Tuesday, May 06, 2014

Flowers: To Buy or Not To Buy?

What's the mailing address to Heaven? I need to send a card.

It just occurred to me that Sunday is Mother's Day. You know how I know? Just a commercial on Pandora. They wanted to sell some jewelry, and they thought somebody might want to buy it for their mom. I guess they don't know I'm not their audience.

I was thinking back to the last Mother's Day I spent with my mom. It was 2005. As simple as it was, I can't imagine it being any different, fitting, or better. My mom and I went to Captain D's for lunch that day. No dress-up, nothing. Not the typical Mother's Day Sunday lunch, you say? Maybe not for you, but for me and my mother, right then, it was. That May, we were still trying to heal from a quite devastating shake-up in my family. The family structure I had known all of my 19 years was this--Mama, Daddy, boy, girl, dog, house... that kind of thing. Suddenly (at least it felt sudden), it wasn't that. Instead, my family was more like one person, one person, one person, one person, no dog, empty house. So a few months after that, I'd say lunch at Captain D's--just the two of us--was as good as it could be for the time, and in retrospect, even better.

I can't remember much about the lunch, other than the fact that it had to have been some sort of fast food fish and hushpuppies. But I do remember dessert. We both got a piece of pecan pie. We didn't eat the pie there, though. We took the pie with us with a to-go order for my grandmother. At Maw's house, we ate pie. And that was that. It was simple, it was low-key, and it was an overall good enough time.

That day, we probably were thinking that our lunch was part of a new beginning. It was kind of like a start-over, and we both seemed to know that things would be (dare I say could be) different, and it was time. Our dynamic could and would change, and we'd move into the mother/daughter stage of being better friends.

Today, I can see that day as more of a wrap-up. Who knew that'd be the last Mother's Day we'd spend together? I'm glad it was that way, and I'm even more glad that my mom and her mom had time together that day. Lord knows we all have plenty of strains in relationships, but God has a funny way of lining things up for us, you know? He worked that out. He pulled the three of us together for what seemed like a regular day. But he knew that nine years later I'd be listening to the radio and hear a Mother's Day commercial and think back to that day and just how spectacular it really was. Maybe it's His way of countering bitterness with a precious memory. "How they linger, how they ever flood my soul... Precious father, loving mother... fly across the lonely years. And old home scenes of my childhood in fond memory appears."

Mother's Day isn't about buying a gift for my mom anymore. As a child, I drew homemade cards for her on construction paper. Later, I used my allowance or chore money to buy something that I just knew she'd love, and she always did, even though it was usually tacky or useless. Then, one time, I went to lunch with her at Captain D's. Now, it's all about remembering her. We've tried the flower thing, but I remember my mom saying when I was younger, "If you don't buy me flowers when I'm living, don't buy them for me when I'm dead." I've learned now that putting flowers on her grave isn't so much about sitting a plant or pot of flowers on her grave, because I truly will forget to water them often enough, and they'll die too. It's about the time. It's about time that I can spend feeling connected to her. It's about time that I can look back on how things were, how things have changed, and all that she should be here for. I don't go to the cemetery other than to put flowers there. Number one, there have been some shady characters on the outside of that fence, and number two, she's not there. That wooden box, as pretty as it was, is not where my mama is. She's in Heaven, where peace and serenity abound for her, where she sings made-up, forced-rhyme, absolutely ridiculous songs with who-knows-who, and where she has the perfect view of all that I wish she could be a part of still.

