Long Hollow

Top Home Seller's Mistakes (Which ones have you made?)

The last home we bought (and later sold) was a foreclosure. We first lost it in an open HUD auction, but later won it by sealed bid.The home had been stripped of everything that could be removed - light fixtures, switch-plates, you name it. Even the carpet was ripped up in most of the house. 

What we thought was the foundation for a storage building in the backyard turned out to be a swimming pool covered with rebar and plywood...and partially filled with thick, green, slimy water.

I was afraid of what we'd find hidden in that water.

But we wanted this house. I was pregnant and we could see this would be a great home for a growing family. That backyard had so much potential, even before we realized it had a swimming pool! We bid high to make sure it became ours...and we never intended to leave.

Famous last words, right?

My husband, Tom, is a master handyman, but even with him doing most of the work, we put a lot of money into the house before we sold it ten years later. New carpet, light fixtures, switch plates, paint, French doors to replace the back door, a laundry room with cabinets, custom bookshelves filling the walls on either side of the fireplace...the list goes on. I can't even remember most of it.

Out back, we planted crape myrtles and miniature roses. A deep covered deck ran the length of the house. After acid-cleaning the pool, Tom built a beautiful curving fence around it and the foundation for a gazebo. The kids also had a cool tree fort and swing set. 

It was tough to leave that house. It's where we raised our three children for ten years. Christmases. Birthdays. Swimming parties. So many memories and so much time, money, and effort went into making it a home.

We weren't just emotionally attached:  we also wanted to get some of the money back we had sunk into that home over the years, so we argued with our Realtor about the price. Bless her heart, she gave up and listed it higher than the comps suggested for our neighborhood.

Thank goodness, the right buyer came along who recognized the house had great features that would cost a lot more anywhere else. But now that I'm seeing it from the perspective of a Realtor, I know we just got lucky.

But I still dread the day we have to sell this home we built from the foundation up...

What about you? Have you made any of these mistakes?

 

 

Data provided by ActiveRain.com. ActiveRain is an online community of real estate professionals who exchange best practices, write real estate blogs, and get free education from the industry and their peers.

 

 

A Cousin, a Mom, and Mexican Food. Sweet Sunday!

 

 

Tomorrow is my cousin Patricia's birthday.

She's always held a special place in my heart, beginning when she was a teenager. Unlike some of my other teenage cousins, she was consistently nice to me when we went to visit, even though I was a brat.

I haven't forgotten.

Her dad was one of my favorite uncles, too...a self-taught artist and musician who made me laugh and triggered my interest in antiques and family history.

However, even though Pat doesn't live far from me, we've only gotten together a few times over the past twenty years, for an occasional lunch or hike through a cemetery. (We're both into genealogy.)

But soon after Daddy died, she made a one-day trip to Houston, just to see Mama. Then she sent Mama a care package around Thanksgiving, full of cookies, snacks, and I don't know what else. And as soon as I brought Mama up to Austin, Pat was there...bearing gifts, of course. 

Love is, above all else, the gift of oneself.
~Jean Anouilh

So this afternoon, Mama and I took Pat out to dinner. It's just a drop in the bucket of repayment, and pales in comparison to her thoughtfulness (especially since she brought another basket full of goodies for Mama) but I hope it helps her understand how much we love and appreciate her.

She's a sweet! all by herself, for sure!

 

"I don't care how poor a man is; if he has family, he's rich."  

~Dan Wilcox and Thad Mumford

 

 

Here are a few others from the past week...

Monday: finally having your camera when you spot ducks on a pond; learning the tricks of real estate photography

 

 

Tuesday: time to walk with your puppies and pray before getting caught up in the busy-ness of your day; a friend saving you a seat at a meeting when you're running late; sponsored lunches; interest in a beautiful house you just posted on MLS

Wednesday: your first closing; a hug from your sister who travelled up to see your mom; finally getting all of your Christmas decorations boxed up; taking time to watch a gorgeous full moon rise from behind the hills

 

 

Thursday: safely spotting - and photographing - a gorgeous coyote; saving ducks from getting eaten by a coyote; obedient puppies

 

 

Friday: getting a lead while on phone duty; making progress on some to-do's; a movie with your son

Saturday: catching the end of a Shirley Temple movie and traveling to Wales with Rick Steves while eating breakfast, checking email, and sipping your morning coffee;  your tall son helping you hang portraits in your mom's room

Sunday: helping your cousin celebrate her birthday with your mom; Green Chili Tortilla Soup and spicy salsa that opens your sinuses when you're suffering from cedar fever; a quick phone visit with your eldest; selling one of your many "For Sale"s

 

What were some sweet! moments from your past week? I hope you've been paying attention!

Oops! I almost forgot one of the sweetest moments of the week. (My days blend together so much lately. That's one reason it's important for me to sit down here and count my sweet's! at the end of the week.)

Anyway, on Wednesday my sister and her husband took an overnight road trip to Austin so she could spend time with Mama. I didn't get much time with her, but enough for a sister-hug and a quick visit. 

Very, very sweet!

 

 

 

 

From reunions to George...what a week!

Tuesday I drove to Houston for a reunion of the DuPont Deer Park Old Farts Club, an exclusive group of people who helped start-up the DuPont Syngas/Methanol plant and worked there in its infancy. I was part of the second group of plant technicians to be hired (#43) in November of 1978, when the plant was still under construction.

The reunion wasn't just for us plant technicians who operated the plant, but also for the engineers who guided us, the maintenance and instrumentation crews, the office staff...you name it. We were a team and shared the adventure.

Too many have passed on, and that's why we decided a couple of years ago it was high time to get together. This was our second reunion. Why have it on a Tuesday? Ky was returning to the U.S. from vacation abroad the day before, Oscar was scheduled to fly out to Saudi Arabia for work the next morning, and Ken was returning to Panama, where he now lives, on the 10th.

It's amazing it worked out, when I think about it.

Even though some don't seem to be interested in the get-togethers, many of us cherish those friendships and memories and enjoy seeing each other again. 

Still, it can be a bit of a headache sending out emails and getting people to commit. Thank goodness Mark, one of the engineers, stepped up to reserve a spot for us. Thank you, Mark!

 

Oscar sent an email the next day that made all of the preparations totally worthwhile. 

Morning All,

 

Thanks again Barbara, for going that extra mile, literally, to bring everyone together. The food was outstanding, great friends with whom just to laugh, a little moment to share that something (talent) we were all so blessed and gifted with and all shared together. My God, we lived our lives all together for more hours than we spent with our families...  This is what true friendship is all about, those 3 beautiful hours were worth more then money can ever buy. I loved this moment we shared with all of you, my family and old friends. Thank you all for being there and Donny, please stop saying your days are numbered. You will out live us all. Well, heading back to the airport for my 20 plus hour journey back to Saudi. We will do this again, be safe and stay healthy everyone. Happy New Year and send the photos please. If we don't see you all again, I promise we will see you in heaven. Later Oscar ( O G )

 

Thank you, Oscar, and be safe!

 

 

Heladio (what a great name!) and Oscar. (Oscar is the best whistler I've ever heard.)

 

 

Here are a few other sweet!s from my past week...

 

 

 

Tuesday: a pond reflection framed in ice; frisky dogs; your husband getting a fire going in your woodburning stove for you before leaving for work; a friend letting you crash at her house when in town for a quick visit; your mobile mapquest app guiding you around a traffic jam so you're in time for your reunion; hugs and visits and laughter with longtime friends; staying up late visiting with your sweet friend

 

 

Brian and Cliff - these two guys could make me laugh till I cried - and probably still could!

 

Ky introduced me to classical music while carpooling, along with Brian, and Chinese/Viet Nam history during breaks on nightshifts; Howard and I shared books, and he had my back when I voiced concerns about fumes in the lab while I was pregnant. (If you've read "A View from a Catwalk", he's the friend who was knocked off of his bicycle in an explosion.)

 

Henry and Donnie...oh, I have lots of stories about Donnie. Unfortunately, most I can't share. 

 

Groundbreakers. Imagine us all in hard hats and safety glasses. Well, and thirty years younger. These are just a few of the interesting, smart, talented women I worked with.  

 

 

Wednesday: a deal coming through you thought was lost; breakfast at a friend's restaurant with another friend and your sister; making it home safe, despite constant rain and traffic; being able to stop and visit your mom on your way home;  your daughter making you a quesadilla for dinner

 

 

Thursday: making lots of progress on a project; finally taking two boxes of stuff to Goodwill

Friday: a glimpse of the Mallard couple, even though you don't have your camera; feeling optimistic about your listing; your son surprising you with a ticket to see George Strait in concert

 

 

Saturday: an evening at home with your mom, husband, and kids, eating hamburgers and watching "Enchanted"

Sunday: attending Mass with your husband; another day hanging out with your mom; Realtor friends who think of you when they need someone to cover for them at an open house

I hope you remember to notice the sweet! moments in your week!

"Do not take anything for granted — not one smile or one person or one rainbow or one breath, or one night in your cozy bed."

~Terri Guillemets

(Bitter)sweet

Tomorrow is going to be a day of transition, of goodbyes and new beginnings. I'm traveling to Houston and bringing my mother back here to live in a nursing home minutes from my house.

Except for occasional weekends in her house - my childhood home - she has been living in a nursing home near Houston since she and Daddy were released from the hospital in July. She has been whirling through one transition after another for months, including my Daddy's death, hoping the day would come when she could just go back to the house she'd called home for almost sixty years and live in peace. The house she vowed she would live in forever. 

It took time, but she finally agreed moving closer to me might be the best thing. It will certainly bring me peace of mind having her close enough that I can just jump in the car when I can't reach her on the phone, or when I have questions about her care.

I'll be able to stop for a hug on my way to and from work. On rare days when I can't go see her, Tom and the kids will be there. I plan to take her on outings, to my house or my son's, or the mall or out to eat or wherever she wants to go.

But first we have to get through tomorrow, and Tuesday, and Christmas. I have to watch her say goodbye to her house and familiar streets, and then help her look forward, reminding her she'll carry those places and memories in her heart wherever she goes. 

It will be a bittersweet day at best.

But I'll still be on the lookout for purely sweet! moments, those little gifts of light God sends to brighten the dark days. I know they'll be there. 

Here are a few more from this past week...

 

Tuesday: flexibility in your job; delivering Texas-shaped gingerbread to clients; finding a beautiful ornament from a friend in your mailbox

 

 

Wednesday: gorgeous sunrises through your window; a productive day at home; Mucinex; watching The Grinch and decorating your tree with your daughter

Thursday: a photo of your mom with Santa, thanks to your sister; time to take care of things that have been nagging at you; going to the movies with your kids, even if it's not a good movie; a large bucket of theater popcorn

Friday: spotting a Mallard duck couple swimming on a pond; watching a movie with your kids and laughing so hard your stomach hurts; an executed contract

Saturday: bumping into a friend you haven't seen in years in the post office and being asked to find property for her in Wyoming; an afternoon of baking; warm cookies fresh from the oven; Christmas parties with friends and family; dancing in an airplane hangar; fresh homemade empanadas

 

 

Sunday: seeing the magic of Santa in children's eyes; friends who are willing to dress up like elves; assurance that your mother hasn't developed sepsis; a walk with your puppies after church; a blue heron flying overhead; seeing a dear friend in the grocery store; watching the best parts of the old "Sound of Music" with your son and daughter 

 

May you spot the sweet! moments in your life, even on the bittersweet days. I promise they are there.

 

May we see after the rain, fair weather, after the darkness, light, after these storms and tempests, a gentle calm. Amen.

 

 - St. Cyprian of Carthage

 

Twenty-Eight, and Wishes Come True

"May your coming year overflow with love and blessings and wishes come true!"

Last year I wrote that in my oldest child's birthday post, in honor of his 27th birthday. A few months later he married the love of his life, honeymooned in Italy, and bought a home in a city he loves. My wish for him came true.

 

Now I've blinked and he's somehow a year older, as of yesterday, around noon. He celebrated first thing in the morning by running 10 miles from his home to the state capitol building and back, stopping at the State Library long enough to say hi to his little brother, who works there.

Considering his struggle with asthma when he was younger - all those hours I spent giving him nebulizer treatments, waiting in doctors' offices, keeping up with medications - his ability to run long distances (his second marathon is coming up) is definitely a wish come true for me.

I'm not sure how he's going to top the highs of the past year, but my wish for him is the same, for overflowing love and blessings and wishes come true, because he deserves them. 

I would say that even if he wasn't my son. His thoughtfulness and compassion for friends and family - especially my parents over the past year - inspire me to be a better person. What more could a mother ask for?

I didn't get to see him yesterday, but that's okay. I saw him on Thanksgiving and on the weekend when we both visited my mom and I know I'll see him again soon, because for the first time in ten years, he lives in my city. 

Just another one of my wishes come true, although it doesn't top the one that came true the day he was born, making me a mother, the toughest and best job I've ever had.

So, Tommy, sweet son, may your coming year overflow with love and blessings and wishes come true! 

Love, 

Mom

Chicken and Rice Casserole, a la Terry Boer and Campbell!

 

The index card is yellow and splotched, the ink faded, but considering all of the action it's seen over the past twenty years, it's amazing it's still around at all, much less legible.

When not in use, I keep it tucked in a small recipe box with other favorites, mostly one-pan wonders where you toss all of the ingredients into a casserole dish or a pot and walk away for a few hours. When my kids were little, that was top priority...right under taste, of course.

Terry Boer is the dad of five kids. When I worked shifts with him at the chemical plant years ago, those kids were all really young. He knew a thing or two about pleasing a pack of picky palates on a budget and generously shared his expertise with me, a new mom stretched on time and money.

His Chicken Casserole has been a favorite in our house ever since. I especially love it because, well, it's delicious! But also because it has so few ingredients - chicken, rice, dried onion soup, and Cambell's Cream of Chicken or Cream of Mushroom soup. I've always kept cans of both on hand. I added them to almost everything when my kids were growing up, so that they'd eat.

My kids are now young adults, adventurous eaters who even like vegetables, but they still request Terry Boer's Chicken Casserole. 

