Okie Book Woman

I'm Interrupting My Silence For This Announcement

2011-12-20T18:30:00.008-06:00

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I have LOTS of things to write about, but I've been busy, busy, busy. Dr. Lobo and I have been traveling. I was away from home for 47 days straight, which is a new record for me. We took a 28 day cruise, in which we went through the Panama Canal TWICE, as well as to other interesting places. We also spent some time in southern California with my brother and sister-in-law. (I got to see my sweet 89 year old aunt while I was there, too.) Next I flew to Cleveland, Ohio to be with The Singer (Best Friend Forever) during her husband's heart surgery and early days of recovery. As you can tell from this brief summary, it's been a busy and interesting fall and early winter.

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Eventually I'll get back to writing my blog posts, but not until after Christmas.

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Today I wanted to post an announcement that I'm sure some of my Oklahoma friends would like to know about. Last year I wrote about the incredible Lego exhibit.
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(See http://okiebookwoman.blogspot.com/2011/02/oklahoma-city-lego-style.html.)

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Several people said they wished they'd known about it. Well, it's back! But only through the end of the year. Here is the information about it:

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http://www.downtownindecember.com/OKCityScape.aspx

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Sweet Girl and The Writer will be here for Christmas, and if they're interested, we'll go see it. Maybe we'll see you there.

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You'll hear from me again, I promise!

That's What Friends Are For

2011-09-29T09:52:00.006-05:00

I wouldn’t do it for just anyone. But the lady with the beautiful smile in the photo above is my Best Friend Forever. In my blog, I refer to her as The Singer. If you’re confused because I’ve posted her picture in the past, and this doesn’t look like the same person, it’s because she’s lost a large amount of weight. She sets a great example for me when we’re eating together, but unfortunately, I usually don’t follow it.

Her pseudonym was chosen because (a) she has a beautiful voice and (b) she sang at some of the important events of my life. She sang at our wedding, forty-four years ago. She and her (also musically gifted) husband sang at my daughter’s wedding and at my mother’s memorial service.

We’ve been friends since college, way back in the sixties. We struggled through raising our kids together. (Once while we each had preschoolers and were attempting to have a telephone conversation but were repeatedly interrupted by our offspring, she said, “I give up. I’ll call you back after our boys are in kindergarten.”) She can make me laugh over ANYTHING; my children could always tell when I was talking to her on the phone because of the amount of hysterical laughter. She sobbed when I told her that my father had died. And on those times when I was ready to leave Dr. Lobo, she listened to me until I calmed down and came to my senses.

We have a long, laughter and tear filled history. So when she had a need that I could fill, I didn’t think twice about coming to her rescue.

Every week we meet for lunch, go to a movie, and enjoy coffee at Starbuck’s. Last week we sat in the theater and watched previews until The Singer said, “I’m cold. I’m going back to my car for my jacket.” But before she could get more than a few feet down the aisle, the movie started. She decided that rather than miss the opening scene, she’d freeze through the movie.

I happened to be wearing my denim skirt that has buttons all the way down the front.

We were seated in the back of a dark theater, with only a handful of other movie-goers, so I unbuttoned my skirt, took it off and gave it to The Singer. She wrapped it around her arms and watched the movie in comfort. Just before the lights came on, she returned my skirt and I put it back on.

When Dr. Lobo heard this story, he shook his head and (not for the first time) said, “You two are dangerous together.” But I wouldn’t take off my skirt for just anyone. My BFF is special.

The Train Was Late—Very Late! (Part Two)

2011-09-02T14:37:00.010-05:00

(If you have not yet read Part One of this tale, do it now. You might also want to get something to drink, as this will be a long post. I’ll wait for you.)

Okay, now that we’re all on the same page—literally—here’s the rest of the story:

Crazy Man wore flip-flops and a “vest” that had enjoyed a former life as a long sleeved shirt before the amputation of its sleeves. His jeans were cut upward about nine inches from the hem every inch or so, creating a fringe effect. As he talked to me, he acted out each story with dramatic flair. Early on, he explained that he has ADHD (attention deficit hyperactivity disorder). I had already surmised that fact.

This guy has an interesting real life as well as a rich fantasy life. Here are just a few of the things he told me: He’d had an altercation with a man that caused him to spend three days in jail in Granby. Somehow, though, he’d also just left the hospital because during his fight, he broke two ribs and his lung collapsed. The medication he took at the hospital caused him to chase the nurses around while “buck naked.” He was traveling to Glenwood Springs to settle a judicial matter. He didn’t have a train ticket, but that was all right because a judge had given him a paper for the conductor. Crazy Man grew up on a cattle ranch in Texas, where his people were wealthy. At nine years old, he inherited millions of dollars from his grandfather, but his dad stole it from him. But he still had plenty of money, even though he didn’t carry any of it with him. He had even set up a foundation “to help people” and he had just given $1400 to a church to supply coffee for an AA group that met there. One of his current projects involves working with some bigwigs to build a monument to the USS Indianapolis. He’d joined the Navy after dropping out of high school thirty years ago, and in fact, he’s been training to become a Navy Seal. Many times he has talked with high-ranking military personnel, and they always like his ideas. He has met Condoleezza Rice, and he once lived across the street from Sammy Davis, Jr. He’s an expert on neuroscience, and he is familiar with all the psychotropic drugs. When he was messed up on heroin, he did things like cut off the appendages of cows. But he’s been sober for 21 years now. He goes to AA, NA, OA, GA and all the other twelve-step programs.

Crazy Man talked nonstop for two hours. Finally I interrupted him by saying “I HAVE to go to the bathroom!”

At that point, the train was over half an hour late, and three other (normal) passengers had arrived. Crazy Man went off to find a maintenance guy. When he returned, he announced that the train would not come for another hour and a half. He left to find an AA meeting.

An hour or so later, Crazy Man returned, carrying a sandwich and cigarettes. People at AA had given him ten bucks, he said.

More time passed, and the California Zephyr was nowhere to be seen. I spent a lot of time staring at my environment and avoiding eye contact with Crazy Man.

One of the other passengers called Amtrak. She was told that it would be another hour and a half or so.

The (normal) men walked into Granby and bought sandwiches for all of us. (I had long since devoured all the snacks I’d taken from Margie’s pantry.)

We watched several freight trains go through.

Crazy Man left again, but returned wearing a jacket. Hmmmm . . . interesting.

The eastbound train arrived, only thirty minutes late, and picked up a couple of passengers.

The Amtrak status update gave us an estimated time of arrival of 4:55.

We waited, then waited some more. We all tried to avoid talking to Crazy Man, which wasn’t easy.

Around five o’clock, we heard a whistle. All of us scurried outside and gazed into the distance. Sure enough, we saw a light down the track.

The California Zephyr pulled into the station! Six hours and 23 minutes behind schedule.

With the (unrequested) help of Crazy Man, I got my suitcase onto the train. I breathed a huge sigh of relief when Crazy Man walked past me to find someone else to entertain.

The train ride itself was delightful, and the scenery was beautiful.

Not so delightful or beautiful were the butts of the four different groups of people who mooned us as we passed by, but I guess that’s the thing to do when a train comes along. Popular culture never ceases to amaze me.

Darkness fell long before we arrived in Grand Junction at around 10:00 p.m. I have been pleased to see Dr. Lobo on many occasions, but I was extra happy to see him waiting on the platform when we pulled into the station.

The next day we explored the gorgeous land east of Grand Junction.

I wish I’d been able to view that area from the observation car of the California Zephyr during daylight hours, but . . . well, you know—the train was running late.

The Train Was Late--Very Late (Part One)

2011-08-24T18:08:00.006-05:00

When I bought my ticket for Amtrak’s California Zephyr train from Granby, Colorado to Grand Junction, Colorado, the clerk warned me that the train might be a bit late—maybe as much as two hours. Still, it seemed like a good solution to our problem.

We spent a week driving to Seattle so that we could go on our Alaskan cruise. (Yes, I know. Most people fly from Oklahoma City to Seattle. Even those who drive take less than a week to get there. But we travel by the “Ten to Three” plan. It works like this: The motel’s check out time is ten, so we leave then. We drive for a couple of hours, then stop for lunch. After a leisurely lunch, we drive until three, when we can check into the next motel. We then have time for a swim in the pool or even a nap before supper. This routine continues throughout our trip.)

Okay, I’ve had my little ADD break, so I’ll go on with my story. We spent two weeks on the cruise, followed by about ten days in Oregon playing on the coast and visiting Wild Child, The Blonde, and the Grand Dog. (More about that later. But look. Isn’t he a great looking dog?)

Next, Dr. Lobo left me at the Portland airport so that I could fly to Denver in preparation for my annual “Gabfest” with college friends. While I gabbed with my friends, he drove toward Colorado, following the Ten to Three plan. We thought he might need extra time to get to Granby, where Gabfest takes place. The California Zephyr stops in Granby, so we decided we would shorten his eastward drive. I would take a westbound train and meet him in Grand Junction.

Sounds simple, right? Well, it would have been, except for a few complicating factors. First, although the train was scheduled to arrive at 10:37 a.m., my friends needed to drop me off at the train station at 7:45 so they could get to the Denver airport in time for the Gabfesters’ flights. Okay, no problem. I can entertain myself for long periods of time with a book, a notebook, and a pen. The Granby train station is merely a waiting area, with no clerks. I figured I could get a lot of writing done with all that solitude.

The first hour and a half were lovely. Then, what should appear but . . .

To be continued . . .

Cruising Along

2011-08-10T12:38:00.025-05:00

I've never thought of myself as a person who would love cruising.

I thought cruise people were wealthy.

I thought cruise people were sophisticated.

I thought cruise people were big time partiers.

Since I'm not wealthy, sophisticated, or a partier, I figured cruising would never be my thing.

But Dr. Lobo had been to every U.S. state except Alaska, so of course we had to go there. We decided a cruise might be our best option. During the cool days of November, we booked an Alaskan cruise on Holland America's MS Amsterdam. That decision enabled us to escape Oklahoma City's hottest July on record.

Here is my first view of the ship that would be my "home" for two weeks.

Embarking at Seattle, we entered a different world.

