Motion is Lotion

The building of thunderheads was gradual but steady.  Half our week of vacation was gone before the fluffy white, unproductive clouds turned angry with wind and pelting rain.  At least that's how it was at our house.  Out of the North came the winds that rattled the blinds and as we scurried to close the windows, we laughed.  The clap of thunder let us know that the recent clouds weren't fooling around.  They intended to show their greatness.

Hence the fires.  The local smoke of summer becomes one with your very breath.  No escaping.  It's here to stay until a different act of God calms the blaze.  The sun, red.  The horizon visible at times.  The summer evenings transformed, hot smell of smoke and fire. 

It was a week of sisterhood.  At least one sister.  We arose in the am at no particular time, shared coffee in the great outdoors.  Talked about what the day would look like.  Our goal, if there was one -- to move.  Our 96 year old Granny always says "motion is lotion".  So we set our feet in motion upon the pedals of our bikes.  We saw beautiful views and a few deer.  We met people to talk with and yes, we sweated.  We were pretty serious.  Serious yes but not so much that we couldn't enjoy an ice cream at the local jolly cone.  Not so serious that we couldn't stop and visit and even share dinner with parents and friends.  The seriousness of life would skirt away at the most unexpected times with laughter on its tail.

Hoping to catch up with sister #1, we stopped mid day by Granny's.  It was a hot day but Granny was nice and cool in her big house.  We interrupted her mid day nap but she was happy to see us.  We toured her garden and yard before settling into a visit.

Generously, she filled a couple of bags with fresh veggies and invited us to eat from her strawberry patch.  In fine Granny fashion, she spoke of family and smiled her smirk when she didn't want to say what she was thinking.

 

She warned us to avoid the low flying clothes line as she motioned with her index finger what it could do to a person.  I stooped and thought of the many pieces of clothing it has held over the years.  I have always loved a clothes line.  I told my sister once, it's quiet at the clothes line because none of the kids want to go there.  So during our peak kid years, if she was at my house, I knew she would always hang the laundry in the great outdoors.  One, because it made the clothes smell good, two because she loved the view and three--it was indeed quiet.

 

The apple and pear trees at Granny's, loaded with fruit, amazed at the ability of these old trees to set on a harvest.

 

 

 

Going in Granny's back door, the entry shows the wear.  The wood, tattered with many nicks. The white handle, one of my favorite old things.  The door handle has been opened many more times than I can comprehend.  The generations.  The trips from the garden, woodpile, milking the cow.  Grandkids that have opened this handle with youthful quickness.

 

Our visit with Granny was sweet. 

Our visit with Carla was sweet.

Here's to sweet moments that turn into hours that make up a day. 

It's the thankfulness that is important.

Our week ended with Carla boarding a plane.  The things that remain are feelings of satisfaction from time spent together, the need to continue moving and yes, the dreaded smoke.