Long Hollow

Wild Child

What happened to that sweet little puppy we brought home a few weeks ago?  We were so worried big old Max would hurt her ... little did we know she's a rocket, made of rubber and springs and things that wiggle and chew ... packed full of puppy energy and Joie de Vie. I'm thinking there's a touch of Jack Russell mixed in with the Rottweiler ... 

 

 
 

 

 

  

 
       

But Max can't help but smile at her, even though she tugs on his tail and nips at his belly and legs. I'm amazed at his gentleness and sense of humor about it all. She's still a sweet puppy, after all, under the layers of Wild Child ...

 
 

 
 

Author. Who, Me?

She treats me like a celebrity, this woman. No...scratch that. She makes me feel like a celebrity.

Every year, for the past nine or ten years, she has invited me into her classroom to talk to her juniors, her AP English Language students, about writing. If for some reason our schedules don't mesh, she has me double up the next year and talk to them as seniors.

She ignores the fact that I don't have a college degree. She ignores the fact that, apart from some newspaper articles, I've only had a handful of things published, as in, got paid for them. She ignores the fact that she herself has guided dozens of students to win writing contests and scholarships, acceptance to big name colleges, trips to Washington D.C. Her students consistently ace the AP exams.

She ignores all of that. When I walk into her classroom, you'd think I was the one who taught her everything she knows.

"Class, this is our guest author, my dear friend, Mrs. Shallue."

I look around the room, filled with kids I know from scouts, from subbing, from church. My kids' friends...my friends' kids...and in some years, even my own kids. I know to them I'm just Mrs. Shallue. Barbara. Mom.

"She's an Author," Mrs. D. repeats.

I fight the blush creeping into my face, try to look like an Author. What does an Author look like?

This year felt different. The school itself felt different. My kids are gone, moved on; my volunteer and subbing days are fading from memory. There were still a few familiar faces, but mostly just strangers.

But it's the same routine. After my introduction, I sit on a stool at the front of the class, give a little background on my first essay, A View from a Catwalk, put on my glasses and read it aloud. They follow along - Mrs. D. has printed out copies for each of them.

I emphasize that I wrote it with the help of others in a writing class; I spent hours on this one essay, and then became gripped with a fear of failure after it was published. What if I never wrote anything good again? What if everyone decided the first one was just a fluke? I had to learn to step off that ledge of success and at least try, even if it meant failure. I knew I'd regret it forever if I didn't. It doesn't matter if there are tons of better writers (or whatever you love to do) out there, because what it boils down to is doing the thing you love and just trying to be the best you can be at it, not worrying about being the "best", whatever that means.

I explain that success is mostly effort, not talent, and it's not just okay, it's important to get help from others, to continue trying to learn more. I slip in a little encouragement about staying in college, about not becoming a drop-out still chasing a degree in their 50's like me.

I give them little tips that they probably already know from Mrs. D.'s lessons: read what you've written out loud to catch errors; substitute passive verbs with active verbs; avoid adverbs - you can usually just find a better verb; keep your audience in mind, but write for yourself; revise, revise, revise; and the King of them all ... Show, Don't Tell.

I tell them that learning to write is important even if you don't want to be a "writer" - it's good therapy, for one thing. And besides the need for good college application essays, one day they might need to write a love letter or a letter to the editor of the newspaper to complain about something or a letter to their child's teacher ... learning to express yourself with the written word is an important life skill no matter what you want to do when you grow up.

If there's time, I read my other essays. One year, a girl got up in the middle of A Time for Moving On and left the room. When class was over, Mrs. D. explained that the girl's mother had died of cancer. Well, that essay is in large part about my grandmother dying of leukemia! I could feel my heart jump straight up into my throat. That poor girl, having to sit and listen to me read words that must have felt like razors tearing away scar tissue from a wound that hadn't completely healed.

But when I was subbing for Mrs. D. a few weeks later, this girl pulled me aside and thanked me. She said she had taken my advice about writing for therapy and started writing about her mother, about her mother's death, and how she felt about it. It had been very healing, plus she had come up with a wonderful essay she could use on one of the scholarship essay contests Mrs. D. had told them about.

Mrs. D. likes for me to read In the Aftermath of a Car Crash, hoping it drives home to these kids that she cares so much about the importance of safe driving, especially on the dangerous, serpentine, hilly roads surrounding us.

Most of her students are better writers than I am. I know because I've read some of their stuff. In fact, I interviewed one of the girls in this year's class for a newspaper article a few years ago - she had an essay published in Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul ... when she was in middle school! I mention it and she groans ... but there's a pleased smile trying to hide on her face. Nothing can ever take away that feeling of seeing your words in print.

But I let them know that no matter how good you are at something, no matter how much talent you are born with, you need to keep working at it, learning, practicing. And if you don't have that natural talent to begin with, but you have the drive and determination to get better, you will, and chances are you'll pass up the others.

They were a sweet bunch of kids - they asked good questions, showed interest, showered me with complements and applause. When I left, I was fired up, ready to sit down and take my own advice.

I felt like an author.

(I think that's a sure sign of a great teacher. Thanks, Mrs. D.)

A Two out of Three, Lazy Weekend

I needed a weekend like this with days that weren't overfilled, but not so open that I simply drifted through the hours, finding myself on the other side with nothing whatsoever done. 

The weather the past few days has been perfect, just what I hope to find in heaven - blue skies ... temperatures warm enough for shorts but not for sweat, and dropping enough to need a light jacket once the sun goes down. 

