Circumstances

Walk a mile in these shoes for just one day
It is not simple at all
Words that hurt are not always meant to,
But they paint a vivid picture:
Insensitive and out of touch
Self-consumed and unappreciative
Narrow in focus
Without care
Without support
Without compassion
Convenience prevails
The easy way is the easy way

Take care of each other
That should be the way
Be a fly on the wall
Then meditate about what you see
Consider, for one moment, if it was your world
It’s not so cut and dry

Connected by more than blood
Connected by the soul
Committed side by side
Present for those who turned away
Making it easy to live out of sight and out of mind
But consuming our every moment
We carry on in concert for our task

Longing to live our own life
Resolving that it will never be
Our hands are tied by our qualities
No one will ever know
Determined to accept the unnoticed peacefully
Searching for that peace
Struggling for that peace
It’s a lonely place to be

By the grace of God
We are alone together
Connected by more than blood
Connected by the soul
Committed side by side
Present for those who turned away
Making it easy to live out of sight and out of mind
But consuming our every moment
We carry on in concert for our task

Alas, we are home again.

It was with heavy hearts that we locked up Ann's (David's mom) beautiful house in Park City and caught a 3hour flight back to the moisture-laden air of our hometown of Houston. Not because we dislike our home, but because along with the end of our easy going vacation comes the looming bummer that school will begin again in just a few more weeks. Margo has decided that we need to move to Park City, where the kids get out of school at 2:30 (1:00, if they have promise as an athlete or another valuable interest) Monday through Thursday and noon on Fridays. I have to say, she nearly has me convinced.

Every time we go on vacation, we come back aching to pack up our belongings and move to where ever we've been. Years ago we visited our friend Peter on Kauai, and for those of you who know David, you can easily imagine, he was ready to set up a household in any old abandoned lean-to on the beach. David was shocked to find out Peter didn't make it to the beach very often. In so many words, Peter smartly explained that vacation is vacation wherever you decide to go. When you live in Hawaii (or Fiji or Provence) you still have to get up and go to work. You have to live wherever you live.

So... every time we come back home I am fired up and on a mission to make our home life feel like a vacation. I begin searching for the formula to simplify the way we live and to inspire us to boil down our wants and needs to their most basic elements for deep examination and pursuit. Our first day back, David rises from bed and marches off to the office, braced for what is surely coming as punishment for exhaling for a few days with his family. I spend that very same day on vacation afterglow. I throw away processed food from the pantry, clean out my side of the closet and contemplate our new and improved future of the simple and peaceful life. The whole family will do puzzles and play card games while David and I spend heaping amounts of time sipping wine, take long walks while holding hands and finishing full conversations. Over the years David has learned he must pace himself on his return to work. He used to try to conquer it all on day one, causing him to vow to never ever take another day off. Luckily, he loves to play hard so he couldn’t realistically survive quitting taking breaks. Now it takes him about three days to wrap himself back up into his familiar form of a knot. I am always heartbroken when he quickly and predictably succumbs to the stresses of running a business. Heartbroken to give custody back to that relentless daily grind whilst the kids and I climb into the back seat. As a coping mechanism, I spend the next few days pretending that everything is perfectly light and freewheeling (I call this my Cheerleader Mode). David would disagree that I support his primal need to ride, but when Saturday arrives I genuinely encourage him to take his 3hour bike ride but I do forbid him to come back with his brow furrowed. Riding always makes him feel better and brings back the guy with whom I fell in love. By the time next Monday rolls around the whole family will revert to the pre-vacation way, all of us operating side by side but not together. Time will pass quickly, we will again live for Saturdays, dread Mondays and even before it resumes, begin to count the days until school holidays.

As I contemplate what it is I want and need in my life, it is very clear to me that the answer is to be on full time vacation. And thus, even though today should be afterglow day, I am feeling wrestles and kicking myself for not buying more lottery tickets or being the favorite niece of a long lost and extremely wealthy aunt. Sigh.

A few pictures

We took some nifty pictures yesterday and I though I would share some of them. We had a really nice walk around Mirror Lake, with of course only enough battery power for 4 pictures. On the way back down the road we used the iphone camera with stunning results. When we were little our family took a road trip to Corpus Christi. Mom used a black magic marker to cover her legs in all the photographs after the trip. I so get where she was coming from. Sorry for the random layout. I have no idea what I am doing here.

