Today is my 46th birthday.

There is a quote on a wall at my mom’s house that says,

It’s not the hurts we get that spoil the memories, it’s the ones we give.

This framed piece of needlepoint work has been on her wall since I was in my teens, in at least four homes. It’s a quote I’ve remembered verbatim even though I’ve never really given it any direct thought. I never consciously memorized it, and I don’t remember ever truly “taking it to heart” as a mantra to live by. It’s just a random bric-a-brac hanging on the wall with no special place or memory [for me] attached to it. But I remember it, for some probably subconscious reason.

I don’t know where the quote originated — who said it, where, or when. And I don’t really care to know. I won’t look it up on the Web. It doesn’t matter. That it’s something I remember from my home, from my mom’s wall, is enough.

Now, here at my birthday, it has come to my mind. Thinking back on my 46 years, it has at last struck me just how correct that quote is. You know, thinking about it right now, doing the math in my head, I think my mom was about the age I am now when she originally stitched, framed, and hung that quote. Interesting.

I can think back to many good memories in my life. Good times, good friends. Times and friends and feelings that I miss very much. Situations that, if I were able to go back in time to live through them again, I’d want to just sit there and bask in the feelings again, to appreciate the moment more than I did at the time.

I can also remember some bad times in my life. But although I can remember the feelings, the hurt, the sadness, the depression of those bad times, the memories don’t pain me anymore. For instance, I remember the era of my parent’s divorce. I remember the terrible sadness and depression I felt then, but that sadness is only a memory — it doesn’t still hurt. I remember the break up of my first boyfriend-girlfriend relationship. I remember the heartbreak, the feeling of that hole in my chest. But it doesn’t still hurt me — it’s not a painful memory. In fact, the memories of the relationship make me happy, and they make me smile. (Oh, young love.) I’d probably feel the same about my parent’s marriage years, but I was so young, (5-6 at the divorce), that I just don’t remember anything more than snippets of anything of that time.

But there are memories that do bother me. Memories that I spoiled by giving hurt in some way. I can at least honestly say that I don’t think I ever gave a hurt by intention. I never willfully set out to hurt anyone. But knowing I lacked intention doesn’t really help salve the self-inflicted wounds to my soul. I remember saying things to my mom when I was young that still sting my mind today. I remember breaking a heart, and that casts a shadow for me over the whole relationship.

Hurts happen because of stupidity. Or inexperience. Or fear. Or insecurity. Or because one has to choose between bad options. However they happen, the hurts I gave are what still ache in my conscience, even long after the incident. Sometimes it’s hard to think back to good times that include a moment of my own dickishness. As the quote above says, the hurts one give are what spoil otherwise good memories.

I’ve also heard another quote that’s related to the above: The hardest person to forgive is one’s self. I think I’ve forgiven everyone who’s ever hurt me, either by conscious decision or just by forgetting over time. I really hope anyone I’ve ever hurt has forgiven me. Or at least I hope any hurt I’ve given hasn’t ruined any memories of good times.

Bullgrit

Our boys have just started another school year — Calfgrit12 is starting 7th grade, and Calfgrit8 is starting 3rd grade. Calfgrit12 is nervous, Calfgrit8 is excited — and that’s how they are every year.

Every year on the first day of school, we take photos of our boys ready to take on their classes.

Oh my God, these boys are my everything. I do love them so much. They drive me absolutely bonkers at times, but I look at these pictures and all the craziness is forgotten, only the happy-fun experiences come to mind.

I like these backyard, cell phone photos more than the professional, official photos they take at school. These are my real kids, the school pictures look fake.

Bullgrit

Wifegrit and I have decided to take an adults-only vacation this year instead of the usual family Walt Disney World trip. It’s been a very busy and pretty stressful year so far and we need to get away from everything, (and everyone under 13), for a few days.

We considered whether we wanted to go back to Walt Disney World again, and chose not to. We’ve kind of hit a “been there, done that” feeling with WDW. None of the rides or attractions really excite us as much anymore, and although there are favorite spots that give us warm fuzzies, getting to those spots requires too much effort for what we want and need in a vacation right now. We want this vacation to be a do-nothing-but-relax event. We’re not interested in getting out and walking through parks all day, (or riding on shuttles or waiting in lines). So, we started brainstorming on where to go.

I brought up the Bahamas, but Wifegrit wasn’t interested in something that far away. So I looked into some NC and SC beach resorts. We both love the beach, walking along the waterline, laying out under the sun, smelling the salt air, hearing the roar and crash of the ocean.

In my youth, living just an hour from the coast, I spent a good many weekends at the beach with my family. Then when I went to college at UNCW, I lived less than 15 minutes from the beach, and that allowed me to go so much more often, (sometimes daily). The beach is where I feel most relaxed, easy, and free.

For our vacation this year, we decided to go back to the Wilmington area — Wrightsville Beach. It’s a great area, and Wifegrit and I know it very well. We met and first started dating in Wilmington, (20 years ago). So not only will this vacation let us relax on the beach scene, it will let us revisit some of our old stomping grounds. The last time we went cruising down our memory lanes, our boys were with us, and they weren’t the least bit interested in letting us enjoy any reminiscing in peace. (They wanted to play on the beach.)

So, we’re now counting down the days till our week off from all our responsibilities and stresses and worries.

Bullgrit

So, this pigeon flew down into our backyard. We’ve had many kinds of birds in our backyard, but never a pigeon — especially a white pigeon, with black splotches. We usually get wild birds, and only see common gray pigeons in cities.

This little birdie came down while Wifegrit was in the yard, and showed no concern about a human being near it. When Wifegrit came back inside, I went out to check this feathered visitor. It still showed no fright when I got up very close to it. I was quite surprised. I got up within about 12 inches of the bird; I could have touched it. It posed perfectly for me to snap pictures with my phone. I crouched down on the ground, and it walked around me, eying me up and down.

Eventually the Calfgrits came out with me. Still the pigeon stayed calm, and continued walking around the yard. We talked about how cool this was, and then Calfgrit12 noticed the bird had a band on its leg.

It says how bad my eyesight has gotten that I didn’t notice the band even though I had gotten so close to it. Both Calfgrits could even read the code on the band: NPA 8 10 BS 308.

Wifegrit got on her computer and started searching the Web about this situation. Apparently this bird belongs to someone in the National Pigeon Association (NPA). While I sent an email to the association and called the secretary, Wifegrit put some rice and water in small bowls for the boys to place out in the yard for the bird. I left a voice mail message, and then went back outside.

The bird would drink the water, but wouldn’t eat the rice. Calfgrit12 then took some bread outside, and the little fellow tore right into it. The boys named the bird “Luke.” After about half an hour, everyone was over the initial surprise factor, and the boys played while Luke just wandered around watching the boys. I laid down in the hammock and watched everyone.

We weren’t sure if we needed to do anything about the bird, like capture it. Some Websites gave instructions to box it up and contact the owner, so we started talking about what box we could use and how to go about getting the bird into the box. But other Websites said to just feed and water the bird, and then let it fly home on its own. (Its home could be up to hundreds of miles away.) In the end, Luke made the decision on his own.

He flew up to the roof of our house. He walked around up there for a while, looking down on us as if to say, “Thanks for the food and water. I’m all good now.” A few minutes later, he flew off.

Bye Luke. It was a fun evening with you as our surprise guest.

Bullgrit