This old gal...

Admits it—she's bad at something. 'Hard to believe,' you may say, but it's true. And looking at that backyard plant, this weakness of hers comes to mind.

That beautiful plant—once so strong—suddenly in need of support. But what kind of support should a worried old gal give? And that's when those daughters of hers come to mind...

And a phrase they always use when one of us reaches out: 'Do you want emotional support or practical solutions?'

Not sure where they got this, but all three are privy to it. Maybe some college psychology course? Maybe some influencer on TikTok? Maybe something everyone's been saying for years and one of us is just behind the times...

But this theory—or whatever it is—is where Mama-me always bombs. Not that she's not supportive. She listens. She commiserates, but then she goes full-hog offering solutions.

Suggesting this, suggesting that. Googling this, Googling that. She wants to fix it. Save them. Make the problem go away. But sometimes, all that person on the other end of things needs to hear is...it's going to be ok.

Because it is.

And if those daughters of mine want their mother's opinion...they'll ask for it.
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And that husband of mine...agrees..

Brown-thumb me...

Couldn't get over that plant in the backyard—so regal, so royal, seeming to grow bigger every day. The orange blooms so bold, so bright, the delicate flowers dancing in the wind on the strong, sturdy, stems.

Came home one day to see a change—a sad change, an unexpected change, a sad, unexpected change. That backyard beauty of mine...had collapsed.

'Collapsed from what?' came the thought. The heaviness of those dainty petals? The pressure of those pollen-seeking insects? The weight of the flower world on her green Cosmos shoulders?

And isn't that the way life is, sometimes? Those daily pressures, those daily stressors—family, finances, health, work—getting heavy, almost too heavy to bear.

You are not alone. Don't be afraid to ask for help. Phone a friend. Text a loved one. Someone will be there to help carry the load. And you never know...if you're like that plant friend of mine, help might be as close... as your own backyard.
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And that husband of mine...agrees...

Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary...

How does your garden grow? Terribly, thank you for asking. Those beautiful hydrangeas? Nary a bloom. The gorgeous hibiscus? Didn't grow at all.

Maybe it's the soil. Maybe it's the weather, or maybe it was the curse of usually brown-thumb-me bragging a little bit too much in her head about how absolutely stunning her little flower garden was last year.

Whatever it is...was...one of us was humbled and, not gonna lie, just a little bit sad...until...

What to my wondering eyes should I see? Color. Beautiful color. Kind of yellow. Kind of orange. Popping out here. Popping out there.

That gift from that friend of mine—that tiny, green plant nestled in an old ice cream tub, stuck in the ground by the fence boldly going where no plant has gone before—defying the odds and the curse of an old gal's brown thumb—miraculously thriving...

Every morning more beautiful than the last. Plant-mama me watching from the bathroom window while brushing her teeth. Marveling at its loveliness as it gently sways in the morning breeze...

Sending a message—a message from the cosmos—reminding an old gal that when one door closes, another will open. All you have to do...is look for it.
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And this husband of mine...agrees.

Those boys of ours...

Were good sports when listening to those long, drawn-out, boring stories from the past. Such good sports that that grandmother of theirs took it one step further...

Because a few days before the visit, a picture popped up on Facebook memories. A cute picture. A family picture. A cute, family picture of Grandpa and his boys from years ago—and one of us knew, just knew, she had to recreate it.

And talked about it endlessly, as in..."Gotta get to Dairy Queen and take that picture. Let's not forget to take that picture at Dairy Queen. Before you go, we have to..." well you get the picture.

And so we did...one last stop before heading home. And it was fun. Ridiculously fun. Posing and snapping. Snapping and posing. Grandpa even joining in with a chuckle and a sort-of half-smile.

It wasn't perfect. Photo-taking-me somehow reversing the seating order. The new picture a reverse of the old picture. Can use the magic of technology to switch it around but then the letters on the shirt go the wrong way...

But who cares? This old gal's heart was full.

And so it is...in life...be a good sport. Make someone special smile. The moments may be brief, but the memories will last a lifetime.
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And that husband of mine...agrees...

Those boys and I...

Had a big day. All four of us. Lunch at Pizza Ranch. Some game-room time. A drive around town. Played catch in the front yard, board games in the puzzle room. Took a walk around the neighborhood.

Sat down for a late supper. This old gal making her one-and-only homemade chicken and noodles. Baked some chicken nuggets and tater tots on the side, just in case it was a bomb.

Ate the feast. Did the dishes. Was relaxing in the front room when five words rang out...

"Is there anything for dessert?"

A curious question coming from a curious, and apparently still hungry, ten-year-old.

Had to ponder that for a moment—Is there anything for dessert? Is there ANYTHING for dessert? Only the same things that have been in the house for the last couple days. Ran through the list out loud and finished with...

"Is there something specific you are hungry for?"

"Watermelon," was the reply.

Didn't have any watermelon. It was too late to go to the store. Was trying to come up with something else instead when a text came from that neighbor of mine...

"Hey," it said. "I have an extra watermelon. Do you want it?"

You bet we did.

And so it is...in life...sometimes you just get lucky.
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And that grandson of ours...agrees...

This old gal...

