Long Hollow

Those Little Things

This will not be a 'big' Christmas for us, as in piles of wrapped gifts under the tree. We're already buried under college loans and (yes, I hate to admit it) credit card debt....all those family trips and Fiftieth Birthday get-togethers are catching up with us, I guess. No need to bury ourselves any further with gifts we don't need.

And the key word is need. Sure...maybe I dream of new towels that aren't stained and frayed...and I admit I slow down near the jewelry, shoe and purse departments...and wouldn't it be nice to have a real leather coat...?

But I don't need any of those things (perhaps the towels, but even those can wait a little while longer. And who wants towels for Christmas, anyway??)

Fortunately, our kids are old enough to understand this, and that if they really need something, we'll help them get it. More fortunately, they are great kids who haven't asked for anything...in fact, they won't give me any ideas at all to pass on to Santa. Maybe they feel paying half of their college costs is enough. 

(Here's some advice for new parents...think carefully about the traditions you begin. When ours were small, we had this brilliant idea...we explained that Santa only delivered one present apiece to each child in the world because he had so many to take care of! Anything else came from us, and if they didn't get much, it was because we didn't have much money. That way Santa's reputation was never tarnished, my kids didn't get complexes thinking Santa liked their friends more than them, we didn't feel we had to buy them everything they asked for, and they knew they weren't getting everything they wanted, so they needed to think hard about it.)

My problem is I still want to give...I want to hit the malls and buy all of my friends and family at least one gift. I want to hide in the library with wrapping paper, tape, bows and tags and disguise all of the gifts...imagining the delighted expressions on my loved ones' faces when they rip into the wrapping and see what I bought them.

I'm trying to flip my brain around...think of ways to give without spending (much) money. After all, some of the things I've been given that mean the most to me haven't cost a dime.

For instance, Daniel is sitting behind me as I write, watching a program on PBS about Christianity in ancient Rome...he's telling me about papers and things he translated in his Latin class this semester that are mentioned on the program...stories about saints and other historical figures he learned about. For a while Kendall lounged next to him on the couch and in between talking to me, they talked about kids from school...laughing, teasing, sharing.

Now they're heading out the door together...she has talked him into going with her into town to hang out with friends....

What more could they give me than to enjoy each other's company?

The only thing my family has asked me for is food: I will be cooking and cooking over the holidays...Daniel requested Cyclops cookies and King Ranch casserole...Tom requested turkey and dressing...Kendall requested broccoli cheese casserole...Tommy just requested "food" in general. (My gift...all three kids will be here again!)

Yesterday morning Kendall and I stopped by the veterinarian's office on our way to work. They had made an imprint of Charly's pawprint and it was ready to be picked up. I didn't take it out of the blue satin bag until after work - I had to prepare myself. But what a precious gift. I'd rather have Charly, of course, but it was such a compassionate gesture and a keepsake I'll cherish. 

Today I mentioned on Facebook that I've strained my rotator cuff. Right away I had plenty of advice and sympathy, wrapped in expressions of concern and topped with offers of prayer. A beautiful Christmas present.

A friend reminded me the other day about the importance of a phone call. It hit home with me because I'm terrible about making phone calls. Anyway, he explained how a friend's wife had died, and even though he'd had good intentions of calling him once a week, the weeks had become months. But something made him call his friend the other day; it turned out to be the anniversary of the wife's death. He said...

"...As we said good-bye Big Ted said these words: 'Thanks for calling. I love you.' I was taken aback and said 'Me too.' Big Ted has never said he loved me. I truly felt that he needed that call and I am so thankful for a loving, merciful and patient God. Coincidence? Maybe so, but I would like to think that little voice I heard on Friday was the Holy Spirit. Yes...I have been putting off calling and should have, but God knew Big Ted needed that call and I am so thankful that I did not crush or put off that small little voice..."

The best gifts don't cost money. The best gift we can give is our time...our prayer...our concern...our love.  After all, look at the example we've been given...the one that begins on Christmas Day.

24 Hours Later...

There are more truths in 24 hours of a [person's] life than in all the philosophies. - Raoul Vaneigem

This struck a chord in me when I read it today. After a quick Googling and Wiki-read of Raoul, I'm not sure I would agree with him on much else, but on this we agree...what a difference 24 hours can make!

Yesterday morning, I felt...off...out of sync...faded. I had slipped out of myself and couldn't figure out why, or how to climb back in.

By yesterday evening, I felt better, but there were still a few bits of me that weren't quite into place. 

This morning, I knew as soon as I opened my eyes that all my pieces had clicked back together. I knew it when I saw the dawn glowing red through the library window, when I noticed the brilliant blue of the sky above me on our walk. Yesterday there were no colors. 

What happened in those 24 hours?

First, I faced the demons head-on...turned a light on them so they couldn't hide inside, wallowing around and getting bigger than they really were. I wrote about it (which always helps me sort things out and see them from a different perspective) and let others know about it. That way their prayers joined my own. Their good wishes helped move all the pieces of me back together again. They expressed concern, offered help, gave encouragement.

I tried to identify the nasty worries that had burrowed into my head resulting in a bad case of emotional vertigo. One by one I evicted those that I could do nothing about (beyond praying) and acted upon those that I could. It turned out finishing the library was a big hairy worry, so I skipped my workout and writing and got busy in there. It's not quite finished, but it's way beyond the halfway mark. After several trips up and down the stairs carrying armloads of books, I have the shelves filled with books about Texas, the Civil War and American history...the books I need for MY book. I have my maps pinned to the wall - the one of Texas in 1870 and the birds-eye view of Austin in 1900.  I moved the Windberg print of an old Texas barn at dawn to the wall above the computer, to look at while I write the murder scene. And even though they have nothing to do with the book, I finally hung my Great-Uncle Howard's art on the wall above the desk - amazingly detailed miniature storefronts. They were displaced by a bookshelf in the livingroom over a year ago and have just been sitting on the windowsill, neglected...a burr under my skin every time I looked at them.

But before I tackled the library, the sunset caught my eye. I headed outside and watched it from the porch swing, where I could talk to Max, Charly and Frankie. (Tom has jury duty this week, so he doesn't get home until after dark.) Charly glanced up at me a couple of times then, sighing, climbed out of his comfortable bed and over to me so I could pet him. Dogs just know, don't they?

I scratched his ears a little bit, then grabbed the brush from the windowsill and gently brushed his bony body. I was afraid it would hurt him, but he loved it. Finally he drifted off to get a drink and I brushed Max (he was still curled up on his bed.) I hit all the right spots - his leg was going good. Charly wandered back and I brushed him some more.

They say the best way to forget your blues is to do something for someone else, and it's true. Just brushing those puppies was a salve on my psyche...I think after all the prayer and good wishes, it was the final push that clicked me back together. I brushed them again tonight - it's my new evening routine.

Knowing I am blessed, and with so much tragedy in the world, so many people with real cause to be walking in the shadows, it's very annoying to find myself there, with no grounds to be sad. Thanks to everyone who sent me a note, whispered a prayer or in some other way helped me get back in the sunshine. I like it much better here.

Welcome to my 'library' ...Uncle Howard's amazing art...my books...a birds-eye view of Austin in 1900...

How'd they know?

I started dumping my thoughts and memories on paper when I was 8 years old and continued for years, on through high school, mostly in those little 5 year diaries with the flimsy locks. I ignored the boundary lines that were supposed to separate yearly entries...I sometimes used up several pages for one day. Sadly, when I moved out of my parents' home, I threw them away. Why? Why? Why?

I would love to go back and read the thoughts and perspectives of my younger self. But I was too honest - I wrote totally for myself with no intentions of anyone else ever reading what I scribbled. When I started packing up my belongings, preparing to move into my first apartment, I feared my boyfriend at the time would see them and read them. It seems crazy to me now that I worried about it...or that, if I was that worried, I couldn't come up with a creative solution. Geez!

