Did you go to your high school prom? I didn't. I claimed it was because the whole thing was silly. Too full of drama and materialism. (It probably also had something to do with the fact that my boyfriend and I broke up two months before prom night. Ha ha.) But after last weekend I can't help feeling I missed out on something special. It was my middle child's turn to go. You know, this little guy. Lucky for him, he had quite an audience to document the festivities. Granddaddy Yes and Mama Judy were in town, and Sarah came home from college, just to see him in his tux. Yey Ben! More people to take your picture and meet your girlfriend! Cameras ready, everyone?
First photo? Tux boy with dog. Notice the leash. Tanner's hair has an evil ability to suck itself onto any black clothing within a six inch distance, so I stood ready to give it a good yank. Luckily, no dog hair calamities occurred.
In fact, no calamities occurred of any kind. It was a fairy tale night, complete with a gorgeous young lady and a handsome prince. :)
So share, everybody. Tell me all about your prom! Suddenly I have a yearning for tafetta and rosebuds! Love, Becky
PS. Enjoy this favorite pre-prom scene from Gilmore Girls. Love it.
Happy World Nutella Day, y'all! Actually I'm lying. WND was February 5, but somehow I missed it. So I'm making it up to The Greatest Spread of All Time by celebrating a few months late. Yey, Nutella!
Are you a Nutella lover too? We Ramseys fell in love with its creamy, chocolaty hazelnut goodness within a few days of moving to France. Some dear soul brought a jar to our apartment, and I spread a little on toast, as I saw French people do on commercials,
and my life was forever changed.
Nutella makes everything better. It's great for pretzel dipping, to lather on a cupcake, right out of the oven, and (don't tell anyone) it's even heavenly on a finger! And of course it's magnificent on crepes. With or without sliced bananas. WARNING: This short video may make you cry. At least it has that effect on me.
When we moved back to South Carolina, I positively grieved over the lack of Nutella. Every time Todd went back on a business trip, he knew he'd best return with several jars in his suitcase. But then a marvelous thing happened. Nutella showed up at the local Bi-Lo! It's in the peanut butter section, and it's kind of pricey but well worth it. Ask my kids. They've become Nutella evangelists, converting all their friends, and teaching them Nutella trivia. (Did you know it was invented in the 1940's, when cocoa was rationed? Pietro Ferrero thought of extending the cocoa flavor with the hazelnuts plentiful in northwest Italy, and Nutella was born!)
So Happy Nutella Day, everybody! If you haven't experienced it yet, my crepe-master suggests you give it a try!
At first, Howard seemed to be a thorn in my side. "You're just not here enough," he said the minute I walked into the gym. "This should be a full time job. Not part time." "Hi Howard," I said, stringing the whistle around my neck as I surveyed the thirty or so homeless kids playing four square. "I know you're right, but what can I do?" Howard shook his head and harrumphed. "How are things going today?" "Fine," he muttered and jogged back to the kids, lunging for a stray ball as he called out directions.
Howard could be ornery at times, but now as I think back on that summer of 1988, I wish I had realized then how AMAZING he was. He had spent his entire career teaching PE to elementary school kids, and now in his retirement, he certainly deserved to sit on the bench for a while. To drink lemonade and watch other people sweat.
Yet there he was, along with a team of senior citizen volunteers. And thank goodness for them! When Lynn, our pastor at Calvary Baptist, came up with the idea of using our space to start a summer day camp for the homeless kids of downtown DC, Carol and I had no idea what we were doing. She was a young lawyer, at home with her two little girls, and I was fresh out of my first year of teaching, full of idealism and energy. I had already signed on to teach science camp two mornings a week, but between us, surely Carol and I could manage the program.
We could, but barely, and only because of the retirees who made the daily commitment to drive into downtown DC and give their time and lives to these children, many of whom needed every speck of energy the volunteers had. They taught them to do crafts, they told them Bible stories. They fed them snacks and lunch, and then let them sleep on their laps during the afternoon movie. They even walked them downtown in the blazing heat to museums they had never been to, even though their shelter was just a mile or two away.
