Long Hollow

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.

"Count your age by friends..."

After the outpouring of love and support over the past few days about Charly's death, I don't think I want to "count my age by friends"...I'd be really, really old! I know there will be days when the Charly memories hit me hard...I know there will be tears...but right now God has answered prayers and I feel a warm, fuzzy cushion all around me. I feel blessed because I had weeks to prepare myself for Charly's death and shower him in love and attention beforehand and I feel blessed because of all the friends who have stepped up with words of comfort.

I'm afraid if I counted my age by friends...oh, what the heck - I would just look really good for my age because it would be way over 50, that's for sure!

"Count your age by friends, count your life by smiles." - Author Unknown

This was the complete quote that my friend Stacy posted as her Facebook status this evening. It resonated with me...and not just because of the support we've received about Charly. I realized what a blessing Facebook has been in my life.

If my kids read my blog, they would roll their eyes right now. They still believe "old" people like me shouldn't be on Facebook. But over the last few months I have gotten to know people in a way you just don't have time for otherwise...both family and friends...people from past jobs and from around town that I don't bump into anymore...people from high school that I regret I didn't really know back then. (I've heard people say "If I wasn't friends with them in high school, why would I want to be friends with them now?" Well, I feel it's better late than never. For the most part, we've gotten over our angst and insecurities - we've grown up and can be our true selves now. And let me tell you...I went to school with some amazing people!)

One of the most rewarding aspects of Facebook has been reconnecting with people who were huge parts of my life and then, somehow, they just slipped away. How does this happen? Why do we let it happen?

One of those friends is Don. We became friends through church in junior high...briefly girlfriend/boyfriend but mostly brother/sister. We spent hours on the phone. We were best friends. Then we went separate ways...

But through Facebook and mutual friends we've become friends again. No...brother and sister again. I haven't seen him in person, but that doesn't matter. The years have been brushed away. (I admit, this is still the way I picture him, despite the fact that he's a grandpa now...this was taken on a church choir trip in 8th grade...)

It's a little bit of a risk when you come across a name from your past - will they remember me? If they do, what do they remember? Was I nice to them the last time we spoke? But being fifty is very liberating. I'm willing to take a chance and assume they remember me, and that they are as eager as I am to reconnect, and they'll forgive me for any past transgressions. If they're not, so be it. At least I tried.

Considering all of that, I have been blessed this week. Even as I mourned Charly, God put these other people in my path, people from my childhood...people I think of every time we drive down Washington to my parents' house. We turn onto Washington from Beltway...that's Vickie's house. And there on the corner of my block - that's where Guy and Gary lived...and the other corner - that's where Ricky lived.

I stumbled upon Gary first, on a page created for Deepwater people like me. He had posted something on there, and with his unusual last name, I knew it had to be him. Still, he was older than me...would he remember me? He did.

Then I saw Vickie's name...and then Ricky's. I remember that time we were dropped off at the Capitan theater...me, Vickie and Ricky (they're cousins)...and she was put in charge of us (she was probably 8, Ricky was 6, and I was 5...maybe) and she decided instead of watching the movie, we should walk to her aunt's house a couple of miles away through the heart and across many busy streets of Pasadena. Let me vouch for her...she got us across those streets and to her aunt's house safe and sound!

Today I "talked" to both Vickie and Ricky for the first time in close to 40 years, and it felt as natural as if we had shared that adventure yesterday.

Ricky...he was my first friend outside of my family...part of my earliest memories. We spent almost every day together for the first ten years of my life. And then we parted. I don't remember the last time I talked to him. How does that happen, that you are so close to a person, practically family, and then POOF! they're gone?

I guess you get to a certain point in your life when you grow apart. The connection you had never goes away...you remember the person, remember the times you shared...but before Facebook came along, chances were you would never see that person again - they would stay in your heart as memories, but that was it. In that way, Facebook is a pathway for miracles. And I'm so grateful for the miracles that have come my way this past year.

"It's no good trying to keep up old friendships. It's painful for both sides. The fact is, one grows out of people, and the only thing is to face it." - W. Somerset Maugham

I feel sorry for Maugham...I guess he didn't live long enough to see that you can grow back into people. I'm so grateful I have. But then, he didn't have Facebook. I'm so grateful I do.

(me and Ricky in his back yard...circa 1963...my house was the brown one two doors down, where the laundry is hanging out to dry...)

