Long Hollow

A Welcome Sound at the Bend

I first heard it at the point where the road bends and dips - the soft gurgling of running water. When was the last time I heard that music out here? I can't remember. I'm sure I took it for granted at the time, not realizing I wouldn't hear it again for months and months.

Nestled between two hills above the road, there's a pond that captures the rain. The water seeps downhill to this low spot, passes under the road through a culvert Tom installed (so we didn't have to drive through the creek), follows a rocky creek bed and finally joins Long Hollow Creek - the one that crosses through our property...or at least used to cross through before the arrival of the drought and the dam. Time, and more rain, will tell whether or not we still have a creek running behind our house.

Max is a water dog; he made a beeline for a cool pool in the woods several feet downstream from where the water runs under the road. Everything is greener. Flowers bloom, awakened by the rain, coaxed by sunshine and 90 degree temperatures.

Again, it amazes me and inspires me that the earth can tuck itself in like that, stubbornly hanging on, biding its time, having faith that the drought would eventually end. Now it's time to celebrate and give thanks.

During my days of drought, I'll try to remember the earth, its faith and this celebration.

"Come forth into the light of things; Let Nature be your teacher." (William Wordsworth)

Thinking of Bonfires and Peace

I wore a jacket on my walk this morning. Fall is trying to push summer off the stage. It isn't going without a fight - our temperatures are predicted to climb back up into the 90's this weekend.

But this morning dark blue clouds filled the northern sky - I'm not sure if this qualified as a real 'blue norther' but the brisk wind and gray skies made me think of bonfires, roasting marshmallows, and hot chocolate. I swear I could smell campfire smoke.

I'm seeing more deer on our walks - a sure sign of fall. They appear far down the road, usually just crossing into the woods on the other side. This morning one stood still in the middle of the road, staring at us. Max froze and stared back, but when the deer finally skittered into the woods, he ran after it. It was only a half-effort - he knows from experience he's not ever going to catch a deer - but he looks for excuses to run, especially now that he's stuck walking with senior citizens like me and Charly. Sometimes on our walks he'll bark and start running, and I swear he's just making it up. But Charly falls for it and tries to run after him, so it's a good thing.

Earlier this week a representative from the Texas Commission of Environmental Quality dropped by to check out our neighbor's dam. He was one of the first persons I talked to months ago - a really nice, sympathetic, understanding and helpful man- but his agency had no say in the matter until the dam continued to grow and grow and grow. He called me last week to let me know he'd be in the area. I haven't heard back from him this week; I'm very curious about his visit, and I've thought of calling to see what came of it, but I'm so tired of the whole thing, tired of hitting brick walls and hearing agencies say, "oh, what a shame, but there's nothing we can do."

Tom and I have reached a peaceful point of resignation about the dam; except for a few creative tit-for-tats we've imagined, there's not much else we can do about the situation, and in the grand scheme of things - life and death - it's just a background story. I've handed it over to God - to either have it removed or help me put it in the proper perspective and live in peace.

A friend sent me this article, written by another friend who wants to remain anonymous, and it reinforced that attitude...

"On Sunday, September 6th, I arrived at church and worship was just beginning.  The Lord impressed on me three wonderful words "It is broken."  As always, anytime we hear from the Lord, we get excited.  I moved on into worship, all the while pondering with Him what He meant by this and whom this word was for.   There was such anticipation in my heart.  Over the course of the worship time, as I looked across the sea of many familiar precious faces, faces with many battle scars from the trials of life, God showed me that this word was for the entire body.
 
It is broken.  Whatever burden weights us down, it is broken.  Whatever tie has kept us bound is broken.  Whether it is physical illness or emotional turmoil, it is broken.  Whether it be addictions, distractions, afflictions, deceptions, pain, blame, unforgiveness, pride or apathy, IT IS BROKEN!   Whatever name you put on it, God has already stamped over it "BROKEN!"  He reminded me that it was broken on the Cross -- and the body of Christ IS already healed.  In my own life and the lives of my wonderful church family, however small and trivial or mountainous and insurmountable, IT IS BROKEN off of us!  
 
My sweet daddy just celebrated another birthday. To be honest, I wasn't sure he'd live to see it.  He has been battling Parkinson's and Dementia for the past 5+ years. He is very frail both in his mind and his body.  It has been a very long, painful, heart wrenching, grueling road.  God reminds me so beautifully though that even this too is broken.  One day my dad will walk in complete wholeness - be it here on earth or with the Lord in heaven.  Parkinson's and Dementia are not my dad's identity. They are already broken off of him.    So be encouraged! Whether you see it today, tomorrow, next week or next year, your burden be lifted  - IT IS BROKEN!
 
The breaking of the drought this week is a physical picture of the spiritual breaking throughout the body of CCC."

Thanks to my friends - for the writing and the sharing of this inspiration.

Oh, and happy 60th birthday to Bruce Springsteen! Thank you for following your dreams so many years ago and sharing your music, energy, passion and poetry with all of us.

"Every Step I'm Taking..."

I'm a fifty-year-old, perimenopausal woman, clinging stubbornly to decades-old dreams of finishing college and making a living as a full-time writer. Imagine my surprise when I heard a song on the radio that seemed to express all of the jumbled emotions many women (and probably men) my age are feeling - disappointment, discouragement, determination, joy and hope - and discovered it was sung by Miley Cyrus! A sixteen-year-old!  How could a sixteen-year-old sing something that spoke to a woman my age?

Kendall is eighteen, so I completely missed the whole Hannah Montana wave that struck pre-teens a few years ago, and I've just never paid much attention to Miley Cyrus's music, whether she sang with or without the blonde wig. It just wasn't my style. I thought, anyway.

This one I like. I think she does a good job singing it, but sure enough, she didn't write it. Two seasoned songwriters, Jessi Alexander and Jon Mabe, get the credit. Jessi's not as old as me, but she seems to have been working on her dreams of being a singer/songwriter for awhile, too. Even though I like Miley's version of "The Climb", I bet Jessi could belt out a really heartfelt rendition herself. She's written songs for some big names, but has also released her own albums. I listened to a few tracks, and I like them. Maybe this song will give her the attention she needs to reach the top of her mountain.  I hope so. We dreamers need to keep rooting for each other, as we climb.

I can almost see it
That dream I'm dreaming
But there's a voice inside my head saying
"You'll never reach it"

Every step I'm taking
Every move I make feels
Lost with no direction
My faith is shaken

But I gotta keep trying
Gotta keep my head held high

There's always gonna be another mountain
I'm always gonna wanna make it move
Always gonna be a uphill battle
Sometimes I'm gonna have to lose

Ain't about how fast I get there
Ain't about what's waiting on the other side
It's the climb

The struggles I'm facing
The chances I'm taking
Sometimes might knock me down
But no, I'm not breaking

I may not know it
But these are the moments that
I'm gonna remember most, yeah
Just gotta keep going

And I, I got to be strong
Just keep pushing on.

'Cause there's always gonna be another mountain
I'm always gonna wanna make it move
Always gonna be a uphill battle
Somebody's gonna have to lose

Ain't about how fast I get there
Ain't about what's waiting on the other side
It's the climb, yeah!

Keep on moving, keep climbing
Keep the faith, baby
It's all about, it's all about the climb
Keep the faith, keep your faith, whoa

Uncertain Skies...Reminders of a Year in the Life

"Barbara Inez...just what have you been up to? I mean I've already been gone a week and I'm sure a lot has happened..."  "...Barb, I hope you get your tail in gear and get up here to see me. It's just beautiful..."  "I've always loved that song "You've got a friend" by Carol King and it fits us perfectly..." 

I found these words last week in a yellow and orange scrapbook filled with ticket stubs, letters, newspaper clippings and other relics of 1977. They're from Ann to me, from Utah to Texas, 32 years ago. 

So much has happened recently that reminds me of those years. There was Kendall's high school graduation and eighteenth birthday, and then this morning Daniel moved into his first apartment. I didn't move into mine until 1978, but events in 1977 pushed me in that direction.

This morning's sky held gray clouds that hinted at rain, but also patches of sunshine-filled blue...just the right balance of uncertainty and hopefulness for Daniel's move-in day and the beginning of a new chapter in his life...living off campus with his own bedroom and a roommate who's future also hinges on how this semester goes. 