The children absolutely loved Howard Sorrell. And he loved them and wanted the best for them, enough to pester us, to make sure we gave them 100% of whatever we had.
A couple of weeks ago, I heard that Howard died. He was eighty eight years old. Can you imagine how many lives he touched in all his years of teaching and volunteering? I hadn't thought about him in years, and then I stumbled uponthis beautiful essay, and I could hear his voice again and the squeak of his shoes on the gym floor.
Photo from Go Dog. Go! via www.archinect.com If only the dogs at my party would have been content with checkers and banjo picking!
I hadn't even planned on throwing a dog party, but it happened on Wednesday. Tanner and I went for a walk, and look who followed us home. Two friendly dogs wandering the neighborhood. They both had collars and tags, so we invited them into our backyard until their parents could come pick them up. Our party guests refused to tell me their names so I called this one Sassy...
and this guy Chow Chow.
So what did we do at the party? There was much sniffing.
And a considerable amount of running around.
Tanner wanted to show his friends the tree house, but he kept confusing things by going down the ladder.
Finally he gave up and went in by himself. (Excuse the unflattering shot.)
Soon the others followed.
After a while, I served refreshments. Tanner was rude and ate everyone's food. He also hogged the water dish. I should really send him to cotillion.
After a while, the party took a nasty turn. It started to rain. The three big dogs got soaking wet and started eyeing the blueberry garden. Remember it? The twelve bushes Todd planted in the mud pit of anguish and pain? The clumpy dirt looked so inviting to our guests. Plus, it had all sorts of fun rubbery things sticking out everywhere. Chewy hose-y things that would be delightful to yank.
Mean Old Mommy had to guard the mud pit and yell not so nice things at the guests every time one of them dared to stick in a paw. (So that Mean Old Daddy wouldn't come home from work and have a conniption fit.) So much for Mommy getting any work done that day.
That's okay. The guests didn't mind the party rules too much. But they did beg to bring the celebration indoors.
I mean they really begged. No way, kiddos. Now where are their parents? Shouldn't the party be over by now?
Luckily Sam came home from school right when Mommy was starting to come unglued. I mean, she was a bit tired of blueberry guarding and dog sitting.
Mommy wasn't the only one getting grouchy. Sassy's youthful enthusiasm was starting to get on Tanner's nerves. There were a few warning yips and snarls. I think he was just jealous that Sassy was so good at playing fetch. She even understood the part about giving the ball back, which Tanner chooses not to do. But all in all, a good time was had by everyone. And after the party was over, there was much of this. Tanner was zonked.
Apparently Sassy wasn't. Guess who came back yesterday. Have a great weekend, y'all! Love, Becky
Homemade commercials used to drive me nuts. You know the kind I'm talking about. The ones that make you reach for the remote. The ones with the guys in used car lots, waving their arms around and yelling at the camera.
But ever since Rhett and Link came into my life, I'm in love with the genre. Remember Rhett and Link? I've included them inseveralprevious posts. Rhett McLaughlin and Link Neal are North Carolina boys, life long best friends, and self-proclaimed "Internetainers." They're also heroes to my son Sam, who chastised me all the way to school today for putting up this blog post before he has a chance to read it over and make sure I got everything right. Can you tell he's probably their biggest fan? He checks outtheir blog every single day, and updates me on any Rhett and Link news.
But the Ramseys aren't their only fans. Now that word has gotten out about their ingenious commercials, Ellen came calling, and so did George Lopez. And no wonder! Take a look at the commercial Ellen featured on her show.
Crazy, huh? I love that they use the real people who own the businesses or work there or shop there. They capture what the community is like, and they do it in a quirky, funny way. Their commercials do more than sell a product. They tell a story. Sometimes it's a weird, slightly frightening story, but it's always funny.
Here's their first commercial to win my heart. I can't get enough of it.
That just cracks me up. George Lopez liked it so much that he got Rhett and link to make a commercial for his favorite local business, Donut Prince. You've got to watch it.
Isn't that darling? There are so many good ones, but sharing more than four is probably excessive. You can always check them out at ilovelocalcommercials.com.