Daniel came home this weekend; it was time to do laundry, but I think he also just likes being home for a change ... playing with the puppies, reading in the hammock. I picked him up Friday afternoon and on the way home, we made a quick run into Target to get the "Crazy Heart" DVD. So you know what we did when we got home ... (I love that movie ... it was just as good the second time.)

This past week I started getting up at 4 AM again to work on my book; I gave up trying to squeeze more time out of the day anywhere else. Consequently, I slept later Saturday morning than I have in months. I cannot describe how wonderful that felt. The only thing on my agenda was taking the Girl shopping - almost always a fun way to spend the day if I'm not rushed for time and we manage to find what we need on clearance racks. I'm blessed with frugal kids who know how to sniff out the bargains and sales and know their way around a discount store. 

We had time to stop for an early Mexican food dinner and later she introduced me to Yo-Yo's frozen yogurt: first you get a taste of everything in these teensy sample cups, then fill a large cup with the cheesecake- and strawberry-flavored yogurt (we agree they're the best), topped with chunks of real cheesecake and mini-chocolate and caramel candies. Decadent, but so good!

Six hours later, both of us exhausted, I dropped her back off at her dorm. She had found what she needed, more or less, and I had found what I didn't really need but couldn't pass up because it was so cheap!

Back home, I settled down to watch the last half of Avatar with Daniel and Tom, but started snoozing before it was even over. I guess I hadn't quite caught up on my sleep.

Sunday was late Mass and the grocery store and planting color - calla lilies not far from the pond ... a deep pink blooming miniature rose bush, pink periwinkles and geraniums in the bed at the top of the walkway. (I'm a lazy gardener - I dig a hole and plop them in with a prayer and a can of water - but I hope these live. Periwinkles and roses remind me of my grandmothers; geraniums remind me of my mother. I even went back to the calla lilies today with the watering can.)

Sunday was also a little dose of "Flight of the Conchords" with Daniel - one of those shows you need to share with someone who enjoys it as much as you do. I only watch it when Daniel's home. Tom just doesn't appreciate how funny it is!

This morning, the alarm went off again at 4 AM - another Monday so soon? I rolled out of bed, trying not to disturb Tom, and stepped out of the bedroom. Moonlight splashed across the living room floor, rewarding my determination and dedication. It was almost as if the moon was cheering me on, encouraging me, giving me a pat on the back for sticking to it. Not a bad way to start a Monday after all. Even if it's starting at 4 AM.

Frankie's Hero

Max appeared at the back door the other morning just at sunup, soaking wet from head to toe.

Now, this dog loves water - he'll lie down in a 3-inch deep mud puddle and even in the middle of winter, he'll angle off into the woods to take a dip in one of the ponds - but he's like me in that he hates to get his face wet. He looked miserable!

And he was worn out, not even interested in taking a walk, like he was sapped of all energy.

Tom told me when he left for work that morning he heard Max barking and barking near the pond. We figured he had gotten into it with something - a deer perhaps - and fallen into the water. Worried about injuries, we checked him all over, but couldn't find any marks or scratches.

It wasn't until the next day that the mystery was solved: Tom found a dead raccoon near the edge of the pond. In the past, Max and Charly teamed up against raccoons (yes, sweet Charly!) and I bet it caught Max by surprise what a tough battle it was on his own. But obviously, he won, even though it took three days for him to regain his energy.

Normally I'd be sad that he killed a furry little animal out here, but as cute and furry as raccoons are, I really don't like them. Maybe it's because of the morning at the end of my night shift years ago, when I heard a hissing sound as I rounded the last flight of stairs on a methanol tank. I looked up and there, only a few feet away, was a huge raccoon, fur bristling, warning me that if I went a step farther, I'd have a raccoon eating my face. 

 

 

I heeded his warning and went back down the stairs to the ground, where I promptly called my supervisor to let him know I wouldn't be taking the methanol tank reading that morning. He suggested throwing rocks at the raccoon, etc. I said no, but he was welcome to come out and try it if he wanted to. I was more scared of that raccoon than my supervisor, that's for sure.

When I think "raccoon" I envision that snarling masked face peering out of the darkness at me, so maybe that's why I can't feel bad about Max killing this one. But I think the biggest reason is because I've heard too many stories of raccoons killing guineas. This one had ventured too close for my comfort - and I'm sure for Frankie's.

Looks like Frankie made a good decision picking our house to call his home - not such a dumb bird after all.

Frankie stuck close to Max's side during our walk yesterday ...

 

Frankie isn't effusive with his gratitude, but Belle is!

 

To the Person/Persons who tossed their empty beer cans out onto our road ...

What were you thinking? 

This is our neighborhood! There are no public trashcans lining this road, only wildflowers. Keep your cans in your car! (No, your car is NOT too good for your own trash.) 

Listen, I am not your mother. Heck, even if I was, I wouldn't be cleaning up your trash. If you're not old enough to clean up your own garbage, you're sure not old enough to drive or drink beer.

Hey, while we're at it, what were you doing drinking while driving, anyway? It's a dirt road but that doesn't make it okay. We live here!

 

Can you believe it? Here I was, walking down my dirt road this morning, amazed at the beauty around me - the explosions of yellow and purple and green, the promise of a clear sky - and then, there it was, lying right on the edge of the road: a Miller Lite can. It was empty, but shiny. Brand new. It must have appeared after last night's rain because it still reeked of beer.

Shaking my head and grumbling, I picked it up and dumped the dregs out onto the ground. Belle ran to investigate ("No, Belle!") then jumped up, trying to snatch the can from my hand, thinking it was a toy. ("No, Belle!")

She listened. My menagerie and I walked on to the curve, turned around and headed back, and there, a few feet off of the road, hidden by the grass from the other direction, was another can!