Random Bathroom Update

I have said before, to some, that my life has a running theme that seems at times to revolve around a variety of activities based in the bathroom. Between child rearing, dog owning and an unfortunate genetic make up, I feel I do spend an abnormal amount of time being concerned with events having to do with the water closet. This being said, I feel I must report on the facilities graciously provided by the Wasatch National Forest at Mirror Lake. The exterior looks promising as it is a permanent structure, stylish and lodge like in design. After waiting as long as I dared it was with odd and conflicting feelings of relief and disappointment that I went inside to find what at first looked like a regular and in fact luxuriously elongated toilet. Once my eyes focused, I realized that the person who had just exited before me was not, as it turns out, being rude when they did not flush because this toilet does not flush. The seat sits on top of a base that goes all the way to the ground. I knew that, like when one finds themselves trapped high up on a ledge, I should not look down, but curiosity got the best of me. Let me just say its a long way down (thank goodness) and you should really NOT look down. Just to clarify, it was lovely of them to provide the facilities (and paper, too) and I do not want to appear ungrateful. I have never been a rustic girl and I know I never will be. I think I am resolved to take short day trips into the wilderness and to remember to bring plenty of hand sanitizer on the adventure. If this is not an option, a simple 5 star hotel will do me just fine.

On Vacation

David, Trenton, Margo and I have been in Park city since last Saturday evening. T likes to hike and is developing a new affection for road biking (David's heart be still!). Margo has taken to down hill mountain biking in addition to the hiking. She convinced me to take her in to look at the local gymnastic facility and has worked out twice during their open gym times. Christy is back home holding Blanca's undivided attention when he is not at The Arbor. While David's primary intentions were to hike and bike with the kids, his thirst to ride his road bike has put him through a series of life lessons. The first couple of days his lungs, accustomed to his flat land life on the coastal planes, really gave him trouble. His legs felt good but his struggle for air left him quite deflated (if you'll pardon the pun) and feeling old and washed up. The glory days of the dynamic Cox Brothers off the front seem even farther away every July (those Shcleks aren't helping); this just made it worse. By day 5 he is acclimating well and yesterday took on a challenging 50 mile ride with steep climbs, fun descents and a lot of Pioneer Day traffic to add to the excitement. He was wiped out in a really gratifying way when he got home, feeling much better about himself and pining for a longer next ride.

My hope for this break was to write something clever for this blog. Unfortunately, I only came up with a dry account of the days leading up to Dad's death. I'm sorry I didn't have time to write it all down when it was fresh. Although good to have on paper, at this point its going to require a lot more contemplation to be able to put into words how peaceful it all turned out to be. So, while my active family is out and about having a healthy time I have stayed around this wonderful house and enjoyed warm and, more importantly, low humidity weather, the quiet, the birds, the tall Aspens and fir trees and the occasional visit by one of the neighbors' dogs. And the Utah State liquor store has an extensive selection of fine wines from all around the world!

We have closely followed The Tour de France as a family this year and I ache to someday follow the race in person. I'm ready for our family to drop out of the traditional life we lead, move to France and start a tour company as well as our own professional cycling team with David at the lead position. This is my official solicitation for a multi million dollar sponsorship, if anyone is interested.

That's all for now. David and T & M have gone for a bike ride on something called The Rail Trail and I am to meet them with a picnic that we will be taking to Mirror Lake. How storybook does that sound!?! I hope they have public bathrooms up there!

XOXO

one more thing...

Oh! For those of you who don't know, the people in the picture from that last blog are the 5 first people that I unconditionally loved.

Putting off paying bills

While brainstorming for my next masterpiece I began to see what some might call a trend. This is a list is of the things I spend great amounts of time considering at the end of most of my days, or at least while sitting in traffic rehashing some conversation with some one who matters a great deal to me. The temptation to change the order of the results of this exercise was very powerful and I deserve credit for resisting. I suppose that to some, this list is just a list, but, to others, and you know who you are, this is a can of worms. So, as I am trying to publicly expose myself today, I now share my list with those of you with plenty of time to waste. I hope to expand on each of these topics as time goes by in some sort of hands on manner that is both enlightening and self-deprecating (because that’s my shtick) while leaving me with no regrets or at least the ability to sleep with myself at night.
BRAINSTORM OF THE DAY
Being Judgmental
Being Judged
Perception
Relativity
Making Lemonade
Guilt
Perspective
Burning Bridges
Money
Manipulation
Facilitation
Honesty vs. Avoiding Confrontation
Loyalty
Dependability
Reverence
Spirituality
Being Considerate
Looking through the bully’s eyes
Don’t ask. Tell.
Letting go
Acceptance
Obligation
Control
Being Controlled
Loosing control
Surrendering Control
Compassion
Walking in others’ shoes
Self -consumption
Want vs. Need
Change
Being the passenger
Being the driver
Motivation
Digging in
Grin and Bear (and Bare)
Patience
Understanding
Tolerating
Forgiving
Empathy
Sympathy
Regret
Time travel
Remorse
Loss

Las Olas Verdes Day #1

I found this note in my files from May 2007. We have come a long way since then!