As we pulled away from the dock, I had to call a couple of special people and share my excitement. I may have squealed.

My quick adaptation to cruise life amazed and worried Dr. Lobo. But how could I not love it? Smiling people cooked and served my meals, made my bed, and cleaned up my messes. (This does not happen at home.)

The scenery was breathtaking, of course, and each port was interesting and fun. But even at sea, a multitude of activities kept me busy and happy: movies, team trivia games, lectures, shopping, Tai Chi, listening to the stringed quartet, reading in the library, nightly entertainment, participating in an On Deck for the Cure walk (breast cancer), new friends, and more. I even went to the gym (once).

Then there was the food--always available and generally excellent. I tried to counter the calories with exercise. (Eat a chocolate cream puff; walk around the promenade deck). I haven't worked up the courage to weigh myself, but judging from the fit of my pants, I'm sure the calories won. They had a definite advantage, thanks to the "Dessert Extravaganza."

Each night when we returned to our room, a cute animal shaped from a hand towel greeted us.

Cabin stewards left chocolate on our bed. I put those away instantly. I wanted to keep my cabin tidy, you know.

Our grandbear, Junior, accompanied us. We enjoyed his company except that he kept asking to be taken to the buffet line for salmon.

Dr. Lobo has to maintain his reputation as a curmudgeon, so he won't admit to liking the cruise, but he can't fool me. He had fun.

We spent fourteen glorious days in this alternate universe. Three days after disembarking, I booked our next cruise.

I am indeed a person who loves cruising.

July 1, 1967

2011-07-01T19:44:00.003-05:00

Awwwww. Isn't that sweet? Weren't they skinny? Don't they look happy and hopeful?

Fast forward to July 1, 2011. Okie Book Woman and Dr. Lobo are now "greatly enhanced," size wise. They both have gray hair. But they are still married, and most days, they're even happy. Both of them remain hopeful that there are still good days to come.

Forty-four years of marriage is a long, long time, but the odds are good that they'll stay together a while longer. Inertia is a powerful force!

Flamingo Invasion

2011-06-23T11:09:00.002-05:00

My neighbor had a birthday this week. Everyone in the neighborhood knows it.

Flamingos covered his lawn from one end . . .
to the other.

One plastic flamingo for each year. Forty is a LOT of flamingos!

This Was Not Part of the Plan

2011-06-09T15:29:00.006-05:00

We didn’t plan to have a third child. But one night in 1979, Dr. Lobo and I got “friendly.” “Shall I get up and put in my diaphragm?” I asked. Dr. Lobo paused, shrugged, and said, “What the hell?” The result of that night of unprotected playfulness came to be known as our “What the Hell Child.”

Obviously, if we’d felt strongly about limiting our family size, we would have made a different choice. But I come from a family of three children, and Dr. Lobo had four siblings, so two kids didn’t seem quite enough. We rather liked the idea of having another child, but couldn’t quite justify it, considering our limited time, energy, and money. Besides, as my mother-in-law frequently pointed out, we already had both a girl and a boy.

Our “accident” arrived on June 9, 1980, nine days past due date. My sister, who had planned to be there for the birth, had been visiting for two weeks, but returned to California less than 24 hours before his appearance. (Our other babies came before their due dates.) My best friend, who had been present for Wild Child’s birth, missed the big day, too. Sigh. From the beginning, Little Guy had his own agenda.

I fell totally in love with that beautiful ten pound, one ounce baby. (Yeah. Over ten pounds. Yet another unexpected aspect of Little Guy. Our other babies were a respectable weight. This kid couldn’t even fit into the newborn size clothes.)

Throughout the years, I’ve often tried to imagine my life without Little Guy, and I just can’t do it. Each child brings gifts to the world, but somehow his gifts seem to be special blessings simply because we could so easily have never experienced them.

What is so endearing about this young man? First, as I’ve often said, he is the kindest person I know. His sensitivity and his compassionate heart often bring him pain. He fights for justice, searches for truth, and cannot tolerate hypocrisy. He’s smart, funny and affectionate, and he’s always seen the world a bit differently from other folks. Little Guy, all 6’4” of him, is a jewel, and I love him with all my heart.

Sometimes the best things in our lives are the things we didn’t exactly plan.

Happy Birthday, Little Guy.

Holy Week and Monkey Mind

2011-04-21T11:43:00.006-05:00

It’s Holy Week, but as usual, I’m having a hard time being holy. Oh, I put on a good show of religion. It’s a rare Sunday that you won’t find me in my favorite pew, worshipping with my church family. Most of the time, whenever the church doors open for an activity, I’m there. I even teach Sunday School. This is the third year in a row that I’ve given up desserts for Lent—and if that isn’t a serious spiritual discipline, I don’t know what is!

Still, I can’t quite pull off this holiness thing. Take walking the labyrinth, for example. In recent years, my church has offered a labyrinth for a few days during Lent. Each person follows a pathway toward the center of the labyrinth, which represents God’s presence. While walking in prayer and silent meditation, we try to release everything that keeps us from experiencing the presence of God. We seek to become fully present with the divine. Then, having experienced the healing and renewing power of God, we follow the path back to the beginning, ready to serve God and neighbor.

I love the idea. I really do. But if I were graded on labyrinth walking, I’d get a D. Each time I do this, my ADD gives me a severe case of monkey mind. You know—that chattering in your head as you jump from thought to thought like a monkey swinging from tree to tree. (And to demonstrate once more that I’m not joking about having ADD, I have to share a quote from Frank Coppola: “I prefer to distinguish ADD as attention abundance disorder. Everything is just so interesting . . . remarkably at the same time.”)

Back to the theme of this blog post . . . I try to focus on God as I walk the labyrinth, but without much success. So I keep putting one foot in front of the other, following the path that’s set before me. Sometimes I’m walking far from the center; sometimes I’m closer. This year I was surprised when all of a sudden, without noticing my proximity to the center, I arrived. It reminded me that many of the holy moments of my life have come when I least expected them.

Not all of my holy moments happen in church; in fact, most do not. But participating in a church gives me more of those times than I would otherwise experience. So tonight I’ll go to the Maundy Thursday service, and on Sunday I’ll be in my pew. I’ll continue to walk the path, struggling to quiet my monkey mind and hoping for glimpses of the holy.

Not So Reassured Now

2011-04-07T19:10:00.005-05:00

For nearly 34 years, I've felt reassured by the fact that a fire station stands only two blocks from my house.

Lately, not so much. That fire station stands only one block from this house.

Do you have one of these handy?

Just saying.

The Bricktown Water Taxi

2011-03-29T16:42:00.007-05:00

We've had the canal boats, or water taxis (taxies?), in Bricktown since 1999, but like most people, we haven't checked out some of the tourist attractions in our own city. So when Sweet Girl and The Writer visited us last week, we decided to head down to Bricktown. It was a beautiful spring day. (This is Oklahoma, so of course winter returned this week, but on that day, spring was in the air.) Flowers were blooming and ducks were enjoying the sunshine. The redbud trees were gorgeous.

We enjoyed the sights from our water taxi, and our informative and humorous guide offered lots of fun facts about Oklahoma City.

Wonderful murals covered brick walls along the way.

We saw bridges . . .

and waterfalls . . .

and statues.

It was a fun ride. If you haven't yet experienced the Bricktown Water Taxi Ride, I encourage you to give it a try.

Another Excuse to Eat Cake

2011-03-12T17:58:00.009-06:00

It's your day, Sweet Girl!

You were a precious baby,

a terrific child,

and a delightful teenager.

Now you're an amazing woman.

Happy Birthday to the kid who made us parents, and who keeps making us proud.

I am so glad to be your mom.

Sixty-six

2011-02-27T21:50:00.004-06:00

Dr. Lobo turned sixty-six today, and we celebrated the event in our usual low-key way. That means we didn’t do much more than we usually do on Sundays, which is very little.

We went to Hideaway Pizza for supper, however, accompanied by Little Guy. When I referred to Dr. Lobo as the Birthday Boy, our waitress brought him a very large, warm chocolate chip cookie, with chocolate drizzled over it. I was happy that it turned out that way. If Hideaway had been one of those obnoxious places where the wait staff sings Happy Birthday to the celebrant, I would have been in big trouble. Dr. Lobo does not like to be the center of attention in public places.

He has decided that this is the year for traveling along every mile of old Route 66. He is studying the atlas, which is one of his favorite things to do.

So we’ll be getting our kicks along Route 66 in the not-too-distant future. Sounds like a very good way to celebrate being sixty-six.

Oklahoma City, Lego Style

2011-02-21T15:35:00.013-06:00

Although many noises are associated with childhood, one specific sound stands out in my mind whenever I remember Little Guy as—well, as a little guy. It's the stirring of Legos as he searched through the tub to find a particular piece. For many years, he asked for Legos for his birthday and Christmas. Dr. Lobo would protest, saying “We are NOT bringing more Legos into this house. He already has millions of pieces!” “I know,” I would respond, “but that’s about the only thing he plays with.”

A couple of months ago, we heard about the Oklahoma City Lego exhibit. Of course we had to go. It was awesome.
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“Big Kids” who love Legos recreated some of Oklahoma City’s landmarks.

The Bombing Memorial and Reflecting Pool

Bricktown and the Canal

The Myriad Gardens tube

The Chesapeake Energy Campus

Ghouls on Parade

An Oklahoma City Thunder Game

Devon Energy and Chase Bank

Bank of Oklahoma and OG & E

Oklahoma Publishing Company (OPUBCO)

Hudiburg Chevrolet

Plaza Court

The Devon Tower (currently under construction) as it will look upon completion

The Colcord Hotel

Court in Session

Inside View of Hospital

We took lots of pictures!

Does Little Guy still like Legos? Well, let’s just say that Santa Claus has brought him Lego sets for the last two years. After all, that’s about the only thing he plays with.

How I Survived the Blizzard of 2011

2011-02-05T10:16:00.007-06:00

Well, I think we’ve survived. The snow has taken a short break, but the roads are still snow packed and slippery. Except for those unfortunate souls who have to work, only the hardy or foolish are venturing forth. But I’m hopeful that we’ve survived the worst of it.

