Grace Providence

Grace Providence Church overlooks the Mobjack Bay, where the North and East rivers converge.

Click here for a 2010 post about this quaint church and the lovely lot on which it lives.

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The winter weather they were calling for arrived yesterday.  We saw rain, sleet and snow.  School was cancelled, and I was dismissed from work at 11:00.  It only took me two hours to drive home.  Son managed to work his car into a ditch in front of the Gwynn's Island bridge.  The story behind that is better left untold for now, mostly because I'm trying to forget it ever happened I need to go to sleep soon.  He's fine, nobody was hurt.

The End.

Other than that it was just another day in paradise around here.

Serenity now.

Snow

Once upon a time in a week otherwise known as Way Too Overwhelming, Mother Nature decided to give us a snow storm.  And before this story advances any further, on behalf of my car with over 175,000 miles and my cardiovascular system with borderline high blood pressure, I'd like to take a moment to thank Mother Nature from the bottom of my heart for the gift of a few days of NO DRIVING!!! rest.

It all began Tuesday night, a night that was supposed to be spent at King and Queen High School watching a basketball game after a day of work and then physical therapy for my aching back.  Instead?

Game cancelled.  No need to drive anywhere. Instead I worked on the federal financial aid forms that are due for my son's college experience.  A trip to the dentist might have been an easier task to complete but would have required driving. Anyway, I got that hideous tedious task completed early.

The next morning I awoke to the glorious gift of no work, no school, college financial aid forms complete and no place to be, nowhere to go.

This boathouse was built by my father in the 1970s. That discolored section along the bottom length marks the high tide from various nor'easters, tropical storms and hurricanes over the years. During a good storm, you'd have to wade in knee-deep water to get onto the dock.  If you're asking why you'd ever need to do that, you're not the only one, it's to save something that might be floating away, such as a boat. (For example.)

(Notice the footprints in the slush in the foreground.)

Back when herons were called pterodactyls I was a kid, the creek froze over often.  We could walk directly across here (aka Miller's Cove of Queens Creek) without any fear of falling through.

.

Those footprints are from Son and Daughter. It's extremely rare that the creek 
freezes over these days. They were hoping to kill me with worry that they'd fall through the ice
for some good slipping and sliding but instead realized that even at low tide the ice wasn't strong enough.

So they shifted their Let's Kill Mother With Worry activities to the John Deere gator, which they used to pull their sled.  No teenagers were harmed during their motorized sledding activities.
Their mother's cardiovascular system also seems to have survived, just barely.

Taken from my dock

Taken from my back deck 

Mother Nature's gift keeps on giving, because school and lots of things that would otherwise require driving long distances are also on hold today.

And for this I am eternally grateful.


The End.

Locklies Creek

These were taken on Saturday from Merroir, where I went earlier in the day to pretend like there wasn't going to be a group of teenagers descending on my house that night.

It worked temporarily, the pretending.

But descend they ultimately did.

The teens had fun, I got no sleep, but thankfully it's all behind me. We all survived.

Now we enter my least favorite time of year--the days of waking up in darkness, dragging into the kitchen to make coffee in the darkness, driving to work in darkness, leaving work in darkness, driving home in darkness. Dark, dark, dark. It's not my thing.

Anyway, the week ahead is filled with excitement, including the gubernatorial election, the regional cross country meet and my half marathon--which should be very interesting since I've done next to nothing to prepare for it.

Hope all is well in your world.

Crickets

Here are a few more shots from last week's outing to Bavon and New Point.

Last night the Mathews High School cross country teams won their last regular meet of the season, with many runners setting new records.  Justin Adams, in Daughter's class, set a new course record.  Emma Hudgins, my neighbor's granddaughter who is a JV runner, also ran a tremendous race. The girls won in spite of many serious injuries.  Daughter shaved some more time off her personal best. It was a very exciting evening to be a cross country parent.