Dear Family,

David and I have 
invested in a beautiful piece of
property in Cuero, Texas. 
It is a dream we have had for as long as we can 
remember and after a 4 year search we 
found the perfect place. All was finalized on 
Friday and yesterday we went out to make a long list of things we will have to do
before we can actually stay out there. 

Below is an account of day 1:
We spent the afternoon at "The Ranch". There has been a lot 
of rain so everything is a bit overgrown. The agent warned 
the kids to watch out for snakes. Here is the blow by blow commentary:
The children get out of the car tip toeing around holding their hands 
at shoulder level. There are many bees and flies and spiders. Margo 
is squeaking and dodging like she is being fired upon by a battery of gunshots. 
The house has been empty for 2 weeks and as we explore, 
opening closets and cabinets, Trenton braces himself over and over again
for Big Foot to burst out. There is a pretty grapevine growing on 
the porch rail. I reach down and feel its puppy ear texture and say,
"Look! We have wild grapes!" Trenton responds, in an unexcited but 
justifiable tone that I am really dumb, "That's poison ivy." All others in the
know concurred. Suddenly all of me begins to itch, even the bottoms 
of my feet inside my Kenneth Cole zip up motorcycle boots, that the country 
real estate agent laughs at every time. So far I haven't broken out, but I'm 
convinced I stuck my finger in my eye and it will pop out and roll away 
at any moment.

following up

I just looked over my shiny new blog. The posts are exactly in the opposite order for which I had planned. Oh well. I see some editing that would have been nice, and again I say, "Oh well." I'll post some more as soon as I find them in documents folder.
Thanks for coming!
Joan...again

The tween/teen year are upon us! March 2009

With every new experience, positive and negative, there is an opportunity for the gathering of wisdom. With that being said, I feel the need to document a portion of the latest set of epiphanies that came with my youngest child and only daughter’s 11th birthday bash.
First, let me say that the party experience was very positive. It was, in addition, a great reality check and a bucket of cold-water kind of sign to start paying attention to the various nuances, speed bumps, perceptions and individual realities of the typical tween. With my son, who is a slightly shy and not so social, old soul of a kid, I was not jarred into a trip down memory lane as I have been with my daughter. As David, Margo and I re-capped the party over and over this weekend, with each other as well as some of the other parents, a rush of long tucked away memories came to me.
I remember feeling like the outcast and wanting so much to be part of the popular clique. Assuming that what the one mean girl said (and did) to me surely represented the entire student body’s feeling about me. Its funny…I remember with a lot of clarity one of the really nice girls who was in the “in-crowd”. Her name was Krista Borgelt. She was pretty and wholesome looking. She had a red head’s complexion and long mousey colored hair with waves in it. She was smart and well liked, and a cheerleader, which at the time meant you were of the royal executive branch of the popular girls. I remember seeing her the first time on the first day of first grade. She wore a pink gingham dress that had a smocked bodice. For my whole life, every time I see pink gingham or a smocked bodice I hear her name in my head and see her face. I remember her all the way through high school graduation. Its funny that what goes unnoticed by one person can have such a life long impact on another. It was not her clothes, her smarts or her beauty that ever stood out in my eyes; in fact I think she was pretty average in that regard. It was that she was so incredibly nice to every one. Meanwhile, I can only vaguely see the faces of the others. When I close my eyes I can see a blurry crowd of kids in the morning gathering before classes began each day. I can see the wood like paneling of the walls, the clock, the weighty glow put off by the florescent lighting; the general white noise put off by the morning chatter of the entire student body, and smell that steamy smell I think we all remember wafting from the cafeteria in the early morning. But no body’s name, save maybe a few.
My junior high was made up of seventh and eighth graders. Fifth grade was still elementary school and in a brief and weak effort to desegregate, all of Austin’s sixth graders went to one of the citywide 6th Grade Centers. The cliques began to form in the sixth grade, but I was pretty unaware of it. I was too busy developing my look. Stylishly parting my hair down the middle and tightly bobby pinning it just on either side. It was a good look, especially when worn with my gianormous aviator style glasses. Toward the end of the year I started getting phone calls from a couple of the “it” girls regarding what we were all going to wear the next day (no uniforms back then). The laugh was always on me, because of course, I would show up wearing the settled upon dress of the day and everyone else was well coordinated in bell bottomed jeans and peasant shirts in like colors. So, by the time I hit the doors of Murchison Junior High, I was convinced I was a dork and would always be that. What rolls off one kid, sticks hard to another.
Even so there was always hope. I wanted to be part of that cool crowd all my school days and it pained me so right up through high school. I wasted all that time missing so much of the fun while pining for the moment they would finally see my value and invite me in. I was convinced that the group spent great amounts of time forming pacts, scheming and plotting on ways in which to keep me out. It was surely their primary focus, but I still waited like a puppy dog at the door, only now with the addition of a mouth full of braces with 5 rubber bands up front!
Flash forward to now, please! God gave me a daughter who is everything I wasn’t on the social circuit. When she was born, I promised myself I would offer her parenting that would build her into a confident, capable young lady who knew how to say no, who would be friend to all and ALWAYS be nice and include everyone in her world. No lying, no gossip, no bad mouthing others, ever accepting of every one’s individualities, strengths and weaknesses. I pray everyday that she remembers to live in this manner. She requires a great amount of the spotlight, I know, and seems to receive it. I have talked with her about the “power” she holds and the examples she is thus obligated to set. She will not always have the leading role and she should use her current position responsibly. And please, never be mean just to be mean. Never squash any body just to make yourself feel good.
Now, about the party! Margo has been starry eyed about a dance party since she was lucky enough to get to tag along with her brother to a 6th grade soiree last year. Experiencing a Bat mitzvah this year only compounded her desire for an evening that paid extensive tribute to her lucky existence on this Earth! In a weak moment I agreed to propose a party to her dad, who, much to my surprise, whole heartily approved. Over a month’s time she and I knocked heads about the party plans, with me constantly reminding her she is not having a Quincesniera, turning 16, being presented as a debutant, having her wedding and that Episcopalians do not have Bat mitzvahs.
The plans were finally settled upon. I got my garage cleaned out, which turned out to be surprisingly gratifying, proving once more that I have become my mother. I thought incredibly hard about keeping everyone entertained, so as not to become bored and thus destructive. I boy proofed by hiding skate boards, getting rid of sharp objects and tucking away any items that could be converted into swords or light sabers or as a means of beating each other over the heads just for kicks. I based my numbers on the 60% rule of thumb, expecting roughly 30 of the 50 invitees to accept. It was really exciting (and a little frightening) to have almost all 50 accept! So we expanded the party space by cleaning up the motor court, too. Of course, that only made me disturbingly giddier and even a bit frisky! To further drive home the theme, hats were hung on the freshly painted garage wall, the disco ball was perched, music was chosen and activities were settled upon by our diva.
Activities were to have a contest to see who could fit the most marshmallows in their mouth, who could effectively whistle after eating a powdered donut, a popcorn passing relay and eating apples dangling from strings while blindfolded with hands behind the back. I’m not sure what the psychological significance of all the food oriented activities means, but that’s a whole other bottle of wine for later. Ultimately, I ran out of time so the apples did not get strung and fortunately for my dogs’ digestive tracts, there weren’t enough interested in participating in the relay and it was cancelled at the last moment. Even with the cutting out of games, every one appeared to have a great time. Some were even reluctant to leave, which made me feel like we did a good job. David and I stealthily and openly at times supervised along with some other kind parents who agreed to stay as back up. It is interesting to note, that even with our eyes on them, some destruction did ensue. But, I expected that. They are only 10 and 11years old once, and so I am good with it all. By dinnertime on Saturday we finished the clean up and started a list in case we were ever crazy enough for a next time.

