Not Sunny Side Up

Things are scrambled, not sunny side up, and even this typeface looks giant as I write because I'm using the Blogspot app on H.'s phone.

I'm sitting at the old red and white flea-market kitchen table, the same one where we fed Fig and Punch baby food, had dinner with our friends, sang happy birthday many Augusts to young Fig. [We did that yesterday, too.]

I knew there would be a bump when Figgy came back to her family after a full summer living and working on her own in Maine. But I didn't know it would all be thrown at us at once. 

Figgy pushes the envelope. Gifted artist? Yes, working on a watercolor at round table right now at the Cape. Also into style. But add a shaved head, a new tattoo from Provincetown, where she met her friend last evening instead of having dinner with us, and a liking of substances I'm against. On top of that, there's an impressionable young girl in our house. I'm angry. Hard to live and let live as a parent.

It's my way to notice some graces. So I'm grateful for the sweeping sunset I saw from the wharf at Ptown last night, the huge bouillabaisse from Napi's that H. couldn't finish but I lunched on today and the Green Science kit Punch bought with her money yesterday. She and H did fun experiments today. I took a lavender bubble bath.

God, please give me grace, strength, calm and wisdom. Give me insights. The water is rough, the eggs scrambled. This doesn't bode well as Fig is about to move back home for a fall semester. I can't live with this discord under our roof. Prayers, please.

There Goes Aunt Edith, to the Heavens

It feels funny to blog about regular things--like soup, or sweaters, or writing--when my Aunt Edith just died today at about 11:15 a.m. She would have been 91 later this month.

I am grateful for Aunt Edith. For years, she invited my family down to South Jersey for a barbecue over Labor Day. She and my Uncle Aldo, Dad's brother, loved each other a lot. He'd call her Edie. [Lin, did I spell that right?] She'd call him Al. She gave me a short haircut once when I was little. She gave me my first alarm clock, making me feel like a big kid.

She believed in us--in me and in Sis--and it meant a lot. She was proud of us, of our work. Her pride made me feel good inside.

Safe travels, Aunt Edith, as you wing through the stars and the sky. Your time on earth made a difference in my time on earth. I thank you for your kindnesses.

Good night.

TCOY

1. Rest.
2. Bubble bath.

Almost Breakfast with Audrey

Hello from the Audrey Hepburn Children's House in Hackensack. Here for comprehensive, state-mandated medical exam for Punch. Came this morning with two caseworkers, but it's me, Punch and two very nice nurses, Miss Cheryl and Miss Suzanne, in the exam room.

I love Audrey Hepburn! And I like this view of her generous spirit, even though it's a far cry from the Frederic Fekkai pedi room in NYC, where "Breakfast at Tiffany's" played on a continuous loop while my toes were pampered.

Have to focus here.