It’s been brutally cold, with some wind chill temperatures considerably below zero. Even with our reliable floor furnace working its little heart out, it’s been hard to keep this nearly one hundred year old house warm. To keep the pipes from freezing, we’ve run heaters and kept the faucets dripping. Even so, pipes under the house froze, and the sinks could not drain. Water from dripping faucets accumulates at a surprising pace, so we have bailed gallons of water.

Sharing our space with the cats has been like living with teenage girls who have been grounded. They’re used to coming and going as they please, and they complain frequently and loudly about this forced confinement.

We’ve developed a few coping techniques, however. Here are my suggestions for surviving a blizzard.

Wear several layers of clothing and get under a blanket or two. It’s especially important to keep your feet warm.

Eat plenty of warm comfort food and hope that you don’t gain ten pounds from the excess of hot chocolate and banana bread and the absence of exercise.

Entertain yourself with a marathon of some kind. (We’re watching Mad Men. You may choose something more active.)

Keep at least one cat on your lap at all times.

We’ve done well coping with the weather, but we’re beginning to face a new problem. In Oklahoma, snow and ice usually melt away within a couple of days, so we’re not used to being snowbound this long. I’m finding it a bit challenging to live with Dr. Lobo 24/7. I think we’ve survived the blizzard, but if I don’t get out of this house soon, I’m not sure our marriage will survive.

Confused and Gray, But Ready to Travel

2011-01-21T16:36:00.010-06:00

Last week I applied for a United States passport. One of the questions on the application was “Have you ever gone by any other name?” I pondered for a moment. I go by a nickname, and I have a “writing name.” But I don’t use either of those names for anything official, like bank accounts, social security, or driver’s license. So I answered “No.” It wasn’t until much later that I realized I’d answered the question incorrectly.

Once upon a time, long, long ago, I did go by another name—my maiden name! I only used it for twenty years, and I’ve used my married name for over 43 years. Still . . . I’m glad the application didn’t ask any questions about my memory. The U.S. Department of State might have decided I’m too senile to travel.

Another sobering part of filling out the application was realizing that both Dr. Lobo and I now have gray hair. Sure, I’d realized that on some level. For several years I’ve been describing my hair color as brown and gray. On the application, however, I could only choose one color. I had to admit that my hair is more gray than brown. The passport photo confirmed my answer.

Actually, I rather like our gray hair. I think we look distinguished, although I guess some people would disagree.

I admit that the idea of someone describing us as “that couple over there with the gray hair” is a bit disconcerting. But I’ve decided to embrace my authentic self, gray hair and all.

Just don’t ask if I’ve ever gone by any other name. It might confuse me.

Goodbye, 2010!

2010-12-31T23:13:00.003-06:00

At the end of 2009, I reviewed my year in a blog post. That’s not happening this year. Some very good things happened in 2010, but for the most part, I’d rather not think too hard about the past year.

Last summer my pastor preached about times when you’re living in the belly of a big stinky fish. You’re alive, but you almost wish you had died, because living in that stinky fish belly is so miserable. That’s what 2010 felt like for parts of the year.

As the last hours of 2010 go by, I’m grateful to have survived this less than wonderful year. I’m grateful for my friends who stood by me and listened to me and comforted me. I’m grateful to my pastor, who sometimes tells me things I don’t want to hear, but that I need to acknowledge. And I’m grateful to Dr. Lobo, who lived with me in the stinky fish belly and loved me through it.

Tomorrow is the beginning of a new year, and I am greeting it with enthusiasm and hope. I wish for all of us a very good 2011.

The Woman Has a Few Nativity Sets on Display

2010-12-21T22:59:00.011-06:00

Collecting is about passion.

Last week I spent a few days in Denver, where some of my favorite people live. I stayed with my friend Susan, who has collected several hundred nativity sets. Although she displays some of them throughout the year, during Advent they take over her home.

Susan’s Christmas tree holds only nativity ornaments.

Her nativities come from all over the world and are made of many different materials.

They come in various sizes. Some of her smallest ones are displayed in a glass case surrounded by mirrors, and I didn’t try to photograph them. She keeps a magnifying glass handy so that her visitors can examine them. While I was there, she dropped a seed that contained a nativity, and when I left two days later, we still hadn’t found it!

This armadillo was one of my favorites.

But my very favorite of Susan’s nativity sets is the one she sent home with me. It now sits on my mantle.

You probably remember that I have a rather extensive bear collection. I know, it doesn’t make sense. What can I say? Collecting is about passion.

Timing is Everything

2010-12-02T16:27:00.006-06:00

For several weeks this fall I considered making a trip to eastern Oklahoma and western Arkansas. I wanted to drive the Talimena Scenic Drive between Talihina, Oklahoma and Mena, Arkansas and enjoy the autumn leaves. But fall came late this year, and once it showed up, I kept finding other things to do.

Last week Dr. Lobo and I finally made the trip. Although we found a few beautiful trees, we missed the big production. Repeatedly, we heard “You should have been here two weeks ago.”

We had reservations at the Queen Wilhemina Lodge near Mena, but driving up the mountain on a narrow road proved to be an adventure. Enveloped in a cloud, I felt like we had entered the Twilight Zone. I’m telling you, it was eerie.

When we arrived, the lodge looked like this.

I hear these are normally gorgeous views, but this is what we got.

Still, we had a good time. The lodge was nice, with a fireplace that burned brightly and comfortable chairs for reading.

The day we left, the weather cleared a bit.

Yeah, we should have been there two weeks earlier. Timing is everything.

Out of Style? Not for Me!

2010-11-26T19:56:00.003-06:00

I understand all too well that some of my readers weren’t even born in the seventies, but those of you who were around during those years probably remember the crocheted poncho. My clever and crafty sister made this for me in 1972 or 1973.
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No one would ever describe me as being stylish, but even I know that the fashionable woman of today does not dress in a crocheted poncho. I understand that wearing it announces to the world that I am not classy. During my kids’ teenage years, it gave me great pleasure to wear it, since doing so gave them fits. My daughter once made the comment, “I’ve heard of fashion statements, but that is a fashion exclamation, and it’s exclaiming ‘OUCH!’”

I am always happy when the weather gets cool enough to pull out my poncho. I may look like a pathetic old hippie, but underneath all that yarn, I feel young.

Thanks, Sis. I still love my poncho. In fact, I would love one in pastel colors for spring.

The Posts I Didn't Write

2010-11-20T21:12:00.011-06:00

It’s been quite some time since my last post to this blog. (Did you miss me? Oh, I hope so!) Those of you who don’t see or hear from me regularly may have thought I died of food poisoning from the church picnic. (See previous post. And no, no one got food poisoning.)

My break from blogging wasn’t intentional. I’ve been busy, but that’s nothing new. Having written 103 posts in less than two years, maybe I’ve said most of what I want to say, but I doubt it. I have lots of opinions and stories.

Recently I read a charming, but strange, little book written by a couple of very old ladies. They called one chapter “The Men We Didn’t Marry.” Taking a pointer from them, I thought I’d mention a few things that have happened in my life this fall that I didn’t document. They are all topics I thought about pursuing, but didn’t. So here’s a summary of “The Posts I Didn’t Write.”

ENCYCLOMEDIA 2010

Every year the Oklahoma State Department of Education holds an event designed for educators and librarians called “Encyclomedia.” I met some writers, learned about the latest books, and hung out with my writing friends. But I didn’t blog about Encyclomedia.

HOME TOURS

I toured two historic neighborhoods (Linwood and Heritage Hills), where I saw some beautiful homes. I had a great time, the weather was perfect, and the friends who accompanied me were fun. But I didn’t blog about the home tours.

A WEDDING

My friend Randi, from our Mark Twain years, married Steven. It was a beautiful wedding, and Ienjoyed spending time with school friends. But I didn’t blog about the wedding.

STATE FAIR OF OKLAHOMA

I used to love to go to the state fair. Then everything started to look like the same old stuff I’d seen the previous year, so I stopped going. I don’t know when I last attended, but it has been many, many years. In September I decided to check out the fair again. Unfortunately, it looked like the same old stuff I remembered from way back when. And it cost $3.50 for a soft drink! I didn’t want to sound cranky, so I didn’t blog about the fair.

I've also done a lot of very routine or boring things. But I didn't blog about them.

Life's Not Always A Picnic

2010-10-03T22:50:00.011-05:00

Life’s not always a picnic, but today it was. My church held its annual picnic at Stars and Stripes Park, and we had a great turnout.

It was a perfect October day, offering the kind of beautiful weather that makes you think Oklahoma is a wonderful place to live. (Well, personally, I think it’s a good place to live in all kinds of weather, but I have to admit that if I wanted to convince folks from out of state to move here, I’d ask them to visit in April or October.)

The cooks took their work seriously.

The designated eaters responded with enthusiasm.

Abe felt a bit overwhelmed by all the choices.

Bryce made a new friend.

Bryce also spent a lot of time checking out this guy.

Brayden enjoyed time with his grandmother.

The boys wolfed down their food, then played ball.

Good conversations occurred over delicious food.

Even after the food was consumed, conversations continued. Some conversations appeared to be quite serious. This group of guys is always solving problems.

Friends exchanged smiles and hugs.

It was an excellent way to spend a beautiful Sunday afternoon!

Every Writer Starts Somewhere

2010-09-08T20:24:00.008-05:00

My mother thought I was brilliant. She also had a sentimental side, causing her to save many things produced by her offspring. Because of her distorted perception of my abilities and her packrat tendencies, I can still put my hands on the first book I ever wrote.

This manuscript has been around for more than half a century. It’s showing its age. But all the elements of a good book seem to be present.

Obviously, the cover needed a graphic artist, but in those days I was blissfully unaware of the need to catch the reader’s interest. Then, I only had to show it to my mother and enjoy her high praise.

At eight years old, I actually went by the horrible name that my parents gave me, so by looking at the cover, you get information about me that few people have known until now. (At thirteen, I staged a minor rebellion and insisted that my family and friends call me by a nickname, which has stuck.)

I dedicated my book to my grandmother, who also thought I was brilliant. And just look at that table of contents. Wasn’t I a precocious child?