I will now provide the initial list of lessons learned, although I’m sure more items will come to me during my many trips to the water closet in the night. Here they are, so far:

1. Carbonated drinks? Even the mildest mannered, well-behaved child will shake and spray.
2. Marshmallows? Guess what! If you lick it and throw it, it will stick…forever.
3. Inflatable toys can and will bloody a nose.
4. When in doubt, some one will fall (or be pushed) into the pool.
5. The Birthday Girl will cry (for unreasonable reasons, at least in my opinion).
6. Just because you provide trashcans, doesn’t mean they know what they are for.
7. The honoree will say she’ll help clean up, but will sleep most of the day after, or at least until the clean up is finished.
8. You will need a putty knife to clean the floor, walls and driveway (and possibly the ceiling).
9. A powerful nozzle for the hose is recommended if not required for clean up (and possible crowd control).
10. No matter how hard she begs; do not let her spread confetti, especially if you have foolishly provided marshmallows. Refer to comments in item 2.


As most of you know, we came to Presbyterian School just last year. Margo was so uneasy about leaving friends she had been with from the time she was 2years old, but it only took about 2 minutes for her fears to wash away. We have such a great class of 5th graders and we loved watching them all interact at the party. Each child cares genuinely for the other. They take care of each other, and when one child is distressed they all rush to that child and try to minister to them, never refusing to give up. The kids have their own groups within the whole with which they feel most comfortable, but they still have a bond with every one of their fellow classmates. It was a thrill watching them Friday night. Thank you so much for sharing them with us.

another moment to understand my mom

There were two moments in my life that my mother felt guilt that she vowed to carry to her grave. One was letting me compete in a dance contest when I was about 10 years old and refusing to get me a real costume. The other was not buying an all white dress for my holy communion. I loved that dress! It was black gingham on the top with a white eyelet skirt and it had a yellow sash with a fake daisy on it. She was mortified seeing me lined up along side all the mini brides, but I was happy. I believed she really would never get over that guilt and now that I am a mom and have had a few of those guilty moments, I believe she never did. Margo, the 11year old, was asked to write about a disappointing moment in her life. Her exact words are below, and I will take this to my grave.

