Long Hollow

With Angels Nearby

It's a scary feeling...your kids going out the door on their own. It doesn't help knowing parents have been doing it since time began. You know...you KNOW...things can happen to your kids. You know it just takes a second...a blink of an eye...a tire on a wet road...

But you also know they can't grow up if you don't let them go when it's time. So you pray.

It's a scary feeling when you get that phone call..."Mom, I just had an accident." Your heart jumps, but right away you give thanks that you hear their voice...that it's them making the call - not someone else. If someone else makes the call...that's when you really start praying.

And when they get behind the wheel of a car for the first time...well, when my oldest got behind the wheel of a car for the first time...my prayers went up a few notches. It helps that I believe in angels. I believe there are more angels than we can imagine...enough that I don't feel guilty at all asking God for a squadron to escort my kids, especially if they are driving somewhere. I envision those angels surrounding the vehicle, prepared to cushion and protect it and my babies if necessary.

I believe they were there on a rainy day years ago when Tommy's car didn't make a curve, flew off the road into the trees, missed every one and landed on a pile of mulch, unharmed except for the car's flat tire. I believe they were there a year or so later when he was almost T-boned coming out of a parking lot by a speeding car. Tommy saw it just in time and accelerated; the car hit just behind the driver's seat. Again, no injuries, but the car was totaled.

I believe they were there a few years ago when a truck plowed head-on into Daniel's little Mazda. A friend had to deliver the news - I had left the house without my cell phone - but she was able to tell me Daniel was okay. Still, pulling up to that intersection...seeing the ambulance, the crunched Mazda, the smashed truck...that was tough. Daniel was sitting in the back of the ambulance, getting checked out. No injuries except a scratch on the nose from the airbag. Not even any burns.

And I believe they were there this morning when Kendall turned left on the wet road, the tires lost traction, the Suzuki Samurai spun, hit the curb and flipped, landing on the driver's side. No other vehicle hit her. Several pulled off to check on her; one man helped her out.

"Mom, I just had an accident..." She must have made the call while lying there on her side.

I was so grateful to hear her voice...so grateful for those angels.

Those Little Things

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Thing About Neighbors...

"To love our neighbors as ourselves is such a truth for regulating human society, that by that alone one might determine all the cases in social morality." - John Locke

Dennis lived in Long Hollow first - years and years before anyone else thought it was appealing to live down a dirt road. He had the place all to himself, except for a few neighbors on the hills surrounding the hollow.

And then we showed up, bringing our three kids and two dogs out on the weekends to clear bits of the property, picnic and dream of the day we would live out here. Tom would rev up the backhoe and play like a little boy with a Tonka Truck.

Then the kids got older...busier...our visits were fewer and fewer...I'm sure Dennis secretly hoped we would be like all of the other property owners out here who never actually get around to building. We started wondering ourselves!

In the meantime others discovered the Hollow. Houses started going up, mostly on the surrounding hills. Just as we fell into the rapids of our own homebuilding, the first big neighbor vs. neighbor problem arose. It was a big one, about whether businesses were allowed out here and whether the Homeowner's Association carried any weight at all. It ultimately went to court.

We had our opinion on the issue, but were too busy trying to meet deadlines and pay bills to get involved. The downside was the demise of the Homeowner's Association and all deed restrictions. We're feeling the affects of that decision now...I think if it had gone the other way, we wouldn't have this crumbling wall of dirt on the end of our pond right now. No one could just buy property and do whatever popped into their heads out here...the deed restrictions protected the natural beauty of the hollow and everyone's investment from people who didn't spare a thought for anyone but themselves...who couldn't see beyond their own bit of land or how it was connected to the rest of the Hollow...the creek...our ponds...Lake Travis...and on and on...

Now Dennis told us this week that he's been having problems similar to ours...a neighbor who doesn't respect property lines. That's all he thought it was until a county inspector came out and discovered the neighbor had dug a pit for his personal "waste" which, when the rain ultimately hit the Hollow, overflowed into their pond and drifted merrily downstream to us. Yeah, thanks. Our little waterfall doesn't sound quite as pretty now.

But neighbors can be a good thing, too. For instance, take Dennis...Tom was out here working on the backhoe one weekend years ago, when we still lived in town. The ground was soft and the backhoe flipped. Thank goodness Tom wasn't hurt, but the backhoe had a busted tire and he couldn't drive it back home, so he walked down to Dennis' house and Dennis gave him a lift home (it was during those archaic pre-cell-phone days.)

It's because of another neighbor up the hill that we have trash service out here. And during that tragic fight between Charly and his brother Chewy soon after we moved in, the neighbor behind us heard my screams and cries and came through the woods to see what was wrong. He's the one that got them broken apart before they killed each other. If he hadn't come running, ready to help, I'm sure I wouldn't have had these last few years with Charly.

When our new neighbors downstream actually began building a house, we lamented not having this whole section of the Hollow to ourselves anymore and worried about what it would be like living so close to people again! But the truth is, it's been a joy. (And it's not just because they gave us a ping-pong table and a set of drums they didn't want anymore!)

We discovered we have many things in common...Andy is a contractor and likes to play cribbage. Reba is many things...gardener, cook, artist...but also a writer (you can read some of her writings on Dog Canyon.) And bless their hearts, they are peacemakers, trying to smooth out all of the feathers that keep getting ruffled in our little corner of the world. They are friends with everyone...very forgiving...you just have to admire that.

"To love our neighbors as ourselves is such a truth for regulating human society, that by that alone one might determine all the cases in social morality." - John Locke

If only everyone else down here cared enough to understand that little nugget of truth...maybe we'd all truly be neighbors.

The Next Day...

This morning I slept later than usual...I reset my alarm three times and finally just turned it off. Eventually, I remembered all of the things I needed to do before work and rolled out of bed, just as the sun was coming up.

I stepped through my morning routine, piddling with little tasks. I knew eventually I would have to step outside the door to take Max for our walk...I would have to face Charly's absence...and so I kept putting it off until I had to go - I was running out of time, but I owed it to Max.

So I did it - I stepped out on the porch and said "Let's go for a walk!" Max rose from his bed and came to me, whimpering. I scratched his head and said, "I know."

And then we walked. Frankie started off with us, but then went back to the house, like he did yesterday. But Max and I walked to the curve and back.

He was confused that we walked so fast. He disappeared into the woods and when he came back out, I was ahead of him.

It was different, this walk. I've spent so many years walking with Charly...even this morning, I felt he was there beside me. But even with Max beside me on the return trip, I felt a sense of loneliness. I think Max felt it, too.

On the return trip, I looped around to where we buried him, to check on his spot. I wanted to make sure nothing had disturbed it. I spent a few minutes there, thinking about those first walks with him, when we first got to really know each other after his fight with Chewy...when I had to walk him on the leash after his surgery. We'd follow this loop down to the pond, up the driveway and down the road a bit, going slow because of his injury. The fight had been a tragedy, no doubt about that. But out of it came this friendship that I will always treasure.

Today was easier than I expected it to be. I guess it's because I know we made the right decision - I wish we hadn't had to make it, but it was forced upon us. I loved him too much to watch him go down any further.

We've had many sweet messages from friends and they all truly help - even though we've been through this before, for some reason it helps to hear from others who have lost pets and know exactly what we are going through.

I'm trying hard to repress certain thoughts...like the fact that Max is already six years old, and a big dog...a very big dog...so we probably have, perhaps, four more years with him, if we're lucky. Four years will fly by.

And Frankie...how old is he? How long do guineas live?

No, I won't think about these things, except to remember to treat every day with them like it might be my last. I'll give Frankie his seed and talk to him because he's a chatterbox and so sociable...and I'll try to remember to brush Max every day, because he likes it, and to let him snuggle on me and give me "sweet kisses" even though they pinch and hurt like hell sometimes, because he's such an affectionate dog...and as much as I'd love to, I won't have him forever. Except in my heart, of course, with Charly.

Charly Dog

Charly stopped eating last night. This morning he was too weak to go for a walk...even though Tom had the day off and would be joining us. So I stayed behind and petted him until Tom and Max returned, not wanting him to be alone.

I had hoped it wouldn't come to this. I had hoped he would go peacefully in his sleep before he began to suffer more than just the aches and pains of old age. But life can be sweet...and it can be sour...and there are times we don't get what we want. Given the choice of him suffering for days  and dying while we were at work,(and it was obvious he was beginning to suffer), or drifting off to join his brother Chewy and his "Mama" Maggie while Tom and I hugged him and whispered how much we loved him...well, it was still a tough decision to make, but we chose being there with him.

So we made the appointment...the latest one possible. Tom spent his day off being close to Charly - much like I did on my day off last week. This afternoon Charly actually rallied for a walk, and I began to have doubts about our decision, until I watched him trying to make his way down the road, so painfully slow that I ached for him.

Back home I brushed him and brushed him...and then it was time.

It was over so quickly - there had only been a few strands of life left in him, but he was hanging on tight to those and I know it was because he was such an awesome dog, so bound to his duty of taking care of us that he couldn't, he wouldn't, let go, no matter what.

"A dog is the only thing on earth that loves you more than he loves himself." - Josh Billings

We buried him near Chewy's grave and marked it with a beautiful iron cross I had bought with the intention of placing it near the other pets' graves. I'm grateful for my procrastinating ways at times. 