It's not the first time we've found cans along our road, sad to say. We're not sure where they come from - joy riders, or perhaps guests leaving a wedding at the villa down the road? 

It doesn't matter. I just can't believe there are people out there still tossing their trash out their car window, as if little brownies or elves scurry around cleaning it all up. Grow up, people! Get responsible for your own trash, your own messes, your own lives. Quit dumping your garbage on our road!

Whew. Thank you.

How about a chocolate fountain?

Music by Steppenwolf and Jimi Hendrix, stories about a romance kindled by a wet T-shirt contest, interspersed with traditional Catholic readings and blessings ... the funeral this afternoon wasn't typical, by any means.

But that's only right, isn't it? We're all individuals with distinct personalities. I think it's only fitting that our funerals should reflect our lives - be a celebration of our lives - not just cookie-cutter ceremonies.

Tonight at the wake, my friends and I shared with each other what we would like at our funerals. One has already made it clear to her kids that she wants a chocolate fountain. Another wants music by Barbra Streisand and Josh Groban ... or maybe just some Irish tunes (I promised I'd sneak a picture of Matthew Mcconaughey into her casket or urn, either way.)

I haven't given much thought to mine before, except that for music I want "Amazing Grace" and "I'll Fly Away" and possibly, after hearing it played tonight, "Magic Carpet Ride" by Steppenwolf. I love that song. It always makes me want to dance, and I would love for there to be dancing at my funeral ... however, I want a traditional Catholic funeral - could there be dancing? Obviously, there's a little bit to think about.

I guess to be on the safe side, I'd like a wake, where there could be more music and dancing. I hope there's at least a little time for people to share memories - a funeral is when all the different sides, times and angles of a person are revealed. I learned so much about my friend's loved one's life today.

I hope people have good memories of me to share. I hope people laugh. Today at the funeral, and tonight at the wake, there was a lot of laughter. The house overflowed with family and friends - friends of my friend (like me), friends of her loved one, even some from childhood, and friends of their children, all mingling, eating, drinking and laughing. And crying.

I think he would have approved.

I'm going to have to think about this a little more - I know it would make it easier on my loved ones if I have it all spelled out beforehand, and that last day has a tendency to sneak up on you when you least expect it.  

Have you given any thought to your funeral, to what music, if any, you want played? Do you want dancing? How about a chocolate fountain? 

This poem was inside the memorial card passed out at the funeral. I forgot to ask if he wrote it, or if they borrowed it from somewhere else, but I really like it, so I'm sharing it here:

When I come to the end of the road and the sun has set on me, I want no rites in a gloom filled room, why cry for a soul set free? Miss me a little - but not too long, and not with your head bowed low. Remember the love that we once shared. Miss me - but let me go. For this is a journey that we all must take, and each must go alone. It's all a part of the Master's Plan, a step on the road to home. When you are lonely and sick of heart, go to the friends we know. And bury your sorrows in doing good deeds. Miss me - but let me go.

The Heart of the Matter

I've been spinning through emotions the past few days. Sunday evening I was still floating in air over having Shake Russell fill my house with his beautiful music when I got a call that a dear friend's ex-husband had died, killed in a motorcycle accident that afternoon. 

My heart aches for her - even though they were no longer married, he was one of her best friends, still family. The father of her children. They had dealt with the issues that separated them and found a new closeness through forgiveness.

It set me thinking about relationships - marriages, family, friends - and forgiveness. 

 "I've been trying to get down to the heart of the matter, but my will gets weak and my thoughts seem to scatter, but I think it's about forgiveness ... forgiveness ..."

My thoughts are scattered right now. The thing is, even though my friend and her ex worked things out, managed to forgive and love again in a new way, another friendship of hers never recovered from it. Because of that one broken link, snapped apart by pride and judgment, a circle of friendship, like a pearl necklace, became unstrung, the pearls scattered. And that's been on my heart, too, because my friend could really use that whole strand of pearls right now.

"There are people in your life who've come and gone, they let you down, you know they hurt your pride. You better put it all behind you, baby, 'cause life goes on. If you keep carryin' that anger, it'll eat you up inside, baby ..."

 

Sadly, that's not the only friendship I've seen crumble apart because of pride and judgment. Friendship shouldn't be judgmental, should it? Honest, yes, but honesty tempered by love and forgiveness for each other's humanity, not honesty tainted by pride. 

But then, even love is judgmental and too proud sometimes. Husbands and wives dig their battle trenches and won't budge an inch ... children don't speak to their parents ... siblings drift apart. Things from the past take precedence over the here and now. 

"Ah ... these times are so uncertain, there's a yearning undefined, a

nd people filled with rage. 

We all need a little tenderness. How can love survive in such a graceless age? 

Ah ... the trust and self-assurance that lead to happiness - they're the very things we kill, I guess ..."

One thing is for certain - we will all have a last day, a last minute, on this earth. I hope I don't waste my time being hurt, angry or holding grudges. I hope when my last minute comes, I can go like my friend's loved one, knowing I have forgiven and been forgiven in return. To me, that's the heart of the matter.

Slowing it back down ...

"An early morning walk is a blessing for the whole day."

  ~Henry David Thoreau

"Lovely flowers are the smiles of God's goodness."

~William Wilberforce

      

"Love all God's creation, the whole Earth and every grain of sand in it. Love every leaf, every ray of God's light ... If you love everything, you will perceive the divine mystery in things."