Where and Why? By Margo cox

Here I am in first grade standing outside of the classroom just waiting and wondering…

It was going to be grandparents’ day and my grandma couldn’t come. So, my really close friend from Dallas was in town and wanted to come and see me. When I found this out, I was so excited that I was jumping up and down! When it came to that day I could hardly stand still when we were singing. The whole time I was looking for her. I never saw her in the audience. I thought to myself, “ Oh, its okay. She’s just a little late.” I took my mind off of it. After the performance, which felt like it would just drone on and on, we all ran outside to our classrooms. Everyone was looking for their grandparents. They were all saying, “ Have you seen a person this tall with gray hair?” While stretching their arm as high as they could. Some of the guys would say, “Yes!” and of course the person asking would have to say, “Where?” The guys would say, “There! There!” and, “There!” and point to every grandparent in the room. After a while people would stop asking the boys. I was still looking for my friend. I couldn’t find her. I was devastated, sad and lonely. I was standing outside of my first grade classroom teary eyed and starring at the driveway waiting for her to drive up and get out of the car and run to me to give me a big hug, sweeping me off my feet. I walked over to the bench and sat down. My teacher, Miss Baker, came out when she realized I wasn’t there. She sat down next to me and said, “You know there is cake inside.” I just looked at her with my teary eyes. Then she said, “You’re not the only one without someone here.” I still didn’t respond. She said, “ How about this. I’ll be your special friend and so will Lindsey.” Lindsey’s grandparents couldn’t come either. She stood up and held out her hand and said, ”Come on,” hoping I would grab her hand. I grabbed her hand and walked into the classroom. I ate cake and watched all the happy kids with their grandparents. Finally when the day was over my mom was waiting in the driveway. I ran out the door and into the car. I drove home silently while she told me why my friend wasn’t there. I still didn’t understand and I was still really sad. Almost crying. I got to see my friend later that weekend, but not for very long. She was really sorry and promised she would never do that again.

World Series, October 2005

On Tuesday afternoon my husband called and told me to get a sitter for Wednesday night. "We’re going to the World Series!"
First of all, I am under constant critisism for going over the monthly budget. I’m thinking, you don’t even care about baseball and now I’m mad because … we have no extra money! We have a goal of babysitting 2 times a month, which was already blown by book fairs, school open houses and admissions meetings. I thought, "What is your mother going to think?” He said, it’s the chance of a lifetime and I found cheap tickets… relatively speaking.

Flash forward to game night:
The World Series, Houston, Texas, 2005
Houston Astros vs. Chicago White Sox, Game 4

We arrived early to secure a parking spot. The Astros were down 3 games to none and the day before the parking was a minimum of $20.00 per car. Tonight 5 bucks could get you a short block away. My spouse was feeling quite satisfied with himself. He had transformed into some one else. First of all, he always thought baseball was boring. Secondly, he’s a fashionable guy, above commercial or sport team endorsements ever invading his wardrobe. This night he is donning an Astros cap and a red “Astros Authentic Reproduction Home Jersey”. As we approach the venue, he realizes he has left the binoculars, video camera and still camera back in the car. His heart is broken and he attempts to blame me. I stand strong, though. I didn’t know he had brought all of those things. Anyway, in my own false sense of being cooler than everyone else, I would have made him choose one item only. Neither of us was willing to dash back to the car on a retrieval mission. So, I consoled him and he was quickly swept up by the multiple media types and masses of people standing in line to buy t-shirts or waiting to get into the surrounding adult beverage kiosks. For a moment I thought he was considering joining in the line for the $12.00 plastic World Series mug. You could get a free draw- string parachute fabric backpack from Ameriquest if you refinanced your mortgage right then and there. If you signed up for a credit card you would be given a World Series Throw. I considered this momentarily as I thought it would look great on my Roche Bobois sofa.

Next began the “What do you want to do?” part of the evening. “Do you want to go in? Do you want to eat inside? Do you want to walk around first?” To which I helpfully replied, “I don’t know. What do you want to do?” After 22 years we still do this. We decided to go in. Security was checking the men with a metal detector and sending women on through. Apparently we’re less dangerous. Inside it’s shoulder-to-shoulder, backs to fronts. Reporters are everywhere interviewing loud individuals who are wearing big wigs and giant lips and shirtless large men wearing hoops on their nipples. When we finally clear the first clot of people we decide to get our dinner out of the way. Foot long dogs it would be. The chili cheese ones looked enticing, but knowing we would be at the top of the upper deck, quite possibly in the middle of the row, we thought better of it. Mustard would do me just fine. We stood at the ketchup/mustard kiosk and ate while directing people to the napkins and onions. David had put Parmesan cheese (meant for the mini pizzas) on his dog. It stuck all around the edges his mouth. No one noticed, but eventually I couldn’t stand it anymore and wiped his entire face. I, because I’m so dainty, had used a plastic spoon to cut my dog in half. There were only spoons. No forks or knives. I’m not sure what the spoons were for but they can actually cut a hot dog when in a pinch.

