.
But I almost levitated with the sweetness of it all, could have floated away on Lon and Lis's voices as they harmonized together on the stage.
But no. I didn't want to float away. I wanted to be right there, centered and anchored and surrounded by it all and I was.
And then the music ended and Kathleen and I drove back here to Jefferson County and it's so much cooler than it has been, that good rain we got during nap time today having cooled everything off and then, there's that moon.
Magic.
Lon and Lis will be back to the house soon, I suppose. I left them eating their dinner with so many people wanting to talk to them, tell them how much they love them, how much they love their music. I don't know if they'll want to go straight to bed or whether they'll want to have a midnight toddy. Either way is fine with me. I'm floating now a little bit on the music in my head, that sweet half-a-moon in the sky, the thrumming of my heart, the way my fingers can still feel Owen's hair which I stroked with my fingers as he slept, the image of Waylon kissing his daddy, the sound of the frogs croaking as rhythmically as a military band in the cool night air.
Magic.
You can't plan for it but dammit, you can sure recognize it when it happens.
And it happened tonight for me.
And I know it.

Here and There, Both Perfect

Some days are just so damn beautiful that they'll break your heart. Today has been one of those. One of those perfect fall days with cool air and sunlight pouring out of a blue sky to paint all the leaves in silver.
Ah. It's enough to just be alive today.
And as my son pointed out in his most recent blog Thursday's Child Has Far To Go at http://tallyhassle.blogspot.com/ , changes in the weather can throw us into deep nostalgia for places we've been, things we've done. Fall especially, I think, has a natural tendency to do that. It's a time when we start to draw into ourselves more, to think and to feel.
My son thinks of Atlanta when the weather turns cool but I think of Cozumel, Mexico. Sometimes, the brush of cool air, the way it smells on these early fall mornings, throws me completely back to that small island in the Caribbean where my husband and I have spent so many anniversaries. Our first trip there was in 1987 and since then, we've probably been back eight times. More or less. Mas o menos. I can close my eyes and see the little town of San Miguel, smell the garlic grilling as supper time approaches, feel the sidewalk under my feet, hear the sounds of mopeds, the waves hitting the shore, the bread man banging a metal pipe to announce his wares as he pedals his cart along the street, see the way the sea goes from green to blue to violet, all of it crystal clear, like a fabulous jewel, and I can taste the Ixnepech, the ubiquitous fresh salsa that tastes perfect on everything from the morning's eggs to the evening's fresh snapper. Most of all, I can see the Mayan people, small and brown and always smiling, ever-patient and gentle, always eager to talk about their island and their families, always curious about where we live, always eager to help in any way.
Cozumel is my magic place. It is the place in the world that besides my own home, I feel safest and most in love with my husband. Every one of our trips there has been a honeymoon. There isn't a whole lot to do beyond snorkle and explore and watch the sunset. And it's such a small island- thirty three miles long, eight and a half miles wide. It was sacred to the Mayan goddess Ixchel, who was the goddess of childbirth, the sea, the moon, seashells and weaving. Mayan women were expected to make a pilgrimage there during their lifetime and I guess I've made enough trips there for several lifetimes, but somehow, it's never enough.
I have to admit that the over the course of twenty years, the island has changed considerably, mostly due to the fact that it's become a port of call for cruise ships. Don't get me started on that subject. Just...don't...get...me...started.
When we first visited, it was still a sleepy place, a diver's destination, "discovered" by Jacques Cousteau. It was, and still is, a place where actual families lived, where people worked and lived and raised their children. And oh, what beautiful, so-obviously loved children!
But since the cruise ships have taken over, so much of the island seems geared to catch the folks vomited off those monstrous boats as they take their six hour shore leaves and sell them jewelry, cheap trinkets, Kahlua, and T-shirts, and send them back drunk on bad tequila. The cruisers love to eat at places they know so Ruby Tuesdays and Margaritaville do booming businesses while the restaurants that families own and which have served delicious meals to thousands for decades stand empty.
Oh yeah. I got started.
I'm sorry. That's not what I meant to write about. What I meant to write about is how this time of year, my heart yearns to go back there, cruisers or not, to feel that soft air blow over my body, to walk down the seafront and say "Buenos tardes" to the people we pass in the evening and to hear them say it back to me. I want to go to the Zocalo on Sunday night and watch the families dressed in their best, walk around the square and dance and eat and I want to hear their voices. I want to stand on a balcony with a drink of rum in my hand and my husband by my side to watch the sun go down. I want to hear the liquid notes of the Mexican blackbirds as they gather at dusk and call their contentment with the day. I want to watch the lights come on across the water at Playa del Carmen. I want to see images of the Virgin of Guadalupe everywhere and hear the street musicians play the Cozumel song.
I guess I want to make another pilgrimage and I know it won't happen this year.
But I know it's still there. I know that time and even cruise ships can't destroy all that magic.
But I yearn, oh how I yearn! Even as I am content to be exactly where I am, there is a part of me that is there, right now, this very second. That part is wearing a dress and silver earrings and she is discussing with her husband where they should eat their supper. She is smiling. Oh, how she is smiling! And she is happy.

