Oh what a delightful contribution this morning, Pidge. Your quotes from Emerson were top drawer, but the natives at the party this week want Bombeck and Chocolate. I'm in that mood too. Too many weeks of fighting droughths and heat I think and we're in mental rebellion. I don't, nor never shall (double negative?) understand the washer/sock phenomenon. Both hubby and I agreed ten years ago to buy only one style sock for everyday wear. They're all matches now except our few pair of dress socks. The odd sock still pops up without a mate, but if we wait long enough there'll be another one. We call this lonely sock our emergency sock. LOL. I noticed my weight slowly climbing up the last month or so and nipped that one in the bud pronto before it became an issue. It's a lot easier to lose ten than thirty. When the weather gets a little cooler I think most humans go into a state of preparing for hibernation. Never mind we don't hibernate, rofl, perhaps it's built into our prehistoric mitochondrial dna. I went looking for chocolate chips last night when marketing and was sticker shocked. The price has at least doubled since I last stocked up on them three years ago. I had at least twelve pounds of them in my freezer then.

I didn't even know anyone pronounced bayou any other way but with a short a. I kept playing it through my mind how else it could be said. I guess I figure the correct way to pronounce any particular thing is how the natives of that place/feature do. What shot immediately to mind was the city of Louisville, Kentucky. I used to live and work there, or right outside of it. Of course only the really newbie would ever articulate the "S". Most people know better than that unless they are from out of the country. But, if you listen to a native talk about his/her city it comes out something like Loo-uh-vul. I love to hear newscasters grasping to get our local pronunciations on Indian names like Scioto. It's not pronounced Sky-oh-toe, but sigh-Oh-tah here. Rio Grande college isn't pronounced like in the Spanish, but they say Rye-oh-grand. Norwich is pronounced like Nor-wick. My English SIL, I've got him almost paranoid, but he says we can't help it if we don't know how to pronounce things. LOL. Then again they murder French names. We were traveling in England once, and passed a Village named Beauchamps. I asks him how he would pronounce it, and he says "Beecham". argh. LOL

Moving isn't in the top ten list of life's biggest stressors for nuttin! Sometimes, just acknowledging that I'm in overload and stressed out gives me just enough umph to get through it. And when I have a gazillion tasks and things swimming in my head due to such stressors in life, reminding myself that it all going smoothly is an absolute insane thought, helps me get through it too. It's like a roller coaster ride isn't it? Fast, slow, scary and exciting all at once. The cars will eventually stop on those tracks. Allow yourself a lot of plan B's, so to speak. When packing, for instance, sure you had a box set aside for extra sheets and blankets and now you have wasted ten minutes searching for that box. Throw them in a hefty bag and deal with them after you move. And remember, bring down your (prior to moving in) remodeling goals down a notch or two. You can always continue and complete them after you move in. I know, it's easy for me to say. Just in my work I see the panic in their eyes when I ask: "And do you want us to paint that walk in closet too?" You should see some of the faces of panic we see! I've never met a person yet to doesn't get freaked out over picking up EVERYTHING they own, sorting it, packing it and moving it. I'm so excited for you! Keep on updating us. The fast, slow, scary and exciting parts of your ride. Pics, pics, more pics please! ~di

That quote personifies my Mama, and I like it.......a lot. She was always too humble, and I believe it wasn't an affect. She had interests of which I was not even aware for many years. Shortly before her death, I found little pieces of yo yo quilt she had started. Tucked in her books are poems she had written. She denied being a 'gardener' but left a legacy of gardens behind her around the world. She came across as a constant. She knew how to do everything the old way, because her grandmother taught her, but following my father to a new home, often in a totally strange place and culture, she just accepted it instead of trying to change it, because that's just the way it was. She drove a huge fire engine red station wagon through the busy streets of Tokyo, packed picnic lunches to eat under the cork trees in Spain. Ventured forth into farm markets in France with little more than a basket and good intentions. I can't remember one morning of my life I ever saw her awake with anything but a smile, and after her coffee a vengeance to greet the day. Her life was filled with unbelievable tragedy. She lost a brother when he walked into the path of a locomotive engine, an uncle the very same way, a grandmother who fell over an eighty foot cliff and lived for three days, a brother who saved another child but was swept five miles downstream for his effort. But, she carried them in her heart for safekeeping, and brought their memories out with love and not sorrow. She delighted in the simplest of things, like a perfect pie, a bird at the feeder, or a cat in her lap. She looked at her modest house until practically the day she died, and said "isn't it beautiful?" Ecclectic wasn't the word for it . In it she had pieces of a life well lived tucked into ever nook and cranny, most of which bore no relation to the other, save it was a piece of her life. As I sort through her estate, the memories couldn't be held in an encyclopaedia. We called her mother confessor, because no matter what was wrong, she told us to hang in there, it would be "alright", and said it with such conviction we believed her. And because of that faith in her word, it came to pass. I think most of all, she found happiness in small things, and god knows we all have plenty of small things in our life. Finding happiness in those makes us rich.