Eventually we found our seats. We entered our section and scaled the stairs, laughing and puffing as we arrived at the top. On the way up I kept reminding myself not to look down. That’s what they always say in the movies. We sat in our seats and took in the view. Wow. We were directly behind first base. The view was perfectly symmetric. The field was bright green and patterned by the mowers. It swept and spread out grandly. Beyond the far wall was part of downtown Houston and the sun was setting in the distance. The altitude was a bit breath taking at first. As it turned out we were nearly on the aisle, which made the gatekeeper in me very happy. I hate the middle. The crowd filled in and we sang the national anthem. A child on the field shouted “Play ball!” and the crowd roared. The players took the field and began tossing the ball around.
A great mix of big, strong, scrubbed and shaved, hardworking, proud and happy American Texans, surrounded us. The only little guy was two rows below. It was obvious he had waited his whole life to see a World Series game. He was regular looking and you could tell he works hard for his money. He probably had made one of the largest purchases in his life in buying his ticket. Through the anthem and assorted ceremonies he stood, arms spread out and above his head. From our position, his head covered 2nd base, his torso covered the pitching mound and the inner grassy area of the diamond. Right hand over 1st and left hand over 3rd. His lower half covered home and the ump. He was euphoric. He swayed and did his own private Tai Chi style dance as he gently cooed to himself. He was at the World Series and life couldn’t be better. Now everyone was ready for the game. All sat in their seats in anticipation…except Little Red Haired Man down below. I asked the burley guys in front of me to ask him to sit. One of them quietly inquired to his backside, “Are you going to stand the whole game?” Not what I would have said but it didn’t matter because Red heard nothing. Those of us behind him missed the first batter-up. Something then made Red sit down and begin rubbing his brow. Needless to say, I watched Red almost equally along with the ballgame. He began to sway in his seat. He oozed down in it. He was no longer blocking anyone’s view. By the time the second batter was up, he told his buddy it was time to leave. Buddy refused. When the crowd stood, Buddy made Red Stand. When Red looked on the verge of tears (and did most of the time), Buddy heartily patted him on the back and barked, “Go Astros, Woo-hoo!” So Red suffered and suffered until he just couldn’t take it any more. Midway through the 5th inning he left with Buddy, who was in disbelief that he was leaving The World Series well before it’s end.
After Red and Buddy left, we were available to tune into to the nice man behind us who’s two catch phrases were, ”Hit him in the head!” and “F__ker!”

My once in a lifetime World Series experience was great fun. The game was a good one, even if only one run was scored…and we lost…and we lost the series. Everyone is proud of the hometown team. The organ music was essential as was singing “Take Me Out to the Ball-game” I was fascinated with the beer guy climbing up all the stairs over and over. It’s funny how you develop a deep friendship with the strangers around you. You never exchange names and you’ll never see them again. Yet your relationship is deep and united. You love them like family and the goodbyes are heartfelt when the game is over.
The best part of it was watching Husband David, happy in the moment. No worries, just pure satisfaction with the night, with his wife and most of all, with himself. It was all good. All good.