 

 

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.

I bet my "funny holiday road trip" story is better than yours!

...and I'll even sweeten the bet with $200! Well, technically Blogher and Sprint will. I've partnered with Blogher to write for their product reviews program and the first assignment was to write about a funny holiday road trip.

That was easy...I wrote about the trip we took to my husband Tom's youngest brother John's wedding in Huatabampo, Mexico, at Christmas time in 1998...about how Tom and his dad changed our route at the last minute and we ended up crossing through Mexico's Sierra Madre mountains on twisty, curvy, pot-hole ridden roads in the middle of the night...the pitch-black night. You can read the complete story on Long Hollow Conversations by clicking here.

Blogher and Sprint are sponsoring a contest and the winner gets a $200 Visa Gift Card. (Confession...my story isn't eligible for the contest.) All you have to do to enter is share your own funny holiday road story in the comments section of my story, "A Feliz Navidad to Remember". You can read the complete contest rules there as well.

Well, what are you waiting for? (Good luck!)

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

Prayers for BV

It wasn't until Monday afternoon that I opened the email letting me know a dear friend had undergone surgery that very morning for life-threatening heart problems. Because of the holiday and busy weekend, I hadn't checked my email for several days...it took me awhile to weed through the crap that had accumulated in my inbox.

Bob (or "BV" as he signs his letters...he calls me "BS") was my teacher for two years in high school. I was on the yearbook staff and he was the teacher/sponsor/Editor-in-Chief. He is sharp-tongued, sarcastic, has a quirky sense of humor and can be brutally honest. That was tough for some students to take, but he and I clicked and have remained friends all these years, because he's also very loyal, generous, and loving. We've butted heads a few times during the years, but cared enough about each other to work things out.

His son sent the email letting me know their holidays were spent by his side in the hospital while he waited for his surgery  -"Bob's adventure", he called it. His wife sent an update Monday evening...he had a triple bypass, a valve replacement and received a pacemaker (I can hear Bob now..."A three for one special!") But his heart was more damaged than they thought - they inserted a balloon pump to let it rest for a few days and repair itself.

I've had no more updates...I'm hoping no news is good news. So for now, I'm just praying. Please join me.

Representatives of The Deer in Denton, Texas on an icy cold December day in 1976 for a yearbook convention - Mike, Kim, Gina, Mary, Brenda, Bob, George and David (I was the amateur photographer even back then!)

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

Just Me and Stoney, Dusting and Thinking

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"...May you stay forever young.

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

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

Listen to Stoney himself singing it here.

 

 

Updates from a Week with Wings

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 
 

The Deepwater Weekend Report

I blinked and a week vanished. At this very time a week ago, I was sitting in my parents' house...specifically at the kitchen table. Tom and I were there to celebrate my mother's birthday, although she didn't actually turn 78 until yesterday (Friday the 13th...a lucky day in our family!) but she graciously agreed to have a pre-celebration last weekend so I could be there. That's my mom!

I was afraid to postpone our visit until her actual birthday weekend. We were supposed to be there for Daddy's birthday in October, but that's when Kendall was attacked by the swine flu and the mom in me just couldn't go any farther away from her than I already am...just in case.

The next weekend I had already scheduled the girls' weekend and Jimmy LeFave concert for Ann's birthday. And the next was the car show Tom had been looking forward to - it had gotten postponed from a rainy weekend in September. He's so good about going everywhere I want to go (and skipping town for 'girls only' weekends,) how could I refuse him this?

(What I don't understand is...why are we still so busy? So scheduled? I thought that would end with soccer games and band competitions when Kendall headed off to school.)

Anyway...we went as soon as we could, getting out of Austin Friday afternoon, just barely ahead of rush-hour traffic.

With Tom's sprained ankle, we couldn't walk the neighborhood like we normally do, but we took a tour in the car on the way to the junior high track (Tom watched me run a few laps.) The neighborhood looked much the same as on our last visit, except for one glaring change that broke my heart: one of the houses on the next block was gone. Razed. Nothing but a vacant lot left where a home once stood - the home where a good friend, Brad, grew up - a friend I didn't really know back then, but who I've gotten to know over the last few months. (I had to break the news to him by via e-mail Monday.)