Weeki Wachee- Real Florida Magic

Back when I was a child, back before the Rat ate my state, there were amazing places to visit in Florida and amazing things to see and do at those places. You could hardly throw a coconut patty without hitting a bird riding a bicycle on a tightrope, a bevy of beauties (as they were always advertised) being towed around a lake on water-skis, a monkey riding a unicycle, a Seminole rasstlin' a 'gator, or an orchid blooming fuchsia under a clear blue sky with hundreds of wide-eyed tourists looking on, eager to pay for the pleasure of seeing the unusual, the tropical, the exotic.

There were Stuckey's placed every fifty miles or so on all the main highways. Stuckey's had cool roofs and were great places to stop and pee, get a hamburger and an ice cream cone, buy a rubber alligator and stock up on pecan logs and saltwater taffy to tide you over until the next teal blue roof appeared on the horizon.


These were simpler times and we simple folk were satisfied and even amazed at simpler attractions than people are today. We didn't require monster roller coasters or animatronics. Palm trees and blue water and all the really cool things you could find around them were enough for us. Hell, for most Yankees, the sight of an orange grove was enough to inspire a spate of postcard-writing.

Ah. Good times.

My favorite attraction, far and above all the rest, was Weeki Wachee Springs. My mother, little brother and I went there in the early sixties and that trip remains as one of the best times of my childhood. We stayed at the little mom-and-pop motel across the highway from the attraction and just staying in a motel was pretty exciting. They had air-conditioning!

But the park was amazing. There were gardens and an animal show and even an "authentic" Seminole Indian village with chickees and a little train that transported the tourists through the swamp to look at the village.

There was a terrific gift shop where my mother bought me one of those great necklaces that spelled out my name in golden wire and had a tiny diamond (and I'm sure it was real) dangling from it. Also, a 45-RPM record that played the Weeki Wachee song. "Weeki Wachee is the place to be..." went the tune, and I sang and danced along with that record for years.

But the best, the whole deal, the reason for the very existence of the Weeki Wachee attraction, were the mermaids. There was an underwater theater where the audience was seated and when the curtain was rolled up over the glass wall in front of us, the spring was revealed and in the spring, as the sun dappled the gently waving eel grass growing in the deep bowl of white sand, three unimaginably beautiful mermaids were suspended in the air-clear water, smiling and blowing gentle bubbles. They began to dance and twirl in the water, doing slow-motion, no-gravity ballet and my life was transformed. A lifelong obsession with mermaids began right there that day and I knew that not only were mermaids real, but that there was indeed real magic on this earth and that it all happened underwater. I yearned with all my heart to be a mermaid too, and practiced holding my breath and twirling underwater whenever I found myself in a pool.