The Beginning of the Last Chapter, Summer 2002

He had removed his gloves when I wasn’t watching. I note this because everybody wears those gloves in the hospital and I had noticed he had them on when I saw him waiting for us in the hallway. It seemed a mismatched picture with him in his mechanic’s type uniform wearing surgical gloves. So at some point they were gone and the picture had been re-adjusted. Not really important to my story except everybody’s gloves kept drawing my eyes to them. He opened the front door of the van and was looking a bit self-conscious. It struck me that maybe it was unusual for anyone to ride with him. He apologized for the messy floorboard and invited me to just put my feet on top of the debris (of which there was none). I climbed in and buckled my seat belt, adjusted the air vent off my face and tuned myself in to the sound of a dispatcher’s voice spewing out of the radio, “78 year old man with dehydration and abdominal pain. Transport to ER …” I noticed a stack of the day’s newspapers on the floor between the seats and the faint stale smell of cigarettes. On the center console was a pack of mint gum under which was tucked the pack of cigarettes and I thought it should have smelled smokier than it did. My stomach pitted and I waited for dad to loudly draw air in through his nose and say, “It smells in here. What’s that smell? Is that smoke. That’s smoke. Its smoky in here.” Sniff. Sniff, snnniiiiiiff. Instead, he was silent. The driver scrambled inside as he realized the loudness of the radio and turned it off, then down and then back on giving it a final volume adjustment. Simultaneously he dropped Dad’s folder on top of the newspapers. I picked the file up and placed it in my lap out of some sort of tender notion of safekeeping. We pulled out of the driveway and I took a moment to discretely look at this driver. He had caught my attention when he rode on the lift behind my father, bending down to his ear and gently saying he was there to keep him safe from falling off the back adding he was going to take good care of him on the journey. It was with great respect for an elder and was almost affectionate in manner. He was Hispanic and looked like any other manual laborer one sees sweating outside daily in an effort to support his family. I was sorry I hadn’t caught his name. Small in build and dark skinned, his teeth were twisted and discolored making me think of Indian corn. Although his hair was cut so short it shouldn’t have required a brush, it still appeared messy and dis-sheveled. I thought to myself his look didn’t match his job. I was even more disappointed with my-self for not getting his name and for stereotyping this man based on his appearance. He turned back and addressed Dad. “ Are you okay? How is the temperature? If you need anything you let me know Mr. Mider, anything at all. Okay, here we go.”
As we entered the highway I turned back to take a look at Dad. It surprised me. He sat in his wheel chair right in the middle of what I now saw to be basically a cargo van painted to look like an ambulance. His chair was anchored with straps reminding me of a lawnmower in the back of a trailer. Just days before Dad and I had been talking about the luxury and convenience of limo travel. This conversation came up after my sister in law had done a late night drive from Dallas with some co-workers. Dad was sure it was pitch black and foggy. He had made that loud inhaling hiss as he thought of it. “They should have hired a limo. That’s what I would have done. I always saw the value in hiring a limo at times…”
When I was 8 years old we, Mom, Christi, David and I, met up him in New York City. He hired a limo to pick us up from the airport. Mom scolded him for the expense and frivolousness. More to the point, for what she saw as the spectacle. David and I thought it was great. It had pull-down seats on the floorboard. Little stools for little bottoms. Now, pictures begin to flash in my head: David feeling trapped by the tall buildings and the sidewalk crowds; Christi scowled a lot and walked ahead of us like any good teenager would. Dad would say, “Don’t you know how to stroll? Christi, we’re strolling. Christi? Stroll with us, Christi.” Dad taunted at her which only pissed her off more. We met him at the Plaza for dinner one night. She walked in and sat down. He said, “Smile, your on Candid Camera.” She gave a sarcastic smile. Of course David and I didn’t understand he was jabbing at her so we spent a good portion of the night trying to find the cameras. On the way back to the hotel I saw a lady running down the sidewalk as if she was being chased. She was wearing business like clothes and her shirt was in her hand. Nixon resigned while we were there. I touched something in the museum and the guard spoke to me. Dad made a big deal about showing me how to tuck in my shirt through my zipper, but with the button buttoned. I remember thinking that was a stupid way to tuck plus the back of your hand got all scratched up. We went to see Grease on Broadway. Mom warned me that there might be swearing in the show but that didn’t mean it was okay to do it at other times. The irony of that was that I had heard it all, all of the time from my father. I don’t know what she was thinking. “
… Yeah, that was always a good decision. Hiring a limo, I mean.”