Sissy's Song by Alan Jackson
Why did she have to go
So young I just don't know why
Things happen half the time
Without reason without rhyme
Lovely, sweet young woman
Daughter, wife and mother
Makes no sense to me
I just have to believe

She flew up to Heaven on the wings of angels
By the clouds and stars and passed where no one sees
And she walks with Jesus and her loved ones waiting
And I know she's smiling saying
Don't worry 'bout me

Loved ones she left behind
Just trying to survive
And understand the why
Feeling so lost inside
Anger shot straight at God
Then asking for His love
Empty with disbelief
Just hoping that maybe

She flew up to Heaven on the wings of angels
By the clouds and stars and passed where no one sees
And she walks with Jesus and her loved ones waiting
And I know she's smiling saying
Don't worry 'bout me

It's hard to say goodbye
Her picture in my mind
They'll always be of times I'll cherish
And I won't cry 'cause

She flew up to Heaven on the wings of angels
By the clouds and stars and passed where no one sees
And she walks with Jesus and her loved ones waiting
And I know she's smiling saying
Don't worry 'bout me
Don't worry 'bout me

I wish I had more pictures of us. Our world is full of pictures now... of everything. I always like to think that I'm glad I didn't have to grow up in the Facebook and Instagram era, but I can say it'd be pretty cool to have more pictures of my mom, and my mom and me. But like the song says, her picture is in my mind, and it's not a still photograph. It's more like video. Living memories with voice, laughter, emotion, memory, and the extra edge that a photograph just doesn't have.

So will we buy flowers? I don't know. We can. It's fine if we do. It'd be a nice gesture to show other folks that we remembered our mom on Mother's Day. But that gesture isn't one she'd care about. Time. That's what would matter most. Time spent remembering, laughing, having fun, and being together.

At this point, Mother's Day for me can either be a day that I dread with bitterness because if you don't have a mama you can't celebrate... or I can just deal with it, and trust that the memories we made for that short time are enough to carry me through the years.

I sure do miss her...

Thursday, July 21, 2011

My Old Friend

December 2009, the day she smiled at me

There's a Tim McGraw song that warms my heart each time I hear it because of the memories it stirs within me. Here are a few lines:
My old friend, I recall

The times we had are hanging on my wall

I wouldn't trade them for gold

Cause they laugh and they cry me and

somehow sanctify me

And they're woven in the stories I have told

And tell again

My old friend this song's for you

Cause a few simple verses was the least that I could do

To tell the world that you were here

'Cause the love and the laughter will live on long after

All of the sadness and the tears

We'll meet again my old friend

Today is a celebration of the life of one of my dearest friends.

We moved to the white house (not on Pennsylvania Avenue, but on highway 28) in 1988. It was a big, empty, and maybe creepy house that was much different from the house we'd called home for the first four years of my life. The yard was bigger, my room was bigger, and it had a long front porch. But it was different. The store was no longer beside us, meaning, in my mind, there probably wouldn't be anything for Dave and me to do for fun.

I'm not sure how much time passed between moving into the house and the fateful day that would bring us together with the two people who would have a greater impact on our lives than we would ever realize. A four-year-old girl and an eight-year-old boy with a big backyard... we had bikes, some GI Joe men, and a few things like that, but there were no kids in the neighborhood to share the summer with, but we made do.

Then there was the day we were playing in our yard and the football rolled into the neighbor's yard. He was small in stature, kinda thin, blue eyes, and we had seen him in the yard a good bit before that day, especially in the early morning when he would walk around the perimeter of his yard on a beaten path. He tossed the football back to us, and we asked if he'd like to play. He threw the ball a few rounds, and went back to what he was doing. As the days, weeks, and months passed, we began to play with him more and more.

Soon after, we met another neighbor. She lived there too, and she was really sweet. She would offer us juice or a snack under the carport and listen to our stories. One day, she brought out some jacks and marbles and taught us a few games. That was also the day I learned about hopscotch. She drew the hopscotch board in the dirt of their driveway, and we one-two-two-one-two-one'd for several hours.

As the summer days passed, we became quite comfortable with our new friends. We told stories, played games, tossed the football, and he even asked us to ride our bikes on his nice trail. We went from having no kids other than ourselves to having two of the coolest playmates in town!

