Farewell, summer!

Yesterday I stumbled upon -- and posted -- photographic evidence of how wacky my neighbors are. I came upon that photo while searching for photos for a collage of some shots I took around the yard this summer.

Here is that collage:

As we head into fall -- my favorite season -- these are my reminders of how pleasant summer can be, too. Well, minus the 100-plus degree temps, of which I took a photo of the temperature gauge to remind us of the misery we endured due to heat when we're whining and complaining about the cold during the dead of winter.

The photo in the bottom left corner was meant to be a shot of our resident black squirrel meeting up with one of our resident albino squirrels. Unfortunately the white one ran off just as I snapped the photo. Eventually I'll have such a depiction of natural diversity and tolerance to share with you ... once the white squirrel gets a little better about the "tolerance" part of the picture.

The photo in the bottom right corner is a bit difficult to see at that size, but it's a baby robin in a nest in one of our trees on the patio. The nest was visible right from our deck.

In my area, the forecast for this coming weekend makes it ripe for one last fling with the heat -- a glorious hail and farewell to summer!

Today's question:

What will you miss most about summer?

Go ahead, call me a peeping grandma

As I was going through some of my photos to create a collage of summer shots I took over the last few months, I came across this:

It first startled me because I don't know those guys. I wondered what kind of ghostly happenings went on with my computer, leaving such a murderous image seemingly straight from a horror flick in my Picasa.

Then I truly laughed out loud as I remembered what it was.

One day in June when Jim was home for lunch, he called me into the kitchen, saying, "You gotta see this ... but don't go past the window." So as I crept into the kitchen, he directed me to look out the dining room window, where what do I behold but barber duty taking place on the deck of our always mysterious, endlessly bizarre neighbors. Hilarious!

This may be illegal ... who knows ... but I slunk way down at the dining room table and shot this with maximum zoom, right through the window. They never even noticed.

Funny thing is, neither of those guys in the photo are our neighbors and we had never seen them next door before. Even funnier: Later that evening there was a whole new set of guys out there -- including our neighbor, the father of one of the guys -- lined up for their turn while all the others gave advice and compliments.

I think somebody got a good deal on a pair of clippers at the flea market then shared his good fortune with his buddies, calling out, "Free summer cuts all around!"

Tomorrow I will post the collage I mentioned. For today, this forgotten photo was just too funny to pass up!

Today's question:

How often do you visit a hair salon and what do you usually have done? (Cut? color? highlights? lowlights?)

A gran unlike any other

When you hear about a grandma named "Gran," whose the mother to three adult children and has her two grandchildren living with her (along with their mother, too), the picture in your mind likely isn't of a vibrant woman with the most beautiful red hair ever.

Which is why this week's Grilled Grandma, Sherri, is a gran unlike any other! She's all of those things yet just get a load of her picture to the right.

Isn't she gorgeous!?

Of course, there's far more to Sherri than just great hair and a sweet smile. Click over to Grilled Grandma: Sherri to read all about this red-haired grandmother and her adorable -- and funny -- granddaughter and grandson.

Today's question:

If you could have the hair of any celebrity, whose would you choose?

My answer: Susan Sarandon's, hands down.

My life in numbers

I'm not a number person. I'm a word person. Which is why I get a little frazzled when it seems my life's focus is on numbers.

Last week, the numbers of highest importance were the number of literacy tutors versus the number of students in need. As a site coordinator for the local children's literacy center, it's up to me to pair up students with tutors for my site -- a true juggling act when the numbers go up and down more erratically than the stock market. Things finally leveled out, luckily, just in time for yesterday's start to the semester.

While tutoring numbers were top priority for a week or so, they were far from the only numbers battling for space in my psyche. Here are nine more:

1. My age. Yes, it's on my mind more than in the past. Surprised? Nah, I didn't think you would be.

2. My bank account. Unlike the number of tutors or students, my bank account numbers aren't erratic. No, they're just always low. Too low for my liking. Which is why I think about them a lot.

3. My weight. I snack more than I should. Salty stuff. Fatty stuff. Even sugary sweet stuff that never used to appeal to me. Paired with the amount of time I spend sitting on my cuss makes for a very ugly number.

4. Steps recorded on my pedometer. I try daily to get in a high number of steps to lower that No. 3 number. Some days it works. Some days it doesn't. Some days I feel like flushing the pedometer down the toilet so I don't have to know the truth about that number.

