Monday, May 18, 2015

My Man

Thomas Rhett's uncle, Brooks Akins, coached our older son in football at the Boys Club level.  The in-laws of another country legend, Kenny Rogers, live across the highway from us.  My man was born in Ohio, not one you'd expect to be a country music fan, but being a transplant to the south it got in him.  

Thomas Rhett's voice is the sound of the south, a drawl and a twang set to music.  I fell in love with this song today, first time I heard it, and in the video is an old Chevy truck like my daddy drove, only Daddy's was red.  (The wedding ring Mr. A wears was my daddy's.)   

I read an article online about the good fortune of marrying a southern man.  I've long teased my man about being a Yankee, but all that is desirable in a man entrenched in the culture beneath the gnat line osmosed to mine.  

At dinner this evening, he looked at me with sheer happiness at my happiness while I was dancing at the dinner table to Thomas Rhett's song.  I told him to hold that thought and he was patient with me while I recaptured his loving expression.

Twenty-eight years and counting.  Our first grandchild is due early this fall and our baby boy is getting married this summer. 

Love multiplies.  

God is good. 

Monday, May 4, 2015

Good News, Please

Princess Charlotte Elizabeth Diana, what beautiful names to give to a brand new princess.  A new baby, a fresh start, a chance at a better outlook on this world we are all passing through.    

I've overdosed on news of racism, especially with the inspiration for twitter's #EricSheppardChallenge attending university in my home town, though I should say attended.  Something tells me he won't be in class here this fall as his possession of a firearm on a Georgia campus, a felony in the state, may cause his registration to be delayed.  He's doing a darn good job at being the hidden one in a federal game of hide and seek, so he may not surface before the deadline for registration anyway.   

When the whole world seems to be coming apart at the seams, people everywhere stomping an American flag and residents of Baltimore torching a CVS store, I retreat to the serenity of line-dried clothing.  Eric Sheppard would likely find this racist as this practice dates to antiquity and the sheets are white.  There are, however, no eye holes cut in them, so I may get a pass for the 21st century.  They'll smell divine, no matter what anyone of any ancestry, royal or otherwise, thinks of them.

Line drying clothing surely is close to the bottom of things a brand new princess will ever be expected to do in her royal life, heck, those who attend to her are royal in this category as somewhere in Buckingham Palace must be a state of the art laundering facility, no pegging out of the royal nappies in this generation.   

If Eric Sheppard-on-the-lam is hiding amongst the hedges along the highways, he may have dried some of his clothing on a makeshift line somewhere, but methinks modern fugitives aren't this resourceful and he is probably piled up (like laundry) somewhere with someone super sympathetic to his self-made plight.

Britain's brand new Princess Charlotte will also be in hiding for some time, albeit her digs assuredly are a bit fancier than wherever Eric Sheppard is hanging his hat and the next American flag he plans to tromp and burn.

After I hung freshly washed sheets on the line, I thought of Sheppard.  I'd stomp the little malcontent if he dirtied my laundry with his feet.  I instantly condemned my thought in the style of social media before I ever shared it: How terrible of me to value a piece of cloth over a man.

Princess Charlotte Elizabeth Diana presently has none of these concerns and my only one for her, as the spare to the next generation of heirs to the British throne, is that she isn't someday discovered partying naked in the United States as was her uncle spare, Harry.  

If she is, she might cover her lady bits with an American flag and she could be either a hero or a villain, depending on one's perspective.  (Reference: Michelle Manhart)

Now back to my antiquated laundry habits and some good news with an exception:  Tonight I shall sleep blissfully atop line dried jasmine-scented sheets.  

Note the jasmine blooming to the left
Uh-oh, the jasmine is white and called Confederate Jasmine
I give up on trying to be politically correct.  

A nod to my late brother, "I'm just dammit me."