It was dark before we finished piling rocks on top of the dirt, to protect him from the grave-robbing varmints out there, and wandered back up to the house to let Max out of the laundry room. He promptly tucked his tail, laid down his ears and slunk into the dog house. Any other time, he would have gone looking for Charly. He knew.

I'm going to miss Charly, especially tomorrow morning. We've been walking together almost every morning for over six years. The walks before that don't count - they were leash-walks. Now we walked as friends connected by love and companionship, not leashes. I dread walking out in the morning and not seeing his big brown eyes looking up at me and that white tail wagging, hopeful.

Yeah, I'm going to miss him. Damn, he was a good dog.

In one of C.S. Lewis' books about Narnia - "The Last Battle", I think - he offers his idea of what heaven will be like - a bucolic place with green fields, lots of trees, clear streams...and animals or pets that have passed from this life. That image has become my own picture of heaven and in my mind now, I can see Charly, filled out like a butterball like he used to be, his ears flopping as he runs through the grass, playing with Chewy...

That helps a little. But I'm still going to miss my Charly.

Charly's baby pics...with brother Chewy...with "Mama" Maggie...

Last pictures taken, Thanksgiving weekend, with the boys...

Run and play in peace, Charly Dog.

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...

Making the Rounds

It has happened before...I step outside to take the critters for our walk, and they've started without me! But this morning I was surprised to find Charly gone - he isn't moving very far from his bed these days unless we say "walk"...several times...loudly.

But nonetheless, both beds were empty, so I started calling their names. Max came bounding up from the direction of the pond within seconds, but there was no sign of Charly. I continued calling his name and headed off in the direction Max had come from, asking him to lead me to Charly. And he did. I spotted him plodding along, following the trail that leads beside the creek...following the trail we've traveled hundreds of times over the years. I just followed his lead, letting him wander where he wanted (praying he didn't get so close to the water that he fell in - I would have to go in after him and I knew that water was cold!) He ventured down one steep bank, but managed to work his way back to the top without my help.Thank goodness I didn't have to carry him this time!

Eventually we made our way back to the road, down to the bend and headed back home...over an hour had passed since I'd stepped outside. I couldn't help wondering if this was Charly's last walk...but dang if he doesn't keep surprising me, that old dog. I'm not placing any bets on this one...just taking it day by day and grateful for every extra minute I get with him, sweet old thing...as long as he's not in pain, that is.

Separations and Connections

Twenty-four years ago today I became a new person...a mother. Becoming a mother revealed qualities within me that I never dreamed existed. "Self-centered" and "self-indulgent" were stripped away the moment I set eyes on the little life we named Tommy...the miracle combination of me and Tom that God created and presented back to us. From that moment on, I felt the weight of responsibility for someone other than myself. I think it even surprised Tom that motherhood would have such an effect on me.

It's kind of ironic, isn't it? From the moment your baby is born, you both start preparing for the day of separation. Of course, I guess birth is the first step on that journey.

I remember looking at Tommy...this tiny newborn...and just sobbing my eyes out, worrying about a day that he might go off to war. Soon asthma became a greater, more immediate source of fear...I spent many sleepless days and nights watching him struggle to breathe. Then he became a teenager, opening the door to all of the fears I could imagine...drugs, alcohol, car wrecks...

I learned to pray for his protection and my strength...I learned to hand my worries over to God...I learned to let go. And along the way, Tommy became an adult, separate and independent. 

It amazes me when I see him now, so grown up. Not that I'm surprised - when he was a little boy, I caught glimpses of the man he would become. And now, I catch glimpses of the little boy still inside of him, and I'm grateful for that even when the little boy annoys me, but I'm mostly proud of him...so sensible, hard-working, responsible, compassionate, creative, funny...I could go on and on, because I'm still his mother.

We were all together this past weekend - the whole family including Kirby. I remember having this fleeting thought a few weeks ago..."we should celebrate Tommy's birthday while we're in San Antonio"...but then it disappeared, squeezed out by preparations for Thanksgiving, company and our nephew's wedding. I didn't even get a picture of all of us together!

When he turned one, we threw him a party with cake, ice cream, presents...the works. Today he turned 24 and I texted him... "Happy Birthday!"...then I called him to make sure he was celebrating somehow (yes, going out for sushi with some friends, and he got to see Kirby yesterday.) There was no gift to wrap - we just let him skip paying us for his phone this month so he could use the money for a cruise he's taking. I just dropped his card in the mail yesterday - it won't even reach him until tomorrow. 

"I'm such a bad mother."

"No, you're not,"  and that warms my heart because I know he's not just telling me that to make me feel good. I can tell he knows that, even if I don't get a card in the mail to him on time every once in a while, I'm there for him in the things that matter. He knows that if he needs me, I'll drop what I'm doing to take care of whatever he needs. He knows that this separation thing only goes so far, and I'll never really be very far away.

24 years ago, I became a member of the Motherhood Club...Mama, Mam-ma, Tommy and me (four generations)

 

Going all out for a first birthday...cake and presents....

 

A dance is a celebration, isn't it? Except I think this was more for me than him...

To read my birthday tribute to Tommy from last year, click here

December 1st

I'm playing hooky from work today (with permission)...maybe not the wisest decision in many ways, considering the holidays last week (I don't get paid when I'm not there), the expenses of this past weekend, bills that will need to be paid and Christmas just around the corner.

But last year I had boxes piled around the house longer than the house was fully decorated; this year I didn't want it to feel like just another chore on my to-do list.

So I'm listening to Christmas carols, decorating the house and tree with snowmen, Santas, and memories of years past, watching the cold rain fall outside...and hanging out with Charly.

He appeared at the back door about an hour ago and I let him in. (Don't tell Max or Frankie!) It was actually the other reason I wanted to stay home today...to keep an eye on him. He's a walking skeleton, not interested in any food except leftovers from Thanksgiving, which he subsequently throws up. Right now he's stretched out on the rug behind me.

I haven't made much progress on the decorations, actually. He's an outside dog and has had a tough time trying to decide if he wants to be in or out. I've spent a lot of time opening and closing doors, circling the house and just sitting on the floor beside him, rubbing his ears, and, I'll admit it, crying and telling him what a great dog he is and how much I'm going to miss him.

I know his days are numbered. I've been saying that for awhile, I know, but he's going downhill drastically. Tom and I have talked about whether we should take matters into our own hands, so to speak. But how do you know? If he seemed in pain, or totally uninterested in anything, it would be clear. But he's not. He enjoys being near us, getting his ears rubbed. He still wags his tail a lot, and this morning he was scrambling to stand up and step out of his bed before I could get "Let's go for a walk" out of my mouth. He made it down to the bend and back just fine - slow, but just fine.

I guess we'll just take it a day at a time, and for this day, I'm enjoying having him near me as I decorate the house for this blessed, and still joyful, season.

Introducing (the other) Mr. and Mrs. Tom Shallue

I had a flash of deja vu this weekend when the priest announced to the wedding guests, "May I introduce Mr. and Mrs. Tom Shallue"...

It helped that I was sitting in the pews, one of the wedding guests, instead of standing near the altar dressed in white. But still...it was a strange sensation.

It was a beautiful wedding, held inside the historic San Fernando Cathedral in downtown San Antonio. There's nothing like a wedding to remind you of those days when you first met and all the reasons why you decided to spend the rest of your life together (even if you have to sneak out to change a diaper like I did for my precious but stinky great-nephew...reminding me that I'm closer to my "Grandma" days than my "bride" days!)

The reception was in the Hyatt Regency hotel, fifteen minutes away by foot via the River Walk, all lit up for Christmas. Carolers serenaded us from passing boats, and even though it was crowded, it was still magical.

I'm grateful that all of my kids (including Kirby, Tommy's girlfriend) could go with us. It was fun getting out on the dancefloor with them, seeing them get to know cousins they haven't seen in almost a decade, watching them horse around with each other (and hearing Tom tell them to knock it off.)

One thing hasn't changed though...it seems no matter how old your kids get, they still manage to keep you up all night. Between talking, people coming in and out, phones ringing, worrying...I don't think I slept more than 4 hours and that was in thirty minute increments! (I have bags under my eyes so big I could pack enough for a week in Hawaii in them! Sleep is my priority this week!)

But I'm glad the latest Mr. and Mrs. Tom Shallue decided to get married in San Antonio so we could be a part of the celebration. It's hard to believe it's been 27 years since our priest turned to our wedding guests and said, "May I introduce Mr. and Mrs. Tom Shallue". That's been a pretty lucky label for us. For this new pair, I pray the years ahead of them are just as blessed. From what I've seen so far, I think they'll be just fine.

San Fernando Cathedral...the 'new' Mr. and Mrs. Tom Shallue...the 'old' Mr. and Mrs. Tom Shallue showing everyone how to 'Schottische'...glimpses of the River Walk

Love justice, you who judge the Earth...

...think of the Lord in goodness and seek Him in integrity of heart. (Wisdom 1:1)

Tom has been sleeping in starts and stops in between hours of lying in bed, wide awake. Last week he spent hours on a jury faced with a child abuse case - he was inundated with the kind of details that sink into your soul and aren't easy to shake...the kind that wake you up at night wondering if there was anything else you could do...wondering how you and another person can look at the same details and come away with polar opposite impressions and opinions.