 Sunshine prevailed - no rain fell to ruin his furniture and clothes packed tight in the back of the truck. We need the rain, but I was grateful for sunshine today. I hope it portends a semester with a happy, sunshine-y ending. I keep hoping my kids learn from my college mistakes - I want them to hang on, bounce back, keep trying.

As if moving Daniel into an apartment wasn't enough, today we bought a brand new car!! Specifically an apple red Hyundai Elantra. It's the first new car I've owned in almost twenty years...the first compact car in more than twenty. I admit - it's scary. But we couldn't afford to NOT take advantage of the government's Cash for Clunkers program. We doubled our money on our old black truck after abusing it for five years...AND we have a full warranty. It was our early anniversary gift to each other - for me, a new car...for Tom, freedom from working on my car.

But it also reminded me of 1977...the year of my first new car - a Toyota Celica GT Liftback - and Bad Company's "Burning Sky" on 8-Track.

1977 was my first real 8 to 5 job...Stephen King books...Star Wars...Ted Nugent...Bad Company...Kiss...Eagles...South Padre on the 4th of July with Ann, Jena and Carey...a week with Ann at Utah State when I found out my parents were getting divorced...a feeling that I was lost, falling, drowning.

1977 was University of Houston... scholarships and chemical engineering...and days driving to Galveston, sitting on the seawall , too overwhelmed by the thoughts swirling in my head to worry about school...

1977 was an intense year  - one of more highs and lows than any other in my life. It was almost my last...

It seems ironically appropriate...almost too coincidental, as if it was written this way for a movie...that the autumn night I returned my Homecoming Queen crown was a night I decided there was nothing in my life worth living for. It wasn't a conscious, premeditated thought...the idea had never even crossed my mind before! Rather, it was an impulsive, depression-fueled-by-alcohol action, followed by "Oh, my gosh, what have I done?" In that instant when it was almost too late, I realized that no matter how bad I thought things were, I wanted to live.

I guess that's all God needed - I had turned my back on him a year or two before, but he hadn't forgotten me. He sent angels to watch over me and rescue me that night, and later, my sister's tears washed the remaining dark clouds from my brain - the ones I had let slip in to distort reality. It broke my heart to know I had hurt her and the rest of my family. I'm ashamed now to admit I let such piddly little obstacles break my spirit. I'd like to say I was much stronger than that. But I had forgotten the source of my strength, and when my other moorings were broken, I floundered.

Looking through the scrapbook reminds me how weak I really am, by myself. I shared my experience with my kids years ago, hoping it would be a reminder to them that no matter how bad things get, as long as you're breathing you have hope...you have a chance to change things...and that no matter how badly you screw up, God is standing by, ready to pick you back up if you just ask.

On the practical side, I've also warned them not to drink when they're depressed. I think everyone has up days and down days - that's just normal. It's human. But alcohol magnifies those dark clouds - it keeps you from seeing that there is still blue sky peeking from behind, and that soon the clouds will pass on by. I still have those days myself, but instead of trying to drink my sorrows away, I write my sorrows...pray my sorrows...love my sorrows away.

Back in 1977 I felt like all my friends had scattered and I was all alone. But looking through the scrapbook I see nothing but familiar faces and names...faces and names that for the most part are still a part of my life.

Ann, of course...we still write each other (only it's in e-mails or Facebook messages), talk on the phone, dance, even wrap houses. Mark, my boyfriend's little brother, who I felt was MY little brother. Tamara...another constant friend who had a birthday this week. My sister Brenda, whose tears woke me up. My parents, who taught me about unconditional love. They worked things out and remarried after four years - another example that you should never give up. Randy, who has popped in and out of my life over the years...a friend who helped me remember there were good things about my 1977 self...things worth dusting off and protecting. I have him to thank for encouraging me to stubbornly stay in school and turn back to writing.

   They have all faced much, MUCH bigger challenges, setbacks, obstacles, disappointments, sorrows than I ever have ...yet they haven't been broken. Every day they inspire me.

I shared my story just in case it helps someone else who feels like they have screwed up too bad or too often to ever make it right, or that they don't have anyone who cares about them so "it doesn't really matter..." I thank God every day that I'm still here...I look at all the blessings I've been given - my husband, my kids, my family and friends...and today, a new car! We may never realize what our lives mean in the whole grand scheme of things - we can only trust that they do mean something, and try to do our best with what we are given... We have to make sure our lives make a difference somehow.  Never, ever think it's too late. Never, ever take them for granted.

"When you're down and troubled..."

"...and you need a helping hand. And nothing, nothing is going right..."

    A black bag was passed up and down the pews this past Sunday at Mass - the coffers of our St. Vincent de Paul Society are dry, thanks to the economy and the heat. But calls for assistance are still pouring in... also thanks to the economy and the heat.

    I used to cover for our church secretary every once in a while when she had to be out of the office. One of the best, but still toughest parts of the job was answering those calls from people who needed help...with electric bills, rent, doctor's bills, you name it. Even before the economy took its latest nose dive, thousands were laid off from their jobs, and the sun went on overtime, there were many among us who were already struggling.

    Tom and I have been juggling and stretching paychecks for a long, long time - we've been on both the giving and receiving sides of loans - but each of these calls would make my blessings suddenly crystal clear, as if a shade that had been pulled down blocking my view was ripped aside.

"Close your eyes and think of me and soon I will be there, to brighten up even your darkest night..."

    Sure, there are some people who have learned to work the system. They know the agencies to call for help...know how much they can get and how long they have to wait in between calls. But the majority are real people who have found themselves in dire straits with no where else to turn. You can hear it in their voices - the fear of the unknown, the humiliation of having to ask for help, the desperation. That was the tough part for me - hearing it in their voices. With each call I wished I was a millionaire so I could do something for them myself. I tried not to be condescending or pitying or any other "ing"...just tried to sound normal, like this was only a bump in the road that they would soon be over and it was no big deal having to call and ask for help.

"You just call out my name and you know wherever I am, I'll come running to see you again..."

    I couldn't help them monetarily myself - not every one - but with just a phone call to one of several St. Vincent de Paul Society volunteers from our parish, I knew they'd receive aide if they really needed it, whether or not they belonged to our parish or any church, for that matter. They didn't even have to be Christians ...they just had to live within our zip code. If they didn't, I could direct them to the right agency. That was the best part...a feeling that I was helping in some way. 

"Winter, spring, summer or fall...all you have to do is call, and I'll be there. You've got a friend."    

   I wonder if Carole King was thinking about the St. Vincent de Paul Society when she wrote "You've Got a Friend"? Or perhaps the Friend they're working for? Well, probably not, but the song sure fits.

"If the sky above you grows dark and full of clouds and that old north wind begins to blow, keep your head together and call my name out loud. Soon, you'll hear me knocking at your door."

    I hope this black bag collection will tide the group over until October, when our parish holds an annual Oktoberfest to raise money for it and other organizations that help out in the community.  We have a garage sale, music, kids' area, turkey legs, country store, silent auction...all the usual festival fun. But the big fundraiser  - the one that gets the organizations through the rest of the year and determines how much help they can give - is the raffle.  

"You just call out my name and you know wherever I am, I'll come running to see you again...winter, spring, summer or fall...all you have to do is call, and I'll be there. You've got a friend."   

    I wish I could buy all of the tickets...but I can't. I work in an office with two people who belong to my parish. I have a handful of neighbors and no family in town. That's why I'm using my blog tonight to ask for help - if you're reading this, would you consider buying a ticket? They each cost $10 but one ticket gives you a chance to win seven prizes:

1st prize - $5000 gift card
2nd prize - Maid service for 1 year (or equivalent value gift card of $3000)
3rd prize - iPhone 3GS with 2 year data plan (or equivalent value gift card of $1000)
4th & 5th prize - two sides of beef (estimated value $1200)
6th prize - Big Green Egg BBQ Grill (or equivalent value gift card of $950)
7th prize - iPod Classic with Bose Soundclock (or equivalent value gift card of $700)

(I'm not sure why, but it's usually an out-of-towner that wins the Grand Prize every year! But I keep trying!)