Something good is always better when it's shared, so I'm sharing Terry's recipe with all of you, just as he did with me so many years ago...

 

Terry's Chicken Casserole

Ingedients:

2 teaspoons of butter
2 cups of water
1 cup of uncooked rice
1 whole chicken, cut up
1 can of Campbell's Cream of Chicken or Cream of Mushroom soup
1 packet of dried onion soup

Pour melted butter into a 9 x 13 pan. Add the water, then the cup of rice evenly. Place chicken skin up. Pour soup over the chicken. Sprinkle the onion soup over it all. Cover with foil and bake at 350 degrees for 1 1/2 hours. Take off the foil and bake another 15 minutes.

 

I hope your family loves it as much as ours has!

For more recipes your kids will love, be sure to check out Campbell's "The Wisest Kid in the Whole World™" page.  

 

Lesson #82 (Thank you, and Happy Birthday, Mama!)

Today is my beautiful Mama's birthday. Soon I'll be on my way to Houston to celebrate another year of having her in my life.

I hope the coming year will be full of laughter and happiness for her. She's been through so many changes this past year, the toughest being having to say goodbye to the love of her life, my Daddy, and I hope she gets a little break.

It hasn't been an easy goodbye or transition to life without him. Some days are easier than others. Even though there were many times in my life when I thought their marriage was over, their love for each other pulled them through. It was a fierce love, stronger than any differences between them.

I see that strength in all my mom does. Over the past few weeks since we lost Daddy, I've witnessed more laughter than tears, and a steely determination to continue on, even if she doesn't quite see the point. She trusts that God has his reasons, and more importantly, that He will give her whatever strength she needs for the road ahead.

I believe that's called Faith, and it's Lesson #82 on this list I began compiling several years ago in honor of her 77th birthday. It's easy to add to it every year with a mother like mine, and I'm so grateful it continues to grow. 

 

The mother's heart is the child's school-room. 

~Henry Ward Beecher

 

(With some of her kids, grandkids...and Daddy...on Mother's Day)

Happy birthday, Mama, with much love and gratitude!

 

Things Mama has taught me...

1. it's never too late to learn something new
2. if you have a choice between laughter and tears, choose laughter.
3. don't let anyone mess with your babies!
4. only give advice when asked for it (I'm still working on that one)
5. pray every day
6. pray some more
7. reading a good book might not solve your problems, but it's a nice escape from them
8. bend but never break
9. some people are just takers
10. be nice whenever possible, but sometimes nice doesn't cut it
11. take care of family
12. we're all individuals - let your kids blossom into themselves, not "mini-me's"
13. be there
14. Johnny Weismuller is the best movie Tarzan
15. don't be in a rush to be older than you are - you're only going to be this age once in your life
16. if you like something, and you'll use it, and you can afford it, then buy it, or you'll regret it later
17. quality over quantity
18. never think "can't"
19. people will stand in line for a dead skunk if it's free
20. roll with the punches
21. have fun
22. laugh often
23. believe in yourself
24. don't let others change who you are
25. be honest
26. don't steal
27. forgive yourself
28. God loves me
29. don't judge
30. just do it!
31. inside matters more than outside
32. don't use God's name in vain
33. you can learn anything if you put your mind to it
34. you're never too old to dance
35. it's okay to ask for help
36. show appreciation and express gratitude
37. use my manners
38. consider the source
39. an office or position of authority should be respected, but the individual in that position has to earn your respect
40. sleep is good
41. take advantage of opportunities
42. keep your eyes open and your wits about you
43. people aren't always nice
44. things can't make you happy
45. use your imagination
46. just get started and the rest will be easy
47. don't be intimidated by anyone - we're all the same, all human, we all have strengths and weaknesses
48. you can love someone even if you don't like them
49. forgive but don't forget
50. learn from others' mistakes
51. there are times for being patient, and time for putting your foot down
52. speak up
53. stand up for what you believe in
54. admit your mistakes and expect others to do the same
55. persistance pays off
56. let your kids be kids
57. love unconditionally
58. take lots of pictures
59. kids grow up fast
60. your kids need a mother, not another friend
61. pets are family
62. help others
63. a sense of humor is essential for sanity and survival
64. if you look close enough, you can find something to love about everyone
65. coffee is good anytime
66. messes can be cleaned up
67. prayer works
68. God is strong all the time - let him carry you
69. if you say you're going to do something, do it
70. be nice to yourself in case no one else is
71. you have to show respect to get respect
72. girls are tough
73. don't put up with temper tantrums
74. listen to your body - doctors don't know everything
75. don't say everything you're thinking
76. asking questions is the best way to learn something
77. your babies are always your babies (and their babies are your babies, too!)
78. God is. 
79. Just listen. 
80. people are more important than things
    
81. there is a time to help others, and a time to let others help you
82. God has his reasons, and He will give you whatever strength you need for the road ahead...and never leave you to walk it alone.

 

 

Today is Veterans Day...

"Lord, if your people need me, I will not refuse the work. Your will be done."

~St. Martin of Tours

 

 

My big brother Buster was headed to Viet Nam, saying his goodbyes, when I stood beside him in this photograph and smiled. I had no idea what was ahead of him. This was probably taken before his first tour of duty and so he had only a vague idea himself what to expect.

When he volunteered for his second tour, however, he knew full well what he was stepping into...but he did it anyway. 

 

 

My dad was in high school when the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor. He joined the Navy soon after high school graduation because his country was at war and "it was the thing to do." In the next twenty-two months he traveled a long way from Texas aboard the U.S.S. Geneva...to places like the Philippines, the Marshall Islands, China, Burma, Japan.

Before he turned twenty, he had seen cities that had been destroyed by war and piles of dead bodies waiting to be buried. 

A few years later, his little brother Bobby followed his lead and joined the Navy, and many years later, so did my brother Donnie and two nephews.

 

Pop, my wonderful father-in-law, missed out on World War II, but joined the Air Force in time for the Korean War. He worked base supply in Okinawa, supporting bombers flying missions to Korea...about 100 aircraft every day.

He re-enlisted, got married, and hopped around the globe...living in England, Germany, and over a year in Pakistan, separated from his family (the other heroes - Mom had 8 teenage and younger boys to deal with by herself!)...visiting a dozen other countries...eventually staying put for awhile in Maryland, working with NSA (and a second job at the bowling alley to make ends meet), until his retirement.

A lifetime of service and sacrifice for this country.

 

 

My husband Tom was raised in a military family. For him it was normal to move every few years to someplace completely different...by the time he was eight or nine years old, he had lived in three countries!

He grew up on a tight budget - hand-me-downs, powdered milk and only two cookies a day...period! And yet as soon as he could, he joined the service...the Coast Guard. Among other things, he helped rescue fisherman off the coast of Alaska.

Four of his brothers also joined the service (three career Air Force, just like their dad, and another Coast Guard) and the youngest joined the Army Reserves. Now the next generation is following in their footsteps: two Air Force and one Coast Guard...and even marrying other service members!

I think it's very fitting that Veterans Day shares November with Thanksgiving, a day when we slow down to remember and be grateful for things that we usually take for granted, because veterans, despite the sacrifices they make for all of us, probably don't even make it onto our Thanksgiving thank-you list.

That's how much most of us take them for granted - as well as the freedoms they protect for us. Even when our country isn't at war, they go where they are needed to unfamiliar places, away from extended family, often living on a minimum salary. To many, they are a symbol of war, not peace, and sadly become targets of derision, scorn, blame... and even violence, like the sad incident at Ft. Hood a few years ago.

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

Thank you Daddy, Tom, Pop, Buster, Donnie, Uncle Bobby, Uncle Howard, Kenny, Steve, Joe, Robbie, John, Sheila, Michael, Tom, Lynn, Robbin, Evan...and all of the other Veterans, past and present, out there! Because of you, we're free to go about our daily lives, without a thought in the world to how much that freedom costs or how much you've given.

But let's hope we do remember the price, as well as those who, through their actions, say "Don't worry. I got this."

(If this sounds familiar, it's a re-post from last year and the year before and the year before, with just a few tweeks. With the passing of Daddy and his brother, Bobby, this past year, and Pop last year, this day feels especially poignant.)

Reinvention

"Reinvention" is the theme for Generation Fabulous's blog hop this month.

Considering I just started a new career as a realtor, seemingly out of the blue, "reinvention" is right up my alley.

Or is it? Can it be considered "reinvention" if it's something you once loved, and spent hours doing, long ago?

You see, when I was little, my favorite section of the Sunday newspaper wasn't the comics - it was the Homes section.

I loved looking at the homes featured on the front page. I would study the floorplans of the huge houses on the back page, imagining myself wandering through them.

I was ten the first time Daddy and I toured the Bishop's Palace in Galveston, triggering my love for snooping through houses which carried on into my teen years, when my boyfriend and I knocked on the door of a house I loved and asked for a tour..

...and then into my twenties when Tom and I and two friends knocked on the door of a renovated old house in LaMarque and asked for a tour, and Tom and I and two friends explored a condemned Victorian house in Galveston, and Tom and I pushed babies in strollers through old homes' tours in LaPorte, and explored new construction in every town we've lived in...

I began designing floorplans when I was ten. My mother would bring home special paper from her job as a secretary at a construction company. I came up with some pretty good plans!

Television houses have always triggered my imagination. Back then I tried figuring out the floor plans of the houses on "Bewitched" and "The Brady Bunch" and "Dark Shadows", and even taped pages of typing paper together into large sheets so I could sketch out the floor plan of the Munsters' and Addams Family's mansions. 

I thought I wanted to be an architect...but the idea of having to include the plumbing and wiring and placement of supporting beams in a structure bored me to tears.

I just liked the parts of houses you could see. And secret passageways.

But I'm not sure I'd ever heard of real estate agents back then. However, considering my obsession with houses and the list I made when I was ten of every single person I had ever met (my first "contacts" list!), it's obvious that (besides being a strange child) I would eventually grow up to be a Realtor, touring properties and reminding everyone I know that I can help them buy, sell, lease, or invest in it. 

 

(There are also conventions!)

Why that didn't become obvious to me until I was 54 is a mystery, but I'm sure the journey to this place wasn't wasted, but was, instead, an invaluable trek to self-awareness.

Perhaps the midlife "reinvention" we talk about so often now is more about getting back in touch with who, or what,  you really are and what you enjoy than becoming something altogether new.

What do you think?

Have you experienced "reinvention"...or are you longing to? Share your story in the comments, and read the other GenFabbers' posts to hear more. If you're a blogger, join the blog hop!

(By the way, who do you know that needs to buy, sell, lease, or invest property...anywhere in the world? Contact me!)

Dear Daddy

Saturday morning my dad finally got an answer to his prayers: He went to be with the Lord.

In his honor, I'm reposting this letter I wrote to him here a few years ago...

 

 

Dear Daddy,

All of my life, you've been right here, holding my hand - loose when I needed loose, tight when I needed tight - but never letting go.

I disappointed you at times over the years (Oh, yes I did and you know it!) but you never stopped believing in me, never stopped wanting the best for me or wanting me to be the best I could be.

You believed in me even when I stopped believing in myself. 

You taught me what unconditional love really means. Even when I knew I had disappointed you...

(Remember when I hit that parked truck with my brand new Toyota Celica, my graduation present from you and Mama? Remember when I decided to flush my scholarship down the drain and drop out of college to work in a chemical plant?)

...I never once, not once, doubted your love.

You never said a word, never chewed me out for being stupid and irresponsible (even though I deserved it) but just kept holding my hand, offering whatever help and support I would accept.

 

Like you, I love reading, watching a good Western, history, traveling, kitschy tourist spots, pecans, rocks, and sweating in the sun. I inherited your silliness, impulsiveness, teasing/mean streak, and flash-fire temper.

I hope I also inherited your generosity, loyalty, and tenderness.

 

With Mama, you raised me to be confident, courageous and independent, willing to test myself, push myself, try new things, truly believing I could do anything I wanted to do because you believed it.

You raised me the same as you raised the boys, with no discernible difference related to gender. No matter what I did, or still do, your pride is palpable. It's a fuel that keeps me chasing my old dreams and discovering new ones.

 

Memories tied to you are the treasure of my life...

...Thank you for my sunflower garden, my orange and green painted bedroom, introducing me to ping-pong, Black Beauty, Leon Uris, James Michener and National Geographic.

Thank you for taking beginner square dance lessons with me and letting me chop down that tree when I was sixteen. 

Thanks for teaching me to drive, to play tennis, and for trying to teach me to bowl and play golf. Thanks for shuttling me and my friends to the movies and basketball tournaments, and for finding some of them jobs at your chemical plant.

 

You never thought you were special - you still don't - but let me assure you, you are, and I thank God every day for making you my Daddy and giving me (and now my kids) so much time here on Earth with you.

I look forward to the day I again feel your hug and see the twinkle in your eye, but for now, I carry them in my heart.

Rest in peace, dear Daddy. You deserve it.

I love you.

 

He didn't tell me how to live; he lived, and let me watch him do it. 

~Clarence Budington Kelland

 

Sometimes the poorest man leaves his children the richest inheritance. 

~Ruth E. Renkel

 

 

I love my father as the stars — he's a bright shining example and a happy twinkling in my heart.

~Terri Guillemets

Thank you all for the many prayers you've offered for him and my family this past year. Now please continue to keep my mom in your prayers as she faces life without him by her side after almost 64 years together.

I'm grateful I've been able to spend so much time with Daddy this past year, even if a lot of it was in ERs, hospital rooms, and doctor's offices.

I'm especially grateful that I was able to tell him I love him (and hear him say it back to me) on the telephone Friday.

Don't ever take the time you have with loved ones for granted or miss a chance to say "I love you!"

 Old as she was, she still missed her daddy sometimes.  ~Gloria Naylor

 

(The One and Only) Rae of Sunshine

 

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

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

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

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

The boys are still around...and Rae and I are still friends.

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

Now I hate to imagine not having her in my life.

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

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

Rae is classy and earthy - lipstick and tomboy. She embraces life, savors it, lives it passionately and adventurously, not taking one single second of it for granted...and she wants to make sure no one else does, either.