~The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoyevesky

Shake-in' it up ... Deep in the Hollow with Shake Russell

It was one of those moments you can't forget ... one of those "I remember the first time ..." events that are seared into your memory so deeply that if you close your eyes, you're back there again, just like that:

... It's 1978-ish. I'm sitting in my friend Bruce's truck, watching him pop in an 8-track tape ("I can't believe you've never heard of Shake Russell!") and then I hear it for the first time ... that beautiful melody and Shake's distinctive, soothing voice singing "Deep in the West" - a ballad that, to this day, reaches way down inside of me ... triggers unexpected emotions ... carries me away on the first notes.

From that moment on, I was hooked on Shake Russell. He never got a lot of air play on the radio (and still doesn't for some reason that I can't understand) but he played in small venues all around Houston. Tom and I went as often as we could to see him.

But then there were kids, a move, an accident, a house to build ... suddenly almost 15 years had passed without hearing Shake sing in person. I felt the weight of those years back in October when our friends Bob and Lisa called to invite us to hear Shake perform in their home. In their home! Shake Russell in their living room, playing those songs!

But we couldn't go; I tried so, so hard to squeeze it into an already packed weekend, but it was just impossible, and the disappointment added to the weight of those 15 years was crushing me. Then I realized, Hey! We could have our own Shake Russell concert!

So we did. Last night Shake Russell stood in my living room, right in front of me, just two feet from where I sit at this very moment, and sang "Deep in the West", "Two Silver Hearts", "You've Got a Lover" ... all my old favorites, plus several of my new ones, like "What This Heart Holds". 

But, of course, that's not all. As if having the Shake Russell Trio (Shake, Mike Roberts and Doug Floyd) serenade me and my friends with their beautiful music for several hours, and listening to them sing happy birthday to my brother Donnie wasn't enough ... well, sit down - you're never going to believe this! 

...I played the drums with Shake Russell! Okay, not really. But he did play my drums!

All in all, the night was a wish come true ... a wish I didn't even realize my heart made on that night so long ago in Bruce's truck ... a wish I couldn't have even imagined. 

Scenes from an unforgettable evening  ...

Shake playing my drums!

 

  

Me playing the drums with Shake! Well, sort of.

 

New friends, me and Dee (Shake's wife)

 

Me, Shake, Ann and Rae (who each have their own "Shake" stories to tell)

 

Shake singing "Deep in the West"

 

The Shake Russell Trio in my living room!

 

My brother Donnie, the birthday boy, with an actual smile on his face (Shake is singing Happy Birthday to him)

Thank you, Bruce. Thank you, Bob. Thank you, Shake. 

Thank you, Lord.

Anticipation

The frenzy has passed ...the planning, the emails, cleaning, shopping, cooking. Now I'm just waiting, trying to comprehend that it's actually here ... an event I've been looking forward to for months. Now I'm just sitting here, waiting, watching the clock. 

Tonight some of my favorite songs will be sung right here in my own living room, by the very singer/songwriter who heard them in his heart and captured them to share with others like me ... someone I've been listening to for, gosh, thirty years! It has seemed like a dream at times, trying to imagine it. It has also taken on nightmarish tones at times, trying to work out all of the details, trying to figure out how to fit everyone I care about and who I know would love to be here in my house, wishing I could invite everyone to share this event with me ... feeling bad because I can't. 

Tonight I'll get to wish my brother a happy birthday in person and see many friends - some I haven't seen since high school, some I've never even met face-to-face! 

But by this time tomorrow, it will be all over ... all in the past, just another memory. That makes me sad. 

Ah, I'm doing too much thinking. That's what comes of too much time on my hands. I better get up and find something to do - I'm sure there's something I've forgotten ... 

Praying for the long road ahead

A friend emailed me yesterday, wishing me a happy belated birthday, and explaining that she was late because one day in late March "I was going to work when a 22 old girl ran a red light and hit me.  She never even looked so no brakes were applied so I got the whole slam.  I am so lucky to be alive ..." 

My friend's neck is broken is two places; the neck brace she wears makes it difficult to type. She also almost lost her eyes - she had severe cuts close to both of them.

The girl that hit her was taken to the hospital, but had no severe injuries, so was escorted on to jail and to rehab. The girl has a history of DWI's and has had her license suspended. She even gave the police a false name to begin with: " ...she was more worried about the license it seems rather than the fact that she almost killed me." Of course, the girl had no insurance.

My friend attached pictures of her face and the car. Seeing her face broke my heart ...the ugly purple and red bruises still framing her eyes, stitches zipping across a deep gash on her forehead ... 

One glimpse at the photo of the car and I felt a shudder of familiarity ... a white car, its nose smashed up into the body against the windshield ... just too much like Tom's after his wreck in 1998 for comfort. Don't you think so?

My friend's car ...

 

Tom's car ...

 

From our experience with Tom's wreck, I know my friend has a tough journey ahead of her. There's the pain and recovery from her injuries to deal with, but that's a drop in the bucket compared to the emotional and financial stress that follows an accident like this, especially when the guilty party tries to skirt blame and responsibility. 

Please join me in praying for her ... for a quick and complete healing, physically, emotionally and mentally, and for relief from the obvious financial burden this will cause.

Open House

 

This human being is a guest house.

Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,

some momentary awareness comes

as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!

Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,

who violently sweep your house

empty of its furniture,

still treat each guest honorably.

He may be clearing you out for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,

meet them at the door laughing,

and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,

because each has been sent

as a guide from beyond.

- Rumi

This jumped out at me earlier in the week; I came across it in my friend Gina's book, From Gravel to Glory.

I'm very, very familiar with all of these emotions - they come visit me often. Almost daily! But I can't say I've treated them honorably; haven't we been taught to fight them, ignore them or bury them? At the very least, I tolerate them, hoping they leave soon.

I've never, ever thought of welcoming them (except for the pretty one, Joy, of course) - only be grateful when they finally leave.