    If you're interested, you can e-mail me and I'll let you know how to get your ticket. But whether or not you buy any tickets, please say a prayer that enough money is raised to help all of those who will need it in the coming year.

"Ain't it good to know you've got a friend when people can be so cold. They'll hurt you and desert you...and take your soul if you let them...oh, but don't you let them. You just call out my name, and you know wherever I am, I'll come running to see you again. Winter, spring, summer or fall, all you have to do is call, and I'll be there. You've got a friend."

Well, think about it...and in the meantime, enjoy my favorite version, sung by James Taylor...
    

Thinking back... a Decade of Port A

    For several nights I've been scanning and scanning pictures...dozens of pictures depicting a rite of friendship that is celebrating its 10th anniversary this year - my annual Lago Women's Trip to Port Aransas.

    My friend Nancy asked for the photos months ago - she wants to compile a scrapbook. I jotted it on my list..."photos to Nancy"...and had very good intentions...but the months flew by and suddenly, we're down to the wire once again.

    The problem with 'film' photos is...they're film! They have to be pulled from an album, scanned and saved, one by one. But I discovered an 'up' side to this - I was forced to slow down, really look at the photos for the first time in ages...think about the years that have come and gone in between...the things we've survived, the things that we just couldn't overcome or control.

    Ten years doesn't seem that long ago - until I take a closer look at our faces. I had just turned 40 the first year we went! I don't think I'd ever realized that before...never made the connection. No wonder I had the overwhelming urge to pack up my things and escape my life...my kids, my husband, my house and all that comes with it...not forever, of course...just for a few days. 

    I just wanted to step into a void - which I envisioned as the beach. I could see myself on a lounge chair facing the waves, reading a book (this is before I needed my readers!) and sipping on a tall, cold margarita. I could feel the sun warming me...the surf and the gulls singing to me. There would be no meals to cook, no dishes to wash. I'd just eat dry roasted peanuts. Maybe some salsa and chips. No one would be calling "Mom! I need..." or "Mom! Can you...?" I would just be me. I felt "I" and "me" needed to get re-acquainted.

    It wasn't TOO hard finding some women to go with me...but it wasn't as easy as I expected. But those of us that went were lightheaded...downright GIDDY..from the sense of freedom. Mary Kay, Jacque, and I were piled into Conni's van. That first year, and for a few years afterward, we made a loop below San Antonio on the way to pick up Nancy, who had moved away but even to this day is considered a Lago Vista Woman. We picked Rachel up at the tiny Port Aransas airport - her pilot husband Carl dropped her off - the plane was full of her kids, waving goodbye. I can't remember where they had been. Tamara, one of my Deer Park friends, and Marla, her sweet sister who recently passed away, met us at the condos. I'm glad I had that weekend with Marla. Kim and Susan also met us there with their husbands (in another condo, of course!)   

    That first year we decided it was so much fun...such a great idea...that we had another girls' weekend in November (a fabulous B&B in Fredericksburg)...and another in April (another fabulous B&B in Salado) and were planning a trip to New York City! Tom pulled me back down to reality. Once a year was plenty...I guess.  

    Over the years, some faces stayed the same, some replaced others. - with moms, there are always going to be scheduling conflicts...Girl Scout camp or training, football games, band competitions...you-name-it. We have a tendency to put others first. Especially our kids. Or even other people's kids.

    I've been selfish enough to go every year. With no regrets, whatsoever. I never had to resort to eating just dry roasted peanuts - what a surprise to discover some women actually LIKE to cook! And some really like to clean up! Live and learn...

    But it caught on...one year there were about fifty women from Lago Vista overrunning Port Aransas! We were everywhere! Naturally, back home...being such a small town...rumors spread like wildfire: "Oh..." (wink,wink) "...you were at Port Aransas!" (another wink, wink.) A few of us originals, who just craved a quiet escape (and no rumors), decided to go on a different weekend from the masses. We also wanted a chance at the Absolute Best room - the one that had a wall of windows facing the ocean. Enter...Hurt and Misunderstood Feelings, Episode #1

    That's the problem. As I perused each picture, remembered what was going on before, during, and after each particular moment captured in time, I thought of all the misunderstandings...hurt feelings...separations that have occurred over the years...despite the happy, laughing faces frozen in the photographs. And it makes me really, really sad.

    I see women who at one time were best friends...closer than sisters...laughing and hugging in pictures, but who now refuse to speak to each other. I see women that I myself once considered close friends, but that I haven't seen or talked to in months and months, even though we live in the same little town. 

    So many changes over such a short period of time. Our children have grown up. Marriages have weathered huge storms...or fallen apart. Our children have graduated, gotten jobs, had babies. We've gone back to school, gotten new jobs, moved away.  We've shared...withheld...judged...hurt feelings.

    Driving home from Port Aransas after that first trip...or the second...or even the third, I would never have guessed that in this year, our tenth, best friends would no longer be talking...or that the women I once saw once a week... confiding, laughing, crying, supporting...would turn judgmental and distant with each other. What happened to unconditional friendship, to writing "the bad things that are done to you in sand" and "the good things that happen to you on a piece of marble"? (Arabic Proverb)

    But no matter how sad all of that makes me, in my mind I see the dolphins dancing around the ferry, picture the sunrise from our balcony, and hear the surf and the empty dancefloor at Sharkey's calling me (because we go before the crowds hit.) 

     Port Aransas, here I come... 

Over the years...

 

 

 

    

    

...I Shall Not Want

    Vacation is over for sure. Reality smacked me in the face this past week as I tried to pay bills and found myself scraping the bottom of the piggy bank after a week or two of NO income. (A week for Tom, thanks to Freescale's mandatory "one week a quarter off without pay" ordinance, and yes we're grateful he at least has a job, and two weeks for me because I'm an hourly employee - don't show up, don't get paid.)

    The good news is the bills are paid and our pantry is stocked. For now, anyway. I wasn't really worried, though. Except for a year or two in the very beginning of "us,"when we both had really good jobs, nice cars and no kids, we've been skimming close to the edge of broke. But God has always provided us a way to get by - it's times like these that I get a vivid image of the Sermon on the Mount; well, specifically, how everyone got fed on just a few loaves and fish. It's a great lesson in faith. Somehow we always have enough.

    Over the years, we've learned to be frugal...or at least cheaply indulgent. I used to take care of my shopping addiction by hitting the garage sales with the kids every Friday morning. Like Walmart, only cheaper! Garage sales have evolved into e-bay and Craig's List...Tom just found us a "new" television to replace the one that just died for a fraction of what a new one would cost. We would NEVER have been able to afford this television brand new.

    When the kids were little, we planned all of our summer outings on "free admittance" days - the museums, the zoo, the movies. Tuesdays we hit story time at the library. Thursday afternoons found us at the Museum of Natural History - not quite free, but much, much cheaper than the usual admission price. We hit the Children's Museum on family day and even the Art Museum every once in a while. We had a swimming pool in the backyard (our house was a foreclosure - Tom had to clean the pool out with muriatic acid and he found a slide in the want-ads for $75!) Books, dress-up clothes, arts and crafts supplies filled the house and, of course, summer meant lots of trips to the beach in Galveston.

  We've never been extravagant - we only buy used cars and our vacations center around visiting family (still plenty of fun, though - think "Yellowstone National Park"...Arizona deserts in springtime and the Grand Canyon...Ocean City, Maryland and Washington D.C...and of course, Florida beaches!) But college loans are piling up, the economy has jacked the cost of everything way up and our income is spreading thinner and thinner. (I will never complain about the college loans - just to see each of my children get a diploma will be worth every penny. But every time I make a monthly payment, I kick myself HARD for wasting my own scholarship.)

    It's time to get creative again, though. Find cheap ways of entertainment, look harder for bargains, only buy what we need, not what we want. Even perhaps...(gulp) sell stuff. It's hard for me to part with anything (as my friends will testify.)

    We'll be spending the next few weeks close to home - Lord knows there are plenty of things we need to work on and clean up...so many projects we've just put off. And in between, we can watch movies on our "new" television, take hikes around our property, exercise on the equipment Tom found free or cheap on Craig's List, laugh at Frankie, and play ping-pong on our "new" ping-pong table...the one we got for free from our neighbors. I LOVE ping-pong!

