In response to the Daily Post’s Daily Prompt: If you could have a guarantee that one specific person was reading your blog who would it be? What would you say to them?

I’m awfully good at flippant remarks, and so very many rushed to mind when I first read this prompt. For once instead of just blurting out a quick answer, I took a deep breath and thought. And thought. Then I thought some more. I thought so long that several daily prompts came and went, and I was still thinking.

Finally I decided.

Mom, 

I miss you. I think you would have enjoyed my blog. Heck, you’d have had one yourself. You’d have never thought your writing was good enough, but you’d have continued writing just the same. I get that from you. 

I hope you can read between the lines of my posts and see just how much I still love you and how much of you lives on in me.

With love,

Leslie

A Day for Jason and Jackson

May 12 is an important day in our family. On this day in 1978 our first child, Jason, was born. It was a pretty big deal. That Jason survived having a neurotic mother was an even a bigger deal. Thank goodness Studly Doright was around to hold us together.

Not only was our son born on May 12, but his son, Jackson, was also born on this date in 2006. That makes it so easy to remember at least one grand child’s birthday. Trust me, the older we get the more important this becomes.

Our Jackson is a cool dude. He’s athletic, witty, and handsome. I can’t even express how much we love this kid who reminds us so much of his dad. And, since I’m not a Nana who makes things for her grandchildren I try to compensate by writing stories for them.  This is one I’ve written for Jackson.

Lumber Jack

There once was a legendary lumber man. The greatest man to ever wield an axe. This man’s name was Jackson. 

Jackson was no ordinary boy. Born with an axe in his hand, he used a chainsaw as a rattle and cut his teeth on a big old knotty pine. He learned to climb a tree before he could walk, and he could beat any grown man at log rolling before his first birthday. 

When he was nine he could grow a full beard, so he left home and headed out to make his fortune.

“Bye Ma! Bye Pa!” Jackson called as he headed out with just his saw and his axe. 

“Goodbye, son!” said his Ma.

 “Make us all proud,” said his Pa. 

Now even with his skills those first months on his own were not without peril. Once, Jackson came across a mountain lion fighting a grizzly bear. Mid-fight the grizzly bear was distracted by Jackson and the mountain lion got in a nasty swipe at the bear’s nose. Jackson felt responsible for the bear’s injury, so he jumped into the fray and put the mountain lion in a headlock.

 “Stop that, you two!” Jackson commanded. “Life’s too short to be fightin’!”

He patched up the bear’s nose and made him shake paws with the mountain lion. “I could use some help out here on my own, and I sure am lonely,” said Jackson. “How’d you like to come along?” 

And just like that the grizzly became Jackson’s watch bear and the mountain lion became his pet. The trio made a mighty fine sight as they traveled the back country helping out settlers and felling trees. 

One fall morning, Jackson, Grizz, and Kitty wandered into a lumber camp looking for work. Jackson asked to speak to the foreman and was directed to a huge tent. He instructed his companions to wait outside.

 “You two stay out of trouble. I’ll be right back.” 

Inside the tent was a big man. The biggest man Jackson had ever seen, at least eight feet tall, weighing close to 300 pounds. 

“What can I do for you young man?” the man boomed. 

“I’m looking for work,” said Jackson. “Folks tell me this is the best camp in the country.” 

“We don’t hire youngsters,” said the man. “Run along now, son.” 

“Sir, just give me a chance to…” 

Just then a mighty roar erupted outside the tent. Jackson and the foreman ran outside to see what was causing the ruckus. There in the clearing stood a giant blue ox. Grizz was on one side and Kitty on the other trying to herd that ox away from the tent. The ox bellowed, Grizz and Kitty roared. 

“Down, Grizz! Down, Kitty!” shouted Jackson. 

“Babe, sit!” yelled the foreman. 

The animals complied. 

“Dang, if that wasn’t something,” laughed the foreman, “I see that you aren’t an ordinary youngster. I’ll tell you what. I’ll give you a test and if you pass it I’ll hire you.” 

“You have a deal, sir.” 

“Call me Mr, Bunyan,” said the foreman. 

“Call me Jack,” said Jackson. 

That very afternoon the test was arranged. All the men in camp gathered to watch Mr. Bunyan explain the rules.

“Son, my best man can cut down a tree in five minutes and eight seconds. My slowest man can do it in seven minutes flat. All you have to do is beat the slowest man, and you can have his job.” 

Jackson nodded his understanding and hefted his axe. 

“I’m ready, Mr. Bunyan.” he said. 

“Go!” exclaimed the boss. The crowd roared. 

“He’s just a kid!” yelled one man. 

“You’re going down!” hollered another. 

Grizz and Kitty roared their support for Jackson. Amid the noise, Jackson remained calm. Then, he took careful aim and with three mighty chops he cut that tree down in less than a minute. 

