Long Hollow

From a Certain Perspective

We had two Christmas parties this weekend. Saturday night was so much fun and we stayed up so late, though, that it was hard to work up enthusiasm for our annual church dinner/dance Sunday night. None of our closest friends planned to attend and I couldn't help but wish we had bought tickets to the Daughtry concert instead. But we had tickets to the dinner (prime rib!) so we dressed ourselves up and went. We could always skip out right after dinner if we wanted to...

As it turned out, we were among the last to leave. The clean-up crew was blowing out candles and gathering up tablecloths while we took a final two-step around the dancefloor. The food was delicious, we made new friends with the couples at our table... faces we had exchanged smiles with at church, but never really gotten to know...and we danced! Tom made it all the way through the Cotton-Eyed Joe AND the Schottiche this time, and I represented my generation in several line dances.

Daughtry who?

Isn't it funny how your perspective about something can change so completely?

I've been pouring out my words and thoughts here on Long Hollow for almost a year and a half. That's so hard for me to believe! I wasn't sure what to expect when I started. It was a little scary - throwing them out here for anyone to read...very similar to how it felt reading my weekly compositions aloud so many years ago in my first creative writing class.

From the very beginning I was undecided about the "ads" issue on blogs - I avoided giving in to them, afraid they would be intrusive or look tacky...because, let's face it, sometimes they are and they do. But I also had to face the fact that if there was a way to make some money from my blog...even a few pennies...I needed to try. So I was very excited when the email came last week letting me know my blog was accepted into the Blogher network. I have no illusions of quitting my job anytime soon because of my blog income, but if I can make anything at all on this legal addiction of mine, I'll feel really good about it.

Perspective.

A friend sent me an e-mail yesterday about perspective. It was one of those that has made its rounds numerous times,  kinda corny and wrapped up a little too neatly, about a wealthy father who takes his son out to the country "with the express purpose of showing him how poor people live". Upon their return home, the father asks his son what he has learned. The boy replies...

"I saw that we have one dog and they have four. We have a pool that reaches to the middle of our garden and they have a creek that has no end. We have imported lanterns in our garden and they have the stars at night. Our patio reaches to the front yard and they have the whole horizon. We have a small piece of land to live on and they have fields that go beyond our sight. We have servants who serve us, but they serve others. We buy our food, but they grow theirs. We have walls around our property to protect us; they have friends to protect them....Thanks, Dad, for showing me how poor we are."

Perspective.

I have friends who, in traditional ways, are wealthier than we are. Yesterday I found out they were having to say goodbye to their old puppy, but where we had the opportunity to be with Charly, to hug him and hold him so that the last thing he saw on this earth were our tear-streaked faces and the last thing he heard was "we love you", they had to say a quick good-bye and rush off to the hospital for a family emergency - a kind that they are all too familiar with. In that moment, I felt very rich, very blessed, very grateful.

Perspective.

A Two-Candle Week

There are some weeks when lighting one candle just isn't enough. This has been one of them. So many of my friends and family - and my friends' families - are in need of prayer right now...from sickness, emergency hospitalizations or kids in trouble...they need our prayers for healing.

And then there are so many who are feeling the loss of loved ones during these holidays...they need our prayers for strength and peace.

It is also the week of finals for my kids and others...a week of stress and headaches and frustration, most likely...they need our prayers for determination, focus and confidence.

Today was a Holy Day of Obligation in the Catholic Church - the Feast of the Immaculate Conception. Despite deadlines and to-do lists, I was grateful for a chance to slip into the church tonight, to remember all of those needing extra prayer. And before I left, I lit another vigil candle. It just feels like that kind of week.

Please join me in offering up these prayers...

Fading Away

"...I want to get leaner and meaner, sharp-edged & earth-colored, till I fade away from pure joy."

This is part of a verse written on a plaque that a friend gave me a few years ago. I thought of these words as I strolled beside Charly this morning on our walk.

Yes, he's still scrambling up to go on our walks. He's weak...we stopped for breaks a few times on the way to the bend this morning, and each time I offered to go back home, but he would just stand for a few minutes (and I'd rub his ears and belly) then head off again, determined to go all the way.

But the verse came to mind because he is just fading away, right before our eyes. He's getting leaner and more sharp-edged (as in bony) each day, since he's barely eating. And if "meaner" indicates a strong, determined will...synonymous with "stubborn"...then he's getting meaner every day, too.

He has always been earth-colored...the same whites, tans and yellows of our caliche road...and joyful, especially on our walks - sniffing the breeze, following the trail of a rabbit or deer, or running down the road with Max. Watching him brings me joy.

He's an outside dog. A country dog. We brought him in last night and probably will again tonight because of the cold, but for his sake, I hope when the time comes for him to fade completely away, he's outside on his bed, with the sound of the birds and the creek in his ears, the smell of Max, Frankie and the critters of the woods nearby, and the knowledge that he's done a good job in his sweet heart.

I'm Thankful For...

...a houseful of family, including all three of my kids...blue skies and mild temperatures perfect for opening windows, walking through the woods and up to the top of the hill, and playing ping-pong...my mother's cornbread dressing recipe and Thanksgiving Day dinner instructions...double ovens and Chinette plates...in-laws who chip in and help out...

I'm grateful for friends and family...for the internet and telephones that allow Happy Thanksgiving wishes to travel back and forth, erasing the miles in-between us, especially those between my parents and me.

I'm thankful the University of Texas pulled off a win against the Aggies last night. Whew! What a nail-biter! (Oh, yeah...I'm grateful for friends who let us crash their party to watch the game. We don't have cable television!)

I'm thankful for this day, the one I'm sitting in right now...an empty square on the calendar in between two busy ones...a day for catching up on laundry, setting up the Christmas tree, watching funny you-tube videos or movies, and just spending time with Tom and the kids ...

I'm grateful for this chance to catch my breath before the next race begins...the coming season should be filled with self-reflection, celebration, and joy rather than stress and headaches, but it's a tough balancing act for me.

Maybe it will help to think of every day as Thanksgiving Day, listing my blessings alongside my 'things-to-do'...maybe it will help me remember why I'm doing what I do each day...

Happy Thanksgiving...Many Blessings to Everyone!

 

Just Me and Stoney, Dusting and Thinking

I think Kendall's graduation cap and braided ropes hadn't been touched since she placed them on that chest right after the ceremony last June. I untangled the cords, hung them on a hook, and propped her cap up on her dresser. Stoney LaRue's voice floated in from the livingroom speakers..."May God bless you and keep you always, may your wishes all come true. May you always do for others and let others do for you. May you build a ladder to the stars and climb on every rung. May you stay forever young, forever young, forever young..."

I dusted the wooden souvenir box from our trip to Colorado...the colorful bottles collected at so many garage sales...Gumby and Pokey...whole sanddollars...dried flowers...jewelry boxes...stuffed animals...candles...photos...

"...may you stay forever young, forever young, forever young..."

I was grateful for the rain today - not just because we needed it, but because it kept me focused inside, where I needed to be, tackling my to-do lists. I didn't accomplish as much as I wanted to (does anyone ever?) but I made a pretty big dent...getting Kendall's room ready for Tom's parents, who arrive tomorrow for Thanksgiving at our house and a grandson's wedding in San Antonio. 

