Long Hollow

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

I'm Thankful For...

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy Thanksgiving...Many Blessings to Everyone!

 

A Not-Quite-Treasure Hunt and My Favorite Color, Gruene...

I have a million things to do before company arrives this afternoon, but I have done a wonderful job ignoring them so far...I slept in, and then it was such a gorgeous morning that Tom and I had to take the critters for a walk (these days, with Charly, there's no way to rush that.) And now, here I am blogging...

Do I qualify for Procrastinator of the Year yet?

Tom took Max and Charly to the vet yesterday for their shots and check-ups...Max passed with flying colors, and except for being old, skinny and lumpy, Charly did, too.

There was one thing they didn't check on Max, though, because he goes berserk if you go near his rear-end. Yep...the stool sample. So it fell to us to take some in a ziplock for them to test. Easier said than done; in the six years we've had him, I've never seen Max go poop. I knew he must - I see the food go in, so I knew it had to go out! But he is the most private dog I've ever known...Charly just finds a grassless spot next to the road, but Max always slips quietly out to the woods and then reappears a few minutes later, grinning.  

So this morning, we kept our eyes on him. He tried his best to slip away unseen, but I noticed, and when he reappeared from the woods, Tom went searching in that area for the "treasure". It took a few minutes...both of us scanning the ground, sniffing the air (oh, the things you do for your "kids"!) but he found it! So he's off in the Suzuki right now to deliver the goods and then take Pop four-wheeling on some back roads.

Last night we headed to Gruene (pronounced "Green"), one of my favorite little towns, to meet Tom's nephew, Tom, and his fiance, Lynn, before the craziness of the wedding on Saturday. We ate at the Grist Mill. We've eaten there dozens of times, but this was the first time I've ever sat in the original building. It was very cozy and quaint, surrounded by tall walls of century-old brick. The town was spruced up for the holidays...music drifted out of the Gruene Hall...it was a crisp, cool, star-filled night...I wished we didn't have to leave!

Okay, company arrives in two hours...I've procrastinated long enough. It's time to get busy and start scratching things off of my list...

A Happy Thanksgiving to everyone!

Glimpses of Gruene...

Cribbage and...St. Frances?

It's like magic...whenever Shallue families gather in one place, you can count on a cribbage board and several decks of cards materializing on a nearby surface. Tom's mom and dad arrived Saturday evening and already there have been dozens of cribbage games, 3-13 matches (a kind of rummy), and the curses, whines, excuses, (and pages and pages of scratch paper full of scores and hex symbols next to the winners' names) that go along with them.

Before I left for work this morning, my wonderful mother-in-law had already dusted the upstairs and was asking "what else can I do?"

How did I get so lucky? That's one reason I'm not really worried about hosting Thanksgiving for 15 or so on Thursday - I know I'll have plenty of help. Mom is quick to counter any procrastination moves I try to make - after raising nine boys, she is Organization and Efficiency personified (her Christmas card came in yesterday's mail!)...without being bossy or controlling! I repeat, how did I get so lucky? 

It also helps to know I won't be judged or criticized if I forget something, or burn something, or undercook something. I might be teased...perhaps mercilessly even years from now...but it will be teasing packaged in love.

For now it's just the four of us hanging out here...watching TV, playing cards, and catching up on news since the summer - the last time we saw each other. Wednesday we're hit with a tidal wave of people - not as in destructive, but as in "everyone gets here at the same time." In terms of Shallue get-togethers, it's actually on the small side...only Tom's oldest brother Kenny, his wife, two daughters, a son-in-law and two grandsons, plus my kids. That's when it will feel like a real Shallue get-together, with card games going everywhere, people sleeping on couches, talking over each other...laughing...arguing...sneaking off for some peace and quiet...

My parents live close enough for me to take our visits for granted. I forget how tough it has to be on Tom to see his parents only once or twice a year (he'll go years without seeing some of his brothers.) I'm glad he was able to take off work this week so he can spend every possible minute with them. It will be summertime before we see them again...

(Oh, for the record, I won two games of 3-13 tonight! Whoo-hoo!)

Mom and a parade of critters, just like St. Frances...she likes to walk around the house saying the Rosary...Charly and Frankie joined in, for a little while at least...

 

 

Love justice, you who judge the Earth...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Because now he's under oath!" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just Me and Stoney, Dusting and Thinking

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"...May you stay forever young.

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

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

Listen to Stoney himself singing it here.

 

 

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...

 
 

24 Hours Later...

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

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

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

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

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

What happened in those 24 hours?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Short Walk in the Shadows

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Good Morning, Sunshine!

Long Hollow waking up...what a beautiful way to start a new week...

 

 

 

Happy Monday!

 

How'd they know?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thank you for taking the time to let me know.

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

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!

And I thought the sunrise was beautiful...