They saw the X-ray of this two-year-old's femur, snapped completely apart - an 'X' where an 'l' should be. They watched the video of the little boy screaming in his sleep, swinging his arms to fend off attackers...heard the testimony of the foster parents describing a child so filled with fear he wouldn't eat.

It made Tom wince, thinking of the pain the baby endured when, as punishment for not walking on his broken leg, his diaper was ripped off and he was spanked so hard a handprint remained two hours later. Tom has had enough broken bones to know the slightest movement is excruciatingly painful.

They listened as the defendant changed his story, time after time, as evidence was presented that exposed his lies...he went all the way from total denial ("he fell out of the child's rocker when I was in the other room...") to admitting he grabbed the baby by the arm and leg and then twisted, afterward tossing him onto the bed so hard his face hit the wall and bloodied his nose.

The admissions came begrudgingly, only after evidence and other testimony contrary to his forced him out on the ledge, and yet many jurors believed him when he said it was just an accident and he didn't know it would hurt the baby and that he loved him as his own..."I love kids...I hope to have children of my own one day...I've been taking parenting classes..."

"He's been lying about everything! How can you believe this?" Tom asked one of the other jurors.

"Because now he's under oath!" 

(I envy that juror their faith in human beings...their belief that being under oath works as a truth serum and that everyone honors their 'word'.)

And Tom couldn't talk about it outside of the courtroom. He talked to God, praying for wisdom and guidance, but he couldn't tell me what was tearing him up - he had to hold it all inside, driving the images and frustration deeper.

Because the baby was in a body cast for four months, the defendant was found guilty of the most serious charge possible and could have been sentenced to 99 years. Because of his four previous felonies, the minimum sentence was 15 years. To Tom, after seeing and hearing the evidence and testimonies, that wasn't even enough - he felt it was a disservice to the pain and trauma the baby had suffered, and he worried about the man being around other children.

To his dismay, many on the jury thought 15 years was too much.

In the end, after holding out for four hours, Tom agreed to the minimum sentence so they could go home. But he told the other jurors that when he left, he would know in his heart he tried his best to do the right thing by this little baby who had to spend four months in a body cast....who was spanked violently after having his leg broken by a man who couldn't control his rage.

Yes, there are underlying social problems that we all need to be concerned about - poverty, unemployment, overcrowded jails, rehabilitation programs that fail - but that doesn't mean a person shouldn't be penalized for their crimes. Each of us is responsible for our actions. Social issues can't be blamed for everything - there are plenty of people who are poor and unemployed who are also compassionate and ethical; there are plenty of people who are rich and "successful" who don't think twice about lying to save their skin or get a little further ahead.

This man had been abused by his own father (he said) and yet he took these steps to continue the cycle. I pray this link is broken - I pray the little boy is placed with a loving family...has a real man for a role model - one who is filled with compassion and love rather than selfishness and pride and violence.

I pray the same thing for the defendant as well. Obviously he needs a good role model, too. I pray it's not too late for either of them.

And I pray that Tom is able to heal from the past week, that by talking about it and writing about it, he's able to exorcise the heartache and frustration, for his own sake, even though I know he will never forget that baby.

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.

 

 

24 Hours Later...

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

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

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

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

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

What happened in those 24 hours?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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!

"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!

Minutes Tucked Away

Frankie pecked at the door this morning - "where the heck are you?" - pulling me away from my writing and out for our morning walk, later than normal. I was entangled with words and story, reluctant to stop, unaware of the time.

The sun was already up above the hill, the hollow full of sunshine. We walked through stripes of shadow and light, cool and warm. Dew glistened on the grasses and Frankie's tummy feathers grew damp as he scurried through the clumps, eating the bugs off the wet blades like I would clean the last bits of fudgesicle off the stick. Max hurried ahead of us to the bend - the past few days he has disappeared somewhere, off on an adventure, running full speed to catch up with us before we get back to the house.

For the most part, Charly plods along beside me. He stumbles every now and then, he wobbles when he lifts his leg to pee (but he lifts it!), and his bark has become more of a cough. His sense of smell is still keen, though - this morning he followed a trail into the woods and, on the way back home, stopped for several minutes to thoroughly investigate some weeds on the edge of the road.

This is our routine. I tuck these scenes away with all the others, memories that I hope bring me peace when the morning comes - and I know it's not far away - that Charly isn't by my side for our walk.

Some dear friends lost one of their much-loved dogs this week. They are remembering him, remembering the routines, feeling the loss of his presence, but grateful there are so many times to remember...times that keep him alive in their hearts. I think of them and their loss and I'm treasuring these minutes I have with Charly even more than before.

Grieve not,
nor speak of me with tears,
but laugh and talk of me
as if I were beside you...
I loved you so -
'twas Heaven here with you.

--Isla Paschal Richardson

 Rest in peace, Boonie Man.

 

 

Spirits Bound by Timeless Love and Sweetness

This past weekend - a glorious Texas-style autumn weekend of golden sunshine, blue skies, vivid sunsets and star-filled nights - my house was filled with laughter and voices that have kept me company off and on for more than 30 years...some for more than 40...bringing back memories of those first slumber parties when we ate Doritos, danced, wrapped houses, and told scary stories. Who would have guessed we'd still be giggling together after all these years?

"Friendship is that virtue by which spirits are bound by timeless love and sweetness and out of many are made one." (St. Aelred of Rievaulx wrote that in the 12th century)

I wonder if St. Aelred was talking about friendships he'd had since childhood? I love the image of this quote...

"...timeless...": we're averaging 40 years of friendship
"...love and sweetness...": we're sweeter to each other for sure...no more teenage high drama...and we've become blatantly affectionate. Lots and lots of hugs and kisses and "love you"s whenever we're together.
"...out of many are made one...": we continue to draw closer and closer to one another, like one huge family or one entity, held together by shared memories (and adding to them all the time) and a name: Deer Park.

This time we gathered to celebrate my friend Ann's 51st birthday (click here to read my tribute to Ann written in honor of her 50th birthday last year.)

She arrived from Missouri Friday afternoon. We relaxed and talked a little, then zipped off with Tom to meet Darla, her daughter, Leslie and Clive at the Steiner Ranch Steakhouse, the perfect spot to watch the sunset, listen to music, dance and talk. We lucked out - there was a fabulous band performing that night: Suede. What a flashback to the '70's and '80's! The dancefloor was packed with fans, but we elbowed our way in and danced along with them, transported back to our Uncle Sam's Disco days. What a great surprise to recognize a familiar face on the dancefloor - Audrey, another (younger) Deer Park girl-turned-Austinite that I really only met this summer through another friend, Shari. The world gets smaller and smaller every day, doesn't it?  (me with Ann...me with Audrey)

 

Saturday morning Ann and I enjoyed playing catch-up on the back porch, listening to the rush of the little waterfall tumbling into the pond below us and watching Frankie the guinea dance with his reflection in the French doors. It had been years since we'd had alone time like this!

Soon the other girls rolled in from Deer Park, Temple and Round Rock...Darla, Donna, Rae, Patti and Lisa (an adopted Deer Park girl - she married into us.) Tom visited a little then hit the road in the Suzuki to enjoy some solitude, camping out near the lake. The girls and I ate, drank, hiked, laughed, took lots and lots pictures and then scrambled to get ready to head into Austin to see Jimmy LeFave at Threadgill's. (the girls by my little pond)

What Ann didn't know was that Annie K., another dear friend, had driven in from Colorado just to celebrate Ann's birthday and would be meeting us there. It's hard to believe, but none of us slipped up and gave it away and she was truly surprised. I'm sure that was the best birthday gift she received. (the two Anns together again)

A few more Deer Park-ians met us at Threadgill's - Vickie, Larry, Roy, Ann's sister Becky and her husband Steve. It was an outdoor concert and we hovered near the back so we could talk and dance while we listened to Jimmy. (our group...Jimmy LeFave) 

This was one of those weekends when I didn't want to waste a single minute. Ann and I stayed up until almost 3am talking in bed (or was it almost 4am? My eyes and memory aren't what they used to be.) The next morning we were up before anyone else, watching the morning sunlight ease its way down into the hollow. 

Ann was the first to leave - she had to catch a flight to Oregon - but the rest of us dragged the weekend out as long as we could, meeting other friends for lunch in Austin. It was hard to finally say goodbye, but it helped knowing there will be a "next time" before very long. The older we get, the more we realize what a precious gift we have in our friendship - some say it's an anomaly, this friendship with former high school classmates that continues to grow larger and larger like a rubber band ball. Many people don't understand how we can still be friends after all these years - or why we would even want to be - considering there have been huge gaps in our friendships.

I don't really understand it myself, but I think that just makes it even more wondrous to me. And to be honest, I'd rather spend time celebrating these friendships than analyzing them...when's the next get-together?

"It doesn't have to be somber to be sacred." (David J. Wolpe) 

 

A Dam Update: Is it tacky to say "I told you so"?

Before I get into the dam update, I have to say this has been an absolutely beautiful, yet very prayerful, day.

