Long Hollow

Belle, Day 4... and a week away from another year

Yeah, yeah, I know. Chores, lists, bills, a book, all waiting for me, starving for attention, calling my name like a bunch of squabbling kids as soon as I step through the door. 

I ignore them - I'm getting good at that. Actually, I think I've always been good at that.

Instead, I call the feathered, furry critters and head in the direction of the pond for another walk. In a blink, springtime will be just another soft memory, replaced with either scorching days of sunshine and drought or day upon day of rain and flash floods...in other words, a Central Texas summer. I don't want to waste a single minute of spring while it's here.

Belle loves the tall wild grasses bordering the pond - she rockets through them, leaps over fallen branches, ..a black blur zipping around and between my legs and Max's. We just stand and grin, watching her. It reminds me of days long ago - so long ago! - spent at playgrounds watching my kids zipping back and forth with so much energy it exhausted me! Seems like forever ago. 

Seems like yesterday.

...I'm slipping into Contemplation Mode. In a week I'll be another year older (how can that be?) and my Thinker always goes into high gear right before my birthday...sorting through old memories...taking stock of where I am, where I've been, where I'm going...wondering how I can still feel 18 on the inside, but on the outside...no, I won't go there. I'm wishing I knew then what I know now. Now I understand that saying about youth being wasted on the young...

Boy, that makes me feel old!

Last year I stepped through a doorway from the 40's into the 50's - a birthday worthy of red hats, Rhythm Dawgs, and cage dancing...a huge celebration surrounded by friends, celebrating our friendship, celebrating our shared passage together.

I've enjoyed this year in the doorway, despite some health issues that caught me by surprise and some missed postponed goals. But I'm being pulled farther along the passageway; in comparison, this one...this number 51...just seems a bit anti-climatic, and I'm not sure why.

Maybe I'll figure it out this week. I'll get back to you...

In the meantime, check out this cute puppy...

 

 

Getting to Know You...

 

"Stay, Belle. I'll be home soon." 

She looked up at me from her cushion next to the front door, surrounded by Max's entire collection of stuffed toys, plus the ones Daniel and I brought home from our shopping trip yesterday (a fish, an abstract Santa, a lobster... we learned the hard way not to bring home toys for Max to chew on that looked like real animals he might find on the property. You can figure out why.) 

Max didn't seem to mind that she had confiscated the toys. I'm no longer worried that he thinks she's Alpha - he's put her in her place a few times now, bared teeth and all. He recognizes that she's just a baby, and so he tolerates more than he would with another dog, but he has his limits! As a parent, I understand that all too well!

Belle stayed put as I went up the path to the car. She stayed! What a dog! Is she the smartest puppy in the world, or what? I grew up with Beagles that would be off in a flash if you didn't latch the gate in time or, on a walk, have a firm grip on their leash. It still amazes me that we've had dogs - not just a dog, but dogs - that stick close to the house, that follow us on leashless walks rather than dashing off and never returning.

Of course, I realize that Frankie's presence might have had something to do with her obedience this morning. He was several feet away in the small front yard, "innocently" pecking at bugs and grass. But he charged at her several times on our morning walk; he left no marks, didn't break the skin (I checked), but she was keeping her distance, all the same. Can you blame her?

Max had already disappeared into the doghouse and it was tough leaving her there by herself on the porch, even if it was for just a short time. What if Frankie attacked her again?

I'll be glad when that bird "calms his feathered ass down", as my sister put it. I have a couple of theories of why he's being such a bully, based on my one semester of Psychology: 

• Pure sibling rivalry. After all, until now he was the "baby"...the one who got all kinds of attention. Or...
• He realizes he better put the 'fear' into the dog now, earn some respect, while she's still smaller than him. Which is actually pretty smart. Unless it backfires, and she remembers all of this when the tables have turned and she's towering over him with powerful jaws.

 

We took our regular walk to the bend in the road this morning. Max was so cute, so excited to have someone to play with - at least for the first half of the walk. He pounced and spun and play-bit, and Belle just ate it up, running and jumping all around him. But Max isn't really a puppy anymore. He is actually, in dog years, middle aged, with arthritis, and aches and pains, and by the return trip, he just wanted to plod along like boring grown-ups tend to do, tired of playing. "Leave me alone, kid, ya bother me..."

By then, Frankie had done his little terrorizing stints and Belle was sticking pretty close to my heels, keeping me between her and the bird.

And that's when it hit me...I'm playing referee to three little kids again. Two boys and a baby girl, no less. Go figure.

Frankie met me in the road when I pulled into our little parking lot. I could see Max lying on the porch and when I started down the walk, here came Miss Belle running toward me through the woods, ears flopping; her joy at my return was so powerful, I could feel it by just looking at her.

When Tom got home, we took 'the kids' for another walk, and I'm pleased to report there were no bird attacks this time. It might be that Frankie was too distracted by all of the bugs, but whatever the reason, everyone seemed to have a good time and get along. Just one big happy critter family. Max taught Belle how to eat grass and deer pellets, they waded into the pond and got their bellies wet, and played chase through the tall grass and yucca plants.

I love it when the kids get along.

 

 

A Transformation

I felt Tom slip out of bed early this morning. Heard him go out the front door, out onto the porch right outside my window. Smiled, hearing his voice venture close to baby talk when greeting Belle (he'll deny it.) He crossed the length of the porch followed by Max, their images passing by the windows reflected on the dark television screen in front of me. From his words I knew Belle was following, too. She's just too small to be seen through the window.

"No, Belle, don't bite, don't bite!"

A few minutes later he came in. "Someone took our puppy and left another one! She's a bundle of energy! Max doesn't know what happened!"

I went out a few minutes later to see for myself. He's right...no more meek, mild, docile puppy for us - she's a wiggling, tail-wagging, baby-teeth chewing ball of fur, obviously feeling right at home in these new digs. 

Max is confused - grinning at her, but obviously dismayed, trying to figure it all out. 

Both of his toys are on her pad. I'm wondering if he thinks she's the new Alpha? The next few days should be interesting...

Wish us luck!

Meet the Belle of Long Hollow

Belle is asleep on an old lounge chair cushion just outside the front door and within sight of her big brother, Max, sprawled on his bed. 

Belle. She climbed right into that name and it seems a perfect fit ...the belle of the ball, the puppy princess. Her foster family called her "Thibodeaux" - too long for a name tag, but we did consider just calling her "Tibby". 

The Girl suggested naming her something more German-sounding, since Rottweilers are technically from Germany...something like "Wolfgang"...

I just couldn't see calling that petite little face "Wolfgang". 

On the drive to pick her up this morning, Tom and I tossed some others around. I liked "Rosie" but it's too close to "Josie", our grandpuppy. Then I thought "Stella" would be a good fit (Tom liked the idea of going out and yelling "Stella!") but it was when we passed the Bell County sign that it hit me..."Belle". Perfect.

She is worn out - it's already been a full day for the poor puppy. Hours and hours of riding in cars...meeting new people, a giant dog, a feisty guinea fowl.