I stopped writing for years. But when I met Tom, I felt compelled to write my feelings down again, and have continued to do so for the past twenty-eight years...first in pretty hard-backed journals, later in the kids left-over spiral notebooks. I started journals for each of the kids, too. Yes...for awhile I was keeping up with four journals. (Let me tell you...it's great therapy for a parent... "You were such a little fart today! What got into you?"..."One day you'll understand why we were upset when you didn't call and let us know where you were. We were so worried!"..."Today you gave me the sweetest hug and kiss...")

Anyway, as the kids got older, it got harder and harder to keep up with the journals. Writing had become a stress-reliever for me, and when I don't write...well, I get stressed. I can feel something building up inside of me. I get grumpy (Tom might call it something else...)

And then there were the letters. I used to write dozens of letters every week - cousins, grandmothers, friends. I was so good about making copies of pictures for everyone. What happened?

Blogging has been a way to take care of all of these things...sharing our current events and my feelings about them, all at the same time! But it was scary at first - what would people think? Would anyone read it?

I write for myself, but at the same time, I feel, when I'm blogging, that I'm talking to a friend, sharing what's on my mind. When I don't get any reactions at all, I start to wonder if what I'm writing is any good...does anyone understand it? Does anyone connect with what I'm saying? Is anyone even reading it?

And then someone will send me a message...like this one yesterday:"...I just wanted to tell you that you write beautifully and really need to think about doing it for a living..." or today: "Barb, I really enjoy your writing..." and "Your blog is indeed very inspiring Barb...keep up the great work." Just when my determination drops, just when I need it the most, it never fails that someone tells me they are reading my words...they enjoy my words.

Who knows if I'll ever make any significant money with my writing? I would love to, of course, but the main reason I write is to get my thoughts down on paper...to play with words...and perhaps inspire, entertain, or just connect with other people. When I get comments like these, it makes me feel like I'm not totally wasting my time...I'm not just talking to a wall (or a computer screen)...that someone out there was actually inspired, entertained, or somehow felt a connection to me, enough to let me know it. That's enough to get through a few more days, weeks, pages...

Thank you for taking the time to let me know.

"If storytelling has a positive function it's to put us in touch with other people's lives, to help us connect and draw strength or knowledge from people we'll never meet, to help us see beyond our own experience." - John Sayles Thinking in Pictures

Lesson #78

In one of my earliest memories, I'm lying in bed with my mother perched beside me...teaching me..."Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep..."

A few years later, she decides I'm old enough for a little more..."Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name..."

The past couple of weeks I've been thinking a lot about my faith journey - what I believe and don't believe and why - so these memories have been playing over and over in my head.

Someone recently expressed the theory to me that if no one had told me about religion, I would never have developed the concept of mass faith. Maybe that's true...(maybe if no one had told him about atheism, he would never have developed the concept that belief in God is delusional or irrational.)

Today is my mother's birthday. Last year, I came up with a list of 77 things that she had taught me, so today I'm adding another to that list. It's probably the most important thing she taught me...something I guess I've always taken for granted until this friend pointed it out to me...

My mother taught me that God is. She didn't tell me about 'religion'...she introduced me to Jesus. The nitpicky differences between Christians...those weren't that important. By her example, she taught me that what was important was learning to talk to him; to listen; to try to follow his will for my life; to lean on him; to ask forgiveness; to love and respect others no matter what they believed, to look for commonalities, but to hold on to my faith, even when it's hard.

It has been hard at times. She didn't force her beliefs on me, didn't try to censor me from beliefs that were different from hers, but left me to form my own. My path has gone up and down and I've fallen off a few times, but as she told me one time, if you've never had something, you don't know what it is you're missing later or where to find it. You just know there's a void inside of you.

I was blessed with a mother who had already experienced more than her share of trials, tribulations, and disappointments, but through them had learned to count her blessings, and depend more on God's strength rather than turn away from him or blame him...and because she loved us, she shared that faith with us.

Thank you, Mama! I hope you have a wonderful birthday! I love you!

An Adventure a Day

If I were an artist, I would paint a picture of this hollow as it looked this morning...muted greens and browns along the road where the mists and shadows of night still lingered...blazing golds and reds in the treetops and hillsides basking in the fresh sunshine....Max, Charly and Frankie making their way along the caliche road that stretches out before me, that rises, twists and turns like a child's roller coaster ride before disappearing into a distant haze at the base of a hill...the pink blush on the horizon melting into a cloudless Easter blue sky above it all...

No photograph of mine could do it justice. But then, even a painting couldn't capture the cool breeze, the songs of the morning birds, the quiet plodding of our feet on the wet caliche, Charly's panting, Max's warning barks at imagined dangers, Frankie's excited twitter and inquisitive trills.

Our walks are taking longer and longer. I made the mistake yesterday of leaving it last, so when Max and Charly disappeared up a hill at the bend, I was agitated, knowing they were going to make me run even later than usual to work.

Max returned when I called, but not Charly. He played the 'deaf old man' card and kept plodding deeper into the woods. Dang old dog. I stepped across the little stream and into the woods after him, emerging a few minutes later at the little pond nestled at the bases of converging hills. It was beautiful. I was still anxious to get back, but at the same time, I was grateful to the old fart for leading me off the usual path and experiencing something different.

And how could I begrudge him a little adventure? We should all hope for at least one adventure a day. So this morning our walk came before writing and when Max and Charly clambered up a small steep hill on another little adventure, I didn't call them back. I figured if Charly had the gumption to tackle it (it was a pretty steep climb and he had to work at it), who was I to hold him back?

That old dog just keeps teaching me.

"It was the thing to do...": Thanking Those in Uniform, Past and Present

My big brother Buster was headed to Viet Nam, saying his goodbyes, when I stood beside him in this photograph and smiled. I had no idea what was ahead of him. This was probably taken before his first tour of duty and so he had only a vague idea himself what to expect. When he volunteered for his second tour, however, he knew full well what he was stepping into...but he did it anyway. 

My dad was in high school when the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor. He joined the Navy soon after high school graduation because his country was at war and "it was the thing to do." In the next twenty-two months he traveled a long way from Texas aboard the U.S.S. Geneva...to places like the Philippines, the Marshall Islands, China, Burma, Japan. Before he turned twenty, he had seen cities that had been destroyed by war and piles of dead bodies waiting to be buried. A few years later, his little brother Bobby followed his lead and joined the Navy, and many years later, so did my brother Donnie and two nephews.

My husband Tom was raised in a military family. For him it was normal to move every few years to someplace completely different...by the time he was eight or nine years old, he had lived in three countries! He grew up on a tight budget - hand-me-downs, powdered milk and only two cookies a day...period! And yet as soon as he could he joined the service...the Coast Guard. Among other things, he helped rescue fisherman off the coast of Alaska. Four of his brothers also joined the service (three career Air Force, just like their dad, and another Coast Guard) and the youngest joined the Army Reserves. Now the next generation is following in their footsteps: two Air Force and one Coast Guard.

I think it's very fitting that Veterans Day shares November with Thanksgiving, a day when we slow down to remember and be grateful for things that we usually take for granted, because veterans, despite the sacrifices they make for all of us, probably don't even make it onto our Thanksgiving thank-you list. That's how much most of us take them for granted - as well as the freedoms they protect for us. Even when our country isn't at war, they go where they are needed to unfamiliar places, away from extended family, often living on a minimum salary. To many they are a symbol of war, not peace, and sadly become targets of derision, scorn, blame... and even violence, like this sad week at Ft. Hood.

They deserve to be thanked every day of the year. A friend of mine says that when he's in a restaurant and sees a man or woman in uniform, he secretly pays their bill. What a wonderful idea! I think more of us should go out of our way every day to show our appreciation, but I'm glad there is at least one special day where we shine a spotlight on them, remember their sacrifices and make clear our gratitude.

Thank you Daddy, Tom, Pop, Buster, Donnie, Uncle Bobby, Kenny, Steve, Joe, Robbie, John, Sheila, Michael, Tom, Lynn, Robbin, Evan...and all of the other Veterans out there!

