Beach Camping at Assateague Island Nat'l Seashore

Bought myself a new tent and sleeping bag. Owen shared my tent both nights. Below, Chantel talking to Owen through the tent window.Getting settled in.

Grammy, are you awake?

Owen, how did you sleep?

The beach was beautiful but it was strange to see the horizon without the setting sun. Chantel got pictures of the sunrise on the beach the next morning.

Owen running back to join me for a morning walk. "My mom loves beautiful things, so I'm going to give this [shell] to her and I'll be right back!" Notice the absence of people. Lovely.

Owen found the shell of a horseshoe crab.

Chantel and Soren later in the day.

Soren running from the waves.

Owen playing in the water.

Soren loves to climb, especially on his mama.

My view from the chair beneath the umbrella.

The boys loved being buried in the sand. Owen posed for dramatic effect.

A picture of the marsh not far from our camp. The first afternoon I saw two does and two fawns here happily munching away. The downside to the beauty of this was the mosquitoes that also live here. Thank goodness for insect repellent.

A view of the dune that separated the camping area from the beach.

A view of the camping area from the top of the dune. We had neighbors but plenty of space among us.

This island is known for its herd of wild horses. Strict rules apply regarding them which include keeping your food locked up and not feeding, touching or approaching the horses. However, no mention was made of what to do when they approached us! The last morning two stallions came into camp. Our food was all put away and our tents were down, but we still had a bag of garbage to pack out...

Hey come on, I think it's this way...

Helping himself and finding some string cheese to munch...

Oops, I guess I made a mess...

Heading to the next camp while the Calders look on. Unfortunately, the people at the next site left all their food in bags right out in the open. The horses had a feast while the unfortunate couple watched their food being gobbled up right outside their tent. They took it with good humor and it made a fun end to our stay on the island.

Enough

This piece was recently published by Welter, the University of Baltimore's English department literary magazine. A publication party was held on May 13 where authors were invited to celebrate by participating in a public reading. The reading was held on the 5th floor of the Student Activities Center in a room with a glass wall that provided a fabulous view of downtown Baltimore. I went and had a great time.

The inspiration for this piece came from a list poem that I wrote several years ago about all the things to feel guilty for. The 'voices' are from my past--all women interestingly enough--but some are voices from our culture. I'll let you decide which are which.

Being born a little white girl who grew up in the South, a descendant of slave owners and I don’t hate them for it but maybe I should, and having a black maid who had nine children and lived in a house without running water even though my grandmother paid the bills for us and I didn’t understand until long after we left, being angry that I have to explain my history, and just be glad you were born into this family and not some other. Not cleaning my room and your mama and daddy paid good money for this house. Not cleaning my plate even though children in Africa are starving, use your bread not your fingers. Dressing well, not dressing well enough, and do you want the neighbors to see you like that. Not wearing clean underwear although I never once woke up in the hospital like they said I would, not wearing any underwear, not wearing anything, throwing away good food, throwing away bad food that was good but went bad before I could eat it, Mabel, Mabel, elbows off the table. Not saying no clearly and often enough, when they were young, and not saying no, now and you can’t live their lives for them. Saying yes when I should have said no, saying yes when I really meant no, not feeling sorry that I said yes, and I love you too, baby. Not seeing the dentist often enough, not flossing enough, not exercising enough, not having regular pap smears, having a nice car, reading trash, wasting time and if you don’t have anything better to do there’s work waiting in the kitchen. Hanging out, doing nothing, trying to do everything, going too fast, not going fast enough, sleeping in, not sleeping enough and you have to take better care of yourself you know. Being married, being able to have children, not having one more, wondering why they don’t have any and finding out that they can’t. Being divorced and what happened and who are you to ask me. Being angry, speaking up and I’ll wash your mouth out with soap. Talking back and we’ll not have any back talk in this house young lady. Not speaking out, not saying anything, not doing anything about it and you should be more assertive. Not voting, voting when I wasn’t sure, pretending I was sure, pretending to be someone else and you can be anything in this world that you want to be. Losing my temper when they were little, and dumb me for not having child locks on the cabinets and not being consistent, laughing when they did something wrong because it was so funny even though they got mixed messages and I didn’t know until later, but then it was too late. Being depressed when they were young and they don’t remember, or say they don’t but I do. Pretending to be asleep when I didn’t want to, not answering the phone when I knew it was him, spending too much and do you think money grows on trees. Spending too much time, spending too much time worrying, spending too much time worrying about him and how many tears are you going to shed over that guy. Not saving, not saving enough, not starting my IRAs soon enough, not having enough, not being enough, being too much, too spiritual, too sensitive, too passionate, too emotional, having too much good and still wanting more, wanting everything and nobody gets everything they want. Everything I should have done but didn’t, every wrong choice I made, even the ones I thought were right at the time, every evil thought, every bad word to pass my lips, every time I chose me instead of someone else, crying myself to sleep, not being able to cry, slamming the door, punching the wall, slapping his face, scaring the children, swearing at God, enough already, enough and what’s the matter with you, were you raised in a barn?