The road trip was uneventful - she and I both dozed off in the backseat. It was only in those last few twists and turns that she got a little fretful and crawled up in my lap. And then as soon as we took her out of the car, she went straight under the van, peeking out just enough to sniff Daniel's hand and Max's face.

At long last she felt comfortable enough to crawl out and we took her down to the porch where there was much supervised "sniffing and circling"...and only one or two minor confrontations - Frankie making it clear he had a zero tolerance policy when it came to his 'personal space'. But no one was hurt...and more importantly, no one was eaten.

Next we gave her a tour of the property. First stop, the pond where Max demonstrated proper wading. Then we crossed the dam and circled around to the little pond, waterfall and creek. She was fascinated with the creek, so Daniel showed her an easy spot to maneuver down to it via the retaining wall. She promptly crawled under the bridge and laid down in the water, just like big brother Max was doing a bit upstream.

Finally we made it back up to the house - where I think she already feels right at home.

Some images of Belle's first day as a Shallue...

My first sight of little Belle...

 

"Who's got me?" She's already an armful for Tom (see her new pink collar?)...

 

Playing around at a rest stop on the way home...

 

Belle meets Daniel...

 

Frankie reviews the rules...and consequences...with the newbie...

Love at first sight...

 

The whole crew heading out for a walk...

 

Belle really likes Daniel...

 

Puppy Question Resolved...We Hope

Tomorrow morning Tom and I will head north for a pass-off from a stranger on the side of the road. We'll be meeting the newest member of our family for the first time, a Rottweiler mix puppy...and bringing her home. We hope she likes us.

I've been a little nervous, worried about how Max will react to a new little sister...how Frankie will react to a new little sister...how the new little sister will react to Max and Frankie. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that no one gets hurt. Or eaten.

Max seems lonely at times. But at other times he seems to enjoy taking full advantage of being an "only puppy". And he does still seem like a puppy - despite being 6 years old. He's still Charly's baby, except Frankie has stepped in to play Charly's part, I think. Protective of "the Baby".

Oh, well. We're committed now. We'll just have to play this through and see how it turns out. Say a prayer!

This isn't a picture of the puppy, but I think it's similar to the one we saw. Of course, if all goes as planned, expect some real baby pictures tomorrow...

 

 

Baby Ducks, Baby Flowers, and the Mystery of Life

 

 

I knew baby ducks followed their mamas all in a line, but...baby flowers?

I took the dog and bird for a walk after work again today; it was just too perfect to go inside. I noticed this flower and its babies, all in a row, and had to run back for my camera to capture the family picture. 

Did I mention it was a perfect day? Clear blue sky, just a hint of cool in the breeze. Hard to believe last night it was storming, big time - thunder, lightning, wind, buckets of rain, everything.  The premium package. Spring truly has a split personality. 

It surprised me that I didn't see much evidence of last night's drama...just a few ruts where the streams of water rushed down to the pond. Scars that will heal with the wind, time, and a little more rain.

It made me think of the book I've been reading on these Lenten mornings..From Gravel to Glory by a former high school classmate, Gina Burt Calvert. Gina talks about how God uses personal storms to shape us... rebuild us. Personal storms are just, in effect, growing pains.

I've heard this before, and believe it. It's like that old saying, something like "It's always darkest just before dawn." Just as the rain is essential for the wildflowers and the brilliant green of the grass, I believe those rainstorms of the soul are necessary for growth within us. 

"...and we know that all things work together for good..."

There have been no big surprises for me in the book, but Gina writes in a way that helps me see things from a new perspective.  She humbly and honestly shares her own struggles and insights into how God has worked in her life. 

I especially liked this passage, a good stopping point today, a piece to carry with me through the day...
"It seems ministry is nothing more than reminding others, through our stories, to hold on; it is, as Henri Nouwen said, 'The profession of fools and clowns telling everyone who has ears to hear and eyes to see that life is not a problem to be solved, but a mystery to be entered into.'"

Life's a mystery, that's for sure. And I love a good mystery. I wonder what tomorrow will bring?

A Battle

There's a war going on, all around us. A war that is fought every year, that sometimes gets violent, with flashes of light, rumbles of thunder, hailstones, flash floods.

But some battles are quiet. 

You have to pay attention...

you have to open your eyes to notice the green growing stronger day by day

with reinforcements popping up left and right

winning the battlefield

pushing the gray and the brown back,  back until 

finally, Spring declares victory.

It's here! Come see...!

Like Sasquatch, Max emerged from the shadows of the woods when I drove up to the house.  I wasn't fooled - he was waiting for Tom, not me. But Tom was late. Max figured I was better than nothing.

Yesterday's blog post was fresh on my mind...all the to-do lists...all the squeezed, stretched, crowded minutes...but the afternoon sun was warm, not hot...the breeze was a gentle hug...and Max looked so hopeful.

So we headed off for a short walk around the property, Frankie trotting along beside us. I needed to scope out big rocks for my landscaping idea, anyway...

We took it slow...plenty of time for sniffing (Max), gobbling bugs (Frankie), and just breathing (me)... down the driveway to the pond where we watched some swallow-type birds criss-crossing above the water, feasting on evening insects... across the earthen dam framed in budding grapevine, down to the little pond where we've discovered a few minnows, across the bridge, and back up the rise to Cemetery # 2, where Charly and Chewy are buried.

I've spent a few Saturdays raking the weeds there, piling up the brush for Tom to burn. My first thought was to just clear this area so I could get to the graves, as morbid as that sounds...then, copying my neighbor, I had the idea of planting wild flowers in the clearing. It's too late for that, but I love the green of the uncovered new grass, the roll of the land, and the existing wildflowers popping up, yellows and purples. By late summer the colors will fade, washed out by the heat and the sunshine; but now they are as bright and vivid as a dream. 

Tom finally made it home; I grabbed my camera and we headed back out for another walk, but I only went part of the way. I mostly just wanted to capture the emerging (wild) wildflowers, stretching up from the ground toward the sun; they remind me of the Munchkins in the Wizard of Oz movie, peeking out, checking to see if the coast is clear. (I bet they had spring flowers in mind when they directed that scene.)

There are some little daisy-like blossoms, some pure yellows and a surprise - my favorite purple prairie verbena have popped up out of nowhere.

Back up at the house, I wasn't quite ready to leave the sunshine. I poured a glass of wine and sat on the porch swing, listening to the birds, the waterfall...noticing the buds, the clouds...

"Let's play ping-pong!" Tom said, returning with Max. That's what I forgot to add to my 'untouchables' list yesterday! Ping-pong! 

We played long enough for Frankie to remember he shouldn't try to coach from the rock right beside the table (the balls go everywhere!) and for Max to get bored and move from the yard beside us back to his bed farther down the porch.

Take a walk with me...

Daisy-ish flowers...I need to look up the name of these!

 

Cemetery #2...Tom in the distance, designing something, I can tell...believe me, I've seen that stance often enough!

 

A damn dam update...still falling apart...lovely, isn't it? eerrgghh...

 

Yellow, reaching for the sun...

 

My favorites, tenacious purple prairie verbena...

 

Chewy and Charly, never forgotten...

 

Frankie keeping me company...

 

too much, too much, just too dang much...