There was a time when I was younger that I hoped my parents would buy a bigger, more modern home. Specifically, a two-story home with a bay window on Green Shadows, across the street from my friend, Teason. Now I'm glad they didn't move - every inch of that house, that yard, that neighborhood holds a zillion precious memories for me. It wouldn't have meant that much to another family, and it could have been our house...my childhood home...that was razed. I'm just not ready for that...it was tough enough seeing the empty space where Brad's home once stood.

Except for a small get-together/reunion at a club with friends Saturday night, I spent the weekend soaking up family. It had been months since we'd had more than just a few hours with everyone. Mostly we sat at the kitchen table talking and laughing, just as we've done for years.

Our kitchen table is the heart of the house, literally and figuratively. It's where Mama and Mam-ma laid out patterns and material for my school clothes; where I tried out the art projects in Worldbook Childcraft Volume 11, "Make and Do"; where our Easter baskets waited for us; where I read Archie comic books...Nancy Drew...Tarzan; where we all read the Sunday paper; where there were hours of visiting with family and neighbors, gallons of coffee drunk, and laughter turned to tears and back to laughter. And of course, there have been meals - breakfasts by Daddy, Sunday lunches, evening dinners, and all the holidays and birthdays. We each had our seat and even now, we gravitate to those spots when it's time to eat.

This time we met first at Chili's for Mama's birthday meal but then gathered once again around that kitchen table for the Houston Astros cake Brenda brought (no ho-hum birthday cake for our mom!) and birthday presents...including a feather from Frankie. (He shed it just before we left, so I know he meant it as a gift for Mama.)

It's hard to come into town and not spend a little time with my high school friends, now that I've reconnected with so many. So Tom and I snuck away for a few hours Saturday night to listen to a classmate's band and dance. Even with his sprained ankle, Tom managed a few slow songs with me, and my girlfriends Shari and Cindy joined me on the fast songs.

There were more reunions the next morning at church...a lifelong friend, Kathleen, who introduced me to her practically brand-new grandbaby Chloe, and my English teacher from 8th grade, Jean Vaughn, who introduced me to her granddaughter Jeni and twin toddler grandsons. I still have papers I wrote in Jean's class with her handwritten comments in the margins...comments that still ring in my head and guide my writing. I learned so much in that class! It's been a blessing to reconnect with her as friends. Thank you and happy birthday today, Jean!

We shared another meal with Mama and Daddy and a few more stories, laughs and cups of coffee around the kitchen table before reluctantly letting go of the weekend. The gray skies and rain that followed us home seemed to know it will be another month or so before I can return to my chair at the table for more coffee...more stories...more laughter...more family.

Mama and her Astros cake...Shari, Cindy and me, listening to the Mission Texas Band...Kathleen and precious grandbaby Chloe...Jean and me

 

 

 

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!

Connected by Words

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All Tricked Out (Happy Halloween!)

Halloweens just aren't the same for me and Tom. It seems like only yesterday I was tagging along with my costumed kids, screening houses, holding a flashlight, warning against eating the candy before we had a chance to check it for razor blades and straight pins.

  

 This year I helped Kendall shop for a costume and I have two pumpkins sitting on the porch, but they're just pumpkins, not Jack-O-Lanterns, and I didn't get to see Kendall in her costume.

Even though tonight we anticipate no miniature ghosts or ballerinas knocking on our door shouting "Trick or Treat!" (we live too far from other houses to make it worth any kid's while to come scavenging here for candy), and instead of passing out candy, we're watching the University of Texas play Oklahoma State on television, we were reminded that it was Halloween at this car show today...

 

 
Not quite the same as the old days, but it was still a lot of fun and not nearly as exhausting. Hope you're having a Happy Halloween, too! 

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) 

 

To All the Guineas I've Loved Before...

This was a gift from Kirby, my almost-daughter. We (as in Tom) finally took it off the kitchen counter and securely attached it to a post in front of the house.

We're officially a "Guinea" house.

Once upon a time, there were two. Remembering Ruthie...

"My Friends Meet Shake Russell and All I Get is a You-Tube Video"...or "Where's a Teleporter When You Need One?"

I'm not really whining.

Well, okay, I am a little. It just seems that sometimes everything happens at once, doesn't it?

Here's the story...

For months I've been looking forward to this past weekend...my friends Tully and Brad were coming to Austin and a bunch of us were going to meet downtown.

