from the porches

wailing wall

In no way do I intend to offend anyone by referring to this stand-alone wall as the wailing wall.  I'm giving this wall that title for a different reason. 

As you may remember, my classroom and the adjoining tech lab got flooded several months ago and MaryAnne and I were placed in other buildings.

A couple of days after I moved to my new classroom,  maintenance leveled our old classroom building. . .except for this wall.  Every day as I enter through the back gate, I look at this wall; and for some time now the words wailing wall has entered my mind.

Then I thought about the handful of students over the years that have ended up wailing in my room.  Wailing as in crying...shoulder shaking sobbing because they didn't want to write. 

 "I don't know what to write about," they would say.

"I don't know how to do this," they would cry.

Some children would meet me for the first time with preconceived notions that I was mean because their brother or sister or mother or father had had me as their teacher in the past. 

 I told these handful of  children, "I'm strict.  I have a job to do.  You have a job to do.  There are NO other choices here."   And by the way, I told them that in a nice way and gave them chances to gain their confidence with writing by rewarding them for any tiny bit of progress they made as the weeks rolled by.

 
  
 
 In the end of every school year, this handful of children did indeed show progress and scored decently on the FCAT Writing Test.  In the end of every school year, I was proud that the wailers and criers did their job after I did mine.

In the very near future this wall will be dismantled from the underground wiring and torn down and all that will be left will be faint wisps of a memory of writing with Mrs. George.
 
 

he jabbed me in the jaw

Today while Susan, Mom, and I were at the Radiation Clinic in Gainesville, Susan and I laughed so hard we cried. 

First off, we had been sitting in this little, claustrophobic, oxygen-deprived  doctor's office for two whole hours waiting for Doctor L. to appear.  Finally, the door opened and a young, male doctor came in. He was obviously an intern or resident and not the doctor we were expecting.

 He wanted to examine my mother's mouth.  So he stuck his gloved hand in her right inside jaw and felt around a second or two; but he wasn't happy.  So he turned and picked up a tongue depresser. Then he asked Mom to open wide, which she gladly did.

"Ouch!" Mom blurted.  "You poked me with that stick!"

Young Dr. B. withdrew that stick and apologized; at which point, Susan and I looked at each other and started laughing.  We laughed and we laughed until  tears were rolling down our faces. We apologized to Dr. B. and told him we were slap-happy because we were oxygen deprived.

Finally, when Dr. L came in she told Mom she wanted to examine her mouth.  Mom said, "Okay, but that doctor jabbed me in the jaw with that stick," and she pointed her long, bony finger at Dr. B., who was cowering from a few feet away.

After that Dr. L stuck her gloved fingers in Mom's mouth and felt around.  Dear Mom.  She wouldn't quit with the lecture to Dr. B. and said,  "Now that's how you do this...gently... and you put that stick down now."  Well, of course Dr. B. dropped the tongue depresser instantly.

Meanwhile, Susan and I were stifling back our laughs and Dr. L. appeared confused.  I apologized to Dr. L and told her we were laughing at something Mom had said earlier.  Finally, the appointment was over and both doctors left the room.

Then Susan and I exploded with laughter.  Mom said,  "Well, I don't think it's funny.  I saw him coming at me with that wooden paddle thing and I thought he was going to be gentle, but he wasn't!"

Moral:  Laughter is good for the soul.

susan

Let me tell you about my sister, Susan.

After Sherry and I were married and had moved out of my mother and father's house and were living with our husbands, and while my brother, Steve, was in college, my mother was in the throes of empty nest syndrome.  So she decided to go college and become a teacher.

At the time, I was going to Austin Peay State University in Clarksville, Tennessee.  So Mom came to live with me and my first husband for a summer so she could begin a new life. . . a life of her own. . .a career of her own.. .teaching.

Now you must understand my dad, at this point. 

He was a Methodist minister; but what we referred to as a "coffee house minister" on the side. 

Every morning my father would rise early and be at the nearest small town coffee shop drinking his coffee and ministering to whoever would lend an ear.

So one day during that summer while my mom was in college, I got a phone call.  It was Daddy.  He said, "Let me speak to your mother."