So what do you think of these ads? Personally, I'd much rather watch Rhett and Link's commercials than most shows on TV!
Have a great day, y'all! Love, Becky
PS. Sam will probably tie me to a kitchen chair and lecture me for days on end if I don't give a shout out to our all time favorite documentary, Looking for Ms Locklear. It's another Rhett and Link production and we first saw it on PBS, before we became Rhett and Link crazy. It's won tons of awards. Take a look!
I have to say it. My weekend was glorious. Not only was the weather absolutely perfect, but I experienced something rare. The heavens opened, the birds sang, and I got A Great Idea.
At least I think it was a great idea: a book project that would be so fun to write. And guess what else. No sooner had I thought of it but my husband and my youngest child took off on a road trip, allowing me the luxury of retreating into my head for the rest of the weekend, to come out only when my teenage cave-boy beat his club on my door, foraging for food. The more I thought of my idea, the more excited I became. This is brilliant, I thought. Why hasn't anyone else thought of this?
And then Brian Doyle's essay smacked me on the head and I had to laugh at myself. Have you read it, Notes From a Writer's Mind? My friend Jimmy sent it to me ages ago, but my little brain filed it away for just the right moment, which I guess was Saturday. You can read the entire essayhere, but I'll share a few favorite paragraphs. You don't have to be a writer to appreciate the nuttiness.
"(At the beginning of any piece of writing) This is the greatest idea
ever! I am a genius! No one ever had this idea before! What a great
first line! Being a writer is better than a stick in the eye! This is so
exciting! Those words were never in that order in the whole history of
the English language! That's incredible! That's astounding! Now what?"
"(In the middle of any piece of writing) O my gawd this is drivel.
This is the worst muddle ever inflicted on an unsuspecting populace. I
should crumple this and go into insurance. I should cease to write
forevermore. I should be a pair of ragged claws scuttling across the
floors of silent seas. I should eat. Maybe I should take another shower.
Who will ever pay for this muck? This is worse than anything Jerzy Kosinski
ever wrote, and what could be worse than that? My gallbladder hurts.
Just one more cookie. Is that the mailman? How do you spell labyrinthine?
Should I do the laundry?"
(Becky, here. If Brian asked me, which he didn't, I would add: My eyebrows need plucking. How long has it been since I cleaned out the fridge? I wonder if they'd hire me at the dry cleaners. My feet are cold.) Now back to Brian...
"(At a reading) How many people are here? Will they buy my book? Does
the microphone work? Do I need the microphone if only four people show
up? Is everyone here related to me? What if everyone leaves during the
reading? What if no one wants me to sign a book? What if all these
people are here to return my book? What if they throw books at me? Is
the microphone big enough to hide behind? Is my fly zipped?"
(Me again. And I would add: oh my Lord, my lips are sticking to my teeth. What if I faint right here and knock this podium over? What if I fall in an unladylike position or my tongue hangs out and I drool? Is that...? It is! My roommate from my senior year. Oh MY LORD IN HEAVEN, what is that girl's name?)
You know, the next time I go to a book signing, I think I'll be extra friendly and supportive. And I might just wear a name tag. But until then, I better get busy with my new idea. I might be a genius now, but I have no doubt that within a day or two my eyebrows will be calling.
Have a great Monday, y'all! Love, Becky
PS. This video has nothing to do with the insecurities of the writer's mind, but enjoy it anyway. You just never know what people or dogs are really thinking.
I have the most wonderful friends. (You included!) Two of them met me for coffee this week, and as we sat there sipping and talking, laughing and being quiet together, I was overcome by how much they mean to me. We've known each other a long time now, and the stories of our lives are all intertwined.
I don't know about you, but it's easy for me to get so caught up in our society's myth that to be a valuable person you have to produce, produce, produce. I hope I never forget the joy of spending time with friends.
I must remember this poem:
A Time to Talk by Robert Frost
When a friend calls to me from the road And slows his horse to a meaning walk, I don't stand still and look around On all the hills I haven't hoed, And shout from where I am, 'What is it?' No, not as there is a time talk. I thrust my hoe in the mellow ground, Blade-end up and five feet tall, And plod: I go up to the stone wall For a friendly visit.
