dimples, who can resist them?

Baby Ellie has deep, deep dimples, just like Mimi, her mom.

I have some smaller ones--I can let you feel them through my beard if you ask nicely.

If I were smart enough about computers, I'd figure out how to transfer the picture Mimi sent of 'the dimples'. But I'm not. You just have to take my word for it.

When Mimi was a toddler, my second cousin, Kim, who was 8 or so, led me out of the room where Mimi was playing. Then Kim put her hand in front of her mouth and whispered to me, "Mimi has holes in her cheeks...."

I told her I'd already figured that out.

Dimples, just can't get enough of them....

Just when....

I haven't mentioned politics recently since it's all crazier than I could portray it--but today, just when I didn't think it could get more interesting, it did.

Trump expanded his campaign staff to include, I kid you not Kellyann Conway and Stephan Bannon. A bit about them.

I've seen Kellyann interviewed two dozen times. I've yet to hear her answer the question she was asked.

Stephan Bannon is the head of "Breitbart News"--just go look at it. He has been called 'the most dangerous political operative alive' by a conservative!

So, I think Trump has decided, 'what the hell? why try to pivot and be reasonable? let's bring in two people who will not only let me be 'me' but will applaud me being me!'

Things might get even better now. He might actually shoot someone on 5th Avenue to see what happens to his poll numbers....

Buckle up, beloved, the ride is getting rougher....

Blessed beyond believing

I was going to go to bed after a cigarette on our back porch. That was my plan.

But sitting there, smoking, knowing baby Ellie was home with Tim and Mimi in Brooklyn, I was overwhelmed, suddenly and unexpectedly by how blessed my life is. And I needed to tell you.

Blessed is the operative word. I've done nothing I can think of to deserve the life I have been given. I didn't 'earn' it by good deeds and faithfulness--though I have some of those deeds to my credit and have been 'faithful' to some extent. But not nearly enough deeds and faith to merit my blessedness.

Blessings come from God, I suppose, from somewhere 'out there' and 'in here', from something, dare we hope 'Someone' parsing the blessings out?

I have a wife of coming up on 46 years, who I love as much as the moment I met her (and it was--blessedly--'love at first sight'). She endures me more than I could hope for or deserve.

I have--we have--two children who have been paragons of wonder for most all their lives (I did worry about Josh in his first year of college, I must admit!)

And each of them have found a life-mate worthy and beyond worthy of their worthiness.

And they have now given us 4 grand-daughters beyond compare.

Sitting there, smoking a Marlboro Red Label (used to be called "Marlboro Light" though no cigarette is 'light', really) I was broadsided by Blessings.

Bern (my high school sweetheart--how corny is that?) my wife of almost 46 years, my 'love' of 51 years; Josh and Mimi, who we could have, should have? screwed up in some way; Cathy and Tim, their mates, who are wondrous in so many ways; Morgan and Emma and precious Tegan and now baby Ellie....Oh, my God, how do I deserve this???

I don't, of course, I am merely 'blessed'.

It makes me look back: to Virgil and Cleo, who birthed me at Tim and Mimi's ages (40 and 38) and Filbert and Annie, who birthed Virgil, and Manona and Eli, who birthed Cleo (some great names in my family, huh?).

It pours over me--how blessed I am and how little I deserve it.

But I'll take it. Believe you me.

I'll take it and be full of gratitude beyond imagining. Thankfulness worthy of blessings. Wonder and astonishment at what life has 'gifted me'.

(Ellie's real name is Eleanor Reed McCarthy. The "Reed" is for Lou Reed. Tim is a remarkable musician and Lou is his idol. Just like our son is "Joshua Dylan" and the 'Dylan' isn't for Dylan Thomas--though that would be fine--but for 'Bob Dylan'. Not a bad way to choose names, I'd contend, being blessed.)

Home at last...

Five days and 12 hours after her birth at NYU, Ellie arrived home in Brooklyn.


Slept most of the journey, Mimi said. Slept as Tim carried her up to the apartment. Slept in his arms.. Did baby things. Ate, cried, the rest you know.