It'll only be the second time since I met Tom that he has spent Thanksgiving with his parents. It'll be the first that I haven't been with mine. That's tough. I know I'll be "homesick" that day, but happy for Tom that he gets to be with his family. Mine live so close that I often take it for granted how often I get to see them.

Anyway...I spent the morning in Kendall's room surrounded by the wide pastel stripes I helped her paint...colors of other years gone by. That was when a day, a week, a year was forever to her...she couldn't imagine how quickly these years would fly. But I knew, even as I helped tape straight lines to keep the blues, greens and pinks separate, that this day was just around the corner...this day when that room wasn't where she lived - it was just a place to store stuff she no longer needed every day but wasn't ready to get rid of or box up. Not yet.

But I know even that day is coming...I know from experience with Tommy and Daniel, that gradually the room will seem larger...posters, dressers, clothes, and even furniture will disappear.

 "...may you stay forever young, forever young, forever young..."

It was a nice way to spend a morning...a reflective one...picking up a jewelry box, a candle, a framed picture, a souvenir...gently wiping the dust off of it as I remember the age, the occasion, the moods surrounding each one. I tried to keep most of it the way she had it, with a few little changes on the bedside table, just to leave space for Tom's parents' things. I want her to feel it's still her room (even though we're not letting her sleep in there Thanksgiving weekend!)...I don't want to rush her out of the house or take it upon myself to decide what she needs to keep and what she needs to get rid of. As long as she wants it, it will be her room, filled with her stuff. I'll leave the stripes and posters on the wall, the parade of mini-rubber duckies on the shelf in her shower. I'll leave it this way until the walls are bare and the closet is empty...until she has moved on. But even then...even after the stripes are gone and her things don't fill the room...in my mind it will always be Kendall's room.

"...May you stay forever young.

May you grow up to be righteous
May you grow up to be true
May you always know the truth
And see the lights surrounding you
May you always be courageous
Stand upright and be strong
May you stay forever young
Forever young, forever young
May you stay forever young.

May your hands always be busy
May your feet always be swift
May you have a strong foundation
When the winds of changes shift
May your heart always be joyful
And may your song always be sung
May you stay forever young
Forever young, forever young
May you stay forever young..."

Listen to Stoney himself singing it here.

 

 

Updates from a Week with Wings

It's almost too much for me to fathom that Thanksgiving is only a week away. Why does time speed up so much as you get older? Is it because you start to realize how precious each minute is and you know you've wasted zillions of them already that you can't get back? Do we then try to cram so much into each minute, afraid to waste a single more, that they burst, propelling us into the future even faster?

Oh, man...too much thinking this early in the morning! And what's the sense in even wondering about it? Isn't that just another waste of a minute?

Here are a few updates of our week with wings...

...Good new first...for two meals in a row, Charly has cleaned his plate! We went back to the same old routine and he's eating again, without any begging, pleading or bribery from us. That's a blessing for sure.

...Tom has been on jury duty this week. All I know is it's a child abuse case - he can't discuss it outside of the courtroom - but it's got to be a pretty depressing way to spend the day. Nevertheless, he's happy to be doing his part as a citizen.

(On the first day he was so frustrated - they were told to report at 9am. He got there at 8:15, not knowing how much of a problem traffic or parking would be, but wanting to be sure he was on time. At 11:15 he called me - they were still waiting on other potential jurors to show up! They couldn't even start interviewing until they all arrived. One (a school teacher, for goodness sake!) rolled in around 11:45. But there was still one missing; by phone, they promised to be there by 1pm, so the bailiff told the rest of them to break for lunch...but be back by ONE! Period! Everyone did...except the schoolteacher who had just gotten there before the break. She strolled back in at 1:15. Such a lack of consideration for others...such a lack of civic responsibility and respect...that just drives me crazy.)

...besides getting my library cleaned up and relatively organized (I call it a library, but it's really just a catch-all/guest room with books filling the window sills and one metal bookshelf), I finally closed up Chapter 6 to my satisfaction. This morning I traveled a pretty good distance into Chapter 7. Little by little, it's coming along.

...yesterday morning, Charly had another adventure. He and Max headed into the woods on the trail of something, so I decided to follow them. The owners of this property  used to come out pretty frequently...they fixed it up with picnic tables, grill...even an outhouse and cistern! (We call it "The Campground".) They don't mind us walking on it - it was vandalized once, so they appreciate us keeping an eye on it for them.

Anyway, I noticed Charly meandering off a bit into the woods, but Max and Frankie were busy and I was drawn to the pond...to the reflections of the trees on the mirror surface. I had my camera and took some pictures, just kind of hanging out while the 'kids' played, getting lost in memories of the days years ago when I'd hang around on the playgrounds while Tommy, Daniel and Kendall played.

Then it hit me that Charly hadn't come back! I started calling and calling, finally diving into the woods with Max and Frankie in the direction he went, a little worried that he'd worked himself down a hill into a ravine or the edge of the pond and not be able to get out. On a walk this past Saturday I had to lift him up to the next level of rock on the creekbed. His short little legs just don't have much 'oomph' left in them. And then there are the coyotes...

We emerged onto the road and there he was, heading toward us from the bend, safe and sound. Kids!

A few pictures from our detour yesterday morning...reflections (I've always loved that tree on the other side - such a unique shape)...you can barely see Max in the prairie grass...on Charly's trail through the woods...

 
 

A Short Walk in the Shadows

On clear days, the morning sunshine spills and splashes into the hollow, but there are places it doesn't reach...spots where the road hugs tight to a steep side of a hill and down along the creek and other places in the woods where the sunlight can't pass through the leaves on the oak trees.

There are days when I feel like I'm standing in one of those spots...standing in a shadow, unable to feel the warmth of the sun. Today is one of those days.

I'm not worried. It hasn't happened in a while, but it happens and I know it will pass. I know even if can't feel the light in my heart, it's close and it will return. I read somewhere that even Mother Teresa experienced days like this.

Shadows are cast by objects blocking the light, and I'm trying to figure out what it is that's blocking the light and casting this shadow around me. I have no reason to be sad or depressed. Not directly. My family is relatively healthy; we are blessed with jobs, food, shelter, clothes; we get to live in this beautiful place that I love. I have family and friends who love me. It makes me ashamed to feel this way! Lord, how would I deal with a real problem?

Perhaps it's because the holidays are coming up...I have big plans of being organized and on time this year with my decorating, shopping and cards...I really want to go see the Trail of Lights in Zilker Park (or whatever they're calling it this year) and experience the Armadillo Christmas Bazaar (I've never been!)...but without forfeiting time for reflection and activities focusing on Christ's birth...the "reason for the season."

How am I going to do that?  We're preparing for Thanksgiving right now...only the second time in my home and the first time with Tom's family (part of his family, anyway...there will only be about 15 of us, altogether, not 50 or 60!) There's so much to do and so little time left in the day to do it...in a whole weekend and and one evening, we've barely made a dent in it and my to-do lists are multiplying like rabbits. I can't even think about Christmas yet. But I realize to get it done, something (most likely my writing and work-outs...my sanity-savers) will have to go by the wayside for a while.

But it will be a fabulous weekend, even if we don't get everything done...first Thanksgiving, then a wedding in San Antonio. But now it looks like there might also be one of my "classmates get-togethers" being planned in Austin that weekend on the same day as the wedding. I'll have to miss it. Perhaps that's part of the shadow...

