Here's something I started composing back in July and then never finished.
The summer has been beautiful.
For the first time in fourteen years Tarzan was excited for vacation and didn't spend the whole time bemoaning being away from school.
Obviously it's due to this face:
And even though Cheetah's very young and won't remember any of it, we have had a few adventures. This particular one though, I hope will last a lifetime.
We enrolled Cheetah in a "swimming" class this summer:
Keep in mind he can't stand, can barely sit and doesn't always have control of his arms, so to call it swimming is a little ambitious. One of us held him the whole time and just moved him through the water:
But it was fun and at home when we sing the song;
"I'm going fishing, fishing, fishing
And I'm wishing, wishing, wishing
For a splashing (or kicking, spinning, jumping or bubble) fish!"
Then he smiles and gets all excited.
The splashing is his favorite part and he really likes it when *we* blow the bubbles.
P.S. We've continued swimming weekly after his class ended and he still likes it. Obviously he's more comfortable now and as he learns to maneuver his body it's even more exciting.
This is me wishing for some more summer.
So, yes, this post is nearly two weeks late. It wasn't done on purpose but being late does serve to illustrate the point of the ode.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY to Rocketgirl!
Who is one of the most flexible women I know.
Rocketgirl drops to the floor or the couch in an instant to help a child with homework and reading, write a post, clean something or take a picture and then she's up again like a shot to cook, teach violin, piano, hold a family dance party, call a friend, serve in her calling at church, go to the library, shop or any one of a zillion things she does.
She welcomes new members of the family with open arms and nothing held back, be they her own children, nieces and nephews or in-laws.
She's had to move many times in her life - alone or with her family - states, countries and/or weather patterns away from her comfort zone. (One time she had a baby far away from everyone and everything she knew.)
She deals well - much better than she thinks - with changes and new situations. Even on short notice.
And she does it with a good attitude, plenty of humor and charm.
Every time.
I admire that and have tried to emulate her.
This is me hoping her birthday was all she deserves and wishing her a very happy year!
Aaaand boom, we're back to my life going by in a flash.
Eight days late for my birthday post...This has never happened.
(And what's worse, I am an entire week late with Rocketgirl's ode. I am ashamed.)
To begin, I laugh in the face of my last year self, promising to keep this blog current and all that. Some days I can't keep current with a shower, but really, it's because I'm lazy and it's much easier to watch this all day:
Than think of witty things to say on a blog. But I will try.
To sum up the last year, I turn to a quote from Rocketgirl, "yeah, it was a good year. No biggie, we just brought a human into this world and he's doing awesome stuff. Also, I made pesto."
And there you have it.
But of course, that's not entirely true.
In addition to bringing this human into the world my last year was spent thusly:
- Feeding said human.
- Changing the diaper of said human
- And getting said human to sleep.
- Tarzan and I took Cheetah on a plane for the first time for the wedding of a family friend.
- ATL got married!!!! (There's a post I need to get written)
- Tarzan and I celebrated 14 years of marriage. Which sounds like a lot but hasn't felt long at all.
- I celebrated eight years writing this blog - celebrated it with a massive headache and little else apparently.
- Helped PIT and MOY move into their apartment in Provo. (Another post I need to get on, hopefully before he graduates...)
Inevitably, most of the things that I did this year were baby centered. And my posts reflect that; sitting up, rolling over, "talking," playing, doctor's visits etc. Awesome though it was, it leaves me with a shorter list of items then in years past. Of course it's been a shorter number of posts this year too.
It's good to have goals.
But I did make this:
So I consider it a year well spent.
This is me with my own belated birthday.
For those of you who don't know, my sister ATL is a children's librarian. For the years she lived with Tarzan and me, she was going to school and working for the county library system. First as a page (ha!), then an aide, and then a librarian. When she got her cool new job in 2014, it was as the children's librarian at a branch far, but not too far from our house. She loves it and they love her.
And, now that Cheetah has arrived, and sits up on his own, ATL suggested that we come to the story time her library has for babies. (They do all different ages, from baby through middle school age specific story times.)