Connected by Words

I didn't want to drive Tom's car to work Friday. My free trial period for XM Radio was on the eve of termination and I wanted to listen every minute I could until it was gone. At $12 a month, I didn't care about it enough to subscribe, but I wanted all the 'free' I could get.

But Tom needed to change the oil in my car and we were heading to Houston as soon as I got home. 'Nuff said. I climbed into his car, resigned to the situation, and turned up the radio. What a surprise to hear a familiar voice on the radio...a distinctive Texas twang talking about sunsets on Lake Travis and a black bird. It was a writer friend, Frances Nail, reading one of her essays on National Public Radio.

Frances had been on my mind lately - I hadn't heard from her in a while and wondered how she was doing...if she was still writing. She's around my dad's age and one of my inspirations - she didn't start writing until her sixties, but when she started - whoa!- she churned out essays and memoirs at a rate that made me green with envy! It seemed every week I saw her name in the Houston Chronicle's Texas magazine's State Lines column. She would have three published before I could even finish one!

We met because of one of those first essays she wrote almost twenty years ago...she quoted a few lines from one of my favorite poems, "Little Boy Blue" by Eugene Fields. She had 'lost' the rest of the poem (the essay was about things she had lost.)

Right away, I typed out the entire poem and sent it to the editor, Ken Hammonds, asking him to forward it to Frances. Soon, she wrote me herself from her home in Lakeway, thanking me. Not long after that, we moved to the other side of the lake. She had published her first book, Crow in the House, Wolf at the Door, a collection of her essays and memoirs, and invited us to the book-signing in an old house downtown. That was our first face-to-face meeting.

When her second book was published, we had our second face-to-face meeting. I sat in the audience of  a panel at the Texas Book Festival she was in with Liz Carpenter and Leon Hale, both college friends of hers and successful writers. Afterwards, I said hi to her and she introduced me to Leon Hale, a dream come true for me - I had been reading his column in the Houston Chronicle for as long as I had been able to read.

We emailed a little after that, but it's been a while since I'd heard from her. I'm not sure what made me think of her recently, but hearing her voice on the radio was like an answer to a prayer. If I had driven my car, if I had left a little bit later, I would have missed it. I just love "coincidences" like that.

Like Standing on Boo Radley's Porch

One of my favorite quotes in To Kill a Mockingbird is when Atticus says you should "climb into someone's skin and walk around in it" before judging them. The point is visually driven home in the movie when Scout stands on Boo Radley's porch seeing the world, or at least the neighborhood, from his point of view.

For the last few months, I have been in a crash course on autism. My company (NameStormers) sponsors a nonprofit website called Jobs4Autism.com, and part of my job is promoting and moderating the website, including writing short blog posts, researching autism, and communicating with some individuals on the spectrum through Twitter, email and Facebook. I have to admit it's the most interesting and rewarding part of my job. Every day I learn a little more, and realize that what I know is a drop in the bucket.

In my research I came across this documentary video, "Inside Looking Out" by Nick Simone, a young man with Asperger's Syndrome, a form of autism. Like Scout standing on Boo Radley's porch, watching this video allows us to look at the world from Nick's point-of-view and in doing so, have more understanding for those in the autism spectrum.

    Take a look and prepare to be impressed....

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)

OMG!

All we really hoped for on this tenth anniversary of my "Lago Women, Etc." getaway to the coast was that everyone arrived safely. We knew, rain or shine, we'd have fun.

Well, the weekend far surpassed my expectations, to say the least!

Thanks to nine previous weekends like this, we have tons of unforgettable memories tucked away, but I have a feeling the ones we carried away from this weekend will be hard to top. What a way to commemorate ten years! Where to begin? Let's see...

Days 1 and 2 were fantastic: hanging out on the beach till sunset... catching the next morning's sunrise...watching a brief, beautiful storm decorate the horizon...jogging on the near-deserted beach, cooled by drizzly rain...and then spending the afternoon back out on the beach under clear skies and sunshine. After dinner in town that night, some headed back to the condo for a movie, but the rest of us headed to our traditional nightspot. Many weekends it's been as deserted as the beaches, and we have the DJ and dance floor to ourselves, but this weekend we didn't get to do a lot of dancing; it was a Barbecue Cook-off weekend featuring a concert by Stoney LaRue. I had never heard of him, but he was really good! As one of his fans, Robert, told us,"He's soulful! Just listen - you're gonna get goosebumps!" And he was right!

We thought that night was going to be the top memory...getting to see and listen to Stoney while experiencing the crazy diversity and drama of the crowd in Sharkey's (three not-quite-barfights, plus a sampling of every age, gender, sexual preference, race, occupation, economic level and personal style you can imagine.) 

We were wrong...

Mid-afternoon on Day 3: The guy in the suit standing by the elevator tipped us off that something out-of-the-ordinary was happening, and the mysterious, identical SUVs in front of the condos, surrounded by more men in suits confirmed it. We imagined all kinds of crazy theories before the front desk clerk told one of us they were expecting a "distinguished visitor."

I'm really not a celebrity hound. Really. At least I didn't think I was. Now I'm not so sure. Just the idea that a Secret Service-entourage-level person was nearby made me loop my camera around my neck like the paparazzi and stake out potential sighting areas. 

Forget about heading back to the beach. We hovered at the railing facing the parking lot, watching for clues or a glimpse of some VIP, trying to guess who it might be, until we realized whoever it was had managed to slip in without being seen.

Okay, I'll just fast forward through all of the tedious details of our stalking - the VIP was Laura Bush! Thanks to sharp eyes and fast elevators, we even managed to coincidentally "stroll" past her on the beach. And she said hi!

As I previously claimed (and subsequently proved myself wrong, I guess), I'm not normally a celebrity hound. I don't even think of her as a celebrity, but she is a woman I've always admired, and I have to admit it was really cool getting to see her up close. Witnessing the precautions that have to be taken just for her to spend some time on the beach with her friend made me treasure this weekend with my friends and the long beach walks we take for granted even more. 

Other highlights of the weekend...the full moon...my seagull friend...joking around with the Secret Service agents and convincing them to be in some of our pictures...Lauren's homemade bruschetta, Darla's chicken lasagna, Cheryl's salsa and sticky buns, Nancy's pizza, Mary Kay's salads and pumpkin bread (I love traveling with cooks!)...tye-dye shirts by Conni...earrings and 10-year patches for our shirts by Mary Kay...goodie bags from Conni and Lauren...painted wine glasses by Nancy and the hardback 10-year commemorative book she put together for us...and of course, just getting to spend uninterrupted time with these wonderful women, meeting Cheryl's friend Darla and introducing all of them to my friend Donna and niece Christin. I love how the different circles of my life come together this way.

Whew...what a weekend. I can't wait till next year!

We agreed to keep our photos of Laura and our Secret Service friends private, but here are a few from other highlights of the weekend...

 

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.

Two Silver Hearts on a Diamond Jubilee

The pretty waitress with the green eyes and dark curly hair caught his eye, but he was too shy to ask her out. Nevertheless, he told all of the other highway patrolmen that she was off limits.

The pretty waitress wondered why none of the handsome highway patrolman would ask her out! Finally, someone told her about the shy one and his warnings to the others, so, tired of waiting on him to get up his nerve, she invited him to a picnic. One thing lead to another, and sixty years ago yesterday they were married.

I'm grateful that my dad listened to his heart when he saw my mother, even if he was too shy to ask her out. I'm grateful that my mother wasn't afraid to speak up, even at that young age. I'm grateful that both of them took a chance on the other one, and except for a brief blip, truly clung together through everything life tossed their way for the past 60 years. And life has tossed them a lot - more than most marriages could have handled, that's for sure. But they survived them all. They taught us about love, loyalty, commitment, respect, trust, forgiveness, tolerance...but probably the most important thing they taught us was to laugh.

Happy 60th anniversary, Mama and Daddy, and thank you. I'm glad I got to help you celebrate your day.