Or maybe it's because Charly is skin and bones but we can't get him to eat. Well, we can't get him to eat his food, anyway. If Max drops some of his on the deck, Charly's there in a heartbeat to snatch it up. We thought maybe his food was too hard and crunchy (ignoring the fact that he has no problem eating his milkbone treats!) so I changed the ratio of canned food and kibble; 1/3 canned became 1/3 kibble. Ah, that did it...for one feeding or two. Then he turned his nose up at it again. Tom broke down and just fed him Max's food (the special food that costs and arm and a leg!) because, hey, he's old and skinny! Give him what he likes! It worked...until this morning. He ate about a third of his then went scavenging around Max's bowl. ("Charly! It's the same stuff!!")

Maybe I just need a kid fix. It's been several weeks since I've seen any of them, hasn't it? And then it wasn't for very long. Not long enough. Thank the Lord for cell phones and email...I've talked to all of them in snatches within the last few days...but it's just not the same as seeing their faces, hearing their voices, feeling their hugs. 

Yes, maybe that's it. At the thought of my kids, my heart is swelling up and tears are peeking out of my eyes. They will all be here for Thanksgiving, hallelujah! In just a couple of weeks, it will be loud and crazy and I will love it...even as I long to slip off somewhere quiet.

Perhaps it's all of these things. Perhaps it's something I just haven't recognized yet. Perhaps it's hormones and I just need a good cry.

Whatever it is, I know it will pass. I know soon I'll step back into the sunlight...I know it's there, just around the corner...

In times of dryness and desolation, we must be patient, and wait with resignation the return of consolation, putting our trust in the goodness of God. We must animate ourselves by the thought that God is always with us, that he only allows this trial for our greater good, and that we have not necessarily lost his grace because we have lost the taste and feelings of it. - St. Ignatius of Loyola

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!

Lucky 21 (I Hope)

I've been traveling back in time via memories today, helped along by dusty baby books and photo albums. It's Daniel's 21st birthday.

I'll see him in person tomorrow night. Tom and I will head downtown and take him out to eat. I'll also surprise him with the not-so-healthy "fruit" of last night's labor - hours of my labor - one of his favorite treats...Cyclops Cookies. (He doesn't read my blog very often, so I'm not worried about spoiling the surprise. And he'll enjoy them just as much even if they aren't a surprise!)

Tonight I'm flipping through pages, seeing him change before my eyes in minutes - changes a mother doesn't really notice until it's time to shop for new shoes and you realize their body has grown with their feet, and that somehow, suddenly, they're looking down at you instead of up.

I wonder if I'll notice any changes tomorrow night?  It's been a couple of weeks since I've seen him.

Probably not. Changes at this age are mostly inside, not easily noticed by parents who continue to see their children with "parent" eyes. I'm guilty of this, I know. "Daniel, don't forget to go to church....Daniel, don't forget to exercise...Daniel, STUDY!"

But, that being said, now that I'm thinking about it, there have been changes in Daniel...in his voice, his choice of words, his attitude...I realize that somehow, suddenly, he has grown out of childhood and slipped into adulthood.

I'm aware of Melancholy peeking over my shoulder as I glance through the photographs of Daniel at birth...crawling...on his first birthday...

Don't get me wrong...I'm glad Daniel's growing up - after all, I'm his mother and I want what's best for him...if you never grow up, your chances of having a relatively happy, successful, rewarding life get pretty slim. But still...Daniel is funny. He's sweet. He's honest. He's goofy. He's thoughtful. He's creative. I pray he doesn't think these are childhood things to be put away. 

I think tomorrow night I'll remind him of Madeleine L'Engle's words..."The great thing about getting older is you don't lose all the other ages you've been."  

A year ago today..."My Lucky 13 Baby"

Twenty-one years ago today...preparing to meet Daniel and holding him for the very first time...

A blink of an eye and a year later (and tonight, just a few pages later...) he's off and running, ready to discover the world. He hasn't stopped yet and I hope he never does...

 Happy, happy 21st birthday, Daniel!! I can't wait to see what happens next!

 
 

No degree, but plenty of lessons

As a welder's helper for H.B. Zachry back in 1978, I learned alligator cooked in a welding rod hot box tastes a lot like chicken and that it's important to know who you are and have a tight grip on your values when submerged in a world of loose rules and questionable ethics. I was introduced to and outraged by the reality of extreme racism and, when the women in the tag shack wouldn't let me use the restroom in their trailer rather than the stomach-turning port-a-potties because I was one of the "workers", I experienced the disdain of discrimination. (I also learned how to go 10 hours straight without using the restroom.) 

As a plant technician (chemical plant operator) for DuPont, USI, and Quantum Chemicals from 1978 through 1991, I realized I could learn anything if I put my mind to it. I discovered true friendship isn't restricted or limited by gender, age, race or religion. I learned public speaking from giving first aid classes. I learned the importance of going to the source of information rather than just taking someone's word on a procedure, especially when there was hydrogen, carbon monoxide or propylene involved.

When my body went into automatic at the sound of a fire alarm, I realized the value of preparation and practice, practice, practice. I witnessed male chauvinism, but learned to speak up for myself, maintain a good sense of humor, and to do my best even if no one acknowledged it. I learned it was possible to change others' attitudes. I memorized the words to almost every pop song recorded between 1950 and 1970, thanks to long nights in the lab listening to the oldies station, as well as snippets of the Cherokee language and Viet Nam culture and history, thanks to co-workers.

As a new mom working 12 hour shifts, I learned I could manage on little or no sleep. I learned that my most important job of all is being a mom, but that I might have to fight others to do the job well. I learned to trust God to watch over my babies because I couldn't always be there.

As a stay-at-home mom, I learned what loneliness means and the sanity-saving value of a call from a friend, a few hours away from home with the girls or volunteering at the school. I learned it's never too late to go back to school, but it's a lot harder once you're married and have kids.

As a substitute teacher, volunteer, and elementary school librarian, I learned that not all teachers are created equal, and that the inside politics of a school district can get pretty ugly. The children are often forgotten and common sense is sometimes only a term in a book.

But as a librarian, having to teach myself from scratch (because the district refused to pay the previous librarian to train me), I remembered that I could learn anything if I had the desire to do so and put my mind to it. Degree be damned! I learned the joy of passing on a love of reading and respect of books to children, of watching the wonder in their faces as I read to them, of seeing the tears in their eyes that matched my own when we came to the good parts.

As an almost full-time writer, I learned the importance of saving or printing out what I wrote when, after months of working on my children's book, the beginning of another book, and several essays and short stories, my computer crashed, taking my words and motivation with it.

There were a few years when I was a juggler - three or four part-time jobs, building the house, raising the kids, volunteering for everything. I learned there was such a thing as too much.

At Juggled Job 1, a part-time whatever-was-needed, didn't-even-have-my-own-cubicle-or-computer for seven years office worker, I learned humility and compromise, and felt again the acute regret of dropping out of college.

It surprised me that I found Juggled Job 2, newspaper reporting, mostly tedious and boring. Maybe that's because I covered the evening school board meetings after working all day, and then sat at the kitchen table, listening to the voices drone on and on and on from my tape recorder while I scribbled furiously well past midnight. I wanted to make sure I got the facts right, especially in this small town and during that conflictual time in its history. However, I also witnessed the power of written words, how they can shine a light on obscured facts and sometimes spark change. I felt the satisfaction of having my words make a difference.

