Another grey hair


Anyone who knows me at all or reads my blog very often will understand that I loathe snakes of any kind.  Real ones, plastic ones, stuffed ones; it doesn’t matter.  Pictures of snakes, branches that are shaped similar to snakes and even the dead vines in my fence that resemble snakes, all receive mutual disdain.

You can suggest it is a phobia or an irrational fear, you can say I’m being ridiculous, call it what you like, but you won’t change the fact that I abhor snakes.  My husband made the mistake shortly after we were married of thinking it might be cute to bring one in the house to “show me”.  He quickly learned, in the best interest of our marriage, not to ever try such a thing again.

I don’t live in the best area for snake hate, since I have probably seen four outside in the past 3 months.  My husband rarely sees them and sometimes I wonder if they just come out when I’m around to torment me.  He always insists that the ones I describe (and send him photos of) are not harmful and will keep the bad ones away.  He can’t seem to understand that it doesn’t matter if they are venomous or not; if I ever step on one, one crosses my path, or touches me in any way, I will likely die anyway.

My mother was the same way and so is my eldest, so I am sure our critics would say my mom passed down her irrational fears to me, and I did the same to my daughter.  My granddaughter is well aware of this, so she likes to tell her mom she is a slithering snake and slither across the floor and hiss.  She is a little stinker.

She was in the living room playing earlier with my husband and she came into another room where I was reading and said, “Nana, can I have a hug?”  I said, “Of course you can honey” and put my book down and made room for her on my lap.  She is a little snuggle bug so she does this often and any grandparent will tell you that those hugs are a precious gift.  Little hands patting my back and those bouncy curls grazing my face; ahh, one of the best feelings in the world!!  She got up into my lap and out of the corner of my eye she snatched something from behind her back and said “SSSSSSSSS!!!” Dangling from her hand was a snake made from the silly putty that I had bought her, crafted into an instrument of torture.  When I yelped, she threw back her head and giggled and I grabbed her little snake and squashed it.  She found that to be even funnier.  After a tickling session, I sent her back in there with her papa to make something sensible.

Tonight as I was covering the grey in my hair, I remembered that I have heard quotes about our grandchildren keeping us young, but some of their antics can also age you prematurely.  But, oh they so are worth it!

Daily Prompt: Sense of Touch

The Daily Prompt read, Textures are everywhere: The rough edges of a stone wall. The smooth innocence of a baby’s cheek. The sense of touch brings back memories for us. What texture is particularly evocative to you?


Oh, the joys of bubble wrap!

Touch and texture are woven into the very fabric of our lives. God’s beautiful creation offers a plethora of things to touch and taste and see.

Before I saw this post this morning, I was watching baby videos of my granddaughter, who is now 5. We captured her touching anything new and different with delight. She would put her pudgy little finger on a frog and giggle, pet the cat (while the cat tried frantically to get away) and there is one where she appears to shiver when she touches a furry stuffed animal for the first time.

When I think back on my life, my mind is flooded with images of textures that still evoke emotion. There are memories tied to events and people and I stand in awe once again at the way God made us and the senses he gave us.

With both of my grandfathers, I remember lots of warm hugs and a little stubble when I pressed my cheek next to theirs. It was scratchy, yet comforting in some strange way. Their hands were worn with years of hard work, but not too worn to hold mine. I remember when Granny Byrd taught me to work in her flower beds and my love for having the cool earth in my bare hands was born.

Sitting in the lap of Granny Goff, I remember being amazed at the pages of her bible, so thin they seemed almost transparent, yet strong enough to last years of her reading daily. Her elderly hands displayed bulging veins which I would find great amusement in pressing until she would laugh and tell me to quit.

During church, I would play with my Aunt Terrie’s long, beautiful fingernails and she was always so patient with me about it. When I would go to visit Aunt Alice, our favorite place to be was the beach, with our toes in the gritty, warm sand.

I smile thinking about the texture of mom’s fine, curly hair; she never like us to mess with it once she got it just so. Of course, we did anyway. Thinking of Dad reminds me of the wind on my face as we returned from an island camping trip in the boat.

My husband has held me close and his touch has been a source of comfort throughout the years. Thinking of our daughters elicits memories of cookie dough and jello and ice cream. Some of the textures I was confronted with weren’t so pleasant but still bring a smile! There were days at the kitchen table with paper, glue and lots of glitter! The best memories were their little hands in mine. In the beginning they were slobbery little hands but I didn’t care; it was when they no longer needed to hold my hand that I knew things were changing.

Yes, our sense of touch is precious and my life has been touched this morning by going down memory lane. As I reach out and wrap my hand around my warm cup of coffee, I am reminded how precious every moment is once again

The brightest child ever

Today I am missing my little granddaughter, so I am doing what cold, lonely, forsaken (just kidding except for the cold part) grandmothers do who live 848 miles away when they can’t squeeze their little angels.  I am pining over old photographs and videos.  They aren’t really “old” considering my one and only grandchild isn’t even four yet, but you get the point.

As much as I loathe technology at times (very few times), now isn’t one of them.  For those of us who don’t live close to our kids, aren’t we blessed to have Skype, Facebook and other social media to share the milestones? When my son in law was in Afghanistan, he was able to “watch” Christmas and other events to an extent.  I’m honestly not sure if that made him feel better or worse, but at least he could see his wife and daughter in real time.

Just today I was considering how different things were when mine were small.  Of course, we had telephone and videos if you had a big, clunky video camera and a way to play the tapes (I’m not that ancient), but things weren’t nearly as “instant”.  I remember my aunt and uncle living a few hundred miles away and they would have my young cousin talk or sing into a cassette tape recorder and send to my grandparents.  We would all gather round’ to hear his sweet little voice and then deem him the brightest child ever!

The video I’ve shared above also stars the “brightest child ever”, my darling, my angel, my Ayda.  I hope you enjoy as she tries to figure out if she likes the fur on the stuffed animals.  We laughed over how they made her “shiver”.

This one shows her silly faces as she sings along to the “goodbye song” from Yo Gabba Gabba, which I hope I never have to watch again for as long as I live, but I would for her 🙂

Mitch Teemley

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