I'm whooped. Overwhelmed. Plumb tuckered out, chopped up, and stir-fried.

Kids, dog, future dog, bird, house, land, job(s), writing, projects, money, me, husband, parents, siblings and kids, cousins, friends, etc....plus the maintenance and upkeep of every single one (this includes phone calls, emails, prayers, and just plain remembering...)

It's all spinning, spinning, spinning in my head. I watch the clock all day, watch the minutes fly out of my reach. I run out of time before I even get started. 

I have tried to simplify. To streamline. And yet there are still too many lists, too many knots to untangle, too much to file away in this little overcrowded brain. 

I'm stretched, pulled. I've lost my shape. Who am I? What am I?

Time to re-focus. Again. Time to take inventory, to weed out, to divide and conquer. 

Untouchables include: 

• Morning walks (I need fresh air, I need to breathe. I need a chunk of time with God, time for prayer, time with the critters.) 
• Work-outs (I need to take care of myself...others depend on me. I need stamina and strength. Oxygen.)
• My job (I need to pay bills, to try to get "coming in" ahead of "going out".)
• Writing (My pressure relief valve, an outlet, a goal.)
• Contact with Friends and Family, preferably in-person but virtual works in a pinch. (Does this need explaining?)
• Sleep (Sleep is glue; without enough, everything else crumbles around me.)

On the back-up list...my drums, photography, a degree. All pieces of my dream. Pieces of me. Drums and photography give more than they take - the handful of minutes each requires per day provides a heart full of joy - while the degree...well, that's a demanding piece of the dream that I just can't afford, time- or money-wise, right now.  Reading and genealogy...things that used to come first when asked to list my hobbies...sit neatly folded on a shelf, gathering dust, waiting on a special occasion (time).

I gave away my collection of volunteer hats a while back, all except one, our church planning committee. A very non-demanding position, and one close to my heart. But now I've added another, and I'm not sure it fits.

I admit it...part of me misses all of those hats. That was "Me" for such a long time...sitting on boards and committees, helping kids, helping things get started. I thrived on the selflessness and that sense of accomplishment.  It's addictive.

I remember the year I was the elementary school librarian (my favorite job ever)...reading to the kids, teaching them to love books, mending the books, buying more books, being surrounded by words, stories, books...but barely paid minimum wage because I was just classified an 'aide' even though I was 'it' at the elementary. The Librarian. 

I discovered that whenever I felt disgruntled about my pay, when that gray mantle was settling down and obscuring the joy of my work, I just had to think of myself as a paid Volunteer and POOF! the mantle was ripped aside and all I felt was joy once again.

I guess that's why I agreed to try on this new hat. Committed names were needed to get a nonprofit started, and I do believe it's a good, worthy cause. And the person who asked me is a dear friend. It's her passion and I wanted to help. But I realize it's not my passion. 

I had forgotten Thomas Merton's words... 

"To allow oneself to be carried away by a multitude of concerns, to surrender to too many demands, to commit oneself to too many projects, to want to help everyone in everything...destroys the fruitfulness of our own work, because it kills the root of inner wisdom which makes work fruitful."

Tonight I've been going back and forth on what to do with the new hat. Now I know... maybe one day it'll fit, but for now, I need to give it back.

Frankie the Bad-A**

It's always a shock, isn't it, when you find out your sweet, perfect child...or pet...isn't quite as sweet or perfect as you believed?

Alas, we've discovered an aggressive streak in our funny, goofy-looking, sociable guinea fowl Frankie. At first, I just brushed it off when he dashed in and pecked at the back of our legs - maybe it was some weird sign of affection? Or a way he plays? 

Maybe it was just a territorial thing. He's a Guard Guinea, after all, but I mean, come on...look how little he is! He couldn't really hurt anyone.

But then, a few weeks ago, Daniel was crouched down, playing with Max when, from no where, Frankie flew in and pecked his cheek. He actually broke the skin!

So...did he think Daniel was hurting Max? Was he jealous? Is it sibling rivalry?

It happened again this week, with my friend Shari. She was getting ready to leave, saying good-bye to Max, and Frankie pecked at her. Then he followed her up to the car...not so unusual, but he kept threatening to peck her the whole way, and even dashed in for one last peck when she was in the car! (Don't you just hate it when your kids/pets embarrass you with such bad behavior?)

Now I hate to say it, because I still like the little guy, but he reminds me of the Cowardly Lion from the Wizard of Oz: he won't go after big Men or Max...someone or something that might actually fight back and hurt him (although the Girl probably would by now if I let her - she's been pecked one too many times!)

Goofy damn bird. I wish I knew why he was doing it! What is going on in that little bird-brain? Anyone out there know something about Guinea psychology?

By the way, we didn't get the puppy today. Its foster mother was snowed in by the storm that foiled our camping plans. We have to wait until next weekend. I'm curious to see how she reacts to Frankie and vice-versa...they'll be about the same size. Should be interesting!

Watch these photos...Shari is hugging on Max; he's giving her some 'sweet' kisses...

 

Frankie zips over there, a blur of feathers... 

 

...he stops and pretends he's just eating a bug or something...

 

...he glances back over at Shari and Max...

...and he makes a bee-line for Shari's leg! What a little feathered turd!    

 

Wicked Winter

Sometime in the dark morning, I woke to the rumble of thunder and the drumming of rain on our metal roof. I drifted back to sleep in the middle of a prayer, but rose at 5 am to make a pot of coffee and check the weather forecast on the kitchen television, fingers crossed.

Damn. Huge yellow and red bands rolled across Texas on the small screen...temperatures in the thirties today and tonight...wind gusts near 40 mph...

I crawled back in bed and reset my alarm.

Normally I love snuggling in bed on Saturday mornings, listening to the rain falling outside. But we were planning a camping trip this weekend...a backpacking primitive camping trip to Enchanted Rock. A last hurrah for the kids' Spring Break.

Earlier this week, when we planned the trip, the weather forecasters told us there was a slight chance of scattered showers, mostly north and east of Austin with highs today in the 50s with a drop into the 30s during the night. We could handle that. 

But then, each day the chance of rain grew. We stayed optimistic, stubbornly clinging to the image of sunshine-filled days and star-filled nights in the Hill Country.

Well, Winter (that big bully) has succeeded in popping our rosy bubble. We've decided to cancel, well, postpone, the camping trip until later this spring, when we're sure Winter isn't still lurking around the corner, ready to pounce out and ruin our plans again. Tom and Daniel have had their share of freezing on camping trips in their Boy Scout days and my decades-old memories of shivering the nights away at the chemical plant are still too fresh.

Tom has a fire going in the wood-burning stove, I've done some laundry, and we've already traveled with Rick Steves to Barcelona. I'll run into town later, maybe take the kids to see Alice In Wonderland. And then there are always my to-do lists and a puppy to look forward to. It will still be a great weekend. 

But dang you, Winter. Enough's enough! Go away!  

Winter either bites with its teeth or lashes with its tail.  ~Proverb

Homecomings ...and goings

A familiar rumbling, snorting, clanking...a glimpse of John Deere yellow through the trees...and yep, there it is, our old friend coming around the bend and up to the house. How long has it been away from home? 3 years? 5? 