We finally made it in the middle of June - and despite her usually having 3-6 babies and mothers attend, the day we went, there was just ATL, Tarzan, Cheetah and me:
(And Tarzan took the pictures.)
Well, one other mother and little girl came late and then left early:
But mostly it was just us:
We did an adorable activity with a glove and Velcro while singing "Baa, Baa, Black Sheep," 'danced,' played with the shaker eggs; Cheetah loved those and did not want to give them back:
And of course read some books:
We also worked on facial expressions:
Perhaps that was inadvertent...
By the end of the day, he was wiped:
This is me and it was very cute.
I understand why parents get up in the night and stand over their child's bed just to check that they are still breathing.
Not so much to verify their respiration - though one can think of some horrible things in the middle of the night - but to confirm that it's actually happened. And to revel in the moment. They're so small and helpless but they have personalities and potential that is vast, so you I go and watch him sleep to try and soak up all the 'now' time I can. I have to sleep sometime too but I hate it because I might miss something. Makes me bleary at 3am but I go and skip napping in favor of watching him the next day anyway.
Odd as it may look, having four arms would be a wonderful thing. (And not just for nursing; holding both hands out of the way, pulling down a lower lip, cupping a head, guiding things into mouths, it's a complicated dance we do over here...) Then I could hold him all day AND do the other things that need attention. (Laundry, dishes, brush my teeth, get dressed, etc.)
This week has been one of accomplishment and a little lessening of the tension. Cheeta is eating which makes me feel better. I learned that the headache comes from sleeplessness (right?!) and the pain in my back is tension from my right arm which is the one I hold Cheeta in when he nurses, on either side. Knowing that he is eating and I haven't broken him makes the tension - and hence the back ache - a little less.
He is growing and learning - too fast, too soon but what can I do? - and making connections. He's learning our faces and voices and smells. He stays up in longer stretches and sleeps in bigger bits. (Sleeping through the night is not as distant a dream as people tell me.)
We went to the pediatrician this week and everything is okay. Cheeta has a big head, but so did I and so did Tarzan, and he's pretty steady on the length thing so hopefully he will be tall like Daddy and not short like me.
For the first time since he arrived I feel like I'm not chasing the care thing, but actually on board with it. We'll see how that goes this week when we start making personal appearances and return to church next Sunday.
In closing, I leave you with this:
A visit from two of Tarzan's aunts and an uncle today. So cute and so well behaved.
The baby too!
This is me and I don't want to miss a thing.
I can't promise to do a post EVERY week for Cheeta but things change so quick at the beginning it helps me keep track of what happened when.
This week we saw an increase in awake time, so after eating he does not go immediately back to sleep. This is adorable of course because when clean and full, he is very focused on our faces and memorizing who we are:
Or the mop next to his head.
I can't count the number of times this week Tarzan has said, "I love holding him like this!"
Cheeta also has decided he likes to be held while asleep - I blame Tarzan for that one; all those hours at the computer, reveling in the fact we made another human being - so once he is asleep, we take a few extra minutes walking around in the dark to make sure he really means it.
There have been a few adventures this week; Thanksgiving being his first long drive (2 hours out to my parents' house and then 2 more back), meeting his cousin Ted - neither one of them seemed to care much - making it through Mommy's first solo day and his first rainstorm. (Bring it! The Jungle needs the rain.)
Big news; we are making progress in the nursing department.
I think.
We will find out at the pediatrician's office this week if Cheeta is gaining weight. I'm encouraged by the number of wet diapers he creates and then...then there was the epic poo of this afternoon.
I share this not to embarrass my son - who, if he is like his father will take pride in the story one day - but as an illustration of my belief that he is, in fact, gaining nourishment from somewhere.
I am not as naïve as you might believe. We have had one blowout diaper over here already that got on clothing and went down legs, so when I heard the telltale noise from Cheeta's direction, I did not panic. I took him to the bathroom and laid him on the changing mat, undid the legs of his sleeper and waited. Sure enough, there was another of the distinctive sounds. And I waited that one out too. When there had been a few minutes of silence I thought it was safe to start the clean up. I used the diaper to get the most I could, reached for a wipe, while holding Cheeta's heels up slightly out of the goo, and was totally surprised when the poop came shooting out, over my hand, down the front of my robe, onto my slippers and - silly me, I jumped - then on to the wall.
