My Grandmothers’ Irises

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In the front garden of our home, I have irises from both of my grandmothers.

My maternal grandmother, Naomi (“Mimi”) was an extremely strong woman and wife to a farmer/rancher. She was lovely and smart and generous and fiercely protective of her family.

My paternal grandmother Christine (“Tine”) was a nurse and a gardener. She was pretty and sweet and nurturing. She also had a great sense of humor and a contagious laugh.

When Mimi passed away, my mother dug up her iris bulbs, planted some in her own garden, and gave the rest to Tine, who then added the irises to her already beautiful garden full of roses of every color and type imaginable. A few years later, when Tine died, my mother dug up most of those bulbs, before she and my father sold the house, and gave them to me for my first house with my husband. When I moved from that house to our current house, a few years ago, I dug up most of the bulbs and planted them in our new front yard.

With all that digging and moving, they still take root and multiply every time they must settle into a new home. And they bloom majestically each spring. These iris blooms are a perennial reminder of my beautiful grandmothers, both gone now for over a decade. And although my own children never met these women, who were so special to me, in the irises I feel I have a piece of them here in my home and my heart that I can share and pass on.

The kids do so enjoy flowers and bright colors and hearing me tell about their great grandmothers.

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Love,
Twyla

Basketball Baby

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As our sweet daughter dribbles her way into spring soccer, I realize I never put a pretty lid or a bow on her basketball season, which ended last month.

The girl does love a good team sport.

Anyway, we all watched (parents, grandparents, uncle, big brother) while baby girl lived it up on the court!!!

Here’s a recap . . .

Love,
Twyla

Music: “Say Hey (I Love You),” Michael Franti & Spearhead

Our Son, The Carnivore

Ever since he’s been able to eat solid food, he’s been crazy about meat. (Actually, it started pre-teeth with that yucky pureed stuff.) Not too long ago, we were at the dinner table, and he said, “Pass the chicken.” Someone said, “It’s not chicken, it’s pork.” And he said, “It doesn’t matter, just pass it!”

Pretty much everything goes for him when it comes to meat: bacon, sausage, ham, meatballs (oh, he loves meatballs), “Chicken Bones” (also known as drumsticks), chicken strips, steak of all kinds.

And fish . . .

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He loves all kinds of shellfish, too. He really cleans up on the shellfish. (And he’s very careful not to kiss me afterward, since he knows I’m very allergic. Blown kisses only until teeth are brushed.)

But his favorite lately has been ribs, we call them “Rib Bones” . . .

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This was kind of a “Rib Bone” feeding frenzy. People in the restaurant were starting to stare. Embarrassing.

Our son does eat fruit too, but if someone told him he had to become a vegetarian, I believe he would just dry up and disintegrate.

His sister really likes vegetables and “lettuce salad.” Hallelujah.

Love,
Twyla

My Birthday Gifts

For me, today is the beginning of the new year. My own private new year’s day. This year feels different. Special.

Here I am with my 3 treasured gifts . . .
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Sorry, I’ve been out of touch for a little while. I had some things to do. Truth be told, I’m just really behind. I’m only now slowly unwinding my withered, nerve-wracked, quivering body from the fetal position and beginning the process of recovering from all the holiday preparations and implementations: cooking, eating, madness, eating, stress, craziness, eating, mass confusion, and oh yeah more eating. But I’m back now. Kinda. I think. And I have a few new ventures brewing. Nothing earth-shaking, just typical resolution stuff, diet, exercise, books to read, stuff to write, 500 pounds to lose, etc.

I’ll keep you posted.

Back to my day. It is still young, but it’s off to an incredible start. So far my parents called to sing to me first thing this morning, as they do every year. This never fails to send me directly to a beautiful crib memory (real or imagined) of gazing upward into the adoring faces of a hopeful young couple thrilled with their first baby. My husband voluntarily accompanied me to church (thank you, honey). I’ve received some wonderful, generous, thoughtful presents. And my in-laws had us all over for brunch this morning.

My birthday brunch:

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Today is Oprah’s birthday too, I think.

I’m much younger.

This just might be the best birthday yet! Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday dear . . .

Love,
Twyla

A Tree Ballet

I took these photos with my iPhone camera this past Friday late morning in my neighborhood park.  I was supposed to be exercising, but I stopped for a closer look.

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As I look back at these pictures, the trees in their early winter state remind me of ballerinas arching, lifting, twirling, pointing, stretching. The dance is formal and majestic. The dancers’ movements, torsos and limbs, are powerful, controlled, yet graceful. You can’t see all that when they’re wearing their leaves.

Look, there are a couple of large birds mixed in with the mistletoe in that treetop.  I wasn’t sure . . . are those crows? I wish I could see the performance from up there.

Love,
Twyla