The first page shows my religious upbringing. I’m rather impressed by my childish ability to state the essence of Christianity. It’s the Gospel, pure and simple, in three short sentences.

As this page shows, I first aspired to be an artist, but a third grade classmate destroyed that dream. Janie could draw much better than I could, so I decided to be a writer instead.

In those days I even considered myself a poet. It looks like I favored free verse, although I did have one great rhyme in the middle of the poem. I’ve spent years trying to figure out what the heck I meant by that last line. Maybe I was being deliberately obscure. I know some poets like that. They think that if the poem confuses the reader, it’s deep.

I wasn’t above plagiarism. Notice that I didn’t give credit to the author.

This last story came from my own experience. Like seasoned writers, however, I changed the details. Here are the facts: (1) At three years old, I spent several weeks in the hospital. (2) When I returned home, my parents got me a puppy. (3) My dog’s name was Spotty, but I couldn’t pronounce his name correctly, so he was known as Potty. (4) Tip was the name of the dog in my first grade reader. (Does anyone else remember the Tip and Mitten stories from the fifties? At the time, I thought they were great literature.)

Every once in a while, it’s good for me to look at my humble beginnings and realize how far I’ve come with my writing. Now I have a filing cabinet full of manuscripts that show far more promise than this one. All I need is a publisher who thinks I’m brilliant.

From THE Sixties to OUR Sixties

2010-08-28T22:16:00.006-05:00

I’m one of the old ladies in this photo. Not much to look at, are we?

The five of us met at the University of Oklahoma during the sixties. These women were some of my closest friends, and they were part of my wedding, forty-three long years ago. We were all considerably cuter—and thinner—then.

After college, we scattered, ending up in three different states. Although we saw each other occasionally, forty years passed before we were all together in one place again.

Two years ago we held a reunion at Margie’s beautiful Colorado mountain home. For most of four days, we talked almost nonstop, causing us to name our gathering “Gabfest 2008.” At the end of our time together, we vowed to reunite every year for as long as possible.

Gabfest 2009 was as wonderful as the original reunion had been. Last week we came together for Gabfest 2010, and once again the magic happened. Being with these ladies renews my energy and soothes my spirit. (And being in Margie’s gorgeous house is really cool, too.)

Friends from that long ago are special. They knew you when you were young, with all your naïve opinions and immature behavior. They know your history—your dreams, disappointments, challenges, broken relationships, and triumphs.

The five of us have a total of over three hundred years of life experience, and we’ve gained some wisdom along the way. We’ve grown in compassion, tolerance, and understanding. Our senses of humor developed over time as well. We’re more fun as old broads than we were as college girls.

From the sixties to our sixties, we’ve changed. We’re not much to look at these days, but we’re very interesting women. I like us better now.

Treasure

2010-08-08T17:16:00.004-05:00

This week something precious showed up at our house. While moving from California to Louisville, Kentucky, my nephew Jesse stopped for an overnight visit. He delivered a piece of furniture that has belonged to our family since before my birth. Someday I’ll probably write more about Jesse, since he’s a young man destined for an interesting and meaningful life. This post, however, is about the small table that shared the front seat of his truck for a couple thousand miles.

Ten years ago, I sold a piece about this table to Mature Years magazine. If you’ve never read any of my published works, here’s your chance. “Treasure” was published in the Winter 2001-2002 issue.

If your eyes are better than mine, you might be able to read my article from the copy below. But for those of us with older/weaker vision, I’ve reproduced it in larger print below the magazine copy.

TREASURE

My sister and brother and I had gathered to clean out our childhood home. As we sorted through possessions collected over a period of decades, one item stood out as the treasure each of us most wanted.

While stationed in India during World War II, our father had bought a small round table, made of beautiful wood. Each of its three legs is shaped like the head of an elephant, with large ears and trunk. The table top’s inlaid ivory creates an intricate mosaic of the Taj Mahal. Though it has monetary worth, for family members, its real value is sentimental.

For each of us, the “India table” was one of our earliest and most constant memories. We’d crawled around it and explored the legs with baby hands. As older children, we showed it to our friends and wondered about the far away place where Daddy had found this wonderful, exotic piece of furniture. As teenagers, we dusted it; as young adults we protected it from our own curious offspring. Each of us loved the table with a passion. Each of us would treasure it forever.

For days, as we divided the belongings among us, we laughed and teased each other, saying, "Remember, nothing in this house is more valuable than our good relationship with each other--except, of course, the India table!"

Throughout our lives, the three of us have shared tables. Child-sized tables and dinner tables. Picnic tables and card tables. Wedding reception tables and church communion tables. Around tables we’ve shared stories, games, family celebrations, complaints about homework, and anguished conferences about Mom’s decline and need for care.

Eventually, we agreed upon a plan for sharing the India table as well. Each of us will have custody of the cherished table for five years at a time, passing it among ourselves until only one of us is left. We are reaffirming what we already knew: nothing in that house could ever be more valuable than our love for each other. Not even the India table.

*****

Thanks, Jesse, for helping your dad and your aunts keep a promise. I hope you know that you are far more precious to us than the India table. And that’s saying a lot!

Going Bananas

2010-07-31T22:11:00.007-05:00

When even the bananas start stripping, you know it’s too dang hot. I walked into my kitchen and discovered these bananas jumping out of their skins. They look downright suicidal, don’t they?

Some companies seem to be taking drastic measures to make sure their bananas stay decently covered. When I saw this recently, I thought Del Monte was going too far, but now that I’ve seen bananas exposing themselves in my own home, I’m thinking it might actually be an appropriate strategy.

Still, who could blame the bananas? Take a look at our weather forecast. And Oklahoma’s humidity makes sure we’re not just hot, but suffering.

Tonight

Tomorrow

Mon

Tue

Wed

6-10 Day

Mostly Clear

Mostly Sunny

Sunny

Extended Forecast

High: 101°

Low: 77°

High: 102°

Low: 76°

High: 105°

Low: 78°

High: 103°

Low: 78°

High: 103°

Low: 77°

Every summer, Dr. Lobo asks me why we stay in Oklahoma during July and August. I have no intelligent answer to this question, as the heat has fried what’s left of my aging brain. All I know for sure is that right now, we’re going bananas!

Happy Birthday to Me

2010-07-24T00:27:00.011-05:00

This is a sing-it-yourself post.

Happy Birthday to me,

I'm now 63.

My joints all ache,

So bring me some cake!

(Chocolate, of course.)

(For a more creative birthday post, read last year's entry for July 24th here. Some birthdays--and writing days--are better than others, and this year I'm taking it easy. You can also take a look at the blog entry Dr. Lobo wrote for me here. Although I'm not exactly pleased with some of the photos he posted, I appreciate the sentiment and his attempt to take up the slack for me this year.)

What's More Magical Than a Bookstore?

2010-07-20T18:44:00.014-05:00

What's more magical than a bookstore?

During my recent trip to southern California, I had the opportunity to visit The Frugal Frigate, a children's bookstore, in Redlands.

As I approached the store, I could see the knight in shining armor. Now, that promises excitement.

Once inside, there were so many wonderful things to see!

The store had great displays.

Lots of fun stuff! Let's play!

Isn't this CUTE?!!!

All that's needed here is a pair of two-year-olds.

Inviting materials filled every nook and cranny.

Look at this! A princess can celebrate her birthday in this room.

I really wanted to have my birthday party here, but I would have had to stick around for another three and a half weeks. I suspected my brother and sister-in-law might get tired of me by then, so I returned to Oklahoma.

But hey, it's still four days until my birthday. Can't some of you creative people come up with something similar by then? (Dr. Lobo, are you paying attention? You do remember that I'm a princess, don't you?)

What? You think it's not appropriate for a 63-year-old to celebrate her birthday in this way? I can if I want to! You're not the boss of me! And I want a princess dress, too.

Let's get back to the tour. Please do not run up the stairs.

Here's where you can find books for older kids (like me).

Looking down from up here is fun, too.

The photographer apologizes for cutting off a couple of letters, but you get the idea.

What's more magical than a bookstore? A children's bookstore!

Remembering

2010-07-13T15:12:00.005-05:00

Today is Wild Child’s 33^rd birthday. My kids’ birthdays always bring memories of years when my life revolved around them. I’m not going to say that those days were all beautiful and precious. I adored my children, but they wore me to a frazzle, and I usually felt impatient, frustrated, and exhausted.

A few moments, though, were greeting card perfect. Today I’m recalling one such time.

Wild Child was three years old. I’d been away from home all day until shortly before bedtime. He was tired and needed his mommy, so I lay down with him. He turned on the radio and soft instrumental music filled the dark room. Fresh from his bath and wearing Pooh Bear pajamas, he snuggled up next to me. Little hands stroked and patted my arms. For half an hour we lay with our arms wrapped around each other—close, content, and quiet. Love for this small son overwhelmed me.

Later that night I tried to capture that experience in my journal. Here is an excerpt:

“My son, you are my ‘difficult’ child, sandwiched between two relatively content and less demanding siblings. You are the one who brings me the most confusion, the one who challenges me, the child who makes me murderously angry. And yet you are so vulnerable and precious. Will you ever comprehend the depth of my love for you? Will you remember these tender times when you’re grown?”

He’s grown now. He’s not a sentimental guy, but on this special day I hope he remembers some of those sweet moments and realizes how much he is loved.

The Oklahoma Wump

2010-07-12T00:27:00.005-05:00

When Little Guy was young, his favorite book was THE WUMP WORLD by Bill Peet. Every time we went to the library, he wanted that book. I read it to him so many times, both of us memorized most of the story. (If you haven’t read it, you should.)

So what is a wump, you ask? Well, to get a definitive answer, you’d have to ask Bill Peet, and unfortunately, he is no longer available for questioning. But a wump looks much like a capybara (except that a capybara does not have a tail.)

A capybara is the world’s largest rodent, much like a giant guinea pig. It lives in South America, where it frequents dense vegetation surrounding lakes, rivers, swamps, and ponds.

Last week the body of a 120 pound capybara was found by the U.S. Highway 59 bridge over the Arkansas River, south of Sallisaw. I’ve been wondering about that critter for days now. How did a capybara end up in Oklahoma? Are more of them hanging around the Arkansas River?