She is a vortex, pulling us into her whirlwind, taking us all along on the ride, not wanting any of us to miss a thing. Making us not want to miss a thing, either.

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

Happy, happy birthday, sweet Rae!

 

 

This is an updated re-post from a few years ago.

Rae is the kind of friend who always has a zillion things going on, who is always doing something for at least half a dozen people all the time. She has been there for me too often to count, checking on my parents, taking them food or just giving bringing them the sunshine of her smile. She sends me cards of encouragement and when she visits, always comes bearing gifts...even for my puppies!

And yet, I didn't even get a card in the mail in time for her birthday! 

Okay, there's really not even a card in the mail, yet, period, but I do hope to see her this weekend and help her continue her birthday celebration. There will be at least a card then!

In the meantime, my gifts to her are my words and assurances that I know I am blessed to call her friend, and that she can call on me anytime she needs me.

Happy birthday, Rae!

 

"Friendship is a promise made in the heart.
Silent.
Unwritten.
Unbreakable by distance.
Unchangeable by time."

~ unknown

A Letter in the Mailbox

 

 

 

I got a letter this past weekend. A real letter, written just to say hi, how are you, I'm thinking of you, and catch me up on the doings of my friend's life. What he's working on, what he's reading, what he's thinking about. It wasn't a required letter - a thank you or a filler around something he needed to send me.

It was just a letter.

Once upon a time, I wrote letters like that. And received them. Lots of them. It was how I kept in touch with my cousin, my grandmother, the teacher who left mid-year to move to the Dominican Republic, the boys I met at Garner State Park, the friends who went off to college...

I loved getting letters, so I wrote letters. Sometimes on pretty stationery, but more often on plain notepaper, because I could write pages and pages and pages!

Now, after just a few lines my hand and fingers are tired.

I never had great handwriting (I specifically remember getting a 'B' in 4th grade, Ms. Haygood!) but at least it was legible. Now, even before my hand gets tired, I have limited control of the pen or pencil; it'll go zigzagging off on its own wild adventure across the page.

The letter was from a writer friend. He has decided too much time on the internet has made him lose focus and it has affected his work. He's getting back to plain old paper, for his writing, communication (when possible), and for leisure, as in reading books with pages of paper.

Perhaps tonight I'll pull out some paper and re-train my fingers to hold a pen, to tame it to create legible words on a page once again.

What about you? Do you write letters the old-fashioned way? When was the last time you received one?

 

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

Before I could publish this post, I received a phone call that required me to add a little bit here on the end.

My friend's letter mentioned a plan to get together with Joe, a classmate of ours from high school who was visiting Los Angeles. Joe, too, had sent me a Facebook message letting me know he'd be seeing my friend. I told him to tell him hi for me.

That evening Joe posted a photo of them on our class Facebook page, smiling, toasting their friendship and life.

The next morning, Joe died of a massive heart attack.

What's the moral of this story? I'm not sure.

I know I'm grateful for all of the ways I've been able to stay in touch with my longtime friends and get to know some of those faces from my past as adults. I'm grateful for letters, for email, for Facebook, and for phone calls that draw us together in times of joy and sorrow.

Perhaps the moral has something to do with living each day to the fullest, for not letting opportunities slip by to spend time with a friend or loved one.

Maybe it's to present a smile to the world at all times, like Joe did, no matter what's going on in your life, and in that way inspire others to find a way to smile, too.  

I don't know. But I do know I'll miss seeing that smile.

Rest in peace, Joe. 

“My friends have made the story of my life. In a thousand ways they have turned my limitations into beautiful privileges.”

~Helen Keller

...sisters are the chocolate chips.

One of the first and best gifts my parents ever gave me was my big sister, or "See-uh-stuh" as I called her for the first few years - I don't remember when I switched to Brenda.

How do people make it through life without a sister? 

 ~Sara Corpening

I've asked myself this question so many times and always felt a twinge of guilt that TG doesn't have a sister, even though she's got two great brothers.

Because I truly can't imagine how different, how empty and downright dull my life would have been without my big sister in it.

In the cookies of life, sisters are the chocolate chips. 

~Author Unknown

Brenda added drama and conflict to my life (fighting over the state of our bedroom)... enriched it with literature (sharing her books with me, like Swiss Family Robinson and Pollyanna and Jane Eyre)... expanded my world (taking me to museums, the zoo and movies I probably shouldn't be seeing)... and gave me a great soundtrack (exposing me to the best from the 60's and 70's.)

Sisters function as safety nets in a chaotic world simply by being there for each other. 

~Carol Saline

Well, she was certainly there for me. If I ever had a problem, I knew she'd be right by my side, no matter how much I'd irritated her seconds before.

The mildest, drowsiest sister has been known to turn tiger if her sibling is in trouble. 

~Clara Ortega

Oh, here's another good one that truly applies to Brenda and me...

When sisters stand shoulder to shoulder, who stands a chance against us? 

~Pam Brown

You don't want to test that, believe me. It could get ugly. We're formidable.

That being said, we're not just alike. Sure, we both like reciting Little Boy Blue and watching old movies. We share the same taste in books (just about anything) and enjoy visiting museums, no matter how small. 

But she's always been a 'dress' person. A girly-girl. I'm jeans or shorts, definitely a tom-boy. She knew all about coloring hair and curlers. I'm totally hair-inept.

I tend to make mountains out of mole hills while she refuses to even acknowledge mountains exist.

She truly has the most positive outlook of anyone I've ever known. 

Sisters are different flowers from the same garden. 

~Author Unknown

By example, Brenda taught me about love and acceptance, about appreciating the eccentricities that each of us on this earth has, about the importance of family connections, about looking on the bright side. We had our share of spats and arguments, but as I grew they dwindled, dried up and drifted away into childhood memories and stories.

An older sister is a friend and defender - a listener, conspirator, a counsellor and a sharer of delights.  And sorrows too. 

~Pam Brown

She doesn't hesitate to correct me if my facts are a little awry when I relate those memories and stories here on my blog, or I misspell a word. But as she's my biggest fan and cheerleader in whatever I attempt to do, I know not to take it as criticism. She's just burdened with a better memory and writing/spelling skills than I have!

A sister smiles when one tells one's stories - for she knows where the decoration has been added. 

~Chris Montaigne

She turned 62 today, a number that is hard for me to grasp because in my eyes and heart, she hasn't aged a day in my life.

Sister to sister we will always be,
A couple of nuts off the family tree.

~Author Unknown

And proud of it! I love you!

There is no better friend than a sister.  And there is no better sister than you. 

~Author Unknown

 

I've lived long enough, seen enough other sisters, to know that I was blessed with an extraordinary big sister. Thank you, Brenda...thank you, Mama and Daddy...and,of course, thank you, God.

This was an updated, conglomerate re-post in honor of my sister's birthday today (for fun memories we shared, go HERE)

Even though I'm in town to see my parents, I'm not sure if I'll get to wish her a happy birthday face-to-face. Tonight she'll be partying at her high school reunion, and since she's on the reunion committee, she'll probably be busy preparing for it today.

But I know she's been looking forward to this for months, and I think it's awesome she'll get to celebrate with all of her classmates. Have fun and happy birthday, sweet sister!

It's been a year. And what a year.

A year ago today, I whispered goodbye to this man and promised him I'd help keep an eye on his beloved wife.

 

 

It's hard to believe a whole year has gone by without him...until I stop and think of all that has happened in that time. So many changes.

Much happiness and laughter, but also much heartache, heartbreak, and many, many tears. 

So for today's Five Things on Friday, I'm sharing five things about Pop:

1. I can still hear his voice. I'm grateful for that.

2. When he picked me and Tom up from the airport years ago, he always had a couple of cold beers waiting in the car for us. Later, Pop and I both switched to wine about the same time, and he was quick to offer me a glass as soon as we arrived for a visit. Cheers, Pop.

3. His eyes twinkled more than anyone else's I've ever known. He was such a flirt!

4. Nothing got my husband moving on finishing projects around the house more than an impending visit from his dad. And if there was something he couldn't get to in time, Pop would take care of it.

5. He never let anything keep him from going to Mass each week. 

I love and miss you, Pop! I give thanks that you were in my life and honored to be among your daughters. 

He didn't tell me how to live; he lived, and let me watch him do it. 

~Clarence Budington Kelland

 

 

 

Remembering Rena

Once upon a time, I was an elementary school librarian.

Well, technically an aide, barely making minimum wage and working 50+ hours a week ...but essentially I ran the library and absolutely loved it. If I had the time and money to go back to school, that's what I would be if I ever grow up.

The not-so-fun part of the job was cafeteria duty, walking up and down the aisles of screaming kids, opening milk boxes and ketchup packets, stopping food fights, and cleaning up...well, every once in awhile you got a sick kid, is all I'm saying.

But I was lucky: I had Jerry and Rena helping me.

I think at the time Jerry was the maintenance man for the school - maybe for the whole small district - but he was there to help Rena, his wife, who was the custodian. She had a special education teaching degree and I never understood why she preferred school custodial work to teaching, but she did, and she was awesome.  

We worked as a team which made it fun. I would help wipe tables...they would help open milk cartons and stop fights. 

I already knew them before that year, though. When we first moved to this little town, they ran an Italian restaurant serving great pizza. It was always packed. They helped us feel like this town was our home. We belonged.

They were smart, informed and active in the community. For years, Jerry and I sat until late at night at many school board meetings, staying on top of issues and decisions that were made.

Rena had an angel voice, using it to raise money and entertain the kids at school talent shows, and joining it with others in the local community singing group. She had a strong sense of right and wrong, and wasn't afraid to voice her opinion, but her smile rarely left her face.

What I didn't know until today was that they were childhood sweethearts, first getting together in junior high and marrying after college.

Rena passed away earlier this week at 63 of ovarian cancer; this afternoon I went to her funeral and told Jerry how much it meant to work side-by-side with the two of them. 

Mourners overflowed the small church onto the sidewalk outside. The doors were open to the Texas heat, and, despite the ceiling fans, it was hot. Really, really hot. But no one seemed to mind.

In the crowd I spotted many familiar faces. Some from my librarian days who I hadn't seen in years, or the parents of my kids' friends, and even several members of my church, because in a small town, friendships cross many lines, especially if you're someone like Rena.

I admit my mind wandered a little as the preacher spoke about Rena's gift of singing and how it touched so many lives. Friends and family spoke of her devoted friendship and encouragement, of the fun they'd shared. A cancer patient who met Rena in a support group shared Rena's vow to live every day she had left the best she could, to spend as much time with her friends and family as possible as long as she was able.

Rena had an angel voice, and even though she never became rich or famous from it (at least not in the worldly way)...never had a hit record... she developed and shared the gift, leaving the memory of it as her legacy.

For me, as I struggle to find a potential career instead of just another job, her legacy was something different - her attitude toward her custodial job. She was the best custodian you'd ever meet, always doing her best, and eventually losing her job because she stood up for the truth, defending one of her workers. She refused to keep silent and compromise her values.

I remembered today that what matters most is giving whatever you're doing your whole effort. Singing, cleaning, parenting, whatever. Stay true to your morals and values and ethics, and make the people in your life the most important thing.

Give it all you've got, no matter what 'it' is.

Because what you do doesn't define you. It's how you do it. How much of yourself you put into it. How many people you help or inspire or encourage along the way.

Rena, you nailed it as usual, honey. Thank you.

I'm blessed to have known you.

"Use what talents you possess:
the woods would be very silent if no birds sang there
except those that sang best."

– Henry Van Dyke

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Sugar on Top, Part 2 - Happy 80th Birthday, Mom!

Today is my beautiful mother-in-law's 80th birthday. She didn't want a big celebration, although she deserves it after raising nine boys into nine wonderful men.

...Probably because that would tempt all nine boys plus their families to converge on her house (or nearby vicinity) all at once...and even for a wonderful mother, that's a lot of family to take all at once, especially after the year she's had.

She lost Pop in August, after a big reunion in July where almost all of the brothers overlapped in Florida for at least a day, celebrating Pop's 80th birthday and two brothers' 50th birthdays. Everyone converged again to celebrate his life at a beautiful wake and stayed as long as they could to help Mom get things settled. 

While she's always amazed me (can you imagine raising nine boys?) her grace and strength over the past year have been such an inpiration to me. But then, from the moment I met Tom almost thirty-two years ago, Mom has been teaching me about faith and hope. Thanks to her gentle guidance, I eventually converted to Catholicism, although I knew she would love and accept me whether I did or not.

Instead of one big celebration for her birthday, she's getting a few mini-celebrations over the month. One son visited last week and Tom is there now, along with two other sons (one lives nearby) and our son Daniel. I'm sure the days have been filled with plenty of cribbage and 3-13, and the requisite name-calling and cussing that goes along with the competition.

She may be joyful and quick with a hug, but watch out for her when you're playing cards!

I would love to be able to give her a big hug and let her stomp me as usual in 3-13 today, but I'm just grateful I was able to share Tommy's wedding with her last month, where she danced with her sons, grandsons, and even the bride.

Now here I am, a mother-in-law myself. If I'm only half as good at it as Mom has been, my daughter-in-law is a lucky woman. I learned from the best.

Happy 80th birthday, Mom. Thank you for embracing me as your daughter all those years ago...for all the hugs and help...and especially for your grace and strength that comes from your immense faith. I love you!

A mom's hug lasts long after she lets go.  ~Author Unknown

 

For more about Mom, read The Sugar on Top, Part 1.

Fifteen Years Ago Tomorrow Morning...

 

 

"Life's about changing, nothing ever stays the same." ~

Patty Loveless, "How Can I Help You To Say Goodbye"

That Memorial Day weekend in 1998 was one of the best we'd ever had. We had laughed with friends and danced to Johnny Dee and the Rocket 88's. Spent a glorious day swimming in a private stretch of the pristine San Marcos River with our kids and friends. 

We were young and happy and blessed, living in Paradise in the Texas Hill Country, preparing to build our dream home. We thought the tough times were behind us. 

