ladybug

Ladybug! Ladybug!
Fly away home.
Your house is on fire.
And your children all gone.


All except one,
And that's little Ann,
For she crept under
The frying pan.

My grandmother taught me this nursery rhyme.  She was quite elderly and partially senile by the time my memories were forming of her, but here are a few memories I have.  One, we called her Grandmother.  Not grandma, nana, and certainly not granny!  She was a towering five feet tall and maybe 100 pounds, maybe.  She wore heels every day that I remember, and she was extremely proper - I mean, come on, we called her grandmother.  I joke that all of the small genes in the family come from Robert's side, but clearly some of them might come from my side, too.  I'm just not sure where I am hiding them!  Two, she remembered this particular nursery rhyme and recited it to me on several occasions.  I really enjoyed it.  Maybe I requested it, or maybe she liked it a lot too, in any case it worked for us.  She liked repeating things by this age and I didn't mind hearing them over and over again.  I especially liked the part when she made her hands into a frying pan to pretend that little Ann was inside.  Oh, the relief I felt that little Ann was okay.  I'm not exaggerating, I was relieved!  Three, Grandmother gave us candy.  We would visit her every Sunday evening.  At the end of the evening we (usually Ricky, Robert, Shelle, or I) would follow her into the kitchen to help her fill a brown lunch sack with candy.  It was always the same - miniature candy bars and candy orange slices.  It was all we could do to not eat our alloted two pieces on the way home.  These are very fond memories.  They do shift, however. As she aged, she gave us some quite humorous times and then some sad times as her life came to an end.  She really was a grand little lady.

Grandmother was on my mind last night as I spent the better part of an hour researching ladybugs.  Mimi is doing a report on the fair insect.  All internet searches lead to the nursery rhyme.  I am not sure why Mia picked this insect, but it fits her.  It's round and cute and everyone loves it - just like her.  She did come downstairs the other day crying.  She told me she had opened the window in my bedroom and there in the screen was a dead ladybug.  The horror!  She said it made her sad because it is a part of mother nature.  This could quite possibly have been the catalyst to the report.  Regardless of the reason, we are soon to be experts on ladybugs!

So, why the picture of the mailbox?  It is not just because it has to do with home in the poem.  I woke up Sunday to a decapitated mailbox.  I thought old age plus and a stormy night had brought it down.  On our way to church we discovered two more downed mailboxes on the next street.  My theory then shifted to stupid kids.  (I'm sorry if that offends any stupid kids.)  So, because we are knee-deep in trying to sell our house, I came home after church, dropped off the kids, and then headed to Home Depot to get a new mailbox.  As I was installing the new mailbox, my neighbor came running out to inform me that her husband had suffered from a ministroke that morning and he was the one who took out the mailboxes with his truck.  He also hit a tree at the nearby park.  I was so happy to hear that it wasn't stupid kids and so sad to hear it was our neighbor.  All I can say is getting old really, really SUCKS!!!