Friendly visits add so much happiness to my life. So does this story. Have you heard about Bella and Tara? Take time to watch it. It's an amazing story.
Have a great weekend, y'all! And remember, If you ever lose your mind, I'll be kind. If you ever lose your shirt, I'll be hurt. If you're ever in a mill and get sawed in half; I won't laugh. It's friendship, friendship, Just a perfect blendship! When other friendships have been forgate, Ours will still be great.
Photograph by Sharon Montrose Sharon Montrose's photographs of animals make me so happy. Have you heard about her? I found her over at The Storque, a blog at Etsy, and I'd love to tell you a little bit about her. Maybe you'll hear echos of your own story in hers.
Sharon first discovered her love of photography in high school, but found that when she started a photography business, doing head shots, weddings, and portraits, the love faded away. But when her family got a dog, she started taking photos of it, and guess what. The love came back! She didn't have to pose or style animals--in fact, she couldn't if she tried. She just had to capture who the animal was, just as it came to her.
Eventually Sharon started doing commercial photography for pet food companies and industrial advertising, but she continued to do her own work just for herself. People discovered that work and liked it, and now she sells her photographs in her Etsy store,Sharon Montrose Photographs.
Photograph by Sharon Montrose Why do I find these photographs so incredibly beautiful? Maybe it's because she doesn't add anything to the animals. The white background lets me focus on the creature itself, the contrast between the softness of breast feathers and the sharpness of its talons. How the top feathers (I'm sure there's a better word for those--sorry, no owl vocabulary here) look like fins to me.
I love the donkey's spiky mane. Its kind face and short little legs. Photograph by Sharon Montrose
I'm crazy about these guys too. Photograph by Sharon Montrose I mean, who could imagine up creatures like that?
And I want a huge portrait of this guy for my living room. Photograph by Sharon Montrose Every day I'd walk by it and be forced to recite Eve Merriam's poem, The Birthday Cow. Do you know it? Happy Mooday to you, Happy Mooday to you. Happy Mooday, Dear Yooday. Happy Mooday to you.
So what do you think? How do we keep the love in our work? What's your secret?
Have a great Wednesday, y'all. And enjoy watching Sharon in action. She sure has a lot of fun.
Flickr photo from Prisoner 5413 Her name was Eula, and she told me she was seventy four years old. "I never imagined I would be living like this," she said, looking around at the Sunday school room our church had made into a shelter for homeless families for the week as part of our participation in the Greenville Area Interfaith Hospitality Network.
I nodded.
"Homeless, at my age? Why, I've always had a home." She ran a hand through her thinning hair, and then rested it on the growth on her neck. The growth worried me. It was gray, like a huge skin tag, but had a reddish side. I tried not to stare.
"But I had to take Cindy out of that house," she said, then looked away. "I worked all my life, in a doctor's office. Dr. Jackson. Do you know him? I believe he went to church here. His wife was real sweet."
"No, I don't think I know him. Do they still go here?"
"Oh no. They passed on years ago. You would have liked them. They were fine people."
We walked to the game room and sat down on plastic chairs to watch her granddaughter play air hockey with the other children. She was a tiny little girl with a face like a moon, big blue eyes and a mane of curly hair neatly clipped with a barrette. Her nose was stuffed up, so she kept her mouth open to breathe as she played.
"Cindy, come here," Miss Eula said and held up a Kleenex. "Blow. There, that's good." She fished a Chap Stick out of her pants pocket. "Stay still." Miss Eula smeared it on her lips and nodded for Cindy to go back to playing.
"She's feeling poorly because she has an ear infection. Both ears, poor thing. I have to just about sit on the child to get her to take that medicine. You know, the pink stuff. She doesn't like it one little bit, but I tell her, 'Honey, you have to. We have to get you well.'"
"She looks like she might be feeling better since dinner."
"Yes ma'am. I believe it's finally working."
