Double the pleasure amidst life’s little turmoils

Most men pursue pleasure with such breathless haste that they hurry past it.
Søren Kierkegaard

(a saucer tulip magnolia blossom / Julie Cook / 2015)

Do you remember that catchy little jingle form the late 1950’s for Doublemint chewing gum?
It went something like this. . .
Double your pleasure,
Double your fun,
Chew double mint, double mint
Double mint gum!

Well that little blast from the past always comes flooding back to the forefront of my mind whenever I spot my Tulip tree blooming. . .again.
This saucer tulip magnolia is more akin to a magnolia tree than to its often misquoted name, the tulip poplar tree which sports a similar bloom that is yellow in color.
The saucer magnolia with its fuchsia colored blooms resemble tulips blooming as well as the large showy white magnolia blossoms.

Here we are back in March, sans leaves, yet loaded with brightly colored fuchsia blooms—a boon to those colorless days of transition between Winter and Spring

And here we are today in mid June. . .a regalia of large deep green leaves fill what was once empty space as a bevy of colorful magnolia-like buds and blossoms adorn the Summer landscape with rich colorful fullness.

Doubling my pleasures while out in the yard. . .

I leave you with the double pleasant images of blossoms and blooms as I am now off to Atlanta to tend to Dad–all prayers are greatly appreciated as I take him downtown on Monday to the hospital for a procedure that may or may not shed light as to why he’s so sick—Prayers that he will fly through the procedure as the doctor has explained to us the heightened risks.
Prayers for some semblance of recovery.
Be home, hopefully Tuesday. . .

Waning and Waxing

When I admire the wonders of a sunset or the beauty of the moon, my soul expands in the worship of the Creator.
Mahatma Gandhi

(the waxing crescent moon of the end of August / Julie Cook / 2014)

A waning summer is soon to be written down in the annuals of time as just another volume known simply as the memories of a summer come and gone. . .

First it was June who offered her sheer joy of freedom and the simple recklessness of abandon which was to be found lurking in the heart of both young and old. Freedom whispered as Summer offered her enticing and welcoming warmth, coaxing all winter weary souls back into the light of day. The Days grew long and luscious as bare feet relished the cool tall grass. Soft laughter was heard across the evening skies as we gave ourselves permission to sit out just a little bit longer and a little bit later while savoring the perfume of gardenia and jasmine on a summer’s night breeze as we watched the fireflies dance with the stars.

Next came July, marching forth wearing her Red, White and Blue. Her night skies lit bright with the colorful displays of triumph and freedom. Reminding us of who we are and why we are and why any of that really matters. Children squealed with delight as the juice of watermelons and ice cold popsicles trickled down cheeks and chins. We packed our baskets full of fried chicken and potato salad. We gathered by lakes and ponds, casting our lines and pulling our skis–donning lotions and potions keeping sun and insect both at bay. Happiness and joy mingled sweetly together with the myriad of pitchers of lemonade, the bottomless bowls of homemade ice-cream while the smoke of a thousand grills and cookouts wafted heavenward.

Finally August arrived on a long hot summer wind. The sun bore down as a brilliant flame ready to bake a silent earth. The grass withered, the creeks dried as air quality alerts were sounding the alarm. Triple digits danced across the meters as we darted and dashed from house to car, from car to work in the maddening avoidance of the furnace blast of an unforgiving month. Our clothes clung to sweat soaked bodies as each breath labored under the thick stagnant humid air. Energies were drained as the heat of the day took its toll. Joy and pleasure took a nap along with the brilliant colors of flowers and blooms which gave way to dried crunchy browns. The cicadas sang their endless song under the blanket of a hazy heavy night.

And here we are again, preparing one last time, ready to offer up one more final “Hooray”–one last chance to capture the elusive siren known as Summer. One more opportunity to grab with gusto a little summertime enjoyment before the page turns, waxing toward a hopeful new season and time. A refreshing Fall is waiting in the wings, ready to offer her brilliance of color, intoxicating warm woody scents, and rich full heady flavors—but until that time comes, we must give Summer her due and pay her homage one last hot and humid time. . .

Just get me to the church on time. . .