In three places.
Naturally, in the stunned pause that followed, he decided to pee on me as well. Figuring we were really done this time, I started to clean it all up - bless Tarzan for the newspaper in the bathroom - only to have more poop arrive on the scene. A little less distance, just as much mess. Followed by more pee.
Poor kid ended up dressed in a diaper and a towel crying on the couch while I got changed, tried to restore order to the bathroom and prayed Tarzan would get home from church soon.
(He did not get back soon enough.)
This is me still cleaning it up.
Another one of the "it's a given" sort of posts, but I am so thankful for Tarzan.
For his determination to do good, for his work ethic, for his effort to be a good, fair bishop, for his talents, for his love of Cheeta and of me, for his efforts and plans to be a good father, for his desire to be a better person everyday.
Even though it drives me crazy at the time, he keeps me grounded and makes me laugh. He doesn't let me get hung up on the details, as I am wont to do. He has a much larger "big picture" view than I do and I appreciate that.
He was solid throughout the pregnancy, coming to all appointments he could, being part of the conversations and discussions, supporting me and what I wanted to have happen.
When it came to labor and delivery I don't think he left my side once. I don't know how he avoided needing the bathroom for 30 hours, but whenever I needed him, he was there. There to hold my hand, to talk to the doctor, to report how I was feeling, to sign the paperwork, to fetch a nurse, or some water, to hold the baby and to tell me what was going on.
It hasn't stopped since we came home. He's happy to change a diaper, get up in the night, hold Cheeta and hug me too. He always asks how the day, or night, went. If there's anything he can get or do to make a situation easier. Some things he volunteers or gets, just because.
Whatever I need is okay and he'll move heaven and earth to get it. It helps me be a little more humble knowing that he's there.
He was and is amazing:
This is me and my eternal companion.
I am thankful that there is an industry standard for baby paraphernalia; that allows all lids and tops to be the same size, so no matter which one I grab in the dark of the night, it will fit the bottle I am holding and expedite the Cheeta feeding process.
Is it just me or is a crying baby much louder at 2am than at 2pm?
As for the bottle situation, we are doing as much breast milk as possible over here - sometimes in a bottle and sometimes au natural depending - but my body hates me (no surprise there!) and is a bit behind in the manufacturing process, so Cheeta gets a little formula too.
I really hope I am not ruining him forever.
This is me feeding the baby.
It finally hit me today - like a brick to the face - that I am someone's mother.
Not just someone's but this kid's mother:
I was standing by his bed this afternoon, getting ready to lay him down and his face quirked into a smile. (I know, it's not legit because he can't control his face yet but it was the right direction.) And then he did it again. Made me cry and you all know how often I cry. (Try zero times. I am was not an emotional type of person. That has changed too it seems.)
It was almost a laugh the second time and I thought of the trust that he has in me, the way he calms when I pick him up, how he listens to my voice when I talk or coo or cuddle him.
It's both terrifying and empowering at the same time.
Inadequacies abound - boy howdy - but this is something I have always wanted, a position I have sought out and thought denied me and I want to do well at it.
I have such plans and goals and desires for him. I have methods for helping him succeed.
(Of course Tarzan will be there too, to help and support and guide etc., but it's mostly my "job" to nurture and I can be good at it.)
I am so very thankful for Heavenly Father's trust in me to allow me this opportunity to raise a son, teach him the gospel, how to choose right from wrong, how to live in the world, how to be a good example to others.
We're going to teach him to read, to share, to play well with others, to participate, to be humble, to grow his talents, to do so many things.
I'm excited and nervous and capable and deficient and all of it at once.
This is me, a mother.
I can see how easy it would be to post another adorable picture of Cheeta and call it a blogging day but I feel I should put a leetle more effort into it as I have been and am so richly blessed.
And it is Thanksgiving week.
I am thankful for my family. For my parents who tried so hard to teach us right from wrong, to help us develop our testimonies, who taught us how and why we should get along with each other, who took us places, who prepared us for school and then explained why they world wasn't perfect and how to deal. I am extremely thankful that they were married in the temple of the Lord so we could be an eternal family forever.
