Ohio in July

I can't believe that it's been nearly a year since I started this blog. It's strange how things can change in 12 months' time. Last July I was taking summer classes, working two jobs, and traveling in Spain, teaching English at a kid's summer camp. This July I'm preparing to move my life to another continent. Again.

Last night I rode with my dad on his motorcycle. It was a beautiful night for a ride- the wind was a nice break from the hot, muggy weather and as we rode home the sun was starting to set. The sky was clear, the moon was full, and the goodness of summertime in the country washed over me.

You know that smell- a wheat field, golden and ready to harvest, reflecting back some of the sun's rays that it's been collecting all day. Wholesome and natural and good. I closed my eyes and breathed it in.

You know that sound- the cicadas, industriously trilling out their love songs, for better or for worse. The growl of farm equipment and lawn mowers and weed-wackers; the rough melody our love/hate relationship with the earth.

You know the taste- fresh sweet corn and brats on the grill; and be sure to save room for a turtle sundae from the Dairy Haus for dessert.

Soon I will be gone again- off to a new kind of beauty, trading green fields for snow-capped mountains and brats for guinea pig (a specialty in Ecuador, apparently). But while I'm still here I'm trying to store it up. Breathe in an extra dose of all that is beautiful here. Store it deep down inside and pull out again later. On a day when the city is too loud and the language is too hard and my students are too draining. I'll go home, close my door and let the silence take me back here, to the smells, the sounds, the tastes. To Ohio in July.

The Little Old Lady from Lake St. Mary's

I have a hil-AR-ious story to share with you regarding my lovely grandmother, Nellie House. However, in order for you to really appreciate the story, you should get some background on Gramma Nell.

Let me think of how many harsh or unkind words I've heard Gramma say in our 28 years together. Ok, I'm done. Total count: 0.

Gramma's one of those people who demonstrate via actions what's important. I've never heard her tell me what she believes about God, but when asked to picture a godly person in my life, she's always at the head of the line.

My own mother's appreciation for nature must have come largely from Gramma Nell. She is always careful to conserve, recycle, compost, and make due.

Gramma in three words: gentle, kind, patient.

So, with this brief background, here's the story:

Sunday night I rode with my dad and stepmother to visit Gramma Nell at her duplex in a retirement center off Grand Lake St. Mary's. As the four of us sat in Gramma's living room, updating each other on the noteworthy going-ons in our lives, Gramma says, "I have a funny story to tell you."

It seems that a conversation came up between Gramma and a few of her neighbors regarding the speeds that their golf carts can reach. [sidenote: a few years back my grandparents traded in their car for a golf cart; a popular choice in this retirement community. Mostly the carts are used for transport back and forth to the building that holds meals and chapel services] Gramma apparently got to thinking about the varying speeds amongst their little fleet, and suggested that they conduct a simple experiment to determine which cart could go faster. Notice that sweet little Gramma Nell claims that she didn't INTEND to suggest a golf card drag race. Claims it with a straight face and I know I've never known her to tell a lie...

So it was decided that at 11am one morning she and a neighbor lady would race from the end of their road (Mallard Lane) to the bridge, a distance of a few hundred yards. A mutual friend of the competitors quietly told all the residents on Mallard about the race. So as they lined up at the end of the road to begin, they were looking down a column of residents. I certainly would have been there cheering with the others, given the chance...

As Gramma tells it, her competitor got a bit of a head-start, as she was on the same side of the road as the starter. "The noise got to her sooner," Gramma explained. But as it turned out, that little disadvantage didn't seem to matter in the end. To quote my quiet, godly, sweet grandmother on the results of the drag race, "I left her in the dust." This proclamation was delivered with the same straight face as the rest of the story.

Once Dad, Sue, and I recovered from our laughter sufficiently to breathe again, Gramma brought out her prize- a small bough of flowers. If I'm not mistaken, she was pretty darn proud of those flowers.

And rightfully so, Gramma! It's one every day that one octogenarian leaves another "in the dust" in a golf cart drag race. A well earned victory, indeed. :)

(Gramma Nell with her victory flowers)