As we all do, Dave and I asked a lot of questions as children. We had early interests in how things work, how to take them apart, why this, and why that, and we made it our business to tackle all these subjects. On one particularly inquisitive day, Dave and I wanted to take apart a radio/flashlight combo to see what was inside and maybe find out how it worked. Of course, we didn't have any tools, but we knew our neighbor did, and he'd probably let us use a few of them--maybe even help us. Screw-by-screw, we disassembled the device in awe of all its inner workings. Every pondering was verbalized, and he seemed to know the answer to each one. Amazed, Dave and I decided it was time to find out more about our new friend. We decided that I'd ask the questions because I was younger and probably wouldn't get in trouble if we said I didn't know any better. So I asked.

"You sure do know a lot, don't ya?"

"Why do you say that?" he laughed.

"You just know how to fix some stuff, and you know a lot about different things like holding the football and stuff," Dave explained.

"Yeah, and you know about TV and radios and bikes and things like that," I added.

"Well..." he said.

Thinking we weren't getting an answer soon enough, I blurted out my question.
"You sure are smart. How old are you?"

"I'm only 72," he smiled.

Seventy-two? There are people that are 72? And they know how to play ball and ride bikes? It seemed impossible, but we took it for what it was worth and went on with our project.

It turned out they were both about that age. These kids that we'd been playing with were a lot older than us, and we never would have known it without having been told. And it never mattered.

Dave and I grew very close to Taylor and Mary over the years. We liked that they would play with us, and I guess they enjoyed having us around sometimes. We played in the yard with them, we played cards at their kitchen table, we ate lunches with them, and generally enjoyed having two buddies next door.

The day Mr. Taylor introduced us to his billiard table in the basement is one I'll never forget. I'd never really seen one before, and I wasn't tall enough to see over this one, but he made it possible for me to play. He offered a modified cue stick to me that was about as tall as me, and boy was I proud of it! He taught us the ins and outs of bank shots, jump shots, 8-ball, 9-ball, Kelly, cut-throat, and several other pool shark necessities. He taught us maintenance of the table and equipment, and we loved the game. Some afternoons, after he'd brought us to a certain skill level, he'd let us invite Mrs. Mary and our parents down to the basement for a little show. Those, those, those were good times.

When I was 12 years old, Dave and I were in the yard one late summer morning playing baseball with Mr. Taylor. He knew about football, but baseball seemed to be his favorite. We played in the hot summer sun for a few hours then took a break for lunch. Hurrying to eat our lunch, Dave and I returned to finish the game, but Mrs. Mary told us Mr. Taylor wasn't feeling good and that we'd need to hold off on the game. That would be our last game. Mr. Taylor developed Alzheimer's Disease and died less than a year later.

Mrs. Mary continued to share her games and home with us. She and Mr. Taylor had always made us feel so smart because they'd listen to our stories for hours and hours, even though the news was on or they were trying to read the newspaper or trying to catch a nap. They made time for us, and it made all the difference in our childhood.

A few years past Mr. Taylor's death, Mrs. Mary's health began to slump. She simply wasn't able to do as much as she had done with us before, but thankfully, we had grown a little older and understood the situation. Still, it hurt to see someone that we loved so much and equated with our own childhood become ill or suffer from everyday signs of aging.

Mrs. Mary moved to the nursing home in Linden a few years ago. Although her health was still relatively good for someone her age (you have to understand the emphasis these two put on heart health, etc.), she was slowly fading. Her mind, once very strong, had become quite weak, and it seemed to change so much about her.

Our visits were often brief, as she eventually napped (or took a siesta, as Mr. Taylor would say) most of the time. But it was okay with me. She may not have even known who I was, or even who she was, but the memories I replayed over each visit brought me joy. Other residents or nurses would often ask if I was her granddaughter, and I'd always respond that she was like a grandmother to me, but that she was just a long-time friend and next-door-neighbor.

