And more swimmin'

In Florida swimmin'

July 4 with Dukes and Chesneys

Jonathan and Daddy in the pool, lovin' being cool.

Aren't they a pair?! Jonathan is already trying to woo the women with books and knowledge... and a surfer shirt.

Jonathan with Katherine Duke. She's always stylin', check out that patriotic outfit!

Jonathan (observe the socks), Katherine, and Cooper Chesney.

Sweaty but happy at the Kirkwood parade-- William's uncle played Uncle Sam.

Jesse, Katherine, and William Duke. Old friends become new neighbors-- I love life's little suprises:)

Jonathan is getting a little toasty, but loving the cars driving by with streamers and horns!

Our first fireworks as a family.

William and Katherine Duke, Curtis and Cooper Chesney, Katie and Annabelle Chesney, Hannah, Josh, and Jonathan. We had so much fun, thank you Dukes!

"Fire Truck, Again?"

I love watching him learn to communicate and enunciate words. Check out his fire truck impression-- it's pretty impressive.

Boy's best friend

27. Casey and Ashley W

Real, patient, raw, unmoving, determined friendships are hard to come by. They are like needles in a giant city sized haystack, and the finding of them is a jubilant and heartwarming feat. It is a feat that takes weeks, and then months, then years and more. Often you do not realize as these diamonds surface, their glitter is lost amid the sparkle of fun and youthfulness that surround them. A pause is required to reminisce and sigh deep in the acknowledgment of their presence.

Josh met Casey and Ashley back in high school, and they all stayed in touch as the boys both went to Appalachian. High school sweethearts, Casey and Ashley had already been married six months when I was whisked away to Greensboro with wide eyes and some semblance of optimism regarding new friendships. The three of them decided we should all get together, and I liked them from the start. Ashley is thoughtful and bright, hard working and compassionate. Casey is rugged and opinionated, brusque and humorous. They are both fiercely loyal and determined to make people feel known and appreciated.

When I first got to know them I was a bit startled by Casey's innumerable stories of hunting, fishing, riding, hiking, and general adventuring. It was part awe and part jealousy-- I hadn't felt the tug of a line or the rumble of hooves in a long time. He seemed to have the somewhat cocky swagger of one who has taken on the elements and done fine for himself, and I figured that his stories would stay his own. Content to enjoy his retellings by the light of waxing candles that burned down long after dinner, I didn't dare ask to be carted along. I didn't have to. When I turned twenty five the two of them asked what I'd like to do for my birthday. With a giddy childlike sigh I intimated my desire to be back on a horse, without lead rope or a carnival in the background. Casey said he'd get on that.

A few months later I was swinging my leg into the saddle for not only a day of riding with Casey and Ashley's friends and acquaintances but trailer light card games and camping to follow. It was one of the most hilarious and memorable days of my adulthood and despite an allergy attack that left me nearly incapacitated I still smile thinking of Casey and Ashley's determination and follow-through to see me enjoy my birthday.

Ashley is the heartbeat of their marriage. Her empathy runs further than skin deep, so when she furrows her brow in concern for you it is reaching all the way to her marrow. She once called me in a frenetic tone of voice asking advice on how to speak truth to a friend. The humility in asking was impressive in itself, but the zeal for her friend was more so. Every time we do dinner together, which usually means they cook for us at our house so Jonathan can fall asleep in his own bed, Ashley comes smiling through the door and immediately asks me what's new. Her eyebrows are raised and eyes flashing, as if daring me not to be genuine in my response. I've long since given up trying to act like everything's just fine, and instead I root around in my brain to come up with all the new, old, exciting, and taxing. She listens intently and then, most graciously, is honest with me as well.

When Jonathan was born Ashley and Casey were determined not to lose our bi-monthly dinner dates. As I felt pretty confined to the house with a new baby's restrictive feeding and sleeping schedule, we started venturing out much less. Our loyal friends were not to be deterred, so they came over for dinner and brought dinner with them-- from baked spaghetti all the way to dessert and wine. When they pitched the idea it was not so much a suggestion as a statement. It was the same one they've been making for the last four years: "We are diving head first into this friendship and into your lives. You can set out the welcome mat or bar the door, but we're coming a knocking either way. By the way, we brought the wine and fresh caught fish."

26. Mrs. Brennan

I love to read. Getting lost in a book is like getting a pedicure, sitting down in a sauna, or laying out on the beach. I can feel the forest breeze pass over me, the salty sea air brush my nostrils, the meadow grasses tickle my ankles, and the welcome of a homecoming embrace. Besides the beautiful scenery and life-giving adventure is the mystery. Any good novel is laced with the mystery of metaphor, allegory, allusion. Mrs. Brennan is the woman who unlocked the door for me to see what I could really suck out of a good book. She showed me that while orange juice is good, sinking your teeth into a pulpy flesh is even more exhilarating.

Mrs. Brennan is a tall, willowy woman with swooping brown hair that was going gray around the edges when I knew her. She had a long and pointing nose and big round eyes that were framed in thick black mascara. When she read passages to us in her gentle yet fervent voice her spectacles sat on the end of her nose and the chain dangled down, curving around her ears and resting gently on her neck. It seemed that everything about her rested gently. She wore long flowy skirts and loose colorful blouses. She had slender feet and a swanlike neck and we all talked about how she must have been a knockout in college. Sometimes we stole glances at the pictures on her desk in the back corner of her room, where we rarely ventured except when we visited after class to check our grades, and a couple of us were pretty sure we saw a photo of a familiar looking blonde beauty with long hippie hair and an eye-catching figure.

The impressions we had in our head of Mrs. Brennan were shadowy at best, she kept her personal life held close like a buried treasure and we hesitated to disrespect her with so much as a question about family or her past. All of us sat around the clustered wooden tables during class and proudly shared our carefully essayed observances and takes on the novels, pausing to look up for her smile of approval. Outside of class, however, we had much more pride in our teacher than in our own literary analysis. She stole the show without so much as an "Ahem" or an "Actually,...". I think she just loved to hear our excitement in discovery and let us have the spotlight. I know she'd read thousands of pages more than we had combined, but she always made me feel like I'd discovered something new, she let me be Columbus and sat back to watch me detail the New World.

I'll never forget holding those paperbacks in my hand, notes splayed out in front of me and next to me my classmates', watching her beckon us further in to the story with rose pink blush sparkling on her cheeks and on her forehead. I always thought it odd that she dabbed that bright pink powder on her prominent forehead, and noticed it especially when her brow furrowed in thought. Now I can't think of her without it. It calls me to remember how I watched her in a sort of mature wonder. Old enough to appreciate that she would stay in my memory, perhaps I was cataloguing her unique oddities and her riveting beauty. Oh, she was riveting. Her eyes were bright and piercing but never accusing. Even when we procrastinated, or just plain failed in our work, she was always encouraging, always pushing us forward like the breeze at our backs. A rudder I suppose, she was like a rudder. She steered our little class ship from the back, gently turning an inch or two to make us steer for a totally different island.

As a teacher and a woman I am so grateful for that year of discovery and opportunity. I love thinking about the work she inspired me to do, the words she taught me to write with the simple and patient urging of her trust. Her gracefulness and wisdom will continue to surface in the pages that I read and treasure for a lifetime. I hope she knows what a wonderful teacher she was for me.