It rained all night, but when it came time to walk the critters, the dark clouds were packing up and blue sky was peeking through. Before too long, the sun had taken charge of the sky...the cooler temperatures had remained...and it was as close to perfect as you can get on earth.

When I got home from work this afternoon, the sound of a roaring creek greeted my ears, Tom was grilling T-Bones (on sale at Randall's right now!), and Frankie left me a feather on the doorstep after he inspected the front bathroom.

But in the meantime, I had found out that my Uncle Bobby was having surgery for prostate cancer today and also that Sherrie, a high school classmate of mine, had passed away earlier this week. The funeral will be Saturday, a day when I'll be helping another classmate celebrate her 51st birthday.

 "A little too ironic, don't you think?" But I guess life's just that way...a balancing act...storm clouds and sunshine...beauty and destruction...life and death.

Okay, back to the dam...the good news is we have a full pond and a rushing waterfall and creek once again. (Didn't I say it was feast or famine around here?) The bad news is, we were right - at least a little bit, anyway - a portion of the dam collapsed into our pond. But for some reason being right doesn't feel so good this time...

I wonder how many tons of dirt washed into our pond?

Tom scoping it out with Max and Frankie...

Good news...the waterfall is back...my favorite spot on our land...

Procrastinator's Creed

I just hung up from talking to Tommy, my oldest that lives and works near Dallas. I rarely get to see him or talk to him. He's never been much of a phone-talker, but now, as a transportation broker, he has to spend hours on the phone at work. So I hesitate to call him - I know the last thing he wants to do when he gets home is talk on the phone...to his mother...but I had a question for him about an upcoming family wedding. He ended up talking quite a bit, telling me about work...his weekend...his upcoming plans.

I had other things I planned to do before heading to bed, but cleared them from my mind, reminding myself that a phone conversation with Tommy doesn't come around very often.

This little verse I first heard when he was a baby keeps running through my head. I think it still applies...

Cleaning and scrubbing can wait till tomorrow, for...<insert one of the following or make up your own>

 

...<babies grow up>
 ...<grown sons don't talk on the phone very often>
 ...<college kids don't like to come home>
 ...<parents grow older>
 ...<friends/family live out of town and we hardly get to see them>
 ...<we've gotten too busy and haven't seen our local friends in a long time>

 

...we've learned to our sorrow. So settle down cobwebs, dust go to sleep. I'm...

 

...<rocking my baby>
...<talking to my grown son>
...<spending time with my college kids>
...<visiting my parents>
...<getting together with out-of-town friends/family>
...<getting together with local friends>

 

and babies...grown sons...college kids...parents...friends...family don't keep.

 

 

 

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!

 
 

Running in Circles

A father's birthday celebration. A sick child. I was in limbo.

The critters were fed, bills were paid, I was showered and dressed, ready to hit the road to Pasadena, but I just couldn't go out the door. Although the child is technically an adult, not living at home and there was really nothing I could do, for some reason I just couldn't move a step farther away from her. Just in case she needed me.

My parents supported my decision not to come for the celebration. They probably would have even chastised me if I showed up there: they've always been the same kind of parents...on stand-by for us, 24-7.

The good news is my baby's fever broke - her cough, sore throat and asthma are all much better. Tamiflu and Prednisone - wonder drugs!

I've been craving a day at home to make a dent in this  mess, and one had been handed to me. But I took a look around and immediately felt stressed - where do I start? There was no way I could get it all done - cleaning AND organizing - so in the end I chose organizing. Dirt I can overlook (up to a certain point), but having things out of place, piled up, waiting to be returned to their proper spot, or, worse yet, still waiting for a proper spot...oh, someone hand me a paper bag! I'm hyperventilating again!

It was still a matter of focusing in one area and I chose my desk. After several hours of work, I'm happy to report that most of the piles are gone, files are returned to the file cabinet and others are shredded. It feels pretty good. Someone walking in my house wouldn't notice a damn thing different, but I feel like a teeny bit of weight is lifted off my shoulders.

Besides swimming through paperwork today, Tom and I took the dogs for a walk (Frankie still won't come with us. What's going on?) We climbed to the top of the hill near the curve, where a gazillionaire had started preparing to build his underground house, then just stopped. We haven't been up there in months - since before the triple digit temperatures - but nothing has changed. Such a mystery! It was a gray day, but the temperatures are down in the 50's - perfect for a walk on a country road to the top of a hill with a wonderful view of the hollow.

Charly climbed the hill with us. I'm starting to think he's got a few more years left!

Besides checking on my baby's condition via cell phone (wonderful inventions - how did parents survive long-distance relationships before?) and celebrating my dad's birthday vicariously over the phone, I  worked on my book, moved the laundry around, and practiced folding fitted sheets (thanks to a how-to video my friend Kim posted on Facebook. I'm hoping one day I'll be able to fold them without having to watch the video!)

That still doesn't seem like much for a whole day at home, though, does it?

Oh, I also caught up on some of my emails and came across this cartoon from my high school yearbook teacher - it's perfect for forgetful, always-running-in-circles-and-never-getting-anywhere procrastinators like me (thanks, Bob!) Happy Saturday!

It started like this...

A dance, a kiss, some conversation. That's how it all started, twenty-eight years ago tonight.

When I walked into the club that long ago Friday night, pondering my lonely future, a dark cloud hovered over my head conjured by my dour thoughts. It's hard to imagine now, but there I was at twenty-two, already feeling so old. So jaded.

When I walked to my car a few hours later, the dark cloud had dissipated, my step was a little lighter, but I had no idea it was because I had just met my real future, which, it turned out, bore no resemblance to the one I had imagined.

Instead, my future was a cute Catholic boy with sandy blonde hair and blue eyes. An optimist. A dreamer. He talked funny, thanks to his Maryland, etc. roots and the years spent hopping around America in the Coast Guard, but he could two-step and liked to have fun. He was romantic, sentimental and unabashedly affectionate, even in public! He didn't give a damn what anyone thought about him, but he'd give the shirt off his back to someone in need.

Like me, my future was fond of Ziggy, homemade chocolate chip cookies (okay, eating in general, and especially sweets), beer, history, and playing tennis. He had read Lord of the Rings. (The whole trilogy, not just The Hobbit!) He liked adventures, going places, spending time with me, meeting my friends and introducing me to his. 

Now here we are three kids, a few car accidents, and a lot of debt later. Yes, we've changed a little. That's just time's job, changing things.

But some things have a way of peeling back time...back to a night in a club, twenty-eight years ago...

For me, all it takes is a dance, a kiss, and some conversation, and I'm back in 1981, listening to the passionate speech of a cute Catholic boy with a funny accent and deep blue eyes...

One year ago: The Beginning of Us

I think this was the first picture taken of us together...it was our very first trip to the Renaissance Festival, and it was dawning on me that our relationship wasn't just fun - it was getting serious. We went with Ann and her husband and first son, Heath. You can see Tom playing with Heath's foot - he was in a stroller back then - now he's in Afghanistan. Please pray for him.

And here we are last month at my friend Rae's 50th birthday party - either she or Barry took this one of me and Tom, still dancing... 

A Weekend of Faithful Hands

Oh, the comfort -- the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person -- having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words, but pouring them all right out, just as they are, chaff and grain together; certain that a faithful hand will take and sift them, keep what is worth keeping, and then with the breath of kindness blow the rest away.



A Life for a Life,  Dinah Craik
English writer, 19th century

 

I'll just admit it...the older I get, the more time my foot spends in my mouth: my words get twisted up, I can't keep facts straight when I'm talking (the ones I can remember), and sometimes my mouth keeps going even when my brain has decided to take a quick trip elsewhere.

But I'm very blessed - it also seems the older I get, the more faithful hands I find around me willing to guess the true meaning of what I'm trying to say, to overlook obvious mistakes and, if jumping to a conclusion is necessary, they aim for a positive one, believing in me enough to know I wouldn't intentionally say or do something that would cause pain.

This weekend I was surrounded by some of those hands - some new ones and some old ones. Not new and old as in age, but in how long they've known me...how much historical knowledge of me they have on which to base the "sifting of chaff and grain".

Robert and Shari are the new hands - it's only been in the last few months that we've all really become friends - and yet already I experience that "comfort of feeling safe" with them - the feeling that I can just be myself and trust them to sift if necessary, and that they trust us to do the same. Tom and I had such a great time hanging out with them, finally getting a tour of their world, talking, laughing, getting kisses from Tucker (one of their puppies), eating...and eating...and eating. The time just flew - before I knew it, it was time to leave. Literally! One minute we were relaxing on the front porch with hours ahead of us and the next, we were scrambling to gather our things and get on the road, late for my parents' anniversary lunch!

My parents, my family...they are the old hands, the ones who have known me forever, who probably at times wished they didn't, but love me anyway. We all met at the Monument Inn to celebrate the 60th anniversary of my parents' wedding. (Just imagine all the sifting of chaff and grain that they've done over the past 60 years?) Tom and I were thirty minutes late, but my family just sighed, ordered appetizers, and waited for us, greeting us with smiles when we finally arrived (okay, maybe some rolled eyes, too.)

I am blessed with a family that tolerates, forgives, forgets and laughs, and friends who do the same. Thank God for my sifters.

Two Silver Hearts on a Diamond Jubilee

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

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

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

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

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

Hitting the Jackpot!