Goin’ to the chapel and we’re gonna get married.
Goin’ to the chapel and we’re gonna get married.
Gee, I really love you and we’re, gonna get married.
Goin’ to the chapel of love.
the Crystals

(The fountain in Forsyth Park, Savannah, Georgia / Julie Cook / 2012)

Picture this. . .
This lovely fountain, in just 5 short days, all gussied up with a happy couple standing in front of it.
An assembled group of 100 friends and family, dodging Georgia’s infamous noseeums.
Oh, you’ve never heard of a nosseum? They’re in the dictionary. They’re on the internet. They are vicious, wicked and invisible.
They are a notorious southern hot weather pain in the a$%!!!!

A lovely southern Saturday morning–already hot with heavy humidity (what’s the South without humidity? It’s what keeps us from wrinkling)
Sprinkled with a constant threat of thunderstorms.
And there I’ll be, with my hand out, waiting for someone to slap a mint julep in it.

It’s finally time I take this show on the road.
After a three year long engagement. . .
After a year long, hit it hard, organizing marathon of a road trip wedding. . .
After months of running my a%$ off on an elliptical— and lest we not forget my discovery of my behind, post exterior, derrière, bum, being not exactly symmetrical. . . and may we all recall my husband’s brilliant solution of duct tape—let’s not go there shall we.
All the while as visions of robbing fort Knox, to help pay for this little fete, are dancing in my head.. .
Yep, it’s definitely time to get this show on the road–as in literally, we need to get on the road, we need to get on the road as in NOW!!!!!!!

Posts this week may be sporadic.
Posts may be non existent.
Posts may make no sense. . .
–or–
Being the the consummate educator that I am, I may not even miss a beat—at this point, it’s anyone’s guess and depends on the number of juleps people throw my way…medicinal purposes you know, as in nerve tonics. . .
But the show is definitely hitting the road very shortly. . .

But first there are trips to the airport, still figuring out if Dad is up to joining this traveling show, a gazillon things need to be packed in my car, including the Prime minister. . .
You’re taking Winston Churchill? you ask. . .
Wouldn’t you take Winston Churchill?
It’s a long story, but at this point, I think if Winston could stave off the Nazis from invading the great island nation of my ancestors, he can certainly give aid, offer comfort plus render a clear and level head to me and “the cause” this week!!
Unless he gets into the juleps. . .

I’ll be blazing the trail down the lonely undeveloped, sans any rest areas, I-16, cutting a diagonal line clear across this state, heading for the city of this great state’s inception. You know we’re named for King George and I’m headed to the land of General Oglethorpe, as my peeps will be following along throughout the course of the week.
Kind of like fire ants, traveling along in an erratic line, on a mission, to God knows where.

So with all of this nervous rambling and chatter aside, may it now be known and most official– it’s less than a week to D day and I’ve got to get a move on!!—as in NOW!

Stay tuned.
Say prayers–not so much for me as I’ve got this, but for Brenton and Abby— as they finally see the culmination of lots of time, blood, sweat and tears coming to fruition—all on a beautiful Saturday in June, during a tender ceremony, and may God’s grace shine forever upon their union . . . and may we all remember. . .

Progress of all sorts……

What’s this you say? Are those two feet adorned by wellies of sorts? Whose feet are those Julie? Are they your feet? Where is that cast thing of yours? Shhhhhhhhhh—don’t tell but I’ve flown the proverbial coup. During my last visit to the orthopedic, I asked him if I had to wear the blasted thing when we went down to Savannah. He told me I was pushing the envelope a bit but he thought that perhaps I could give it a go…just make certain I brought the aircast along for the ride–of which I did.

I walked and I walked and it hurt and it hurt, but not the serious kind of hurt—just the “I’m not use to all this walking sans a cast kind of hurt.” And yes it is still swollen a bit, more so later in the day—kind of like a ping pong ball for an ankle bone—but I’ve got to start somewhere….he also told me that he was cutting me loose and to call if I needed them. Needed them? Heck No!! I’m out of here and out of that blasted aircast!!!!…..free at last, free at last….just keep me level, no running, twisting, jumping, nothing sudden….slow and steady, slowly but surly….and no d@&n ditches!!!!

And lookie at the garden……

and lookie lookie, someone is starting to “turn” colors…It can’t be too long now……

Happy days of June…….