I’m about as verbal about this situation as a wump. As far as I can remember, wumps only used one word, but they used it repeatedly. Whenever they were frightened or excited, they cried, “Wump, wump!” That’s what I’m likely to say if I run into a capybara in Oklahoma.

If I do meet one, I hope he’s a civilized type.

Summer Time

2010-07-06T16:17:00.009-05:00

Summer time, and the living is easy? Not at my house. Not this summer.

I suspect that this blog entry will be like the conversations that take place between good friends catching up with the events of each other’s lives over coffee. It’s a bit of an explanation as to why I haven’t posted recently. So pour yourself a cup of coffee and pull up a chair.

A couple of weeks ago my last living uncle, James Copenhaver (“Uncle Cope”), died, one month short of 92 years old. He was a smart, funny, and personable guy whose mind stayed sharp up until the end. You can read about him here.

From the generations of my family ahead of me, now only my Aunt Wanda remains. I’ve been remembering the relatives who nurtured me throughout my youth and into adulthood. Most of them lived long lives, but I wish I had had more time with each of them.

(This is a picture of my father with my grandparents in the forties, before I was born.)

(And this is a photo of my parents, Wanda and Cope, and my aunt and uncle, probably taken during the sixties.)

While I was still with family in California because of Uncle Cope’s death, my long time friend Marcy died. She was an amazing woman who somehow managed to live with lung cancer for five years. You can read about her grace and courage here. Her memorial service occurred on the day I flew home from California, so I was unable to attend, and that saddens me. But a few weeks ago, I had a deep and meaningful conversation with Marcy. That hour with her was such a gift, and I am grateful.

Here's Marcy, in April or May of this year.

This summer has also brought a couple of situations that tear at my heart. I’ve prayed my way through a lot of dark days.

Still, life is good. Dr. Lobo and I just completed another year of marriage, marking forty-three years together, and most days I feel lucky to have him. (And the other days? Well, let’s just call them interesting. I’ve never been bored with the man.) I’m healthy, and in a couple of weeks I’ll celebrate another year of life—a year that has been mostly very good. I’ve lost some people who were treasures in my life, but I’m surrounded by friends and family members who amuse me, comfort me, and love me beyond anything I deserve. And although some situations are presently causing pain, I know I’ll get through them. During the years I raised my children, whenever they went through difficult stages, I would tell myself “This, too, shall pass.” And it always did.

Even summer’s hottest, stickiest, most miserable days don’t last forever. Until my life becomes more comfortable, I’ll spend time in front of the air conditioner, drink my Diet Dr. Pepper with plenty of ice, and look forward to days when living will be easier than it is now.

Fifty Nifty United States

2010-06-18T13:41:00.000-05:00

This month I finished a project that has taken nearly 63 years to complete. People who know me well know that I'm a collector. (Okay, some of those people would say I'm a hoarder, but I'm trying to put a positive spin on this trait.)

This particular project, or collection, began the day I was born, giving Oklahoma the distinction of being the first state I'd see. My parents, who were teachers, believed that travel was an educational and worthwhile experience. They did not wait long to expose me to other places, beginning with neighboring states. By the age of nine, when we moved to California, I had traveled in most of the central states of the USA, and in some of the western states. A few highlights I remember include Pikes Peak in Colorado, Yellowstone in Wyoming, and Taos in New Mexico.

Trips were a wonderful part of my growing up years. Now, having experienced travel with my own kids at various ages, I marvel at how many places my parents took us. (I also marvel at their patience for "Are we there yet?") They weren't wealthy people (they were teachers, remember?) but they were willing to spend time and money to expand our experiences. One ambitious trip that stands out in my mind is going to the World's Fair in Seattle in 1962. That trip also included time in San Francisco and western Canada.

One memorable summer (intentionally planned for the summer before I took U.S. History my junior year of high school), we went to Washington, D.C. That trip included seeing part of the south and a visit to New York City.

Our summers always included the obligatory trip to Oklahoma to see the relatives. By the time I finished high school (and subsequently enrolled at the University of Oklahoma), I had become quite familiar with Route 66.

Marriage to Dr. Lobo brought more travel. During our early years of married life, he was in the military. Thanks to the U.S. Army, we lived briefly in Massachussetts and then Virginia. Part way through his year in Viet Nam, we were able to meet for a few days of "R & R" in Hawaii.

My sister lived in Alaska for seven years. Although she repeatedly urged me to visit her, I postponed an Alaskan vacation until the month before she moved to the Lower 48. "The Last Frontier" was not only beautiful, but a relatively inexpensive place to visit at that time, thanks to the no-cost "motel."

I don't remember when I started keeping track of all the states I had visited, but somewhere along the way, I began to deliberately plan trips to add new states to the list.

This summer there were only two states left. We went to Number 49.

And finally, we entered Number 50.

The South Carolina Welcome Center employee was a little confused by my enthusiasm. Shall we just say I was excited?

YIPPEE! I DID IT!

THIRTY? No Way!

2010-06-09T21:03:00.004-05:00

All day long, I've done the math, and each time the answer comes out the same. 2010 minus 1980 equals thirty. Little Guy, my baby boy, turned THIRTY today! Now, I know my "big" kids are in their thirties. I've adjusted to that idea. But Little Guy? The baby? No way!

Just a few years ago, my kids looked like this:

Now that baby is the tallest of the bunch at about six feet, four inches. He has turned into a fine young man who makes me proud to be his mama.

Little Guy may be all grown up, but he humors me by playing with me on occasion. He works in a bookstore and he shares my enthusiasm for children's books. Sometimes he even reads to me.

Happy Birthday, Little Guy. I hope you live happily ever after.

Upstairs, Downstairs

2010-05-21T15:00:00.006-05:00

Last week when I visited Mark Twain, I remembered things about the place that I do not miss. At all. The photo above shows one of them.

My classroom was on the second floor. I had to walk up the stairs to the landing, turn, and continue upwards on these stairs:

On a typical day, I walked

1. upstairs as soon as I got to school

2. downstairs to take my class to music, art, or P.E. (midmorning)

3. upstairs so I could work in my room while the kids were at their "specials"

4. downstairs to pick up my kids from the special class

5. upstairs to the classroom

6. downstairs to take my class to the cafeteria

7. upstairs so I could work in my room during lunch

8. downstairs to pick up my class after lunch and recess

9. upstairs to the classroom

10. downstairs to walk my class outside or to buses at the end of the day

11. upstairs to work in my room

12. downstairs to go home

That was the minimum. There were other times when climbing stairs was necessary, too.

Did all that stair climbing keep me in shape? No. My generous students, who knew of my chocolate addiction, kept me so well supplied with goodies that my intake of calories far exceeded my caloric expenditure.

These stairs (and the pain they caused to an old, fat teacher with bad knees) were a large factor in convincing me that it was time to retire.

And guess what Mark Twain has, now that it's been remodeled? That's right! An elevator!

Oh well, kids aren't allowed on the elevator. Since I had to accompany my students on most of those upstairs/downstairs trips, it would have eliminated only half of my pain.

I enjoyed trying out the elevator. And I enjoyed remembering one of the many reasons it's good to be retired.

Old Mark Twain Gets a Makeover

2010-05-18T19:26:00.014-05:00

My last teaching assignment before retirement was at Mark Twain Elementary. The building is even older than I am. But during the last couple of years, it has gained an addition and received a makeover. Last week I attended the ribbon cutting celebration and Open House.

Here's what the building looked like in 2008 when I retired.

Now it has a new part that looks like this.

And here's the pretty part that connects the old with the new.

There are lots of exciting changes at Mark Twain. The addition includes a computer room with enough computers for every kid in the class.

There's a beautiful new library.

A colorful hall has given Mark Twain new life and excitement.

Speaking of color, life, and excitement, take a look at some of the student art work. Mark Twain has always had wonderfully creative, artistic kids.

After the special assembly, the Mark Twain community celebrated with a balloon release. (Thanks to principal Sandy Phillips for the next two photographs, as well as the photo of the ribbon cutting.)

Congratulations on your beautiful building, Mark Twain. You're looking good!

May your students continue to soar to great heights.

GO, WILDCATS, GO!

A Cat and a Catastrophe

2010-05-13T18:02:00.009-05:00

We have been providing foster care for Vivienne, our daughter's cat, for a few months. Vivienne is beautiful, and she's very sweet. She has a few bad habits, however, such as her practice of seeking out extremely high perches. Several times she has climbed far up our huge pecan tree or onto the rooftop of our two-story home. When she decides to come down, Vivienne suddenly realizes how high she has climbed, and she freaks out. At that point, she emits pitiful sounding meows, and backs away from anyone who tries to rescue her.

Yesterday, on her first birthday, she celebrated by once again climbing the pecan tree. Dr. Lobo took this video of her adventure.

Then Dr. Lobo enlisted my help. In this video,you will hear how stupidly I talk to my cats. (I didn't know he was recording.) You will also witness what happens when a very big man trips over a wagon tongue and falls. Either because he's dedicated to his video art, or because he was too shocked to react, he just kept filming.

He doesn't seem to have broken anything, but he is very sore. (He is also rather sore at Vivienne.) That cat is definitely hazardous to his health.

For Dr. Lobo's report of this incident, go here.

There's Something Fishy Here

2010-05-07T16:51:00.014-05:00

I love themes, and I love it when someone's passion becomes absolutely quirky. I figure, if you love something, take it all the way.

On our recent trip, we stayed in Fish House Inn in Daysville, Oregon. The owners of this place obviously have a thing about fish.

Dr. Lobo, Wild Child, The Blonde, and I stayed in the "Main House," where we were thoroughly entertained by our surroundings. The antiques were interesting, but the fish--well, the fish collection was fascinating.

Join me for a quick tour.

Junior, our "grandbear," got hung up on the fish stuff even before we got inside.

The kitchen probably had the most fish.

I was particularly fond of this pot holder.

There was no shortage of fish shaped dishes or serving platters.

Not all of the fish lived in the kitchen. Plenty of others could be found throughout the house. (And many of them didn't even get photographed!)