At Juggled Job 3, substitute church secretary in our small church, I learned what multi-tasking really means. I learned more about the Catholic faith, more about humanity, more about invisible heroes, more about true compassion and service. I treasure memories of interesting discussions with Father Joe, the peace and sustaining silence of the sanctuary in the middle of the day, the heartbreaking stories of the St. Vincent de Paul calls - much needed wake-up calls for me, reminders of my many blessings and how quickly circumstances can change.

Juggled Job 4, substitute teaching, was the first I picked up and the last I let go.

Now here I am at 50, a year into yet another new job - just one job for the first time in a long time -  learning about marketing and product naming, search engine optimization, videography, and even autism...things I never dreamed I'd be learning.

All of these jobs were blessings...doors that opened to me when I needed them... interesting jobs, for the most part, that have allowed me to continue learning, whether skills or life lessons.

However, one door remains closed - the one I shut on myself years ago when I decided to "postpone" getting my degree. Even though it's getting harder and harder the closer I get to retirement age for others to understand (and some days for me to believe), I'm still determined to re-open that door and step through it. Someday. Until then, I'll just keep learning any way I can.

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.

Sunshine and Sprouts

The sun came out this afternoon. It drew me out to the porch, where I scratched puppy dogs' ears, admired the blue sky peeking through the oak tree branches, marveled at the greenness around me and at how quickly things had sprouted in our little front yard.

I spend most of my day inside, in front of a computer. Some days my brain feels like it's in its own little drought - but give me a porch swing, sunshine and fresh air, and I can feel little sprouts of thoughts popping up in my head...

"The privilege of a lifetime is to be yourself." (Joseph Campbell)

I've been thinking about this one for awhile. It sounds so simple, and yet, if you toss it around a few times, you see it's a bit more complicated than you first thought. What does it mean to be yourself? Don't we spend a lifetime trying to figure that out?

That reminded me of "Shirley Valentine", a movie Tom and I watched this weekend....my sister Brenda and I don't think alike about everything, but most things we do, so I should have known I'd love the movies she recommended and loaned to me almost a year ago. In my defense, I couldn't get anyone to watch them with me until now, and I had forgotten about them. Tom is the one that pulled Shirley off the shelf this past weekend. It's a perfect movie for me to watch right now, about a woman peeling back layers of life that have accumulated over the years and happily discovering she's still in there. It's funny, sensitive, and surprising.

Brenda had to remind me about "Cinema Paradiso" - oh, I hate that I went so long without seeing this one! It's in Italian, but within minutes, I didn't even notice the subtitles. It's about friendship, how it can pop up in the weirdest places, support you for a lifetime, and inspire you to be yourself. One minute I was laughing and the next I was reaching past Tom for a Kleenex.

Speaking of friendship, we spent Sunday afternoon with our gang of my ex-high school classmates, and even some of their kids in their twenties joined us (not mine, though.) We sang Happy Birthday to Darla's daughter, and to another friend that was celebrating in Houston, but that's not why we got together. It's that friendship thing. They are part of what makes me "me", and I've neglected that part long enough. Life is short.

Patrick Swayze. Although it wasn't unexpected, it makes me sad knowing he's gone. Graceful, macho, sensitive, sexy, talented...

I bet, by the end, he understood what Joseph Campbell meant...

"The privilege of a lifetime is to be yourself."

 

Hello Rain

It woke me in the night - the unfamiliar sound of rain. What a beautiful melody on a Saturday morning, especially in a time of drought. It lulled me back to sleep, but when I woke hours later I could still hear it - a steady, soothing, soaking rain shower, just the kind we needed.

It has rained all morning, washing the yellow tinge from the leaves. Our windows are frames for green, once again.

The rain makes me want to curl up in a comfortable chair and read. I want to spend the day lost in a story, pulling myself up and away only long enough to grab another cup of coffee and glance out the window at the rain drops dripping from the roof.

But it's Saturday, and instead I have to grab an umbrella and venture out onto the wet roads on my trail of errands. I hate going to the grocery store on rainy days, but today I promise I will not complain about my hair and groceries getting soaked. I hope the rain continues. And maybe when I get back home...just maybe...I'll get a few minutes to curl up in that chair and let the sound of rain and a good book carry me away...

A Four-Fossil Morning

A thunderstorm passed through just before sunset last night. It was enough to wash the tiredness from Charly's old bones - he led the pack on our walk this morning at a pace that demanded less strolling and more actual walking for a change. But I was still moving slow enough to find four fossils - I think that's a new record for one walk. They're easier to spot after a rain when the top layer of dirt is loosened and peeled away.

There was a soft fragrance in the air - I imagined it as an expression of joy and thanksgiving by the plants and trees for being clean and dust-free for a change.

The cooler temperatures carried in with the storm stuck around overnight - the ground was still damp and the grasses wet with dew, and there was even a mud puddle at the curve where it dips down to the dry creek bed. I actually had goosebumps on my legs when the breeze blew past me.

It's supposed to be another 100+ degree day today, but I do believe...I really DO believe...autumn is on its way.

Betrayal! (or...This isn't What I Ordered!)

It was supposed to be a taste of the next course in our life - Empty Nest. But if this is what it tastes like, can I send it back?

Not really, but...COME ON! Kendall was gone for the past few days - which means ALL the kids were gone...Tom and I had the house all to ourselves...and wouldn't you know? We both felt like crap-ola! His was a headache that wouldn't go away. Mine was the first bladder infection I've had in close to thirty years - and only the second in my life. That first one is why I switched from soda to water. I NEVER wanted to go through that again.

This one hit me out of the blue Sunday evening...seemed to back away yesterday morning... then hit me again yesterday afternoon with all guns blazing.  I think I'm on the "up" side now - I just returned from the doctor and my first antibiotic is in my tummy, hopefully waging war on that nasty infection...just in time for Kendall to be home in a few hours.

I have to admit, it was kind of cozy just cuddling (and groaning) in bed, watching crime dramas together - not my first pick, but there wasn't a big selection. I dozed as much as possible anyway.

But it wouldn't have been my first pick of an evening home alone with my sweetie. And I'm wondering what the heck is going on with my body! I rarely get sick, yet I've had to make two non-checkup trips like this to a doctor's office just since I turned fifty! I'm guessing there will be more surprises coming my way.

I just hope I start feeling better fast so I can enjoy the next few days with Kendall before we drop her at her dorm and our plate of Empty Nest really arrives. I hope the real thing tastes better than this sample.

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.

Just Another Thing to Worry About...No Rain = Snakes!

...and another reason why I'm glad I live in the country where there's nothing but dirt, rocks and scraggly weeds - apparently rattlers like soft, manicured lawns...

(This is video footage from a local news station last night. Manor is just a hop, skip and slither away from us...)

...I Shall Not Want

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

 

    

    

    

A Gift of the Mosquito Man?

    The Mosquito Man...the Pied Piper of my childhood. Why, oh why, was it so much fun to ride our bikes behind him, lost in the dense poisonous fog he sprayed throughout the neighborhood to kill the mosquitoes?

    But there's no doubt it was one of the highlights of summer...just the words "Mosquito Man" caught our attention, sent us searching and listening for the distinctive hissing sound as much as the dinging bell of the other favorite visitor, the Popsicle Man.