Then came the call from Bob, another friend: "Lisa and I are having a Shake Russell concert IN OUR HOUSE!" Of course, it was scheduled for Friday night of the same weekend. And Bob and Lisa live four hours away, near Houston.

I did some quick calculations. We had offered to host the Red River Shootout party (University of Texas vs. Oklahoma University football game) with our local friends on Saturday. Kick-off was scheduled for 11am, but, even so, I thought we could miss one night with Tully and Brad, run down to Houston to see Shake (and Bob and Lisa, of course!) on Friday, zip back here in time to host the football game party Saturday morning and still get to see Tully and Brad Saturday night. Yes! It could work!

Tom brought me back to reality and I'm glad he did. The weekend was packed as tight as it could get already - I was nuts to think we could fit one more thing in...especially a "thing" that involved eight hours of driving.

We ended up having a fabulous weekend - perfect autumn weather...hours and hours with wonderful friends...good food...pretty cocktails...UT beat OU...and I finally experienced a taste of downtown Austin nightlife and Tully's sipping tequila...

But...Shake Russell was crooning in Bob and Lisa's livingroom Friday night. And I missed it.

Tully, Brad & company Friday and Saturday nights...FUN!

(Mostly) UT dads during halftime of the Red River Shootout...

A You Tube video of Shake singing "You've Got a Lover" (one of my favorites) in Bob and Lisa's livingroom...it's almost like being there. Almost...

 

 

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!

 
 

No degree, but plenty of lessons

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

On your mark, get set, GO!

It's a soft morning...muted sunshine, a sky swirling in faded blues, pinks and grays, a whispering breeze that's not too warm, not too cold. My walk was quiet - just light birdsong, puppies panting and our mingled footsteps padding along the wet sand of our road. (Frankie has opted out of our morning walks lately - he skitters up to the road with us, but then just parades around the parked cars, guarding the house until we return.) 

The softness and quiet are deceiving - this day is going to bust loose like a bronco out of the gate in just a few minutes. First, there's work. I'll be out for a few days and there is a lot that needs to be done. But I leave early to head downtown to Michael's house - a respite from the busy day - then on to "Mom" duties with Kendall and Daniel.

Home again this evening, I'll turn my focus to packing for a weekend that shines like a beacon the rest of the year - my annual girls' trip to the coast.

So...I have to take this minute to wish one of my dearest friends a happy birthday, because I know the day will get away from me and my mind will soon be running in a million different directions. Happy birthday, Patti! I'm so grateful for the circle our friendship has taken, for paths that led us back to one another. I'm grateful for our memories and look forward to making many more. I hope you have a wonderful day!

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... 

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!

Sisters by Heart

It's tough moving somewhere new, trying to make friends and connections. But I was lucky - within a few weeks of moving to Lago Vista (was it even that long?) I met Nancy, and from that moment on, Lago was home.

Even though she had to move away just a few years later, our connection held - surprising in a way because we didn't have the normal bonds like blood or longtime shared memories that are usually necessary to cement a friendship through a separation.

But we had a connection - like the Willow Tree figurines she gave me for my birthday a few years ago, we're "Sisters by Heart"...(I kept the one on the right and sent the other one back with her. It only seemed right.)

We packed a lot of memories and emotion into those few short years...enough to bide us through the dry times when we were so busy working and raising kids that we were lucky to see each other once a year.   And now that the kids are older, our determination is growing, and slowly but surely we're finding ways to fit in more and more visits.

I wish today was one of those days - it's Nancy's 45th birthday. We'll just have to wait and celebrate our birthdays together in Port Aransas in a few weeks. Till then, happy birthday Sister by Heart!

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...

 

(Not) My First Kiss

What a strange, wonderful world it is...

Almost forty years after I sat in a darkened room for two hours, listening to music, hoping for yet fearing my very first kiss from the boy sitting next to me - a kiss that never materialized because we were both too shy to talk, much less kiss - I impulsively sent a Facebook message..."Do you remember me?"

I wouldn't have been surprised if he didn't. We talked a few times after that mortifying experience, but the last time was thirty years ago or more.

But he did remember me, and was even happy to hear from me! Whatever had kept us from being able to talk to each other before had crumbled away. Now we realized how much alike we are, how much we have in common, how many memories we share of our old neighborhood.