Even the ceiling fan pulls were fish shaped!

Not everyone would be as amused as we were, but I appreciate the creativity. How many standard rooms from hotel chains will you remember through the years? This was a great break from the usual traveling fare. Let's hear a cheer for the eccentric collectors of the world!

This Land is Your Land

2010-04-27T21:18:00.012-05:00

You've probably noticed that Dr. Lobo and I love to travel. Our recent trip lasted 22 days and covered more than five thousand miles. We visited eleven different states before returning to Oklahoma: Kansas, Nebraska, Wyoming, Utah, Idaho, Oregon, California, Nevada, Arizona, New Mexico, and Texas. Most of that time, however, we were in beautiful Oregon, where Wild Child and The Blonde live. We wish they lived closer to us, but we're grateful for the excuse to head west.

Our route on this trip offered incredible diversity. We spent time in the high desert, mountains, forests, and prairies (although not in that order). We drove through vast open spaces, tiny villages, and cities. We sat beside rivers, lakes, and the gorgeous Pacific Ocean. We marveled at the variety of colors, landscapes, vegetation, and animals. We saw unusual sights and met interesting people.

Although spending time behind the windshield can become tiresome, it is one of my favorite things to do. Sometimes we listen to audio books as we travel. Sometimes we talk. Sometimes we play music. (And sometimes, when we're in an unfamiliar city and don't know where we're going, we snap at each other. But that's a topic for another time.)

Often one of us drives while the other catnaps. I absolutely love those times when Dr. Lobo sleeps and I drive. Surrounded by beautiful scenery, I listen to music and let my mind wander. I solve problems involved with plot and characterization. I pray, think about difficult situations and consider possibilities. I relive memories and give thanks for my many blessings.

I’m grateful that my family introduced me to the pleasures of traveling when I was a child. My parents often wondered if it were worth the trouble, since I spent most of the time reading comic books instead of looking out the window, but eventually their efforts paid off.

I realize that we're fortunate to have the time and resources to explore our beautiful country. I wish everyone had these opportunities.

Road trips aren't as efficient as flying, but much more enjoyable. We don't hassle with delayed flights and security checks. We don't rub elbows with strangers on the plane. We can set our own schedule, stop to check out whatever catches our attention, and feel the road as the wheels on the car go round and round.

Dr. Lobo is already studying the atlas and making plans for our next trip.

(Dr. Lobo gets credit for the photos. I was too lazy to put them into geographical order. If you're curious about the location of any of them, ask.)

Remembering the Oklahoma City Bombing

2010-04-19T18:18:00.002-05:00

Fifteen years have passed, but memories of April 19, 1995 remain vivid in my mind. Thoughts swirl through my head, making it difficult to verbalize.

On that day I was substitute teaching at an Oklahoma City middle school three miles from the bomb site. Teachers were in their classrooms, preparing for the day. The blast literally shook the building; it felt like being in an earthquake, but the noise told me it was something else.

I didn’t get much information about what had happened until after school. My route home took me near the site. I listened as radio newscasters described the horrors. Sirens filled the air. I remember thinking “Why would anyone do this to my city?”

Later that afternoon, I learned that my husband had been at the site within minutes of the bombing. He happened to be looking out the window from his office at the state capital complex when the bomb exploded. As a Viet Nam veteran, he knew instantly that it was a bomb, and as a geographer with a strong sense of place, he knew it was near the Journal Record building, where his agency had employees. He and a coworker rushed to the Journal Record building (next to the Murrah building) to check on them. I remember that his shoes were soaked with blood and cut to shreds by all the glass he walked over.

Around six o’clock I got a call from the nursing home where my mother had been recovering from a broken hip. She had refractured her hip and staff members were sending her to the hospital by ambulance. I spent hours that evening in the hospital emergency room, trying to comfort my mother, who suffered from dementia. Medical personnel were far too busy dealing with bombing victims to do much for her, of course, so my recollections of that day are tied to my personal nightmare of dealing with a frightened and hurting elderly mother.

I knew only one of the 168 people who died, but in the days that followed, Oklahoma City seemed like a small town as it became clear how we are all connected. I discovered that I was only one person away from most of the victims. Everyone I knew lost someone that day.

I’ve often thought about the coincidences that made a difference as to who died and who escaped on that day. My husband had been scheduled for a meeting in the Journal Record building that day, but the participants managed to finish their business the night before, so the meeting was canceled. A friend was late to work, and arrived after the bomb had exploded. My daughter-in-law’s father worked in the Murrah building but had been elsewhere that day.

Then there are the uncounted victims, the people who survived but whose lives were shattered. My friend’s husband, a police officer who carried dead babies out of the building, was so traumatized that he never recovered. Unable to be around his family, he filed for divorce within a year. Stories of people who turned to drugs or alcohol abound. Some chose suicide to escape the pain.

The day after the bombing, I took a dozen newspapers to school. All day long, my classroom was silent as middle school children devoured them. I remember that Oklahoma City Public Schools received thousands of letters, cards, and drawings from school children across the country; students and teachers spent hours responding to them. I remember pages and pages of obituaries in The Daily Oklahoman. I remember that it rained for days, and that motorists drove through the streets with their lights on, to honor the victims. I remember feeling so proud of my state and the way its citizens pulled together.

Today, fifteen years later, I am surprised at how hard it has been to write this. I did not suffer nearly as much as many people in Oklahoma City, but the painful memories of that day remain.

I’ve been saddened and even frightened lately by the widespread lack of civility among Americans who disagree. Even on facebook, sometimes people I know and love post such strong words of anger and hatred that it startles me. Many in our society seem to believe that character assassination and threats are acceptable. They appear to think that disagreement with government officials and policies justifies drastic action.

In an interview today, Bill Clinton talked about taking “responsibility for the possible consequences of what we say.” “The words we use really do matter,” he said, pointing out that the “unhinged” can be affected by them.

Fifteen years ago an unhinged man thought his anti-government beliefs justified killing innocent people. Because of Timothy McVeigh’s actions, the people of my city are forever changed. I hope to God that no other city has to experience domestic violence anything like April 19, 1995 in Oklahoma City.

We Have a Winner!

2010-04-15T01:07:00.004-05:00

Well, of course we have a winner. It's been over two weeks since I announced this little contest. But I'm still traveling, and I've had a lot of distractions, so I'm just now getting back to this.
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Where were we? Here:

Strang, Nebraska. The Punk, also known as Little Guy, was the first to answer the question correctly, so I'll have to come up with some sort of prize for him. (Wouldn't you think I'd given him enough stuff already? If I could recover all the money I spent on Legos for him throughout the years, I could travel a lot farther than Nebraska.)
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But since (a) family members should be disqualified from contests on my blog and (b) Little Guy posted his answer at 4:53 a.m., when the rest of my readers are asleep, and that doesn't seem quite fair, I'm also declaring Joan a winner. Congratulations, Joan. After I get home, I'll find a prize for you. I'll be in touch.

We've been to Oregon, visiting Wild Child and The Blonde. It's been a good trip. Oregon is beautiful, and I can see why they love it there. (But oh, how I miss having them nearby!)

We're heading back to Oklahoma, traveling by the 11 to 3 plan. It works like this: We have to check out of our motel by 11:00, but at 3:00 we can check into another motel. So we drive from 11:00 to 3:00 every day. Of course it does take a while to get across the country when you only travel four hours a day, but why hurry? We're retired!

So for now, we're wandering around this part of the world. Life is good!

On the Road Again

2010-03-28T22:11:00.005-05:00

Dr. Lobo loves to travel. "How soon can we go on another trip?" he asked a couple of weeks ago.
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"Anytime after my writing conference on March 27th," I said. So today, without wasting any time after March 27th, we started out on another trip.
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I have to admit that I spent much of today catching up on my sleep while Dr. Lobo drove. It's been a very busy week, culminating in an amazing SCBWI Oklahoma conference yesterday. And this morning started at 6:15 a.m., since I needed to take an editor and an art director to the airport before starting my own trip.
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Since only a few people know where I am tonight, I thought it would be fun to see who could figure out what area we drove through today. So here's a little geography quiz for you.
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Can you identify this area? Here are a few photos to help you out.
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It's a rural area, as you can see.

Here's the local school.

Okay, here are some good clues for you.

Can you name the nearest town in this area? The first person who comes up with the correct answer will win a prize (which is unnamed because it is undetermined at the present time). List the town and state in the comments below. Have fun!

Tomorrow morning we'll be back on the road, heading off for more adventures. (I love retirement!)

It's Spring, Isn't It?

2010-03-20T20:12:00.007-05:00

Hooray! It's the first day of spring! Let's go outside and look for signs of the season.

Hmmm . . . that doesn't look springy.

Let's look to the east.

Okay. Let's try looking west.

Oops! What happened? Yesterday it was 72 degrees in Oklahoma City.

Surely we'll find something springy if we look south.

I guess not.

But wait! Here are those green shoots I find in my yard each year about this time. They tell me spring is coming.

This does not look promising.

Heck with this. Let's go back inside.

Vivienne has the right idea.

Let's try again tomorrow. After all, this is Oklahoma. As Will Rogers supposedly said, "If you don't like Oklahoma's weather, stick around. It will change."

One can always hope.

What Cancer Cannot Do

2010-03-16T20:50:00.004-05:00

Last night yet another of my friends told me that she has cancer. I know cancer has struck many people, but lately it’s attacking people my age, and that feels different.

My friend Marcy has been fighting lung cancer for five years, and although her prognosis is not good, she’s a survivor. She has fought valiantly, using surgery, healthy eating, prayer and meditation, chemotherapy, and alternative medicine. She’s traveled to Mexico for treatment not available in the U.S. At this time, she’s participating in an experimental drug test. Nothing has cured her. In fact, the cancer has now spread to her liver and spine. But in so many other ways, Marcy is healthier than nearly everyone else I know.

I’ve marveled at her ability to stay focused and positive, without denying the feelings of loss that sometimes overwhelm her. She has attempted to “live large” during these years; in part, this has meant making two trips to South Africa, where she has done volunteer work with the United Methodist Church. She spends time with her family and friends, cherishing simple moments.