Then...Now...and Shake Russell singing "Two Silver Hearts" which I swear he must have written for them...

Chin Up, Late Bloomers

"I'm a late bloomer, but I finally figured out that there is always going to be someone better than you, and, at some point, you just have to say, that's OK, I still have something to offer."

~Kathy Davis, former art teacher turned millionaire greeting card designer

"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

Party Time in the Pride

Considering that nine months ago it was November - a month that can get pretty cold even here in Texas - it's no surprise that my August calendar is dotted with names (wink, wink!) It's been tough to keep up with them!

Now, I don't really follow horoscopes or any of that, but according to "astrology-online", these are the traditional characteristics of people born under the sign of Leo; in other words, people born between July 23 and August 22.

Generous and warmhearted
Creative and enthusiastic
Broad-minded and expansive
Faithful and loving

...and this description certainly fits a handful of Leos I know who celebrated birthdays this week...

Sandy first entered my life in 7th grade...I don't have a whole lot of memories of our friendship from back then, don't remember why we drifted apart, but on the back of her picture is written "one of best friends" and the impression that remained was a good one...so it was with joy and excitement that I recognized her on Kendall's first day of pre-school back at St. Hyacinth. It was Sandy's son Sammy's first day, too, so we had that whole year of holiday parties to get re-acquainted...then we both moved hundreds of miles apart - me to Austin and Sandy to Louisiana. We kept in touch through Christmas cards, letters and emails, especially in the last few years, but it wasn't until this year at my birthday party that we finally came together again face-to-face and even cage-danced together, despite her pretty recent knee replacement surgery. Sandy didn't let her breast cancer slow her down, and she didn't let her knee surgery stop her from dancing. That's enthusiasm!

My sister-in-law Erin unofficially entered the Shallue family before me, but we both married into it in 1982, and except for her husband Joe's Air Force stints in California, Korea and Alaska, we've lived relatively close over the years. They even lived in Texas for a time, and we made it a point to visit a lot. Erin and I share a love of the beach (she lives in Florida now), antiques, coffee and margaritas. She kicks my butt when it comes to playing cards, baking and gardening, though. As with all of my sister-in-laws, I feel we are more sisters than in-laws - years might go by in-between visits or even phone calls, but the time crumbles when we're together. I mean, who else really understands what it's like to be married to a Shallue boy? Now THAT's a connection!

Jim and I became friends when we first moved to Lago Vista - he had stepped up to organize a Cub Scout pack and I stepped forward to help. He and his wife Liane were the first people I called when I got word Tom had been in his accident...within minutes they were at the door to take care of the kids so I could head to the hospital. When Tom was recuperating, he and Liane would swing by the house to let me join them on their evening walk, giving me a chance to get out of the house for some sanity-saving fresh air and exercise. Our friendship took some punches over the years, but we've managed to nurture it and see it begin to grow back. I'm glad - we've been able to enjoy his music (he's a talented musician) and benefit from his support of our "Battle of the Dam" (he's an avid environmentalist.)

Last, but not least, my big sister Brenda...my best friend from the day I was born (not counting my parents, of course!) celebrated her birthday today. Not a day goes by that I don't thank God for blessing my life with her love and friendship. She is a true Leo - she doesn't let anything knock her down, break her Pollyanna "Glad Game" spirit - not even Parkinson's disease or unfair treatment by those she thought were friends. Like a lioness, she's also a fighter. From the time I used to shadow her around the house, she has been an inspiration and role model to me.

Happy Birthday to all of you...and thank you for enriching my life!

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...
    

A Texas Night...Stories and Music Under the Stars

    Using my cell phone as a flashlight, Tom and I followed a dirt trail through oaks and junipers. A string of lights blinked at us through the boughs - a beacon in the darkness. I couldn't believe we forgot a flashlight. Or that I had worn my flip-flops. But we still worked our way up the steep rocky driveway to our friends' house and found the trail that led to the rustic stage they built in the woods on their property. Jim's a musician (Linton Mancilla) and each Friday night this summer they've had an informal jam session, open to other musicians or music-lovers. This past Friday night was the first chance we've had to go!

    But why didn't we hear any music?  Only voices filtered through the trees to us. I understood as we stepped into the clearing...our friend Larry Waddle sat on a stool in the front-center of the stage, talking about his book West to Trust - answering questions, explaining how he got this idea that just wouldn't let go of him, so he had to write it. Oh, yeah...I understood that feeling!

    He read from his book, a novel set in the South and Texas during the Civil War. He has the perfect voice for it...full of rich Southern Twang, well-polished from his day job as an auctioneer. It was fun sitting there under the stars and trees on a hot Texas night, Larry's words drifting around us about a family deciding to come to Texas for a fresh start. It had another affect on me, too...

    ...a night or two before this, I caught the tail end of a television interview with J.K. Rowling (creator of Harry Potter for anyone who's been living under a rock the past ten years.)  She was visiting the small apartment she lived in while writing the first book, sharing her memories of that time and her thoughts about writing. I could feel inspiration flowing straight from her into me, like a rush of adrenaline pumping up my imagination. I needed to get back to my fiction writing! But how, between work, the house-husband-kids-critters responsibilities, and another college class in the fall, and still have time to sleep?

    Listening to Larry just set my brain-wheels turning faster. I just had to figure out a way! And then it hit me...rather than take a real class this fall (I needed to save the money, anyway...), I'm going to form my own "writing class"...complete with syllabus, reading and writing assignments. And STRICT deadlines. I'm going to be really, really tough on myself - no excuses! I know it's the only way I'll get it done - and this way Tom can still nag me about my homework!

    As if in celebration of my decision, and confirmation that it was the right thing to do, Jim and Eric (the other half of Linton Mancilla), took over the stage for the rest of the evening, accompanied by members of the audience and other musicians. Both of them had been playing around with music on the side for years before coming together in middle age to fulfill dreams of one day recording and performing their own original compositions. Just more inspiration that it's never too late to keep chasing a dream!

        So wish me luck - and feel free to nag me! In fact, PLEASE nag me (but only every once in a while!)

Larry and his audience...

 

Jim and Greg...

Eric in action ...

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...

 

 

The Confession

    When I was writing my last post, I wanted to link to video footage of my brother-in-law coaxing a confession from the murderer on the program "First 48." I searched and searched without luck on the program's website. Silly me..why didn't I think of checking "You Tube"? My nieces and nephews had to tell me it was there.

    This is a very condensed version of the case, and John's part is minimized considerably. But you still get a sense of the amazing job he did - he understands the Mexican culture because of his wife and he understands the concept that "you can catch more bees with honey than with vinegar" because of his mom (he says this on the full version.) 

    The whole clip takes 10 minutes and it's very interesting. But if you don't have 10 minutes, at least skip to minute 8:38 and watch my awesome, compassionate brother-in-law in action...

The Sugar on Top

    Tom and I were driving up to Maryland for the first time so I could meet his family and childhood friends before our wedding. It was my first time in Tennessee, the Carolinas and all of those other states between Texas and Maryland. What a fabulous trip - seeing the sunrise just outside of Nashville, driving through the Smokies, the Blue Ridge, and the Shenandoah Mountains, seeing the lights of Washington D.C.

    But I think it was soon after we crossed the Virginia state line that I started scavenging for food in the car - I was getting really nervous about meeting his family, and that's one thing I do when I'm nervous. Eat.

    When I ran out of food, I pulled out my "practice" photo, the one of Tom and all of his brothers taken at a recent wedding, and started testing myself on the names of his eight brothers. Thank goodness I'd only be meeting five on this trip.

    I was mostly nervous about meeting his mom. I would be the first non-Catholic daughter-in-law! We had written back and forth and she seemed to like me, but I couldn't keep those worries out of my head. Now I can't believe I was ever nervous - Mom welcomed with open arms and her beautiful bright smile. She and Pop treated me like their own daughter from the very start.