So there he sat, like a lawn mower in transport. It was George in the back of that van. George is somehow more likable than Al. Well… anyway, one kind of feels sorry for George; Al is just harsh. He looked like a broken tyrant… a sentenced king on the way to the block. He stared ahead with wide round eyes and hands quietly folded in his lap. No fingers pointing, giving orders. No fists banging on thigh or countertops. No fingers and thumbs holding each other’s tips in quick pause for the camera. It sucked the breath out of me and I quickly turned away. I felt embarrassed. As though I had caught him naked.
We entered Loop1 and I saw Barton Creek Mall sitting high on its summit. The Dillards store now sits in Scarbroughs’ old spot. A great executive once worked there. Pointing his finger as orders were given, banging fists on thigh or countertops during inspections and reamings. We passed his apartment building sitting just below the mall. He had lived the past 10 or more years in that apartment and all of his belongings are now quietly waiting. I wondered if he was thinking about his things and about the life he was releasing as we sped past. I stole another glance back. His eyes were fixed straight ahead. As we passed our old neighborhood it struck me that we were in a cargo van driving past memory lane. There was no tour of the years, it was more a chance to wave a goodbye to history as we whizzed by. I thought to myself, “Its all gone now, you can’t have that again, Al. All the great accomplishments and all those hours of work are behind you, now. All the precious moments you missed out on. What a waste.” I glanced back again. His eyes seemed to drop for the tiniest moment and even faster, reset back into the forward gaze. I began to think he might be telling himself my very thoughts. Maybe saying to himself, “Okay. I’m ready for this next chapter. The Wrap up.” I felt very sad. It seemed tragic, like something out of a very sad novel that I would never choose to read. I began to try to think of a good place where I could go hide and cry for him. I felt heavy for all of his regrets. Regrets I assumed, or maybe fantasized he had. Maybe now he could somehow see all he had never indulged in with his children and feel happiness and peace through having these remarkable kids.
The driver and I small talked. Dad always said he hated small talk. It was his excuse for not socializing. I never understood that. Now that I’m an adult I have a bit more insight. Fatigue, stress and the depression that comes from those things often make me anti-social. I make myself do it anyway. I always feel recharged when its said and done. I’m glad for the people in my life. Email and Blackberries cause people to talk in brief code. Friends become virtual friends and casual conversation becomes annoying. As if a conversation with no productive goal is useless. Talking about the weather with the guy who pumps your gas means that even though we come from different worlds we are important to each other and it’s worth connecting. So what if I sound like Charlie Brown’s schoolteacher sometimes. Better that than sitting at the corner table making fun of people for being themselves.
So, I started the chitchat. He was taken aback. Seemingly surprised that I would treat him like person. At one point he seemed almost giddy that we would be visiting. There was a silence as we exited on to the next highway. This time he began the conversation. He asked if I had been downtown for the big “bike” festival. “You mean motorcycle?” (My husband would be proud) He was charmed that I knew he didn’t mean bicycles. Suddenly I was not exactly what he had likely stereotyped me to be. I replied I hadn’t been there. He told me a bit about the festival and intermittently I would say something like “Ooh that is neat.” The conversation petered out. I had felt badly about not including Dad in our chatting but I quickly realized he didn’t want in anyway. His mind was elsewhere.
As we crested the hill just before our destination, I pointed out the stellar view to my father. He looked and then shrugged. He took only slightly more interest as I pointed out the building we to which we were headed. He remained silent, gazing blankly ahead as we unloaded him and wheeled him through the lobby. It was nearly 4pm when we arrived. There were several tenants in the lobby, most of whom were female. They all stopped what they were doing and looked at him as he made his entrance. Probably hoping to catch the eye of a new friend to mix up his or her own quiet life. Dad stared ahead, seeming not to see, but he did. As we loaded into the elevator I braced myself and waited for him to draw the long loud sniff I had heard so many times in my life. Surely he would comment how stuffy and hot the elevator was. Again, he remained silent. We wheeled him off and through the hall. I looked to him for his verdict of this place we were taking him. He was looking around this time, although stealthily. His head never changed its stiff forward position. He caught me looking for his response and threw me the cookie I had been waiting for all my life. He gave an approving look with his eyes and brows with the smallest nod. I may have dreamed this part, but I swear I heard him say, “its nice” with a bit of surprise in his voice.

I recently had a conversation with my husband about how men really are blank minded when they say they are. A man who appears to be thoughtfully staring off somewhere is not. He is not mad. He is not sad. His feelings are not hurt and he is not planning his divorce. He went on to explain how a conversation in which his spouse asks what is on his mind, doesn’t believe him when he replies “nothing” and her subsequent unwillingness to take his answer at face value just really aggravates him. This becomes pertinent because we brought Dad to his new room and he immediately started screwing with the temperature. Only, he couldn’t or wouldn’t listen to me when I tried to show him how to work the thermostat. My brothers arrived and we wrestled with lighting, temperature, the television remote, cable and newspaper delivery. He pointed his finger here and there telling me my orders and brother David filled out all the paperwork. I went into “cheerleading” mode trying to sell Dad on his new setting and Greg ended up in the corner looking a bit glazed over. David started to twitch as my every word began burning a hole in his right temple. We stayed late and eventually left Al sitting in the corner eating cookies, that he had ordered me to hand him. This all ties together here. George was not in that van. It was Al all along, simply staring off into space, blank minded, like any real man has the right to. It was all my fantasy. He is who he is and that is all he will ever be.

Hello All!

On my way home from dropping Christy off at The Arbor (School) today, I got to thinking about the fact that he will be 18years old this December. I have learned so much from being a grown up and I thought, perhaps, others might be interested in some of my personal "Ah! Ha!" moments. On occasion I am compelled to write down commentaries from certain events and share them with a few friends and family members. I hope they see the same humor and sweetness and get something out of these mundane yet, for me, enlightening experiences. So, I am starting this blog in hopes that some one else might get a kick out of my perspective of mothering, wifing, sistering, friending and daughtering. The first few stories are from my archives. Well, the ones I have stored deep in the dark corners of my computer and have been able to locate. At random, there will be more, so check in every now and then. Enjoy! Joan...again