Marcy sends insightful and eloquent emails to her “Band of Allies,” in which she speaks of loving her life. She has a new awareness of joy, wonder, and blessing. She recalls Jesus’s words about losing life in order to find it, and she claims to have found the peace that passes understanding. She encourages her friends to embrace the joy of life.

She is planning a party in May, to spend time with the people who have cheered her through this arduous journey. She calls it a celebration of her life.

Thank you, Marcy, for sharing yourself so generously throughout your illness. You have touched so many of us with your courage and faith.

And to my other friends who are battling cancer, I pray that you will discover what Marcy has found during this time. Here are some words she wrote in a recent email:

“Cancer sucks, but not enough to keep God's abiding grace from sheltering me. I will give Thee thanks, O Lord, with my whole heart.”

Amen.

Things I Didn't Know When This Photo Was Taken

2010-03-11T23:08:00.009-06:00

I’ve learned a few things since March 12, 1974, when this sweet baby girl entered my life. Here’s a partial list:

1. Children teach you what unconditional love really means.

2. Your child is unquestionably the best looking, funniest, sweetest, brightest kid ever. (And subsequent children born to you are every bit as wonderful as the first.)

3. No one will ever disappoint, hurt, anger, or embarrass you more than your child, and no one will ever make you more proud.

4. Children teach you far more than you teach them.

5. You can’t totally control anyone else, especially if the person you want to control is a two-year-old.

6. Regardless of how well you’ve done with parenting up until that point, you’ll feel totally incompetent during the years you have thirteen-year-old kids.

7. You would do anything to take away your child’s pain.

8. One way or another, your child will break your heart.

9. A high maintenance child is not necessarily a high maintenance adult, and a low maintenance child is not necessarily a low maintenance adult. (Thank you, my children, for taking turns being high maintenance!)

10. You never stop worrying about your children, even when they’re grown.

Happy Birthday, Sweet Girl. You will always be my baby girl, regardless of your age.

Life Just Keeps Happening

2010-02-27T22:14:00.007-06:00

Why is it that a retired woman who enjoys writing can let nearly two weeks pass without posting on her blog? I can only say that even retired, I stay busy, and life just keeps happening.

So what has kept me away from my blog?

Last weekend I climbed into a car with two of my favorite writers and headed south to attend the SCBWI Houston Conference. I actually started to blog about it one day this week, but somehow my post sounded boring, so I abandoned it. The conference itself wasn’t boring. In fact, it was excellent. And my traveling companions are awesome women. I think I’ll keep our adventures a secret so that our sterling reputations with our SCBWI friends aren’t tarnished. We had fun!

I got to rest a bit before spending two more long days in a car. On Thursday we met Sweet Girl and The Writer in Louisiana to pick up their cat. We’re providing kitty foster care for Vivienne for a while. When you already have three cats, how much more trouble can another cat be? (Of course, that’s what we thought when we went from two kids to three, and we quickly discovered that three is significantly more work than two.) She is a beautiful cat and is adjusting well, although I can’t say that our other cats are happy to have her around. (It’s sort of like how Wild Child acted when Little Guy joined our family. There may be a lot of hissing for a while.)

Today is Dr. Lobo’s birthday, and we’re getting so old we hardly know how to celebrate. In fact, he’s so old, he’s now on Medicare. Seems like just a few years ago we were a young couple raising a family.

In between the trips and the milestones, I do the things we all do that keep us busy. I read (a lot), shop at thrift stores, hang out with Dr. Lobo, do laundry, cook as little as possible, clean the kitchen, do water aerobics, walk in the mall with my pastor/friend, go to church activities, clean the kitchen again, eat lunch and do talk therapy with my best friend, help with children’s programming at church, follow facebook, worship, email, clean the kitchen again, critique manuscripts, and talk with family members. In between those activities, I’m writing a novel. It’s a good thing I no longer have a job. I’d never have time for it.

I’m grateful for this busy life, full of special people and interesting activities. I’m even grateful for the challenges that cause me to stretch and grow. I hope life keeps on happening for a long, long time.

Lucky Agent Contest

2010-02-15T10:00:00.008-06:00

As part of my search for an agent, I'm entering The Lucky Agent Contest, sponsored by http://www.guidetoliteraryagents.com/. Contestants are asked to send the first 150-200 words of a middle grade or young adult novel plus a logline (a one sentence description of the work). It occurred to me that it might be fun for some of my non-writing friends to see a sample of my writing for kids, so I'm posting it here as well.

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Title: The Totally Weird Substitute

Logline: Ethan, a third grader who loves order and routine, must adjust to an eccentric, free-spirited substitute when his structured teacher leaves to have her baby.

Opening:

My sister said a third grader can’t drop out of school just because his teacher is leaving to have a baby.

My mother said she wouldn’t quit her job to home school me.

My father said I had to go to school even if I felt like throwing up.

“What if the substitute mixes up the order of the subjects?” I asked Dad on the way to school. “What if she never watches the clock and keeps teaching all through lunchtime and I faint from hunger? What if the teacher is a man who makes me play soccer at recess?”

“Stop worrying. You’ll be okay,” he said. He stopped the car in front of the school.

“What if she won’t let me take a bathroom break and I can’t hold it? What if we get a teacher who makes me miss recess if I don’t finish my work and I never—”

“Ethan!” he interrupted. “Calm down. Take a deep breath.”

I tried to breathe like he showed me, but it didn’t help. My breath came hard and fast as I got out of the car.

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

So what do you think? Would you keep reading? If you have comments or suggestions, I'd love to hear them.

If you or someone you know is interested in entering this contest, or if you want to know more about it, go here.

Rescued!

2010-02-11T14:58:00.005-06:00

Once again, Dr. Lobo is my hero. Yesterday afternoon he was standing in the driveway when he heard yowling that sounded familiar.
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The house across the street has been empty for a while. Both Dr. Lobo and Little Guy looked there multiple times in the last week, but found no signs of Hektor. But apparently yesterday Hektor spotted Dr. Lobo and yowled for attention.
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Hektor had managed to get into the house, apparently from the basement, but then got trapped inside. Dr. Lobo followed the noise, discovered the cat, and rescued him. (Good job, Dr. Lobo!)
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Fortunately, Hektor is an excellent mouser, and water was available in the toilet. Although he was traumatized, he seems to be in great shape other than being a bit skittish. I don't think he'll be trying to get on any of those reality TV survivor shows. He's had enough of that nonsense.
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We called Little Guy at work and gave him the good news. A few hours later, this was the joyful reunion.

Take a look at that cute face. Isn't he wonderful? (And doesn't my kid have gorgeous hair?)

We are so relieved! (And no, his sibling cats aren't so thrilled by his reappearance, but they'll adjust.)

WHEW!

Still Missing

2010-02-09T12:08:00.007-06:00

It's been a week since our sweet Hektor cat walked out our front door, like he has done thousands of times before, and simply disappeared. We've searched the neighborhood and alerted our neighbors, visited the animal shelter, and offered our other cats a salmon dinner for bringing Hektor back to us. We've had no leads, although we still suspect that our other cats are withholding pertinent information.

A Catster poll from March 2009 asked cat owners, "Have you ever had a cat go missing or run away from home?" Look here if you want to go to the site. Otherwise, keep reading, and I'll give you the results:

No=34.41%

Yes, for a couple of hours=18.61%

Yes, for a couple of days=13.83%

Yes, over a week=11.64%

Yes, and was never found=21.52%

The website indicated that they had 999 responses. Since Hektor has already been missing for a week, I'll consider the data for the 114 cats gone more than a week and the 221 cats never found. I won't bother to walk you through the math. (I've done enough of that with fourth graders to last me a lifetime.) So either do the math yourself, or trust me. (My math is probably right, since my dad was a math teacher. Then again, my sister got the math gene.)

Anyway . . . of the cats that were missing for more than a week, according to my math, 34% returned. So at this point we have a 34% chance that Hektor will come home, and a 66% chance that he'll never be found. I'm pleasantly surprised to learn that our chances are as good as they are. Still, it's more likely that we won't find him. As one person commented on the Catster poll results, "Heartbreak with no end. Not knowing is the worst!"

But today is sunny and beautiful, and we have a one in three chance that Hektor will waltz in here at any moment. In a scene similar to the prodigal son story, our faithful cats who stayed home and tolerated our cuddling will greet him with some resentment. They'll tire of his tales of adventure in exotic locales. They may even make plans to get rid of him, like Joseph's brothers.

I can always hope, can't I?

Missing: One Adventure Cat

2010-02-04T18:04:00.006-06:00

It’s been two and a half days since we've seen Hektor, our “Adventure Cat.” During bitterly cold weather, we keep the cats inside. On Tuesday morning, Hektor and Veto begged to go outside to play. The temperature had risen, so Little Guy released them from their enforced confinement. Hours later, Veto returned, but Hektor has not yet made an appearance.

Hektor is Little Guy’s cat. I’ve written about him before. (See here.) We refer to him as our adventure cat because he loves to explore.

Cats demand independence, and it’s a cat’s nature to disappear. Sometimes he reappears days or even weeks later and refuses to tell where he’s been. Indeed, even as his (so-called) owners are rejoicing over his reappearance and showering him with affection, the cat looks at them with impatience. “Enough already,” he seems to be saying. “Where’s my dinner?”

Several years ago, Veto went missing. We combed the neighborhood, but more than a week passed with no sign of him. Finally Dr. Lobo and Little Guy visited the animal shelter to see if he’d been picked up by Animal Control. Not finding him, they returned home, despondent. When they drove into the driveway, they spotted Veto sitting on the porch. He looked at them with disdain, communicating a definite message: “Where the heck have you been? I’ve been waiting and waiting to get inside.”

Our neighbors’ cat disappeared about this time last year. He was gone for weeks. One day he sauntered in, and family members were ecstatic. He stayed for two days before taking off once more. They haven’t seen him since. Go figure.

