Of beaches and futbol

Michael and I had a short escape along the Gulf of Mexico this weekend. My dear and longtime friend Karen and her husband Octavio generously let us stay at one of their condos. He and I did little more than drink margaritas, swim, eat fish sandwiches, lounge in the hammock and get sun. It was exactly what I needed and I think it suited him as well. If any of the pics are worthwhile, I’ll post them.

We made it a whirlwind trip and I even was able to see my Aunt Betty briefly on Friday morning. It’s been a year since I’ve seen her and she looks about 20 years younger than a lady of 80. After we left Pensacola, we made the short trip to the beach and proceeded to exhale for 2 days. There was a brief, but exciting alligator sighting. To me it’s a normal Florida event, but I think Michael enjoyed seeing one swim on past the condo we were at — it was certainly not excited to see us.

By Sunday we fought off the urge to try and stay another day and made it back to Atlanta in time to watch a very intense match of the World Cup with US almost defeating Portugal. It ended in a tie — but only barely. And today was back to business as usual. Sigh…

Needing a name….

But before it’s named, I want to share some of the calm and tranquil of the cabin that dad and John Miller created behind the Kamama gallery they run. Mom keeps calling it “Julia’s Cabin” only because I’ve asked her not to. It’s absolutely a cabin that will be enjoyed by many — but I’m admittedly already looking forward to going back. The photos are courtesy of Suzan Buckner— because, yes, I forgot to take my camera. (Maybe I was using that as an excuse to go back up?)

Without further ado …

Here is the link to some pictures. Now help me name it please.

 

My cat-ological clock is ticking

So, it’s high kitten season in the South right now and the pictures and videos that have been sent to me lately have me thinking that it may be time for another little furry beast in mine and Carter’s life. I spoke at length about this with CK (Carter Kitty) and though he seems a bit resistant now, I think I can wear him down. Unfortunately, showing him video of the close-eyed, smush faced kittens did nothing to sell it to him. I’m still working on the marketing of the idea. Perhaps if they come in salmon flavor? No, I can see problems there too. Anyway, if I’m thinking it AND writing it, trust me, that means something may be happening soon.

 

Padgett bash, old school style

I’ll let the pictures tell most of the tale — but everyone I talked to said they had a blast. It was fantastic seeing so many old friends and family from both sides show up and have a good time. Just wish the weekend could have gone on longer.

Dads 70th April 2011

Savior at 70

The old man turned 70 on April 3rd and this weekend we will celebrate this milestone of time at the Mentone Springs Hotel — a building he began saving in 1980. Lots of friends and family are going to gather and eat cake — there may even be singing and poetry recitals. There will definitely be music provided by our longtime friend Terry with Critter on the fiddle.

So, along with all the well-deserved celebrating, some funny things have happened along the way. One being that it was recommended to have a write up in the local paper talking about the “savior” of the Mentone Springs turning 70. Naturally this cracks me up. We’ve always joked about dad’s Jesus complex and how he is adamant that he can fix anything. I’ve seen him jack up an old hotel with railroad jacks, blow torch tar to stop rain from seeping, prop a sagging floor up while the people above were dancing on it, move earth to make a pond more scenic—the whole time arguing with anyone that tells him it can’t be done. His response to that limited thinking has always been “bullshit”. And then he proves them wrong — almost every time. So now he gets to be called savior. I protest the usage of the word, but not the gist behind it.

Job well done papasahn. Just don’t let it go to your head.

My Playlist

I turn 40 next week. Shelby asked me to come up with a playlist for my party. Here it is. Don’t laugh.

I Wanna Hold Your Hand— The Beatles: it’s the 1st song I remember loving. Once, at the hotel, Top, Sandy, George, me and some other people circled the fireplace holding hands and singing and dancing to this song on the radio. Pure joy.

Lots of U2—but all of Joshua Tree: it created me.

Prince—Purple Rain: he taught me lust.

