I have always admired the symmetry of two tall green plants flanking the doorways of homes.  Some are more grand than others, but to me they all lend a sort of stateliness no matter what their size.  That is what I was attempting to create when I bought two Japanese Pencil Hollies for the windows on either side of our front door.  I’m sure they would have looked more formal in some type of urn or pedestal planter.  But I love Paloma here and thought it just might fit.  Now she resembles more of a quetzal but she makes me happy nonetheless.  If she could talk I think she’d say she sees lots of comings and goings:  big wolves trampling in and out, gatos malos (bad cats) trying to escape for a bit of adventure, a little girl with curly hair stripping off her clothes before she quite makes it all the way through the door, a mother hauling in groceries every day before going to work and a father hauling out recycling every day after he has worked.  But they are a happy bunch.  Our house is full of all sort of wolves, original art, family pictures, seashells, and our little girl’s toys.  Our home is our refuge and has on many occasions been called eclectic.  I have always supposed that was a polite term for unusual.  I have never fit into any mold and neither has my husband.  I think that’s why we’re so perfect for each other.  The French fashion designer Paloma Picasso once said, “I don’t have anything to prove anymore.  I can relax.”  For years I felt the need to prove myself.  By the grace of God, and with my husband’s help, I do not feel that way anymore.  It is incredibly freeing — and that sums up our dove’s tale.

I did not even get her name.  I was in the grocery store which, despite my best efforts, I seem to find myself in at least once daily.  My little family eats like a Biblical plague of locusts.  Seriously, it is not normal.  Anyway, I was on my way out when I discovered this woman sitting on a bench waiting for whomever she was with to finish shopping.  I stopped in my tracts because my little one has trained me to notice all things pink.  And here was this woman, wearing brown scrubs trimmed in pink, with pink and white nails, a delicate hint of pink eye shadow underneath her brows, and rocking varying shades of light and dark pink in her close cut hair.  Moreover, there was a radiance about her which I found captivating.  I could not help but ask for her picture and explained that my little girl, who was in school, would flip when she saw her.  I told the Pink Lady of my little one’s love for all things pink.  Graciously, and without hesitation, she obliged.  People often talk about auras.  I suspect she would have forced a psychic to squint.  The Hollywood actress and humanitarian Audrey Hepburn once said, “Pink isn’t just a color, it’s an attitude!”  If I had to describe it I would say it was happy, sassy, and kind.  And now I have proof, because today I discovered a pink lady.

There are few things I enjoy more than strolling through a nursery; a plant nursery that is.  Even when I had a condo I still could plant in containers on my balcony.  Since I’ve been blessed with a house planting in the ground (and in much bigger containers) has been a real thrill.  Sometimes I get it right and sometimes I fail abysmally.  Even when I carefully look at the placement and amount of sun it is not a guarantee.  I dislike yanking up live flowers for the next season and I try to invest in plants that are year round.  Once a year this particular nursery has a 20% off sale and I wanted to hit it for the addition of some “permanent” plants.  Between a couple of hours spent running around at the park, the heat, and the sun my little one crashed right on the flower cart.  The sweet cashier put a piece of cardboard under her head so she’d have something smooth to rest on instead of the hard grooves in the metal cart.  Then she moved her in front of a giant fan that was in the shade.  Texas in September is hot y’all.  I thanked her for her thoughtfulness and she said she remembered what it was like when her kids were little.  I have always felt the same as American actress Rebecca Romijn who said:

“I was never a girl who dreamed about what her wedding day would be like, but I’ve always dreamed about decorating my baby’s nursery.”

Having an only child who is now almost five I never thought I would be able to say this again:  my baby fell asleep in the nursery. ❤️

Drawing straws is a selection method used by a group to choose one member who must perform a task no one else will volunteer for.  In our house it’s more like rock, paper, scissors.  For instance, who has to let the wolfies out in the middle of the night?  Burk.  But who has to disarm the house?  Me.  Who loads the dishes into the dishwasher?  Burk.  Who cooks the meals?  Me.  Who mostly takes out the trash?  Burk.  Who has to pick up the disgusting hair ball the cat just cast up?  Me.  Always me.  Who feeds the cats?  Maris.  Who sets the table?  Maris.  As she gets older she is taking on more responsibility, some with relish and some with a soupçon of sassy.  The later is NOT tolerated.  When I was a kid my mother had a sign in the kitchen that read, “If Mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy.”  Truer, more prophetic words were never spoken.  I think my two beloveds are JUST now starting to figure that out.  I wish I still had that sign.  Retired United States Navy admiral Michael Mullen is quoted as having said, “Don’t try to run your life through a single straw.  Someone, some event, will cut it off.”  I am thankful I have not tried to run my life through a single straw.  I was happy with myself before I ever got married.  I have always had my passion for animals, my love of music, my interest in history, my enjoyment in writing, and my faith in Christ.  All of the aforementioned have helped me deal with the deaths of my parents.  I still feel alone; I still feel sad, but I am thankful I have my husband and my child now to call family.  I have my four-legged babies, too.  I may like organizing things, but it sure is nice to have a little help.  As for who gets to clean up the pile of poop on the floor?  I’m all for drawing straws.

I started singing solos in church when I was about four and music has always been an integral part of my life.  The German monk and composer Martin Luther once said:

“Next to the Word of God, the noble art of music is the greatest treasure in the world.”

Now my little one has just discovered that all the tunes I’ve played for her in the car the past couple of years are on her iPad thanks to family sharing.  They are an eclectic conglomeration of songs I love.  She used to say, “Mama, play Lubby Dubby” for the band Loverboy’s greatest hits.  She’s heard my favorite girl band Heart as well as “hair band” songs like Guns N’ Roses’ “Sweet Child O’ Mine” and FireHouse’s “Love of a Lifetime.”  I’ve heard her trying to get the words down to John Legend’s “All of Me” and in this picture my Marian child was listening to “Let It Be.”  What I had not counted on was her uncovering songs like Ted Nugent’s “Cat Scratch Fever” and 50 Cent’s “Candy Shop.”  Absolutely horrified, I told her the first was about naughty kitties that liked to scratch the sofa.  The second she just took at face value.  So now I will be reviewing her playlist before I have anymore uncomfortable, creative explaining to do.  I want her to know “The Rose” and I want her to hear my favorite singers:  Bette Midler, Julie Andrews, and Linda Ronstadt.  I want her to learn my favorite musical songs like, “Summertime”, “Edelweiss”, and yes, ABBA’s top hits.  I especially want her to know the legendary Nat “King” Cole.  She loves all my favorites, from Journey songs to Latin Gregorian “church music.”  Almost more than anything, I want my little one to have a lifelong pursuit of the greatest treasure in the world.