    Over the years, I've seen and heard tales of horrible mother-in-laws, and I realize how very lucky I am...not only did I snag the best husband ever, but he came wrapped in a package with this fabulous woman. She raised nine boys into nine good men without losing her sense of humor, sense of self, and sense of fun.  She's the kind of mother-in-law who was quite willing to turn the care of her sons over to their wives, thank-you-very-much. There was never any kind of test to see if I was "good enough" for Tom - as long as he loved me and thought I was the right one, she did, too. She's always been quick to help and quick with advice...when asked. I've learned by watching her and my own mother how to generously give of myself to my family and my community, but ensure I retain something for myself.

    Today is Mom's birthday. I wish we could have been with her, rather than just send our happy birthday wishes over the phone. Now that the kids are all out of school, I'm hoping we'll be able to do just that - plan a visit on her birthday. Or at least close to it. For now, the phone and photos will have to do to make us feel close...

Mom and Pop with the first seven...

With Tom and me in front of the Maryland house on my first visit...

At our wedding...

Playing cribbage with Pop and Tom at the Florida house last year...one of her favorite things...

Happy, happy birthday Mom!! Thank you for being you!

...in a galaxy far, far away...

    According to Mystery Man on Film, 32 years ago today, Star Wars was released in only 32 theaters. I don't remember the exact date of my first viewing - what I do remember is my brother Donnie telling me I HAD to see this movie. I think Donnie has only told me I HAD to do something twice in my life: see Star Wars and read The Lord of the Rings.

    Boy, does he know me! I ended up seeing Star Wars six or seven times that summer, first with Donnie, then dragging my boyfriend, my friend Ann, and who ever else I could get into the theater with me, and I've read The Lord of the Rings two or three times.

    What I didn't realize until I read Mystery's Man's blog post today is that when the first version of the Star Wars script emerged three years before the movie was released, it barely resembled what we saw on the screen. In fact, (and I'm quoting Mystery Man here) "The early drafts were so stunningly awful and so unlike the finished film, it's such a great reminder that any bad script has the potential to reach great heights like Star Wars."

    Oh! Those words are music to my ears! I am pumped up to get back to my screenplay...just as soon as Kendall's graduation is over, anyway.     

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...

Cosmos (kŏz'məs, -mŏs', -mōs') n.: a complete, orderly, harmonious system.

    

    Kendall's soccer team clinched the title of STYSA Western Division champs yesterday. My soccer mom days are winding down, but they're going out in style at the State tournament this coming weekend!

    The Western Division tournament this past weekend was like the fireworks before the grand finale. The games scheduled for Saturday were rained out and stacked one after another on Sunday...but on a field closer to us. A cool, dry breeze shoved the rain away, making it a perfect day to be outside, whether you were running up and down the field, fighting for the ball, or sitting on the sidelines, biting your tongue at bad calls. Then one of the teams missed their first game - knocking them out of the tournament, and giving Kendall's team a break in between their two other games. It couldn't have been any better!

    The timing is perfect: Kendall and I are both pretty tired of spending whole weekends at soccer fields, or driving to and from soccer fields. It's still going to be a bittersweet ending, though. This is her fifth year with the Cosmos - ten seasons with many of the same girls, growing together out of puberty into young women, and with Coach David and his wife Coach Christine, who both bubble over with soccer enthusiasm. When Kendall first started with them, their youngest son was just a toddler. Now he's yelling advice and criticism from the sidelines!

    I'm grateful to David and Christine for hanging in there despite the raging hormones, attitude, tempers, egos and tears. David made those girls mad, and made them laugh. He made them see they were tough and classy. He made them proud of themselves. There were years he thought about quitting, seasons when he seemed to care more than the girls and wondered if he was wasting his time, but when the next season rolled around and he saw how many girls were returning, he always got fired up again and determined that THIS would be the best season, ever. And it usually was.

    This season is no exception. State...here come the Cosmos!

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

 

Beginning the Climb

           "To live is so startling, it leaves little time for anything else." (Emily Dickinson)

    Something was in the air this morning - maybe some kind of charge leftover from the thunderstorm that sprinted through before dawn. Or maybe it just spruced everything up, like a good spring cleaning.

    It felt...invigorating...energizing...like I should be celebrating something! Even Charly felt it - on our walk, he actually RAN with Max far ahead of me and Frankie, and he went all the way to the curve! This last week or so he'd been lagging behind, stopping and waiting for us about half the way down the road. My walks have been taking longer because I slow down to wait for him on the way back. Cougars and coyotes are known to lurk around here, but I'm not so worried about any danger to him as much as I hate the idea of him trudging back home alone.

    This morning I could tell he was pushing himself, trying to keep up the pace all the way back. Mind over matter, and this morning it didn't matter to him that he's thirteen. Something inside of him felt much younger, and that's what he decided to listen to. A good lesson for me as I prepare to climb that big milestone just on the other side of this weekend.

    I've actually been preparing all year...celebrating with each one of my friends as they topped the hill. Today I could feel it in earnest, this feeling of celebration...I think it's similar to the adrenaline rush an athlete gets just before a race. When Kendall and I had lunch today after her doctor appointment, for some reason it felt like more than just a lunch. It was a true special occasion. I could feel it!

    Some friends on Facebook must have sensed it, too. They posted happy birthday wishes!

    And tonight, at dinner to celebrate my friend Karen's birthday (two weeks late!), a part of me just couldn't help celebrating my own at the same time! Silently, of course...I didn't want to take away from hers. But it felt too much like a gift to me, spending time with these two friends I rarely get to see anymore.

    It's obvious I've already started the climb to the top of the hill, not willing to wait until Monday and do it all in a rush. I want to enjoy this, take in the scenery as I go, turn every day into a celebration, even after I'm on the other side.

       "Life is a great and wondrous mystery, and the only thing we know that we have for sure is what is right here and right now. Don't miss it." (Leo Buscaglia)         

   

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.

Walking in the Rain and Dust Art

    I woke to the sound of rain outside my window this morning and it's falling outside the window beside me now. It stopped long enough to start a walk with my fellas (Max, Charly, and Frankie) but started back up again before we got back home. But they didn't seem to mind it and I had an umbrella, so it was a nice change. It's a soft, soaking rain - just the kind we need right now to soothe the thirsty ground and trees and wash the dust off of everything...including my van.

    The good news is it's supposed to rain off and on for three whole days! Not enough to raise the lake or fill our pond, but enough to wash the pollen out of the air for awhile, thank goodness.

    The sun will be back out in a few days, drying out the caliche, and my van window will be covered in dust again. But now I'll see the dust in a whole new way - my friend Cliff sent me an email this morning about a dust artist just down the road from me in San Marcos. He uses his dusty window as a palette, creating works of art for everyone behind him on the highway to see. To see his amazing creations, go to his website (you can also read articles about him here and here.)

Feeling Lost, Playing Catch-Up

    Waking up to silence and soft sunshine, just the ticking of a clock, a bird singing outside the window, instead of the buzzing of an alarm clock slicing through a dream, waking me to a bedroom still cloaked with night...that's why I love Saturday mornings like this...the ones when I have nothing planned but trying to catch up on...EVERYTHING.

    That's the glitch...it's impossible to start a day off slow and relaxing like I have...sleeping-in, sipping coffee on the deck with the critters, making muffins, heading off to Istanbul with Rick Steves (a fascinating place - I want to go there some day for real. Rick Steves has the best job!)...and expect to get much of anything else done. Or at least more than one of those things that have been snowballing on a list for awhile, like cleaning house, income tax, and FAFSA (see, I'm not even mentioning screenplays.)

    Last night I was full of energy, though, for some reason. On a roll. I completed several loads of laundry, cleaned off my desk and paid bills, and even got caught up on the last two Lost episodes. (The problem with having to wait two weeks to watch them, though, is there is so much going on - everything is changing, from time to relationships, that I started off feeling lost. I don't expect to have all of my questions answered, though, so I still enjoy the perpetual mystery of it all.)