But fifteen years ago tomorrow morning, the phone woke me.  A nurse on the other end let me know Tom was lucky to be alive. He was in Brackenridge Hospital, preparing for surgery. She urged me to get there as fast as possible.

It had only taken a split second for us to be pushed along paths we didn't want to travel. Our lives changed. We ourselves changed.

But then, that's what journeys do to you, and what is Life but one long journey? How dull a trip would be if the scenery always stayed the same. Unfortunately, on every trip, there's good scenery and there's bad scenery.

The potential for change is constant. Some of it we have control over. Big decisions like dropping out of college. Getting married. Having children. Moving to a new town.

But even little ones can trigger huge changes. Having one more drink. Angry words you can't take back. An opportunity you let slip by without grabbing it. Saying "yes" when you should say "no", or the other way around.

Perhaps it's unfair that we can't control what other people do, even though their decisions can send us reeling. We didn't know the kid who hit Tom head-on that morning, but even if we did, we couldn't have stopped him from making one bad decision after another.

All we can really do is pray for guidance in our own decisions and be sure they are rooted in love, with a desire that God's will be done.

We can't waste our time worrying about the changes ahead of us. All we can do when the road turns unexpectedly is what we did back then...count our blessings and carry on, noticing the beauty on the new path before us. Because it's there.

When you find it, don't take it for granted, thinking it will be there forever. Relish it, cherish it, soak it up, because, after all, life's about changes. It can be no other way.

Happy 15th anniversary of your second chance, Tom!

Through the ups and down that have been, and the inevitable ones to come,
remember my love is constant.

God, Grant Me The Serenity...

Through the window, I see my brother-in-law's SUV pull up in front of the house. Several younger men gather to help maneuver my mother down from her seat and into the waiting wheelchair.

For a moment exhaustion pinches her face from the three-hour road trip and constant struggle to breathe, but then I see that familiar smile bloom wide, right to the edge of joyful laughter, so contagious that everyone around her smiles, too.

She said she wouldn't miss her grandson's wedding, and by golly, she made it.

I sigh in relief. Maybe she didn't have doubts about her attendance, but I sure did. Eight months ago, for reasons that still haven't been clearly diagnosed, her muscle strength and balance disappeared. Walking was already a challenge because of her asthma, but now she couldn't even stand without support.

At first she fought it, believing she just needed to push herself to build up her strength. She accepted the wheelchair as a temporary accessory, but if you turned your back for a second, she would jump up and try to walk. Upon waking in the morning, she would automatically head down the long hallway, alone and unassisted, to the bathroom.

Consequently, she fell. A lot. I witnessed a few of the falls myself, including one in the middle of the night when she took my dad down on top of her in the bathroom (he tried to stop her fall) and we subsequently spent the night in the emergency room.

I'm not sure how many other falls there were. She and Daddy tried to keep them secret.

"Mama, stop trying to walk without help. You don't want to miss the wedding, do you?" 

She didn't. But it still took a few reminders before she started behaving and playing it safe, using the wheelchair to go down the hall and letting Daddy hover nearby when she needed to stand.

It's been a tough transition for all of us. Mama has always been the caregiver, so strong she makes the Steel Magnolias look like a bunch of wilting lilies. She's the Serenity Prayer and "where there's a will, there's a way" all rolled up in one, put into action. When something needed to be done, she just did it, without any whining or woe-is-me-ing. 

She spent sleepless nights nursing us through the usual and not-so-usual childhood illnesses and injuries...encephalitis, whooping cough, dislocated hips. Later, in her forties, Mama maneuvered my quadriplegic brother's six-foot-frame in and out of his wheelchair, despite her petite size. And just a few years ago, in her late 70's, she took care of my older sister following her hip surgery. 

 

Mama was with me to welcome my firstborn into the world, watched him while I worked and his dad went to school, and attended every special event of his life. There was no way in hell she'd miss his wedding, even if it meant relying on others for a change and accepting life in a wheelchair...at least for a little while. 

God, grant me the serenity...

 

In honor of Mother's Day, Generation Fabulous asked us to talk about that other fabulous generation - our mothers. Whether we like it or not, and whether we knew them or not, our mothers helped shape us into the women we are today. I realize I'm blessed with an amazing mother and the chance to know her through the eyes of an adult, and I'm happy I got to share a little bit about her with you. To read more mom stories, go HERE.

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Coach Christine, Queen of the Cosmos

We could hear her screaming from the other side of the soccer field, giving directions, shouting encouragement, and even growling disapproval at bad calls, voicing our own outrage so effectively we didn't have to. 

She was the epitome of a Mama Bear, fierce, loving, and protective of all of the girls on the Cosmos, TG's soccer team, equally. We were blessed to spend almost every weekend with her during soccer season for five years of our lives.

I knew her cancer wasn't responding to treatments. There was an open house a couple of weekends ago for friends to come and see her, but it was a long, tiring day at the winery and I decided I was too pooped and yucky to go that evening. 

Instead, I decided I would grab TG and we would pay Christine a quick visit one evening the next week. I knew she'd want to see TG more than me, anyway. But that week sped by, and the next, without "finding the time"...and now it's too late to see her again in person, give her a last hug, and tell her thank you in person.

Because Christine passed away on Monday.

My good intentions lie dried out, crumbled in a pile of ashes before me, so learn from my mistake and grab yours into a bouquet while they're fresh.  Carry them to the person you need to see again... the person you need to hug or kiss or say forgive me or thank you or whatever...because time doesn't bend to our convenience. It's on its own schedule and doesn't give a damn for ours.

Coach Christine was fierce, passionate, and all heart. I doubt her good intentions ever wilted even the teensiest bit.

I'm grateful she was a part of our lives, even though it was for a short time, and regretful that I didn't get to give her one last hug and thank you in person. She was an inspiration to me (and I'm sure to TG) and I'm better for knowing her.

 

Rest in peace, Coach...although I know you're really still there on the sidelines, pacing up and down, keeping an eye on those you love, giving support, encouragement, and protection. Your voice may have been silenced, but never your heart.

One Night in a Parking Lot...

Scintilla Project Day 14:  We exert control over ourselves and others in many ways. Talk about a time when you lost that control. This can go beyond the obvious emotional control into things like willpower, tidiness, self-discipline, physical prowess - any time that you felt your autonomy slipping away.

 

I sat on the hood of my car in the empty strip center parking lot, moping. Hoping my boyfriend would regret our fight and follow me out of the disco across the street.

A gangly teenage boy emerged from the shadows at the end of the strip center, headed my direction. I didn't feel a tingle down my neck. No sense of danger, whatsoever. I mean, he looked harmless. Pretty skinny. And deep in my heart I believed if I was nice to someone, they would be nice back.

I think he asked for a cigarette. Or maybe directions to somewhere. It doesn't really matter; I didn't have whatever he asked for, and time - or perhaps shock - has erased a lot of the details.

What I do remember is him telling me to give him the keys to my car, and me telling him no, and gripping them vise-like in my hand and jumping down, and wondering how he got behind me with one arm around my neck and the other trying to pry the keys out of my hand, and fighting him, and praying he couldn't peel my fingers off of them, and realizing he was a lot stronger than I would have thought with those skinny arms of his, and being surprised I couldn't break the hold he had on me, and

screaming, screaming, screaming...

And then he let go. I watched him run into a field beside the parking lot that bordered a neighborhood and fade into the darkness. Whether it was my screaming or my guardian angel or something else that made him run, I'll never know.

I had the club doorman find my boyfriend. Concern replaced the irritation on his face when he heard what happened. He made a cursory search of the field, then told me to go home.

That night I discovered there were limits to the power of 'nice', limits to my physical strength, limits to my boyfriend's concern for me. There were shadows in the kodachrome world of my childhood.

But I also discovered there was no limit to the strength inside me that refused to give in or give up or let go, whether it's my life on the line, as I'm sure it was that night, or my family, my future, my dreams...

Happily Lost in Venice

The Scintilla Project Day 9: Talk about where you were going the day you got lost. Were you alone? Did you ever get to where you meant to go? 

 

Huge cathedrals and museums, ancient statues, priceless art and architecture...it was all beginning to blur by the time we entered Piazza San Marco in Venice that hot July day in 1976. I mean, once you've seen one soaring, gothic, thousand-year-old historic tower, you've seen them all.

At least that's the way it feels when you're seventeen, on a grueling, tight-budgeted, whirlwind, month-long tour of five European countries. And it's over 90 degrees. And no one has heard of air-conditioning. Or ice. 

So as the rest of our group moved into the entrance of St. Mark's Basilica, the three of us slowed down, dropped to the back of the herd, then dashed into a crowd moving away from the Basilica, deeper into the square. Our quest was simple: to find a place to sit down and relax for just a little while. To catch our breath and rest our feet. And being teenage girls, to eat.

We found much more than that when we wandered into a quaint restaurant tucked into the bottom of an old hotel just off the square. Not only did the Cokes we ordered appear with a slice of lime (delicious!), but there were actual ice cubes clinking around in the glasses! The only ice cubes we saw during that entire month of a record-breaking European heat-wave.

Thus refreshed, we spent the next few hours wandering through the narrow streets, dipping into one shop after another, until we knew it was time for our group's tour to end. It wasn't hard to find our way back. We just approached strangers and asked "Piazza San Marco?", pointing to our map, and they helped us along our way.

Being lost was never so lovely.

Oh, if only I'd had a digital camera back then. These are the only three photos I have from Venice.

That's Laura, Donna, and me in the one above, standing in Piazza San Marco, perhaps plotting our escape.

Or in the middle of it!

 

This is the amazing mechanical clock tower facing Piazza San Marco, dating from the 1400's.

Here I am fresh from a swim in the Adriatic Sea, standing on a bridge crossing over one of the Venetian canals. 

Trust me, it's there even though you can't see it because of all the bodies in the way. 

 It's the closest I've come to a riding in a gondola.

One day...

 

 

 

On Breathing

 

I'm playing catch up.

I knew when I signed up for the Scintilla Project, a two-week writing commitment, that it would be a challenge to write something every day.

I accept that there are going to be some days I just won't have time to write, especially since I usually have to roll a prompt around in my brain for a bit before I decide how to answer it.

I'm going to try my best to respond to each one, even if it means posting two on one day. But I'm going to cut myself some slack and not stress about it if I don't.

It's more important to breathe...

 

Scintilla Project Day 4:

Being trapped in a confined environment can turn an ordinary experience into a powder keg. Write about a thing that happened to you while you were using transportation; anything from your first school bus ride, to a train or plane, to being in the backseat of the car on a family road trip.

We tossed our bags into the cargo space of the charter bus idling in the church parking lot, said our goodbyes to our parents, and boarded the charter bus, excited about our week-long journey to St. Louis. Thirty or forty of us, barely teenagers, members of the youth choir, setting out on a summer adventure...with a few adult chaperones, of course.

I was excited about traveling through the midwest, the heart of the United States. I couldn't wait to see Dorothy's Kansas, Tom Sawyer's Mississippi River, and that huge Gateway Arch. 

But before we even got out of Texas, my pubescent hormones and tree pollen teamed up to spoil my trip. It started as a tightness in my chest that climbed higher, squeezing my air passages until all I focused on during that long drive through the night to Joplin was breathing.

I sat on the arm rest of a chair, gripping the rail above my head, pulling as I struggled to breathe in, drifting into an uneasy sleep as I exhaled. I remember a dream-like stop at a random emergency room. Maybe two. Instead of sharing a motel room with my friends, I bunked with Mrs. Eaton, the pianist, so she could keep an eye on me.

No giggling, no gossip, no flipping through television stations for me, just sitting on a toilet in a steamy bathroom so I could continue breathing. 

The only thing I toured in St. Louis was the mall across the street from our hotel, and the airport, where I at least experienced the excitement of my first airplane ride, all alone and feeling very grown-up, back to Houston, where my mother drove me straight to my allergist at the very moment my friends were probably gazing out of the Mississippi River from the top of the Arch.

 

And that story leads directly in to my next...

 

Scintilla Project Day 3:

Sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind. Write about a time you taught someone a lesson you didn't want to teach.

 

The wheezing. The coughing. The chest retractions. I knew the sounds and symptoms. Antihistamines, albuterol, corticosteriods, and other asthma and allergy medications overflowed a large basket on the kitchen counter. Beside it three nebulizer masks air dried, waiting for the next round. Two nebulizers were in position on end tables, taking the place of whatever decorative knick-knacks I'd once had there, before I had three kids with asthma.

The boys were easy. I'd slip on their masks and flip the switches on the nebulizers. They'd nestle on the couch with a picture book or a toy, or ask me to turn up the volume on the television so they could hear it over the hum of the motors, and then they'd do their best to see through the mist. At three and five, they were antsy about having to stay still so long, but they understood it was necessary.

TG was another story. She developed asthma before she was a year old. The nebulizer mask was confining, uncomfortable, and very scary to her at first. She didn't understand that it would save her life, but I did, so when it was time for her treatment, I figured out a way to secure her on my lap with one arm and a leg wrapped across her little body to keep her from flailing loose, while the other hand held the mask securely in place so the medicine could reach her lungs. I ignored her tears. I dodged her kicks and attempts to bite me, instead tightening my hold on her. Tough love because I loved her so much.

Over time, she quit fighting me during her treatments, realizing they actually helped. Over more time, they all got so much better they no longer needed inhalers very often, much less nebulizer treatments. 

And then they became teenagers, needing that tough love for entirely different reasons. But that's another story.

 

Tree pollen, you don't scare us anymore!

 

 

 

Instructions on Finding a Keeper

I'm combining both of today's Scintilla prompts into one:

"What’s the biggest lie you’ve ever told? Why? Would you tell the truth now, if you could?"

 "Tell the story about something interesting (anything!) that happened to you, but tell it in the form of an instruction manual (Step 1, Step 2, Step 3….)"

 

1. First, form a serious relationship with a guy who is terribly jealous.

2. Win a scholarship in Chemical Engineering, where you are only one of a handful of women in the program compared to hundreds of men.