I am thankful for my siblings who really are there for me, and me for them, despite the number of times we tried to kill each other as children. I am thankful for the things we have in common, the different talents we share between us, the advice, the experiences, the humor, the inside jokes, the new jokes, the things that aren't even funny, the way we can start or stop a conversation and pick up 6 minutes, or 6 weeks later without a pause.
I love my family.
I am thankful for Tarzan's family who accepted me from the very first; a short, round, music-less girl who had has a series of issues. I am thankful for Tarzan's parents who try to include my preferences and needs into their very busy schedules, who have never tried to interfere in our marriage with "advice" or made us feel less than because - until now - we weren't giving them grandchildren.
I am thankful for Tarzan's siblings and the common ground we were able to find, despite our different upbringings. They are all so talented and smart and fun and such different personalities from me and mine, but we gel and it isn't and hasn't ever been hard to get along.
I am thankful for the eternal family Tarzan, Cheeta and I are now are. Tarzan and I have been floating for many years, just doing our thing, and figuring that was all it would be. But now, as Tarzan keeps saying, we have a legacy, a reason for living, a goal, a plan, a family to support and things to teach and do and places to go. Because we have Cheeta it all makes sense. And he will be ours for eternity, no matter what. (I wasn't a weepy person before, but I sure am now!)
I am thankful for the opportunity to be Cheeta's mother and Tarzan's wife and to do a good job at both.
This is me and it was supposed to be this way.
And so it begins.
I will spend the rest of my life whining about how I can't believe how quick time passes.
Cheeta is 1 week old today.
This time last week I was laying in a pain medication induced euphoria, wondering where my vegetable broth had gone because food services did not send it up with my "dinner."
So all I got to eat was Jell-O and water.
The doctor was concerned I might throw up after not eating for 30 hours and then the C-section so he wouldn't let me have 'real' food. First time in 8-1/2 months I did not feel stuffed full and I wasn't allowed to eat. (I felt like quoting Bill Cosby: "I once ate a dead frog and didn't throw up.")
It has been a wild week - birth story coming soon - and a good one. We are home and though I don't know what time or day it is anymore we are making it through:
Cheeta likes to sleep in large chunks of time 4-5 hours at once, which make the doctors crazy, but as long as he is eating I can't see the trouble of it. It has made for easier nights for me too, getting up only twice or so. I'm sure it won't last but it's been nice at the beginning.
On the subject of nursing; it is a wonderful thing when Cheeta and I both do our share and everything works. Seems natural and easy and well worth the effort. When one or more parts isn't working the way nature intended, it hurts beyond explanation, my back tenses up so I can't move my head and I wonder what is wrong with formula.
We're still working on it but it was wonderful having my mother most of this week to suggest all the tricks of the trade to get it work properly. And we'll see her again on Thursday for a tune-up.
Cheeta likes to stare intently at the face of whoever is holding him - Tarzan could spend more time just looking rather than dancing, singing and scatting, but I understand his excitement - so we have had some intense bonding moments this week:
He gets a lot of comments on his intent stare and his good behavior.
Cheeta does NOT like wet diapers, but poopy ones are not a cause for crying so we have to keep an eye out for those. I will say, Tarzan is very eager to change a diaper - I have had to do very few so far - and I hope to remind him of that when we reach #4295 rather than #18.
As for me, I go from feeling great to feeling exhausted in a matter of minutes, I haven't had on regular clothes since we got to the hospital a week ago (except to come home in) and I spend a lot of time wondering if I broke the baby already. My steri-strips came off my incision today and it hurt a lot less than I had imagined it would, so that is good. I am not taking much of the pain medicine anymore, but the doctor did load me up with enough pills for a 90-year old. Iron, psyllium, stool softeners, pre-natals of course, and then two kinds of pain meds. I think I'm set.
It's definitely an adventure; some parts are far more intense and difficult than I imagined, others are second nature already. It's work for sure, but it's work I feel comfortable doing.
Far fewer unknowns, now that he is born and here.
This is me, being a mommy.