"Okay," I replied.

Basically, the conversation went like this:  "Alice.  Do you want to finish college or adopt a baby?"

Mom said, "Well, let me think a moment...I want to adopt a baby."  There really is no choice when put that way.  Only the right choice. 
 
 Ta Dah!

Susan Elilzabeth Sanford became a part of our family. 

Of course, we all thought my parents were a little bit crazy adopting a child after many years of rearing three of their own; but it was their choice.

I loved that baby with the big brown eyes.  In fact, I helped come up with her name.  I bought Susan her first stuffed dog toy. . .Morgan, which Susan throughout the years rubbed the fur off it's body; and which Mom later had framed.

Now that sweet baby is grown, married to a wonderful man, Larry, and lives in Germany. 

But the wonderful part is that she is visiting me and Mom when we need her the most. 

Last night as I passed by Mom's room I caught a glimpse of Susan and Mom snuggled in the bed together.  I paused and thought, "How sweet." 

Then I thought, "I never even thought about crawling upon that bed and snuggling next to my mother."

Certainly, Susan and Mom's bond is a special bond formed in a different era than mine.

Thank you, Susan for helping out at this point in time. 

We love you!

that's not a mullet

 
  This afternoon while Mom was napping, Truett and my sister, Susan, and I took a drive over to the South end of the Ichetucknee River mainly to get Susan out of the house and into nature.  

Susan is visiting from Germany and is "sitting" Mom for a couple of weeks.  She's also going to connect with friends, relax, and enjoy Florida weather.  (Shhh!  I didn't tell her how hot it was already.  My car read 91 degrees when I left work today.)

 So while we were standing on the dock at the south end of the river, I looked down river and saw movement in the water. 

"Susan!" I cried.  "Look at the mullet jumping!" 

But as we watched, we realized that wasn't a mullet.  It was a snorkler.

So we watched as the swimmer came closer . . .and closer. . .and closer.

The swimmer rose to the surface and unloaded her wares.

The swimmer's name is Kathleen and she cleans up our rivers, especially the Ichetucknee.

Truett told Kathleen about all the treasures he found back in the 70's after all the tourists had gone home: watches, masks, snorkles, money, and even a set of false teeth.  He kept most things except for the false teeth, which he turned in to the park ranger.

Today Kathleen collected trash and treasure from the Ichetucknee.

Wow!  That's a treasure!

And so is that, Kathleen.  Thanks for helping to keep our waters clean.

I'm sorry, Susan.  I really wanted you to see the mullet jumping. . .or maybe the sturgeon.
 
 
 

 
 
 

 
 
 
 

rose garden

My flower garden is in and the roses are blooming. 

I've waited for months for the color to reappear in my flower garden.

 
 
 
  This is my new Teacup rose tree.  It's beautiful already.  I still find it hard to cut the roses to bring in for vases.  But I will . . . just not yet.  I love looking at them from the front porch.
 

sprinklers

I photographed this little bird bathing in the water sprinkler that is watering my flower garden.

We're not sure what the little blue bird is, but we'll be checking on it. 

This is a photograph of a very wet cardinal, who was also enjoying the fine spray of water.

Fluffing feathers. . .

I used to love to play in the sprinklers.
 
 

 
  
 

fuzzy fences

My life has been such a bustle lately that I've had virtually no opportunity to take photographs.  I have to take photographs.  I need to take photographs.  I MUST take photographs.

I jammed up my small Canon so I am left with the Nikon D80.  That's a good thing, really.  It's just that I am always in such a hurry to run my errands and get back home to check on Mom.  My mother says,  "Go.  I'll be fine."  But after two hours I start getting anxious and figidity.

So fuzzy fences is all I have to share with you.  The afternoon lighting yesterday was just perfect; however, the speed at which we were traveling back from swimming lessons with the grandchildren was just a tad too fast for a clear picture.

 Good things are happening these days:

First off, I finally got a haircut and most of the gray doesn't show anymore.  I took two photographs with me to a different hair stylist because my hair dresser just didn't have any openings; and I was having a hissy fit.  My hair style  ended up being a lot shorter than the photographs, but hey..at least my hair wasn't hanging in my eyes when I walked out of there.