    Throughout it all, I'm confident we'll be fine. We'll manage to pay the bills and save enough for food and taxes and dog care and emergencies.

    How can I be so sure? Yesterday's responsorial during Mass was a great reminder...I think it will be my new daily mantra...

"The Lord is my shepherd...I shall not want."

 

 

    

    

    

A Lesson from Charly

    The weatherman told me this morning it would be another 100+ day, so as soon as the sunlight brushed the hilltops, I stepped outside and called the boys for our walk. Frankie was ready, but Max and Charly were no where to be seen. They'd had the same idea as me, apparently...Walk early, before the hollow becomes a convection oven! 

    At my call, though, Max came pounding up the hill from the direction of the pond and pranced around the porch, excited about going for a walk. Charly ambled up a minute or two later, breathing hard by the time he got to the house. I worried that he wouldn't be up for another walk, but he just kept plodding along, up the path to the road.

    My morning walks aren't related to exercise at all, anymore...they're about feeling fresh air on my skin, letting my mind wander, offering up prayers that I've promised and spending time with 'the boys'. I know my days with Charly are numbered, and the number is getting pretty small. I just stroll along at his pace, now, which suits me just fine. I can admire the hills around me, watch the sunlight slip slowly deeper and deeper into the hollow, look for fossils and talk to him. Every once in a while, I see his hind legs give out on him, but he always catches himself and keeps on moving. If he spots or smells something interesting up ahead, he'll even push himself into a little run. And to mark something, he can still lift that hind leg and balance on the other three. Not for very long, and he's a little wobbly, but he can do it, by golly. It's like he realizes he's old and knows that one of these days he's not going to be able to do any of these things, so he refuses to quit until he has to.

    What more inspiring way could I start my day than with this old-man dog who is determined to live life to the fullest and keep doing the things he loves as long as his legs will hold him? 

    

Mending My Tapestry

"My life has been a tapestry of rich and royal hue...an everlasting vision of the everchanging view. A wondrous woven magic in bits of blue and gold. A tapestry to feel and see, impossible to hold..."   

    Carole King's words touched something inside me the first time I heard them thirty-eight years ago, triggering a longing for richness, depth and color in my life...for chapters full of interesting characters, conflict, mystery, sadness, happiness and wonder depicted in my own "tapestry of rich and royal hue." 

    And boy, did I get it! (Especially when it came to the "interesting characters" part!) What I didn't realize is that, as the tapestry grows each year with new experiences and new friends, the old part can fall victim to neglect. Colors fade. Images disappear. Threads get thin, even break, leaving holes that grow larger and larger with time.

    Up until the last couple of years, I stood by helplessly watching. I felt sorry about it...even wept at times about it...but thought it was just the way it had to be.

    Not any more. Those older sections are too precious to me to just stand by and watch them unravel, and I'm determined to do what I can to preserve my WHOLE tapestry. That's why weekends like this past one are precious to me, spent with faces already woven into my tapestry...some in many places, at many ages...some from so long ago they were beginning to fade...and some that are freshly woven. A weekend like this one spruces up the colors, tightens the thread, mends the holes, helps make the tapestry closer to being whole again. It does indeed weave magic.

    Here's to my Deer Park Divas, new, old, and honorary. Thank you for enriching my beautiful tapestry.

A day by Rae's pool...helping surprise Debra for her 50th...brunch before saying goodbye...Carole King singing my song...

 

 

If I Lived Near the Beach...

...I would rise with the sun every morning and walk along the beach...I would spend every spare minute during the day searching for unique seashells, capturing images of the birds, the dunes, the grasses, the waves on my camera, feeling the sun kiss my shoulders, and cooling off in the surf...I would find a quiet spot to watch the sun set on the horizon..

    ...I would also have skin the texture of an old leather saddle. It took turning 50 to appreciate one dream NOT coming true.

    But spending a week or two a year near the shore is just what I need to wash the clutter from my brain. Yesterday we visited Opal Beach near Pensacola. A beach lover's dream come true! Huge expanses of white sand speckled with shells and decorated with delicate grasses and short sections of wind-washed picket fences. The water was emerald green...crystal clear (you could see your feet)...and refreshing like a glass of iced tea on a summer day.  We had the beach practically to ourselves except for a herd of lifeguards-in-training. Tom and I took a walk so far there wasn't another soul in sight - only the sea birds. Our footsteps were the only ones dotting the sand.
   Before I was ready, it was time to go - the soft sunshine switched to "High Heat" - skin was turning pink and stomachs were growling. We'll squeeze at least one more visit in before heading back home to the hill country.  But I'm thinking it's a good thing I don't live in a beach town.

What Fifty SHOULD Be

    Chasing dreams, making them come true...Sacrificing your time, traveling to another country to make a real difference in someone's life...That's what two of my fellow 50-year-olds are doing right now. Me, on the other hand...well, I'm living vicariously through them thanks to Facebook and blog pictures and postings because I've spent way too many days this past month sitting in doctors' offices, filling out pages and pages of forms, being poked, prodded, scanned and dilated from one end to the other, some routinely and some not. It's just a vicious coincidence that my headaches and shingles appeared right in the middle of all of my regularly scheduled (way in advance) appointments and check-ups.

    Today I sat in a darkened "dilation" area (a dead-end hallway lined with comfortable chairs on one side and a flat-screen TV on the other), waiting for the ophthalmologist to determine whether or not the shingles had damaged my retina, and thinking about how doctors seem to be getting younger, how all of the waiting rooms, stacks of magazines and polite receptionists are blurring together, and how grateful I am that there is nothing seriously wrong with me - I realize there are people who deal with this on a daily basis for months, even years. 

    My diagnoses so far include:  excellent, normal, and A-Typical. My headaches are still a bit of a mystery, but the physical therapist and I are both convinced they are related to the shingles, which seem to be packing up their bags, preparing to move out. I'm keeping my fingers crossed we're right. Goodbye, good riddance, and PLEASE don't come back!

    Now, back to the 50-year-olds who are accomplishing more than filling out tons of paperwork about their families' medical histories...

    Richard, one of my screenplay classmates, is in Cannes, France. Even as I type this, he is over there hobnobbing with distributors and other movie-type people, trying to sell four films to foreign markets, while learning as much as he can in preparation for selling his own screenplay (Saving The Farm.) I knew I should have gotten his autograph before our last class!

    Meanwhile, Scott, a friend from high school, just arrived in Bayaha, Haiti as part of group of volunteers donating their time to help the poverty-stricken village. Scott even attended a water drilling school a few weeks ago run by Living Water International, an organization that helps bring water to villages in third world countries.

    This is what 50 should be about - dreams, sacrifice, helping others, discovering talents and gifts and passions, using them wisely, being the best you can be, inspiring others along the way. I guess we just have to learn to do all of that in between doctor's visits.

    Now watch this to learn more about the Bayaha, Haiti Project...

Never Give Up...Never Surrender

    There's that old saying..."an uncluttered desk is an uncluttered mind"...or something like that. It must be true because last night I stayed up late sorting through the pyramids of paper on my desk and serving bar (that's where the mail and all the extra stuff I pull out of my purse and work bag lands), sorting and tossing accordingly, and whaddaya know, at 4:15 AM (sipping my morning coffee after four hours of sleep), a lightbulb finally illuminated the maze I've been stumbling through for months as I've tried to figure out which direction my screenplay was headed. After dozens of false starts and confusing leads, it has finally clicked. Yeah, I know I've said it before, but I really believe it this time! It's like I'm standing above the maze looking down, finally seeing the path I have to take, thinking "I can't believe you couldn't figure your way out of this before!"  

    It's not a moment too soon, either. The sand in my screenwriting hourglass is getting dangerously low. I've come up with a new strategy to give me more quality time for writing - work more hours Monday through Thursday (at WORK, that is) so I have at least one big chunk of day home alone to focus on the screenplay. It's so hard to sit down at the computer each morning and start settling in with the story again, only to run out of time just when I'm getting comfy.  It takes a while for me to step in and wrap my head around the story and the characters, see where I've been and remember where I was headed. I never make much progress - many days I end up just erasing what was done the day before.