Some time last year, another visitor asked the same question, and before I could respond, Mrs. Mary muttered to her, "I knew her when she was very, very, very, very young." For someone who didn't say much at all and didn't seem to be alert much at all anymore, she had made a statement that warmed my heart more than anything she'd ever said to me. I won't question the logic behind her answer, but that day, it made me feel for just a moment that she knew me again and that she remembered the years we shared at her home next to mine.

On another instance, I pushed her wheelchair to a square table where two others were sitting, and turned to Mrs. Mary asking if she wanted to play cards like we used to. Again, I'll remind you that she didn't talk much, and it was often impossible to decipher. One of the other ladies asked if we played fun card games like "Go Fish" and "Old Maid." I told her we did. Mrs. Mary must have been listening.

"Odie Maid," she said.

"Old Maid, it's a card game, Mary," the lady said.

Actually, we played "Odie Maid." It was a set of Garfield cards, and Odie, the dog, was dressed as an old maid. What a touching moment and a precious memory to recall.

Perhaps my favorite moment shared with Mrs. Mary during her stay in Linden was around Christmas in 2009. Our conversations were usually identical, and mostly one-sided, as I updated her on happenings around Jefferson. She stared blankly at me one day, and it broke my heart to not know if she understood or not or that she might want to respond but couldn't.

"I sure am glad to see you today, Mrs. Mary!"

Tilting her head, she glared back at me.


"Because I like visiting with you. It makes me happy!"

The split second that followed was priceless:
"Hahaha!" she laughed as a smile wrapped around her face. Then it was gone.
It was brief, but again, it felt good to see.

My last visit with Mrs. Mary was a few days ago. She was up a little past her evening bedtime. The nurse said I could push her back to her room to visit. We slowly strolled to Wing B 102. We sat for a while, just me and the person that so influenced me every day of my childhood. Her breath was weak. Her body was tired. Her hands were feeble. And dry. I found a bottle of cocoa butter in her bathroom and rubbed it on her hands and aged arms. You see, this visit was so much like the others, yet it was so different. There was a sense of urgency mixed with a stronger sense of peace. Her soft hair was as neat as ever. She sat calmly sleeping in her chair, her ankles crossed in front of her. Twenty-three years of friendship would be coming to an end soon, and I knew it.

But I knew that upstairs there was a card game of Hand and Foot waiting for her to take her seat at the table.

One day, we'll pick up at the fifth inning of a close baseball game. And we'll deal a hand for another game of Odie Maid. And maybe, just maybe, I'll sink the 8-ball in the pocket I call before Mr. Taylor does.

Until that day, I'll look to my left each time I walk out my front door, and I'll see years of memories played out before me with the oldest kids I knew as a child. What a blessing to my brother and me to have been able to share our summers, winters, springs and falls with two of the best adopted grandparents we could hope to have.

Monday, June 27, 2011

A Twist on the Holiday

Did you know that this past Friday was "Take Your Pet to Work Day?" Somebody did, and they observed. The sad part, they didn't take it back home.

I left the parking lot at work on Friday about 10 minutes after 5 o'clock (yes, that's right-after five on Friday!) to head home for the weekend. About two miles outside of town I turned around in a neighborhood when I remembered that I needed something from the grocery store. In the middle of my turnaround, I hear a faint "meow" and immediately assume I've splattered somebody's cat. I quickly look in the rear-view mirror for what I thought I'd hit, but nothing was there. [Insert sigh of relief here.]

A minute or two later, pulling into a parking spot at the grocery store, I hear the faint cry again, "meow." Whoa! Maybe it's my tires on the asphalt.

As I'm walking away from the car toward the store, I hear it again, "meow."

Has somebody put something in my purse to drive me crazy? I had my suspicions.

In and out of the store in a flash, lettuce in hand, I casually stroll around my car once more for the inconspicuous inspection. Nothing. I even opened the back hatch to make sure somebody hadn't played a trick on me--nothing.

Oh well, it's been a long day, what am I thinking anyway?