Aside from holidays, it's a rare day when I get to see all three of my kids. That's one of the down sides of this Empty Nest thing. And even holidays aren't a given anymore.

But today is one of those rare, treasured days! I spent the whole day with Kendall, battling early morning Austin traffic to snatch her from her dorm and hop from one doctor's office to another. First the talkative Nose doctor (I'm too lazy to look up the official term - we've just been calling him the Nose doctor) who entertained us with exciting stories of his Alaskan moose-hunting trips while inspecting Kendall's deviated septum with a long scope. He even let me take a look!

Next, we dashed down the highway to the Allergy doctor's office for our flu shots, shared veggie enchiladas and jalapeno ranch dip at Chuey's, and stocked up on healthy food for her at HEB.  We had just enough time to drop the goods off at her dorm (I finally got to meet her roommate) and make it to her cardiologist appointment. She's a pediatric cardiologist - a few years ago when Kendall was playing soccer and running cross-country and there were so many news reports of teenage athletes dropping dead from undiagnosed heart problems, I remembered Kendall's heart murmur diagnosis from her toddler days. (My mother helped me remember!) We had been told it wasn't something to be concerned about, but nevertheless, I knew my mother and I would both rest a lot easier if we had it checked out. The doctor noticed some "abnormalities" but nothing serious - not enough to restrict her activities. Yet...she wanted to see Kendall again. So back we went today to an examining room filled with children's books and Tonka trucks and walls lapped with painted blue waves and chicks and bunnies dotting the examining table. We watched her heart beating strongly on a monitor, (thank you, Lord - what an amazing miracle of machinery!), blood pumping in electric red and blue. Brandon, the technician, gave her a souvenir photograph of it to pin on her wall. The doctor says there has been no change from three years ago...but wants to see her again in three more years. She gets to lay on the bunny and chick table again when she's twenty-one! I hope she lets me go with her so once again I can watch her heart pulsing on the screen, listen to the 'swoosh-swoosh' and remember the first time I heard that wonderful sound of her heart beating, back when it was still housed within my body.

Before heading home, we stopped by Daniel's apartment, delivering goodies from the grocery store and some "mom advice" (nagging) which he takes very sweetly and patiently. Kendall was coming home for the night - it's our high school Homecoming game - but Daniel decided to stay on campus. He'll get to see Tommy tomorrow. So I got my Daniel hug and kiss and headed home with Kendall.

Now Tommy is less than thirty minutes away. Soon he'll be walking through the door, a sight for my sore Mama eyes. I can't even remember the last time I saw him! Seeing the kids head off to college is pretty tough, but at least you still have those long breaks when they're back home and you can fall back into the rut of irritating each other. But once they graduate and have their own place...that's really tough. You're happy for them, of course, and you don't really want them to move back home, but still...you can't help thinking back to when they were around all the time.

We take so much for granted...noses and hearts, kids and days spent together...

The Leader of the Pack

Being a father to a son...hoping your footprints lead him in the right direction, knowing he's watching you for clues on how to be a man, remembering all of the outside influences that can be so distracting to a boy growing up...that's got to be tough enough when you have one son, but imagine if you had nine sets of eyes watching you, depending on you. Oh, man, the pressure! But my father-in-law did it; he raised nine baby boys into nine good men (with lots of help from my mother-in-law, of course!)

He turned 80 this week. That's so hard to believe! Except for a pacemaker - a recent acquisition - he's still the same energetic, feisty sweetheart I remember meeting almost 28 years ago.

There's no doubt he was a strict father - how else could he keep chaos at bay with nine boys under one roof? But to me he's always been a twinkle-eyed softy who always met us at the airport with a couple of cold beers (now a glass of red wine for me)... always laughing, teasing, helping, and hugging.

The men he raised aren't perfect, thank goodness - they're human, after all - but they are all good men - hard-working, honest, responsible, trustworthy, fun-loving, passionate and competitive. 

Just like their father.

Mom and Pop with the first seven...

Pop dancing with Tom at our wedding...

Mom and Pop together with all of the boys at our house, 2007...

Pop (on the far left dressed in flags) at breakfast with half his brood and their families, and relaxing in Mom's chair this past July, despite the chaos...

 

Happy 80th Birthday, Pop! And many, many more!

A Rae of Sunshine

Back then it was slumber parties...scary stories...dancing...eating junk food...wrapping houses...riding bikes...prank calls...boys...

Back then Rae was the life of the party...always on the move...full of ideas...as playful and mischievous as a puppy...

Fast forward forty years and things haven't changed very much, thank goodness!

We're still having slumber parties where we tell scary stories about menopause and loss. We're still dancing, eating junk food (but not as much!), and even occasionally wrapping houses. The boys are still around...and Rae and I are still friends.

I admit...there was a long gap in there where we weren't a part of each other's lives, except for reunions every five years and occasional Deepwater/Deer Park girls dinners. But rather than drifting further and further apart, we grew closer and closer as time went on. Now I hate to imagine not having her in my life.

Rae has seen enough dark times to recognize every blessing she receives, and she generously shares those blessings with everyone - even strangers if she sees there's a need. She keeps her eyes open for chances to help.

Rae has a way of bringing people together - people who have nothing in common except loving to be around her. She can be a ham, a clown, the center of attention...and yet make everyone around her feel special. She's comfortable in her own skin without ever being "full of herself" - in fact, she exudes so much confidence that it spreads to those around her.

Rae is classy and earthy - lipstick and tomboy. She embraces life, savors it, lives it passionately and adventurously, not taking one single second of it for granted...and she wants to make sure no one else does, either. She is a vortex, pulling us into her whirlwind, taking us all along on the ride, not wanting any of us to miss a thing. Making us not want to miss a thing, either.

Yes, ten was a lot of fun, but fifty is even better, because of the friends I'm sharing it with...friends like Rae, who finally turned fifty today.

Happy, happy birthday, sweet Rae!

Rae, at ten, with my beagles...

Rae, at (almost) fifty, with Ann and me at her birthday party ...and loving the "Happy Birthday" serenade by The Grateful Geezers...

Celebrating Rae with the Grateful Geezers (or Oh, My Aching Feet!)

I believe the last big Fifty party has come and gone - and it was a Grand Finale, just like at the end of a fabulous 4th of July fireworks show.

Of course, I have to make it clear that Rae is not 50. Yet. She is hanging on tight to 49 for three more days. But that didn't stop us from celebrating, because we're celebrating her and our friendship, as much as a date on the calendar.

In typical Rae-fashion, this party felt like a gift from her to all of us. There was Mexican food, frozen margaritas, the Grateful Geezers, and a dance floor. There were people at this party that haven't even been to a class reunion - people from other classes that I haven't seen in over thirty years - interesting people I'd never met before - and even one of my elementary school teachers who was barely old enough to teach back then and doesn't look like she's aged a day in forty years.

I regret that I didn't spend more time visiting, but once the Grateful Geezers started playing, I couldn't leave the dance floor. They are fantastic! It was like they cast a spell on me - one great dance song after another - and I couldn't resist. Thank goodness they had the same effect on many of the others - I was never alone on the dance floor, that's for sure. I even somehow persuaded Tom to polka with me (there must have been magic in the air!)

Between the heat, humidity, and dancing, I was soaking wet with sweat; my hair was plastered to my head, and I had blisters on my feet, but I didn't care (well...I admit that in the group picture, I stood on the ledge in the back with the other members of the Thinning Hair Club...all guys of course.)

Knowing how much it means to Rae to give to others, for her birthday several of us surprised her by pitching in and donating $600 to a scholarship fund set up in her brother Milton's name at the local college. Milton was killed in a hunting accident several years ago, and the scholarship fund is just one of many ways they keep his memory alive. We also set aside a little for a gift card to a nursery - Rae is addicted to planting beautiful things in her yard. Not a bad vice, really.

After we planned our gift, a Pasadena policeman was killed in the line of duty. Again, in typical Rae-fashion she requested donations on behalf of his wife and small children in lieu of gifts to herself. By the end of the night she had over $1800 to present to them.

The night ended way too soon, despite what my feet were telling me. Tom and I were among the last to straggle out the door.

The next morning, after relaxing with Mama and Daddy, and enjoying lunch at Chili's with my siblings, we headed back to Austin...but not straight home.

First, we went downtown to pick up a few things at the grocery store for Kendall (and Daniel since we were going), making the mistake of going to Central Market, which we discovered just masquerades as a grocery store - it's really a serpentine, tunnel-like maze lined with expensive, imported things you can't find anywhere else, and that take the place of the simple (and cheap) things we needed for the kids. I wish I'd taken my camera in, though, for a shot of the woman in front of us with the pink hair and matching pink tail pinned to the rear of her jacket. Yep, we were back in Austin.

Entertained, but empty-handed, we headed to a nearby Randall's - still too expensive but at least they had lunchmeat - made our deliveries to my babies (collected my hugs and kisses), then still had to stop at my HEB for our groceries (pretty good variety, cheaper prices, and good music playing in the background) before we could finally roll down our dirt road to the house.

What a weekend...but totally worth the bags under my eyes and the blisters on my feet. Thank you, Rae! Now, when do the Fifty-One parties start?