I don't like working as late as I did today, shutting down my office about the same time the sun is calling it a day. I like to have it still shining bright when I pull up to the house. It makes me feel like I still have hours and hours left to get things done.

But this afternoon I had a Jobs4Autism blog post I needed to finish, so by the time I headed home, it seemed like a race between me and the sun.

And then I noticed the sky...

Suddenly I didn't mind driving home while the sun was saying goodnight. It was all I could do to keep my eyes on the road. Once home, I dropped my bags on the floor, grabbed my camera and captured the glorious grand finale...

An Adventure a Day

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

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

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

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

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

That old dog just keeps teaching me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Connected by Words

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Minutes Tucked Away

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

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

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

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

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

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

--Isla Paschal Richardson

 Rest in peace, Boonie Man.

 

 

Shakin' Things Up

I headed off for my walk before the sun even kissed the tops of the trees in the hollow today. The full moon started the magic of the morning...when I emerged from the bedroom, I was greeted with moonlight that splashed across the back deck and reached into the house through the French doors.  I hurried to the doors to catch a glimpse of it, but it hid from me behind the roof line, just out of my line of vision. It was already cold in the house, so I decided against stepping outside for a better view.

It was when the horizon turned pink above the treeline that I decided to change up my routine: mornings are now for writing, evenings for working out. By the time I get home from work in the evenings, my brain is tired, my creativity has long given up on me and curled up somewhere for a nap. And once it's asleep, it's hard to wake back up, believe me!

So instead of my work-out, I headed out for a walk with the critters earlier than normal. They were all excited, invigorated by the cooler weather. Even Frankie came with us!

As we walked the sunlight steadily worked its way down into the hollow. It was actually cool enough to see my breath wisping away from me. Along the way a vulture swooped low twice and each time Frankie scurried for cover in the trees, making a high-pitched squeal and trill...different enough from his usual chatterings and chirpings that it caught my attention. I'm glad I know his distress call now.

By the time I plopped down in front of the computer, my brain was refreshed from the fresh, brisk air, the sunshine and the singing of the little creek, and in that next hour I spent with my great-great grandfather, the words came a little easier than they had been lately and I was able to move him further along in his journey.

Unfortunately, my body isn't going to like this new routine. It's had way too much time to dread the upcoming work-out and think up excuses...like needing to finish a blog post started earlier today. How could I fall for that?

But I'm onto its tricks now - time to sweat! I hope there's something good on TV...

Pop! and a Belated Halloween Visitor

POP! That's the sound Tom's ankle made yesterday as we prepared to cross Jollyville Road for the car show. No exciting story...just a matter of stepping wrong on the angled curb.

 "Pop!" was followed by a curse word mingled with a groan and instead of crossing the street, we sat down on the curb to evaluate the situation. The car show disappeared from my mind...I was trying to figure out how to get Tom back to the car...parked half a mile away.

But, of course, he refused to miss the car show and I knew it would be a waste of time to argue with him. We walked a little, rested a little while eating Rudy's melt-in-your-mouth BBQ, then walked a little more - about three hours more - before he decided he should get his ankle home, elevated, and iced down.

Tom has had, among other injuries, a broken ankle (the other one), a broken foot (the same one), and a bruised thigh (much more serious than it sounds, apparently.) He was comparing this injury to the worst of them on our way home...that's how bad it hurt. Mostly he lamented that he had the next week off - he had lots of work planned around the house and hated to waste his days off with an injury!

Thanks to the University of Texas football game on television last night, he spent several hours with his foot propped up. We both still figured it would be a rainbow-colored swollen mess this morning, but surprisingly  he was able to limp in and out of church, up and down the stairs, and in and out of the house to the grill where he's smoking some ribs. It takes a lot to keep this guy down! What a relief to both of us!! (I really don't mind taking over his 'chores' like feeding the dogs at night if I need to...it's relaxing to sit on the porch gazing at the stars and listening to the night... but it takes up time I could use doing something else!)

Speaking of the grill...he found a new visitor, very appropriate for the Halloween season, hiding inside the cabinet. I don't think this one will stick around long, though, so I snapped a picture while I had the chance.

First here are some pictures from the car show. I found more old trucks I like and Tom found a Ford GT he could be happy with. Ken, from Colvin Automotive, noticed my Nikon and offered to take my picture sitting inside the Ford GT. (It's fun to dream every once in a while!) So I took a picture of Ken and K.C. Colvin, owner of the business. Ken spent a lot of time talking to me, Tom, and our friend Dean about engines, but I admit that after awhile, I lost interest. I'm not at the car shows for the big, pretty engines. For me, it's about art - color and design. And I found art aplenty at this show...

This green truck caught my eye...

Tom's pick, a Ford GT...

But I got to sit inside one...

K.C. Colvin and Ken of Colvin Automotive...

Guys love an engine....

But I love the art and creativity...

Our visitor!