The Police — Synchronicity: it was my first vinyl purchase.

Tom Petty—my constant

Bob Dylan: for my life of alone that I learned in Italy.

Erin McKeown: for Shelby, Tallahassee and healing after heartbreak.

David Bowie: it’s Bowie.

Depeche Mode—for Karen’s car, tinted windows, high school & a friendship of youth and a lifetime. Long roads ahead.

Pink Floyd’s “Mother”: for Duncan and all that he is and so much that I know.

Buddy Holly: he’s what Dad sings to me. He would pull my ears and sing “Hey Little Girl”. I think he did it to make my ears long like his. That and Hank Williams, Sr.

Patsy Cline: For Joyce Walden and instant coffee and cigarettes.

Soundtrack to Pretty in Pink

The Stones— their old stuff. I bought their greatest hits and that double disk was the first CD I bought. I was with the Odom guy and I think somehow he was disappointed in me.

Cowboy Junkies–Trinity Session: Dad introduced me to this by walking into a record store in NYC and asking a guy “what would my teenage daughter like?” and he handed dad that CD. Smart guy.

Jane’s Addiction—XXX: Best segue into a song ever incorporates “Jane Says” and “Sympathy For the Devil”. Awesome.

The Pixies: no explanation needed.

Willie Nelson–especially the Padgett theme song “On The Road Again”

Brown-Eyed Girl—It’s my birthday.

Librarian Song by My Morning Jacket — it’s about a sexy librarian.

Wilco, REM, so many others I can’t think of for Lori.

Avett Brothers, Gorillaz, Lucinda Williams, Fleetwood Mac, “Stuck in the Middle W/ You”, Journey and Queen (for Dee), Random Rod Stewart (it’s my secret pleasure), Bob Marley (at least Redemption Song), Nirvana (really like the acoustic), REM (I know I mentioned them, but they deserve another mention and if “Night Swimming” isn’t on there then you don’t know me.

Random 80s: “I Melt With You”, etc. And there are a lot of versions of “Satellite of Love” but I love Frank Black. And Mendy should really help with this part.

Some Jimi Hendrix and The Doors and of course Janis— I remember wanting to be her when I was little and looking at my dads old album of Pearl.

Mazzy Star . . .

Actually, there’s no end. All the bits of memory come with some kind of soundtrack. Traffic, crickets — even now the air is blowing, my neighbor upstairs creaks in their bed and the beat goes on. Even future has a song.

Hello 40.

Where to begin?

Weather: August and sticky — normal for this time of year.

Work: busy and noisy — also normal for this time of year.

Personal: quiet with showers of socialization.

Life: exceptionally good — for reasons I still can’t figure out.

Sorry it’s such spotty posts. I do know there are some of you out there still. I want to inspire and create and enrage — but all I can do is be what I’m right now and that is comfortable, happy, sort of empty and thoroughly overwhelmed with work, play, Braves, August, friends and family.

My dad wrote a poem though. I keep re-reading it. Not sure what to say about it. It’s different for him. On a personal level it brought up a ton of memories from childhood–mainly good ones. You know the type I mean. The ones that sort live in a golden bubble — yet they still have the honest red clay and ants on brick walls. Something like that. Anyway, what can I say — at least someone is writing in my family and it’s good.

I’ll get there though. The competitive streak in me will not let dad win.

sleepytime

That’s funny, I was going to write about something else, but as soon as I typed that I remembered my Aunt Karen always keeping Celestial Seasons tea and Sleepytime tea was one of them and then I remembered her piano and my girl cousins and all their toys and then the new house they moved into when they left the farm and how the pool reflected a blue watery light in Janet’s bedroom. And divorce wrecked all that.

Anyway, I miss my cousins. And I’m just now really aware of that about 30 years later.