Barbara (otherwise known as "Ms. Haygood" in our previous lives), with me and former classmates, Mike and David...

Presenting Rae with her representative "check" made out to the scholarship fund (Leslie did such a great job making the check!)

 

The Grateful Geezers singing to Rae...

Our group of Deer Park High School class of '77 - including Dave, our newly adopted "foreign exchange student" from New Zealand (really Rae and her husband's guide from their trip this year, but we just couldn't exclude him!)

Mama and Daddy at lunch on Sunday...

 

"...as it should be."

Kendall is really and truly a college student now, surrounded with college and all things college-related. By the time I got home from work yesterday, she had her things packed and ready to go. She had even tidied up her bedroom!

Daniel and his friend Austin met us at her dorm and helped us get her moved in, showed her the right way to swipe her ID card to get into the building, gave her bits of advice and answered questions her dad and I couldn't.

As evening settled in, we took a break to treat the kids to pizza and hoagies at the Mellow Mushroom on the Drag. Before finally heading back home in the empty van, leaving my baby girl behind, alone because her roommate hadn't yet shown up, we unpacked a few boxes, made her bed, and stocked up on hugs and kisses.

It was a long, quiet ride home, heat lightning flashing silently around us...home to a house now empty in a totally different, weird way.

So what the heck was I thinking today?

I decided to watch a movie while I worked out - I've been a slug for a week now and didn't feel quite up to Trainer Ted's standards yet. I chose something no one except Tommy would agree to watch with me lately, and he was just being sweet: "Mary Poppins." (Tommy even agreed it's really a good movie, or at least better than he remembered - he caught all of the adult humor this time. If you think it's just a kids' movie, you need to take another look! It's really very funny, has great acting and timing...it's one of only a handful of movies that I think is better than the book.)

But, really, what was I thinking? It's tells the story of someone who becomes very attached to the children she is taking care of, only to have them stop needing her. The ending scene shows how they have totally forgotten all about her! You don't have to be a psychologist to see the significance of my choice!

I realized all of this as I was clicking through the previews, but I decided to watch it anyway. At least the first thirty minutes or so, when they clean up the nursery, one of my favorite scenes - wishful thinking, probably. ("Just a teaspoon of sugar helps the medicine go down..." is actually a bit of sound advice for my present situation, I think.)

And then I fast forwarded to the end scene...the one where the kids are happily flying kites and singing "Let's Go Fly a Kite" (that song always made me cry even when I was little for some reason - a premonition, perhaps?) and Mary watches them wistfully and shushes her umbrella when he talks about how ungrateful they are because they've totally forgotten her, and she just smiles that little smile and says "That's as it should be."

She's right, of course. And I know it. This is how it should be and what I've worked for since the day they were born. So I ended up not crying, even during "Let's Go Fly a Kite," because I realized I'm actually happy and excited for Kendall as she starts this new adventure of her life.

Besides, I know from my own experience, and with Tommy and Daniel, that she's not really "gone". She hasn't forgotten us, and as time goes on, she'll appreciate us even more than she does now.

Wise woman, that Mary Poppins. 

The van, loaded and ready to roll...UT tower...kissing my baby goodnight, not goodbye...Tom, happy...Austin, Daniel, Kendall on the Drag, as it should be. For now, anyway.

 

Those little things you take for granted...

Charly's face, hopeful and questioning, peered at me through the French doors, his white fur glowing in the soft light of dawn. He hadn't done that in ages - obviously, he took our morning walks for granted as much as I did. But this was going on three days! Please, Mom?

"Don't worry - we're going this morning. Just give me a few minutes..."

That was yesterday morning, when I was thinking, "Is this what a bear feels like, crawling from his cave after months of hibernation, blinking in the sunlight and thinking, perhaps, one more day in the cave would be nice?"

 But, no...maybe I was a little wobbly (I lagged behind Charly when we finally hit the road) but I'd had enough of lying around. It was nice being able to just shut a door in my mind to all of the things that needed to be done while I was sick, but once that door opened, I couldn't make it close again, couldn't make the images go away - the empty refrigerator, piles of laundry, piles of paperwork, lists of phone calls, the meager paycheck-yet-to-come from missing two days...

Tom did a great job keeping up with dishes, cooking, taking care of the critters and me, but, bless his heart, between work and his daily commute to the other side of Austin, he only has a few hours of free time in the evening to get anything done.

Besides...SURPRISE! Kendall realized she moves into her dorm TONIGHT, not Saturday! So yesterday was very, very full - work, shopping, packing, laundry, phone calls...and today will be the same - more shopping, more laundry, work (to help pay for all of this), more packing, and then...MOVE-IN! I'm grateful I started feeling more like a human than a slug.

Being sick is the pits - it always reminds me what a wimp I am! I don't know how other people manage it...I know there are people out there that deal with illness every day, knowing it's not just going to go away with some antibiotics, and that the strongest meds out there don't even dull the knife of pain some people live with all the time.

I missed out on a lot growing up with my asthma...picture days, slumber parties, real Christmas trees (I spent Christmas Day night in the emergency room the one year my parents gave in to my pleas.) And my first experience on an airplane was flying home after a long bus ride to St. Louis on an 8th grade church choir trip - long because we stopped at emergency rooms along the way to keep me breathing. Sorry Don, Patti, Denise, David, and every one else on that bus...

Because of my experience I don't take my lungs or even breathing for granted...most of the time, anyway - I remember too well that suffocating feeling. It still comes around to remind me every so often, but now there are preventative medicines available, which I'm sure I DO take for granted.

Just like my bladder - one of those workers you just expect to do their job without as much as a "nice job" or a "thank-you." Instead of giving them breaks, you give them more to do, make their jobs tougher. Not anymore. A cranberry pill will be joining my morning arsenal - calcium supplements, Vitamin D, etc.

Of course, nothing is certain in life, right? Sometimes, things happen beyond our control and despite our best efforts.  My asthma...some types of cancer...it seems our parts can have flaws and weaknesses, just like our personalities.

Josh, one of my son Daniel's friends since childhood, had just returned from spring break last year, ready to finish his spring semester of college. Next thing he knew, he was in the emergency room hearing that his kidneys had shut down. It turns out kidney disease had been lurking quietly in his body, deciding to make a surprise appearance without knocking first...like a home invader robbing Josh of his health, that I'm sure (being a kid) he had taken for granted. He had to withdraw from school (which he obviously DIDN'T take for granted - he was doing great) and return home.

It's tough enough hearing about someone my age dealing with a major health problem - I still feel we are way too young, and it always surprises me to find out we're not! But to hear that this kid that I've watched grow up, from the hyper little scout in my Wolf Cub den to a talented, award-winning actor and trombone player in high school, is now on dialysis three times a week, keeping his fingers crossed, PRAYING for a kidney transplant this fall so he can return to school for the 2010 spring semester ...well, it just breaks my heart.

Now he's facing another battle...all the issues involved with a transplant. Like money. He hasn't had insurance for years. Medicare and Medicaid will cover the cost of the transplant itself, but there are many other costs involved. His family has teamed up with the Children's Organ Transplant Association  in the hopes of raising another $40,000 that will be needed (to read more about Josh or to donate, check out his COTA website here.)

The good news is Josh's mom recently found out she's a blood type and tissue match - if she passes the other health screenings, she'll be able to donate a kidney to save her son's life.

That's just another reason not to take my health or any of the parts, thereof, for granted. I might need them someday to help one of my own kids - three things I don't ever want to take for granted even when they're driving me crazy, not doing what I think they should be doing.

Speaking of...I better get moving on the rest of my day...shopping, work, laundry, packing, moving...

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.

I Do

When I said those words twenty-seven years ago today, I didn't know what the hell I was talking about. How can you, when you're just twenty-three years old? It's such a leap of faith, marriage is...it's saying "come hell or high water, come arguments about bratty kids and light fixtures or stress about sick kids and college bills, I'm going to stick with you whether you like it or not. And I hope you like it." But you don't know that at the time.

I look back over our years together and I know the only thing that got us through some of them is that I fell head over heels in love with this man, and he felt the same about me. It's like Jim Croce's song "Time In a Bottle"...you stash those memories and good times in a box or a bottle and on those days when you look at your partner and wonder "Who IS this person?" you just open up that box and pull out some of those memories, and say "Oh, yeah...I remember you. I know you're in there somewhere and I'll just hang on till you come back." Clinging - I understand that word now.

It feels like we've been on a long journey (I think we've pretty much covered the "better/worse, richer/poorer, sickness/ health" bits, although I'm sure more excitement awaits us) but now it feels like we've worked our way back to where we started...only closer, wiser, more humble and a lot more appreciative. And it's a good place to be. Knowing what I know now, I'd still say "I do" and I think he would, too.

A few years ago he surprised me by performing to Grand Funk Railroad's "Some Kind of Wonderful." (I won't go into details about the show, but it's one of those priceless memories, believe me!)

Well, I can't top that, so I'm just going to let my old friend Carole explain how I feel - she has a much better voice than I do.

Happy Anniversary, Babe. I love you. I'm ready for the next twenty-seven, plus some.

 

Life Lessons (by Charly)

Keep doing what you enjoy as long as you are able.

Hang out with a younger crowd sometimes - they won't let you get too settled.