     Tom thinks I just try to do too much every day - specifically he thinks I should just quit blogging and checking Facebook or email. (Funny, he never says anything about laundry or grocery shopping or feeding the dogs or paying bills...To his credit, he helps me out with all of those and half of the cooking, too...)

    I figure it would only save me about...hmmm, an hour a day, sometimes two, if I ignored my social media addiction. Still not enough - especially since that hour is spread out into fifteen minutes increments throughout the day. Just filler time. And what he doesn't realize is that my mind is much like my desk - crap piles up and I have to sort through it, get organized, before I can focus on writing. 

    Of course, what it boils down to is I don't want to give them up. For years when the kids were small, I didn't have time for friends or writing the way I do now. My screenplay and my class are VERY important to me, but so are my friends, my extended family (I'm in better touch with them now, too), my 'journaling' and photography. If you've seen that email about the professor lecturing the students about priorities - "put the big rocks in the jar first (family, etc.) because if you fill it up with the small stuff, you won't have any room left" - imagine that some of my big rocks have gotten smaller, making room for these other big, pretty rocks I've rediscovered.

    Two other big rocks I'm hanging onto are my morning work-outs and my prayer walk with the dogs and Frankie - you gotta take care of yourself, physically, mentally, and spiritually. The Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, amen.

    I have reluctantly let some things go from my routine to make way for more writing time. I gave up reading for fun ages ago, settling for boxes of books and dreams of warm afternoons, lying in the hammock on the front porch, lost in the pages of one someday. And my drums...well, I won't even claim to dust them off much anymore, much less play them.

    Recently, I resorted to watching the silly episode recaps of "Lost" on Facebook - they're annoying, but faster than watching the whole episode on the computer (I discovered the timer on our DVR doesn't work and no one is home to start it recording.) I've totally given up on "The Office" and "Desperate Housewives" (unless I time the laundry just right to fold during that time.) I'll just catch up on those this summer.

    So as difficult as it will be, and at the risk of annoying Tom, I'm determined to write this screenplay and STILL (sort of) keep up with this blog and my friends' lives on Facebook. I'm going to spend this coming weekend celebrating my birthday (again) with dozens of friends - some I haven't seen in twenty years or so. I'm going to keep working out and walking the dogs and putting in more hours at my job and avoiding late charges on our bills and emailing friends and commenting on Facebook. I probably won't post any new pictures - well, maybe new ones, but not old ones that I have to scan in first. I'm going to watch movies and read for my class. I'm going to spend time with Kendall, watch all of her soccer games, gather old photos for the senior power point presentation for her graduation (and probably cry over them.) And somehow I'm going to find time to sleep. I can do it!

"Never give up! Never surrender!" (from "Galaxy Quest" - great movie!)

Rejoice!

I'm surrounded by my family, scrambling to get ready for services at my parents' Baptist church. Daniel forgot a nice shirt...I think he's borrowing one of my dad's. I was smart - I got up early to get first dibs on the bathroom so I could be ready and out of the frenzy.

One more year for Easter baskets - is there really a deadline? I think not - as long as I'm with them on Easter morning, I'll drag out their old baskets and fill they with goodies - they each get a shiny egg in the middle with money inside and then lots of candy. I'm sure once I have grandkids, they'll be the focus of my holiday spirit, but for now, my kids are gorging themselves on chocolate for breakfast.

Mama's putting a ham in the oven - we'll share a meal with my brother and sister and their families before heading home.  I think the threat of storms will come true and I don't look forward to it, but it's worth it to spend time with family on a wonderful, blessed day like today. Happy Easter!

"Rejoice, O Earth, in shining splendor, radiant in the brightness of your King! Christ has conquered! Glory fills you! Darkness vanishes forever!" ~ The Exsultet, traditional prayer of praise at Easter vigil

A Good Friday - Thinking about Love

    I'm thinking about family, love and sacrifice today - only fitting, I think, considering it's the day we remember the ultimate sacrifice that Jesus made for us. As if dying to save us from our own sins and give us a chance at eternal life wasn't enough, he set an example for us, showed us how to love: Sacrifice.

For my part, I believe that love is the ability to bear our crosses, whether great or small. ~St. Teresa of Avila

    As anyone who is a parent or has been married can tell you, love is about sacrifice. I'm talking about love, the verb. It's all well and good to talk about how much you love something, but real love is about doing, showing. Something simple like picking up after someone (and biting your tongue about it)...giving up your time for something they enjoy or care about...taking turns with an odious chore like changing diapers or taking out the trash...giving words of encouragement, support, sympathy, interest...

Want to improve your relationships? See love as a verb rather than a feeling. ~ Stephen R. Covey

True love is not in word only but also in action and truth. ~ St. Colomban

   Jesus loved big - his sacrifice wasn't just for his close friends and family, but for everyone - past, present and future included. We should love big, too - not just our friends and family, but our neighbors, the whole world, past, present and future. Our different loves should complement each other, even compound each other into more love, not be at the expense of one or another, or cause pain.

We sin from two causes: either from not seeing what we ought to do, or from not doing what we see ought to be done. ~St. Augustine

   During his life on earth, Jesus also showed us that it's important to take time for ourselves (his retreat into the mountains and slipping away from the crowds) so that we don't drain ourselves dry, unable to give to others because we have nothing of ourselves left to give. I think God gives us each a mission, some talent or passion or drive, and it's up to us to figure out how he wants us to use it.  It's not always easy - at least for me. But you have to take time to listen to him and to develop or use whatever it is he gave you.

Do not be afraid, Christ can fill your heart's deepest aspirations! Are there dreams that cannot come true when it is God's Spirit who inspires them and nourishes them in your heart? Can anything block our enthusiasm when we are united with Christ? ~Pope Benedict XVI

    Jesus had a job, hobbies, and friends. He listened to his mother, attended weddings, celebrated and drank wine. He also suffered, cried and prayed. He showed us how to live in love, let us know it was okay to celebrate and have fun, and that even he wasn't immune to heartache and despair. He loved his life on earth, and yet he gave it all up for us and showed us there was something even better.

For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have enternal life. ~John 3:16

    Have a blessed and joyous Easter!

A Simple Truth from Jack

Aim at heaven and you will get Earth thrown in. Aim at Earth and you get neither.

C.S. "Jack" Lewis

 

Remembering Darkness, Praying for a Friend

    Suffocation. Blindness. That's how despair feels. It blinds you to all light, hope, faith, joy and love. Things your spirit needs for survival just as your physical body needs air.

    I felt it years and years ago, remember the darkness all around me, like I had stumbled into a cave, cold, clammy, void of all light and warmth. God had mercy on me, forgave me for my selfishness...sent angels to protect me from myself and guide me to safety...sent friends and family whose tears bathed my eyes, allowing the light of love to rush back into my soul and to recognize the blessings all around me.

    In This Present Darkness, Frank Peretti depicts despair as a demon. I can believe this - I still sense his presence lurking around me at times, feel him trying to shroud me with his foul breath that makes me forget that my life is not my own, but God's...separates me from the love and light, fills me with selfishness. Despair is persistent.

    There are days when I worry and fret, feel sorry for myself. Feel disconnected, lost and alone. As scary as it seems, it helps at those times to picture this demon of despair looming nearby, trying to cover me in his dark cloud. It stirs my fight-instinct, makes me kick and scratch and call on God for strength and help.

    I'm praying now for a friend who seems to be shrouded in despair, who has lost hope, forgotten what brings true joy, and is numb to the love around him. Please pray with me.

Palms, Silly Songs, Soccer, Springsteen - A Sunday Mosaic

    First to Mass for Palms and blessings...next to the Hope House for silly songs and smiles...next soccer with sunshine and celebration (I'm optimistic - they're two for two)...and finally BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN for singing, dancing, memories, and celebrating TWO 50th birthdays with our friends George and Karen.

    This will be my third "date" with Brucie...the first was with our friends Bob and Lisa (whose son Justin called him Bruce "Feen-Feen" at the time - so cute!) and, while I LIKED Bruce, I wasn't a rabid fan. Until the concert, that is.

    I was pregnant with Daniel the second time. I mostly remember fanning the marijuana smoke away from me (from the people sitting in front of us) more than I remember Brucie and the band, paranoid about the smoke harming my baby. I don't recommend going to concerts while you're pregnant.