In other excitement that is not so welcome, Son's car has been in the shop since last week.  My car needs new tires.  Work is busier than usual, and I'm juggling incoming requests and Major Life Deadlines with my teenagers that cause exchanges like this:

Son:  "Have you ordered my cap and gown?"
Me:  (crickets) "Have I seen the paperwork?"
Son:  (crickets) (He doesn't understand the word "paperwork" because his world is paperless.)
Me:  "What do I need to do?"
Son: (crickets)
Me:  "I can't do anything if I don't know what to do."
Son:  (Debates using my last remark in his nomination for Most Profound Mother of the Year award, but then realizes there may be paperwork involved, plus deadlines for nominations, etc.)

Or then there's this:

Son:  "Hey, you know the week after graduation?"
Me:  (crickets) (Too far in advance and I'm in denial graduation exists.  Perhaps explains no cap and gown ordering, whether there was paperwork or not.)
Son:  "Well, a bunch of us want to get a beach house down in Nags Head."
Me:  (Heart pounding out of my chest, blood vessels getting ready to explode all over the place but I remain outwardly nonchalant) "Oh. Hmm. Who all would be going?"
Son:  "This one and that one.  And the other one.  And more."
Me, picturing House Party to end all house parties:  "You know teens cannot rent houses."
Son:  "There would be an adult chaperone."
Me, stifling laughter and hysterics. Also blinking back tears: "Does this adult chaperone have a name?"
Son:  "Yeah, I think it's between a couple of people right now."
Me, wondering how quickly I can obtain a passport and flee the country:  "OK, well, we'll talk about this some more. Later. Much."

Since this is not the "How to Survive Parenthood" blog, I'll cut this post off here. Even though I could go on and on.

And on.

Don't get me started on the college application due next week.

Serenity now.

Click here for the sound of crickets,  which I choose to focus on in all of these conversations. For the sake of sanity.

Holly Ball

My daughter and her date.
Yes, she's taller.
Bless his heart.

Saturday was a busy day if you were a parent of teens in Mathews County. I happen to be the parent of two teens, so I was doubly stressed busy.

First there was the Christmas parade. I'll show those pictures later in the week.

Then there was the Holly Ball, which is a formal high school dance that wasn't invented when I went to Mathews High School back in the late '70s and early '80s.

Among other things that weren't invented yet were computers, cell phones, I-things, internet, fruit roll ups, reality TV shows, cable TV, and indoor plumbing electricity.

After all the requisite fuss and ado to prepare for this outing, Son took off in one direction to pick up his date (who is from Essex), and Daughter and I went to a friend's pre-dance gathering.

With the exception of the first girl on the left, these young ladies
have been together since preschool, which was only yesterday. 
Now look at them.  (Sniff.)

They're growing up too so fast.

Did I mention my daughter had a DATE? 
(He is adorable and very nice. He texted her several times
the day after the dance to let her know 
he had a good time.  Bless his heart.)

I still cannot believe this is happening.
Young adults emerging right before
 my bloodshot  eyes.

After sending Daughter off with her date to the dance, I scurried home to meet Son, his date, and another couple who was with them.

Son's date was gorgeous.  And all smiles.

O.M.G.  
I know I'm the mother and more than 
slightly biased, but are these two beautiful or what?

After they left for the dance, I hung out with two other mothers who successfully distracted me from all the worrying and fretting I would have done if I were home alone.

I am thrilled to announce that we all survived the 2012 Mathews High School Holly Ball.

Amen.

Public Landing

These were taken from Town Point Landing, just below the Court House on the East River.

Unrelated to that, the Mathews JV girls are now 4-0 with their win over Lancaster Thursday night.

Unrelated to that, Saturday night both of my babies have dates for the Holly Ball at the high school.  How will I spend the hours from the time they leave until the time they return without gnawing my fingernails down to nothing or pulling all my hair out?

Unrelated to even that, have a great weekend.

Reflections

Although I can't remember the exact day, some time in the past week after a bout of rain, the sun peaked out just long enough to say hello before retiring for the evening.

(Ignore that blue piece of trash which blew out of the pile of stuff intended for the fire pit.
It's still there a week later, btw.)