I Can't Explain It; Not Even to Myself

Ok, so apologizies to those of you who have emailed to remind me that I haven't posted lately. I have finally caught up, so you'll have to scroll down a way to see the entries. I posted in date happening order.

The trip to Memphis was wonderful in that I spent time with my aunt and uncles and felt their love and support. However, the introspective mood I frequently found myself in did not lend itself to blogging. What I will say is this: Memphis is home, and that is never more real to me than when it's storming, or when I smell humidity, springtime, blooming dogwoods, and fresh cut grass. This trip I experienced both.

One night at Aunt Claire and Uncle Dick's, we took turns watching the hurricane warnings on tv and from the wide window, the sky turn black and dense over the Mississippi River. Fortunately, the hurricane turned slightly in its course so that Memphis was spared its fury. I know my aunt was worried. But I have a picture in my mind of what the dark sky and the Memphis skyline looked like from the top floor of the building where we were, and it filled me not with dread and fear, but with wonder and a sense of belonging that I have felt about storms ever since I can remember.

Once as a little girl, I invited a neighbor girl to spend the night. Her parents said no because of the storm. My friend had only to cross her back yard and mine. Such a short distance it seemed. I thought her parents were being overly cautious and I knew that they were afraid, but I wasn't. I stood at the tall kitchen plate glass window watching the tree limbs toss and bend, sometimes almost parallel to the ground, and I would have gone outside in the storm except for my mother who said--No.

Even now forty years later, I have to admit that in my excitement and draw toward the power and beauty of thunder and lightning storms, I forget that hurricanes often result in destruction and death. Nevertheless, I welcome the intensity of their expression passing over and through me. It's something I can neither help nor explain away. Something, someday, will be the cause of my demise, but it will never be a wild, Southern storm. Of this I am certain. Perhaps this is what allows me to stand still and watch, wonder, rejoice, and give thanks, even in the midst of a storm's unleashed passion.

Family Connections

On the way to and from Memphis, I spent the night in Oak Ridge at my sister-in-law's Katheryne's house. We have been friends since we first met at 16 and 18. We went to the same obstetrician and the same Lamaze class, and we had our first babies three weeks apart. We were inseparable in those days. Our oldest boys, Brandon and Ardell, remained close as well. Katheryne is the kind of friend who loves me unconditionally, and we always take up right where we left off whether it's been a week or, in some cases, years. Here are pictures from that part of my trip. Thanks, Sarah, for the download!

Emily, Sarah and Me

Owan and Emily, Sarah and Matt. Emily's baby girl Eva is due on July the 4th.

Sarah and Matt, married 4 years this December. Matt served in Iraq and just recently finished his time in the Marines. Sarah works as a dental hygienist.

Sarah

Emily

Me and Kath.

Ardell and his well-mannered, well-adjusted, obedient and delightful son, Tyler. Ardell is a wonderful father. I'm so proud of you!!

Ardell, Sarah, Tyler and me.

Me, Emily and Sarah. I was so touched that Emily came from Knoxville in a heavy rainstorm in order to see me. She spent the night at her Mom's and we got to spend more time together.

Emily and her husband, Owan.

Uncle Don

is an amazing man. He will be 85 this summer, and like Aunt Claire and Uncle Dick, he, too, is in great shape. He attributes his health to a good diet and staying physically and mentally active. I got a few shots of him on his bushhog before my batteries died.

Don maintains 25 acres of land, about 3 of which comprise the 'front yard.'

A view of the house toward the end of the long driveway.

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My Cousin, Jean,

I found out, was a remarkable woman with an indomitable spirit and a zest for living equal to Brandon's. I think they would have liked each other very much. It was a great pleasure to get to know Jean through Aunt Claire and Uncle Dick. I had the privilege of visiting her grave site with them on the anniversary of her death. Thank you for including me that day.