    Sometime in the late 60's or early 70's someone realized the spray was toxic to humans as well as to mosquitoes, and as a result, the Mosquito Man only paid visits to the neighborhood late at night, when little children were supposed to be tucked into bed and there was less danger of a fan club trailing along behind his truck.

    But the damage was done. Millions of us inhaled the toxins and I'm sure many, like me, are now wondering what effect it had or will have on us. That's why a recent article in the Schafer Autism Report (which I read for my job) caught my eye: "Study Singles Out Pesticide in Parkinson's Report."

    My older sister Brenda has Parkinson's, another reason why this article caught my eye. It says genetics can play a part, but environmental factors can, too. And we share both. We are sisters, growing up in the same house, the same neighborhood, near the same chemical plants and sprayed by the same mosquito man.

    The article also says scientists have actually pinpointed a specific chemical that is related to Parkinson's and that perhaps, at some point in the near future, individuals at high risk could be tested and given drugs to protect their brains.

    God bless scientists! And Mosquito Man, wherever you are, I forgive you. It really was fun.

photo courtesy of my 'brother' Don Barrett, who found it somewhere in cyberspace I'm guessing...and who also used to follow the 'skeeter man'...

 

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? 

    

Beach Collections

    

    Day 1 and Day 2 at the beach, I collected seashells and photographs. On Day 3, I collected thoughts...

• Tom is really just a little boy in a man's body... We were walking on the beach and a ghost crab dashed in front of us and plunged into a hole, trying to hide. Tom couldn't resist - he had to poke and prod at it until it scurried out of the hole with Tom right beside it, mimicking its comic sideways style. (I wish I had a picture of that!)

• Again, Tom is such a little boy... Daniel wandered back from a walk on the beach, laden down with coconuts. Small lavender-colored barnacles dotted one of them, and while I was thinking how cool that was and how pretty they were, Tom reached over and picked one off.

• People are pigs... It's heartbreaking to see all the trash that is left behind or washed up on shore, tossed off of unseen ships. Do they really think it just magically disappears?

• I don't know how to walk... How can it be possible that after walking miles on the beach, in some places sinking down three inches, the only sore muscles on my body were my big toes?

• Change is constant...I watched waves wash up and onto the level part of the beach, leaving a small pool that evaporated in nanoseconds. The shape and impression of the wave was left behind, and I thought, that's what a moment of time is like - it's here, it's gone, but if you look closely, you can see its impression left behind. Nothing ever stays the same.

• Okay, maybe some things never change... Daniel jogged past us on the beach. Tommy and Kendall followed a few seconds later. I thought, wow, my kids are so grown-up and health conscious! And then Tommy caught up to Daniel, lunged and grabbed him in a headlock. Kendall stood by laughing. And suddenly, they were ten, seven, and four again. I guess there's a little boy or girl living inside all of us. And I'm glad.

 

 

A Break in the Routine

    Sometimes the days leading up to a vacation can be so stressful, so packed with activity trying to tie up loose ends and anticipate problems, that you wonder if it's even worth it to try to get away. That's how I was starting to feel this week, especially considering the number of emotional twists and turns this week's journey entailed.
   But my doubts dropped away with the miles we left behind us. Time on the road is like a spring-cleaning for your brain. There's nothing to do but stare out at the changing scenery, listen to music that triggers memories, and just think and think and think until the old thoughts are gone and your brain is swept spotless, ready for a fresh batch.
    I fell asleep soon after we pulled out at 5 am (I only had one hour of sleep Friday night...all those loose ends to tie up!) and woke to the tall trees of east Texas filling my window. They gave way to the bayous of Louisiana, and then, before too long, the alternating deep forests and rivers of Mississippi, Alabama and, finally, Florida. I love my Texas hill country, but I appreciate the green surrounding us now, and the other differences - the birds, smells, sounds, and even heat. 
    The faces are the best part - faces and hugs and voices I love and had missed because we let too much time go by in between seeing each other. Tom's parents, brothers, my wonderful sister-in-law, nephews, nieces...and more will be arriving every day, traveling from different corners of the United States.
    I look forward to soaking up sunshine on the beach, watching movies, playing cards, and shopping with my adopted sisters. We'll be crowded - it will get loud and hectic and I'll wish for a few minutes of silence and solitude. I'll worry about my critters back home. But I'll try to remember to hang on to the moment, soak it up, wrap it around me and enjoy it, not wish it away or trade it for anything else. I'll set the worry free like a balloon, and tell silence and solitude to go back home and wait for me in Texas.

It's On Your Property, But...

    In the grand scheme of things - especially considering this week of life and death - the sickening, helpless frustration I have felt over the the massive wall of dirt that now towers above our pond, threatening its existence, seems like a minor problem. But our friend Jim reassured us that it isn't insignificant; he pointed out that just because our neighbor bought this property, in a sense it also belongs to everyone, because whatever he does to it can have a major impact on everyone else that lives around here and along the Colorado river. It's all connected. When you buy land, you are taking on the responsibility that comes along with it - it's a stewardship more than an ownership. And if we have reason to believe it's not being done properly, it's our responsibility to do something about it. So I'm proud to be a tattle-tale. I realize that after all my phone calls and emails to different agencies and officials, there's a chance that he IS doing everything properly or within his rights after all, and we'll just have to learn to live with it.

    But still...when I look at it, I just have to ask...WHY?

 

Can you see Tom standing in front of the wall?

 

Focusing

"It is the familiar that usually eludes us in life. What is before our nose is what we see last." ~William Barrett, American philosopher and professor.

Relevant words, especially for these days...celebrating fathers, remembering a friend's son, and looking ahead to when I really take Kendall to college...in only a few short weeks.

These are hectic, heartbreaking, busy days and I can't write much tonight, but I spent the day with Kendall...sorta...trying to remember not to take this time and these opportunities for granted.

She went her way with the other incoming freshman for orientation and I went mine with the other parents who were facing an emptier nest come August. I felt like an old hand at this - I skipped most of the sessions - mostly I wandered around campus (but not too far from shade and air-conditioning!) taking pictures or just sitting and watching people. I also grabbed the opportunity to visit the Harry Ransom Center, home of a Gutenberg Bible and the very first photograph. An awesome photography exhibit of the works of Fritz Henle took up most of the first floor, inspiring me to hone my limited skills with my camera.

I crossed paths with Kendall three times during the day...once, to sign for her to get her new ID...once, purely by accident in the Student Union...and last, at the barbecue held in the shadow of the Texas Memorial Stadium. That's where I left her...she'll be spending the next few days getting acquainted with her future new home, and I returned to a house empty of kids - both of us getting a taste of what's waiting just around the corner.

 

Hoodrat?

Confession...I spanked my kids. And I don't regret it. Especially after watching this...

A Man and His...Bird?

    Tom and I are trying to slow down a little. We've been hitting the trails on our property the last couple of days, taking advantage of the sunshine and sub-100 degree temperatures while they both last. This evening, Charly, Max and Frankie all went with us, but yesterday the dogs wimped out and just Frankie tagged along. He came trotting up when we called and tagged along close behind Tom, making sure we didn't get out of his sight. It seems so strange, and yet so normal.

