remember

This is probably geared more to the woman in the house but a few of you guys might identify, too.

Spring break is over and the kiddies are back in school. Do you remember how much you looked forward to spring break when you were a kid? I bet you didn't realize how much your mother was looking forward to it being over.

The old joke goes: A Mom was asked what would be the first thing she'd do after the kids went back to school, and she answered, "Take a bath with the door open."

When my children were small, the one thing I wanted more than anything else in the world was to be able to go to the bathroom and shut the door and not have anybody bother me. For just two minutes.

But invariably, the phone would ring, and while struggling to get myself together and reach the receiver the youngest would answer and say "hello" followed immediately with "bye-bye" and then a hang up. And back then we didn't have last number redial, so unless they called again, I had no clue who it was or what they wanted.

Also it seemed the only time one of the darlings ever broke a glass or a lamp (or an arm) was when the bathroom door was shut.

Oh, ok, it wasn't always that bad. Sometimes they just stood outside the door and had a conversation with me. They couldn't see me so they had to make sure I was really still there. And because for all they knew I was in an adjoining State, or on the moon, they had to compensate with a voice level somewhere around 80db.

And then of course they never had to "go" until I shut the door and two nanoseconds later there was the frantic knocking and their shrill little voice proclaiming NO I CAN'T HOLD IT I HAVE TO GO NOW.

The worst, of course, was when I KNEW they were up and about and had just settled myself on the throne and everything went suddenly totally horribly quiet.

These days I don't have any of those problems, because my children are way beyond that juvenile description.

No, these days if I go to the john and close the door, there are two little paws that creep underneath, reaching, reaching, reaching, batting the air. And if that doesn't persuade me to come out, then the door begins to move back and forth as KTT shoves against it, over and over and over, striving to get in.

I tried not closing the door, but then he joins me, and goes in and out and around my feet until I am ready to scream.

Bathroom privacy. It's a lost cause. Even with no kids in the house.

beyond my ken

Have cut the grass six times already this year. Despite the snow and wind and rain and hail and everything else Nature has thrown our way since October, a bumper crop of clover rises steadily, stubbornly, in the back yard. But dismay over new growth gave way to wonder this morning, as I accompanied puppy out for reveille. Stood watching the clouds that alternated across the moon, could literally count the stars remaining in the predawn blackness, and suddenly saw my own personal Easter bunny, placidly crunching purple blooms. No fox, no eagle, no predator to disturb the morning calm, just puppy, bunny, and me. For reasons way above my pay grade, life goes on. In all its springtime glory. And for that I am truly thankful.

woohoo!!

It never fails to amaze me that while the March Madness includes both men's and women's basketball teams 98% of the news coverage focuses on the guys. One channel this morning barely mentioned the Lady Bears latest win, and then hotfooted it right into the pros. Four times as much coverage for the guys. Short shrift for the gals.

Oh, well, what else is new. In the animal kingdom the males of the species have the most colorful plumage, the most luxurious coats, and by the way the loudest voices. Hmmmm. They're also the ones that most often get bagged. Insert your own conclusion at this point.

Anyhow, woohoo to the gals - - no matter what team they play for. Win or lose, they brighten our lives - - however briefly the media chooses to focus on them.

mea culpable

The shamrocks and Patty green have been relegated back to the decorator closet for another year. The living area decorations now are shades of pink, yellow, blue, and mauve. Crosses collected through the years hang in the front windows. A happy bunny door wreath welcomes all to our abode. The dining room tablecloth is a pastel egg design. Easter lilies shout the glad tidings from strategically placed vases. And cute little baskets of fake eggs adorn the stairs.

Well, at least it was that way when I went to bed last night. This morning was quite a different story. As I made my way from the kitchen with cuppa in hand, I noticed an egg peeping from underneath the coffee table. I didn't remember dropping one during the decorative process, but lack of memory is not an unusual occurrence around here these days, so I simply picked it up and headed for the stairs to put it back where it belongs.

The Easter baskets were empty.

You see, the little paper eggs have ribbon bows attached at one end, because they were originally designed to hang on an Easter tree. But this year there will be no grandchildren to hunt beneath the bushes, trample the hyacinth and daffodil, run squealing from place to place, cry when someone else finds more than they do, stuff their mouth with chocolate, and cry from resulting tummy aches. And so I didn't do a tree, choosing instead to place the little eggs in baskets.

I had carefully turned the eggs so the bows were down and out of sight. But the best laid plans and all that. Sometime during the night KTT had removed the eggs from their beds of cello-straw, either by mouth and bow, or paw scoop and swat. It looked like he had played soccer with them. All over the house.

The only egg he didn't move was the red one decorated with white carnations from Peking, China. And then probably only because that one is ceramic and too heavy, with no conveniently attached ribbon.

