a late afternoon bike ride

Note mud up Jed's back

nothing special to watch, just a glimpse of a brisk end to our day

beautiful music

On Thursday, Jed brought his cello home. His school offers strings to students starting in first grade so as soon as he was eligible, he signed up and picked the cello because it was the biggest option. The teacher limited homework to practicing taking the instrument in and out of the case safely. He has devoted himself to this task and has invited neighbors to watch. If he gives half as much attention to his practice once he starts playing, he'll be the next Yo-Yo Ma. Hopefully, for all our sakes, she will let them start playing (or "playing") soon because he is absolutely dying to get started. 

This is what happens when two city boys watch rodeo on TV for the first time

a slack start to the new year

My blog-slacking has continued. We've been sick a lot, and school was only in for a couple of weeks before the MLK holiday, which was followed by a teacher work day, so we've been short on routine. But we've also been short on photo-able moments. The boys are full-tilt, in constant motion, and have little tolerance for a camera. 

Jed is playing basketball this season and I have yet to see a game or practice thanks to meetings and other obligations, but Eric caught some of the action this past Saturday morning. 

Macon, meanwhile, has been working on his writing and drawing, and his not-intended-to-be-funny comments. Earlier this week, after putting groceries away, I left a stick of deodorant on the counter to await an upstairs trip. Eventually, Macon passed by, stopped and said, "What's that?" 

"Deodorant," I said. 

Macon asked again with extra emphasis, loudly and very slowly, "But what IS that?" 

I said, "Deodorant. It helps me smell good." 

Macon leaned over and put his nose on the hem of my shirt and took a deep breath. "It's not really working for you." 

Basketball: Jed's team won, 14 to 16, on a last-second buzzer-beater. 

Macon's drawing of his family.

And on the flipside, a drawing of "Daddy's office building and Daddy."

 And if you need to entertain Macon, just help him build a tent/camp/fort/house/castle/cave.

happy new year!

Tonight, Eric and Macon helped Jed fix dinner so Jed could earn a Y-Guides badge. Jed whipped up a semi-traditional meal of collards, hoppin' john (albeit made with a variety of beans rather than black-eyed peas), and country ham on biscuits.

Now, at our house, the chef is usually excused from clean-up duties, so I was in the kitchen washing up and packing up leftovers when I got to the ham. Aaahh.The Ham. This was no honey ham. This was real ham. The ham of hams. A ham's ham: it was a Virginia ham. A salty little gem that one of our neighbors brought us on Christmas Day.

I was delighted to receive it because it happens that a Virginia ham was a staple of my childhood holiday family meals on the Woodard side. I enjoyed it tremendously tonight and after dinner, I started to just wrap up the remaining hunk, but Eric suggested slicing it first, so while the boys took off, I started slicing it as thinly as I could, piling it onto a piece of tinfoil.

Well, the smell that wafted up, that perfect smokey, salty, hammy smell, took me straight to Be's kitchen in Conway. She always served a salty Virginia ham at her holiday meals and at the end of the evening, there would always be someone bent over a greasy cutting board, loading up a piece of (previously used and washed) tinfoil with ham.

I closed my eyes and I was right there in Be's kitchen with the wall-mounted rocket-ship ice crusher and the wallpaper covered with fruits and vegetables, under the fluorescent light, pestering her, Aunt Phyllis, and Mama to finish the clean-up so we could open Christmas presents. I could see it all like I'd just walked out her back door: the plastic tub of slush with an ice pick stuck in it, Jello salad, green water glasses that looked like they were made of little bricks, vinegary collards, and aprons for anyone in the kitchen.

Our meals and gatherings are not the same. They can't be and they shouldn't be, but I hope the boys will have memories that are as vivid and visceral and warm as mine are.

Happy New Year. Ambrosia, anyone?