    We waded through Mexican hats and under an arching tunnel of lush green grapevine that cover the land bridge to get to the other side of the creek, then took a trail down to the little pond. It's my favorite place - a quiet green oasis, draped in ferns. No water runs down the upper creek, dropping as a miniature waterfall into the pond right now, although it does happen, and when it does, you couldn't imagine such a little waterfall could make so much noise - even on our back deck I've closed my eyes and could easily imagine I was sitting next to the gulf shore, listening to the surf. But it's still glorious when it's quiet. I envision myself...someday...sitting there on a little bench under the trees next to the pond, listening to the waterfall (this is a dream, after all!), typing away on a laptop.

 

 

 

Can you find the guinea in the pictures below?

 

Swimming Through Deepwater (Memories)

     "Deciding to remember, and what to remember, is how we decide who we are."  - Robert Pinsky    

     When Kendall's soccer game was canceled last Saturday morning, Tom and I grabbed that chance to take a walk through my old neighborhood where my parents still live. We headed for a path that meanders through the heart of Deepwater, a twenty-or-so-acre island of mowed green grass dotted with schools, ball fields, playgrounds and a few old pine, ash and oak trees.

    The neighborhood fans out from the island in waves representing decades long gone, recognizable in the styles of the houses. I grew up in the "50's" wave; my parents bought the house brand new when Donnie was a baby...not much later than '54, I guess. Businesses and churches are shoved to the outer perimeter, except for a quaint white-steepled Methodist. That's where Kathy was married...and that's the Englishbee house, where I took piano lessons...and Becky's house is just through that field...

    That's what happens when I'm in the old neighborhood:  memories overlay reality...my mind straddles the past and the present...surrounded by Deepwater, I start "swimming through memories." My friend Robert Duncan actually thought of that phrase - we've been writing back and forth, sharing our memories of growing up in Deepwater...sagas that weave in and out of each other, parallel, and sometimes overlap.  There are others I've become friends with just recently, drawn together merely because we grew up in the same neighborhood, even if we were never friends before.

  "Every thread of gold is valuable. So is every moment of time."  - John Mason     

     Tom's heard it all before - this litany of my memories. He just tunes it out now. This is the sidewalk I followed to school each morning...there's Mike Delaney's house on the left. My old elementary school is still recognizable through the layers of time, despite the wear and tear and changes - just like me. We used to have races at the end of that middle wing every morning before school in 2nd grade.     

    You won't find Deepwater on a map. Physically, it's part of Pasadena; spiritually (as in high school spirit), it believes in Deer Park, all the way. It's a neighborhood with an identity issue, not quite sure who it belongs to. A rebel with a chip on its shoulder. 

    But Deepwater is part of my identity - it still helps define who I am and connects me to others who feel the same way, whether they rode their bikes around these blocks in 1963, 1973 or 1983.

    An early childhood center now sits between the elementary school and the junior high where there used to be a playground...one of those dangerous playgrounds that got banned years ago - metal slides, large and small...tall swings...see-saws...jungle gyms. Beside the playground, backstops lined up neatly, busy with softball and baseball teams practicing each spring. The smell of clover filled the air, and you had to be on the lookout for bees if you went barefoot. That was Ms. Haygood's classroom, there, facing out of the last wing.

    The junior high hasn't changed much at all. Not from this angle anyway. And neither has the ball park. I spent so many nights there watching Donnie play...he was on the Orioles - they wore orange uniforms, so I always ate orange pixie sticks. I'd chase down homeruns and foul balls so I could return them to the concession stand and get a snowcone. I remember one night I got to keep score - I sat out there on the ledge and changed out the numbers. That was so cool... 

    My softball team, the Fawns, lost every single game except one - the one we tied.  I played pitcher and shortstop...      
    That's Rae's house on the corner. And Teason lived right down there. Patti lived down there. And that's the Van Rheen house...
    This house on the corner we called the haunted house, just because we thought every neighborhood should have one. Cindy lived here, and, oh, Philip Wise lived here. I had such a crush on him in third grade...

      "Recall it as often as you wish, a happy memory never wears out." - Libbie Fudim

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)         

   

Living

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Truth According to Kafka

WARNING: THIS POST CONTAINS SOME UNJUSTIFIABLE WHINING.   

    "Sidney, uh, how many pages do we need to have done by next week?"
    "Oh, just enough to get an idea of the main character, get to the first turning point, so, say twenty or thirty?"
    (gasps from several of us.)
    "Come on, people, this is a writing class - you should be writing. At least 15 to 20 pages a week! And don't forget - I need your samples before Wednesday so I can read them and make them available to the class beforehand."
    "How early?"
    "ASAP. Now would be good."
    "What's the LATEST?" (ever the procrastinator)
    "Say...Saturday. At the LATEST!"

    So by Saturday morning - actually Friday night since we're going to Houston Saturday morning - I need to have at LEAST the first 20 pages of my screenplay done. Let's see, if you subtract what I already have, that leaves...20 pages. I do have 20 or so pages written from last semester, but I've changed how I want to start it, so right now most of those do me no good. 
     So, okay, somehow, between work, meeting my cousin this evening in town to watch her daughter play basketball at Concordia University (a cousin I only get to see once or twice a year, if I'm lucky), and the usual eating, sleeping, laundry, kids, critters, husband stuff, I've got to come up with the 20 pages by tomorrow night. And after that, I need to churn out 3 or 4 pages a day until it's finished.

    If this was a novelization, I wouldn't have a problem (easy for me to say right now, since it's not a novelization.) But I'm still just getting the feel for screenplays - what to leave in, what to leave out, when to capitalize, indent, what all the acronyms stand for...

"A writer is somebody for whom writing is more difficult than it is for other people." ~ Thomas Mann

    It's only been in the past couple of years that I've been able to work out a balance that meets my spiritual, physical and mental needs almost every day. I'm going to have to throw it all out of kilter to get this done. But this is something I want to do - NEED to do - and so I'm just going to do it. Somehow. Some way. And hopefully without losing too much sleep.

    By sheer coincidence (or was it?), today I came across this revelation by Franz Kafka from a blog called Daily Routines: "As he recognized, the truth was that he wasted time."

    The truth can be cruel, can't it?

Today's Debate: Are Squirrels Evil?

    My friend Scott Gray sent this to me after reading about our adventure with the squirrel yesterday. Makes you wonder...

Sometimes Nice Doesn't Cut It

    I sat on the hood of my car in the deserted strip center parking lot, brooding over the fresh argument with my boyfriend, jingling my car keys in my hand, trying to decide what to do. Go back in or go home? He was still in the club - music drifted out of the building and across the street to me. I imagined him in there flirting, dancing, not giving me or our argument a second thought.

    The figure came out of the shadows at the end of the building, walking slowly toward me along the storefronts. He was about my age, a little taller than me, and skinny. Scrawny. I didn't feel threatened or wary at all.

    I probably smiled and said hi when he got near enough. If you're nice to people, they're nice to you, right? He stopped and asked me for directions to somewhere...I don't remember where. Then sometime...somehow...while I was answering him, he was suddenly in front of me, trying to take my keys out of my hand, telling me to give them to him, to get in the car.

    My hands clamped down tight on my keys, but his arms were wrapped around me, and I couldn't break free, couldn't get loose. He was strong! Way stronger than he looked. I refused to give up, though. I didn't really think about it - I just knew I couldn't do what he wanted me to do. I kept fighting, twisting, turning. I started yelling, SCREAMING at the top of my lungs...HELP ME! HELP ME! HELP ME!