One of them lives in Arizona now. Which is really odd. Because I was going to begin this initially by making fun of myself for being sleepy. Much like one of my friends used to make fun of me for always being sleepy before he moved to Arizona. (which I’ve type Arizone twice now— well 3 times but the last intentionally to prove a point which is what is up with all the connections and coincidence and links and tangled webs that stick to your hair?)

Which is to say, I’m sleepy.
And I miss you all — the old connections and the new connections.

Hot plates, sweet tea and diamonds

On the drive up to Mentone to celebrate my dad’s 69th birthday, cherry and pear blossoms were blowing across my windshield. All the new green slowly spread up the hills and naturally, again, I had the thought that I live in the most beautiful region in the world. I do.

And, once again, upon entering my parent’s new digs, I had the thought “they are crazy”. I mean that in the best way possible. But mom is cooking on a hot plate, their shower is smaller than mom’s former refrigerator, etc. Still, they look remarkably happy and dad has another project and mom is on the mountain and, well, let’s face it — that’s their bliss and it’s beautiful. Makes the rest of us look like lackluster lumps; but that’s our fault.

I slept the whole night through Saturday. I think that’s the first time I’ve done that this millenium. Feels like an accomplishment. Sunday I woke to the smell of bacon cooking (and everyone should wake to that smell once a month). Mom then went on to prepare beef bourguignon for Easter’s meal (and yes, she did it solely on a small hot plate, with a rusted iron pot and water that took forever to boil). Take that Julia Child’s. Naturally, it was delicious over noodles and with sweet tea. It’s good to be only 2 hours away.

And today, in ten minutes to be exact, the Braves walk out on my favorite stretch of green — Turner Field. Of course, I have to work and will miss their opening game — sigh. It’s good to be Spring though.

A letter from my dad

Dad sent an email explaining his decision to sell the family farmstead. I think some of the insight into decision making, life, the passage of time and a glimpse of what matters is worth sharing. Hope you all enjoy. There is a bit I left out — but it was more personal and unique to just his kids. However, I did want to include the respect that the new owners of the home appear to have. I think it makes a tough transition less painful and their consideration of the past and the importance this bit of land has to my family is one of the kindest and most human gestures I’ve heard of lately. It’s a nice reminder to me that warmth and understanding defeats almost any doubt. (non-italicized parts are dad, ellipsis means I omitted something).

It’s impossible for me to begin explaining why I decided to sell the place of my youth without mulling over in my mind why I moved back in the first place.  I believe I was always “going home” ever since I left to work for Lockheed and retirement and a little financial success finally made it easy to do.  But there were lots of other reasons too, like:  wanting my family to better understand me and my history and my absolute respect for folks who work the land; wanting to build a place that my Mama would be really proud of; wanting to build a place that your Mama would be proud to live in and wanting my children to love the same kinda things that I love.  But the biggest reason was probably to come back and do the things that I loved when I was growing up and be closer to family and old time friends.
….
However, like everywhere and with everybody, things change – friends die, family changes, and age creeps in behind our skin and changes the way we view and are viewed.  I woke up one morning and discovered that I no longer LOVED to work the garden and keep up the fences or clean around the pond – it was a depressingly painful chore.  Keeping up my little Shangri-La was no longer what I wanted to do and certainly not what my family wanted to do.  What to do, what to do – I could just let it go back to nature and plant everything in trees, I could do a pissy job of keeping it up for a few more years or I could sell it to someone who thought it was a thing of beauty, a work of art, and let them live here and love it and keep it up.
…..
I was lucky – I sold the place of my youth to a family who Love’s it and will take care of Mama and Daddy’s home and my work of art.  The new family has a plaque on the front door that says “Padgett Homestead – Circa 1948” and the pond will be called  “Ray’s Pond”.  I believe their respect for our history and love of this place will be something that my grandparents, my parents, and my family would be proud of.
…
(Me too, dad, and I know that what you’ve created would make your mama and your daddy proud. Thanks for sharing your dreams and your struggles. The road goes ever on — enjoy the adventure.)