But I can see the wisdom in these words, how taking time to learn a bit more about the shame, the depression, even the meanness - where each comes from, what prompted it to come visit me - will help me learn more about myself and get rid of the stones that are dragging me down. 

I'm in the midst of a Spring Cleaning Fever, preparing my real stone home for its own Open House this weekend - cleaning, organizing, tackling projects that are long-overdue. In preparing for the Event, I've been visited by many of these emotions - excitement and nervousness, of course ... but also disappointment, guilt, irritation ... 

I think while my body is in the midst of my house-cleaning frenzy the next couple of days, I'll let my mind meet and greet these emotions, this time with laughter and some pleasant conversation, and try to get down to the reason for their visit; I'll try to be grateful for them ... think of them as gifts to guide me and help me do a little spring cleaning in my soul. 

Tom Gets a Little Help ... (well, "help" might not be the right word ... )

Max wants to get in on the fun, since Dad's not yelling ...

  

 Belle is fascinated by shovels and pick-axes! Makes it tough to do any digging!

 



  
 (In case you're wondering ... yes, Tom somehow managed to get the crape myrtles planted, despite all the "help"!)

Scavenger Hunt!

Back when I was in junior high, no slumber party was complete without a scavenger hunt, when you divided up into teams going door to door through the neighborhood gathering up things like safety pins and matchboxes from Taco Bueno. The first team to gather everything on the list won.

One specific scavenger hunt stands out in my mind ...

 ... It was Colleen Walker's slumber party. My team was working our way down Grant Street, I believe, when our knock on one door was answered by Quentin from Dark Shadows. I swear it was Quentin. It looked just like him, sideburns and all. 

 

 

We all gasped and took a step back. He just gazed at us; we were entranced. One of us gathered up the nerve to ask him for a bobby pin. (Probably not me - I was numb from fear. I believe this was shortly after a group of us sat on the front row of the theater watching House of Dark Shadows, the movie based on the scary soap - still one of the scariest movies of all times to me ... mostly because I can't remember anything about it except lots of blood and being scared!)

Anyway, Quentin just slowly shook his head "no" and we wasted no more time (after all, we wanted to win!) - we ran off to the next house for the bobby pin, probably screaming all the way, because that would make it more fun.

Well, now you get to participate in that scavenger hunt fun - without the fear of meeting up with Quentin from Dark Shadows! You also get a chance to win $100 Visa gift card from BlogHer!

Here's how it works:

1. Go to this link (click here and let me know if it doesn't work! You might have to register with BlogHer, but it's free!)
2. BlogHer will present a fact, along with links to two different BlogHer profiles (mine is one of them!)
3. Visit each profile, find out who the fact belongs to and then move along to the next question.
4. When you finish the entire form, you will be entered to win one of 10 $100 Visa Gift Cards.

Good luck and have fun! 

Oh, Frankie ...

There's an element of ritual in my morning walk, a set of events that have a rhythm I've come to expect, and I guess, take for granted. The beat might vary a bit on any given day, but it's essentially the same ...

• I step out the front door. 
• Max and Belle are lying there, waiting for me, but immediately jump up and start playing, pouncing, chomping on each other.
• I work my way around them to the path and say "Let's go for a walk!"
• At those words, Frankie scurries from the side of the porch, the woods, or the top of the path, wherever he has been scavenging for bugs, and - Me first! Me first! - positions himself as leader.

This morning I made it to the top of the path before I realized Frankie wasn't with us. I called, expecting to see him emerge from the woods across the street. No Frankie.

I headed back down to the house and around to the back, thinking he might be scavenging there and he just couldn't hear me because of the waterfall. Peering over the deck railing, I didn't see him. I called. Nothing. No Frankie.

My heart was slowly dropping to my feet. Yes, he's a turd, attacking Belle, my kids and my friends, demanding bird seed yet refusing to let us pet him, leaving poop on my doorsteps (and sometimes in the house when he slips in for an inspection.)

 

But, you know, we all have our faults. And he's such a character ... such good company sometimes. He makes me laugh just watching him.

I reminded myself that he's a wild creature living in a wild world, surrounded by things that just see him as dinner. I have to accept the possibility of his death. I thought of Ruthie ... of the pile of her white feathers just a few feet from the front door...

 

My eyes drifted to the woods on my way back up to the road ... searching, dreading to find a pile of speckled black and white feathers ... relieved to see nothing.

Max, Belle and I headed on down the road, my heart now dragging behind me. But then, near the first curve I heard something in front of us, something that sounded a lot like Frankie's squawking! What the heck? He never wandered this far from the house!

"Frankie? Frankie!"

Then, swoosh ... there, in the middle of the road coming straight towards me, wings stretched out, gliding, swooping low, landing in a trot just a few yards in front of me. Immediately, nonchalantly, pecking at some bug ... my Frankie bird.

"Frankie, what do you mean, worrying me like that?" 

He fell in beside us, chirping away at me. Even Max and Belle seemed excited and happy to have him join us.

I have no idea what he told me in all his chirps, but I imagine the story to go something like this: he took off after a flying bug, then there was another, and another, and before he knew it, he was miles (okay, yards) from home. It truly is Guinea-Utopia around here right now - all those fresh green leaves and buds and bugs. But judging by the way he stuck close to us on the rest of the walk, I think he was just as scared about his situation as I was. I don't think he'll be wandering away like that anymore. I hope not, anyway. I'd miss my feisty little Frankie bird.

