Visitors!

Two Generations.

The Sky Above.

Where's the Beach?

Springtime Tap Stars.

Mothers' Days Past.

I came across a keepsake box last week, and it just so happened that two photos from Mother's Day were inside. Seemed appropriate, so above is my Aunt Ve and her family on Mother's Day 1966. They are sitting on my Granny's couch in her E. Cordova apartment in Pasadena.
My sister is going to kick my butt for posting this, but this is us and our Grandpa on Mother's Day 1983. I used to be kinda hot! Now, my sister's the hot one.

Abby's Birthday Blast.

Bring on the cake!

The pull-string pinata.

Tom's culinary creations.

Studio time.

Tom teaches an impromptu shop class to the older girls.

Rollergirls and Scrapbook Cover

Now THIS is dedication!

So, Ellen trips over this embankment thing in a parking lot and tears a ligament in her back. She's on bed rest (and heavy narcotics) for at least a week. So does this stop her from getting to work at 4 a.m. and doing the show?? Nope. She is on set, in a hospital bed and jammies, and has one of those rolling hospital tables to hold her notes, and her guests sit in one of those awful vinyl bedside chairs in a harvest gold color. She did a lot better today than yesterday...and is quick to point out that she's on drugs, but I wouldn't go to work half this hurt!

Of course, being Ellen, her bed linens are much nicer than yours or mine!

Oh no you didn't!

Green Things.

When I was growing up, my parents always had the most beautiful yard in the neighborhood. They had this meticulously-trimmed St. Augustine grass (which was cranky and prone to this type of bug called a Chinch Bug, and needed tons of Sulfate of Ammonia and water--even during drought). They had a huge bougainvillea with tons of magenta flowers, and some natal plum bushes in three perfectly square shrubs lining the driveway. In the back, they had rows of roses were pruned at just the right time, yielding fragrant bouquets all spring and summer. Unlike many of the nouveau riche springing up around us, my parents didn't rely on underpaid migrant gardeners to do their landscaping. They did it temselves, and were out there hours every week

I thought they were crazy.

I couldn't believe the amount of time these two spent being yard-proud. Through heat waves and mosquito infestations, sunburns and randy teenaged boys whooping out of their car windows at my mother in her bathing suit, pushing the mower, my parents tended to that yard as if their lives depended upon it. Frankly, I didn't get it at all.

So, I'm surprised to report that I've lived a lot of places as an adult, hoping with each one that it'd be permanent, by the way. And as a consequence, I have planted gardens at each place. Bulbs that would come back year after year, perennials that would also, and splashy annuals that added flash while the the others came up. And, without exception, we had to move again before I got to see how well these gardens took. But with each one, I found the whole process more and more addictive.

So, the irony is that after years spent trying to avoid yard work, I'm now calling my parents frequently, asking them when to prune this, how to eradicate that and what grows where. I even have a gardening site bookmarked on my browser and (gasp!) gardening books. Nobody who had known me during my childhood would have ever guessed on this outcome on a bet.

Which just goes to show, people can change at any age, so don't get too set in your impressions of them.