Because of our new-found friendship, I discovered another new friend as well - his wife. And we didn't stop there - we looped Tom into it as well. It was such a surprising experience for all of us, to stumble upon such special relationships like this after all these years. You just never know what gifts life has stashed away for you, waiting for just the right moment to bring them out.

Happy Birthdays, Robert and Shari! I'm so grateful for our friendship!

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...

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.

 

Party Time in the Pride

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sidetracked

Tom stood in the doorway, bent over, hands on his knees.

"Did you almost faint or something?"

He shook his head, smiling. Or was it a grimace? "My back. Here...help me." He put a hand on my shoulder and pushed until (groaning the whole way) he was standing up straight. He hobbled back over to the bed and, groaning loudly again, stretched out flat. (Sigh of relief.)

Well, so much for our Friday night plans - a birthday party and music in the woods. And all it took was working a screwdriver in just the right "wrong" position a little too long to weaken some important muscle (or disc? Hope not!), and then just the right "wrong" movement a few hours later to throw it into a tizzy.

Poor Tom...this was going to be a weekend to get things done. He always has several projects going at once, plus all the surprise attacks that pop up...the most recent is a search for the least-expensive new carburetor he can find for the Suzuki Samurai so it can pass the emissions inspection. Despite his aching back, he set his alarm to wake him up early this morning, determined to "get things done" (I kept snoozing)...but a few hours sitting at the computer already did him in: he's back in bed. I keep asking what I can do to help - I've even offered to clean the jacuzzi tub for him to soak in for a while to soothe those muscles. He just says leave him alone and quit bothering him. Such a sweetheart. So I'm biting my tongue and leaving him alone to groan in peace and solitude (although I still think soaking in the tub would help.)

I'm having a great weekend so far, though! I've been tackling to-do lists...sticking to my work-outs...catching up with laundry and Facebook. What a surprise to sign on there last night and discover a video of myself as a baby, being held, bounced and kissed by my grandmother and mother (and a glimpse of my thirty-three-year-old dad in the background.) My cousin digitalized her parents' old family movies and is generously sharing clips of them...such priceless memories and images, frozen in time in a way that photographs just can't deliver. Thank you Aunt Mavis and Uncle Charles for recording them, and Charlene for preserving and sharing them! It's given me new incentive to dig out our old VHS tapes and finally transfer them to DVD - a summer project I planned to tackle two summers ago that somehow slipped off of my to-do list (well, more likely got pushed off by more urgent duties!)  

   Last night I also took advantage of having Daniel home to get my funny movie fix - we watched "Bowfinger" with Steve Martin and Eddie Murphy. It's full of talented people and lots of laughs and has probably the funniest movie ending I've ever seen. I've lost count of how many times I've seen it, but it still makes me cry with laughter. Of course, I love silly movies. Keep that in mind...

But now break-time is over...Kendall and I are headed into town to shop for dorm things. Summer is almost over, once again...

"Tamara, Tamara, Tamara"

"You dyed your hair blonde! Are you trying to look like Tamara?" It had been twenty years since we graduated from high school, but to this guy, Tamara was still the standard of perfection.

And, no, I did NOT dye my hair blonde so that I would look like Tamara. Geez.

I don't hold a grudge against Tamara for this comparison. She can't help it that she's been at the pinnacle of nearly all the guys' "ultimate-girlfriend" wish lists since 8th grade, when her long blonde hair reminded everyone of Marcia Brady.

 

For one thing, Tamara has never let it go to her head - one reason why I still enjoy being around her after forty years of friendship, give or take a few.  

I'm sure her blonde hair, blue eyes and dimples had something to do with all the crushes on her, but I know that's not the only reason. Tamara has such a down-to-earth, fun personality - there are different layers, but none are fake. One minute she's quiet, shy...demure; the next minute she's slapping her leg, boisterously laughing at her own joke. She's mischievous...impish...a tomboy that loves playing practical jokes all dressed up in the latest feminine styles and pretty jewelry...

Tamara is laughter...fun...mischief...tenderness...strength...grace...charm...a devoted sister, friend and  grandma...slumber parties and wrapping houses...riding ten-speeds through Deepwater...skits to make us laugh...prank phone calls...the Crosby Stomp...double-dating with guys who didn't deserve us...Garner State Park and Port Aransas with Marla...and now...even more slumber parties and birthday celebrations...