Funny how much detail comes in the telling of bringing a baby home for the first time....

Settling in. Rested. A little freaked out not to have the dozens of NYU doctors/nurses/whatevers hovering around.

Just Tim and Mimi and Ellie, for the first time, truly on their own.

All will be well, I pray. And a new way of living began for them about 12:30 p.m. today.

No kidding....

Home tomorrow, maybe

Little Ellie has been in Newborn Intensive Care since Thursday afternoon. It was a hard birth and she swallowed and inhaled a lot of fluid. She also decided, since she was there, to develop jaundice--so she's had incubation, feeding tubes, IV's, heart monitors, x-rays, cat-scans, and blue lights...until today.

She's finally unhooked and nursing and might come home tomorrow. Mimi and Tim have been, understandably, wrecks since Ellie went to NICU and Mimi left the hospital Saturday morning. They've been with her a lot of the time, but have also gotten some rest, which will serve them well if Ellie comes home tomorrow.

Mimi and Tim are remarkable people. It's been awful but they have held each other up and tasted each others' tears and kept each other sane.

They'll be wonderful, remarkable, magic parents--as soon as they get that baby home!

Tomorrow, hopefully.....

My boy's birthday

August 14

My son, Josh, is 41 today!

How can my little boy--that I rocked to sleep, changed his diapers, took him to daycare, drove to school, moved from Charleston to New Haven to Cheshire with, saw off the college, saw off to England for a year after college, lived with when he worked for Yale, saw off to law school, married to Cathy Chen, baptized three babies of Josh and Cathy...how's all this happened and I wasn't aware of the time passing.

I remember that day 41 years ago like it was yesterday. After all the birthing classes, his fetal heartbeat went off and they did a C-section, wheeling Bern away from me and pushing me to a waiting room. I saw him through a window, still caked with blood and goop. And he was perfect, just perfect.

That little child, our first born, is 41.

Give me a break, that can't be true....

But it is. I know it is.

Happy, Happy birthday Joshua Dylan (Bob, not Thomas).

I love you so, so, even after all these years. Perfect still.....

400th post one more time

Sometimes I just check on which posts have been most viewed. This blog out of 1700 is the 3rd most viewed and one, in my opinion, of the worst I wrote.

 

Go figure.

 

Saturday, September 17, 2011

400th Post

I just realized this is my 400th post on Under the Castor Oil Tree. I'm too intimidated to go back and read the first one. Jeter got hit 3000 and Mo got save 600 a few days ago. Now I've got blog 400. Who knew?

Since I waxed semi-eloquent on the weather in West Virginia, I decided I'd do the 400th blog with my favorite West Virginia joke.

A Washington lobbyist grew tired of the fast lane and retired to a cabin in the mountains of West Virginia. He couldn't see another house from where he lived and he was delighted with his new life. He read and wrote and ate simply. He couldn't have been happier.

But on the very day he began to feel lonely for the first time, about three months into his wilderness retreat, there was a knock at his door.

When he opened the door he was confronted by a huge, hairy mountain man.

"Hey there," the man said, "I'm your nearest neighbor. I live over the ridge of that second mountain out there to the west and I've come to invite you to a party."

The city man thought that might just be the best thing to cure his newly arrived loneliness--a party in the mountains.

"I'd love to come," he said to the Mountaineer.

"I hav' to warn you," the native said, "there'll be some drinkin'."

"I like a drink from time to time," the city guy replied.

"And there'll prob'ly be some fightin'," his guest told him.

"Well alcohol will do that," said the man from Washington.

"And, last but not least," the West Virginian told him, "there will most likely be some sex."

The city guy wasn't ready for that but he knew he was a stranger in a strange land, so he agreed and said, "well, I understand that might happen."

The mountain man gave him directions to his house, just a mountain or two over.

"Well," the DC guy said, trying to fit in to the culture, "what should I wear?"

"Dudn't matter much," the huge Hill-Billy told him, "it'll jist be you and me...."