 

Sunday Morning

Right outside of my window this morning, like they staged it just for me: Max and Belle playing together. They had (what was left of) the Green Squeaky Fish. Belle would roll on her back with the fish in her mouth, Max would play-nip at her, then grab a piece of the toy and pull. He'd eventually win it, but then (joy to this mother's heart!) set it down for her to pick up, and the game would begin again.

I was so relieved to see them playing! Yesterday Tom and I spent the entire day outside ...hoeing, cleaning, working on projects ... but except for the two walks we took, Max spent the day in his doghouse. Belle stayed near us, bored most of the time because we wouldn't let her play with the trash bags or empty engine oil containers or power cords. Poor puppy. 

Speaking of working on projects, I think I've discovered the perfect Whole-Body workout! Hoeing! I finally started my big Landscaping Project yesterday, which meant a few hours of hoeing, raking and more hoeing, and this morning every muscle in my body is sore, including my hands!

Of course, I followed all of that hoeing with moving rocks, which meant lots of bending, squatting and lifting. And I spent Friday afternoon trudging up and down our little hill, dragging trimmed juniper branches down to the burn pile below our house. (Belle thought that was great fun! She helped by biting the ends of the branches, even clambering around inside at times.) So perhaps it was a combination of all of these that has me aching. All I know is, my usual workouts are obviously not challenging enough!

What a great feeling, making progress on these projects that have been gnawing at me for so long. None of them are completed - I didn't get to scratch anything off of a list - but at least we got started. Tom called me a Slave-driver, and I'm pretty proud of that, considering he's a bit of a workaholic.

Today we're off to a slower start - we went to early Mass and now I'm catching up here on the computer while he's sprawled on the couch behind me reading the newspaper. We're both moaning and groaning with every movement we make (you should have seen us kneeling and trying to genuflect at church - we looked about forty years older than we are!) but we still plan to get back to work right after lunch. 

I can feel it now, and I'm not just talking about sore muscles - we've gotten so close! We can't lose the momentum ... gotta keep going and finish! 

Where's my whip?

Now Playing: Spring

Each morning I sit on the back deck facing the little creek while Max, Belle and Frankie eat breakfast. The Hollow is a stage before me and I've got a balcony seat.

I witness the drama of changing seasons: life and death as told by the leaves, featuring guest appearances by blue herons, red-tailed hawks, kingfishers, cardinals and flocks of birds I don't know the names of yet - one day I'll have longer to sit and I'll keep my binoculars and a bird book handy.

In the background are masterful sound effects - at times (like now) the rush of a running creek, the leaves rustling in the wind, the distinctive calls of different birds.

Currently Spring is on the stage - it's an explosion of green! Each day more and more of the view before me is merging in a green sea, as if someone is sneaking around at night while we sleep with a huge green marker. The little waterfall has disappeared behind the green curtain and even the Damn Dam is barely visible - a huge improvement.

But take a closer look and you'll see there's more to Spring than green - here are some scenes from our afternoon walks ...

      

If you have a photo, poem, cartoon, short story, or anything creative that reflects the theme "April Rains Bring May Flowers" (or as we say in Texas, "March Rains bring April Flowers"), submit it to ELEMENTAL, my dear's April Challenge for a chance to win a 5x7 print of one of her beautiful photographs. (I've already won one, or I wouldn't feel so generous ...)

Adam's Song

Music takes me by the hand and leads me places. Most of the time I enjoy the journey but sometimes a song will take me to a place or time I've tried to forget.

Yesterday morning I settled in at my drums for my one-song-a-day ritual. Earplugs in place, I pushed the button on my (not an) iPod, tucked it into my shorts waistband and picked up the drumsticks just as the next song streamed into my head. 

With just the first few notes, I was whooshed back in time to stormy days - days when my kids were dealing with the wrenching emotions of their teenage years ... days when my heart ached until I thought it would break for them ... days spent worrying and wondering ... days spent on my knees praying ... and suddenly I was crying, overwhelmed by the memories.

When you become a mom, suddenly your heart is outside of your body, vulnerable and exposed; my heart has had its share of bumps and bruises, but it took some real beatings during those years. My tears fell from memories of the pain and fear and worry, but also from gratitude and relief. Here we are, almost ten years later, all of it behind us. We survived. Many parents - many kids - don't.

The song itself is a song of survival and hope - a reminder of how thin the thread of life is, how sometimes attitude and perception are what kill us or save us. The first time I heard it, in the car with Tommy, I told him I didn't like it - I thought it was a kid singing about his own suicide and that worried me. One line, especially, got me: "Please tell mom this is not her fault."

 No, mom, Tommy told me, he doesn't do it. Listen...

Sure enough, the kid is describing a botched attempt, expressing relief that it didn't work, that he didn't die, an awareness of how precious life is and hope in the future. It ended up becoming one of my favorite songs. 

And now it makes me cry.

Easy Come, Easy Go

Our front porch resembles a playpen these days, with toys scattered from one end to another - a big puppy playpen. Belle has been busy, recovering from the woods stuffed creatures long buried and forgotten ... along with some of Tom's leather gloves and tools he left lying around, forgetting there's a scavenging puppy on the premises. 

Earlier this week a toy appeared that didn't even look familiar - a stuffed carrot that still squeaked! Loud! I suspect Charly "lost" that one pretty quickly ...

Max loved squeaky toys and we bought him a lot to keep him from biting our arms. He would SQUEAK! SQUEAK! SQUEAK! until Charly would trot over and yank the toy away. I could imagine him saying "Enough with the squeaks, already!" By the next day, the guilty squeaky toy would be gone. Vanished. 

So anyway, this carrot reappeared, and it was just the right size for Belle's mouth. She loved it! SQUEAK! SQUEAK! SQUEAK! Then, what do you know, over trotted Max. He yanked it away. Or at least tried to - there was a little tug-a-war going for a minute or two, but Belle finally gave up. We headed off for our walk, Max still carrying it in his mouth. 

