Random recall

As I stepped out onto our back deck, the sweet familiar scent wafted by. My iris friends had most certainly arrived for their annual spring visit. I followed the scent like I always do because I still marvel at these flowers as much as I did when I was a kid. How do they open from those buds into something so delicate? If you are a botanist and know the actual answer, don't tell me because we all need to keep a little magic in our lives.

Apparently some bees thought this patch needed some plain green mixed in

My great-grandmother had iris with variegated leaves in the beautiful gardens that lined her driveway. I am guessing she tended to her flowers with far less complaint than I manage to. Rhizomes were shared and made their way to my grandparents' garden where they were eventually divided. Some tubers were planted at my mother's, and then traveled to join my weeds. My landscaping (and I use that term loosely) does not have quite the same panache as the beds these iris inhabited before. I admit that as much as flowers fascinate me, I do not really like to garden. I want to have all of the flowers, but don't enjoy the heat, allergies and weed patrol.

My grandmother used to "let" me help her weed her garden. She made it look like something a seven year old should want to partake in. Gloves and tools? Sign me up! I know she often regretted her decision because I did not perform the task up to her standards. Was this story going somewhere? Why yes, I believe it was. As I inhaled the irises, I was reminded of the time my grandmother asked me what my favorite smelling flower was, as we were out working in the soil. Without needing time to think, I told her it was the iris. Her response was kind of an abrupt "Really? I didn't know they had any smell to them." I stood my ground, as I often did, despite her doubt.

These types of stories about conversations with my grandmother used to bother me, a sort of indication that we struggled to relate to one another, or argued about who was right. I really wanted to be "right" one day. Certainly the time would come for me to show her. These tales have lasted through the years, but have taken on much more of an endearing quality. They are just part of our history...our very rich history.

Honest random

The songs may have finally left my head, but shhhhhh...they could come back at any moment. In fact there is a mix tape clamoring to be written about - in due time my eighties friend. 

What has been going on, and how have I been keeping busy trying to ward off the "holy crap my daughter is graduating in less than six weeks" spiral of anxiety? Well, I did a little waiting room material reading...

Maybe the honesty about the herpes is easier to take than the "physically fit" request?

I went to pick up my son at college for summer break, and apparently arrived just in time, as this is what their sustenance was deteriorating to...

Enough with your identity crisis, Oreo...enough!

Here is one from an on the road scout...

So are they residential plumbers, or is that a mobile gastroenterologist unit? A porto-potty for butt-clenched drivers? Such possibility!

Happy Mother's Day!

There is no rhyme nor reason these days to what I manage to find time to do. Twenty-six posts in the thirty day month of April? Sure, no problem. A simple check in post during any of the first twelve days of May? And interrupt the clutter I have been creating in an attempt to get organized and decrease clutter? Absolutely not apparently. Luckily something important has come along to snap me back to my senses.

Happy Mother's Day!

Now I will admit that my quest for the annual photo to honor my mom opens a bit of a Pandora's box. I can never go into the photo land bin with any level of discipline and focus on the project at hand. I had to send one group text with a couple of photos crying to be shared, then a couple of others chimed in to be sent to another group. I also approach the task with what seem like reasonable expectations, visualizing the exact photo I want, but with no sense of where I saw it last. My haphazard searching just brings me to more photos I have to pay adequate attention to, daydreaming when necessary.

I was looking for a picnic scene with matching blue floral sundresses, but found the perfect substitution that still highlights our penchant for wearing coordinated outfits. I used to feel so special when we went to the fabric store as I had the rockstar mom who was going to make me a new outfit with whatever fabric I chose was gently guided towards. (My outstanding choice in footwear is once again on display as well. Please also take note of my stick pin accessory.)

If you find yourself baffled by what to do with your hands when posing for photos, might we suggest a stuffed animal to hold. Dogs are a nice choice. How are those gently cascading bangs falling into my right eye not driving me insane?!

Mom, you look younger now than whoever that woman is posing as you in the second picture! Can you imagine how many photos of ourselves we would have if selfies had been a thing back then?

Do we enjoy the exercise as much as the fashion and photo ops?