Miss Eula looks at the other children. "Those little black girls there, they've been so good to her. Lord knows Cindy needs them. She gets lonesome, with it being just me and her. It's been nearly a year now since her momma left, and do you know, she still cries for her? At night, especially. And her momma hasn't one time called or come to see her, not once. I thought she might on Cindy's birthday, but she didn't. At the school she goes to, the mommas, they come in to help in the classroom. I said to her, I said, "Cindy, I could come in and help your teacher,' but she said she didn't want me to."
Miss Eula raised her head, looked at me, and her eyes began to glisten. "I asked her if she was...if she was ashamed of me," she said. "She said no. She said that all the other kids have their mommas. She didn't want them to know that she didn't have no momma. I think it's the word momma that means so much to her. It's the word that means so much."
"But it's so wonderful that Cindy has you."
"Well, I do the best I can for her, but I'm not her momma. But I guess it's just as well her momma's gone with her drinking like she does. She's Spanish, so I put her over at this school where they teach the children Spanish, so maybe one day she could talk with her. But I don't know if it's ever gonna happen."
"I'm not gonna let her momma do anything to hurt her, that's for sure. And her daddy, my son, he was living with us, but he's not any better, I'm sorry to say. And one night it got so bad that I just packed us up and we left with little more than the clothes on our backs. So here we are."
"You're taking such good care of her."
"Oh, I'll take care of her. I'll take care of her if it's the last thing I do. But, she does have some nice friends at school, so it's not so bad. Her best little friend at school is Dr. Smith's little girl--Dr. Smith, from the Greenville clinic. Do you know him? He's a good man. A nice family. They had us stay with them over Christmas and they made it so nice for us. They even bought us presents. I wish I could have given them something, but I guess they understood. They did let me fix some cornbread for them to have at Christmas dinner. Dr. Smith says you just can't find good cornbread around here, and he sat there and ate three pieces. Three! I tell you, it did my heart good to see him enjoy it so. There are good people in the world, thank the Lord.
"I'm hoping I can get a job of some kind, but it's not easy now, at my age. I've got an application in at a grocery store, and another for cleaning houses. I didn't think life would be this way, but you just never know. We're not promised anything, are we? But Cindy and me, we have each other. She's a blessing, even with all that's happened."
Hey friends. I was so inspired by Miss Eula's story that I wanted to share it with you.
Have a beautiful Monday! Love, Becky
PS. Names were changed, of course, for the sake of privacy. If you have time, I hope you'll watch a bit of this video from Family Promise. If this charity interests you, you might want to find out if they have an affiliate in your area. Our church hosts three families for one week, three or four times a year. It's a wonderful way to meet incredible people trying to get their feet back on the ground.
Nope, I'm not a raving wackadoodle. At least I don't think so. But I really did see him! Before you call the crazy bus to my house, allow me to explain.
For several years now I've been trying to bring more peace into my life, to take time to breathe and pay attention to my surroundings, to see, to sense, to listen. Usually I'm a complete failure at this and race around like everyone else. But every now and then I get little reminders of the value of inner peace. Like the gold nugget Karen Jackson shared a few weeks ago at the women's conference I attended: the Chinese pictograph for busy is made up of two characters, the one for killing and the one for spirit. Hear that, America? (Hear that, Becky Ramsey?) Our culture may equate busyness with importance, but I know that running all day long sure doesn't feel good to me. So I say all this to give you background, in hopes that you won't think I'm too much of a looneybird.
There is one time of day that I can say I do a pretty good job at paying attention: my morning shower. So it only lasts about five minutes, but hey, it's a very peaceful five minutes. And sometimes it inspires me to continue paying attention even after I've toweled off! And sometimes it inspires me to see impressionist painters in flower petals stuck to my shower door and to write blogs about them and their inspiring, creative lives! See? No? Look harder. That white blotch is a petal from our pear tree that somehow ended up stuck on my shower door. You still don't see van Gogh's face? Come on. I took the trouble to get back in the shower with my camera just to show it to you. It's his silhouette. Maybe this will help. Ta da! Okay, so it could be any bearded man, but to me it's Vincent van Gogh. (It's also an example of pareidolia . Remember that?) Before our French life, all I knew about van Gogh was that he was the crazy painter who chopped off his ear in a fight with Gaughin. Plus, he painted the picture that hung in the kitchen of my childhood home. I'm pretty sure that my mom picked that one because it was cheery and went with our orange and yellow plaid wallpaper, not because I would grow up and one day have a spiritual transformation in France in which van Gogh played an active part, but I'm grateful just the same. It makes me feel like the artist has been following me around all my life, whispering in my ear.