It was a bittersweet homecoming for our beloved backhoe yesterday, though. We have plenty of work lined up for it, no doubt about that - ruts and potholes in the road that need smoothing...a gardening/landscaping project that requires lifting and transporting huge rocks...

But it's been on loan to our friend Tom D. for all of his projects, trying to pay him back for all the time and work he sacrificed helping us build our home, and even though he isn't quite finished with it, the city told him the backhoe couldn't live there anymore.

When my Tom first mentioned buying a backhoe 15 years ago, I thought it was an extravagant indulgence...just a Big Boy Toy, like a big Tonka truck. Even used, they aren't cheap.

But he convinced me it would pay for itself in the money we saved building the house. He was right and I gladly admit it. That yellow bad boy scooped into the hill as easily as a kid's shovel in a sandbox, making room for our house; it dug trenches for the septic tank drain field, cleared silt from the drought-dry pond, repositioned huge boulders...and when our sweet German Shepherd, Maggie, died, it carried her gently from our rent house in town out to the property to be buried beside her brother, Jake.

Yes, Tom was right. It has paid for itself, many times over.

 

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It's been a dizzy week of comings and goings, feeling more like a weekend than a work week. My friend Shari swung by Wednesday on her Spring Break Road Trip, just in time to celebrate St. Patrick's Day with us at the Monahans. I enjoyed introducing her to some of our friends...showing her a slice of my Lago life...and just seeing her and having time to talk.

The next day Daniel's friend Austin (and a few others that I don't know) came out to the house. They built a bonfire and I admit I envied them - it was a perfect night to sit around a fire... crisp and clear, the moon a sleeping silver crescent. Instead, I was shopping with the Girl, but that's always fun even though my feet and back and shoulders get sore from all the walking and standing - we always get each other laughing - so I'm not really complaining.  

And then today I got to have lunch with my sister and her husband! They came to Austin for a conference, but they left home early so they'd have time to meet the Girl and me for lunch before the program started ...seeing them was such a wonderful treat!

 

*******************************************

Sunday there will be another sort of homecoming: we're getting a puppy! Yes, we really are! I keep thinking, Are we nuts? Will we be able to afford another dog? But then Max will turn mopey and moody and I realize we just have to do this for him. I just hope he likes her!

Uh-huh...it's a little "her", which is good - I was getting outnumbered by males around here. 

The Girl told us about her - a college friend had posted the puppy's picture on Facebook. His mother already had too many pets and couldn't afford another one; they were desperately trying to find it a home.

She's a Rottweiler and something mix. That's their best guess, anyway. I researched the breed and thought, No, not the right dog for us. But then I would read something else and think, Yes, the perfect dog for us!

After flipflopping like that a few times, I finally just called and talked to the mom and got the pup's story...she was a starving stray, dumped, just like Max, and she wandered up to their house out in the country, just like ours, near Tyler, Texas. It was about there that I knew I'd say yes.

I found out she gets along well with their other dog and the cats...she's submissive to the Alpha (one of the question marks raised by my research)...she's very sweet...and, probably most important of all, she stays put around the house. She's had her first shots and got a clean bill of health from their local vet.

So now what worries me is...will she try to follow her foster mom back home? I cringe thinking of this poor puppy wandering off alone, but we have no where to lock her up, no way to keep her here if she doesn't want to stay.

So please, say a prayer that...

1) Max, Frankie and the puppy all get along...no one eats anyone else. I'm serious.
2) We all bond so quickly that she stays put and never wants to stray far from the house without Max or us.
3) She doesn't develop any major health problems that require surgery or the most expensive brands of special food, or constant supervision or....you get the idea. In other words, please pray we can afford to take care of her without going further into debt, because once she's ours, she's ours. Family. That's it.

Stay tuned for pictures. You know there will be pictures...

Shallue Go Bragh!

 

Bridget Shallue was just 52, barely older than I am now and already a widow, when she said goodbye to Ireland in 1852 with her grown children...chased away by the potato famine, I'm sure. If she ever returned, it isn't mentioned in the family lore.

Accompanied by two daughters and two sons, Bridget arrived in Quebec, traveled to New York, and finally settled in Wisconsin in 1856. One daughter died on the passage from Ireland and was buried at sea. Two older sons chose Australia over America to begin their new life. I doubt if she ever saw them again; her goodbye to those sons was probably as final and heartbreaking as her goodbye to her home, her homeland and her husband Thomas's grave... he had died just a few years before, at age 45. And then the added heartbreak of watching a daughter's lifeless body disappear into the ocean...heartbreak I just can't imagine.

My own Tom Shallue and I found all of this out shortly after we were married, by talking to relatives and researching in libraries. We traced his family back to Ennistyman, County Clare...to that first Tom's grave, but that was as far as we could go. There was no Internet twenty-five years ago, no Ancestry.com, and we couldn't afford a trip over to do our own research or to hire a professional to do it for us.

It hit me that I knew more about the Shallue history than my Wilson's, so I have focused my genealogical fervor on that line and other branches of my family since then...for example, my great-great grandfather George, memoir writer and protagonist of my book-in-progress.

But today is St. Patrick's Day and my thoughts are green...drawn toward the Shallue family and Ireland. Tom and I dream of traveling there one day, visiting the places that are only names on a map to us right now. The photo above isn't the final resting place of a direct descendant...it was taken by an aunt or cousin on a visit to Ireland several years ago...but it's no doubt a relative because every Shallue is related. There just aren't that many! Even these very names...James, Margaret and Denis Shallue...are echoed on tombstones across the ocean in America.

The Australian Shallues have always been a mystery to the American branch. Rumor had it those brothers got on the wrong boat...they went to Australia totally by accident! The funny thing is, the American and Australian Shallues have connected on Facebook, of all places, but I have yet to ask any of them if there is any truth to the rumor.

I think that's going to be my mission on this St. Patrick's Day...track down the truth behind the story...find out how and why those brothers ended up in Australia.

My other St. Patrick's Day mission will be more traditional - celebrating with friends! The very Irish Monahans are throwing their annual St. Paddy's Day party this evening. There will be Guiness and Irish music and way too much corned beef, cabbage, potatoes, Irish soda bread, and no telling what else to eat...

Here's wishing all of you a happy St. Patrick's Day, too!

May you always walk in sunshine.
May you never want for more.
May Irish angels rest their wings right beside your door.

Look What I Found!

I enjoy cleaning days because it makes me stop and look at things I normally walk past, glaze-eyed; I rediscover things I've forgotten, things that are sentimental, things that I just enjoy looking at, thinking about... 

(The dangerous part about cleaning days, though, is that I have a split personality - one half collects things, likes looking at them, thinking about them...the other half wants to get rid of it all. In the past, when the "get rid of it all" personality took charge, I lost my diaries (ages 8 to 19), my collection of Liddle Kiddles, and my collectible dolls like Pebbles and Bam-Bam that would probably be worth something now. But, by golly, I still have almost all of my stuffed animals!)