The children have been kind to me at school about my hair cut.  I've had several boys and girls say,  "You look cute, Mrs. George."  Cute is way not in a list of describing words for me.  But I graciously took any compliment thrown my way.

Next, Susan arrives tomorrow night from Germany.  "Yea!  A reprieve!" I shout.  I have tons of things to do to settle up my retirement business.  You know..like what to do with the DROP money.  Change my insurance, etc.  Numbers things, and if you know me, I HATE numbers because that's math.  So with Susan here for two weeks, I won't have to rush so much to hurry home.

 
 
 And above all, it's finally Friday!  Even though I'll be cleaning house tomorrow and grocerying, and doing laundry, at least it will be on my time. 

So, have a good weekend everyone.

fortunate

Mom and I have enjoyed watching the Gray Catbird over the past couple of weeks. 

One afternoon we were sitting on the front porch and I stopped the conversation and said, "Wait, Mom.  I think I hear a kitten mewing."

Then we saw the Gray Catbird fly into the palm tree, and it's been eating at the birdfeeders since then.

**

Tonight we saw a Summer Tanager at the bird feeders.  It flew away before I could take a photograph; but I did record it in my Weather Journal.

I feel fortunate to witness God's splendor.

 

the inchworm

 
Sunday afternoon Truett and I took a walk at the wayside park at the south end of the Ichetucknee River.

We talked of things present, past, and future; and were encouraged.

Of course, I got side-tracked by the new fangled innertubes. 

They weren't the oversized black tractor tubes that we floated on thirty years ago. 

Black innertubes that rubbed our tender underarms raw.

These new innertubes looked like fun.

We listened to the rushing water; and I hoped to see water fowl, but didn't.

On the way out of the Wayside Park, I studied the tree at the top of the hill and I could almost hear my children's voices from twenty years ago calling, "Race you to the car!"

And then an amazing thing happened.

I saw an inchworm dangling in mid-air.  I tried to focus in on it, and did several times; but the thing kept swaying in the breeze. 

I focused on the inchworm many times, but not according to the next few photographs.

Here's Truett smoking an inchworm.

And now the inchworm is crawling up Truett's nose.  "Oh, my!"

"Get him off your eye!"  I screamed.

Actually, I tried to focus on the inchworm against Truett's blue shirt, but you know inchworms. 

They have a mind of their own and will not stand still.

Thanks for playing along, Truett.

 

stars for angela

We are very grateful for the Shands Home Health Care workers who have given their time and energy to help with Mom's recovery from chemotherapy.

First, there's Angela.

Angela has diligently given my mother a shower three times a week for two months.  Mom always describes in detail how Angela scrubbed her from her head to her toes and that the shower is the best part of recuperating.

After every shower Mom would rate Angela with stars, which she drew at the top of Angela's records.  Can you tell Mom was a school teacher?

Secondly, we have the Physical Therapist, Beth.

Uh, oh! 

Mom was not always pleased with what Beth wanted her to do; but Mom did the exercises anyway.  Of course, she grumbled the whole time.

One time Beth wanted Mom to walk down our front porch stairs and out to the gravely driveway.  Then she wanted Mom to walk up and down the driveway to practice her balance on rough services. 

 My mother's response?  "I'm not doing it!  I walk this big old house and that's enough walking in a day!"

 Beth also told Mom about a 90 year old woman who walked across America; and Mom's response?

"Well then, I call her a fool!"

 Mom exercising is a new thing for her.  In fact, my mother gets more exercise living with me than she ever did living by herself in her little cracker-box house. 

All the Shands Home Health Care workers are ending their duties with my mother.  Mom is really sad about Angela not giving her baths, but exclaims, "Well, thank goodness!" when told about Beth's time ending.

Now I am trying to get in touch with Columbia County Elder Care for that extra help Mom needs; or you know who will be scrubbing my mother from head to toe.  

I only hope if I give Mom showers, that she will give me stars in return. 

P.S. I understand Elder Care will provide meals as well, so my fingers are crossed.