Why, you ask, didn't I hear the noise he must have made? Huge storms last night. Way too much lightning and thunder and driving rain and hail.

Perhaps that's the reason; he was just compensating his fear with activity. I've been known to do that, too; when I'm the most stressed I either bake or move the great room furniture.

Or maybe he was just being a cat, and doing what cats do.

But whatever his reason, it's really my own fault. I should have known better than to tempt him with such an easy mark.

I have not yet found all the eggs, but the ones I did find are back in the baskets. And the baskets are now grouped on the dining table instead of the stairs.

Not that the table top can't be reached with a single effortless bound from the floor, or a series of gravity-defying leaps from sofa back to buffet to table. But if he gets the eggs again, it won't be because they're just sitting there waiting for him, he'll have to work for the pleasure.

ah-h-h-h-choo

Spring arrived and before the evening was over the snow started falling. Again. Waiting for puppy to complete his normal rounds on Sunday morning, it occurred to me that the reason I was sniffling and sneezing is because I'm allergic to more than just the spring pollen. I'm also allergic to snow.

Funny how I never used to equate north central Texas with snow. Ice, yes, and usually at least once every year, but snow? Not so much. Until this winter. The last time I saw this much white stuff in a single season was when we lived in Spokane, Washington. And we expected it up there. Heck, even the winter I spent in the DC area we didn't get this much.

Oh, it's beautiful, I'll grant you that, but only if I don't have to be out in it. Or wait by the phone until hubby is safely at work and sends a TM to let me know.

Frankly, I'm so over the whole winter thing. Especially when it happens AFTER March 21.

But I am reminded that when I first moved to Texas all these many eons ago a Native told me, "Don't put chyer winter clothes away 'til after Easter. No matter when that is!"

spring

Spring, by the calendar, may be still a few days away yet, but it has already sprung down here in Suthren Country. How do I know?

Not because the pear trees for miles around are in riotous bloom, although they are.

Not because the neighborhood kids jostle and play in the early morning daylight as they wait for the school bus, although they do.

Not because the birds on the back patio are more raucous than ever as they fight for kibble 'n bits, even if it's true.

And not just because the mud puddle by the back door will be there for at least another month before the ubiquitous summer drought sets in. (I've already given up hope of keeping the carpet clean, because no matter how many throw rugs and towels I put down, puppy negotiates around each and steps only where his paw prints will show the most.)

But because of eyes that are matted shut each morning, and the profusion of used wadded up and discarded tissues in every trash can in the house.

Into each life some pollen must fall.

what we have lost

The approach of another birthday (thank you, God) started me thinking about the changes I have seen in my lifetime. And while I haven't been on the earth all that long, relatively speaking, some of them have been pretty awesome. Some are actually awe-inspiring. Others, not so much.

I have always lived in a home with electricity, but not always a telephone, or central heat, or indoor plumbing (now THERE's something to be grateful for, especially on a below-freezing winter night).

When my ancestors first went from sea to shining sea it took five months; the first time I drove from Carolina to California it took five days; now it takes five hours (not including the time spent circling the airport waiting for a landing slot and circling the parking lot for a spot for your car and standing in line to get through security).

Stockings for women are no longer considered required attire for work (except at DISD).

Women don't wear hats to church (Mom's hats and matching gloves in every imaginable color are stored in a box in the bottom of the closet, too bad there's not a genealogical society that would want them).

Men don't wear pocket handkerchiefs in their Sunday suit coats.

Pants still have belt loops but 99% of the time there's no belt in them (my Dad is rolling over in his grave about that one),

Thank you notes are still for sale but when's the last time you received one, or sent one? (This is excluding my granddaughter who ALWAYS sends one, Lord love her.)

Phone calls are out, forget writing letters, now it's all about email and blogs and twitter and facebook.

Photos are stored in cyber space or on removable drives instead of pasted in albums.

Books are online instead of on shelves.

I used to know the name of every family on our block; these days I know the name of only four out of sixteen (not because I don't care but because they move in and out so quickly I can't keep up).

Child abuse and spousal abuse have become the norm rather than the exception.

Welfare used to be a thing to be avoided at all costs; men would dig ditches and women would take in laundry, anything to avoid being "on the dole."

Teachers spend more time preparing their lunch than their lesson plans and worry more about a paycheck and tenure than learning (and then we wonder why our students are so woefully uneducated at graduation).

It used to be that only the top players got a trophy; these days everybody on the team gets one.

Preachers don't actually preach (too afraid of saying something that's not politically correct and perhaps offending a listener).

And when's the last time you actually trusted a politician to have your best interests at heart?

People not only spit on returning soldiers (a la Vietnam era), now they also scream curses and wave protest signs at their funerals.

I guess the only thing that hasn't changed is the worth of friendship. And I am so very grateful for yours.