She's a rock. When times get tough (and they have for her...very tough), she stands up tall (well, she's only about 5'2", but you know what I mean...) and forges on, doing what needs to be done, kicking butt and taking names, or just being strong for others - whatever is called for, she'll take care of it. You don't want to cross her, that's for sure.

But if she's on your side, you are truly blessed, because she'll be there till the end. I'm one of those lucky blessed ones...even though life has kept us moving in mostly different directions, she's been one of those constants I knew I could count on...one of those friends that, no matter how long it's been since you talked, the time in-between just goes 'poof' and disappears, as if it was just yesterday.

Have a wonderful new year, Tamara...I hope it's the best one yet. You deserve it.

Seems like yesterday...Tamara gagging Teason (don't ask)...Debbie and Tamara, making us laugh...Deepwater girls in Debbie's room...Tamara and me ready for the Sock Hop...Tamara and me (and friends), Senior Kid Day

 

 

  

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.

Whew! What a Weekend! I Need a Break!

    A new week starts tomorrow - a week that is going to keep me running from 5 am Monday morning until 4:30 Friday afternoon. Not only do I have the normal weekly challenges, but we're going to go computer shopping (Kendall) and car shopping (me!) And on top of that, I've got the weekend's overflow to contend with...things I should have gotten done this weekend, but didn't because I was too busy having fun.

    It was a weekend of reunions...Friday night Tom's old boss Al had an open house at his office. For Tom it was comparable to a high school reunion. Al was one of three owners of a small engineering company - Tom's first job in Austin. It was a tight-knit bunch. For reasons I won't go into here, the group has for the most part moved on to new jobs, but thanks to Al, every six months or so they come together. One of the old bunch is a member of a band - Relentless Jones - that has performed at the last two open houses. And they rock! We stayed WAY too late - another late Friday that got me off to a late start Saturday.

 

 

    But Saturday night we had another reunion - with my high school friends...a 50th birthday celebration for our friend Leslie (it was actually in June, but we couldn't pin her down to celebrate with her until now!) at the Steiner Ranch Steakhouse - a perfect place to be on a hot Texas night...first a fabulous dinner in a cold dining room, watching the sunset, and then listening to live music under the stars on a hill overlooking the Texas hill country, soothed by a constant breeze at just the right temperature. It was hard to leave, but I was determined to get enough sleep before my alarm went off for church this morning.

 

 

    This afternoon we had another reunion...with Tommy! He had swooped in from Dallas Friday night while we were gone and snatched his little sister up for a weekend of fun in Austin and San Antonio. He's such a great big brother! (He asked Daniel, too, but he couldn't take off work.) He brought her back home early this afternoon and stuck around long enough to watch a movie with me and Tom (the Ed Norton version of "The Hulk" - actually a good movie!) and walk down to see the latest devastation at the dam with Tom: the "erosion control" blanket of grass is sliding down the hill, along with a lot of the dirt. I guess I'll be contacting authorities again this week...just another item for my "to-do" list!

 

    But right now I still feel too "up" from the weekend to feel down about it. I'll deal with that later...

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 Gift of the Mosquito Man?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

Meet My New Trainer, Ted

    Maybe it was because of all that "Kendall's-birthday" cheesecake I ate this week...or maybe because my friend Liane popped in this morning after her workout at the new Snap Fitness in town, sharing some tips and motivation...whatever the reason, I felt it was time to pump up my workout today. I usually listen to either U2 or the Dixie Chicks when I hit the treadmill on Saturdays, if I've missed "Rick Steves' Europe" (during the week I just watch the news), but I think all of them are too easy on me. I need someone to motivate me, yell at me, get my heart and legs moving. Who better for that job than Ted Nugent?

    Yes, I like Ted Nugent - his music anyway. Specifically the first two or three albums he released in the late '70's. I realize Ted is a controversial character...and he can be incredibly crude and chauvinistic.  And his lyrics...well, I can't understand half of them and the other half I just try to tune out (although I think they're pretty mild compared to some of the songs I hear playing these days - before I change stations!)

    But he can play that guitar...I'm swept away just listening to the way he makes it dance with the pulsing beat of the drums ...by the end of "Stranglehold", I'm breathless! After 30 years, it's still one of my favorite songs. To see a video of him playing it on You Tube from one of his 1977 concerts, click here. Talk about a flashback! But I think I prefer just listening to the CD. Guess that means I'm old!