Be patient and tolerant with that younger crowd even when you're tired and grumpy.

Be curious and eager.

Lead by example.

Take naps.

Show affection.

Receive affection.

Be compassionate and share your blessings.

Don't roam too far from home, or at least remember the way back.

Accept treats and show gratitude.

Have a sense of humor.

Accept other species - look beyond your differences and find common ground.

Be bold and brave.

Be loyal.

Trust.

Look for adventure every day.

Don't be afraid to get dirty, but be careful you don't wade in too deep.

Enjoy the sun in your face and the wind in your fur.

If you stumble, just catch yourself and keep moving forward. Run if you can, but walking is good, too.

The Puppy Question

With Charly getting older and older, it keeps coming up... should we get a puppy? I've always heard that the best puppy trainer is an old dog...they can teach the boundaries, rules of the household, and the alpha order much better than humans. 

Charly certainly did an awesome job with Max. But...I still hesitate getting a puppy right now. For one thing, Charly is SO old - I think a puppy would just put too much of a strain on him.

Second, there's no such thing as a FREE puppy. Even if it doesn't cost anything up front (and we never pay for dogs - we only get mutts), there's no telling what kind of problem they might have that will end up costing BIG BUCKS! Case in point...Max wandered up to our house. Didn't cost a thing, even gas money to go get him! But because of the German Shepherd gene, he has a congenital joint problem and has to eat special food and take special supplements that cost...well, let's just say a big chunk of my salary every month. Between his "special" needs, Charly's thyroid medicine, and the usual flea and heartworm prevention, I'm in the vet's office at least once a week, picking up something. When we get a pet, we get them for life, "through sickness and health, till death do us part." They are part of our family from day one - there are no 'returns.'

And third - I'm working now! And writing more. Puppies are a LOT of work. They need a LOT of attention. There's the playtime, and the neutering time, and the "living inside for a few days and walking on leashes after surgery so they don't jump in the pond" time.

But...they're so cute. When Charly's gone, Max will be so lonely. Sure, he's got Frankie and they're big buddies, but it's just not the same. Not like him and Charly.

Well, I'll keep thinking about it, weighing the pros and cons. I wouldn't be surprised if one just shows up on our porch one day, just like Max and Frankie. Then the decision will be made for me.

One thing's for sure - my morning walks just won't be the same when Charly's gone, new puppy or not ...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thinking back... a Decade of Port A

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     Port Aransas, here I come... 

Over the years...

 

 

 

    

    

...I Shall Not Want

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

 

    

    

    

A Wish for Eighteen

    This day will come and go quickly, just like all the others this summer...this past year...the past eighteen years...but one thing is different: with the coming and going of this day, my baby will turn eighteen.

    I get to spend the day with her - we've spent more time together the last few weeks than we have in years, I think, because we're working together. It's given us a chance to relate to each other in a whole new way, from different perspectives...preparing us for roles that will continue to shift as she pulls further and further away, becomes more and more independent. It's given me a glimpse of the person she is apart from The Daughter...and I think she is seeing me as someone other than The Mom. I like what I see. I can only hope that she does. 

    "Cleaning and dusting can wait till tomorrow, for babies grow up, we've learned to our sorrow. So settle down cobwebs and dust go to sleep...I'm rocking my baby, and babies don't keep."

    Ain't it the truth! I could try to hold on to these days...to her...but I know it's futile. And I wouldn't want to, anyway. Time flies. Babies grow up. That's the way of the world and the way it should be. Once upon a time, I was a baby...then I was a eighteen...and now I'm fifty. Before I know it, Kendall will be turning fifty and I'll still be wondering, as I'm sure my mother is, "How did this happen so fast?"   

    I'll try to make this day special for her somehow. I haven't quite figured out how. Like last year, she's asked for nothing special, offered no ideas on how we can help her celebrate. So I settled on a menu of grilled steaks, baked potatoes, and cheesecake - foods I know she likes. Or at least she liked them yesterday...she's changing day by day, right before my eyes, from the little girl that wanted me to carry her to bed, read to her, and tuck her in...to this emerging woman who lets me share bits of her life...who laughs with me, rants with me, cries with me, calms me, debates with me, listens to me, learns from me, teaches me...

     Still, when I look at her, I see all the ages that she's passed through...I see all the Kendalls she's been up until this day. And I know one thing will never change, whether she likes it or not...she'll always be my baby girl.   

    

   

Mending My Tapestry

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

 

Three Leons and a Wyoming Wedding

    Two months after Tommy was born in 1985, my nephew Evan arrived. He's always been a bundle of energy...smart, inquisitive, restless....and at the same time family-oriented...devoted, loving, loyal. The restless part of his personality led him to Wyoming on a job; the loving part is going to keep him there. 

    A day or two before the 4th of July, Evan married Liz on the lawn of a Wyoming courthouse. It was a simple ceremony witnessed by both families. While I headed east to Florida with my family, Daddy and my brother Donnie headed north in a moving van packed with Evan's belongings and towing his car. When they started out, it was just a road trip, a chance to be alone for the first time in years. They drove through Stratford in the Texas Panhandle, where Daddy grew up...enjoyed the scenery of the mountains unfolding around them...toured an old prison and who knows what else.

    I'm sure nothing topped being able to share Evan's wedding day with him, though. They each share a middle name - "Leon" - and now they share a special memory, each from a different perspective. And if Evan is even half the husband his dad and granddad have been, Liz is a very lucky woman.

Where did the years go? Evan with Tommy and Daniel in 1991...Evan on his wedding day in 2009 with Liz...Evan with Donnie and Daddy (and Liz, of course, with her family.)

 

 

       

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.

 

The Unimaginable, and Praying

    The minute I set eyes on my firstborn, I felt that fear...that pain of imagined loss. Until I was a mother, I didn't have an inkling of the kind of fear a parent lives with every day - the death of your child. But it is born along with your baby and you carry it with you long after that baby grows and ventures away from the safety of your arms.

   A friend's son died this morning. It was supposed to be a happy day...a Father's Day spent together, celebrating the love between this father and his son. This was a father who was devoted to his kids, who would have given his own life in a heartbeat for any of them. In the end, there was nothing he could do. And that's another curse of parenthood - that helpless feeling when you realize there are limits to what you can do for your kids; there are just some things that are out of your control.

    The heartbreak I feel for this man is just a splinter of what he's feeling, I'm sure. I've been lifting him and his family in prayer all day, and I'll continue to do so - praying for peace, for acceptance, for strength...although just as the pain they feel is unimaginable to me, so is the idea that it would be a pain that could ever heal. But I also know that with God, all things are possible. Please join me in praying for them.

"My strength and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever." Psalm 73:26

A Glimpse Inside The Man

    Sometimes I'm just not a very good wife. Today is Tom's birthday and I was totally unprepared. After work, I made a mad dash into town to do things I should have already taken care of...like getting him a present (or three - thanks for the tips, Robert!), a card, and picking up a cheesecake. (Dinner, by the way: steaks HE picked up yesterday on his way home from work that HE grilled himself tonight. He prefers the ones he cooks over the ones I cook, but that's beside the point.)

     I know he doesn't care - he always says birthdays aren't as big a deal to him as they are to me, but still...I need to show him how much he means to me...how much I appreciate the fact that he's alive and that I'm glad he picked marrying me and living in Texas over taking off for adventure in New Zealand or somewhere years ago, like he had planned to do before he met me and Texas became a big anchor holding him in place.

    Soon after we met, I looked through his photo albums and marveled that someone hadn't snagged him yet. He was so cute, so adventurous, so independent, so eager to have fun. Case in point...after high school, he enlisted in the Coast Guard, then hitchiked alone from his home in Maryland all the way across Canada and back before reporting. He was stationed in Kodiak, Alaska and he went prepared to have fun - he pulled a boat behind his old Ford van, brought all of his camping gear, bought a good camera, a dirt bike and rapelling gear (and an old juke box, currently project #336), and had the time of his life. He said some guys got up there and just complained that there was nothing to do. They couldn't wait till their time was up and they could get back to the lower 48.

    And that's one reason I fell in love with him - being around him is fun! Well, most of the time. No matter where we are or what we're doing. I'm not sure how staying in Texas with me appealed to him more than heading off to New Zealand or somewhere for more adventure, but I'm glad it did.

    I decided to scan his old pictures for him in honor of his birthday. He really hasn't changed that much!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My Favorite Name

    

    It's ironic. Growing up, I didn't dream of being a mother. I preferred toy guns, my bicycle, and stuffed animals over baby dolls. When I peered into my future, I pictured a college degree and some kind of unconventional career, like architect, archaeologist or journalist. Never teacher or nurse.

    I didn't think about getting married and having a family. I took it for granted it would happen,  but it wasn't what I focused on. And to be honest, I never cared that much for babies or little kids. I just didn't fall under their spell. When my friends started having babies, I thought they were cute enough, but I didn't jump at the chance to hold them, change their diaper, or babysit.

    All of that changed shortly after Tom and I were married. It was like night and day, like being hit by a lightning bolt or dropping into colorful Oz from black and white Kansas - one day I was ambivalent and the next day I was in a fervor. I wanted a baby! 