Never mind all that...the point of this rambling is that, while sorting through a box of sheets this weekend, I came across this hand towel, a garage sale find. I had forgotten all about it and decided I needed to either find a place for it or get rid of it (I'm forcing the two sides to work together now...)

So I draped it on the window sill in the front bathroom...technically the "guest" bathroom.

Then, while dusting some bookshelves, I came across the Deputy Marshall badge. I have no idea where it came from, but I like it and decided it needed a more prominent place. I don't think any normal human being would put the two together, but for some reason the combination appeals to me...

Tom had fun cleaning, too. He discovered the cord that connected Tommy's guitar to the amplifier (it had disappeared, but somehow miraculously reappeared, the way things do when you have a houseful of kids...) Mostly he had fun making a really, annoying, high-pitched noise that triggered an annoyed, pinched, pleading, warning look on my face. 

He is such a little boy sometimes. 

A Not-So Empty Nest

It's Spring Break. There's no such thing as routine anymore.

My drums will gather dust. Lately I've been stealing a few minutes from each morning to bang around on them before leaving for work - just one song a day from my "new to me" Mp3 player, still loaded with my daughter's playlist. Right now I'm rocking with Blink 182 ... fun and fast! But I'm considerate enough to know that, while my "drumming" (and I use that word lightly) might be a great way for me to start my morning, it might simultaneously ruin the whole day for others in the house that have to listen to it.

Daughter is working with me; earlier this semester there was talk of a trip to Costa Rica, but financial reality seeped in at some point between then and now, so this week the car radio is tuned to her station and all the way to work yesterday I was peppered with religious questions, for example, do Catholics celebrate Passover, why or why not?

By the time we got to work I was exhausted! For one thing, I'm not used to that much talking - in the course of a day I usually just see the same three people and conversation is minimal. We're all focused on our own work. My brain and my voice aren't used to this kind of work-out!

But I enjoy having her around to spice things up and make my brain think in new directions, even if it tires me out.

When we got home, Tom was cooking hamburgers and Daniel was sitting on the couch reading one of his history books. I enjoy the house when it's just me and Tom, but there's a nice, filled-out feeling when the kids are home...and I still enjoy it even when the bantering, chasing, throwing of random objects and smacking each other with dishtowels begins.

After dinner I headed downstairs with a Purpose. I'm still on my cleaning/organizing kick and wanted to clear a spot in the storage room for the camping gear, which is now piled on the floor behind the exercise equipment for want of anywhere else to put it. I've been wanting to sort through the arts and crafts boxes for a long time and had decided that's where I would find the space.

Yes, I said 'boxes'. Two large plastic containers, two small plastic containers and four large cardboard boxes of material, filler, old toys, ribbon, beads, Christmas cards, yard, rolls of crepe paper...thirty years worth of leftover projects and garage sale finds and who knows where some of it came from. My kids loved to create things and I encouraged them - cheap fun!

But I knew the time had come to consolidate, toss and give away. I hoped, in the process, to clear a shelf.

Daughter and Daniel kept me company and kept me laughing. The boxes were filled with memories disguised as junk - as well as just plain old random junk - bits of scrap material (the capes of Little Red Riding Hood and Gandalf), plastic cowboys and Indians, old socks (for puppets), miniature collections, feathers, holograph stickers, leftover Star Wars and 3-D Monster and Alien Valentines...it would have been useless for me to sort through it by myself, I realized. I would have kept it all, worried I was throwing away something they could still use or wanted just for sentimental reasons.

With their help, I weeded out two bags of trash and three boxes of still-usables to take to Goodwill. What I kept, an assortment of "sentimental" and "potentially useful", filled two and a half containers that fit neatly on the floor below the desired empty shelf - a shelf with just the right amount of space for the camping gear. 

My writing will be neglected this week as well. Time enough for it when they are back at school - I want to spend time with them while I can. Soon enough they'll be out of school for good, living on their own, just like the oldest one. There will be no more chaotic spring or summer breaks...just a few weekends or short vacations every now and then.

I'll even be skipping my workout this morning. Daughter came home with a cough; over her protests, I'm taking her to the doctor this morning before we head to work. It's just like the old days when plans and routines were shoved aside and forgotten like so many to-do lists. But that's okay. My babies are home...for awhile, anyway.

I'm not the only one that's happy the kids are home...Max is happy, happy, happy! (Tom, Frankie and I must be really boring...)

 

(Still) Taming the Beast

Sigh. I feel better. The monster isn't tamed by any means, but he's a lot smaller and not nearly as menacing. Somehow I managed to stay focused on the biggest fun-suckers, like cleaning my house - the part of the monster that was casting the biggest shadow on everything else. Even when Rick Steves came on, I folded clothes, clipped coupons...I just kept snipping at the beast while keeping one eye and an ear on Rick (we traveled to Iran...pretty interesting!)

The house isn't completely cleaned - and I don't even have all of the coupons clipped! But at least I got started. I'll keep working on it this week and (I know I've said this before) I won't let it get that out-of-hand again.

Today, however, there will be a much-needed trip to the grocery store, some desk work and a trek downtown to retrieve one of my children. It's Spring Break! Tom will bring the other one home tomorrow. The washing machine will be doing double-time!

I did manage to squeeze some fun into the weekend yesterday. I mixed some dancing in with my dusting (even cleaning house is fun when you're listening to music!)... we watched an old movie last night ("10 Things I Hate About You" - kind of a silly high school version of "The Taming of the Shrew" with a few really funny parts and a young Heath Ledger)...and we took the boys for a long morning walk through the woods with a stop at the "neighborhood pool"...evidence of spring was all around us...

 

    

 

How was your Saturday?

Decisions, Decisions...

Frankie the Guinea Fowl usually escorts me to my car every morning, then runs alongside until we reach the property line. I have no idea why; it's just what he does. For some reason, he feels this is his duty and therefore, I'm honored.

This morning, however...no Frankie! I finally traced his chirps into the woods, where he was settled into a hole in the dirt, like a hen sits on a nest. He looked mighty comfortable, but I could tell he was torn, trying to decide whether he should escort (chase) me down the road or stay put. He would lift up an inch or two, then settle back down.

"That's okay, Frankie. You don't have to chase me today."

Ah, conflict. Despite my assurances, I could see him struggling under the weight of the choices. I watched him as I started the car and backed up, curious to see which would win, duty or pleasure. 

It was pleasure; he stayed put, comfy in his earthen nest.

Like Frankie, I found myself struggling to make a similar decision these past two days...duty or pleasure? Should I stay home, finally clean this filthy house, get some work done outside (it's going to be a beautiful weekend!) and catch up on writing and to-do list items?

Or...should I head to the coast, to Galveston, to a birthday party of a friend who's guests will also include George Strait's Ace in the Hole Band and friends from high school I haven't seen in a long, long time?

I hate having to make decisions like this...I know no matter what I decide, I'm going to have regrets.

On the one hand, Galveston has always been a special place to me ...a calming place that would pull me into its arms and soothe me when life threatened to overwhelm me. History, the beach, the sea and sun...ah, my idea of heaven. Then there are the friends I haven't seen in close to a year...I was really looking forward to spending some time with them, walking along the Strand or the seawall before heading for the party. And of course, with the Ace in the Hole band playing, there would be dancing...

