She’s the greatest – and she’s mine!
I have the best mom. And I realize that all the time, not just on Mother’s Day. She’s the perfect combination of mother and friend. She knows when I need mothering advice, but is also someone I can goof around and be friends with (see Ocean Wars entry). I feel lucky every day to have been born to such a wonderful mother. I really do hope one day to be the kind of mother she was and is to me. Thank you, mom, for everything. I love you!
I love N.P.R. And were I a rich woman, I might give some of my riches to the network.
It is time once again for the N.P.R. fundraising drive. As soon as I heard the first person say, “Please, go to the phones,” I cringed. I knew that meant a week of enduring desparate pleas in place of quality radio programming.
I understand the concept. The quality radio programming comes with a price. I should feel guilty for listening to all that free radio and not contributing. Shame on me. Shame shame.
I know how they could make trillions. If they could figure out a way to switch your radio from the fundraising annoyances back to regular N.P.R. once you pledged, I’ll bet tons of people would pledge the very first day. Anything to get the radio hosts to stop begging you to pledge.
I feel sorry for them. I mean, how many different ways can you say, “We need money. Please give.” I would prefer they just looped that phrase over and over. Instead, there is this one girl in particular who really drives me nuts. She sounds so desperate. Today on the way home from work, instead of hearing my usual public radio, I hear, “Oh you guys are great! We just need four more calls this hour! Oh Please Please Please! Thank you thank you thank you!” I’m not exaggerating. I guess that’s better than what I hear sometimes. “We have 2 minutes left in this hour, and we just need 80 more pledges. I think we can do it. Please go to the phones. Please.”
I feel bad even writing about it. I know they need their money. I enjoy commercial free programming. I just wish there were some other way to get the money than interrupting the programming I enjoy. Instead of making me open my wallet, it makes me turn the dial.
My new computer came today. It is so white and shiny and new. The keys on the keyboard have that certain spring, and everything smells of new packaging and wonderful newness. Lee took photos of the unboxing, and I’ll post one soon.
I debated naming my new computer. Are they like goldfish? You name them and they die? I named my last computer, and had some problems with it. But Lee named his computer and it has worked just fine. I decided to name my new computer, because I have a one year warranty and that makes me feel secure.
My new computer’s name is imok. Pronounced EYE-mok. The “i” is in honor of it being an apple ibook. The “mok” comes from Lee. That was what he used to call apples when he was a toddler. He’d point to an apple and say, “mok.” It seems to fit somehow, so imok it is.
Imok seems so much smaller than Clammy. The screen size is the same, but the body of the computer is smaller and lighter. I think this will come in handy at those cramped school board meetings. The battery seems to be charging well. That is a definite plus. I haven’t done anything advanced on it yet, like video editing, but I look forward to it. I think I will only grow to love it more. Clammy was great, but I’m moving on.
I can’t wait to take it to work tomorrow. Imok and I are unstoppable.
Lee and I went to Atlanta this weekend for the wedding of two of our friends, Kim and Brian. We visited with my brother, which was great, then went to the wedding. It was very nice, and Kim looked stunning. I’m very happy for them.
Then we stayed with our friend Erica, who was one of the bride’s maids. She took us last night to the Havana Club, a latin bar/dance club. Erica and I share a love of the Spanish language, and she’s recently been teaching me more about latin music and dance. I had never been to a club like this before, but it was just as I imagined it would be. Dark. Loud. Full of energy.
There was a live band, complete with conga drums, trombone, even a cowbell player. Every song was so energetic, and the dance floor was packed with people. The songs were long, but no one seemed to care. There were people dancing everywhere, not just on the dance floor. Couples danced all around the club. And it wasn’t the kind of couple dancing I usually see at clubs, this was a true union of two people following each other’s very technical moves – paying attention to footwork, spinning, etc. While I knew the dances weren’t easy, they made it look like the most natural thing. Like the music just flowed from the instruments and through the dancers.
There was just a very different vibe there. It seemed as though everyone was so intent on dancing and would never stop. Songs changed seamlessly, and people continued dancing. Erica taught us some basic steps, and we joined the throng. The three of us danced and danced. Lee picked up on everything quickly, and I so enjoyed the fact that he was willing to dance. Not just willing, enthusiastic. It was so much fun – and good exercise. Even though we may not have known all the steps, the floor was so crowded I hoped most people couldn’t study my feet.
If there is such a thing as a past life, I hope my past self lived somewhere in Central or South America. There is just something so inviting about the latin beats and the Spanish language. Something right.
I am trying to be patient – but I can’t help myself! Lee and I bought my new computer last night, an ibook. He checked the order today, and a big, red “backordered” was stamped on it. I can’t take it.
I’m so spoiled. I used to have one desktop computer. Now, our household must have two computers – and they must be laptops. And they must have wireless capabilities. And they must be cute, and have names, and have the apple logo on top.
I will be patient. My laptop will come.
For me, the story begins at 5:00 a.m. Sunday. Actually, it begins at 4:55 when Millie scratches at the door. I beg her to go back to sleep. She won’t. She is thirsty.
So we go outside, then we drink some water in the dining room, and I’m just about to crawl back under the covers when the phone rings. It’s 5 a.m. It could mean one of three things. Something is wrong with Lee, who is in Athens. Something happened at work and they need me to come in. Or Nikki is in labor. But it’s her due date. Who actually has her baby on her due date?
“Hello?”
“Hey Ginger.” Pause. I know it is Nikki, and I want everything to be okay. All I can say is “hey.”
“I think it’s time.”
Relief. Excitement. Suddenly realizing I need to pack a bag, get some film, and put the dog out.