3. Take Linear Algebra Computer Programming in the first summer semester.

4. Become project partners with Don, who tells you about his girlfriend with the really cool apartment and doesn't even flirt with you a tiny bit.

5. Tell your boyfriend that of course your partner is a girl, just to avoid the inevitable accusations and fight that would follow if he knew your partner was really a boy. 

6. Make the mistake of letting your boyfriend see something with Don's name written on it.

7. Listen to the inevitable accusations.

8. Say "No really, Don is a girl. I don't know why she spells it that way." Shrug your shoulders and roll your eyes for good effect.

9. Change the subject really fast.

10. Mentally question whether you want to be in a relationship where you have to lie, especially over nothing at all, and especially since you're starting to have a hard time keeping up with the lies.

11. Meet a really great guy while you're out dancing one night and your boyfriend preferred going out with his friends.

12. Say "yes" when he asks if he can meet you at Gilley's the next night to see Alabama play.

13. Let your boyfriend know you met someone, because you don't want to lie anymore.

14. Go to the movies and a Pat Benatar concert and the Renaissance Festival with the new guy.

15. Tell the new guy the truth about anything you ever lied about to your (old) boyfriend to see if he can handle it.

16. Decide that even if this new thing doesn't last, you are never going to be in a relationship where there is no trust.

17. Introduce the new guy to your best friend at work (male) and another old boyfriend who you just reconnected with as friends and your most recent old boyfriend's mom, dad, and little brothers, watching his reaction very carefully.

18. If he handles the truth about you and isn't jealous about you having guy friends, marry him as fast as possible. He's a keeper.

 

 

If the Hard Hat Fits...

His eyes were blue. Such an intense blue they gave me the creeps. Maybe that's what it was, the intensity rather than the color. Paired with a scraggly beard, the whole package reminded me too much of Charles Manson.

"Yeah, we should all get together one weekend...you, your boyfriend, me, my girlfriend." We were making our afternoon round to all of the welders, tallying weld counts at the construction site where we shared welder's helper duties. 

"Sure, that would be fun," I told him, with no intention of ever doing such a thing. In all honesty, it wasn't just because he totally creeped me out. My boyfriend  wasn't the type to double date with co-workers of mine, anyway. Heck, I could barely get him to go on a date with me. 

But that's another story.

Blue Eyes (I can't remember his name) was just one of the characters I met in those two months I spent at the muddy, mosquito-infested construction site where my mother's boyfriend scored me a job. It was a good 'ole boy network back then...although I'm quickly realizing in my current job search that networking and knowing the "right" people is still a big asset.

Today I'm not sure whether I should bless R.L. for getting me that job, or curse him. I had dropped out of college, throwing away a full scholarship in chemical engineering, because I felt a dramatically desperate need to get a place of my own following my parents' divorce. My flaky 19-year-old brain had it all planned: I would get a job at one of the chemical plants where I could make enough to pay my rent and my own way through school. I didn't need that scholarship. Heck no. I could do it myself.

After spending days driving up and down the Houston Ship Channel, filling out one application after another, I was grateful for the welder's helper job. I think it paid a whopping $4 an hour - not huge money, but enough to get my own apartment. We worked four 10-hour days, receiving our brass tags in the morning and returning them to the brass shack when we left. 

The mud and the mosquitoes and creepy Blue Eyes were bad enough, but the worst part of the job were the Port-a-Potties, nasty in every sense of the word, including the graffiti inside and out. Why do some guys love drawing penises? 

If at any time during the day I needed to use the restroom, I went home 'sick'. Do you blame me? After all the road trips we've taken, Tom has a hard time believing I ever made it through a full ten-hour day.

On the up side, I had a crash course in character. There were some good people there. One welder in particular stands out, B.J. Johnson. I don't remember how I knew he was a good guy. Perhaps just through some conversations, probably the way he talked about his wife and kids or the way he treated me. He went on to work at a neighboring chemical plant with a friend of mine.

I was glad he got out of there, because, by contrast, many of the people I worked with were varying degrees of shady, enough so to help me see the kind of person I didn't want to be. 

For instance, one of my foremen wanted me to smuggle stuff out of the tool room in my purse; the other one cooked alligator in the rod box for lunch - when hunting alligator was illegal. (It tastes like chicken, by the way. Hey, I never said I was perfect!) 

A guy who worked in the warehouse always talked about being high on Vicodin - it was prescribed for a back injury, but I don't think at the doses he took them. I'm pretty sure he was selling them, too.

The only woman I remember working with had a gun in her purse and a butterfly tattooed on her décolletage, way before tattoos became mainstream. Her boyfriend was in the Bandidos. I can't remember her real name, but the welders called her Moo-Cow, because of her ample, um, décolletage. 

Then there were the pot-smoking welders out in the weld-out yard, and the guys who would brag about cheating on their wives when they worked out of town and laughed about how they once chased a black man down the street, throwing glass bottles at him from their car.

(I had a few choice words for them about that. They didn't mention anything like it in front of me again.)

Also on the up side, I was hired by DuPont to help start up a brand new Syngas and Methanol plant because of my experience in and exposure to the construction site, even though it only lasted two months. (That's another "up" - it only lasted two months.) My gig at DuPont lasted thirteen years and three births; it paid for a couple of mortgages and helped with Tom's degree. (He had tuition assistance from the G.I. Bill.)

Maybe if R.L. hadn't pulled some strings to get me that job...if I hadn't been hired by DuPont...I would have given up and gone back to school. I probably wouldn't have I crossed paths with Blue Eyes and Moo Cow and B.J. and all of the others who made such a lasting impression on me, but I would be an engineer somewhere, maybe with more money in the bank than I have now.

But maybe I wouldn't have met Tom, had my babies, made those lifelong friends at DuPont, and learned how strong and smart I really am in ways I never could have imagined. 

That's just too many "maybe's" to worry about. So I'll just say thank you, R.L., for helping me get to where I am, and who I am, now.

 

I'm participating in The Scintilla Project, where we share the stories who make us who we are. The prompt this week is: Tell a story set at your first job. While I had held other jobs before becoming a welder's helper, it was the one that provided independence.

 

 

 

If I could talk, I'd tell of...

Births. Deaths. Certainly those.

Celebrations for birthdays, for weddings, for the end of a drought and good crops.

Tables in the yard, laden with food. Tantalizing smells wafting from the kitchen, promising more.

Heartache. Loved ones who went to war and never returned. Arguments and screen doors slamming.

Joyous reunions.

Neighbors helping put out a fire, build a rock fence, raise a windmill, plant a harvest, chase down a runaway cow.

Friends delivering a baby. Providing food and a silent shoulder in times of mourning.

Bicycles and toy wagons littering the yard. A beloved mutt curled up on the porch near the door or sprawled in a patch of sunlit dirt in the yard.

Young couples, just married, and older ones, helping each other up the steps. 

The squeak of a porch swing on a summer evening. The smell of a bonfire on an autumn night. 

Days when voices and laughter echoed from the windows, open to capture a cool breeze in a stifling Texas summer.

And days like these when silence is palpable...when only memories and shadows walk the worn wooden floors.

I pass this old farmhouse on my way to work and it always starts my mind wondering about its history. Finally, one day, I stopped with my camera...and that's when it spoke to me.

 

Sweets...Sorrows

Pop passed away early Thursday afternoon.

Those words are so hard to type; I couldn't do it here before today.

Thank you for all of the prayers and light sent his way, and ours. We believe his passing, and the way he passed, was an answer to prayers, probably even his own... so peaceful, his sons and beloved wife of 60 years by his side, holding his hands, whispering their love, letting him go to the next life, painfree and joyful.

These fragile bodies of ours aren't meant to last forever - what more could we ask?

I have heard about the Angels of Hospice, but this was my first experience with the loving care, consideration and respect they pour upon patients and their families. If you ever doubt there is goodness in the world, spend a day in a hospice center and your faith will be restored. I believe every member of the staff of Covenant Hospice in West Florida Hospital in Pensacola, from the doctor to the woman who mopped the floors, is an angel.

This week has been a blur, but moments of sweetness still swirled through the sorrow... 

.....arriving in time to whisper your love and say goodbye to your dear father-in-law; listening to childhood stories of your husband and brothers that trigger a laugh from their dad; supporting your husband, his brothers, and your mother-in-law when their hearts are breaking; the loving care of hospice workers; calls and messages of love and prayers from friends and family; the fierce love of sons for their father and mother

Thank you again for your sweet messages and prayers, and please keep them coming as Mom, Tom, and his brothers adjust to life without Pop.

Kenneth Peter Shallue, beloved husband and father, passed from this life on Thursday, August 9, 2012. Born on September 9, 1929, he is survived by his wife of 60 years, Mary (Janie) Shallue and nine sons, Kenneth (Cathy), Randall (Mary Lou), Thomas (Barbara), Steven (Kim), Joseph (Erin), Russell (Laura), Michael (Lisa), Robert (Joan), and John (Yadira), as well as siblings Dorothy Place (Greg), Mary Jane Andrastik (Ron), Patrick Shallue (Judy), Larry Shallue (Cathy), Michael Shallue (Paulette), Danny Shallue (Cathy), and Charles Shallue (Mary). Twenty-seven grandchildren and four great-grandchildren will also miss playing cards and fishing with their Pop-Pop.
MSGT Shallue retired from the USAF in 1972. He was an active Knight of Council 7027 and a 4th Degree member of Assembly 2823 with the Knights of Columbus of Milton.

To read more about Pop, read The Leader of the Pack I wrote in honor of his birthday three years ago.

Rest in peace, Pop. I love you and I'm going to miss seeing that twinkle in your eye.

O my God, fill my soul with holy joy,
courage and strength to serve you.
Enkindle your love in me and then walk with me
along the next stretch of road before me.
I do not see very far ahead, but when I have arrived
where the horizon now closes down,
a new prospect will open before me,
and I shall meet it with peace. Amen.

- St. Teresa Benedicta of the Cross

 

Remembering 21

My baby turned 21 last week. After reminiscing about her birth, sighing over her baby photos and marveling at how fast the years have flown by, I continued spinning backwards through photo albums to my own 21. 

Photos pried loose memories buried under the rubble of thirty-two more years. So much I had forgotten...

 

 

For one thing, I had a lot of hair! The perm helped, of course. Perms worked great with hard hats...your hair just poofed right back out when you took off the hat. 

I preferred beer over wine at 21. Eighteen was the legal drinking age back then, so that Lowenbrau you see sitting near me was nothing new. 

And obviously, that's not Tom celebrating with me, but he wasn't far away... just waiting around a few corners of my life. 

That year I camped on the banks of the Guadalupe River and danced in Gruene Hall, where my son and his fiance had their engagement photos taken earlier this year. I went to Astroworld and the Renaissance Festival with my mom and sister. We've always had fun together.

My brother met his future wife.

I toured the San Antonio missions with my dad and sister, in between games of his bowling tournament. I had my first margarita in a San Antonio bowling alley. 

I played softball at picnics with coworkers from my chemical plant. I had a mortgage on a second-floor condo I shared with my Siamese cat, Char, and a pretty candy-apple-red 10 speed bike with a tan leather seat. I love candy-apple-red on any vehicle.

My brother Buster was still alive, and would be for a couple more. My parents were divorced, but they remarried (each other!) the next year.

With my sister and brother-in-law, I camped in Palmetto State Park and toured Gonzales, Texas. I saw the Come-And-Take-It cannon up close and personal for the first time.

My friend Debbie got married. The marriage itself didn't last long, but we had tons of fun at her lingerie shower, her bachelorette party at LaBare, and the wedding. I was a bridesmaid, dressed in a floral blue dress with some sort of smock thing over the top. The groomsmen wore baby blue tuxes. (It's okay... it was 1980. Very cool.)

I spent time with my friend Ann and the first two of her five babies, even though our lives were obviously on different pages. But then, I don't think we've ever been on the same page, and our friendship has survived... no, thrived... anyway.

Just before Christmas that year, while I was out shopping with my boyfriend's mom, someone broke into my condo. They just pried the door away from the frame to get in, and stole a topaz ring my mother had given me, two promise rings from high school sweethearts, and a collection of coins I inherited from my grandfather.

They probably took other things I've forgotten about but those are what still tug at my heart. 

Consequently, my boyfriend surprised me with a 32 revolver under the Christmas tree.

 

 

Now, when I was little, I liked to pretend I was a cowboy, and I've always loved shooting at targets, but, for some reason, knowing that gun rested in my bedside table triggered nightmares about someone breaking in. I was so afraid I'd have to use the dang thing. (But I would have if I needed to!)

By the way, I'm dressed in a flannel shirt and jeans in the photo above because I went in to work that evening, Christmas night. Holidays are just like any other day when you're working shifts... except you get paid double time.

My Aunt Peggy gave me an old ceramic teapot music box that Christmas, decorated with pink roses. It was the seed of my teapot collection.

I welcomed 1981 at one of the best New Year's Eve parties ever. Here I am with my friend Larry, who passed away from cancer a little more than a decade later. 

 

Most of my free time was spent with friends who were on "A" shift with me. We went dancing at Gilley's, played cards, camped, tubed the Guadalupe...

 

 

I find it funny that I wore a one-piece back then, when I could have worn a bikini... and wear a bikini now, when I should probably wear a one-piece.  

That was some year, now that I think back on it, although I didn't realize it when I was living it. It's hard to believe thirty-two years have passed... until I start thinking of all that's happened since then...

...So many of the faces smiling up out of my photo albums are gone now, but through the magic of photography, their memories are alive and a part of me will remain 21 forever.

I certainly hope my baby girl takes lots of photos to help her remember her 21... and I hope they are all sweet memories. 

What do you remember most from your 21?

Tenacity

Tomorrow will mark four days in a row I didn't have to report to one job or another. That's a record. When I say "job", I'm not talking about working on my book or photography, but at one of those hourly paying gigs that help feed our bank account.

When I envisioned these four wide open days, I saw myself up early, typing away at my book, filling dozens of pages even before heading out for my morning walk with the puppies. I would then edit some photos, write a blog post or two before lunch, followed by making a major dent on my to-do notebook (it's expanded way beyond a list.) I would still have time to work out, and take the pups and my camera on an afternoon walk to the pond. 