Again; one of those things we all would think was a no brainer but as adults, we often (and by "we" I mean, me as the oldest child who never really thought of herself as a child) consider ourselves grown up and our mothers are more contemporaries and equals rather than older and wiser experienced persons.
And then we have children ourselves.
I love Tarzan beyond comprehension, I really do (there's a post about that coming later) but he can't help me with a lot of the learning I am doing this week, much as he would like to.
When it comes to how to comfort a baby who isn't hungry, in pain, wet or tired, my mother knows. Or how to hold an angry baby while getting ready to feed him. Or how to nurse at the correct angle to not get a blinding headache. My mother knows what to expect physically post-birthing and she knows what I need. Knows and remembers to ask me about it. Knows and suggests what worked for her.
She knows me too and how I was as a baby; how I was, or was not, like the baby I now hold and how to deal with that. She know what I like to eat, what I can and can't eat and when I can eat it. She knows about how much water I need.
She knows what the most important things to do around the house are and she doesn't ask if they need doing, she just does them. She asks how I like my laundry folded. (I almost laughed at that one. Fold? What is this fold she speaks of? I'm lucky to get it clean most of the time, so Tarzan has white shirts for Sunday.)
My mother offers to do things for Tarzan, even though he's plenty capable of fetching his own drink, to keep him included in the discussion and part of the experience.
It matters not how old we get, mothers are always smarter and in high demand.
This is me and I still need her.
It used to drive my mother nuts when we were young and she'd ask for help with a chore and our answer was "when I get to the end of the chapter," and a 1/2 hour later we'd still be in the same book, long having passed the end of the chapter we promised.
It wasn't that she didn't want us to read, she just felt that we could put the book down, do what had been asked and then go back to the book.
She's a very practical person, my mother.
And it's true, we could have been quicker to help, or finish our homework or do our chores and saved ourselves the time spent arguing over whether we had read one chapter or two.
We weren't that smart.
When we were in the book, there was nothing else.
I like to think I have matured somewhat, though I still find myself checking - 8 more pages and then I'll switch the laundry - and bargaining - if he doesn't die, then I'll go to sleep - while in the midst of a really good book.
It's amazing what the written word can do, sending me off to another city, country, world; real or imaginary. A really well written novel is so immersive I can forget what I should be doing or what time it is.
I get the impression for the next few years I will be reading books that are a tad shorter than what I have been used to, but that's okay too because I will have a reason to be in the children's section of the library, leafing through Dr. Seuss, or Richard Scary, without the supervisors thinking I'm some crazy old lady.
I am thankful that my parents taught me to read while I was young and to love books - even if it did frustrate my mom when I didn't get around to making my bed that day.
This is me, still reading.
I started off this month's series with a post full of thanks for the cooling ability we enjoy in this day and age. And refrigeration is a wonderful thing.
But so is heat.
And since the atmosphere over this country has decided that though yesterday was summer still, today it is fall. I took my first warm shower in probably 8 months today and it was glorious. I had forgotten how nice and relaxing heated water can feel.
I pulled both the sheet AND the comforter over myself last night and the snuggly feeling this morning was like a brand new discovery.
(I wonder if it's pregnancy that is messing with my memory or just that it's been a long weird summer and the body forgets, like when you're sick you don't remember what well feels like and vice versa.)
I am thankful for the ability that a lot of people and places have to change the temperature of the environment with the touch of a button. I begin to see how complacent we would become if it was comfortable all the time.
And of course, heat cooks our food, so now that I feel comfortable turning on the oven to make cookies or roast something, Tarzan's dinner options just opened wide up. I can cook more than pasta (stovetop stuff) again!
Though it's said in an amusing way for the theatricality in the movie "Cast Away" I can understand the character's pride when he makes fire for the first time and all the options that he suddenly has to work with.
Heat is a beautiful thing.
This is me thankful for warmth.
I was going to write about how thankful I am for weather - and I truly am thankful for the seasons, whatever counts as seasons where you live - but I am very mad at the month of November this year.
I am not one of those who criticizes the sky when it rains - I love the rain. In fact I have always loved the rain. I am sure most of my childhood sicknesses came from splashing in puddles while it rained at too cold a temperature for me to be outside in bare feet.