I get a few miles down the road, it starts again. At this point, I begin leaning my head back between the driver and passenger seats to try to pinpoint this nuisance. All I could determine was that it was "in the back." A general location that could make me crazy if I thought about it more.

The radio is off at this point. Air is on a level just high enough to keep me from having a heat stroke and low enough that I can hear any ambient noises.

As it continues, and I travel at speeds varying from 35 to 85 mph, I decide to stop at the Amoco, where there's always at least one old guy standing around, and somebody would be willing to help me look under my car.

I pull up to the station and walk in to find only one man standing in the corner--he's not a familiar face, and he may be dressed too well to want to sit on the ground to look under my car. I ask anyway.

As we walk to the car, I explain that it may sound absurd to him, but that I was certain there was a cat under my car. He says we'll look.

So we look. And we listen. Nothing.

"You sure it ain't ya radio?" he asks.

"Radio's off. It's a cat."

"You look like you got pretty good sense, but all this talk I'm thinkin' you a little frayed," he suggests.

"No, sir. The radio's off, the air's off, window's up, and there's a cat on thi--

I hear it again and shift my focus to the car.

He looks to the sky.

"See, that ain't nothin' but a hawk you hearin' now."

"Was that a hawk I've been hearing since I left Livingston?"

"Miss, I think you crazy."

I thanked him for his time and efforts, and promised to take a picture of the cat when I got it out. I left the station.

Driving along, I hear the cat again, "meow."

At this point, I'm more than a little aggravated. I turned onto a couple of roads that I knew would be bumpy. If speed hadn't released this clingy feline, maybe a bumpy gravel road would make a nice new home for it.

To save you another couple minutes of reading this intriguing saga, I'll skip to the part where I get home and still hear it. Frustrated, I lie down behind my car and look upward. Suddenly, louder than ever, like a panther lurking in the grass at dusk, "Meerrrrooooooorrrrroooooowwwwwwww."

That's it! Cat under the car. Rode 35 miles. Must be ferocious!

I bravely stuck my arm over everything I could see from the ground up and snapped a few pictures, hoping to catch a glance of this beast. No fur. Not claws. No cat.

I begin to make my way around the side of the vehicle, and Alas! a paw!

About this time, my neighbor, Betty, sees me on the ground and drives over on her all terrain vehicle, stocked with large flashlights and more. I explain the situation, and she offers a hand. After about ten minutes of prying, guess what came out?

A dang cat.

But the story doesn't end there. However, I can finish it in one long sentence:

Betty held the cat while I went to borrow a pet taxi, which the cat would pry its way out of rather quickly, just before it began running like a rabid beast around my yard while lightning struck round about us, causing us to give up on the cat chase with well- or not-so-well wishes for this cat.

Actually, I need a few more sentences. You should know that this cat has been the bane of my existence since Friday at 5:15 p.m., having done all of the above, scratched me, awakened me at approximately 2 a.m. every morning thereafter, and making its permanent hiding place the wheel well that sheltered it across 35 miles of Alabama Highway 28. All I've got to say is, he better play it safe because I'm pretty sure he's used seven or eight of his lives on that quick trip, and he's getting really close to expiring yet another.

Wednesday, June 22, 2011

How does the time pass?

June 18, 2005 - A day I'll cherish forever

They say time flies when you're having fun. If that's the case, I've had a lot of fun over the last several years. I took this picture of Minnie on June 18, 2005... a Saturday afternoon at my home in Jefferson. The hand in the picture is one that held me when I cried, set me back on the right path when I wandered off, and guided me through the first 19 years of my life.

It was six years ago today that I lost my sweet mother, but it seems like just yesterday we were laughing over a board game or a dumb movie or one of her amazing home-cooked meals. Boy, does time fly. When I think of all she's missed--all the times I've both cried and celebrated without her by my side--it seems like an eternity has passed since I last saw her smile twitch and her eyes cross as I tried hard not to laugh at her for cracking a silly joke. What I'd give...