Well, of course, in real life it didn't work out that way. I had so many odds and ends to take care of that it felt like my days just kind of piddled away.

I did manage to  work on my book a couple of times, edit some photos, and publish a blog post, but there are some major to-do's I still haven't tackled.

There's always tomorrow...

I say that too often these days.

The thing is... and I hate to put words to the phantom thoughts drifting through my brain.. but I'm beginning to think it's impossible to be a writer, photographer, blogger, personal historian, mother, wife, daughter, sister, friend, waiter, substitute teacher, and.... um, I think that's it.... all at the same time.

But that doesn't mean I'm giving up. 

On one of my recent walks, I noticed new grapevine twisting around an old limb. Clinging, climbing, intent on moving ever up and up. I was first struck by the bright red color, but its tenacity is what mesmerizes and inspires me now. Tom cleared out as much grapevine as he could this winter - it tends to choke the trees - but grapevine is one stubborn, headstrong plant.

 

I want to be like that.

Last Wednesday night I attended a photography workshop by Clay Blackmore, a professional portrait photographer about my age who started with film thirty years ago. He had to make the switch to digital - and to edgier, artsy photos - to stay on top of his business.

The guy next to me and I started talking. He also was about my age and had been a film photographer who only recently picked up a digital camera, trying to get back into photography and make some money from it. I can't remember now what he asked me, but in answering him, I mentioned that I was writing a book as well as doing some portrait and art photography.

That's when the woman sitting in front of us, also about our age, turned around. She asked me about my book and how I found my critique group. Seems she started writing a romance novel twenty years ago herself, but set it on a shelf somewhere along the way. It had been gnawing on her lately to dust it off and finish it, but she just hadn't done it yet.

When we said good night a little later, I told her "Get back on that book tomorrow!" And she promised she was going to. I believe she did.

I like to think I inspired her. But she also inspired me.

So tomorrow, I'll be working on my book. And my photos. And my blogs. And transcribing an interview, scanning some old photos...

Tomorrow has arms wide open, full of possibility, don't you know?

 

I hope you've had a great week that included at least a few minutes of doing something you've dreamed about, something that makes your imagination soar and your heart beat faster.

If not, there's still time. What are you waiting for?

"Success is the sum of small efforts, repeated day in and day out."

~ Robert J. Collier

 

Adding to my collection...

I started substitute teaching again.

Three years ago I started a (mostly) full-time job and, except for Voting Day and a couple of quick visits to talk about writing to students, I didn't step a foot into the schools during that time.

I missed it, and I'm so grateful the district accepted me as a sub again. Over the past few weeks I've reviewed color patterns... read Peter Rabbit aloud for the first time in more than a decade, as well as voiced a part in the last act of Othello...  watched a stage performance of "The Emperor's New Clothes"... enjoyed a documentary hosted by Peter Jennings about the 50's and early 60's (three times!)... learned about the dangers of drinking and drugs from Hollywood Henderson via VHS... and overheard some heartbreaking home life stories.

I'm not going to be the popular sub... at least not at the high school... because I don't care if the kids like me or not. I'm there to follow the teacher's directions, period. And, if possible, get the kids to learn something while they're under my watch.

After raising three kids and subbing for 15 years (plus one year on the payroll as the elementary school librarian) I'm on to all, or at least most, of the tricks. But I still have a soft heart and those kids can be really tricky. I'm sure they're going to pull one over one me every once in a while because they can also be interesting, considerate and funny.

I'm hoping to sub as much as I can until summer vacation starts. Unlike other jobs I've had in my life, this one gives me a good feeling, like I've actually done something positive with my time. It's also a great source of material for my children's book!

And, of course, the main reason I'm taking time away from my book for anything else is we need the money. I'm just grateful that I've been able to gather a flexible collection of jobs I enjoy:

1. Writer
2. Photographer (Art and Portrait)
3. Blogger
4. Book Reviewer
5. Substitute teacher
6. Winery Bistro waiter
7. Independent Silpada Representative
8. Substitute church secretary
9. Personal historian (although I haven't made much progress on this one!)

I feel like I've forgotten one or two...

Oh, well. It's hard to focus when this is what's going on around me...

So gorgeous! The world is exploding in color!

I pulled over to take this on my commute to #5 yesterday. And to sigh.

There was an art show going on around the estate, so during some down time, I grabbed my camera and walked around...

This was my favorite, by Shakti Sarkin. I didn't go home with it, though. The price? $1350. 

Made me wish I could add 'artist' to my list.

Here are a few other pieces that caught my eye...

I believe the art will hang around for a month. But we also have a new permanent addition to the Bistro. A pizza oven!

You can see Chef Sean is happy about it...

...but this is going to be sooooo detrimental to my waistline...

I love pizza.

I love my jobs.

If you miss me on Facebook or FlickR or in the comments section of your blog, now you know why! (Thanks for missing me, Patti!)

An Irish Friendship Wish (Sweet!)

 

Hope you're all having a wonderful St. Patrick's Day!

Perhaps it seems odd to post a photo of a cemetery on this day, but this is no ordinary cemetery. It's a Shallue plot in Ireland.

I didn't take the photograph, but I hope to visit it one day and pay my respects to my husband's ancestors.

Without further ado, here are my sweets of the week, beginning with Tuesday since I was late with them last week!

Tuesday: a call from your daughter letting you know her group arrived safe and sound at their destination

Wednesday: happy frogs singing to the stars

Thursday: reminders from your puppy to step away from the computer and wander outside, where you can here the chattering birds running waterfall

Friday: a morning with your parents; phone calls from, and in-person visits with, dear friends; home concerts by talented singer/songwriters, especially combined with a long-overdue visit with longtime friends

Saturday: a visit with your sister; eggs and bacon, cooked by your daddy

 

May there always be work for your hands to do; 

 May your purse always hold a coin or two;

May the sun always shine on your windowpane;

May a rainbow be certain to follow each rain;

May the hand of a friend always be near you; 

May God fill your heart with gladness to cheer you!

God Bless the Late Bloomers!

Those things, good Lord, that we pray for, give us the grace to labor for.

~St. Thomas More

 

It's inside of me. I can feel it pushing, trying to stretch and uncurl its petals, this flower of mine. This flower of Me.

Some days it's stronger than others and I feel it's almost there, almost free, but then it grows still, frozen by doubts. 

What will it look like, this composite of seeds blended together over a lifetime? Will one color dominate, washing out the others, or will they all be in there, a mish-mashed rainbow?

Will you be able to see the writer, who can't help but try to capture and direct the flood of words constantly streaming through her brain? The photographer who always has a camera pointed at the world, hoping to freeze what her eye sees? The re-awakened business person who sold lemonade and knick-knacks on her childhood curb? The personal historian who loves to ask nosy questions... who finds true life stories as fascinating as fiction?

I don't care. Just bloom, already!

These late-bloomers inspire and encourage me to keep trying...

Mary Wesley was in her fifties before she published her first book, one of several for children she wrote. She went on to write a novel, "Jumping the Queue," published in her seventies. It was rejected several times before MacMillan Publishers took a chance on it. By the time she died at ninety, she was a widely popular, successful writer.  

Harriett Doerr went back to college in her sixties, after her husband died. She published her first novel at seventy-three, "Stones for Ibarra," went on to write many novels, short stories and essays... and win the National Book Award.

Mary and Harriett make my 52 years feel younger than ever, God bless them!

Other late-blooming authors include Frank McCourt (60's), Richard Adams (50's), James Michener (40's - a spring chicken!), Laura Ingalls Wilder (60's) and Raymond Chandler (50's).

Although I started writing years ago, it's taken me until now to believe in myself enough to make it a priority over other parts of my life. Not necessarily a belief in any talent I might or might not have, but in my doggedness and desire to write, and the belief that those are the keys to success as much as, or maybe even more than, talent.

I'm just too stubborn to give up now. 

Looking Back, Looking Forward

"A writer is somebody for whom writing is more difficult than it is for other people."

~ Thomas Mann

If that's so, then I'm definitely a writer. There are times when writing isn't just difficult for me - it's pure hell.

But other times it's heaven, and that's why I stand here in January of 2012, once again repeating the mantra from past New Year's resolutions: finish my book... finish my book... finish my book...

In terms of writing, my 2011 looked a lot - too much - like 2010, 2009, 2008...

It's time to review what I've learned over my two decades or so of writing. I need to figure out what helps, and do more of that, while clearing the hurdles that are keeping me from the finish line.

Let's see... I've learned I need big chunks of time for writing. My writing can't thrive and grow on the handfuls of stolen minutes I've been feeding it for years.

I've learned multitasking is my enemy. I have to close all those extra windows on my computer that tempt me... Facebook being the main culprit, but email and even research sites can be time-sucking tempters.

Other things I've learned: I compare myself to others too often; I need the challenge, support and feedback of a writer's group; I have a problem with finishing what I start... and starting too many things.

On the 'up' side, I'm much better at saying 'no'. Housework, bills, laundry, cooking... I can easily shove the thought of them into a closet and forget they exist. Wearing earplugs helps me do the same with any nearby conversations or television noise. (I work at a desktop in the open livingroom.)

My biggest challenge for 2012? Finding a balance and setting priorities between all of my different interests/callings/projects... writing my book(s), blogging, photography, and my seed of a personal history/photography business... while not neglecting my family, friends and health.

Pretty much the same challenge I faced last year. And the year before. And the year before.

I hope that by next January, I can adopt a new mantra. At least for a different book.

Gifts

O Sunrise, 
splendor of light eternal and sun of righteousness:
Come and enlighten those who dwell in darkness 
and the shadow of death.

This sunrise was a gift, a splash of tangerine through my window reminding me that light conquers darkness, that each new day is a promise fulfilled, a gift to savor.

I rose at 4:30 this morning to write... a gift to myself but also to my family who has handed me the gift of flexible time and relative freedom to work on my creative pursuits, despite the echo of an empty bank account that goes with them. 

I owe it to them to face the empty pages head-on, to pull the right words out of my dreamy head and arrange them on the page the best I can, instead of just chasing them around in that dreamland of my imagination.

And I owe it to myself, because this isn't a pretty knick-knack you place on a shelf and admire, but the kind of gift you try to use up, the kind that won't last forever.

It's a gift I've wished for for so long that I've been hesitant to open it, as if I feared the beautiful thing inside wouldn't fit me.

I've wasted time fiddling with the ribbons, but not any more. This week I'm ripping into it, no longer worried about whether it will fit, but determined to make it my own.

I'm adding structure to my dreamland. No more vague boundaries between projects... I'm keeping track of my time, submerging myself in one venture at a time as much as possible, finding a balance between creative and business. 

No more multi-tasking, but pure focus on whatever I'm working on.

I've stepped back into my children's book; it's the closest to being finished and it just makes more sense to dress it up, slick back its cowlick,  and ship it off to a potential agent or two... and then get back to my historical fiction, where the research has become a bog, slowing my progress.

Besides... I missed my characters (Winston, Eddie, Reed and Nate) and felt guilty that I just left them hanging, poor kids. I could hear them calling my name every once in awhile, but like a busy mother told them, Not now. Go play.

I think they've forgiven me for neglecting them. They were a little stingy with the story yesterday, but today seemed to forget they were mad.... we had a pretty exciting morning!

I haven't forgotten my personal history business, but it's like a model plane I began building but had to set aside, without its wings.

This afternoon I spent a few hours transcribing those interviews with my parents from the summer. I love listening to their voices, hearing stories I've never heard, imagining them in their other lives, those aside from being Mama and Daddy.

It takes time, but to me, it's worth it. Their stories are a treasured gift to myself. I need to get this plane off the ground and help others discover the same treasure... the treasure of family stories. So a block of my day, or at least my week, is devoted to it, too.

I'm able to do all of this during the week before Christmas because TG and Daniel helped me decorate the house and tree. My cards are ordered - they'll go out after Christmas, but that's okay - the Christmas season runs into January. The Epiphany.

We have a "no-bought-gift" policy this year, so no frantic last minute shopping for me. The next couple of nights will find me baking cookies, editing and scanning and uploading photos... those are my gifts this year, gifts of my time and cooking and photography, but not I'm stressing or keeping tabs about what doesn't get done.

Why didn't we do this earlier? Somewhere along the way I feel we lost the point of our celebration... the birth of Jesus. 

On the phone with my oldest earlier this week, discussing our Christmas plans, I asked how he felt about not exchanging gifts this year. That triggered a near-rant that made my mother's heart soar, about the over-commercialization of Christmas and extreme emphasis on bought gifts. 

"I think Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday now... it's all about family and just hanging out with each other. I think that's how Christmas should be, too," he told me.

This isn't a drastic change in attitude for him - even when he was small he didn't ask for much, and when he was older, he scolded me for buying him things he didn't need.

The other two are the same way. I have no idea where their pragmatic, frugal outlook came from - I was a zealous 'gotta have lots under the tree' kind of mom for years and Tom's not much better - but I'm very grateful for their attitude now. Perhaps they just rubbed off on me. 

Those three are my best gifts ever.

Another gift... Tom's Pop is out of the hospital. Still no definite answers till test results arrive next week, though, so we appreciate your continued prayers!

 

 

 

He would have been 64.

Thoughts of my brother Buster flitted in and out of my mind today. My parents drove out to the cemetery as I'm sure they've done every October 16 for 29 years. As I'm sure I would do if I were in their place.

I hope I'm never in their place.

The following is a re-post from 2008. I've included a few more photos, but otherwise there's nothing more to add except to say, I'm thinking of you, Buster. You're always in our hearts.

 

Here's a rare picture of me with all of my siblings - Brenda's holding me, Donnie is lying behind us, and Buster, the big brother of us all, is on the right.   

Yesterday was Buster's birthday - it's hard for me to imagine he would have been sixty-one. It's hard for me to imagine I'm now older by more than a decade than he was in my last memory of him, when I stood beside him in the hospital, kissed him, told him I loved him, and told him good-bye. We knew he wouldn't be coming out of his coma. 