I don't love snow but only because it is so heavy to move and is the cause of so many accidents, vehicular and pedestrian. I do love the silence of a snow storm and winter with the slower pace and the holidays and the vacation from school and the talk of peace on earth and kindness. It's one of the times in a year I can wear a sweater and not expire.
I love the fall, the changing colors of trees, the different seeds and pods that get scattered around, the crunch and brush of crispy things on the ground, the preparations and storing for the winter months. My birthday is in the fall.
I love the spring with the new buds and grasses, the smell of freshness, the planting of seeds, wet dirt, open windows and warmer days.
I love summer; the newly cut grass, the chlorine of pools or the salt of the beach, the heat of the sun and the seeking of shade and drinking lemonade and eating ice cream.
I love that we live on a planet that has so much variety. Going south of the equator will switch the seasons all around and seem like a whole new place. Christmas being hot and summer vacation having snow.
I also love order and logic and that's why the weather is bothering me so much right now.
Whiskey Tango Foxtrot November?! It's 90°F in November! How does that make sense? It's been the weirdest summer/fall in terms of weather; cool far into August and now it's like the temperature is trying to make up for it's lapse in attention and is shoving all these hot days at me. Not amused November, not amused at all.
This is me; is it wrong to want the weather to match the calendar pictures?
I am very thankful for modern medical advancements and technology and medicine.
Without modern medicine I would not be alive to write this blog, or if I was, I would not be in good shape, probably missing limbs or having failing organs.
Insulin hasn't been around for very long, relatively speaking and when I was diagnosed we were still using insulin derived from cows and pigs. Human insulin extracts are an even more recent discovery.
Speaking of amazing discoveries; check this out.
And then let's talk about this baby. The medical knowledge being expended on this child is enormous. One could say he doesn't really need it, but it's nice to have, so we know he doesn't need it. And I pass other women in Dr. Smartypants' office who clearly do need the expertise and so I'm thankful that it exists.
The things that are possible now that weren't only a few years ago is incredible.
The diseases we don't have to worry about; polio, smallpox, bubonic plague, heck we can get flu shots now. Tetanus isn't deadly anymore.
Infections aren't deadly anymore.
Tarzan watches Nova and the other night was an episode about vaccines. I appreciate that people have questions and take an interest in what is going on with their kids. (I wish they showed as much interest in other areas of their children's lives but that's a whole other post.)
But I don't have to understand how it works to know that it does work. Or before I trust that I will work for me and/or my child.
I am very thankful for modern medicine and the effects it has had on my life and the good that it will do for later people and generations.
This is me, and it's better than it was.
Last night I dreamed I was in labor.
My water broke and everything - not in a gush, more of a drip, like when there's a bit of water left in a cup when emptying the dishwasher and it goes on the floor.
It was like that.
I woke Tarzan up - in my dream - and got ready to go to the hospital.
But first we had to put the car seat in the car.
One car seat in each car if you want to be precise.
And while we were figuring out how to do it - where the seatbelt goes, which seat in the back should it be in etc. - my labor was progressing.
There were nine different muscles that all needed to go at the same time before the baby would be born - they were labeled with digits so I knew which one was which - but they started contracting in a progressive manner, first #1 and then it would rest and #2 would go.
We never got to the hospital and the baby wasn't born - I never got all nine muscles to go at once - and I'm sure giving birth will not work out this way but it was very organized and logical in my head.
This is me and if only it was that way.
When I was a kid - and I'm sure most children are this way, seeing as so many of them fight bedtime like it was trying to take their cookie away - I did not like to go to sleep.
*I* didn't think I was tired and I was sure there were all kinds of cool "grown up" things going on that I would want to be part of.
(My mother likes to tell of me referring to our family as "Mom, Dad, me and the kids." I was not one of the children, see.)
Even as a teenager - when we are supposed to need and desire more sleep - I was not one to run off to bed, or stay there longer in the morning.
(True, I didn't have far to go for early morning seminary, but I was never late because I slept in.)
Senior year of high school the school hosted an all-night party, I lasted through the whole thing and then the next day too.
Sleep seemed an inefficient use of time.