Mom and me on my birthday, October 3, 2003

It seems like even longer when I look at my life now and the "me" that she knew. I was really just a child when she last knew me. Maybe I'm still not quite grown, but I like to think I am most days, and I could only hope that she'd be pleased with the daughter she raised. Sometimes I catch myself mimicking some of her habits (good and bad!), and I hope I always do. In a weird way, it makes me feel like she's still here.

Mom and me in 1988 - We had just moved into our house in Pinhook. I was trying on a new dress, one of a pair that my mom had made so we could match.

The saddest part of losing my mom at such an early age is knowing that she won't be around to enjoy her grandchildren. I watch Will play sometimes, and even though I know she's watching too, I just wish she could be a part of his life. She would be on Cloud 9 right now with the most precious grandson EVER, and a sweet little granddaughter making her way into this big world. I know that those two, and any children that I (hopefully, eventually) have would be her reason for living, and I regret that she is not here to see them.

from a 1987 family portrait

She was "known for" so many things... cornbread, caramel cakes, selling ice to Eskimos, pig ear biscuits with buttermilk and prune juice, a knack for making people feel special, and those LONG tub baths. (I don't think the water heater has recovered YET!) Another notable trait was her skillful matchmaking abilities. Now, some of those were a bust, but she's also had some success stories in that department, and I'm so happy for at least one of those. But I can't help thinking she's played a little matchmaking from upstairs, too, and I couldn't be more thankful for her efforts. Funny how things work out, huh Connie Sue?

Me, Maw, and Mom at Dave and Missy's wedding - September 4, 2004

I look back at days, and I look forward to days... both with the sadness of knowing I can't share them with her. Right, she's "here," and that's good consolation, but she's not here. Sometimes that just doesn't cut it. Christmas, Thanksgiving, birthdays, graduations, Easter, lazy Sundays, cleaning Saturdays, rainy days, sunny days, family reunions, family vacations, weddings (?)... those are the days I will always miss her, but I'll settle for the satisfaction of knowing she can smile down with utter happiness and the deepest peace imaginable in her soul as she awaits the day when we'll all be together again. She better be ready--we've got a lot of catching up to do!

Monday, June 13, 2011

Beach, and MORE Beach

If three beach trips in a month's time won't spoil you, I don't know what will! They were three good beach trips, though... one with a couple of old friends, one with a new set of friends, and one with my family. I feel so blessed to have all these people in my life!
Orange Beach was the site of the Compton family vacay. Saturday to Saturday of nothing but rest and relaxation!
My favorite nephew, Will, was a little tike when we went to the beach last, so this was a whole new adventure for him (skipped the beach last year and went on a cruise instead). I think the beach was a hit for him, especially with BIG floats and beach toys! It's hard to believe this is the same little boy (with the same little Tonka truck)!
We had lots of fun splashing and learning to swim! He'll be shooting around like a little fish in no time. Sand and sun make a little boy thirsty! But on to Will's favorite part(s) of the trip: the 32 holes of golf he played. Control... you've gotta have control! And you may have to blow off some steam by beating a few sharks over the head... I'm not sure who had more fun--the little bit or the big kids! Will's first crab hunting excursion was a hit, too! We weighed in more than 15 crabs!
Of course, the most fun part was watching Will mock everyone else's hysteria, as he "found one, found one!!"
B and Pony (rocking some beverage advertisements?? merely a coincidence!)
Sweet little boy--he'll be a big brother soon!
Since one round of putt-putt wasn't enough, we went back for another...
And of course, another few rounds of air hockey...
We went to play early the first night, so the crowd wasn't too bad, but the second night really tested Will's patience. He had to wait for the group in front of us to finish before he could play, and patience is not in his genetic code, but he was such a good sport. Still, he only made it through 14 holes until he was too sleepy to go on. He relinquished his ball to the alligator in the pedal boat pond. :)
And after all that fun, everybody needs a little rest!
Yay for a fun family vacay! Can't wait to see how the next family vacation unfolds!