    It's been over twenty years since I saw Bruce in person - we're both a bit older now, but still going strong. It's going to be a Sunday to remember, that's for sure!

Because by Your Holy Cross...

...you have redeemed the world.

    Kendall and I slipped into a back row during the second station - a little late, but not too much. Tommy had called, delaying me leaving the house. It's hard to say goodbye to a son you rarely see. But I hadn't attended Stations of the Cross yet this Lenten season - too many weekends out of town - and I didn't want to miss the chance.

    It's one of those exotic Catholic things I knew nothing about growing up as a Baptist. I was a little nervous the first time, not knowing what to expect, but I was so moved that now I go every Friday of Lent if I can.  It's a time to step out of my busy life and really reflect on Christ's sacrifice, his Passion, the last moments of his life on earth. You follow Jesus on his last journey, on fourteen significant moments between his condemnation to his placement in the tomb...and most-importantly, consider how they apply to your own life. It's similar to watching a Passion play, but, for me, it's more personal, more internalized.

    Our "stations" are wooden plaques, hand-carved by a parishioner, spaced out along the walls of the sanctuary; and our reflections are through the eyes of Mary, imagining how it felt to her to be witnessing her son's last moments. This always hits me hard, as the mother of two sons, imagining how it must have felt for her to watch her son suffer and die this way, and yet accept it as God's will. It makes me a tad ashamed of all the complaining I do.

   Lent itself was a new concept to me. I don't remember ever hearing it mentioned when I was growing up. Now even Baptist friends talk about what they're going to give up. One of them, Scott Gray, gave up drinking anything but water in support of Living Water International. He plans to donate the money he saves to this cause. (He's also going to be traveling in a few months to Haiti for hands-on involvement.) A blogger friend of mine, Pete, decided to sit in silence for thirty minutes every day. As he put it..."It will be my moment of listening to my breathing. And trusting that the Creator will breathe with me for a moment." (Read his complete post here.)

     I've always been more inclined to add things that would help me on my spiritual journey, strengthen my relationship with God, rather than give up things...an extra prayer, daily inspirational readings, deliberately going out of my way to help someone each day. Whatever I add, I try to keep up with all year. I think adding is easier than giving up, though...a few years ago I gave up candy (well, everything but dark chocolate), and I was surprised how tough it was to pull my hand back from that candy jar. I prayed a lot that Lent! It reminded me just how weak I am by myself. God is truly my strength.

    This year I gave up my nightly "strictly-for-my-health" one glass of red wine. New health reports were saying that while it might be heart-healthy, it could increase the risk of breast cancer. Even though heart problems are what historically create havoc in my family, it still weakens that "health" excuse. Another thing...my taste in wine was becoming more and more expensive, verging on selfish extravagance, and lord knows, we need the money for other things right now. But I admit there was another reason...in the back of my mind a small question had begun to grow larger: was my nightly glass of wine truly just a choice, a "healthy" habit, or was it becoming an addiction?

    I confess I missed winding down with my glass of red the first few nights, but I was also very relieved to find it wasn't nearly as hard as giving up candy.

    

Just Me, Myself, and I

    I love my family. I need to get that out there right away. I love having them around, love the chattering, the bickering, the company.

    That being said...I have REALLY been looking forward to today all week...Kendall in Spain, and Tom and Daniel backpacking in Big Bend National Park...to coming home from Houston and having the house all to myself for several days, rather than just a stolen hour or two.  I've looked forward to playing my drums...working on my screenplay...scanning and uploading photos...reading...watching movies no one else wants to watch. Things that are difficult or even impossible when everyone is at home. I'm actually a social hermit - I enjoy people, need to be with people, but I also need time alone just as I need food and air.

    What a surprise when I lugged my bags through the front door into this cold, quiet, dark house and felt...lonely. Maybe it was just the weather, still cold and overcast, seeping inside of me, bringing me down. The house was all mine, just as I anticipated, yet I here I was wasting the rare opportunity by feeling melancholy!

    First I tried starting a fire, but I'm out of practice and too impatient...spoiled by Tom keeping one going all winter...and I couldn't get it to light. Then I realized I had been sitting on my butt for two days - driving to Houston, visiting with Mama and Daddy, driving back home. No wonder I felt so BLAH! It was almost dark, but I hurried outside, called the dogs and Frankie, and headed up the road. I felt better right away, maybe because the critters were so excited about the walk, but also just from MOVING!

    Back home, I put on a James Brown CD ("Get up offa that thang...") and turned back to the woodburning stove, refusing to give up so easily. It took awhile, but now there's a beautiful blazing fire, James has given way to John Mellencamp, the dogs and Frankie are fed,  and I'm trying to decide if I want to play my drums before watching a movie. I'm still missing everyone and worrying about them, but I've been able to tuck it inside and relish this time alone. The hours are already flying by...

Not Just A Simple White Bowl

    It's funny. I pass by the bowl ten times a day, but I didn't realize it had become invisible to me until I wrote the post about scouting the other day.

    I remember where it rested prominently on Hester's headboard-shelf, within easy reach once she was restricted to bed after breaking her hip.

    I remember her telling me about how, when she was a little girl, it sat in the middle of the family breakfast table,and how every morning her whole family took turns reaching into the bowl, pulling out one of the colorful pieces of cardstock stamped with a Bible verse, and reading it aloud. What a wonderful tradition, I thought. She would often ask me to reach in, grab a card, and read her the verse, because she had become too blind to read them herself.

    The day she gave the bowl to me, I was so surprised and honored! She didn't have kids of her own; obviously she had come to think of us as family.  

   For awhile, I tried to carry on the tradition of daily readings with my family, but I soon realized those little pieces of cardstock could no longer take that much handling. They were at least 80 years old by then! I taught the kids to handle them gently, and we still read them, but not as a daily routine.

    I found a vintage handkerchief to drape over the bowl to keep the dust away from the cards, but time is still taking its toll. They are now so dry and brittle that for some of them just the slightest touch can break it in two. 

    I have treasured that bowl, well over 100 years old now, knowing how important it was to her, even if there are days I forget about it, just rush past it, back and forth, from one task to another. Every once in awhile, I slow down enough to see it. I tenderly feel around in the bowl and pull out one or two of the colorful cards, squinting to read the now-faded Bible verses (with my now-fading eyesight), and imagine Hester doing the same, day after day, year after year, until that day she entrusted it with me, entrusted us with her memories. Trusted us to remember her.

Living

    "The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing, and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is a friend who cares." (Henri Nouwen)    

    I wanted to go to a funeral today. I wanted to be there for my friend, to comfort her and to honor her sister's life. But I couldn't - I had to work - we need the money and my boss needed my help - and the amount of driving I would need to do on the little amount of sleep I've been getting would have been irresponsible. Another friend went for those of us who couldn't be there, made sure Tamara knew the hug was from all of us...but I still wish I had gone.

    Some people think there's no point to funerals. Some believe their presence doesn't make a difference. I don't LIKE funerals, but in those times when I've lost someone I love, the funeral has helped me face my loss, dust off my memories, and say goodbye. And seeing a friend silently sitting nearby has always helped me get through it. In my mind, and in my heart, I can still picture Tamara and some other friends where they sat at my brother Buster's funeral. They didn't know him. They were there for me.

    Funerals also honor, even celebrate, the lives that have passed from this earth and remind us that each of us still has a life to live, a job to do, a chance to be who ever it is we are supposed to be. A chance to love each other, which includes comforting those who have lost someone.

    They also remind us that one more day might be all we have on this earth (maybe that's why some people don't like them.) 

    Years ago at my Grandfather's funeral, I sat by my weeping Grandmother. They had married as teenagers...worked, lived, laughed, and cried together for decades. In my Christian zeal and youthful ignorance, I almost chastised her for her tears..."Isn't he in heaven now? Shouldn't you be happy?"

    It has taken me years of love and loss to understand the source of her tears. She was going to miss him - his voice, his touch, his laugh, his smell (to me, he is cherry tobacco.) She wished for more time. Now. It doesn't matter how old they were - I'm sure they had plans for the next week, month, summer.