During college, as an architecture student, I spent a lot of late (and also early) hours in the studio, working on models and drawings, and it was then that I first began to appreciate the break that sleep provides.
Since then I have come to love sleeping.
I try not to oversleep - there is still a lot of things to do in a day - but when the night comes and it is time to slip into a nice, comfy bed, rest my head on a soft pillow and check out for a few hours, I am thankful for the break. For the pause, for the healing time, for the rejuvenation period, for the chance to dream, to dump all the junk from the day, to close my eyes and rest.
(I know it's a really short time I have left in which to enjoy sleeping - babies aren't fans of sleep I hear - so I am thankful for the time to mention it while I still have it.)
This is me, and I've learned to appreciate it.
This is perhaps an odd thing for me - a non-musician - to say but I am extremely thankful to have music. I'm certainly not as discerning as others I could name about what I listen to. (Occasionally I like a song from Katy Perry, Taylor Swift or other Top 40 artists.)
I don't like all things by any one musician but I do like a wide variety of players. I have a rather eclectic music collection, from Jim Croce and Neil Diamond (don't groan, that man is the highest earning living songwriter in the world. He must be doing something right) to Bach and Holst, Yanni and Sugarland, Big Bad VooDoo Daddy to many others. It stems from my love of choices I think.
But mostly I am in awe of the magic that is music. The moods that can be evoked, the colors, (Fantasia was an incredible experience for me. Both of them) the seemingly endless combinations of the same seven notes is amazing and humbling to me.
I can't tell which note is which, but I am glad that there are those who can and who love to play them. Who have the skill and the talent to play the notes in a pleasing fashion. Tarzan's family is very musical - my sister-in-law Rocketgirl plays in two, 2!, bands - and has even released CDs which makes them legit in my book - and family gatherings are always raucous with music and jamming. (I had to ask them if this was the appropriate use of the term) I am not skilled at all. I don't even know if the notes are correct most of the time but I tell them that someone has to sit in the audience and applaud.
I have decided this is one of my missions in life; appreciation of the musical talents of others.
Tarzan is extremely busy with his jobs and his bishop-ing and all that but he has agreed to learn a piano/organ duet for the Christmas program at church this year. I like to share the talents of the members of the congregation - maybe because I don't have any in this arena and can't believe someone with the talent would not want to share it - and since I live with him he's always top of my list. He rolls his eyes at me because he doesn't like performing, but he graciously participates and he gets others, who are more shy and nervous, with less experience than he to accept the challenge too. It makes for some wonderful programs. (And I get to hear all the practice and working out of the pieces at home as well, which make me so proud of him.)
One of my favorite Sundays of the year.
This is me, listening with adoration.
If this seems a little too "well duh," let me assure you, not every person out there is thankful for food.
My second brother, for one. He does not really care too much about the variety and taste and experience that is eating. In fact, if he didn't have to, he wouldn't eat. Ever.
Some people are allergic to foods that make eating a chore rather than an adventure.
I am sympathetic to their plight and at the same time, I am thankful that this is not a challenge of my life.
I love food.
The colors, the sounds, the look, the juices, the textures, the changes when treated different ways.
I am extremely thankful for the many options we are blessed with when it comes to food. Some of it is because we live in a temperate climate and thus have the option of growing more types of food. (When we lived in The Frozen North we were excited for the six weeks in summer when grapes and strawberries we available to be purchased. The rest of the year; they were not even an option, regardless of price.)
Some of it is because we have technology and bigger brains than mine working on how to get more food to more people.
I am thankful for the different cultures that take the same foods and make very different types of meals out of them.
(How many ways are there to serve pig? Close to infinite I think.)
I am thankful for the different spices that exist, and for the talents of others who are able to create combinations I would never think of, but love to consume.
For example: who first decided to drink coconut milk?
And then who added basil and curry to it?
There are so many foods; raw, cooked, frozen (ice cream? one of the best foods ever created), mashed, cut, steamed, stirred, baked, fried (bacon anyone?), wrapped, tossed, boiled, etc.
It's amazing.
This is not to say that I like all food - because I don't.
But I am very thankful for the opportunity to see if I do.
This is me, glad to try it once.
