BABY STEPS

A whole week come and gone since my last message, as I just paced it gently out in baby steps; Prufrock's coffeespoons measure my days, as the sunlight beckons and the little one urges, "Outtttt!" And so we go.



We climb up and into the GREEN, the splendor of the gold and the wave of the branches and the blossoms and so much lush foliage that the whole yard seems smaller each viewing, as if the plants have just crept their way toward us in the cool of the night, and will be curling tentative fingers of vine round the doors and shutters at any moment.



The honeysuckle is so prevalent and so overborne with yellow blooms that the entire driveway is carpeted in gold shag---something not seen since the Seventies, but still reminiscent of rooms fraught with plaid and macrame. I've been accustomed to the winding tendrils which drape trees and shrubs in the South with garlands like sequined kudzu, taking over buildings and abandoned machinery and fenceposts alike.



But the honeysuckle in this yard---there are whole great TREES of it, round cushiony umbrellas full-to-bending from the weight. They're everywhere, and I'm so accustomed to such verdance in the South, I feel a pang at having to lop a few branches to get into the arbor, to let sun into the compost corner, to bring at least some dapple to the hostas in their deep shade. I carved out a frame around the big old bell in the far backyard, letting the honeysuckle and Rose of Sharon drape it and let its fading who-in-the-world-thought-spraying-this-with-gold-paint-was-a-good-idea? out into the day.



I've brought in great sheaves of the long limber limbs, cramming vases and tickling the chandelier in the low-ceilinged downstairs rooms. I've stood in the sunshine, contemplating the shape and the curve of one bloom, a tiny funnel with its micro-drop of joy secret in the bottom. I hold one to my tongue, and it still tastes of childhood and hot days running in the grass and a cold drink from the flowin' well.



We point out the violets, themselves a bright carpet out in the Fairy Dell, grown magically over the years until it reaches across the lawn in some places. The twelve small clumps of ivy planted in dots down the fenceline have spread and crept slowly out across as well, and it covers a twenty-foot-wide swath all the way from garage to back gate, as well as having snuck through the fence to make quite a nice shade-bed in the neighbors' side garden.



And the dandelion flowers, yellow puffs of punctuation all amongst the purple and green, are a nice contrast, and quite an abundant supply of perfect-sized flowers for grabbing with tiny hands, to be sniffed and clutched warm til they're melty clumps dropped on the way to something more enticing down the path.



There's a lot of quick in the days, with running after a little one---and running after it is---she is just learning the word "Stop," and has to be chased down and grabbed once we walk through the gate to the sidewalk. The pace takes us from arrival to go-home in minutes, it seems, with a cramful life in between.And there's been a lot of healing, as well.



On the day she was born almost two years ago, I limped into the hospital leaning on one of those aluminum canes with the four little feet, and clutching Chris' arm with the other hand, as I and my "bad knee" painfully made my way back to our first meeting with our new Baby Girl. And now, I sprint pretty good for a six-time Grandma, and am thankful for each and every step between the THEN and the NOW, and for all the painless running and walking that we do every day.



I've been improving every day, and am almost past the interminable cough, which interrupted all the fun and meals and conversation with THREE sets of guests in the last month. When they finally figured out it was my new BP pill that was the culprit, I'd already hacked and hee-hawed my way through a visit from the GA clan, with teaparties and parades and all sorts of fun, and our new friends who came at end of April. I'd been looking so forward to their visit, and had "worked toward" it for months, and then the entire visit was a constant soundtrack of my wheezes and coughs and having to leave the table to flee to the Ladies' Room and compose myself. I want a do-over, RIGHT NOW!!



And I'm probably persona non grata in about six nice restaurants, as well.

And though I read the "side effects" on the brochure, I think seeing "heart palpitations" and "blurred vision" sorta blocked out anything so seemingly insignificant as "hacking cough." I will say, though I do not soapbox readily, this IS a quite possible, quite harrowing effect, and I would urge anyone with similar unusual coughing, coupled with BP meds, to ask if they might be the cause.



And then DS#1 drove up and surprised me on Mothers' Day, and ditto the noise and interruption, as we talked and and did a lot of cooking of old family recipes. He requested that we just "get in the kitchen like we used to," and we made my Mother's red gravy, Aunt Helen's Asparagus Casserole, Daddy's special garlic salad, as he wrote down all the steps as we went.



So it's been quite a Spring---I was WAY washed out for a while, but this sunshine and all the energy of a little live-wire and good wishes and prayers of friends and family have brought me back out into the days again. I'm sorry I just left the site to languish, but I had not two thoughts to rub together for a while there, and when I run out of words---that's a scary feeling.

Thank you for your patience and good wishes,



rachel