On the other hand, and you might not realize this unless you're a first-class Procrastinator like me, but I've discovered something: if you ignore a to-do list long enough, it swells into a huge, hulking monster that looms over you, sucking the fun out of everything. And right now my house is splattered with so many lists morphing into monsters, so many scraps of paper with random thoughts scribbled on them that even I don't comprehend - like my brain exploded or something - that my house now resembles the setting of a Stephen King novel.

So, reluctantly, I'm choosing duty over pleasure this time. I need to be a grownup, damn it. I hate that! I can't believe I'm choosing staying home to tackle chores over a party in Galveston!

But I realize if I don't stop and breathe and tackle this mess it will consume me. Nothing will hold pleasure for me until the biggest monster has been tamed. I'm realistic enough to know this guy isn't going to disappear in one weekend, but maybe I'll be able to at least clean him up like Harry on Harry and the Hendersons. I love that movie! Maybe this will be a fun weekend, after all!

 

 

A Typical Evening in the Empty Nest

By the time I get home from work, after a quick stop by the grocery store for bananas (for tomorrow) and the makings of a salad (for tonight), my husband Tom has the steaks on the grill. The scent drifts around the corner of the house to greet me as I come down the walk to the front door; Hello there, my stomach growls back.

While he keeps an eye on the steaks, I prepare the salad. Eight years ago he was a heart attack waiting to happen. An arteriogram detected an artery that was 95% closed; he received a stent and now I do my best to get him to eat healthy. We usually have chicken, but he gets a little fussy if we have it too many days in a row. So tonight, it's steak. In moderation, of course!

I thought it would be more of an adjustment, this working outside of the home for hours and hours each day thing. At this point in our lives - the Empty Nest Years - I expected to be a full time writer, finishing up my degree on the side, not being gone all day and trying to squeeze my writing into the leftover scraps of minutes, but I know it could be so much worse, if I didn't have someone like Tom beside me.

We've gotten into a routine. He gets home first, so he starts dinner. After we eat, we clean up the kitchen together. I move the laundry around, maybe fold some clothes, pay some bills, then I write. And write. And write...until time to go to bed.

At first Tom complained about only seeing the back of my head every night (no laptop for me - I'm relegated to a corner of the livingroom.) And he worried that I wasn't getting enough rest. But once I explained to him how important it was to me to continue writing, especially since my job is one of those you take so you can pay the bills, not one that fulfills a dream, he understood. 

At fifty, you take inventory...what you've done, where you are, what you still want to do. Your dreams are looking a little faded, a little dusty...a little desperate. You're starting to think you're running out of time - they're sifting through your fingers. 

He must have seen that desperate look in my eyes. Now, he helps me move the laundry around, sweeps the kitchen, unloads the dishwasher...whatever he sees that needs to be done so that I have more time for writing.

While I'm glued to the computer, he heads downstairs to watch television and work out. We have our own little mini-gym, thanks to Craig's List, and I can hear him right now, pedaling away on a stationary bike. What I don't hear is the television, which would have to be blasting right now for him to hear it over the bike, because he rigged up some earplugs to the audio on the television. He knows that the sound of the television distracts me from my writing. He's sweet and thoughtful like that.

We live in an unfinished house and I know he would much rather be working on one of the zillion projects staring at him, taunting him, than pedaling away on that bike. The unfinished projects grate on my nerves, too, but I'm glad he chooses the bike instead of a paintbrush or hammer. His grandfather died of a heart attack at 52 - Tom's age now. I can't imagine losing him now, when we finally have this time all to ourselves again. So the only nagging I do is about him exercising and eating right. The house and the projects? All in good time. I want to make sure we have good time and good times aplenty.

One of my New Heroes

I heard about this last week...a mom near Dallas, Texas came home from dropping her son off at daycare to find two men robbing her house! She used her SUV to block them until the police arrived.

I've been burglarized twice in my life - both times in the middle of the day - and both times the thieves took things that were more sentimental to me than monetarily valuable. The first time they took some coins my grandfather had left me and a smoky topaz ring that had belonged to my mother. She'd had it since she was thirteen and I felt guilty that I had let it slip away.

The second time they stole a 35mm camera and a video recorder - but the real loss was what they contained...photos and videos of our oldest son Tommy as a toddler. Irreplaceable.

More than anything, they took my sense of security and privacy. I felt violated knowing someone had been in my place, going through my things. Yes, I realize things are just things. But that doesn't mean it's not okay to be upset when someone invades your safe space and takes what belongs to you.

I wish I had been able to confront the lowlife scumbags who had no regard for my belongings like this mom did. She's a hero to me - there's no telling how many others these creeps would have stolen from if she hadn't stopped them cold. On behalf of them and all of us who have felt that cold chill of knowing someone else was in your house, uninvited, going through your things, taking your things...THANK YOU! 

To read the article, click here.

Second Chances

 

 

I'm a LOST addict. I'll just get that out of the way right now. My son got me hooked sometime late in the first season, despite my scorn and cynicism and efforts to ignore it. 

Now, I'm not an expert and I don't spend hours ripping all of the clues apart for hidden meanings or discussing theories with other LOST fanatics. Minutes, maybe...okay, maybe one single hour a week, but not "hours". Jeez. However, this is mostly because I have a terrible memory.

But I enjoy revisiting the Island every week. I'm invested in the characters; I love them because they are so intricate, so layered, so flawed. So human. Every single one of them.

One of my favorite characters is Ben, despite the fact that he has shown himself over and over to be a power-hungry, lying, cold-hearted murderer. Nevertheless, there have been glimpses of good in him over the past few seasons, like tiny flecks of gold in gray, cold rock. Michael Emerson is the actor behind Ben - he's phenomenal...somehow portraying Ben as a despicable yet sympathetic character.

Tonight's episode rewarded my faith in Ben and my belief that change is possible in everyone. Everyone can reform...everyone deserves a second chance. Ben finally confessed and expressed regret over many of his actions...and Ilana forgave him for the grief he caused her. Her forgiveness and acceptance of him, despite all of his previous sins and faults, opened the door for Ben's redemption and he stepped through, turning his back on the "dark" side. 

A great lesson for everyone on both sides of that door, I believe.

A Meet the Neighbors, Kentucky Fried Chicken and Peking Duck Weekend

I refuse to complain about how tired I am. I could already be in bed if I really wanted to be, but instead, I chose to upload and edit the pictures from this past weekend and then tell you all about it. It was a fabulous weekend...but an exhausting one, as well.

Husband Tom and I headed for my parents' house late Friday evening. We had a wedding to attend Saturday night, and we wanted to get some family visiting time in while we were there. I fell asleep before we were out of Austin. I was already running on empty, I guess.

We had nothing to do Saturday except hang around and soak up time with my parents. My sister Brenda came by for a visit to show off her "new" Lexus - a great e-Bay deal. I put first dibs on it, if they ever decide to part with it.

Daddy and I took a walk around the block. Some of the old houses are just crumbling, neglected, fading away, but others have been cared for and fixed up...looking as bright and welcoming as they did when I rode my banana-seat bicycle up and down those streets forty years ago.