Even now I cry when I think of it. I can't imagine, don't want to imagine, how it feels to my parents, losing a child. 

In my earliest memories, Buster had already left home. There's a memory of us visiting him at his Army Boot Camp graduation in Louisiana, and one of him taking me to a carnival, where he won me a soapstone bank shaped like a cartoonish hound dog.

"Grumpy" is still with me, sitting high on a shelf in the livingroom, a reminder that my big brother loved me and spoiled me. 

On his visits home, he doted on me...a trail of small footprints meandered across the ceilings in our house because minutes after coming through the door he would comply with my demands to "Walk me on the ceiling!" 

He would grab me, flip me upside down and hold me up (giggling and squealing) so that I could walk in that imaginary topsy-turvy world.  

Mama says he was crazy about me when I was a baby...he would even wash the styling grease out his hair so I could play with his dark brown curls. I can't remember that, but I do remember sitting on the front row of his wedding, crying. I must have sensed that things would change between us. 

Through most of my life he was in the background, a shadow. Buster was busy with his adult life and I was busy with my childhood and they rarely intersected. He became a father and I loved being an aunt. He went to Viet Nam - twice - and we hung a map up on the hallway wall, keeping track of his whereabouts with pushpins. He divorced and gave up custody of his son, and I didn't understand.

Our lives collided again just before Christmas in 1973. I was watching television in the darkened living room, the colored lights on the Christmas tree splashing a kaleidoscope on the walls, when the phone rang. I heard Mam-ma's voice talking, then her silhouette appeared framed in the doorway. "Buster's been shot." 

I remember Brenda and I pulling in to the dark parking lot of Houston's Ben Taub Hospital, rushing through the glaring white halls, dodging solemn faces overflowing from the waiting rooms, just in time to see Buster, his body bruised and bloody, being wheeled in on a gurney. He disappeared through the white double doors of the operating room.

Mama refused to leave the hospital for ten days, until she knew he was going to make it. She slept in stolen snatches on a hard wooden bench in the lobby. Daddy brought her fresh clothes and she washed up in the ladies' room.

My once tall, muscular big brother was now a quadriplegic. He came home from Viet Nam only to be shot in a bar just outside of Houston. One of the bullets severed his spinal cord.

Over the next few years he was in and out of hospitals. He attended the University of Texas and then Victoria College, getting a degree in business. He started a guard dog business and learned to drive with hand controls. He wrote poetry and loved debating with his friends about religion and what ever else got them stirred up. He could be moody, unpredictable, and gripped by bouts of depression - just like me, a teenager during those years, too consumed with my own life to pay close attention to what was going on in his.

We didn't get along very well. He loved to tease me and embarrass my boyfriends. Except Tom...Tom just let it roll off of him.

Just before his thirty-fourth birthday, Buster went in the hospital for surgery. The next day he went into the coma. Within a few days, he was gone and I realized how much I loved him, and how much I would miss him. I wished I had told him I loved him more often when I had the chance.

Not long after his death, I woke to find him standing in my room. Standing. We didn't speak. Perhaps it was a dream, but it doesn't matter...in my heart I knew he was sending me a message because he knew I loved him and would want to know that he was once again tall and strong, healthy and whole, just like he was in my childhood.

 

Makin' a list and checkin' it twice...

List-mode -noun  A state of being wherein a moderately organized compulsive listmaker falls behind on things she needs to do, usually due to a weekend out of town with her girlfriends, and can't help but make more lists in a feeble attempt to get caught up without forgetting something important.

 

1. Sigh.

2. The weekend was totally worth it, though. Just hanging out with my girlfriends around the pool, sipping margaritas and talking, talking, talking would have made my current harried frenzy worth it, but my weekend journey had some other high spots in it as well.

3. If you're a blogger or on Facebook or FlickR or Twitter or some other social media I've never heard of, you've probably made lots of friends that, chances are, you'll never meet in person. Well, this weekend I got to meet one of those previously "virtual" friends, Debbie, who I connected with a few months ago on FlickR. On my way into Houston Friday, she met me for lunch.

4. It is so cool to see a person you've only known through words or photos sitting right there in front of you, face to face. We had a wonderful visit, but, of course, it was too short. 

5. We'll have to do it again, Debbie!!

6. My Diva weekend will get its own post (eventually!) but I want to mention one thing about it now because I think it's such a great idea.

7. We celebrated Leslie's birthday on Saturday, but instead of presents, she requested bags of dog and cat food that she could donate to an animal shelter. Isn't that a great idea?

8. You rock, Leslie!! 

9. (Here she is between her goddaughter, Georgie, and our sweet animal-loving hostess Rae, who took the food to her local shelter.)

 

10. Sunday I spent several hours with my parents before heading home, and for close to four of those hours I listened to - and recorded - my parents' stories and memories.

11. I'm convinced there's no better heirloom or legacy, and can't wait to go back to capture more of that treasure. 

12. Doesn't Daddy look cute in his suspenders? 

13. Do you remember me telling you I'm part of the BlogHer Book Club? Well, my latest book review was published today on BlogHer, about Sarah Dessen's What Happened to Goodbye? Click HERE to read my full review.  

14. Guess what? I'm a finalist in Jillsy Girl's June Water Challenge! Voting continues until June 29th so go HERE to vote! (Don't feel you have to vote for me - click on each of the entries and pick whichever one you like.)

15. Some people truly amaze me, and Gina Calvert is one of those people, constantly spreading herself thin to help someone else. Her latest venture is for Girls on the Run, a non-profit prevention program that helps preteen girls develop self-respect and health lifestyles through running.

16. Gina, who isn't a runner yet, plans to run a 5K in just a few months to raise money for the program. (I should mention at this point that Gina is 51!)

17.Please click HERE to read more about Girls on the Run. (Even if you don't think you can or will donate, you should read Gina's post about it. She's a wonderful writer!) 

18. Whew! I think that's enough for tonight...

19. Thank you.

On Dreams ... and Sweet #5

"Nothing happens unless first we dream." ~ Carl Sanburg

So true. But dreams are just seeds - they don't bloom without the right conditions and it's up to us to help them along. We have to water them. Plant them where they'll get enough sunshine. 

I've been prodded several times just in the past few days to keep moving on my dreams - to nurture them.

• Saturday night Shake Russell stood a few feet away from me and sang, "...you're only as strong as your dreams. Don't give 'em up for a stack of green. Keep right on going and you'll see what I mean..." from one of his latest songs. (I'll post about this, but I've barely had time to look at my photos!)
• Last night I finally watched the movie "Up" - it's about an elderly man finally following through on a dream he shared with his wife, after she passes away.
• Today I saw the Sanburg quote up above.

But I already planned to use this day to further my (latest) dream, a personal history business, where I can use my love of writing and history and genealogy and general nosiness about people's lives to help them preserve their stories as legacy - and today I registered the name and secured the domain (I didn't even make up my mind on it until I was in the county tax office!) 

 

The name I chose is...

"Memory to Legacy"

So...what do you think?

Huh? You don't like it? Well, there's no going back now, so please don't even tell me!

(Thank you to everyone who gave me feedback on some of my choices and gave me other ideas. It really helped. Please don't be mad if I didn't choose your favorite!This one isn't even my first pick!)

It's scary, this "going into business" for myself thing, especially since we're already pretty broke. But I feel I'm moving in a direction I'm supposed to (does that make sense?) so at this point, I'm not too worried. Next month when I'm trying to pay bills it might be different, but right now I feel very optimistic.  Shake's words help: "...don't give them up for a small stack of green..."  which to me means a another job I don't enjoy but that provides a steady paycheck.

While I was busy trying to figure out how to secure the domain and link it to my blog host, Tom was huffing and puffing, carrying even more bookshelves into my library. So that dream has moved even further along as well, bless my sweet husband's heart. 

I'm hoping I'll have time to work on my book and photography during downtime on my business. The clock is ticking and I need to stop dawdling and get busy.

Okay, now for my Sweet!...

 It's funny - now that I've started this Sweet! series, it's actually tough to pick just one to post a day. Making the final decision on a name felt really good. Plus, today, I got to see 2/3 of my kids - even had lunch and a great philosophical discussion with 1/3. A funny Mother's Day card from my oldest third arrived in the mail. And I found a penny on the floor just as I was handing over the paperwork for my name. (A great reminder of "In God We Trust")

All pretty Sweet!

But I'll stick to the dream theme for Sweet #5:

Moving a step (or two) closer along the path to your Dream.

What is your dream and what have you done lately to make it come true?

P.S. I received word today that someone who played a big part in our lives has Stage 4 cancer in their liver, colon and lungs, and just started chemo. Please, please keep this person in your prayers! Thank you!

 

 

 

A Tale of Wisconsin, Weddings and Whispers of the Past (p.s. you were right, Dean Endres)

Back in 10th grade, full of Texas pride, I got into a heated argument with my boyfriend, a fresh transplant from Baraboo, Wisconsin, over the merits of our respective states.

I don't think he was trying to say Wisconsin was better than Texas, only trying to describe its beauty and merits to me, but it put me on the defensive: I fervently maintained that NO state could come close in any kind of comparison to Texas.

Bear in mind that my out-of-state traveling experience up to that point consisted of a few trips to Colorado (the exception to my Texas assertion - I fell in love with that state right away. Who wouldn't?); jaunts into Louisiana and Oklahoma... or was it Arkansas... that I don't remember because I was so young; a skirt through New Mexico (Carlsbad Caverns... again, an exception. I love caves.); a day across the border in Matamoros, Mexico (no comment) and an emergency-room-hopping road trip to St. Louis where I was too busy trying to breathe (asthma) to pay attention to the scenery. 

Fast forward several years... from the window of Tom's old Ford van, the verdant, rolling farmlands of Illinois and then Wisconsin, dotted with picturesque farms (and those awesome old barns) stretch out around me, and I have to nod my head... I see what you mean, Dean.

 

 

Of course, by then I'd also traveled to several European countries, Utah, and all over the southeastern United States as far north as Maryland, and I had come to look for and appreciate the simple beauty you can find everywhere.

I was still a Texas girl, no doubt about that! But I had grown up enough to appreciate local cultures and regional differences... those things that make each spot unique.

And Wisconsin, especially the Manitowoc area, was unique in a special way... it came with family history. This was the spot Bridget Shallue and her kids chose to call home after leaving Ireland in the 1850s. And unlike my family tree that resembles a vine stretching out far and wide more than a tree with roots burrowing deep into a single area, the Shallue's had stayed put for several generations.

Tom and I loved it so much we went three summers in a row...

August 1983: We met his parents in Manitowoc, then followed them all the way up to the Upper Peninsula and around Lake Michigan to meet/visit his mom's family in Pontiac. 

July 1984: Tom and I went on our own, staying with Grandma and Grandpa Shallue in the house where Tom's dad was raised. I treasure that visit, having that time with them, getting to know them and Tom's relatives better. We picked raspberries at Grandma's brother's house, drove up to Door County and all around the countryside, stopping at roadside pubs and cheese factories along the way.

Grandpa was physically blind, but his mind-sight was perfect; he could point out of the car window and describe what we were seeing, narrating the memories that went with it...  the Shallue's farm was right here, the Peppard's was on this same road... that's Pigeon Lake where I went skinny-dipping with my friends...

August 1985: We met most of Tom's siblings there for his cousin Sue's wedding. We flew into Chicago and brother Steve picked us up on his way in from South Dakota. I was pregnant with Tommy and don't even remember where we stayed on that trip! Except for a few crystal clear moments, the rest of that trip is a pregnancy-induced fog! 

And that was it... our last visit until this year, and we have no idea why we haven't been back until now.

It was the last time we saw Grandma - she died of breast cancer soon after Tommy's first birthday. But I still have her letters and the baby clothes and blanket she crocheted for him. And those priceless memories of our visits.

We saw Grandpa twice more... once in Royce City near Dallas, where Sue's brother Dan lived for awhile, and another time in Maryland at Tom's parents' house. 

Sue and I continued writing back and forth for a while, but our letters slowed to a stop as well, just as mysteriously. I'm sure it had to do with parenthood - when you add kids to your life, it gets more complicated.

But then the kids grow up and if you're lucky, you get another chance; I can't remember exactly how it happened now, but it seems like I spotted Sue's daughter Sarah on Facebook first and asked about her mom. Before you know it, Sue and I had reconnected and Sarah invited us to her wedding; I couldn't wait to return to Wisconsin. I wondered how much it had changed. 

We were just in our twenties, but on our first trips, Tom and I loved driving around the area, walking through the family cemetery, discovering bits of history and soaking in the rural scenery.

We looked forward to doing that again on this trip and sharing it with the kids, but the boys weren't able to come and even though some of it interested her, I'm afraid for the most part, the driving-around-bit bored TG out of her mind. 

Maybe Tom and I are weird, but at least we're a good match!

The highlight of the trip was Sarah and Mike's wedding, of course. It was held outside (and yes, it gets hot in Wisconsin, too!) but it was a gem of a day after a week of rain.

Weddings are always special, but this one was especially beautiful and memorable to me - Mike is deaf, so he and Sarah signed their vows, while interpretors were busy signing the minister's words.

It really hit us how much time had passed when we saw Tom's aunts and uncles at the wedding reception. They still looked the same, more or less, but their kids are now grown with kids of their own! It's one of those things you might know on one level, but the passage of twenty-five years doesn't hit you until you see the physical evidence of it.

As if planning a wedding wasn't enough, the next day Sue and Ron hosted a family reunion at their home, admittedly the perfect spot for a party... there's a pond for fishing and swimming with a canoe and paddle boat handy (I'll write more about Pond Envy later)... a firepit... and large tables for family poker games.

In between it all, Tom, TG, and I squeezed in drives through Manitowoc and the small surrounding towns where the Shallue's lived, loved, married and died.

We have good intentions of going back someday and promises from cousins, aunts and uncles to come visit us in Texas, but we know from experience that good intentions and promises can be set aside and forgotten.

I hope that doesn't happen to us again.

Sue with cousin Steven and Aunt Marg in 1983, when we first met, in 1985 with Grandma and Grandpa at her wedding (and I think her Grandma Place), and last week with husband Ron, just before Sarah's wedding...