Do you know much about van Gogh? I'm so glad I got to know him a bit. His life proves what I keep discovering: people are so much more than their darkest moments, more than their weaknesses and disabilities, even more than their mental illnesses.
I'll share just a couple things about him that were new to me. Van Gogh started out as an evangelist, a preacher like his dad and uncles. But when he gave away all his things to the poor, in order to more closely identify with them, it started to freak out his family. They made warned the bishop about him and made him quit. He had been painting during that time, painting his parishioners and scenes of their daily life in Holland. He went back to painting, but he didn't stop working for God. He even wrote a letter to his brother Theo, in which he described Christ as "the supreme artist, more of an artist than all others, disdaining marble and clay and color, working in the living flesh."
His art was dark and grim until he moved to France and discovered his own brand of impressionism. Don't you love the passion in his work? I think it vibrates, like his light. Here's another of my favorites. The almond tree, in blossom. Look! We're back to flower petals again. I just love it when that happens. Have a great weekend, y'all! Love, Becky PS. Enjoy this amazing series of self portraits of van Gogh. And if you want a great movie to see this weekend, I recommend Lust for Life, the 1950's film about van Gogh's life starring Kirk Douglass. It's a favorite of mine.
What says Guilty Pleasures to you? I had to ask myself that question yesterday. The PTA at Sam's school is raising money with a silent auction at our Spring Fundraiser, so each class is responsible for putting together a gift basket with an assigned theme. Parents send in money or items for the baskets, the Class Mom shops and assembles them, and then we auction the baskets off with all proceeds going to PTA.
Our theme is Guilty Pleasures, and I must have spent two hours going in circles in Home Goods, agonizing over what to buy. What I consider a guilty pleasure might just sound weird to you. Plus, it needs to appeal to families, so there goes my bottle of homemade muscadine wine and DVD of America's Next Top Model. (Yes, I admit it. It's my guilty pleasure Number One. Every time Todd goes on a business trip, I search the cable listing for reruns. He thinks the show is mind numbing, but I just can't resist the smizing.)
What's in our basket? Sparkling grape juice (which actually tastes alarmingly close to the muscadine wine--not a criticism, Todd--I love that taste) and a couple of pretty glasses, garlic pita chips, (have you tried these? Oh my goodness!) a package of Oreo cookies (not to be eaten with the garlic chips,) Reeses cups, Twixt bars, Snickers bars, gourmet caramel corn, chocolate truffles, a $10 gift card from Starbucks, and a bunch of bath stuff: coconut body scrub, a loofah, L'Occitane soaps, spa socks, and candles to put around the tub.
So what would you put in your basket of guilty pleasures? If the basket was just for me, I'd probably take out the bath stuff and add a stack of home decor magazines and books. And French pastries, of course!
What's your favorite symbol of Easter? Lambs or butterflies? Lilies? Easter eggs? I think the flowery cross is my favorite. I just can't get over God's genius that even in the end (or in the beginning, if you like,) Christ made an ugly instrument of death into something beautiful! But doesn't that fit? Wasn't Christ always doing things like that? Turning things upside down, sharing his crazy-to-the-world wisdom in statements like: The first shall be last, Happy are those who mourn, and Whoever humbles himself like a child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.
When our Sunday school kids decorated the cross with flowers, they were celebrating what Christ had already done. I don't know about you, but all this Easter joy has got me singing... Up from the grave He arose,With a mighty triumph o’er His foes,He arose a Victor from the dark domain,And He lives forever, with His saints to reign.He arose! He arose!Hallelujah! Christ arose!
Happy Easter, y'all! Love, Becky
PS. Just in case you prefer the symbolism of a lamb to a flowery cross, here's a treat for you! It's BAAAAAD. (Meaning good, of course!:)