    (A random, unrelated side note, because I hear it playing on Kendall's radio right now - my all time favorite song is "Last Kiss" - both versions...first by J. Frank Wilson and the Cavaliers in 1964 and then the version I hear right now, by Pearl Jam in 2006. It's such a haunting, sad song - I have no idea why I've always loved it so much, even as a 5-year-old!) 

    Anyway...back to my work-out this morning. Ted started me out on "Stranglehold" - a great warm-up song. Next, he turned it up a notch with "Stormtroopin'" but then really got me moving me with "Just What the Doctor Ordered," making me keep up the pace all the way through "Queen of the Forest." 

   I haven't pushed myself that hard in months! Thank you, Ted. You're hired! (U2 and the Dixie Chicks...I'm afraid it's back to the van with you.)

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...

 

 

Lost in a Time Warp

    I've been floating along on a cloud the past two weeks, blissfully free of the normal structure in my life. My brain needed the break - it's good to shake up routine every now and then. The problem is I lost track of time and let a dear friend's birthday sneak up on me. I remembered in time to drop a 'belated' card in the mailbox on the actual day, but it was another two days before it hit me that this was a BIG birthday - the big 60!

    I had known this, had thought about it on his 59th last year and again on MY birthday this year (because he's my ex-brother-in-law and I've always given him a hard time about being "a whole decade" older than me!) and then sometime between then and now the thought just got bumped from my brain. I hate when that happens.

    What's really sad is the same thing happened last year - his birthday just snuck up on me (here's last year's "oops" post!) I guess instead of spring fever I get summer fever. Not a good excuse, though.

    At any rate, here's wishing you a wonderful 60th birthday, Boyce...I hope it's the best ever!    

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.)

 

 

       

Beach Collections

    

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

 

Playing "Where in the World is Leslie?"

    I'm stepping from the swirl of extreme emotions that have marked this week to think of my friend Leslie. Today is her 50th birthday and I hope she's having a wonderful day, despite the deluge of sadness flooding both the headlines and our friends' Facebook pages lately.

    I'm sure she is. She is off with Clive, celebrating in style in California...or somewhere...my memory has reached over-capacity levels again and I'm having a tough time with those little details. Keeping track of Leslie's whereabouts on any given day is a little like playing "Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?"

    But there's no way I can forget Leslie's birthday...or the past thirty or so years that she has been a constant in my life. Other friends drifted in and out and back in again, but Leslie is one who has stayed within talking distance, despite leading very different lives. On those long ago nights when I was reading to my babies or making rounds through the chemical plant, she was zipping around downtown Houston on inline skates. She is a career woman...intense, organized, knowledgable, always on the move. She travels constantly. She volunteers. She's crazy about professional team sports, has a great collection of autographed memorabilia, and makes my head spin spouting teams and statistics. Just recently she went to a car racing class! Still, we made time for each other and I was so glad when she followed Darla and I to the Austin area.   

    The most important things in her life are her friends and her family. She never lets too much time pass without calling to check on me, see how things are going, maybe invite us to a baseball game or to dinner, and hers is usually the first phone call I receive on my birthday every year. For MY 50th birthday party, she put together little goody bags of bottled water, flower seeds, candy, and confetti. It was her persuasive logic that finally convinced me to get on Facebook, knowing I share her desire to reach out and re-light all of those friendship candles. I'm so grateful ours has never gone out - I can't wait to see her in person to tell her so.

Happy, happy birthday, beautiful Leslie! Hurry home so I can celebrate you with you!

Near the beginning at the 5 year reunion, 1982...Denise, Leslie and Tom... 

A get-together in Pasadena sometime in the 90's...Leslie styling on the left in her boots...

With Clive at my birthday party in April...

Another Week of Silver and Gold...Lost and Found

  "Make new friends, but keep the old. 
One is silver and the other is gold.
A circle is round, it has no end.
That's how long I will be your friend."
                           -from the Brownie Friendship Song

  

    In 1977, we had no cell phones...no email...no Facebook. After high school graduation, I stayed in touch with a handful of people via corded telephones, handwritten letters, and occasional face-to-face encounters, but with those old-fashioned methods of communication, it was inevitable that I lost track of a few along the way.