We had almost made it back to the house when Daddy's neighbor Jack caught up to us. He had been out walking his furry little dog. We talked for awhile - I learned all about his vintage car that's out for repair, his divorce and new marriage. He slipped me a business card and told me to call anytime I was worried about Mama and Daddy. He's a handyman and recently spruced up the tool shed Tom and Daddy built in the backyard twenty-three years ago, when Tommy was a baby. He promised he wouldn't rip off my parents and if it was something small, he'd do it for free.

While we were talking to Jack, Hugo rolled across the street in his wheelchair. I had never officially met Hugo until then, but I already knew who he was; Mama and Daddy spoke of him quite a bit. He's a paraplegic and I'm sure he reminds them of my brother, Buster. My parents are probably more attuned to men in wheelchairs than most people. Hugo is often sitting in his yard when we pass by; Jack told me if you want to know anything about what's happening in the neighborhood, ask Hugo. He doesn't miss a thing.

In fact, Hugo let us know about a neighbor's wife's recent death. The son and I were good friends...when our ages were in the single digits. I wonder where he is now. I wish I could tell him I'm sorry about his mom's death.

Daddy and I finally made our way back to the house and I dressed for the wedding. A co-worker of mine from the DuPont Days, Ky Tien, has seven sons. Saturday night the youngest son, Patrick, got married. Well, technically, he and Melissa got married the night before...and then Saturday morning went through a tea ceremony at Ky's house...and now they were having the final traditional reception for the Asian community.

Tom and I had been to two other son's weddings - the first, William's, was twenty years ago, and the second, Phillip's, was just three years ago near Austin. Saturday night we sat at the same table as these sons and their families, so we had plenty to talk about. Ky is a very considerate host.

He's smart, too...he expected us to bring at least one of our University of Texas students. His oldest granddaughter (sitting at our table) is 18 now, a senior in high school, wanting to attend the University of Texas in the fall. Coincidence? I think not.

But our kids couldn't afford the time away - they needed to study, and we weren't going to argue with that. But I hate that they missed this experience...a multi-course Asian meal (Ky is Chinese and his wife is Vietnamese...I'm not sure which culture the food fell under, but it was delicious!)...the bride and groom decked out in their traditional gowns, making their way around to each table for a toast...the Asian karaoke, including "God" singing "Unchained Melody" for the first dance. 

I hope there's another opportunity some day for them to meet Ky, one of the most interesting men I worked with at the plant (and that's saying a lot!) I loved listening to his stories of life in China, life in Viet Nam, life in France. Always running from the Communists. I wondered, as I sat at the table with his sons and grandchildren...do they know him as I do? Do they know all of these stories, all of his adventures? Do they realize how smart he is and appreciate the sacrifices he made?

I guess that could be asked of all of us about our own parents, though, couldn't it?

Saturday night was Seaweed-Wrapped Shrimp Pasta, Fried Rice, Steamed Fish and Peking Duck...Sunday was Kentucky Fried Chicken, thanks to my sister Brenda and her husband Ralph. Along with my brother Donnie and his daughter Christin, we all sat around the table, eating and laughing before Tom and I finally headed back home early in the afternoon; I had a deadline to meet, one I was grateful for, but I still wish we didn't have to rush back home.

We had been so worn out from the past few weekends, we almost decided not to go to the wedding, but we're both glad we did, even though I ended up having to get up at 3 am this morning to finish my assignment. Some opportunities only come around once - you have to jump on them before they're lost forever.

Scenes from Saturday night...me and the Chinese lion outside of Kim Son Ballroom (we had some time to kill)...me and Ky Tien...Patrick and Melissa in the traditional robes...one of the millions of courses we ate that night...Ky dancing with his granddaughter...

A Place of Her Own

It's a darling place, my son's girlfriend Kirby's first apartment. The wooden floor and vintage telephone niche give its age away, but it has held up better than most 50+-year-olds I know. Yes, it's obvious it's had a little "work" done...some nips and tucks and new cabinets...but nothing outlandish, fake or too youthful.

Hubby Tom and I got the grand tour last Sunday. We were invited to an inaugural lunch with members of Kirby's family and of course, son Tommy.

As I looked around, I couldn't help thinking, This place is a lot classier than my first apartment! Kirby's hand-me-down couch is, well, it's actually a couch rather than a piece of lawn furniture like I had. She even has a table in the dining area already! I started with TV trays...

In the fall of 1978, I was overwhelmed by an irresistible desire for Independence and Solitude - my parents had recently divorced, my boyfriend was cheating on me, and my best friends had either gone away for college or gotten married. I was living at home, commuting to my engineering classes and I just wanted to get the hell away from everyone and everything!

I boxed up my knick-knacks and candles and loaded them into...hmmm, now I can't even remember what...I suppose my boyfriend's truck. Anyway, in went the boxes, along with all of my bedroom furniture...the twin bed I'd had since first grade, a vintage vanity dressing table and a typewriter table I had painted royal blue (what was I thinking?), a guncase my Daddy had converted into a bookcase for me and a wooden yard sale love-seat (the afore-mentioned lawn furniture.)

Other bits and pieces trickled in to fill the empty spaces. My boyfriend's mother donated a beige-gray cushioned bucket chair. With my first paychecks from my job as a welder's helper, I bought a small television via the Sears Easy Payment Plan (my sister worked in the Sears credit department) and not longer after that, a dinette set.

It was a cute little apartment, all 70's browns, avocado greens and golds; what sold me was the built-in bookshelf and the fake fireplace with brick mantle - I had never had a mantle to hang my Christmas stocking on before!

I had also never lived completely alone before. It was creepy at first...I had to learn to rein in my overactive imagination that at an earlier age had insisted upon all stuffed animals and portraits being in reverse position at bedtime. The eyes terrified me!

But I did it - I learned to tune out all of the weird noises and scary thoughts. (Except for the night I was finishing The Amityville Horror. Three chapters from the end, I called my sister and pleaded for permission to finish the book at her house and I ended up spending the night.)

Within a year I had moved again. I bought a condominium because I had acquired a roommate, Char, my Siamese kitten, but the apartment complex didn't allow cats! The condo was brand new - new carpet, new appliances, new everything...all creams and light browns that I picked out myself. I had a balcony and a sliding glass door and a walk-in closet. I even had my own washer and dryer!

Two years later I met Tom and my years of apartments and living alone ended, but I'm glad I had that time to myself...for myself. I have friends who never experienced it - they went straight from their parents' house to marriage, with perhaps a few college roommates in between. They've never experienced that solitary feeling, and they're longing for it now. I guess you could say they're searching for something they feel is missing. Perhaps they've just never had a chance to get to know themselves, one on one.

But I don't miss it. I enjoy having time by myself now - no, actually I still need time by myself - but only on a temporary basis. Over the years, whenever I'd feel irritated at picking up someone's cup from the livingroom or putting the toilet seat back down, all it took was one split-second imaginary trip back to my little apartment to smooth my ruffled feathers. I could feel the loneliness seeping from that one flashback, although I never felt it back then.  Back then, my constant solitude was euphoric. Now it would be suffocating.