At the pond, he waded out into the water as he always does, but then he was stumped; I could see it in his eyes. You see, he usually takes some big gulps, like he's eating the water, but that was impossible with a stuffed carrot in his mouth, so he let the toy go. It drifted slowly away from him, but he was unconcerned; he just turned his back on it and climbed out of the pond, ignoring my shouts ... "Max! Get the carrot! Get the carrot!" I watched it float farther and farther out into the pond, too far for Belle to retrieve it.

Do you think maybe a bit of Charly stuck around inside of Max?

Tug-a-War!

 

Belle says, "Dang it! Max got it." She's scheming how she might get it back ...

 

 

Max! The carrot! Get the carrot!

 
 

Good boy! 

 

Uh-oh. He changed his mind and it floats farther away.

 

Belle can't believe he lost it already!

 

I spotted it today, up against the erosion fence that now runs along one end of the pond near the Damn Dam, still out of reach. Maybe one day .

 

You know you're over 50 when ...

... you find the paperwork for your scheduled colonoscopy mixed in with the birthday cards in your mailbox.

Oh, man ... I really, really dread that test. Well, not so much the test itself as the "preparation" for the test. But I can't very well spout off about eating healthy and exercising if I don't take care of other necessary evils, like the Big C, can I? Although I did manage to procrastinate on it all year.

Other than being forced to think about that, I've had a wonderful birthday ... also despite having to work when I had my mind all set for a day off. To appease myself, I went in late (I took time to walk the critters, finish my blog, work out and play my drums first) and left early (no reason except it was my birthday!) Before heading home, I drove to a nearby church and took pictures of the bluebonnets. No need to buy me flowers for my birthday - nature provides abundant bouquets everywhere I look!

Thanks to others, the rest of my day felt like a celebration: all of the happy birthday phone calls, emails and Facebook messages reminded me how blessed I am to know the people I know ... my bosses served me a slice of chocolate pie topped with a question mark candle and sang "Happy Birthday" to me ... Tom and I stuffed ourselves on Mexican food and margaritas ... we made it home in time for LOST and a great "what the heck is going on" Facebook discussion with two other addicts fans. 

Fifty-one isn't so bad after all. I am truly, truly blessed ... and, strangely enough, I find myself looking forward to fifty-two!

A few shots of my birthday bouquets...

 

   

Gratitude

Another birthday has rolled around somehow. Fifty-one just seems anti-climatic, doesn't it? Not nearly as exciting as fifty, but still just as unreal. Age really is just a number ... now I understand.

For years I've taken my Birthday-Day off to spend as I please, a gift for myself. Tom often takes the day off, too, and we go adventuring, usually a drive through the Hill Country checking out the wildflowers. Last year we explored one of the areas my memoir-writing grandfather lived and I think the year before that we took a ride on the Hill Country Flyer.

This year, we're both too busy at work to skip off into the Hill Country today - not a bad thing, of course, having jobs, and our free day is just postponed, not cancelled. So today will be like every other Tuesday - critter care, hours planted in front of a computer, and an episode of "Lost" - with perhaps some laundry or other chore squeezed in there somewhere.

No complaints from me, though ... this past weekend was a gift in itself: warm days, cool nights, and if there was a cloud in the sky, I don't remember seeing it. Flowers are blooming everywhere - our road is lined with yellow and purple ... the woods are splashed with pink from awakening redbud trees ... and bluebonnets crowd along the sides of the highway. 

The best part - my house was filled with kids. I'm so grateful that Tommy's girlfriend got a job in San Antonio - it means we get to see both of them much more often. 

Tom picked up the two youngest from college on his way home from work Friday night. The Girl promptly crawled into bed and fell asleep, poor thing. Daniel and I tried to watch Sherlock Holmes with Tom, but neither of us made it all the way through; all of those nights of just four hours of sleep finally caught up with me.

But, oh, sleeping in on a Saturday morning ... not needing to be up for anything in particular or be anywhere at a particular time. Glorious! It feels so good to be lazy sometimes, although by "lazy" don't think I wasn't busy. I made muffins for everyone, fed the dogs and the bird, probably straightened the kitchen and did some laundry before heading to Wales with Rick Steves and then working out - but it was my state of mind, not needing to rush, just taking my time. I love days like that.

Tommy, Kirby, and Josie arrived in the early afternoon. Josie is just an older version of Belle, a Rottweiler Terrier mix, and Max adores her. No, more than that ... he's obsessed with her! I'm sure the fact that Belle looks so much like Josie scored the puppy some points with Max. He probably thinks she's their Love Child. She looks like she could be!

Thanks to Tommy and Kirby, I finally visited Flat Creek Estate, a winery not far from us. It will soon be celebrating it's 10th anniversary, and yet I'm embarrassed to admit I had never been there! We sat at a small table in the tasting room, sampling several different wines and just talking, in a way I haven't had time to talk to them before. No rush, no interruptions, just me, them, and time ... and wine, crackers, chocolate, and beautiful scenery outside of the window.

Back home, we took all the critters for a walk, ate hamburgers, played board and card games, and watched movies.

It was such a wonderful day, but then Easter Sunday morning as I'm getting ready for church, I hear on the television that a 21-year-old college student disappeared Saturday while racing some friends across Hamilton Pool, a natural swimming hole outside of Austin.

For my family, Saturday was a beautiful day. For his, it was a tragedy.