Has a secret admirer. Well, not exactly secret, since she knows who he is and where he lives—which isn't far.

Close enough that he can sit by a back bedroom window and watch his old lady crush as she putzes around in her backyard, usually tipped off by her chatting to her neighbor or that husband of hers...

Because he has almost superhuman hearing, and because she is a super-loud talker and, no doubt, her voice carries.

A text will pop up from that neighbor of mine—that young go-to-the-library-and-do-crafts neighbor of mine. It jokingly saying something like, "I see you're wearing your neon shorts today. Haha hehe," and then go on to explain how that sweet dog of hers somehow knew that "loud-talker me" was outside and went to the window to catch a glimpse.

Because "cat-buddy me" has been chosen. Chosen by beautiful Eli—rescued from a puppy mill, wary, untrusting—chosen...to be his friend.

And what a privilege it is. Seeing him smile when we meet, wag his tail for a pat, and even be so brave as to jump up on the bench and try to cuddle just a bit.

And so today, we celebrate International Dog Day and all those furry friends that warm our hearts.

Miso, Duke, and Mr. Secret Admirer, that boy called Eli...this day's for you.
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And that friend of mine...agrees...

One of the boys...

Won a football at the Pizza Ranch—a snazzy, cool-colored football. Took it outside to play a little catch when that curious one of the two asked, "Do you know how to throw a football?"

Which sent that grandma of his down the old-people-long-and-boring, story-from-the-past rabbit hole, beginning like this...

"Do I know how to throw a football? You bet I know how to throw a foot ball!"—kicking off the drawn-out saga about little me and her football-playing fiasco.

She was playing in a neighborhood football game in the big yard near her home. Those brothers of hers must have been desperate for an extra player, as she didn't usually play football and when she did—she didn't usually play it barefoot.

Which she was—for some ridiculous reason. In the middle of October even—which surely had been cold. Which resulted in her breaking her toe and having to be carried from house to house to go Trick-or Treating.

And so it is...in life...looking back, we wonder what compelled us to make some of the choices we did. Those "stick a paper clip in the outlet, play football barefooted" kind of choices. We may never know. And that's ok, as long as the lesson has been learned...
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And little me agrees...

This old gal...

Gets a kick out of the Pizza Ranch game room. So many cool things to play. The technology so advanced. Kind of like Chuck-E-Cheese on steroids.

The four of us getting our point cards. The boys going one way, Grandpa and I going another. Always start out as a team—the ping-pong-ball-light-up-the-lights game—each of us tossing those bouncy balls like there's no tomorrow.

Then it's competition time. Him vs her in the Shoot-the-Zombie Nerf Arcade. Two old folks whooping it up like silly teenagers.

There's a child-like magic to it all. The lights. The sounds. The prize counter. Don't usually care about the prize counter. Give those points to the boys. Let them pick what they want—they coming home with a football and a little squishie giraffe kind of thing...

And THAT was the undoing of big baby me—who loves squishies. Who loves squishing squishies. Who found THIS squishy thing uniquely and unbelievably squishy...to the point she just had to have one.

Going back a few weeks later. Ignoring the fact that no one else over the age of 16 is playing games. Not giving up til dynamic duo us hit 500 points. Jumping for joy as perky penguin is welcomed into this old gal's squishy family.

And so it is...in life...sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do to let that inner child win.
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And this good-sport husband of mine...agrees...

That grandson of ours...

Is curious. Likes to ask questions. Wonders about this. Wonders about that. Searches things on the internet then shares the information. It's cute—so very cute.

Found him and that grandpa of his in the bedroom. One of them showing off his crafts and creations, talking about their Native American heritage. The other listening intently, wanting to know more. It was sweet—so very sweet.

When asked what he'd like to do during the visit, that grandson of ours requested two things: go to the Pizza Ranch game room and see where his uncle lives—his mother's brother.

And so we got together. Visited their home. Went out to eat. And it was beautiful—so very beautiful—watching someone so young looking at photos, hearing stories, learning about his relatives.

And so it is...that thing we call life...it's all about family: birth family, friends family, neighborhood cat family. How lucky we are to have them. Celebrate yours.
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And that husband of mine...agrees...

This old gal...

Kicked off the grandson sleepover by laying down house rules—you know, those unspoken rules everyone needs to follow to keep the place running smoothly. The things you don't worry about until company comes. The things that need taken care of but you don't want to spend the money on, like...

"This toilet won't flush unless you hold the handle down a long time. The other toilet keeps running if you don't pop the handle back up after flushing and hideous-old-man-chair is breaking so be careful when reclining."

Then followed it up with a tour of the kitchen cupboards, with instructions to 'eat anything they want. No need to ask.'

And then we were off! Off on Day 1 of our River Town Grand Adventure. Strolled by the Old Mississippi. Saw a barge up close and personal. Had a photo shoot by the World's Largest Watermelon slice. Hit up Blaine's for some snacks and a Spider-Man gift for that new DC baby on the way...

And ended the day with some love. Furry feline kitty cat love, who remembered them from last year, and apparently, decided that these two boys of ours are nothing less...than the Cat's Meow...
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And their grandpa and grandma... agree...