    But, thanks to reunions, emails, free long distance, and now Facebook...especially Facebook...I'm finding them again! Even some I never even had back then. In that way, Facebook has been a true blessing - in this frantic, fast-paced world, I've been able to rediscover lost friends, find new ones through my 'gold' ones, and get to know all of them in a way I never did before. This big old world feels a lot smaller to me now.

     When I was three, before I had any idea just how big the world really was and "around the corner" seemed a long way off, Randi was one of my best friends, despite the three year age difference. Her backyard connected to mine, and even now if I close my eyes, I can step through the sliding doors, find my way through her kitchen (where her mom Ginger offers me a homegrown cherry tomato exploding with flavor) and into her bedroom. One wall is lined with shelves crowded with dolls I know are NOT to be touched, much less played with...I think they were gifts from her grandfather - a merchant marine, perhaps? But I'm probably stretching my memory out over too many years to remember it accurately.

    We drifted apart about the time boys became more interesting than Barbies. Her parents moved from the neighborhood, but our parents still kept in touch. A few years ago, my mom discovered Randi was living just one town over from me and urged me to get in touch with her. I had good intentions, but life kept getting in the way - and also all of those years in between "now" and the last time we talked. Would she even remember me?

    But the older I get, the more sentimental I am...and also more willing to stick my neck out and take a chance. All it took was a few minutes to find her on Facebook and send a quick message..."Do you remember BeeBee...?"

 Randi and me, not saying "good-bye" at the end of our two-hour lunch today, but "see you again soon"...and knowing we will...

 Also this week...I made more new friends from the class of '79, hanging out with Shari...Darlene, me, Shari, Audrey on Tuesday, then Shari, me, Darla (one of my "golds"), and Nancy on Wednesday...

 

Whew! Too Close for Comfort...Again!

    If I had my druthers, I wouldn't be in a grocery store checking out at 8:15pm. But that's the only chance I had to go this week, and we were down to slim-pickin's in the pantry. So as soon as the pork tenderloin was done and I had eaten, I grabbed my list and headed to my Cedar Park HEB.

    It wasn't until half of my loot was scanned and bagged that the lights flickered and I overheard "tornado warning" from somewhere nearby. Huh? My cashier nodded, continued scanning, and told me "a tornado had been spotted heading our way, sirens had sounded, clouds were twirling directly overhead, it was pouring down rain...oh, now it was hailing..." and sure enough, I could hear it roaring down on the roof right above me.

    Immediately, I pictured the intersection of highways 183 and 1431, just outside of HEB, the way it looked on the afternoon of May 27, 1997, after a tornado passed through. Traffic lights dangled, signs were smashed, debris littered the roads, and the Albertson's across the street from HEB was demolished. The kids and I had been to the movies, stopped by a pet store (cheap entertainment for little kids), and I planned to stop at HEB on my way home. We heard there was a tornado warning, but I wasn't very worried. I mean, it's not like we live in Kansas or anything. 

    Back on 183, the black sky dropped low, the rain started and suddenly we were in a traffic jam. "I want to see a tornado!" Tommy said, searching the sky through the window. Be careful what you wish for, right? A tornado appeared on our left, swirling through a neighborhood - we could see the debris twisting and twirling as it got sucked up into the clouds. Tommy said "cool" but I reminded him that what we were seeing were bits and pieces of people's houses and belongings. I hoped that was all, anyway.

    It seemed to angle closer and closer to us, but there was no where to go! I was stuck in traffic, just inching along - no where looked like a safe place to take cover. I still had it in my mind to stop by the grocery store - I didn't want to have to come back to town the next day! And HEB seemed a lot safer than any of the places we were passing.

    But one look at the intersection and Albertson's convinced me to head home. Wind, rain and lightning followed us the whole way - at one point the sky turned green and hail peppered us - but we made it home safely. I flipped on the television and a gigantic tornado filled the screen - it had just crossed through Jarrell, a small town just up highway 183 from Cedar Park where it's so wide open and flat it's easy to believe you're in Kansas, wiping out a good portion of the town. It just scraped some areas clear, as if the homes had never even existed.

    So last night, driving home in the wind and rain, with the light show flashing all around me, I had an eerie feeling of deja vu. But I thanked God that this time the television screen didn't fill with an image of a huge tornado and a destroyed town. It was just another wild night in Central Texas.

    I wonder if Tom will get me another "Tornado Chasin' Barb" bumper sticker?