    I was one of the lucky ones whose wish was granted - three healthy times. The transformation was swift and complete - I am a Mother, through and through. A real baby and little kid person. I love to hold them, smell them, rock them, soothe them, and, okay, I'll change the diaper.

    It's hard to imagine ever being any other way. Even today, well past my room mother and bedtime stories days, my babies are in my heart and in my mind as I work on my screenplay, dream of finishing my degree, or spend time with my friends. Part 2 of my job is at hand - being happy I'll soon have an empty nest because my babies are able to fly.   

      But they know that first and foremost, I'm their mother for my whole life, for their whole lives, in all they do, for whatever they need, whenever they need it. Just as my mother is for me. Forever.

    Happy Mother's Day!

       

Oh, Brother...

   

    I was around three, my brother Donnie eight, when I spotted the mysterious box on the edge of our driveway. I can picture Donnie approaching it, picture his shocked face, hear him scream "Run!" as the snakes, dozens and dozens of them, poured out of the box, slithering down the sides and along the ground after us. We ran toward the backyard and Donnie shoved me up and over the chain link fence to safety before trying to save himself. I looked back and the snakes were within inches of his bare feet.

    That's when I woke up.

    It's amazing to me how vividly I can remember this nightmare (I won't go into all of the things I CAN'T remember!) Even though nothing like this ever REALLY happened (thank God!), one aspect of it is true: my brother Donnie's self-sacrificing actions...his heroic nature. I already sensed it when I was three.

     Not that he was necessarily a doting brother. Most of the time he was yelling at me to quit following him around. Quit copying him. He wouldn't let me tag along with him and his friends when they were headed off to do cool things like go skinny dipping at the Sand and Gravel pit or build a fort in the Field or play baseball in the Vacant Lot. He liked to sneak up on me and sing the theme songs to "Goldfinger" (James Bond) or the television show "Weird" because he knew they both scared the stuffing out of me.

    I remember a specific time when Gary Dale (two years younger than me) and I begged Donnie and Gary Dale's big brother Terry to let us tag along for something. They agreed to let us, but we had to pass a test: we had to clamp down on the end of this seedy weed with our teeth and...I can't remember what we were supposed to do, but I do remember Gary Dale clamping down on it (I probably talked him into going first, poor kid), and then Terry jerking the end of it hard (laughing) so that all of the seeds remained in Gary Dale's mouth. That is, until he threw up seconds later.

    And I can picture him standing on the couch, laughing and screaming in mock terror during Brenda's 'Spaz Attacks', pushing me down, keeping me between him and "danger".

    But both of us knew we weren't really in danger. I KNEW that no matter how much any of my siblings complained about how spoiled and bratty I was, no matter how much they didn't want me tagging along, that they loved me and would do anything to protect me.

    Well, he did try to kill me once. He had gotten in trouble for something, and I had just started to say "neh, neh, nee, neh neh" to him, to rub it in his face, when I saw the Look in his eyes. I turned and ran down the hall to the bathroom, screaming "Mama, Mama, Mama!" Still calling for help, I slammed and locked the door and braced myself as he pounded and pounded on it, finally breaking it open. I fell back in horror against the cabinets, but before he could lay a hand on me, Mama arrived and pulled him back. Whew! Needless to say, I never said "neh, neh..." to anyone else ever again! 

    Other memories...watching "The Wizard of Oz" with him - he can sing just like a Lollipop Guild kid; lying on his bed going through the toy section of the Sears catalog deciding what we wanted for Christmas; listening to stories he made up about a talking cockroach (I can't remember the stories, but I remember my giggles).

    Donnie is the funniest person I've ever known. I love to laugh, and I've known a LOT of funny people that have brought tears to my eyes and taken my breath away, but Donnie is the only one who has EVER made me laugh until I actually cried. Real tears, not just watering eyes. Happy to sad tears. It was the weirdest thing, and it happened more than once, usually around the dinner table, of all places. 

    As he became a teenager, he was more often serious than silly. When he smiles, it's like sunshine has entered the room. But when he's not smiling, he can look pretty fierce. One of the guys at my party last Saturday said he never asked me out when we were teenagers because he "was scared of Donnie."

    He always showed he cared - for a few years I was the only one in the family he gave a Christmas present to. I always loved whatever he gave me, even the hand-me-down orange rubber motorcycle wrapped in a shoebox when I was about five...his old stereo and 45's when I was twelve and he upgraded to albums and a new stereo. When I was an insecure pre-teen, I knew he would give me honest advice about clothes and boys...not tease me or laugh.

   As I prepared to enter high school, he was just graduating, and he gave me some advice based on his own rocky high school experience that I believe was life-changing for me: "Get involved in as much as you can so it goes by quick." So although it was more my nature to try to blend into the woodwork, I stepped out of my comfort zone and ran for class secretary, joined the Spanish Club and every other organization that I heard about. I'm sure it's because of him that I tried so hard and achieved as much as I did in high school, and why I have the self confidence even now to continue stepping out of my comfort zone and trying new things.

    Donnie went into the Navy, went to college, married the love of his life, became a daddy. He suffered heartache, losing most of his best friends too early. And then just a few years ago, his wife Haila died suddenly, right before his eyes, probably in his arms. When Donnie loves, he loves totally, gives his whole heart, holds nothing back. It broke my heart seeing his ripped apart like that.

    I thought his smile was lost forever, that he would never find joy in life again, nothing at all to smile about. I wouldn't have been surprised, but I'm glad I was wrong. I know he hasn't forgotten the pain, but he has remembered reasons to smile: his children, his dog, good memories and old friendships - and discovered new ones: two Harley Davidson motorcycles.    

    The smile is still rare, and it can't quite take away all of the sadness in his eyes, but even when it's hidden, I know it's there. That's what matters. Because I really do love my big brother, Donnie, who turned fifty-five last week, and I love to see him smile.

A Good Friday - Thinking about Love

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Have a blessed and joyous Easter!

Remembering Darkness, Praying for a Friend

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

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

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

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

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

A Weekend Packed Tight

    A new weekend is knocking on the door and I feel like I just said goodbye to the last one...it was a whole month's worth of faces, fun, and emotion packed into a few short days.

    It was a weekend of family and friends - Tom's brother Kenny and his wife Cathy drove in from Wichita, Kansas on Thursday. Their future daughter-in-law Lynn graduated from the Combat Systems Officer Program (with the Academic Excellence Award) at Randolph Air Force Base in San Antonio on Friday and was confirmed a Catholic at the cathedral in San Antonio on Sunday, so they stayed with us in between. On Saturday, their son Tom (there are lots of Tom Shallues!), Lynn, and several of their friends came to our house for a barbecue.

    Only I wasn't there. Saturday morning, I left Tom here playing host (and he had a lot of fun) while I took off for Dallas on a road trip with my friend Darla. We had "an event" to attend with other "old" high school classmates - a surprise 50th birthday dinner for Tully, who had flown in from California to watch the March Madness games with Brad. Jon played host to us in his beautiful home. (Tully, Brad, and Jon all played basketball together in high school.) Another friend, Gina, also attended with a friend of hers, and even my son Tommy joined the party - he lives only a few miles from the restaurant, and I couldn't imagine being that close without seeing him. After dinner, I caught a ride in his new car to check out his house and meet his roommates. Really nice guys.

    Tully was VERY surprised, by the way, especially considering his birthday was in December. We really caught him off guard! The pictures are priceless (see them below).

    My weary world traveler, Kendall, straggled in Sunday evening, looking very Euro in her new pleather jacket and jeans (she wouldn't let me take a picture - she hadn't taken a shower in two days or slept in 30 hours!) She'd also picked up a cough on her travels. It was so good to see her sweet face, safe and sound in front of me again, especially when she told us about some of their (mis)adventures. There were angels working overtime around that group of girls, that's for sure. It's better I didn't know at the time. But what a blow to my mother's heart when she told me she never received my e-mail! I hate that she went this whole week thinking we didn't care enough to write her.

    It was also Sunday evening when Daniel found Sammy, the orphaned baby squirrel, triggering an emotional roller coaster ride that hasn't yet ended. My heart still aches and doubts continue to flutter about my decision. The rational grownup inside of me says we did the right thing...the optimistic dreamer still wonders. In either case, I regret making a hasty decision without first talking to Daniel about it.  It was really his decision to make, not mine.  

Ken, the Big Brother of 9 boys...and Cathy, who doesn't age...

 

Surprising Tully...

 

 

My Tommy and me...

Gina, me, Tully, Jon, Darla, Brad

Saying Goodbye

    I'm not a country girl.

    I might live in the country, and I'm not afraid of the dark or walking down a country road alone, or tarantulas. I know how to twirl a stick in front of me to clear unseen spider webs from my path, and to check for scorpions and snakes when I lift a rock (away from me.) I also know to dig graves deep and cover them with lots of rocks to discourage any "unburying."

    But I think a real country girl wouldn't cry every time one of the wild things dies, like the beautiful red fox I found dead in the road without a mark on him, or Ruthie the white guinea, or now Sammy the precious baby squirrel. Would a real country girl even name these wild things?         

    Death is just part of life, and these wild things are just part of the cycle. I know that. But I also know that I'll always give a name and personality to any pair of black or brown eyes that stare into mine, no matter how beady they are, and I'll cry when those eyes close forever, their memories tucked in my heart.