An hour later, we meet in the Emergency Room for admitting. Then she’s wheeled to the maternity floor, and finally a delivery room.
For the first few hours, we chat. We talk about what a beautiful day it is. The sun is shining, the sky is the most perfect blue. She is in mid-sentence several times when she just stops talking. A look at the monitor shows what I can already see on her face. Another contraction.
They get worse, as one would expect them to. We no longer talk about the blue sky. We don’t talk. We watch the monitor, and wish we could do more. At her side are three of us girls – her mother, her sister, myself. The nurse is a girl. The doctor is a girl. It makes me think of the old, pioneer days when the boys had to stand outside while the women all worked inside, boiling water, mopping the mother’s face with a cloth.
She asks for an epidural. It works like magic. Who was the genius who figured out a way to take away the pain without making you completely unable to move or feel from your waist down? Suddenly, she’s Nikki again. The sky is blue again. We talk about it again.
There’s more waiting. I pick up a book to read, but put it down a thousand times because I keep re-reading the same sentence. I try a different book, and get no further. There’s just too much to think about. Too much about to happen. Who can read in a situation like that?
Finally, they say she’s ready. Someone comes and bangs around in the room for what seems like forever, getting everything ready. All the tools, all the blankets, all the stuff that will be needed. I think again about the pioneers and someone boiling water. If they could see us now.
The pushing part seems to go so fast. They tell us later it was very fast. At 6:39 p.m., Nia makes her way into the world, gives a few cries, then blinks. A lot. I can’t imagine never having seen light before. She is beautiful.
The doctor hugs Nia to her chest, then begins to clamp the cord. I’ve seen this on the TV shows. This is the part where Daddy cuts the cord. I hear the doctor say to Nia, “this is for Daddy,” as she cuts through it herself. I am sad for a moment.
Then I’m happy again. There, under a heat lamp, is Nia. She looks perfect. Very squirmy, but content. She keeps thrusting her arms and legs out in the biggest stretch. I guess she hasn’t been able to stretch in a long time, and barely knows what to do with her new found space. A nurse takes her measurements, inks her feet, sticks a cap on her head and wraps her up. She hands her to Nikki. It’s all very beautiful.
Grandmother holds her. Aunt holds her. Then I hold her. She’s very light, and very alert. She looks at me with her blue eyes, looks around at everyone else. I wonder what she sees, what she hears. She still wiggles under the tight blanket. I think she’s amazing.
Visitors come, and the next eager set of arms belong to my husband. He holds her, talks to her. We remark about her soft skin, her tiny hands.
A miracle.
It’s official. Clammy the ibook laptop was sold on Ebay last night. The buyer has paid, now all that’s left to do is ship the computer on Monday. I can’t believe it sold for $30 more than we orginally paid for it. Computers aren’t suppose to go up in value! We did add software, ram, and a cute carrying case – but I’m still pleased with the selling price.
I’m still a little sad, but mostly I’m excited about getting a new computer – one with firewire ports so I can edit video without having to take Lee’s computer from him. My new one will be smaller than Clammy, which is actually good because I take my laptop everywhere with me. And most exciting of all – a one year warranty. We aren’t going to buy it just yet, we have to finish saving up the dough, but hopefully the void I feel now will be filled with the joy of a new ibook very soon.
Yesterday, I got two rolls of film developed, and was very pleased with the results. I adore my camera, and I adore taking pictures even if some of them don’t turn out. But there were several good ones in this bunch – the kind that make me take in a breath because they look just like I imagined them. The sun glinting off the water. The easter lily in Grandma Lou’s yard. A heron in a marsh.
I am grateful for the technology of digital cameras. I am the kind of person who can take 25 pictures of the very same sea gull. Digital cameras are good for me because I waste less film. But I’m addicted to the click of my SLR’s shutter. And maybe because I know I shouldn’t waste film, I spend more time setting up my shot, waiting for the right moment, the right angle, the right picture.
I’ve been thinking more about the importance of pictures lately. I even bought (though I probably didn’t need it and got ripped off) a special pen you can use to write on the backs of photos.
I was thinking about people looking at my photographs after I’m gone. And really, I’m not being morbid. Instead, I think it’s a nice thought. Some great-great granchild I’ll never meet will pull a dusty box out of the attic and start flipping through my photo books. When she asks, “Who was this? Where was this taken?” I won’t be there to answer. But they’re important questions because pictures tell stories. I don’t plan to write the story of each picture on the back of the photograph, but if I can simply add a name, place, and date, my great-great granchild can fill in the rest with her imagination.
Yesterday, I drove through some serious small towns headed southwest toward Moultrie for an annual Easter gathering. It was amazing to see the scenery change. From Savannah’s palm trees to south Georgia pine trees complete with white crosses nailed to the trunks bearing one red word, “REPENT.”
I was only on the Interstate for about 15 miles of the trip. The rest was back woods highway. It amazes me how long a highway can stretch with no interruption. No intersecting road. No gas station. Just the occassional trailer, and some buzzards.
You really have to watch your speed on these roads. You start to approach a city, and the speed limit drops quickly. 55, 45, 35. I think it’s representative of more than auto speed though. Time seems to slow down in these towns. Sometimes, it even appears to be going backward.
Part of me got the heebie-jeebies. I lived in a small town for a few years. They were great years, and I think small-town life was just what I needed then. But I don’t feel it’s what I need right now. As I drove, I’d look around and think, “what do these people do?” For fun, for food, for anything? But although I don’t want to take up residence in, for example, Ray City (don’t blink or you’ll miss it), I’m glad Ray City and all the other tiny towns I traversed still exist. I need to know there are still farms, there are still lonely highways, there are still expanses of green, scrubby trees for miles. That’s comforting.