    As with all weeks lately, this was a week of sorrow and celebrations. It seemed like every day I heard of the sudden deaths of people I, or someone I knew, was somehow connected to, both friends and family. It was a little...overwhelming. Not exactly the right word, but I can't think of another way to describe it. There was Marla. Also, my mother heard of the death of her childhood best friend...two men my dad used to work with were killed in a plane crash...a man at our church died...and two distant cousins.

    One of the cousins was a young man named Kenneth Curb. He didn't live far from me, was just a little bit younger than me, and yet I'm not sure if I ever met him. Perhaps at one of the family reunions, but there were so many unfamiliar faces there every year, it was hard to keep up with them. This morning his aunt sent me an article that was written about him; after reading it, I'm proud to say I was related to him, even a teeny bit (through the great-great grandfather I'm writing about), and I regret that I didn't know him. He was one of those guys that really uses the time he's given on this earth - he accomplished a lot in his 44 years. The good thing is his community had a chance to recognize it and honor him a couple of years ago. You can read the article here.

    Another person that inspires me, that I DO know (but don't get to see often enough) is my friend Cheryl, who celebrated a birthday yesterday. She is truly one-of-a kind...she's hard to describe because she has so many different sides to her. She is "What you see is what you get!" - down to earth, honest, upfront, outspoken. She is a gifted artist. She is brave, persistent, resilient, determined, bold and brazen, tough as nails when she has to be, but also one of the most sensitive, caring, affectionate women I've ever met. She is a hugger, a smoocher, a faith-filled ageless native-Austinite Earth Mother with the trust and innocence of a child. 

    She also has had the worst luck of any person I know (and that's saying a lot!) but never lets anything keep her down long - she stays positive, prays constantly, maintains the faith of a saint, and always remembers to "Praise God" when things work out. 

    I miss her - up until a couple of years ago, we got together almost every week with the other Lago women, but life has gotten in the way lately...everyone has scattered farther, gotten busy on different time schedules. I miss them all, but I'm trying to have Cheryl's faith that life will settle down a bit and we'll all eventually be able to spend time together again.

    In the meantime, my birthday hug will have to wait and my wishes merely travel via email, phone, and blog.  Happy Birthday, Cheryl!!

(here are pictures from her birthday celebration last year and our annual trip to Port Aransas)

 

 

 

Hope

    No, I didn't vote for Obama. But that doesn't mean I can't be caught up in the wave of optimism that seems to be swallowing our country today. I don't believe a President by himself, no matter who he or she is, can do ANYTHING alone, meaning he/she shouldn't get all the blame or credit for anything, but I do believe Americans working together can accomplish a great deal, even if they disagree on some issues, and although I don't agree with all of his political views (which means I do agree with some), it's obvious Obama has a gift for inspiring people to get involved, to care, to have hope, and to draw together in a way I haven't seen since 9/11.

    I do worry that people expect him to do everything that THEY want, and to do it all by himself - that's a pretty weighty load to carry. We'll just have to wait and see what the next few months and years bring.

    But for today, at least, I'll try to tuck my cynicism in a drawer and drape myself in patriotism - it really is a great system. Maybe people will believe in it again. I know I do.

Day 2 - Rambling

    How quickly resolutions can dissolve once the real world - like work - makes its appearance. I won't go through a boring list of what I did or didn't get done today. Let's just say it's a good thing I resolved to be flexible and not stress about it...too much, anyway. Work is both a necessity and a blessing, so I'm not about to whine or complain about it...

    Kendall was watching "Schindler's List" when I got home, and I sat and watched a little of it with her. It illustrates both ends of the human spectrum - that we're capable of so much evil AND so much good. I love the end of it, when the actual people whose lives Schindler saved honor his memory by placing stones on his grave - such a great image of the impact his actions had on so many lives.   

    Good news, though...if you're feeling depressed because you've already broken your New Year's Resolutions, eat a banana! Seriously! Among other benefits, they are supposed to help you think happier thoughts, according to Dr. Mehmet Oz of Real Age. Read about the happy banana here.

    Ah, tomorrow is Saturday...I have a long to-do list which includes a trip to the grocery store, packing up the Christmas colors, and registering for the spring semester. And Kendall wants to get started on the FAFSA (Free Application for Federal Student Aid) - UGH! It's something I tend to put at the top of my procrastination list, despite its importance, so I'm glad she's full of zeal about it. I just wish she could do it by herself!

    

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. 

 

Shades of Gray

    The dogs and I walked through a valley shrouded in mist this morning - it swirled up under my umbrella, making me feel a little silly carrying it (in my defense, I thought it was raining when I glanced outside before heading out because the mist condensate was dripping from the porch overhang.) Four white-tail deer silently crossed the road in front of us. The dogs didn't even notice them.

    If I had to choose one or the other, I'd pick soaring warm mornings of sunshine and blue sky, but I enjoy mornings like this, too...every once in a while, anyway...and not just so I can appreciate the sunny ones. Misty mornings have their own subtle beauty...good for quiet reflection, a remedy to these countdown days before Christmas that could easily become frenetic.

    My thoughts were on a shooting on a Dallas freeway during rush hour yesterday afternoon. It was the first thing I heard about on the news this morning, and for a split second I worried about Tommy - then I remembered he'd had to work late, and I was so grateful. But then my thoughts were on the ones who were killed, and their families, and how sad the holidays would be for them, and then I thought of the workers who have been laid off from their jobs, and then on a friend whose father just died.     

    While reading and re-reading my great-great grandfather's memoir, I've been amazed at how hard his life was at times and the heartbreaks he endured. Life can still be hard and full of heartbreak, though - the past doesn't have a monopoly in that area. It helps to know that others have gone through this life, through war and illness and empty pockets, and survived.

     My friend Ann wrote on her blog the other day about how she loves looking at her family's old sepia photos, and included a song by Jamey Johnson - In Color. I'd never heard it before, but I love the lyrics, about the stories behind the old black and white photos families have stashed away in boxes and albums. I gather up as many of these old family photos as I can, gaze into the faces, some stern, some smiling, and even beyond them at their world - the houses, pets, clothes - trying to get clues about their personalities, their lives.

    One of my favorites is this one of my grandparents - my dad's mom and dad - Annie B. and Durward - I believe taken when they were still dating or newly married. I love the fact that they joked around like this, switching clothes. I love seeing this side of them, imagining them before and after the picture was taken.

    The play I'm writing is about Annie B.'s grandfather, and includes many of her memories about him. I realize I missed writing about her on her birthday in September. I guess she would have been 102. We thought she'd make it to her 100th - she was going strong for a long time, probably on pure determination, but her body just kind of wore out - I guess it's been about six years since her death. She didn't let hard times, heartbreak or her age stop her from what she wanted to do - I have LOTS of stories about her I'll have to tell later.

    Before she died, she gave me this admittedly corny poem, "Don't Quit", (framed, and appropriately printed over a picture of a rainbow in the hills) that I think explains a lot about her resilience, and probably a clue to all survivors - those that find something to smile or even laugh about even when everything seems to be going wrong - a shared attitude that I have trouble hanging onto, but I keep trying. I'm sure she wouldn't mind me sharing it.

When things go wrong, as they sometimes will,
When the road you're trudging seems all uphill,
When the funds are low, and the debts are high,
And you want to smile, but you have to sigh,
When care is pressing you down a bit,
Rest if you must, but don't you quit.

Life is queer with its twists and turns,
As every one of us sometimes learns,
And many a failure turns about,
When he might have won had he stuck it out;
Don't give up though the pace seems slow,
You may succeed with another blow.

Success is failure turned inside out,
The silver tint of the clouds of doubt,
And you never can tell how close you are,
It might be near when it seems so far;
So stick to the fight when you're hardest hit,
It's when things seem worst, that you must not quit.

In keeping with the black and white photo theme, here's a good Christmas past photo - Donnie, me, Brenda (and Santa, of course)...

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!

If They Can Do It...

    Most people, when they hear I'm still working on my bachelor's degree, are encouraging and supportive. They get it, even when they find out it's not in nursing, which seems to be the #1 middle-age-back-to-college choice because of the need for nurses, and therefore, great salaries and great return for the investment.

