Last night my voice began to wane. Try as I might I couldn’t manage much more than a croak. Once in bed I turned to Studly Doright and whispered, “I don’t get it! Why am I losing my voice?”
Without missing a beat he responded, “Maybe because my wish came true?”
Very funny Studly.
Every day I spend a little time thinking about my Daddy. I don’t plan to; it just happens. He was quite a guy, and he impacted our lives in many ways.
Studly Doright and I were privileged to have Daddy live with us the last few years of his life, and it was a great experience for all of us; although, I’m sure Daddy often thought we were nuts. That’s ok, he was a little nuts, too.
Daddy loved golf and was in part responsible for Studly playing. But, by the time he moved to Melbourne, FL, where we lived at the time, Daddy’s COPD prevented him from hitting the course as much as he’d have liked.
He still played a few times, though, even earning a “Closest to the Pin” trophy in a charity tournament. Man, was he proud of that trophy! Any visitor to our home was invited to gaze on it in awe.
Long after Daddy stopped playing he would sit out in our garage imagining courses he’d played in years gone by and putting together the perfect set of clubs for a round of golf there. Often Studly would go looking for one of his clubs only to find it taking up space in Daddy’s “dream bag.”
“Gerald,” Studly would ask, “Have you seen my 5 wood?”
“Yeah, it might be in my bag,” Daddy would say. “I was thinking of number 4 at the Floydada Country Club. I thought I could reach the green with that 5 wood.”
Even now that Daddy has been gone for many years we still go looking in his bag anytime a club is missing, just in case he needed it for that perfect round.
Miss you Daddy. I hope you’ve got just the right clubs for whatever course you’re playing now.
Be sure the pants or skirt you packed to travel home in after a week of dining on Texas’ finest cuisine have a bit of elastic in the waist. #cannotbreathe #fatandhappy.
Every child should have a favorite aunt. Growing up, mine was my mom’s younger sister, Nedra, or as I dubbed her early on, Aunt Nanna. Only when an elementary school friend teased me about her name (Aunt Banana!) did I begin calling her Aunt Nedra.
Beautiful, teen-aged Aunt Nedra spoiled me rotten. She was the softer, more lenient, counterpoint to my strict mom and when I was with her I got away with all sorts of mischief.
Of course once Nedra married and had children of her own our relationship changed. She had to act like a mom herself then, but her children were as close to me as my own siblings back in those days. We all lived in Floydada, Texas, and not much was off limits or out of bounds. My life was good.
Then life changed. Nedra’s bunch moved away and she went through a divorce. All of us grew up, married, lost loved ones. And now, not a single living member of my mom’s family lives in Floydada anymore.
My Aunt Nedra married a wonderful man, my Uncle Richard many years ago and they settled in Canyon, Texas. I hadn’t seen them since my dad’s funeral in 2006. Until today. And what a happy day!
My mother-in-law (Saint Helen) and I drove to Canyon to Nedra and Richard’s home. They knew we were coming, so Nedra was waiting at the door to welcome us. My Aunt Nanna. And there was Uncle Richard sitting in his favorite chair. Nedra had cooked lunch and we had a wonderful visit. It wasn’t nearly long enough, but two years’ worth of talk wouldn’t have sufficed.
We forget, I think, the important places in our hearts that have been claimed by these favorite aunts and uncles until we can see them and hug them and have all of those emotions and memories come rolling in and crashing over us. We have a shared history of family loved and lost, of experiences both profound and silly. Nothing can ever replace that. No one can ever replace these loved ones.
Love you Aunt Nanna and Uncle Richard.
Our youngest grandchild, Harper, celebrates her third birthday today. That seems impossible. Only yesterday she was a tiny, helpless infant. Nowadays, she’s a feisty little handful who talks to me on FaceTime for as long as she can make herself sit still. Then it’s “I’m all done with Nana!” and off she goes to sing “Uptown Funk” or “Let it Go.”
I wrote this poem for Harper when she was upset about not getting to attend school with her older siblings.
D Wants to Ride
The big yellow bus came to D’s house today.
Garrett got on the big yellow bus.
McKayla got on the big yellow bus.
D could not get on the big yellow bus.
“You must be three, and you are only two,” said Garrett.
“You are way too little,” said McKayla.
“I am big,” said D.
“I can count,
I can sing,
I can climb,
I can swing.”
“Just one more year,” said Garrett.
“You will be a big girl next year,” said McKayla.
“But I AM a big girl!” Insisted D.
“I can play,
I can dance,
I can run
Really fast!”
“D,” said Garrett, “Be our baby for awhile.”
“D,” said McKayla, “Stay little for awhile.”
D thought and thought. “OK,” she said.
“I will be your baby for one more year.
I will still count and sing, climb and swing.
I will still play and dance and run very fast.
But next year I will get on the big yellow bus!”
“Bye, D,” said Garrett.
“Bye, D,” said McKayla.