5. Rejections from editors. I keep my head partially in the sand on this one. The rejections come, but I don't count them. My agent e-mails to say "Here's another very nice rejection" and I write back to say "Thank you very much for that nice rejection." Then she keeps submitting to editors, I keep my fingers crossed. My agent has faith in my book, I have faith in her judgment. One of these days her e-mail will announce a YES, and I will then count up all the rejections it took to reach that answer. Until then I pretend the number doesn't matter. Yet it does. A lot.

6. Blog stats. Visitors, comments, subscribers, bounce rates. Aack! Why do I keep checking the numbers? These are the numbers I'm most obsessed with. These are the ones I'm most tired of thinking about. These are the ones that make not a whit of difference in my life, yet I still obsess over them. Why?

7. Posts not yet read in my Google Reader. I really want to read them all. Honest. Mostly because I have a feeling at least a few of those bloggers -- my friends -- might be as obsessed with their numbers as I am with mine, and I hate to think my not clicking to read might add to their digit distress in even the smallest of ways. Besides, most simply have some really cool things to say that I don't want to miss. I will get through them. Eventually.

8. Books not yet read in my review piles. Spending far too much time on No. 6 and No. 7 has left me with more books waiting to be read and reviewed than I care to admit. Friends have graciously offered help and I've declined any new books until I get through my current stack, yet I still want to kick myself for letting this get so out of hand. And will continue to kick myself until the number of books gets pert near zero.

9. Days before I see Bubby. I thought there'd be a visit in October; now it's not happening. Which means there are 71 days until I see my grandson at Thanksgiving. That's a number I don't like. Maybe I'll get lucky and No. 5 will become a non-issue (meaning I get a big fat YES from an editor!), which means No. 2 would see an uptick, which means I could buy a ticket to see my grandson sooner than Thanksgiving.

Which means No. 9 could be removed from my list.

Or replaced by another number of concern.

Of which the odds of happening are pretty darn high.

Even though I'm really not much of a numbers person.

Really!

Photo courtesy stock.xchng.

Today's question:

What numbers are currently causing you distress -- or elation?

Not in Grandma's job description

Bubby's in trouble.Soon after I published the post about Bubby seeming mature beyond his two years by taking responsibility for his actions, he had a horrid day marked by, as Megan put it, "making bad choices."

In other words, he acted like a two-year-old.

Seems that Bubby pushed down a little girl he didn't want invading his personal space. He didn't balk over the subsequent time-out, he didn't apologize to his victim, and, more distressing to Megan, he didn't express any remorse over his dastardly deed.

Megan had a serious conversation with Bubby to let him know such behavior is not acceptable. "We use our hands to love, not to hurt" was the theme of her lecture. She also assigned Preston to follow through with a similar lecture when he got home from work that evening.

And she called me to ask that Gramma and PawDad mention it during our weekly Skyping session, that we stress the importance of being kind to others, making good decisions, doing the right thing. No problem, I told her. By all means, we can reinforce good behavior.

Facing the music.Then we proceeded to Skype. Jim and I started off the video conversation with questions about the incident and admonitions about being nice to others.

And it sucked. For all of us.

Bubby faced the music -- and the webcam -- with reservation and solemnity not typical of our Skype time. The happy little grin that usually fills our computer screen during our video visits was replaced with a sad, seemingly confused little boy who didn't understand how Gramma and PawDad could be so serious with him.

It was a painful moment for Bubby. It was a painful moment for me and Jim. I think it was a tad uncomfortable, possibly even painful, for Megan.

Again, it sucked. For all of us.

So we all -- most importantly, Bubby -- quickly agreed Bubby would make better choices going forward. Apology accepted. We moved on to happy talk. We read a story book. Bubby's grin appeared. It also appeared Bubby had learned his lesson.

Apology accepted!I know I certainly learned mine: Going forward, lecturing will be left to Megan and Preston. Skype time with Bubby is too precious to have it tainted by stern talk in somber voices and a sad little boy staring back at me on the computer screen.

I'm willing to have Megan's back on the reinforcing of proper behavior and such. Believe me, I understand the necessity for such. But if she wants me to do it with a heavy hand, she'll need to move closer so I can do it in person because I hereby declare I will no longer do teleconference lecturing.

Teleconference lecturing is not in the job description for long-distance grandmas. At least not in this long-distance grandma's job description.

Today's question:

When has the "This is going to hurt me more than it hurts you" adage come into play for you?