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

Beach Boys: At the Beach, With My Boys

The first of three beach trips planned for the summer, the Surfin' USA beach trip was a blast! My seasoned beach partners, Jacob and Carson, met Tony and me in Gulf Shores for a weekend dedicated to "Fun, Fun, Fun," (at least 'til Daddy takes the T-bird away). The trip started with a bang--a bunk air conditioner in our condo. A phone call to the realty company at 2 a.m. prompted a 9 a.m. service call. Let's just say cold-natured Betsy was about to burn up! But we survived. The first fun day started with Carson's margarita machine--it's the eighth wonder, I think. The weather wasn't really cooperating, though. I'm not crazy about dark clouds on the beach, and I can stand a light rain, but thunder gets me outta the chair. Not even Rhonda could help us out of this storm, so to the room we went... Live Bait for supper then a trip to the ol' FloraBama... still a dump, but hey. If it's good enough for Vince Vaughn (there for a bachelor party), then, well, it's good enough for Vince Vaughn. We returned the next morning to discover that Thor himself must have paid a visit to Alabama's Gulf Coast. Or maybe they're taping the sequel of "Adventures in Babysitting." A fun-filled day in the sun had to end a little early that afternoon so we could get ready for those Beach Boys!!! Supper at the Pink Pony, then on to the Wharf for the show! I think these two might be auditioning for "So You Think You're a Beach Boy?" next season. A beautiful sunset beyond a less-than-half-filled amphitheater, but don't let it fool you--it was cold!! If their SYTYABB auditions fail, we may audition for Gladys Knight and the Pips... of course, I get to be Gladys. "He's leavin' on that midnight train to Georgia..." and their "Woo-Woo" follows in nicely... And, if none of that works out, we'll just watch Uncle Jesse (John Stamos) rock out with the Beach Boys every chance we get. And when we leave, no matter how bad it embarrasses our friends, Jacob and I may always be "those" people that never know the concert actually stopped. I'd like to give a shout-out to the ol' girl who threw it down about four octaves for her part in Barbara Ann... A Ba, ba, ba, ba, ba, ba, ran.... Ba, ba, ba, ba, ba, ba, ran.... Ba, ba, ba, ba, ba, ba, ran.... ta-ake my hand... Ba, ba, ran... you got me rockin' and a rollin' rockin' and a reelin' Ba ba ran.

Happy Birthday, Big Daddy!

Lordy, lordy, look who's... 64! We gathered at Dave and Missy's for Big Daddy's birthday (May 23) supper. Lasagna for supper with some mighty fine blackberry cobbler for dessert--that's good stuff. The table's getting pretty full these days, especially with one new little Compton (Dave says they're certain it's only one) on the way. The more the merrier!
Will had so much fun helping his Big Daddy open presents! But then, Big Daddy realized Will "must have made a mistake," so Will and his Daddy had to go freshen up, only to return without his shorts. But I must say, he is a little fashionista... Models without hesitation... look at that fancy footwear! He gets his sense of fashion from his Aunt B, who will glady slip some sock feet into a pair of flip flops! Just around the house, you know... That's how we roll!

Monday, May 23, 2011

Saturday in Starkville

What a treat to see some familiar faces this weekend! I went to see my long-lost pals and former office mate at the Gordon family's "new" stomping grounds in Starkville on Saturday. Two hundred shots in less than 30 minutes, lunch, and an afternoon visit made for a fun day!

Lunch with Meaghan and the kiddos at The Grill

Tony came along for the ride :)

I haven't had a chance to go through the Gordon family's fast-paced photo shoot from Saturday morning, but I did grab a few cute ones already.

Sweet Family

Is Murphy trying to tell us he's had enough already?

Wait for it... wait for it...

Are these the sweetest faces you've seen all day, or what?

Stay tuned--more sweetness to come!