    Then, just as suddenly as he'd grabbed me, he let go. He ran into a field beside the parking lot and disappeared into a nearby neighborhood.

    Shaking, crying, I ran to the club and told my boyfriend what happened. He walked me back to my car, looked around in the direction of the neighborhood, saw nothing, and told me to go home. I did. And that's it. Didn't call the police, not even sure I told my parents. Just went home, in shock from the close call.

    That was more than thirty years ago. When I think about that night, I'm so grateful that I'm not really as nice as I try to be most of the time, grateful that I instinctively fought back, that I didn't just do as he ordered, that I refused to give up. I'd rather not think about what might have happened otherwise.

    I also can't help wondering what happened to that guy...where did he go? Where is he now? Did he find some other victim that was nicer, one that perhaps gave up easier or couldn't fight back? I feel really guilty that I was satisfied with my own safety - in that way I did quit and give in to him. I should have gone to the police, or done SOMETHING to keep this guy from attacking someone else. But I didn't.

    I didn't stop trying to be nice to strangers that night, thank goodness. But I did learn to be wary. I'm less trusting, more cynical and suspicious. I still give "nice" a try, but my "fight" is just under the surface.

    I see the world and the way nations relate to each other (specifically the US to others, of course) in relation to my experience. I think it's foolish to believe that we can resolve anything with terrorist leaders by just talking to them, trying to reason with them. Being "nice". Of course, these should be the first steps in resolution - ALWAYS at least TRY talking - but I guess I'm aware from my experience that there are some people that aren't nice, don't want to or aren't able to reason, people that will just take advantage of YOU being nice, see it as a weakness to exploit. "Fight" should always be an option, and if you put it off too long...well, sometimes it's just too late.

    And my guilt that I was satisfied with my own safety reminds me that our country shouldn't just be satisfied with our own safety - I feel we have a responsibility to help protect other countries from the world versions of my attacker, not just let them run off and attack someone less willing or able to fight back.

    I am by no means a war-monger. I hate violence, hate fighting. I don't even like arguing. I am a peacemaker, a compromiser, a "Big Picture" person. I will talk a problem to death. But I realize not everyone is that way, not everyone is reasonable, and sometimes, to ensure peace, you have to be willing to stop talking, to fight, to stand up for yourself or for others. That's what I learned in the parking lot that night.  I'm glad I'm still here to share it.   

Variegated Sky, Variegated Day, Variegated Thoughts, and Dancing

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

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

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

    Now, back to work...

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

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

Ah, Saturdays...

Saturdays are for getting eight hours of sleep...making muffins...drinking coffee on the back deck, visiting with Max, Charly, and Frankie while they eat breakfast...running with Rick Steves through the streets of Athens (me on the treadmill, him on TV)...cooling down to Three Doors Down...moving the laundry around...drinking more coffee while paying bills, blogging, checking email, and chatting on Facebook, listening to James Brown (what a wake-up call for a Saturday morning!) and now U2...and now REM (it's on shuffle now)...smoking a brisket...making fruit salad...heading off to celebrate a friend's 50th birthday...it's a very nice day, indeed...

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!

    

When I Die - A Question of Ethics

    He had white hair (evident on his head and even his pubic area) and small tattoos on his hands in that spot between his thumb and his pointer fingers. The fine print on the sign outside the entrance says he and the other bodies on display gave permission for their bodies to be used in this way, for "education", but did he realize he'd be known as "The Drawer Man"...that his body would have cross-sections cut out of it and pulled out like drawers? 

    That was one of the questions running through my mind as I walked through the Body Worlds exhibit at the Houston Museum of Natural Science this afternoon.

    Actually, Kendall, Daniel, and I decided it was a perfect day to go to the zoo. The Houston Zoo is wonderful and we haven't been in a long time. Unfortunately, everyone else in Houston decided to go to the zoo today, too. We circled the parking lot for thirty minutes before giving up and deciding to go to the museum, after all.

    It seems everyone else that gave up on the zoo idea decided to go to the museum today, too.  The parking garage was closed right after the mini-van behind us, which is good because they let us in ahead of them! I would have felt awful if they didn't get in!!

    Once inside, this is the line we stood in to get tickets! No evidence that our country is in a recession here, even in the Body Works exhibit, with $25 tickets (although we all got the college discount.)

    However, it went pretty fast, and overall, the exhibit was interesting and educational - especially seeing the aneurysm (because my dad had one in his abdomen years ago), the "hardened" arteries, the healthy lungs vs. the "smoker's lungs", the enlarged hearts, the tumors and breast cancer, and the liver attacked by cirrhosis. The fetus exhibit claimed all examples were pre-1920's and from natural causes, but it was still heartbreaking. I found myself praying for all of these babies, and the people who donated their bodies to help us learn, and hopefully treat ours better, even as I saw some visitors laughing and joking. We're all so callous and desensitized from television programs and fake exhibits, I'm afraid. I guess it was hard to remember these were all living people, who loved and were loved. 

    I couldn't forget it, though...

    Afterwards, we zipped through some of the other exhibits, mostly the shells and gemstones, just for old times sake. We've seen them a million times before. The museum was free after 2pm on Thursdays when the kids were little and we lived in LaPorte. We went a lot. They LOVED it. I knew when all the fun things were free. Every summer we had a "fun" day - we went to the Natural Science museum, the zoo, the Children's Museum, the Art Museum, or swimming, to the beach...something different every week.

    Here are some samples of exhibits that NEVER change - and I'm glad.

 

 

 

 

They still have fun together, and I'm glad about that, too. (Look at all those other people!! I was ready to get back to my corner of the country and wide-open spaces!!)

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)...

Anyone Have Some Cheese to Go With My Whine?

    I totally apologize for my last post. Sometimes I drive myself crazy!

    The truth is, I talked to Tommy on the phone about his new job for almost an hour two nights ago. I've talked to my mom at least twice this week, my sister a couple of times, and three or four friends.

    ...I'm working more hours, but not as many as most people, so I can fit in a college class. I'm able to continue working at the computer while I eat lunch, and my commute is wonderful, so that saves me even more time. And I'm learning interesting stuff, like how to shoot videos and post them on the web, all while getting paid. I've figured out how to put together professional photography lamps and learning how to use them, all on the job.

    ...I'm all caught up on reading my 'real conversation' emails (as opposed to the forwards which are at the bottom of my list), although I admit I haven't answered all of them.

    ...Last night I spent several hours shopping with Kendall, drinking coffee, talking, and night before last Daniel and I started discussing some current social issue (I can't even remember what it was) that led to a discussion about my great-great grandfather (the one I'm writing about), so we googled some historical subjects, including him, which led to the discovery of a post on a blog about him and his memoir! (I emailed the author but he/she hasn't responded yet. I'm VERY curious who this could be...a cousin? a random stranger? I'm suspecting someone that works in the UT library. If they ever respond, I'll let you know.)

    ...I have time to walk the dogs (almost) every morning, and on foggy mornings like this one, when the fog closes in, creating my own little timeless world, that's a double blessing.

    ...I blog here almost every day (sometimes twice in one day!), even though I might let the laundry or mail pile up a little.

    The truth is, I have time, and I'm ashamed about complaining about ANYTHING! I have enough time that I have choices to make on how to use it, rather than have those decision made for me, by others or circumstances or life in general.  All I can do is try to use it wisely - and be grateful for the chance to choose.