I thought of friends of mine who have lost children this year, who must be feeling that loss even more keenly on Easter morning. I think of other friends who are separated from their children by miles ... or by hurt feelings, misunderstandings, and all of those other walls that somehow come between loved ones.

Easter Sunday is when we celebrate a Father being reunited with his Son - a promise to all of us for an end to our own separations. But we all want time in this lifetime, and that's why I consider the time I spent with my children this weekend a gift. A blessing.  I realize circumstances can change in a heartbeat, so I ignored the kitchen and the laundry, my blog and book, and soaked it up while I could, stockpiling memories for days I know will come when I won't be so lucky. 

Once again, I started the week on a sleep deficit. I know it's not good for me, but it was worth it. Sleep I can catch up on, sooner or later, but time here and now with my kids ... it's just not guaranteed, is it?

"What lies behind us and what lies before us, are tiny matters compared to what lies within us." Ralph Waldo Emerson

 

 

Cycles of Easter ... Life ... and Love

Eggs ... signs of new life ...spring ... rebirth ...

What a perfect symbol of Easter!

And what a perfect gift from a grandmother to a grandchild ... a symbol of the cycle of life.

Every Easter for years and years my mother gave each of her grandchildren one of these beautiful hand-painted eggs. I won't always be their guardian - one day my kids will have homes of their own they'll want to decorate - so I pull them out while I can to marvel at the delicate brush strokes and tiny details. 

I thought you might enjoy them as well...

Happy Easter!

    

Light shines and lilies bloom. 

You are with us again in this upper room. 

We sigh and laugh at stories of darkness past.

At your table we eat and sing

Alleluia! Alleluia! Bells of blessing ring!

We dare to touch each other's hands and side.

Peace is your gift, Love is our guide. 

               Lord Jesus, come in glory!

- David L. Coppola

Just hanging out with a Friend

Candles flicker, casting shadows. The lights are dimmed and I sit near the back, watching the flames. It's quiet - so quiet I hear the ringing in my ears over the distant sounds of cars passing the church. 

I almost talked myself into just staying home. I feel so tired ... what if I fall asleep? It's been such a long week - Monday felt like it should be Friday! Not a good way to start...

But this is Holy Week, the end of Lent, the build-up to Easter. I craved this moment of quiet and calm. A chance to be still and listen. To keep watch. And if I fall asleep ... well, even though Peter was chastised for falling asleep, he was no doubt forgiven. 

Watch ye and pray, lest ye enter into temptation. The spirit truly is ready, but the flesh is weak.

A woman a few rows up is reading - I can't see what, I can only hear the pages turning. A family - mom and dad anchoring their teenage son - sit on the front row. A married couple I bumped into in Walmart earlier tonight are just in front of me. Two couples head up the aisle beside me and sit together ... a double date.

I hear Father Joe whisper a thank-you and good-bye to Deacon Terry behind me. People rise and leave; others enter and kneel.

Over it all hangs silence. Through it all I pray ... I think ... my mind wanders ... I pull it back.

I've been carrying this gray, tangled mess of thoughts around with me lately; the weight of it is dragging me down. I'm ready to get rid of it.

In the stillness, it's easier to set the mess down and take a closer look at it, see what it is that's pulling at my heart.

There's this issue of pets and money ... when Max was a puppy he was diagnosed with a type of canine elbow dysplasia. To keep him from going lame, we spend beaucoups of money every month on special food and supplements, but his poor elbow has taken a toll lately with Belle around. I contacted our vet to get an anti-inflammatory for him ... $50 for 14 one-a-day tablets! Word (on the Internet) is it's likely he'll need to be on these more and more as he ages, but there's no way we can afford another $100 per month on his care. What were we thinking, getting a puppy? Why didn't we anticipate this?

But the joy on his face having Belle around is plain to see. Most of the time, anyway. He ignores the pain to pounce and play with her. And, oh my gosh, what a precious little thing she is - watching her just makes me smile! I don't begrudge the time I've had to take from writing to care for her one bit. Puppy-hood doesn't last that long.

Friends and friendship have been on my mind a lot lately, too. What does it mean to be a friend ... to have a friend ... ?

Friendships are tricky ... slippery ... taking shape and disappearing again, like mirages, making you wonder if what you're seeing (feeling) is real or just your imagination. 

"Friends are like a beautiful garden. They require regular care."

I try to give my friendships regular care. I know I fail at times. But friendship is a two-way thing. You have a garden and you are simultaneously in someone else's garden. You hope, that is. What happens if you're taking care of your garden, but the other person is forgetting to water you? (It's funny how you can always sense when that's happening when you're the "flower", but not always when you're the gardener.) How long do you make excuses for them before you accept the fact that some friendships finally fade? Before you just let go?

"A friendship can weather most things and thrive in thin soil; but it needs a little mulch of letters and phone calls and small, silly presents every so often just to keep it from drying out completely." ~ Pam Brown

I see some other heavy items tangled up in this mess - worries about my Mama's health, emotional and physical pains of my friends and other family members, political issues tearing our country apart - again, things I can do nothing much about except pray. And when I pray, I need to believe, need to have faith, need to let them go.

It's getting late. I haven't finished sorting, but the mess is a little looser, a little lighter. Some bright spots shine through now - I get to celebrate Easter with my kids and friends ... little Belle (nothing but brightness there) ... and yesterday the Jobs4Autism website I've spent the last year working on, promoting, writing for, finally took off after it was mentioned in an article on CNN.com. There was such a huge response that the site temporarily crashed! It was awesome!

I slip quietly out of the church into the night, relishing the frisky spring wind. I didn't fall asleep, after all. I'm glad I came. When things are troubling you, there's nothing like spending time with a Friend to clarify things, ease your mind, lighten your load.