Hektor has gone AWOL before. Last time, after several days of searching the most likely places, Dr. Lobo and Little Guy began to look at more remote possibilities. Squirrels had chewed a hole in the eaves between the floors of our house. Little Guy was perched precariously on the extension ladder, peering into the hole, when he heard a faint meow. Dr. Lobo, who was near him on the upstairs deck, heard it too. Encouraged, they called to Hektor. Then the meow was louder, but it wasn't coming from the hole. It was coming from the missing Hektor, who was no longer missing. Hektor lay on the deck next to Dr. Lobo, straining to look at Little Guy hanging from the ladder. The expression on his face said, "Whatcha doing"? He was in great shape. He was not hungry, thirsty, or even dirty. We have no idea where he’d been, and he wouldn’t reveal the secret for all the canned salmon in the house.

We hope the current episode has a similar ending. We hope Hektor is enjoying a grand adventure and will show up unscathed. We’re leaving the cat door open, listening for a familiar meow, and hoping our adventure cat will hurry home.

What I Loved About Corpus Christi

2010-01-29T16:46:00.013-06:00

We're back from our trip to the sunny shores of Corpus Christi just in time to experience the snowy yards and icy streets of Oklahoma City. Great timing, huh?
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Here are a few things I enjoyed during our days near the gulf waters.

I loved the sound of the waves. I loved watching the water, under overcast or sunny skies. (We had both.)

I loved driving on the beach, which was practically deserted in January. I was raised in southern California, where the beaches are totally covered with people. To be able to drive across the sand was a real treat.

I loved watching the birds--as long as they kept their distance. (I saw Hitchcock's movie about birds. It made a lasting impression.)

It was a bit early in the season to see Girls Gone Wild at Padre Island, but we did see a lot of GULLS Gone Wild. (Sorry. Couldn't resist saying that.)
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I loved discovering what had been washed up by the tide.

But here's what I loved most of all.

I know, that's pathetic, but what's a chocoholic to do?

Yes, I ate fruit and marshmallows dipped in chocolate, on top of eating chocolate covered potato chips all week.

Is it possible to eat large amounts of chocolate and still lose weight? No, it isn't.

Is it possible to gain weight after only a week of eating chocolate in abundance? Oh, yes.

Sigh.

From Sunny Shores

2010-01-23T22:51:00.006-06:00

On Tuesday night, I finally received a fortune cookie message that was absolutely accurate. It read “A vacation to sunny shores is soon in store for you.”

As predicted (and already planned), we left for Corpus Christi on Wednesday. Why Corpus Christi? It’s warm, even in January. And we have never been here before.

What are we doing? Our hotel is on the beach, with chairs on a deck. We have spent a lot of time just sitting there, enjoying the gulf waters. We can be incredibly lazy people.

We’re also eating entirely too much chocolate. I’m not mentioning any names, but a certain preacher told me about a candy factory in Pauls Valley, Oklahoma. I guess I can’t really blame her for leading me into temptation, but we checked it out on our way south. Bedre Fine Chocolate makes a very fine chocolate covered potato chip.

Before I leave this place, I hope I get a fortune cookie message that says “A return to sensible eating is soon in store for you.” But until then, we’re enjoying our vacation on sunny shores.

First Anniversary of My Blog

2010-01-15T22:58:00.005-06:00

It’s been a year since I started putting my thoughts and photos on the internet.

Not all of the significant people in my life read my blog, but some do. My husband reads it because it helps him keep track of my thoughts and activities. (He might even claim that he only knows what’s happening around here because of my blog.) I think my adult children read it just to protect their own interests. Some of my friends read it, including friends from my youth. A few of my relatives follow my blog, and it has opened up more communication between us. One cousin tells me that her friends read it. Two of my favorite (famous) writers dropped by and made comments, which thrilled me. Some of my most faithful readers started out as strangers; now they are friends.

The posts that got the most attention were probably the two about the raccoons in the house. (See here and here.) People also liked my birthday list, where I mentioned 62 things I’ve done in 62 years. Cat lovers particularly like my cat stories. My SCBWI writer friends love it when I write about our conferences. My church friends like my descriptions and photos of church activities.

I’m particularly proud of the writing in certain posts . . . the “Where I’m From” post . . . the thoughts about each of my family members that I’ve written on their birthdays (Husband, Daughter, Son #1, and Son #2) . . . the story about the death of our friend Ed Pugh . . . this year’s Christmas post . . . my review of 2009 . . .

Often, I feel like the topic chooses me instead of the other way around. Whatever is claiming my attention that week seems to insist upon being recorded.

Even as a retired person, I’m a busy person, so I don’t write as often as I’d like. I try to let no more than a week go by without making a post.

Although I spend a lot of my time writing, I mostly write novels. While plodding through draft after draft of a novel, I get discouraged. But blog writing provides validation. In the past, I often told the non-writing people in my life that I am a writer, but I’m not sure they believed me. Now I regularly hear “You are such a good writer!” That encouragement keeps me going. I love knowing that people are actually reading and appreciating the words I write.

Because of the counter I have on my blog, I know I have lots of readers, but few people comment. Please don’t be shy. I’d love to hear what you think, even if you sign in as “Anonymous.”

I hope to entertain and touch you with my writing for years to come. Thank you so much for reading my blog!

Yet Another Reason I Love My Cats

2010-01-08T10:54:00.002-06:00

Part of me hates to admit it, since only a decade ago I would have considered the whole idea disgusting, but Dr. Lobo and I often sleep with at least one cat.

There’s something really sweet about a small, furry animal curled up next to me. It reminds me of those days of “the family bed” when at least one precious baby shared our sleeping space. Actually, except for those times when they crawl across your body, cats make better sleeping buddies than babies or toddlers, since they tend to stay in one place without moving for long periods of time. If there’s one thing cats do well, it’s sleep.

This week, I’m welcoming any or all of my cats into my bed. Like most places across the country, it’s cold here. Temperatures have stayed in the teens or low twenties, with some dips into single digits. And of course in Oklahoma, the wind comes sweeping down the plain, driving those wind chill temperatures below zero. Baby, it’s cold outside!

Yes, cats can be a bother. They hiss and chase each other through the house. They present dead mice and birds to us. Worse, they bring wounded mice and birds into the house, where they bat them around and chew on them before moving in for the kill. They leave hair everywhere.

One cat follows me and cries for food every time I walk into the kitchen, even if I fed him five minutes earlier. That same cat, who happens to be my favorite in spite of his many faults, snores. Yes, snores.

Still, on these frigid nights, I adore my cats. I’m almost tempted to adopt a few more.

Boar's Head and Yule Log Festival

2010-01-07T14:38:00.011-06:00

Last Saturday I traveled to Fort Worth with a busload of my church friends to see The Boar’s Head and Yule Log Festival at University Christian Church (Disciples of Christ). This celebration marks the end of the twelve days of Christmas.

An ancient legend serves as the basis for this festival: an Oxford University student, while strolling in a forest reading the works of Aristotle, was charged by a wild and raging boar. The quick thinking student thrust his volume of Aristotle into the throat of the boar, putting an end to this deadly threat.

Hence, a festival celebrating the triumph of reason over brute force began at Oxford. When the Church adapted the festival, it gained a Christian significance: the boar’s head, symbolic representation of evil, is overcome by good through the teachings of Christ (symbolized by light).

Already old in tradition when presented at Queens College, Oxford, in 1340, The Boar’s Head and Yule Log Festival is perhaps the oldest continuing Festival of Christmas. The first known public presentation in America took place in 1888. University Christian Church has celebrated the festival since 1976. Over three hundred costumed church members, clergy, and musicians participate. It’s hard to imagine how much work goes into this performance.

My pictures don’t convey the beauty and wonder of this festival. I took over a hundred photos, and my friend Kathy gave me her hundred or so photos, but I'm trying to control my obsessive tendencies, so I'll only show you a few of them. Besides, too much happened too fast for me to document it like I wanted to. Think people—lots of people—in medieval and costumes. Think pageantry. Think spectacular.

Here are a few highlights:

The boar's head has to be carried in, of course.

Pretty dancing girls add beauty and grace to any performance.

The famous Good King Wenceslas made a guest appearance and took care of the peasant gathering winter fuel.

There were some unexpected moments of drama.

Angels appeared to some shepherds. (And wise men came bearing gifts, but like I said, I can't show you everything!)

Space limitations notwithstanding, of course I have to include the photo of all these cute kids. I'll show up to watch kids perform any day! They were great.

The climax was awesome.

Very exciting! (A bit too much excitement for the baby, perhaps, who began to wail.)

The pageant concludes when the minister and Yule Sprite carry the Christ Candle into God's world, that God's love may be known to all.

If you ever get a chance to go to one of these festivals, GO!

A Quick Review of 2009

2009-12-31T22:55:00.009-06:00

Two thousand nine was a very good year. Here are a few reasons why.

This retirement thing is nice. In my former life, I had many responsibilities that are no longer part of my world. In 2009, I didn’t get up early, teach long division, attend faculty meetings, supervise recess, grade papers, or worry about those children who were left farther behind daily (even though I did everything in my power to teach them).

Instead of following lesson plans, I traveled. I toured plantations in Louisiana,

enjoyed cool mountain air in Colorado,

visited precious relatives in California,

watched the ducks march through the lobby of the Peabody Motel in Memphis,

wandered through museums in Chicago,

and stayed in some beautiful Bed and Breakfast places.

I spent a lot of time with people I love during 2009. I made new friends and deepened old friendships.

I ate considerably less sugar than in previous years, and I lost nearly forty pounds. I gained some energy and flexibility.

I read 65 books and baked a lot of bread. I spent most Sunday mornings in worship and most Tuesday mornings in Bible Study. These things all fed my spirit.

I wrote a bunch of words, and I arranged some of them in an order that might even be publishable. I finished writing a book. No, it hasn’t been sold yet, but it’s finished—at least until an agent or editor asks for revisions. I went to writing conferences and spent a week at a writing residency program. I spent hours and hours talking to other writers, and I helped newer writers learn some skills. I wrote seventy blog posts. I collected rejection slips from editors and agents, but I also received compliments on my writing from people whose opinions matter to me.

During the coming year, I want to write, read, and play more. I want to talk less and listen more, whine less and encourage more, worry less and laugh more, doubt less and believe more.

I’m hoping that 2010 will be a very good year.