    I think my friends and I are too young to be losing our parents, much less our brothers and sisters..or each other. Of course, we're not too young - it just feels like we are, because you can never be ready for it.

    We can just "do now, do now, what you will wish to have done when your moment comes to die." 

    So I continue to pray, worship, love, dance, cry and laugh. I will write, practice my drums, and work on my degree, God willing, but if my time comes before I'm published or can play "Stranglehold" or get my diploma, I won't feel like a failure...unless I quit trying.

    "I could not, at any age, be content to take my place by the fireside and simply look on. Life was meant to be lived. Curiosity must be kept alive. One must never, for whatever reason turn [one's] back on life." (Eleanor Roosevelt)

Variegated Sky, Variegated Day, Variegated Thoughts, and Dancing

    The day started with promise, then suddenly it was 5:45 in the evening...the day was almost gone and I hadn't accomplished half of what I had hoped. And I'd barely even been out of the house! Kendall and Tom were both gone, but I needed a break from work...from the computer. I needed some exercise...to breathe some fresh air, and soak up some of what little sunlight remained.

    I guess the dogs and Frankie had already gone for a walk, maybe with Tom earlier when I was busy writing.  At any rate, for whatever reason, they were very unenthusiastic about a walk. Max went most of the way to the curve with me, but Charly and Frankie wimped out early on. The sky above was full of clouds, a variegated gray, reminding me of the spools of thread Mam-ma used to crochet with (and pull my loose primary teeth with)...spools and spools of variegated colors. My thoughts were just as variegated...drifting to the past and my childhood, to memories of her, to our decision to move here, to the speed of the days we've traveled since then, including this one...

    Back at the house, Bruce Springsteen was singing "I'm Going Down" to me through the livingroom speakers. I realized I was home alone, with an inviting wide empty wooden floor, so I just danced. All by myself. It was great.

    Now, back to work...

There are shortcuts to happiness and dancing is one of them.
Vicki Baum

There is a bit of insanity in dancing that does everybody a bit of good.
Edwin Denby

A New Day, A New Year, A New Resolve

    

    My friend Nancy once told me to be careful what I did on New Year's Day, because that's what I'd be doing all year long. Her example was cleaning house, so for the past few years I've made sure I didn't spend the first day of the new year cleaning and cleaning.

    Looking around my house, I'm thinking that might have been a mistake!

    I don't really make "Resolutions" with a capital "R", but this morning I thought of some things I need to improve on in the next year (cleaning, staying organized, getting enough sleep), things I want to spend more time doing (playing my drums, reading, writing, talking to friends and family), and things I already do that I need to continue (working out, walking, praying, eating right, doing things for others, indulging myself) and today I'm trying to fit them all in.

    So far, so good. I prayed, ran, watched a movie, played the drums, and Tom and I took a walk with the dogs and Frankie. I'm almost caught up with laundry and dishes (lots of cups from Daniel's party last night.) I've spent a lot of time on the phone, saying "Happy New Year!" I've eaten PRETTY good, except for some fudge that I made - one of our holiday traditions...but I think that might fit under "indulging myself" (eating it) and also "doing things for others" (making it.)

    I still need to tackle the paperwork covering my desk, and I'm going to write a couple of pages on my screenplay. And I'd like to read later on.

    But, as determined as I am to do all of this, I realize that when I add work and school to the list, my day might feel a little crunched at times. I also hope I can remain flexible, spontaneous, ready to take advantage of surprise opportunities, not stress out if I don't get everything done, be able to say "that's all I can do today" and go to bed at a decent hour so I get enough rest.

    This morning I spent a little time catching up on some of my favorite blogs, and on Pete Grassow's Rock in the Grass I came across this Franciscan Benediction he says can be found in Philip Yancey's book Prayer. I thought it was great, very fitting for the New Year and new resolves, and so I'll share it here, too (and I think I'll put the book on my reading list)...

May God bless you with discomfort,
at easy answers, half-truths, and superficial relationships,
so that you may live deep within your heart.

May God bless you with anger,
at injustice, oppression, and exploitation of people,
so that you may work for justice, freedom, and peace.

May God bless you with tears,
to shed for those who suffer from pain, rejection, starvation, and war,
so that you may reach out your hand to comfort them and turn their
pain to joy.

And may God bless you with enough foolishness,
to believe that you can make a difference in this world,
so that you can do what others claim cannot be done
to bring justice and kindness to all our children and the poor

Amen. 

 

Chasing Sunday - from Hope House to the Grocery Store

    I knew it would be a busy day, but still...WHEW!

    First, an update on Tommy's vehicle saga: Tom changed his strategy...he left for Dallas at 5am this morning and just drove his Capris, not the truck and trailer. He already suspected the problem was the timing belt, and he was right, but Tommy told me (when he called at 7:30pm to let me know Tom was headed back this way) that it was one of those typical experiences of nothing going right, nothing being easy. So Tommy's car is still up on jacks in his garage, and he'll have to rent a car to get to work tomorrow. Ah, adult life. Apparently Tom is planning on driving back up there Wednesday to attack it again. The good thing about it is Tommy won't be alone on Christmas Day!

    (Tom just got home...exhausted, but safely here. He said everything that could go wrong while working on the car, did.)

    So back to my day. First of all, it's COLD! Yesterday I wore shorts when Tom and I took the dogs for a walk and I was actually sweating a little. Today, it's COLD! At least for Texas. The high today and tomorrow is in the 30's. I would never last living farther north. (A friend who lived briefly in Minnesota said it's all in the clothes, but I don't know...)   

     Anyway, Kendall and I went to early Mass because the youth group left for Hope House at 11 this morning. There were ten of us - eight high school/college age kids, Mike the high school CCD teacher (and my new boss), and me. Mike has been taking a group of kids three or four times a year for about ten years to visit the residents of Hope House, a home for mentally and/or physically handicapped children and adults. I only started going about three or four years ago, but I got hooked. It's an intense, sometimes overwhelming experience, but one of those that makes you feel like you have made a difference in someone's life, even in a teensy-tiny way. Today I got two kisses, several hugs and hand-holds, and tons of smiles. We bring pizza, sodas, (today holiday cookies), and then sing songs and play silly games like London Bridge. One of the best things about it for me is watching these teenagers reach out to the residents, seeing how sensitive and caring they can be, even when it's not obvious from some of the residents' responses whether they enjoy us there or not - very few of them can verbalize, and one of them even plugs her ears when we sing. Hmmm, can't say I blame her!

    I'll post more about it and include some photos later.

    Next, I HAD to go to the grocery store - I'd put it off for three days, and couldn't procrastinate any longer. That took three hours - the rest of my afternoon. Once home again, there was laundry, dinner, dogs, dishes, bills, etc.... I really wanted to get my Christmas cards finished up to mail tomorrow, but I needed the computer and Kendall and Daniel grabbed it first. That's okay - the days are numbered when I'll have to share it with them, so I'm not going to complain about it.

    I'll close tonight's post with this quote I stumbled upon - it's one I need to read every day...

"Kiss your life. Accept it, just as it is. Today. Now. So that those moments of happiness you're waiting for don't pass you by." - Unknown  

Oh, I almost forgot the Christmas photo! Here's one I love - Tom and seven of his eight brothers (Johnny wasn't around yet)...Tom's the first one on the left, then it's Steve, Robbie, Joe, Mike, Russ, Randy, and Kenny. Can you imagine...eight, well, actually, nine boys...? I can barely handle three kids, much less nine!

Patches of Sun on a Gray Day

    A thick gray blanket of clouds covered the sky this morning - everything was drab and dull on my walk. Frankie stayed home and the dogs disappeared so I was alone. Soon, I realized my thoughts matched the gray sky - Wayne's funeral is today and a friend is having surgery and then I started thinking about how old Charly is getting...

    That's when I realized I didn't see any wildflowers. Nothing but dusty green and brown from the road into the woods. I couldn't believe it, so I kept looking, and sure enough, I discovered one little yellow flower - a buttercup-ish flower on a tall skinny stem, just sticking up alone amid the weeds. Then a little further along, another yellow flower - this one a mini-daisy.