   The wedding... Sarah and Mike...

Tom's Uncle Larry and Uncle Pat talked the wedding limo driver into taking us on a twilight tour of Manitowoc during the reception... scratch "riding in limo" off of my bucket list! 

 Revisiting the house that raised 10 kids: in 1984 when Tom and I visited Grandma and Grandpa...  and last week. We've changed a bit, but it hasn't, has it? Actually, from here, I don't think Tom has changed much, either. Hmmm...

Driving through the countryside, we came across this seemingly abandoned building, a former Catholic Church - St. Nazianz. There's also an abandoned Seminary on the grounds. It looks like someone is trying to restore them, and I hope they're successful. I found a link that reports the area to be haunted, and that thought certainly crossed our minds, but it was unlocked, so of course we stepped inside to explore... (the Girl enjoyed this adventure.)

Tom and I were determined to visit cemeteries on this trip... first the cemetery where the first American Shallue's were buried at St. Isidore, which sadly is no longer a church, and then the Manitowoc cemetery where Grandma and Grandpa are buried. The Girl didn't share our enthusiasm for this adventure, but maybe she will one day. 

It took us awhile to find Bridget's grave, but we finally spotted it near her daughter's resting place...

         

The Sugar on Top

Tom and I were driving up to Maryland for the first time so I could meet his family and childhood friends before our wedding. It was my first time in Tennessee, the Carolinas and all of those other states between Texas and Maryland. What a fabulous trip - seeing the sunrise just outside of Nashville, driving through the Smokies, the Blue Ridge, and the Shenandoah Mountains, seeing the lights of Washington D.C.

But I think it was soon after we crossed the Virginia state line that I started scavenging for food in the car - I was getting really nervous about meeting his family, and that's one thing I do when I'm nervous. Eat.

When I ran out of food, I pulled out my "practice" photo, the one of Tom and all of his brothers taken at a recent wedding, and started testing myself on the names of his eight brothers. Thank goodness I'd only be meeting five on this trip.

I was mostly nervous about meeting his mom. I would be the first non-Catholic daughter-in-law! We had written back and forth and she seemed to like me, but I couldn't keep those worries out of my head. Now I can't believe I was ever nervous - Mom welcomed with open arms and her beautiful bright smile. She and Pop treated me like their own daughter from the very start.

Over the years, I've seen and heard tales of horrible mother-in-laws, and I realize how very lucky I am...not only did I snag the best husband ever, but he came wrapped in a package with this fabulous woman. She raised nine boys into nine good men without losing her sense of humor, sense of self, and sense of fun.  She's the kind of mother-in-law who was quite willing to turn the care of her sons over to their wives, thank-you-very-much. There was never any kind of test to see if I was "good enough" for Tom - as long as he loved me and thought I was the right one, she did, too. She's always been quick to help and quick with advice...when asked. I've learned by watching her and my own mother how to generously give of myself to my family and my community, but ensure I retain something for myself.

Today is Mom's birthday. I wish we could have been with her, rather than just send our happy birthday wishes over the phone. Now that the kids are all out of school, I'm hoping we'll be able to do just that - plan a visit on her birthday. Or at least close to it. For now, the phone and photos will have to do to make us feel close...

 

Mom and Pop with the first seven...

 

With Tom and me in front of the Maryland house on my first visit...

 

At our wedding...

 

Playing cribbage with Pop and Tom at the Florida house last year...one of her favorite things...

Happy, happy birthday Mom!! Thank you for being you!

A Glimpse Inside The Man

Sometimes I'm just not a very good wife. Today is Tom's birthday and I was totally unprepared.

After work, I made a mad dash into town to do things I should have already taken care of...like getting him a present (or three - thanks for the tips, Robert!), a card, and picking up a cheesecake.

(Dinner, by the way: steaks HE picked up yesterday on his way home from work that HE grilled himself tonight. He prefers the ones he cooks over the ones I cook, but that's beside the point.)

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

Soon after we met, I looked through his photo albums and marveled that someone hadn't snagged him yet. He was so cute, so adventurous, so independent, so eager to have fun.

Case in point...after high school, he enlisted in the Coast Guard, then hitchiked alone from his home in Maryland all the way across Canada and back before reporting. He was stationed in Kodiak, Alaska and he went prepared to have fun - he pulled a boat behind his old Ford van, brought all of his camping gear, bought a good camera, a dirt bike and rapelling gear (and an old juke box, currently project #336), and had the time of his life.

He said some guys got up there and just complained that there was nothing to do. They couldn't wait until their time was up and they could get back to the lower 48.

And that's one reason I fell in love with him - he's fun! Well, most of the time. No matter where we are or what we're doing.

I'm not sure how staying in Texas with me appealed to him more than heading off to New Zealand or somewhere for more adventure, but I'm glad it did.

In honor of his birthday, I decided to scan some of his old photos, to save them for posterity. 

He really hasn't changed that much! Once a cutie, always a cutie!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Happy birthday, Tom! I love you!

My Sunshine Boy

The sky was filled with gray clouds on my walk again this morning, but my thoughts were filled with sunshine - my Sunshine Boy, that is, which is what I call Tommy because he's been lighting up my life since the day he was born...23 years ago today.

I remember the first time I held him in my arms and gazed into his blue eyes that seemed unbelievably old and wise - any doubts I might have had that God existed were swept away.  I don't understand how anyone can experience the birth of a baby and not have every single doubt that God exists erased from their heart and mind.    

 

 

 

Becoming a mother was the most life-changing event I've ever experienced  and watching Tommy (and my other babies) grow has been the most rewarding. Being a mother colors every aspect of my life - it is my main job, my central responsibility. That's a miracle in itself, considering I was seriously lukewarm about babies until my biological alarm clock went off and I HAD TO HAVE A BABY!

Tommy's was the first diaper I ever changed! Somehow he has managed to shoulder the brunt of my sometimes-suffocating motherly love, although I know it was tough on him. ("I know you love me, mom. It overwhelms me sometimes!") Now he resorts to teasing me about it.

His memory, creativity and imagination have always amazed me, from the stories he made up when he was little, the pictures he drew, the pretend games he played. He is such a gifted artist, too, although he doesn't think he's as good as he really is. He's a perfectionist and gets impatient with himself.

I wish he had time for his art now, but his grown-up life keeps him too busy. I wish he had time for reading, too - from the time he could sit still, I read to him, three books a night. That's how we disciplined him - he'd get a book taken away for each infraction. One day I had to take all three and he cried, "Please, Mama, spank me or something, but please read to me."

(Ah, those were magic words to my ears.)

When he was five, he asked me to read Tolkien's The Hobbit to him. I didn't think he'd stay interested beyond the first chapter, but he did. Just a few years later he read the Lord of the Rings trilogy himself.

I am so grateful Tommy shares my sense of humor, laughing at the same silly stuff I do. It was a happy day for me when he was old enough to watch Monty Python's Search for the Holy Grail. He's also one of those people who can remember the funniest lines of a movie and say them back in a perfect imitation - he can make me laugh by quoting one or two words. Now when we get together, he shows me funny videos on the computer.

One of the best things about Tommy is his heart, his compassion. I have zillions of pictures of him, but these are two of my favorites. He was just six. We were at a family reunion. He spotted this elderly woman lying on a cot and asked me who she was. "Aunt Bertha," I told him. She was my grandfather's sister, and I didn't really know her.

Not long after that, I spotted him sitting by her side, chatting away, patting her arm. He didn't know her, but it didn't matter. She was old, too old to get up and talk to anyone, and she was family, so instead of playing outside, Tommy sat beside her to keep her company.

 

 

 

He's always been thoughtful like that...caring and considerate. When Daniel graduated from high school and was preparing to head off to UT, Tommy presented him with a spiral notebook filled with advice, telling Daniel all about the mistakes he had made, what he should have done differently. He periodically calls both Daniel and TG on their cell phones to check on them, a wise confidante and friend they can turn to, who understands what they're going through. 

It's hard to describe the warm feeling I get knowing he cares enough to check on them, to let them know he's available if they need him. There was this time I remember back when he was in high school - he was mad, told me he didn't like me because I was punishing him for something, I can't remember what. I told him that was okay, that I didn't always like him, either, and that I loved him so much that I didn't care if he liked me or not - I was mostly concerned with making sure he grew up to be the kind of person that I could like and be friends with. 

He has.

 

 

I hope he had a happy birthday today. It's been years since I was with him on his birthday - first he was away at college, now he's off in Dallas working. I mailed his card, left him a message and sent him an email.

I wonder if he can feel my hug?

Dear Paquita,

I remember sitting in the class circle in 4th grade Spanish, trying to imitate the suave, casual way you crossed your legs and chewed thoughtfully on your thumbnail. You were so smart, athletic, and popular, and seemed to be oblivious to all the guys who had crushes on you.

We became friends, connected at first by our love of books and boys. Because of you I discovered Nancy Drew. Because of you I tackled Gone with the Wind in 7th grade - if you could do it, then, gulp, I could do it, too. I was never again afraid of a thick book. Because of you I worked harder in school, determined to make straight A's, just like you.

Christmas caroling parties at your house with hot chocolate afterward; trick-or-treating in our jeans and white "hippie" shirts that shouted PEACE and LOVE in colorful liquid embroidery colors; memorizing sign language and practicing Spanish so we could talk to each other "secretly"; babysitting Julie, reading Dr. Seuss to her, and keeping a butcher knife and a can of bug spray handy in case someone broke into the house; the night Jim Croce died...

...then there was our cigarette phase and friendship with Jan Shelton; our turnaround the next year, carrying our Bibles, and having crushes on the singers in "Hope of Glory"; church choir trips, laughing at Howard and Don; the "Little 6's"; the NAPCO company picnics at Rockin' R Ranch where we met Jose and ...I can't remember his name! Was it Fernando?

...Galveston Beach where we took pictures with all the cute guys we could find; walking all over Deepwater when it snowed; Astroworld over and over and over...

These memories seem like yesterday - we can't really be turning 50 this year, can we?  Madeleine L'Engle said..."The great thing about getting older is you don't lose all the other ages you've been." So Patti, my "friend forever," I know that somewhere inside of you the fourteen year old pictured below is still alive and well...

 

 

 

Sugar and spice, and everything nice...

God smiled on my baby girl this morning in honor of her seventeenth birthday - He provided overcast skies and a few sprinkles of rain. Most people would want sunshine on their birthdays, but TG is working as a counselor at a day camp this summer; she yearned for a break from the sunshine and triple-digit temperatures.     

 She won't have time to celebrate today, between her daytime job and nighttime Microeconomics class at Austin Community College. "Maybe" she'll do something this weekend to celebrate; she's "not sure. It might be next weekend."

 Birthdays were so much easier when she was little. Determine the date, send out invitations, make a cake, order pizza, rent some movies, spend a sleepless night listening to little girls giggling, spend the next day cleaning up...okay, maybe they weren't any easier back then, either.

 I haven't gotten used to the idea that she is seventeen. I went through this with the boys, too, but it's more intense this time - she's my baby. I can't even imagine how my parents feel - I'm their baby and I just turned forty-nine! Whoa - I don't want to jump that far ahead of myself right now. Seventeen is tough enough to swallow.    

 I remember my first day back at work after her birth, walking around the sulfur recovery area of my plant with a new, obviously very chauvinistic, male employee. Normally I would have argued with him when he said women should be home with their babies, but on that day, I agreed with him. I quit my job of thirteen years after only six hours. Tom took it pretty well, considering it cut our combined income by two-thirds. I just couldn't go through leaving a baby at home a third time. I didn't anticipate the loneliness or cabin fever that would hit me, and living on mostly one income all these years has been tough, but we've never regretted the decision.

 

 

 

 

 

Sugar and spice is a perfect description of my baby girl. She is sweet, sensitive, sarcastic, and cynical. She is a girlie girl and a tomboy. She cries in private, never revealing weakness or pain, whether physical or emotional. From her first day in pre-school, teachers would place her next to the biggest bully in the class, because she couldn't be intimidated, despite being the smallest in her class. She wouldn't put up with anything, and wouldn't tattle. Everyone assumes it's because she has two older brothers, but she was just born that way.

She is proud, stubborn, smart, funny, and athletic. We've had to be on our toes with her more than with the boys, that's for sure. She has a way of making you doubt yourself. I keep telling her she should be a lawyer - she's great at cross-examination. I'm grateful she was our third, so we had a little experience under our belts before she came along. We knew better than to let her pull us into arguments, although I have to admit, we still forget sometimes. She can be pretty tricky!

She has a heart of gold and the self-confidence of a champion.

She was always so tiny - until she was about thirteen, I could carry her easily from her bed to her chair at the table every morning (she's not a morning person), and at night carry her to bed, her arms wrapped around my neck and her legs around my waist. Tom would say "She's too old for that. I don't want to hear any complaints about your back!" but I'd tell him "She's my baby, and I'll do this as long as I can." Sure enough the day came when her legs were just too long. We both knew it and accepted it.

 I still never expected that one day she would be taller than me.

 Wow, seventeen. I remember my seventeenth birthday...I wish I still had my journals from then (I was so stupid to throw them away). It would have said something like this, "Had cake with the family, then even though we broke up, Nathan took me out to eat at that barbecue place on Red Bluff and Pasadena Boulevard, next to K-Mart. I'm glad we're still friends." I guess that's all I really remember, and that's only because I have pictures. I wouldn't have a memory without my journals and photographs!

 

If

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TG kept a journal (if she does, she keeps it very secret) it would say, "Hurray! It was only about 95 degrees today and overcast instead of 100 and sunny! Christine overslept, so Mom had to take me to work this morning. She stopped at Lago Donut so I could still get my breakfast taco, cheese kolache, and chocolate donut. I wish I had my license! After work, me and Christine went to my house to shower before heading to class. Mom ordered a pizza. She was going to make a cake, and I had to tell her over and over this morning not to - just wait till this weekend or next weekend or whenever..."

Happy Birthday, my beautiful TG! I love you very much!