    But...every once in a while...I get raised eyebrows, and a "Why bother at your age?"

    I shield myself from such naysayers by thinking of those who have gone before me, paving the way for those of us who flounder when expected to produce practical reasons for persistently pursuing a college degree when retirement age is around the corner. 

    Years ago I read an article in "Parade" about an elderly man in Chicago who had taken at least one college class every semester for, like, fifty years. He already had a collection of degrees, but still he continued, just because he loved to learn. When I first read it, I thought I'd have a degree by now, but made up my mind that I'd follow his lead and keep learning even afterward.

     There are others who inspire me to keep plodding away, like Nola Ochs, the 95-year-old woman that graduated in May, 2007, alongside her 22-year-old granddaughter, and Winifred Jennings, 85, that just graduated from college with a bachelor's degree in behavioral sciences. (She's thinking about working on her master's degree, after taking a year off.)

     I hope I can get my degree long before my 85th birthday, but even if it takes until I'm 95 (if I'm still alive, of course, God willing!), I'm gonna stick with it. I'm not out to set any records. But then, either were these role models of mine. They just loved to learn and wanted to finish what they started years before, just like me.

    Winifred and Nola (and elderly man that just loves to learn), thanks for the inspiration to ignore the naysayers and keep chasing my dream.

An Anniversary of Sorts

    For the past few weeks, my mind has skipped back and forth from the present to the late 1800s...I've been separating my great-great-grandfather's memoir into fluorescent colors - green is his life from his first step across the Red River into Texas, through the Indian Wars and his cowboy days; orange takes over during the Civil War, Reconstruction, and his two years in prison, interspersed with pink for love and family; and yellow is reserved for the last chapter of his life, when he tried to piece it all back together, finally learning to accept things the way they were and make the most of it.

    I didn't think very much about the colors - except for pink, of course - but I realize there is some significance in my choices. Both green and orange are yellow plus another color, so yellow is a good color for the time in his life when he rids himself of illusions and extras, down to the essence of himself that was there all along, his true self....

    As I read and re-read the words he wrote in 1901, I try to decipher what he's really saying, what he's leaving out and why. I try to see what he describes through his eyes, and then from the eyes of his friends, loved ones, and even his enemies. It's tough...meaning, it's tough to imagine living through all of it. I have to take lots of breaks, pull myself out of it and think about what I'm reading, try and put it into perspective.

    The first time I read his memoir, I couldn't put it down. I read it straight through. I was pretty familiar with Texas history and the Civil War, had read a lot of books, visited the battlegrounds, watched the documentaries and movies, but his words brought it all to life in a way I couldn't have imagined possible. It was liking stepping through a portal into that time of violence. Through his words and descriptions, I could see it, and much of it broke my heart. That's when I got the idea to turn it into a screenplay.

    It has taken another five or six years now...maybe even more...for the next step - actually trying to write it. And as with most things, it's turning out to be a little more complicated than I thought it would be. But I'm optimistic and determined. His life was full of tragedy, but in writing his memoir he hoped to send a message, warning others not to make the same mistakes he made. I want to help him get the message out, and at the same time make sure his loyalty, love, courage and strength of character aren't buried beneath his flaws along the way in the telling. Wish me luck!

    By the way, today is the 114th anniversary of the day he was released from prison. In his words..."Freedom! Oh! Freedom is so sweet to a man!"

    Today I'm grateful for my freedom...that I live in America...that my cousin found this memoir so we could all finally read it...for my great-great-grandfather's willingness to share his story so many years ago...for the chance to finally try to turn it into a movie or book so others can learn from his life the way he hoped.

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...

Mama Taught Me...

   There is no doubt in my mind that, given the right circumstances, my mother could have been anything she wanted to be - teacher, doctor, lawyer, CEO, President of the United States - and she would have been the best. Instead, she chose to be my mom. For that I am eternally grateful. And of course, she is the best.

     In honor of her birthday today, I started compiling a list of things she has taught me...sometimes in words, but also from watching her. It's in no way complete...she's still teaching me! So I'm stopping at 77 (you can guess why...)

 Things Mama has taught me...

1. it's never too late to learn something new
2. if you have a choice between laughter and tears, choose laughter.
3. don't let anyone mess with your babies!
4. only give advice when asked for it (I'm still working on that one)
5. pray every day
6. pray some more
7. reading a good book might not solve your problems, but it's a nice escape from them
8. bend but never break
9. some people are just takers
10. be nice whenever possible, but sometimes nice doesn't cut it
11. take care of family
12. we're all individuals - let your kids blossom into themselves, not "mini-me's"
13. be there
14. Johnny Weismuller is the best movie Tarzan
15. don't be in a rush to be older than you are - you're only going to be this age once in your life
16. if you like something, and you'll use it, and you can afford it, then buy it, or you'll regret it later
17. quality over quantity
18. never think "can't"
19. people will stand in line for a dead skunk if it's free
20. roll with the punches
21. have fun
22. laugh often
23. believe in yourself
24. don't let others change who you are
25. be honest
26. don't steal
27. forgive yourself
28. God loves me
29. don't judge
30. just do it!
31. inside matters more than outside
32. don't use God's name in vain
33. you can learn anything if you put your mind to it
34. you're never too old to dance
35. it's okay to ask for help
36. show appreciation and express gratitude
37. use my manners
38. consider the source
39. an office or position of authority should be respected, but the individual in that position has to earn your respect
40. sleep is good
41. take advantage of opportunities
42. keep your eyes open and your wits about you
43. people aren't always nice
44. things can't make you happy
45. use your imagination
46. just get started and the rest will be easy
47. don't be intimidated by anyone - we're all the same, all human, we all have strengths and weaknesses
48. you can love someone even if you don't like them
49. forgive but don't forget
50. learn from others' mistakes
51. there are times for being patient, and time for putting your foot down
52. speak up
53. stand up for what you believe in
54. admit your mistakes and expect others to do the same
55. persistance pays off
56. let your kids be kids
57. love unconditionally
58. take lots of pictures
59. kids grow up fast
60. your kids need a mother, not another friend
61. pets are family
62. help others
63. a sense of humor is essential for sanity and survival
64. if you look close enough, you can find something to love about everyone
65. coffee is good anytime
66. messes can be cleaned up
67. prayer works
68. God is strong all the time - let him carry you
69. if you say you're going to do something, do it
70. be nice to yourself in case no one else is
71. you have to show respect to get respect
72. girls are tough
73. don't put up with temper tantrums
74. listen to your body - doctors don't know everything
75. don't say everything you're thinking
76. asking questions is the best way to learn something
77. your babies are always your babies (and their babies are your babies, too!)

I love you, Mama!! Happy Birthday!! ...and thank you...

 

 

 

 

 

 

Salute a Veteran Today

    For an hour this afternoon I sat on the hard bleachers of our high school gym listening to speeches by high school students, patriotic music from the elementary school choir and high school band, and tales of heroism and service summed up in thirty words or less for dozens of area veterans showcased in folding seats of honor on the gym floor. Each is honored individually and given a carnation - a small token in consideration of their sacrifice, but, sadly, probably more than they get the rest of the year.

    This is one thing our small district does right, and each year I'm so impressed by the program, organized by students, and by the respect that the students crowding into the bleachers across from me show the veterans and the speakers.   

   Something brings me to tears each time. This year it was a speech given by a student whose Marine father was killed in Iraq three years ago. She eloquently described the challenges of growing up with a patriotic, demanding Marine father (ever see "The Great Santini" with Robert Duvall?), and the difficult transition from military to civilian life after his death. This girl has a future as a writer, that's for sure.

    Another student, on ordinary days dressed in tight skater jeans, today wore a new suit and quoted both Robert E. Lee and Winston Churchill. And yet another told the story of her grandfather who was killed in the Viet Nam War, on a mission that he knew he probably wouldn't survive.