     Soon, there was another one...and another one. Then a little group. Then next to our driveway, teeny yellow flowers in several small clumps. Best of all, ahead of me, I noticed the sun shooting some rays out from under the gray blanket, reminding me the sun is still shining.  I just have to remember to notice.   

    Turn your face to the sun and the shadows fall behind you... (Maori proverb)

    

Happy Thanksgiving...

My kids are all here under one roof again...there's bickering, teasing, laughing, arguing...I've had coffee with my parents, helped my mom get the turkey into the oven, and soon my siblings and their families will crowd into the small house with us. We'll eat, laugh some more, argue some more, go for walks, watch football. It's Thanksgiving Day in the USA, and I'm remembering all I have to be grateful for - which is A LOT!

Thanksgiving Gratitude unlocks the fullness of life. It turns what we have into enough, and more. It turns denial into acceptance, chaos to order, confusion to clarity. It can turn a meal into a feast, a house into a home, a stranger into a friend. Gratitude makes sense of our past, brings peace for today, and creates a vision for tomorrow.


Melody Beattie
American writer, present day

Evolution of a Spanish Teacher

    I can feel myself changing as I get closer to fifty - I think a lot about what to do with my time once my nest is really empty in a few months. That's not so unusual. I think it happens to most of us, men and women, when we hit this Midlife Adventure.

    When my kids were small, most of my time was spent volunteering in one way or another (or actually several ways all at once.) As we all got older, I worked more and more (for money!) and volunteered less and less. And now, when I think of what I'd like to do with my time, most of my ideas are centered around ME - finishing MY degree, writing MY book/screenplay/short stories/articles/essays, playing MY drums...

    In contrast to my self-centered empty-nest plans, about a year ago, my kids' high school Spanish teacher took an early retirement to become a missionary in Honduras. Now every month she emails a newsletter detailing her trials and achievements, prayers and blessings (here's the latest edition...Download november_2008_honduras_newsletter.pdf)

    This month she talks about the village of San Lorenzo and shows pictures of the girls carrying water in large buckets on their heads and a ten-year-old boy driving an ox cart. I can sense the self-confidence and joy she's gained from her time in Honduras, her knowledge that she's making such a huge difference in the lives of those she is there to help.

    I'm thinking I need to add a few goals to my Empty-Nest List...some that don't have the words ME or MY in them...

Lighting Candles for More Than Birthdays

    Monday after work I made a beeline to the church to light a candle. I normally light one after Mass every Sunday, but this past Sunday I was at Mama and Daddy's Baptist church.  No candles.

    I like the Catholic tradition of lighting prayer candles - the idea of a continuous flame pointing up to God, carrying my prayers to him 24/7, even when I get busy or distracted or fall asleep. And by lighting a candle, I recruit the whole congregation to pray with me for whatever is in my heart - sorrow, worry, or gratitude. It seems the older I get, the more there is to pray about. Perhaps I'm just finally learning to turn to God for everything.

    It would have been easy to just skip this week...but on Monday morning I learned that a friend's son had been rushed to the hospital over the weekend with necrotizing fasciitis - flesh-eating bacteria. He was in really bad shape. Then I learned that another friend's cancer had returned.

    There were some up moments, too...lots of birthdays. I couldn't be with my mother on hers, but I'm grateful I got to spend time with her on Sunday, and see her again on Thanksgiving. There was my friend Howard's, which made me think about and give thanks for those friendships from the plant that I've been able to hang on to for so long.

    My thoughts about those friendships must have sent out some kind of wavelength - I heard from two more of those guys this week. Larry sent me Halloween photos of his granddaughter Sophie. I do hear from him pretty often. But the other one, Cliff, I haven't heard from in years. He sent me pictures of his family, their new house, and his 'mid-life crisis' car - a 2007 blue Mustang. Cliff is one of the funniest guys I've ever known - deadpan delivery and perfect timing.  

    Another friend celebrated her 81st birthday this week...Jean was my 8th grade English teacher. I learned so much from her about writing that year - she took the time to offer real critiques and comments - encouragement rather than discouragement. I still have the papers! She goes to church with my mom, and that's how we were able to become friends after all this time. Life is funny! I got to see her this past Sunday, too. 

    One of my high school friends turned 50 - he is living my dream - after years of working at a chemical plant, he went back to college and got a double degree in English and  History, and now he's a graduate student working in a Creative Writing program. He totally surprised everyone! I don't begrudge him - I'm glad someone is able to fulfill my dream! And it inspires me that I'm not too old to keep trying.

    I had some more sad news last night, though. One of my high school friends lost their mom this week. I feel so bad for him, and even more grateful and fortunate that I still have mine with me.

    I haven't heard any more about my friend with cancer - but every day my other friend continually reported good news about his son. He finally made it out of intensive care before this weekend.

    Last night I went shopping with Kendall and we shared spinach quesadillas at a Mexican food restaurant - good relaxed time together that we don't have very often anymore, just the two of us. And this morning I woke to a beautiful autumn day - brilliant blue sky and tons of sunshine. I'm sure this coming week will have its share of worry and sorrow, but today I'm optimistic.

    I'll still be lighting a candle tomorrow.

    

Wildflowers and miracles

     They started as unimpressive green-brown clumps plopped along the side of the road and mixed in with the taller prairie grasses spreading into the trees. The tips turned yellow, but I still thought of them as some kind of weed.

     Then one morning, I paid closer attention...lo and behold, the yellow tips were tiny buds, unfolding into dozens of beautiful miniature daffodil-ish flowers. What a surprise! Then it hit me that these flowers were like people...they can seem dull or ordinary and easily overlooked, but if you take the time to really look, try to get to know them, you discover no one is really ordinary - there's something special, something worth noticing about everyone. We're all miracles, all full of hidden beauty or talent, just like these wildflowers. Sometimes we have to remember that it's true for ourselves, too.

      Buddha said, "if we could see the miracle of a single flower clearly, our whole lives would change."

      I think if we could see the miracle of ourselves and those around us, our whole lives would change even more.

From Retreat to Riding the Rapids

     I hit the wall around 3:30 am Saturday night/Sunday morning. I was feeling wide-awake until then, thanks to several cups of coffee, working on my next screenwriting assignment while simultaniously guarding all exits and keeping an eye on the handful of teenagers who were fighting sleep. The other chaperone had crashed on her pallet on the floor, but another parent had arrived at 2:30am to relieve us, so I pushed my homework aside and folded my upper body across the table, cushioned by my pillow, just like I used to do when I was working in the chemical plant lab...except back then I didn't have a pillow.

     By 6 am I was wide awake again...I felt like I had gotten eight hours of sleep. I even stayed awake during Mass. But as soon as I got home, I ate a cupful of banana pudding leftover from the retreat and melted into my bed. Within minutes I was out and slept all day. I woke up for a couple of hours in the evening, then by 9:30 was out again.

     The retreat was a great success, though. We had close to thirty kids show up (for our small town, that's a great turn-out!), plus twenty from the University of Texas STRONG group (Sharing the Rewards of kNowing God). We had plenty of parents helping out with food, serving, and cleaning. The band that performed was wonderful (Justin Graves), the food was delicious (Firehouse Subs for lunch and for dinner we had brisket cooked at a Rudy's restaurant - not technically Rudy's BBQ, but it still tasted as good and we even had little bottles of sauce and banana pudding!), no one got hurt, no property destroyed, and although we did have one toilet leak, just a phone call brought a parishioner running who had it fixed within the hour. 

     Now I'm covering for the church secretary, who very wisely took vacation on this week before our church Oktoberfest - it's crazy! Phones ringing off the hook, lots of emails, and visitors dropping in. The bonus is I'll be here for the garage sale on Friday...

     Here are some glimpses of the retreat...

 

Extreme musical chairs - one of the favorites - enough to make the mom in me scream "Stop before someone gets hurt!"

 

Mmmmm....soon-to-be two pans of banana pudding...

 

I don't know what this game was called, but it involved lots of running and laughing - it was a gorgeous day...

 

Kendall and some friends in the late-night ice cream social...the boy with the banana, Evan, is a very talented artist - he designed the retreat t-shirts for the second time - the theme was rock band...

 

Kendall found a verse to go on the back..."The voice of the Lord rocks..." Psalm 20:8.   Perfect!