I grew up and realized, finally, that I was never to be a mermaid myself. I became a mother instead, and there was magic in that, too. Part of the magic was knowing that I could take my own kids to Weeki Wachee Springs and I did. We must have made at least three pilgrimages over the years to the springs to worship the mermaids and enjoy the animal shows and the Dippin' Dots (The Ice Cream of the Future!). The Seminole village disappeared, as did the little train, but a water park sprang up right next to the theater and the kids loved that. It was always a terrific little vacation and every one of my children fell in love with mermaids and was as enchanted by them as I was when I was a kid.

Last weekend we all went down there together. All four kids, a soon-to-be-son-in-law, and my husband, too, who somehow had never been. We were meeting up with my old friends from nursing school with their kids and we were staying at the motel across Highway 19 from the attraction. The old mom-and-pop where I stayed is long gone. I think it was replaced by a Holiday Inn, which became a Best Western, and now is undergoing renovation by what appears to be an Indian family and I find that a nice, tidy little circle of goodness.

My kids (ages 31, 29, 21, and 18) were all terrifically excited to be going and I was too, although I was worried at what I'd find at the park. The last time I went, back about six years ago, I could see that things had definitely slid downhill and the fate of the park was then in question. It still is. NPR just ran a program about it and who owns it and how uncertain its future is.

It seemed to be holding its own. The gardens were nice, there were still Dippin' Dots (is it the future yet?) and there's a little river-boat cruise and an animal show and the water park seemed very popular.

But the best, as always, was the mermaid show. The magic of that has never faded for me. When the curtain (looking a bit worse for wear, I have to say) is rolled up over the glass and the mermaids are revealed, tears come to my eyes. In this world of high-tech everything, there is something so unbelievably and indescribably beautiful about seeing gorgeous young women, swimming and floating and dancing in the pure, sweet water, connected to life on earth only by an air hose that they sip from to stay alive, to stay breathing in that other world just a few feet away from us as we watch, enchanted. There are few cynics at the Weeki Wachee mermaid show. What is there to be cynical about? No one is trying to trick anyone. No one is making false claims. These women are indeed mermaids. Magical, mythical, beautiful, athletic, graceful, smiling mermaids who dance and twirl and even drink coca cola out of small glass bottles, just like they did when I was a kid.

It was a great weekend. I loved seeing my old friends and getting to know their children and husbands a bit better. It was awesomely wonderful to go on a family vacation with all four of my babies and the man, as well. We visited, we ate, we drank, we swam, we laughed.

But the best, the very, very best, was the moment when we were all sitting, front and center in the underground theater when the curtain was pulled and once again we were able to all be children again, to gasp in wonder at the cold, clear water where three women floated as if by magic, while friendly turtles swam about, and the sun dappled their faces and the white sand, and the bubbles rose to the surface, and one of the mermaids dove deep into the bottomless cave below and we all held our breaths with her as she disappeared from view for what seemed like way too long, and then, like a childhood dream returned, swam back into our sight, alive and well, a smile on her face as her mermaid hair floated around her.

Grace. Grace-full.
You don't find much of that at Disney now do you?

No, for me, Weeki Wachee is the place to be.

Always and forever.
I sure hope we have that option.
What kind of a world would it be for my grandchildren-to-be if I can't take them there when they are old enough?
A very sad world. For me, anyway.
Go. Visit. See the City of Live Mermaids. It's straight down the road. Take a left at the Capitol and keep on going 'til you get there. You can't miss it.
You really can't miss it.

P.S.
I'm reading a terrific book about Weeki Wachee by Lu Vickers and Sara Dionne. It has the whole wonderful, wild history of Weeki Wachee and I am discovering that the inception of that attraction has quite a few ties with our own beloved Wakulla Springs. And Johnny Weissmuller, too, my own first, best, and always crush.
See? Magic.