Contentment

It was unseasonably warm - hot, really - and the kids ran through the sprinkler, smeared with sunblock and laughing over the sound of the running water. The dog chased a tennis ball, occasionally running through the path of the sprinkler just in time to avoid being doused himself.

The screen door slammed, and my son burst into the kitchen, asking for a peanut butter sandwich.

"Supper will be ready soon," I said mildly, slicing zucchini and yellow squash on the wooden cutting board.

"But I'm hungry," he protested. I gestured to the table, indicating the snack mix sitting there, and told him he could help himself. I handed him flatware from the kitchen drawer, asking him to place the forks and knives by the plates I'd already set on the table.

Munching snack mix, he agreeably did as he was asked.

Mustard, ketchup, sliced pickles...corn waiting to be heated...zucchini and yellow squash sauteeing in a pan with some olive oil.

The smell of hamburgers wafted into the kitchen as my husband slid open the screen door and stepped into the house carrying a half-empty glass of Summer Shandy.

"Will supper be ready soon?" my son asked.

"Yes, in just a few minutes," I told him.

"Then I think I'll go swing." He fixed me with a grin and ran back outside, again pulling the screen door shut with a clatter. I walked to the door and looked out, watching him pump his legs to sail higher and higher, the grass a rich green beneath his feet and the sky bright, cloudless blue behind him. His toes seemed to reach to the tops of the ash and oak trees, and then he stopped, jumping from his perch to run inside just as his daddy slid the last of the burgers onto a plate.

One of THOSE days...

I burned my hand.

I made a cake, a beautiful cake using vodka and Kahlua, and it smells like warm heaven.

The hot pad slipped when I was pulling it out of the oven, and I have two burns on the palm of my right hand. It stings, and I'm a big baby. It's also hard to type when one's hand is wrapped in bandages.

No, I did not consume any of the vodka before pouring it into the batter.

No, not the Kahlua either.

Now, perhaps, would be a good time for that drink.

It's a Space Age Grandson!

My older daughter had her ultrasound today, at eighteen weeks of pregnancy.

"There's no doubt," she said breathlessly afterward. "It's clear. We have pictures. It's a boy!"

The Space Age Grandson is expected to make his appearance the second week of September or so.

Wonderful, Wonderful Copenhagen

Choose a city in a country other than your own, and tell us why you would like to visit there.

That was the blogroll topic this week. Despite the fact that it was I who came up with this theme, I was stumped on the subject of my own entry.

Would I go to Greece - Athens, perhaps? Corinth? Would I sail the Mediterranean and bake in the hot Greek sun and eat lamb and stuffed grape leaves? Would I choose Paris, with its laundry list of cliches: because I wanted to see the Eiffel tower, eat cheese, and buy hats? Would I go to London? Glasgow? Dublin? I could go to Oslo or Stockholm and see the countries from which my roots sprang, or I could see the mountains from Salzburg or the beautiful architecture of St. Petersburg. Perhaps I'd leave Europe altogether and head to Christchurch or Wellington or Sydney or Brisbane.

In truth, I would gladly visit any of these cities - all of these cities.

The other day, I watched Hans Christian Andersen with my daughter, a favorite movie starring Danny Kaye, one I'd seen many times already.

That's it! I thought later. I'll go to Denmark and visit wonderful, wonderful Copenhagen. I'll go in the summertime so that I can attend the Copenhagen Jazz Festival. I'll bike along the island and lie on the beach. I'll have my picture taken in front of the Charity Fountain, and I'll spend days prowling museums and admiring architecture and trying to lose myself in the history of the centuries-old city. I'll recreate scene after scene in my head, daydreaming my way along well-worn streets, and when I've had enough, I'll cross the bridge over the Sound and continue my tour in Sweden.

Some day, maybe. Some day.

Sad

My girl left me a text message earlier. We had talked on the phone this evening, and some time afterward, she sent me the message. She wants her Mama.

She hurts.

I hurt.

We are separated by some 1500 miles, and while she is halfway through her first pregnancy and in the midst of planning her wedding, I am much too far away. She wants to share these experiences with me. She wants me there.

And I want to be.

How could I not? She's my baby. Her message was anguished, and I felt it acutely. We talk all the time, but it's not the same. It will never be the same. It hurts like hell to have one foot in Idaho and one foot in Minnesota.

New Story At The Writer's Block

I've joined a fiction writers' blogroll, forcing me to hit the keyboard a little more often for the made-up stuff. The elements to be present in this week's assignment were a blue car, a man named Dominic, a clock, and 2:00, AM or PM.

Check out my new story posted at Writer's Block, and click on the blogroll links to read the other stories as well!

Baby Update!

The Space Age Grandchild is well on his or her way now. My daughter had a doctor's appointment today - she's almost 16 weeks and has lost another pound, but as she put it, is "expanding in all the right places." The baby's heartbeat was 160-ish. The old wives' tales will tell you this is a girl, but I'm an old wife, and I'm not sure I believe the tales.

This Gramma business looms ever closer. It's really a baby!