“Bye big yellow bus!” said D. “I’ll see you next year.”
Four days to Texas
Amarillo bound
Can’t wait to see my baby
When I hit that dusty ground.
Goin’ home, after years gone by
Goin’ home, tryin’ not to cry
Tears of joy and happiness
When my baby’s by my side.
Goin’ home.
Three days to Texas
I can feel it drawing near
Like a hot blast of air
And a cold Budweiser beer.
Goin’ home, after years gone by
Goin’ home, tryin’ not to cry
Tears of joy and happiness
When my baby’s by my side.
Goin’ home.
Two more days to Texas
Amarillo here I come
Where the air smells of cattle
And cowboys get work done.
Goin’ home, after years gone by
Goin’ home, tryin’ not to cry
Tears of joy and happiness
When my baby’s by my side.
Goin’ home.
One last day to Texas
Back to my country roots
I’ll put aside my flip flops
And don my old black boots.
Goin’ home, after years gone by
Goin’ home, tryin’ not to cry
Tears of joy and happiness
When my baby’s by my side.
Goin’ home.
And now the wheels are touching
a runway on the plains
broad prairie sweeps around me
It’s different, but the same.
I’m home, after years gone by
I’m home, tears start to fall
In my baby’s arms I’ve finally found
My home.
Truly my bags are packed. I’m off to Texas tomorrow for a Doright family reunion.
Positives (in no particular order):
Negatives:
Peter, Paul, and Mary: Leaving on a Jet Plane. This song always makes me cry.
http://youtu.be/c8jEapecSqc
Peace, people!
In the last trimesters of my two pregnancies my mind and body went into high states of anticipation. Physically I was full of child, round and healthy, a walking, talking, glowing clichè. Who cared that we were young and totally unprepared? My body was saying, “Let’s do this!”
Mentally I went into the hormone zone. At night I dreamt of having twins or triplets, and literally juggling them (even though I can barely handle more than one bag in real life without dropping it) or forgetting they existed at all until learning they were grown without having ever known me. Gotta love those pregnancy hormones.
Recently I began noticing a parallel between my late term pregnancy time and my current existence. You see every night before I closed my eyes to sleep back then I’d think, “What if this is the night I go into labor?”
Now, as I near sixty, I sometimes wonder at bedtime, “What if this is the night I die?” It’s not as morbid as it sounds. I’m a healthy woman. I sleep well and eat a reasonably nutritious diet. After my bout with early stage breast cancer I am religious about having regular mammograms and other preventative medical exams.
But it’s as if I’ve become pregnant with death.
I’m past those years of thinking I am invincible. I’ve lost friends who seemed full of life and possibility. I was with both of my parents as they died, and I was struck by just how effortless the final step was. They’d both suffered the indignities of long, painful illnesses, but when death finally came for them there was a release and a relief.
So sometimes at night the anticipatory thought comes to me. “What if this is it? What if this is the night I die?”
I say my prayers as always, for forgiveness, for the health and well-being of my family, for an end to wars, for any friends who’ve requested prayers, and I always end with a thank you. Because if I’m to go I want gratitude to be my final thought.
In the end I guess we are all “pregnant with death” and life is too precious to spend even a moment on dramas that separate families and friends. So forgive. And then forgive again.
Peace, people
If I leave tonight
my spirit will stay with you
I’ll love you always.
My mother-in-law, Saint Helen, who I love dearly, celebrated her birthday on the 26th of May. Even though she’s officially retired from the workforce she continues working on an occasional basis in the office of her church.
Saint Helen happened to be working on Tuesday, so the priest and a co-worker offered to take her to lunch for her birthday. Just as their food arrived her co-worker, the office manager, got a phone call from the local police saying that a car had been hit by an apparently drunk driver in front of the church office. Yep, it was my mother-in-law’s car. Wrecked. On her birthday.
She hadn’t had the car long, but she loved it. And she is pretty bummed out. Saint Helen just doesn’t get bummed out. This woman has faced head on more troubles than most of us can imagine, all while holding her head high and pouring out blessings on all around her.
This is one of those times I wish desperately that we lived closer so Studly Doright could help his mom negotiate the trials of dealing with insurance companies. But Saint Helen has other wonderful children who live near her and will gladly be there for her.
If my readers have a couple of good thoughts to spare, please send them her way. I love her very much and she deserves good things.
Peace, people!
A couple of folks have inquired as to whether I am still cooking meals for Studly Doright. Why, yes. Yes, I am.
Studly Doright remains among the living
Even after all of my cooking.
Some nights I create minor miracles
Other nights we survive on cereals.
Still, I miss the cool days of winter
When I could just serve soup for dinner.
Tonight I’m serving veggies and roast
They smell pretty great and that’s no boast.
Let’s raise a glass to good home cooking
But I dropped the roast when he wasn’t
looking.
shhhhhh!
Peace, people!
Praying for Eyebrowz 