I'm glad Kirby has her own place right now...a chance to be alone with herself, to get to know herself in a way that's just impossible when there are always others around. In twenty or thirty years from now, when she's taking stock of her life, looking at where she's been, what she's accomplished, and thinking of the dreams she still holds in her heart, this will be one less unknown to worry about. 

Until you make peace with who you are, you'll never be content with what you have. ~Doris Mortman

 

A place of my own 1978...built-in bookshelves and sister Brenda in my first apartment...

 

 

 

 

A place for my cat 1979...Char inspecting the condo on move-in day...

 

Busted!

When Mama's away, the boys will play!

Look what I discovered in the house Friday afternoon when I got home from work ...

 
And Tom says I'm the softy in the family...

Good Morning!

I was sitting on the back deck yesterday morning, waiting for Max to finish his breakfast, when a small cardinal flew up and landed on the railing right in front of me.

I'd love to believe he just wanted to greet me with a warm Good morning! which is what I told him, but I realize he was probably just so focused on cleaning up the seed that Frankie always leaves behind on the doorstep (such a messy eater!) that he wasn't really paying attention to his surroundings. I'm pretty sure I heard him chirp, Oh, Crap! when he saw us. In a flash of red he had flown again to a less dangerous spot much farther down the railing and then he headed on around the corner of the house in the direction of the crowded, but much safer bird feeder.

It's in the air - spring...and on its heels, summer. (Springtime in Texas is not an actual season...it's just a short opening act for Summer, the big show in these parts.) Something in the glint of the sunlight, a smell on the breeze, the sounds of the birds calling to each other in the trees...purty, purty, purty, oui? The yellow flowers peek up out of the winter grass, checking for frost, and the purple ones, battered and bruised but hanging on, look hopeful that winter has moved out of the neighborhood.  

Summer. We're ready for you!

My reliable purple flowers (Praire Verbena) ready for their comeback...

Frankie looking for snacks...

Walking buddies/trainers...Max and Frankie...

The woodpile dwindles...come on, summer!

"Foreign Grossness" (Ew. Yuck. Ew. Part 2)

It was traumatic enough finding out that just trying on clothes can be hazardous to my health because of all of the hidden bacteria, fecal matter and ugh, I don't want to think about what else "Good Morning America"'s special investigators discovered on new clothes in top notch stores.

But now The Today Show has just ruined "pretty undies" shopping for me, too. Not to be outdone by GMA, they sent their own undercover YI's (Yuck Investigators) into the lingerie departments of some popular stores recently and just listen to what they discovered...USED UNDERWEAR passed off as NEW! Hidden cameras captured images of sales clerks immediately re-tagging returned intimates and plopping them right back out on the display racks and tables. Unless they have an odor...then they hang them up for a day or so to 'air' out.

Yuck.

We're talking Victoria's Secret, people! Also Macy's, Nordstrom, The Gap...

Ew.

Those candy-colored lacy delicacies will never tempt me the same way, ever again.

As one girl interviewed on the report said "You don't want grossness near there, but especially not foreign grossness."

Want to hear the whole depressing story for yourself? Click here.

(photo thanks to Style It Less)

Saturday Nights are for Dancing

He's stretched out on the couch in front of the television. Austin City Limits is on and I can hear Kenny Chesney singing from where I sit at the desk, paying bills.

"Oh, this is a good one," I say. "Let's dance!"

I expect the "No" but I ask anyway. I love to dance, but when I mention going out for a twirl on a Saturday night, he says "We have a dance floor right at home! We don't have to go anywhere - we can dance anytime we want to."

Yes. The Floor.

He can tell you how many nails are in this floor - he shot them all himself, with a huge, heavy nail gun. It's in the thousands, that's all I know.

On the other hand, I can't tell you (because I've tried hard to forget) how many hours I spent sorting pieces of flooring by length for him, so the ends were staggered, row by row, and how many times I went over the whole thing on my hands and knees with a wet rag, dragging the bucket of water from section to section, and those nights I spent out here alone until way past midnight dancing with the huge electric sander up and down, up and down, trying not to think about what was out there in the pitch black night framed by the windows around me. That was before the Hollow felt like home. And it's about the only dancing this floor has seen.

Then suddenly..."I'll dance to this," he says.

My pen drops and I'm up in a second. We meet in the middle of the room...yes, our own private dancehall...and sway to Kenny's crooning, holding each other close.

And let me tell you...all the nails, all the hours...all worth it.

15 going on 50...51...52...it's all becoming a blur...

Who says you can only celebrate big on the milestone years?

For over a year my high school classmates and I danced and WA-HOO!ed our way through our 50th birthdays. Now all of the stragglers (those babies of the class of '77) have caught up while others are moving on to 51.

But the parties haven't stopped. Why should they? We're still grateful for another year of friendship...of life. We're trying to make up for years and years of ignoring each other and ourselves. In that spirit, we just use birthdays as an excuse to get together, so who cares what the number is?

I'm not just talking about the people I ran around with in high school. The years have melted the lines separating us...now we just see ourselves as one big family. We are all still very different in many ways, just as before, but the differences aren't barriers now - just conversation starters.

I guess you could also say we're like a huge puzzle and we're doing our best to gather up all the pieces that have been scattered over the years. Some have been lost for good - and that adds a touch of desperation and urgency to the celebrations.

This past weekend a bunch of us met to celebrate Donna...one of the "gems" I've rediscovered in my life.  We surprised her by pitching in on a gift card for this beautiful Polish pottery that she collects - and that she gave to us on her birthday last year! She is just a giver; it's difficult for her to receive and be the focus of attention, but we're teaching her. Here she's showing her daughter the letter explaining the gift...

She's come a long way; it was tough on her, but she accepted the gift, the cake and all of the attention we lavished on her with grace and her beautiful, impish sense of humor. For example, she insisted on a picture of herself surrounded by all of the guys...oh, see the tall guy in the back, ruffling Donna's hair? That's Robert, one of the "puzzle pieces" we haven't seen in over fifteen years - and he was living right down the freeway from several of us! It was so great to have him join us.

Donna graciously let the rest of us girls get in the next picture...

As usual, when we get together, the years disappear...10, 13, 17, 21, 50, 51...numbers don't matter. We feel the same on the inside as we did back then, and in our eyes, we look the same as well.

Yesterday I just happened to come across this video posted on Midlife Bloggers (a great site, by the way)...it's a parody of Taylor Swift's song "Fifteen" by songwriter Batya Diamond, adapted to speak for those of us who have traveled far beyond fifteen. Of course, it made me think of my life...of Donna's birthday celebration and being surrounded by the decades-long constancy of those friendships. Listen and tell me what it makes you think of...

Just Chillin' in the Hollow

Wa-rhoof...wa-rhoof...wa-rhoof...wa-rhoof....

I was still in my nightgown, getting ready for church, but Max's slow and steady barking, persistent, methodical and seemingly neverending, finally pulled me out of the house yesterday morning. What the heck is he barking about?

I'm glad I went to investigate, because this is what I saw...