    Each year the band plays the Armed Forces Salute - the veterans stand during their respective branch's song while we all applaud. Taps, today played by a fourteen-year-old redhead, brings the program to a close, and signals the guests to move to the foyer for refreshments served by more students.

    That's what I like most about this - the students and veterans coming together for a moment - the students having a chance to see beyond the gray hair, potbelly, or cane of the veterans, and realize they were young once, too. For their part, the veterans get a chance to see the students in their world, see that the future is in good hands...hands and minds that won't forget the sacrifices that were made to retain the freedom we all enjoy.

    Each year I think, Dang it, I should have gotten my dad or Tom or his dad to be here today. My dad was in the Navy; Tom was in the Coast Guard; his dad was career Air Force, along with three of Tom's brothers. Another brother was also Coast Guard and one Army Reserves. Both of my brothers are veterans - one Navy, one Army. Two nephews were in the Navy; Tom's godson - another Tom Shallue - is an officer in the Air Force, his sister is enlisted, and their cousin is in the Coast Guard.

    I'm ashamed to say I never tell them thank you. I never think of it until Veteran's Day, and I think most of us are that way. Good thing we have a special day to remind us.

 What a cruel thing is war: to separate and destroy families and friends, and mar the purest joys and happiness God has granted us in this world; to fill our hears with hatred instead of love for our neighbors, and to devastate the fair face of this beautiful world...Robert E. Lee

 Never, never, never believe any war will be smooth and easy, or that anyone who embarks on the strange voyage can measure the tides and hurricanes he will encounter. The statesman who yields to war fever must realize that once the signal is given, he is no longer the master of policy but the slave of unforeseeable and uncontrollable events...Winston Churchill

I Have a Similar Dream

Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. (Martin Luther King Jr., letter from Birmingham Jail 1963)    

    When Daniel was a high school senior, he applied to five or six colleges, public and private. He had worked hard and was accepted into all of them. He received large academic scholarship offers from each of the private schools...except for one. His first pick. He was disappointed, because there was no way we could afford it otherwise, and at this particular school, academic scholarships are only offered to incoming freshman. If you don't get it then, forget it.

    His disappointed turned to frustration and anger, though, when through the grapevine of our small school, he discovered that two of his friends, both smart and gifted, but without Daniel's level of academic achievement, had each been offered large academic scholarships to this same college.

    At the urging of the boys' moms, friends of mine, I contacted the admissions counselor. In a nutshell, she conceded that the boys' African-American heritage played a big role in the scholarship offers. They ended up offering Daniel a smaller scholarship (they had run out of scholarship money), but by then he had a bad taste in his mouth for the college. Instead, he went with his second pick - UT - which he absolutely loves. So it worked out.

    Except...I grew up in the sixties and seventies witnessing the Civil Rights struggles, sympathizing and getting angry about injustices, gaining inspiration from Martin Luther King, Jr.'s speeches, agreeing that all men (and women) are created equal and should be treated as such.

    I read The Autobiography of Malcolm X. I angrily castigated some welders years ago for bragging about harassing African-Americans they saw walking down a sidewalk. I worked with and made friends with people of all different nationalities and ethnic backgrounds. I had worked hard to bring my children up to be color-blind, and had done a good job. 

    But this experience left a mark on all of us. Obviously, there was still discrimination and racial injustice in our country, and not just against minorities. My son became a victim of it, too, only how could we protest without being labeled racists ourselves? 

    And then, after this election, I was reminded of it again when it became obvious by the news coverage and interviews that many (not all) voted for Obama because of his skin color. I'm sure many voted against him for the same reason (although obviously not as many), and it just makes me sad, either way, especially when King's "I Have a Dream" speech was being quoted along with the admissions...

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal."

   I have a dream, too...that someday soon everyone will be judged on a level playing field, with no consideration at all of the color of their skin, their religion, their gender, their heritage, their eye color, height, weight, or anything else. I hope Obama's election helps make this come true, somehow.

   I don't think King's dream will be fulfilled until mine is.

It's Time to Get Started

      This quote popped out at me this morning...

Don't wait until everything is just right. It will never be perfect. There will always be challenges, obstacles, and less than perfect conditions. So what. Get started now. With each step you take, you will grow stronger and stronger, more and more skilled, more and more self confident, and more and more successful. (Mark Victor Hansen)

     Great motivation for a Monday morning, whether you're seventeen, twenty, twenty-two (the ages of my kids), or hitting your fifties, like me, Tom, and most of my friends, or even if you're in your seventies and eighties, like my parents...We all have something we need to get started on, or want to do with our lives. I think it's never too late to start....whether it's getting healthier, starting to school, writing a book, learning to play the drums, or rediscovering old hobbies or friendships.

     On a totally different note, HALLOWEEN is coming! So in keeping with the season (and because I'm so sentimental), I'll post a picture from past Halloweens every day...this one is probably my favorite...Kendall and Daniel trying to be as fierce and scary as big brother Tommy, circa 1992...

Celebrating Ann...

     My dear friend Ann turns fifty today. Ann is fifty....Ann is fifty?

     No....no matter how often I write it, or how many more years go by, Ann will never be fifty..or fifty-five...or sixty. Ann is and always has been ageless...her spirit is simultaneously young and old...fun-loving, adventurous, spontaneous, mischievous, passionate...marbled with wisdom, peacefulness, charm, practicality, and common sense. 

     We became friends through our boyfriends when we were around sixteen. The boyfriends eventually went by the wayside, while we became closer, despite the fact that our lifestyles have pretty much always been on different tracks...as far as married/single, kids/no kids, little kids/older kids, working/staying-at-home goes, anyway. We rarely see each other and we'll go months without talking (although now that our kids are older we're working on that.)

      But Ann is more than a friend - she's a part of me. There are no pretenses between us. We can be ourselves with each other and not have to worry about being judged. We share good laughs over our screw-ups and problems and memories. We've shared so much over the years, know so much about each other, that I no longer worry about us drifting apart or losing our friendship....although I'd never take it for granted. One of the beautiful things about her is that I'm not the only one who feels that way...she has many friends who feel just as close to her as I do.

     I am grateful to her for her amazing strength - she's had challenge after challenge in her life that would have broken most women, but she somehow turns those challenges into trampolenes, using them to bounce into something bigger and better. She's realized one of her dreams already - owning an antique shop/tea room in her little town of Weston, Missouri, and she's currently working on a book of her assemblage art to be published by North Light. She reminds me of those purple flowers growing in the bend of our road - despite all the trials in her life, she continues to bloom and brighten and inspire lives all around her.

     Her creativity and energy amaze me. It's because of her that I'm even writing this blog - I enjoyed hers so much (isla) that I wanted to try. She encouraged me and answered my questions. Her photography reawakened my love for capturing the images around me, and she was just as supportive and helpful with that.

     Artwork is another thing - years ago she tried to teach me how to sew and make some of the craft projects she's so good at, but we both gave up on that...

     Now she's writing, and her creativity and natural sense of beauty are obvious in her words. I'm trying to be just as helpful to her as she has been to me. It's nice to be able to give back in some way.

     So here's to Ann...may your day and all the days to come be glorious, and I hope they include more chances for us to spend time with each other. I miss you, love you, and I'm so glad you're my friend.

Here are some blasts from the past....Carey (whatever happened to her?), me, and Ann at South Padre Island, 4th of July 1977 (look at those tans...and the terrible quality of 70's photography)...

 

...Ann and I climbing Mt. Timpanogos in Utah a few months later...

 

...and at our 30th high school reunion pre-party last year...

I can't wait for the next 34 years of friendship with you, Ann...HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!

Beijing Bronze for Our Hometown Hero

     Lago Vista may be small, but we have our own Olympic hero now - Lindsey Carmichael, daughter of the middle/high school nurse, just brought home the bronze in archery in the Paralympics in Beijing. She also competed in the Athens Paralympics in 2004.

     Not only is she a gifted archer, but she's an amazing writer, so check out her blog, Rings and Arrows, where she writes about her adventures in China and how it feels to be a medalist.