Although my back yard faces east, the sunsets behind me often produce spectacular light shows on the creek.

This particular evening there was no wind at all. 

The sunlight brought out the best in the trees, who felt obliged to reflect all that goodness on the water. 

This week will be a busy one between stuff going on at work and a court appearance on Tuesday to obtain Chesapeake Bay Son's official driver's license.

(Around here the judge presents the 16-year-old with a license.  Serious business.   They didn't do that when I was coming along, let me tell you. Things were so lax back then, you could purchase a fake ID from an ad in the back of a teen magazine. That ID then granted you access to the Spectrum under the bridge at Yorktown.  Someone I know may or may not have purchased one, it's hard to remember that far back.  Anyway, even the official driver's licenses were easily altered if one felt compelled to do so, not that I did.  This is a story for another time.  Thankfully CB Son, who comfortably distances himself from his mother's blog, won't read this until he's 40. CB Mother, I don't think I had a fake ID but I did go to the Spectrum. Janice Blake somehow got us in. Slapwater was playing. We sang Double Dutch bus on stage.  It was a school night. It's all good.)

Posts might be light on words but heavy on photos this week since there's an overabundance in the stockpile that needs to be shared.

Stay tuned tomorrow for shots of something that landed in my back yard over the weekend; something I never expected to see there. Ever.

No, it was not a UFO.  Not this time anyway.

Have a great week.

Three Things

Once again Thursday is upon us, and it's time to share three thoughts even if a person can't think of a single thing to say.

Signed,
That Person

I'll take a stab at it anyway.

1. Above is a seriously zoomed in shot of a boat docked down Redart. Several closer shots of this and other workboats were taken at the dock, but a gentleman there told me to drive down Thus and Such Lane for a better angle.  He was right about the better vantage point; only problem was to get that shot I would have to traipse across someone's back yard. I really wasn't in the mood to trespass traipse that day, so I sat meekly in my car on the state road and zoomed in.  (Those other shots from the dock will go up in the next few posts.)

2. My son is going to a party on Saturday that starts at 3 p.m. and ends at 11 p.m.  In 10th grade, if I had told my mother that I was going to a party for 8 hours, the answer would have been, "Not as long as I'm drawing a breath," or "Go ahead.  Make my day," as she polished her pistol.  Or something similar. (She didn't really have a pistol, but she did brandish a BB gun on occasion. Also a fly swatter.)

2b. It's important for me to note for social anthropologists' records, however, that in these times "party" is--or can be--defined as "a group of teens gathering at a parents' house, and the parents are at home, cognizant of the fact that teens are gathering, and generally aware of what they are doing. For the most part." It's a party even if only three or four people are gathered.

2c. Compare that to my definition of a party as a teen: House PAR-TAY, y'all! Mass numbers (as in waaaay more than 20) of teens (often from surrounding counties when word spread far enough) descended on a house or a yard or both. The parents who owned said house/yard were out of town--faaaar, far away--and had no earthly idea what was going on in their absence. The theme of these parties was very simple:  Reckless Abandon.

Note for the record: I never once held such an un-chaperoned party at my own house and only participated in about two of these in high school  (one of which was graduation night in 1982 at Alda's house in Port Haywood); and maybe two more during my summers home from college. I'd like to think I was a little less reckless than most. The fact that I'm still here, alive, contributes to that theory, which has been formed primarily by hindsight, perspective, old age, parenthood, and fear.

2d. Reconciling the past with the present is exceedingly difficult when parenting teenagers. The End.

3. It's supposed to get up to 75 degrees today!  I'm looking forward to a long run, as in more than six miles, to prepare for the 10K at the end of March. Never in a million years would I have guessed the words looking forward to a six + mile run would ever come from my mouth.

Now it's your turn.

Please share three thoughts. Tell me what's happening in your world.

Whatever you do, though, please don't tell me what teenagers are really doing these days. Let me live in my sheltered little county world for a while longer.

Serenity now.

Welcome to March.

Across the creek there is where the first picture was taken, from the back of that house.