Seasons

It's fall, Y'all.  We finally have an autumn filled with golds and reds and bronzes.

Yay!

I stand in my garage with the door opened wide and watch the rain come down. Red wine in hand to accompany the chill of the season.

Garage, you say? Why am I in the garage?

I'm sneaking a smoke.

Sneaking?

Really?

It's just me and Big Daddy.  He who knows I partake of the occasional Camel Menthol Silver.

Old habits.

It's unseasonable warm.  The gray mist and sodden downpour would lead you to believe that it is cold. ...lead you to believe that what has arrived is that damp, bone-chilling cold that only comes when the Ozarks can't decide what season it is.

This lovely change in the weather made me think of you all.

I used to frequent these hallowed halls...anxious to inform you of the minutiae of my day, breathless with excitement to describe the weather in my cozy neck of the woods.

But I left.

Then I noticed everyone else left, too.  I don't mean you left my halls, although you did.  Why stop by if nobody is home?

But I noticed that you left your halls, too.

I still keep my feeds up to date.  I thrill when someone updates their blog.

But, I never comment.

Why? ...I dunno.

Maybe because I am a relic from another time.  A time when this type of forum was robust and fun and new.  I felt like a part of a community.  I felt like a dorky kid who had gotten to eat lunch at the cool kids' table.

I know I would be thrilled to hear a comment from a beloved voice of seasons past.

So I now vow, that when a favorite dusty blog on my feed resurfaces, I will comment.

I will comment just to say, "Hey!  How are you?  I have missed you so.  So glad to know all is well in your world."

I will comment because what they once said mattered to me.  It brought me joy and happiness and a sense of community.  ...it still does.

I miss you all so very much and hope you are well.

And with that...my grainy iPhone photo from the garage, or also known as Big's House of Smoke.

Moving Out

There are somethings that are too personal to post on Facebook.  Things that should be written about, but not for the viewing public.

Big moved out today.

Was it time?  Of course.  He has planned, saved money, and now he doing what everyone does when it is time to leave the nest.

He called me while I was pulling into the hotel.  I'm out of town you see.  I will be for the next three weeks.  He called to let me know he had moved the majority of his things and just called to ask about some vinyl he wanted and whether or not he could have them.

So I let him have Frampton Comes Alive, but I wouldn't part with my Styx albums.

Then I started to cry.

For the first time.

Through this whole process I have been upbeat, excited, and ready to refurbish his room, yet today I teared up.

Why?

Well for one, I'm not there.  I should be.  I wouldn't really be much help, but I could stand in the doorway of his bedroom with my hands on my hips and look stern while he tried to leave with something he shouldn't.

I could try being depressed because he'll be on his own.  But he won't.  He's moving in with his partner.  A handsome, charming young man that I will refer to as Axl  Rose.  ...for reasons he will understand.  This young man thinks my big bear hung the moon and loves him to distraction.

For this I am thankful.

When Big asked for new sheets as a housewarming I teared up again.

We chatted about this and that and then he told me he loved me and we hung up the phone.

Then I broke down.  Right there in my car in the parking lot of the Embassy Suites.  I cried that big, ugly, nasty cry that caused snot to fling and eyes to redden.

So when get back home, Little will be in his sophomore dorm room, Big will be in his new apartment, and Big Daddy and I will listen to the echo of empty rooms.

I hear them in my head already.

I think I'll pour a glass of wine and break down again.

Empty Nest

We had a snow day today.

Big Daddy and I spent the day watching Ben Affleck free American hostages in Iran and James Bond  usher in a new 'M'.  We drank red wine and ate ham and beans with corn bread.

I cannot remember the last time that happened.

Utterly and entirely satisfactory.  

Screw that.  

Joyous!

Why the melancholy?

Because it was a snow day.

...and there were no piles of wet clothes in the laundry room, no homemade cocoa, no deep-voiced laughs coming from over excited teenage boys playing Rock Band and Halo in the living room.

These days were always expected.  I have blogged in days past about my dread of their coming.  

Alas the circle of life. 

So back to my red wine and beans.  Maybe another movie.

...and cocoa.  Yeah.  Adult cocoa.

Baileys or Kahlua?

March 22, 2012-Goodbye, Granny!

I come 'round here every so often.  This dusty blog of mine.  I found this loitering in my drafts and I was horrified that I never actually posted it. 

For now almost a year has flown by.

This is a post to honor my dear, sweet, cantankerous Granny Smith.

She left us yesterday.  Ninety. Three. Years. Old.

Goodness.

Every single one of those 93 years she was on death's door quick with a 'Baby, I've never hurt so bad.'

A finer lady was never born.

...but thankfully she wasn't perfect.  She was funny, difficult, irreverent, and a pain in the butt.

And I loved every round, square inch of her.

In case you didn't get to know her, below are some conversations of yore.

http://mosugarbritches.blogspot.com/2007/07/heading-south.html
http://mosugarbritches.blogspot.com/2007/08/granny.html
http://mosugarbritches.blogspot.com/2007/09/granny.html
http://mosugarbritches.blogspot.com/2007/11/granny-3.html
http://mosugarbritches.blogspot.com/2008/01/sweet-thoughts.html
http://mosugarbritches.blogspot.com/2008/01/stretching.html
http://mosugarbritches.blogspot.com/2008/08/hey-granny.html
http://mosugarbritches.blogspot.com/2008/10/another-conversation-with-gram.html