Time in a Bottle

    "If I could save time in a bottle..."

    I've always loved this song by Jim Croce - beautiful, simple lyrics - such a vivid image of holding on to time. There have been many times in my life when I've wanted to grab hold of whatever moment I was in, or a certain point in my life, and somehow bottle it, or freeze it, or at least make it slow down.

    I'd love to slow time down right now, or, (wouldn't this be great?) be able to go to a closet where I've stashed a case of Time, just for emergencies and holidays, and pull out an extra bottle or two? I could really use them right now.

    My class is over - shouldn't that mean I have an extra hour or two to spare each day, even if I just use them for sleeping? Instead, I feel I have less than before. I know I'm sleeping less, staying up later and getting up earlier, just to "get things done." That just doesn't make sense to me. Especially since I don't seem to be making any progress.

    "But there never seems to be enough time to do the things you want to do once you find them..."

    In a perfect world, I'd have time to exercise for an hour every day, not thirty minutes when most of the world is still asleep...I'd have time to relax with my husband and kids, playing card games or watching  movies or going for walks every day...I've have time to talk to my parents, my friends, my son - those I can't see every day even if it's just passing them going out the door - for hours on the phone, every day...I'd have time to catch up on my emails, photo albums, scrapbooks, genealogy research (those things on my to-do lists that are always last priority)...I'd have time to READ...I'd have time to write - to finish half-thoughts and half-essays and second drafts of first drafts...I'd have time to mail Christmas cards right after Thanksgiving instead of right after Christmas...

    But it's not a perfect world - but it's a good one, so I'm going to quit whining and be grateful I'm able to do so much. Now, I better get busy -  I've got too much to do before the sun comes up!

My Hometown Made the Today Show!

    I heard it loud and clear..."DEER PARK, TEXAS." It was a story about schools, and it was one of three cities mentioned. High honors!

    Not really - unfortunately, the story was about high levels of toxic chemicals being recorded near schools. USA Today has compiled a special report called "The Smokestack Effect - Toxic Air and America's Schools" with all the details - click all the way through - they even have a list of the "most polluted" by state. My old high school only came in at #146 in the nation, but one of the elementaries (not mine) came in at #6! Here's a quote about it...

    "At San Jacinto Elementary School in Deer Park, Texas, data indicated carcinogens at levels even higher than the readings that prompted the shutdown of Hitchens. A recent University of Texas study showed an "association" between an increased risk of childhood cancer and proximity to the Houston Ship Channel, about 2 miles from the school."

    Impressive, huh? You can type in the name of your school and it will tell you where you rank. I hope yours isn't as high as mine.

    There's one highlighted headline "Toxics can affect adults, kids differently." It makes you want to shout DUH, doesn't it? Yet that was the point I tried and tried to get across to my supervisors at my plant when I was pregnant  - how much more a fetus would be affected by exposure to chemicals than an adult. I wasn't trying to get out of work, just get them to establish more safeguards - specifically, more ventilation hoods in the lab where I worked. (They finally did.)

    The second essay I wrote and had published was about this same subject - about my grandmother's death from leukemia, and all of my high school classmates who developed cancer just a few years after graduation. It's why Tom and I packed our bags, loaded up the kids, dogs and cat, and headed for the hills...of Austin. (I'll add it to my blog once I get this screenplay assignment out of the way...)

    I haven't read the article all the way through yet, but I think it touches on something no one wants to believe - that just because you don't live next to one of the industrial plants, you shouldn't feel free to breathe that deeply: the toxic air can travel far and wide - you might not smell it, but it's there all the same.

    Now, back to work...I've started on my 3rd page! Ya-hoo!! I worked after the Christmas party last night (which was fun - lots of two-steppin', waltzin', and even a Cotton-Eyed Joe.) But I'll be up all night tonight - at least until I get through #20 and email it to my teacher. I have a meeting at work tomorrow at 10am - I've decided I'll have to bring my tape recorder. I have serious doubts about being alert enough to absorb any information...Think of me when you're snoozing away tonight!

     

Patches of Sun on a Gray Day

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

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

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

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

    

Thinking of Annie K.

    Every morning when I sit down with my coffee and Pepperidge Farm Cinnamon Swirl toast, I'm transported back to the front porch of this quaint Victorian house in Weston, Missouri...

    Suddenly, it's not 5 am in my quiet, chilly kitchen, but midmorning on a sunshine-filled day in spring - still a little chilly, though, because it's Missouri, and the sun doesn't reach me where I sit with Ann K., enjoying our breakfast (Cinnamon Swirl toast and coffee, of course!) and reminiscing about high school and who knows what else we talked about during those days in 1995 when I was lucky enough to stay with her. Our friend, Ann L., was getting married that weekend on a hillside next to an old farmhouse at sunset. I overcame my fear of flying and missed Daniel's kindergarten play to be there. I HAD to be there.

    The wedding was wonderful, but staying with Ann K. was definitely a highlight. She and her husband Bob had renovated the old house (that used to be a dream of mine, but I'm WAY over it after building this one!) and Ann had decorated it beautifully with antiques and artwork. Here's a picture of us in Ann K.'s house, toasting Ann L.'s upcoming wedding in 1995 (left to right, Rhonda from Phoenix, Ann L., Ann K., pregnant with baby #3, and me.)

    When Tom and I were in the middle of our own building project, Ann K. sent me lots of encouraging emails, helping me believe that there really would be an end to the building frustration and madness someday,  and that one day I'd even look back on the experience and laugh...about parts of it, at least.

    We were friends in high school, but grew closer in the years after graduation, like so many others. I can't remember the last time I saw her, though - it's been WAY too long. She's a gypsy - she and Bob left Weston and have bounced between Texas and Colorado for several years, with a stop in Hawaii stuck in there somewhere. Right now she's in Glenwood Springs, Colorado - the proud owner of a little shop (go here to read all about it and see pictures in my other Ann's blog. She spent a few days there helping Ann get it ready to open for the first time.)

    She turned 50 this week - she reported back that it was a wonderful birthday - she and Bob escaped to a hotel in Denver. I can't wait to see what she has up her sleeve for the next 50 years - no doubt about it...they will be filled with art and adventure.  Happy birthday, Annie!

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...

 

 

 

 

 

 

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.

My Shooting Star

    My habit these last few cool, clear nights while feeding the dogs has been to stand at the railing and gaze at the night sky. Tonight I was blessed with a shooting star.     

   All those long nights working at the chemical plant and I NEVER saw a shooting star. My first was in Colorado about twelve years ago, and since then I've seen dozens. The worrier in me whispers that it's a sign that our world is dying or something, the pragmatist says it's just because we're away from the glare of the city lights, but the optimist in me is louder, telling me it's magic in the sky, a blessing. I choose to believe her. 

     Each time I see one I feel it's a special gift, sent directly to me, because, after all, what are the odds of looking at just the right spot in the sky for just that split second?

Wildflowers and miracles

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

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

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

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

Missing the beat

 

Don't my drums look lonely sitting there in the corner, all alone? (And please don't even mention the dust on the floor or the unfinished closet and baseboards...)

Someday....someday...there will be time...

I think I was wise to extend my deadline for being a real drummer to my fifty-fifth birthday, instead of my fiftieth...