The crowd went silent. Then they began to chant. “JACK! JACK! JACK!” 

Mr. Bunyan clapped Jackson on the back.

“Son, you have a job. And a nickname. From now on, you’ll be known as Lumber Jack!” 

And from that day forward all lumber men were referred to as lumberjacks, but there has only ever been one “Lumber Jack.”

Why I Like This Photo, Round 2

  
Sure, it doesn’t look like much now, but in a few weeks this is going to be Studly Doright’s long-anticipated man cave.

To hear Studly tell it he’s never, ever had a place to call his own. Now keep in mind, this is a guy who, after he spends 10 minutes in a bathroom, owns that bathroom, simply because no one else will venture inside.

Of course he did move directly from his parents’ home into our cozy little (read: crummy) rental house 38.75 years ago, so even though we’ve purchased progressively nicer homes every time we’ve moved, he really never has had a place of his very own.

Studly’s man cave is going to be part motorcycle garage/part workshop. I’ve even hinted that we could put a cot out there for those times when he snores so loudly that even the cats need earplugs.

I’m almost as excited for the man cave to be completed as Studly is. It means more space in my, I mean, our garage, less clutter in my, I mean, our home, and more opportunities for Studly to build stuff for me, I mean, us.

Who knew just how much I needed a man cave?

  
Peace, people!

When a Cowboy Dies

When a cowboy dies
the world sighs and God calls out
“come home son, and rest!”

“You’ve no more cattle
to brand, no roundups to ride,
come home son, and rest.”

“Your best horse awaits
ready for your gentle hand
ride home son, and rest.”

When a cowboy dies
loved ones cry, while angels sing,
“welcome home; now rest.”
  

Actor Fess Parker

I wrote this piece as a tribute to my husband’s Uncle, Frank Parker, who passed away this week. I didn’t have a photo of Uncle Frank, but actor Fess Parker (pictured above) was a cousin, and shared a lot of the same good genetic material. 

Uncle Frank was a true cowboy from his early teenaged years in Pie Town, New Mexico, until his body just couldn’t do the work anymore. Not too many years ago Frank suffered a broken neck in a horse-related incident.

No one expected Frank to live, but he did, recovering fully and continuing to ride the range out near Albuquerque, New Mexico, on into his 80’s.

Uncle Frank was one hell of a tough man, and a real cowboy. He’s ridden on home now. May he truly find rest.

Peace, people.

Mother’s Day

I have beautiful memories of Freida Hall, the woman who wiped my snotty nose, cleaned out my grungy ears, and made sure I always wore clean underwear. Glamorous roles, indeed.

Isn’t that what being a mother is about,  though? Taking on those tough jobs that nobody else wants to do: Getting up at midnight and two and four and six with a newborn who can’t settle into a schedule, or with a two year old who just wants to have a cuddle and a bit of comfort, or with a 16-year-old whose boyfriend had just broken up with her?

It’s about doing the tough love stuff when necessary–sniffing out the truth instead of believing every word her beloved child tells her. It’s about holding that child accountable for wrongdoing, and then holding her close and letting her know she’s still loved.

I’d love nothing more at this moment than to be able to tell my mom how much I loved her and how much she meant to me. I’d say:

Thanks Mommy for all of those unglamorous acts you performed, for all the wiped noses and bums, all the scrubbed faces and ears. 

Thanks for all the times you stayed up with me, cuddled me, held my hand, cooled my fevered brow, and listened to my teenaged angst. 

Thanks for teaching my brothers and me to be responsible adults through example and discipline and tough love.

Thanks, Mom. I love you and miss you every day.

   
 

Peace, people. Life’s too precious for anything else.  

The Family

Why is the Family
Important
In this day and
Time?

Family defines us,
Binds us,
Cradles us,
Refines us.

Family catches us,
Finds us, and
Snatches us
From the brink of
Nothingness.

Family shelters us,
Upholds us,
Reflects us on
Life’s stage.

One who has
Family is never
Alone,
Even if they’d
Sometimes prefer
Solitude.

Good Old Days

I had a motorcycle exactly like the one pictured below back in 1977 or ’78. Even better, I was once as slender as the young woman on this DT 175 Yamaha.

Now nearly 38 years, two kids, and probably 50 pounds later I can look back on those days with great fondness, at the time though life felt very complicated. 

Studly and I were learning how to be married. We were just kids, really, and pretty selfish. I was unwilling to learn the domestic arts. Studly felt like I should be able to do everything his mom did, and smile in the process.

I was ready to enjoy freedom from parental control, while Studly, raised in a very male-dominant household thought it was his duty to provide me with structure. That did not sit well with me.

We butted heads. Often. But we also had a lot going for us, not the least of which were our respective senses of humor and the commitment to making this very young marriage work. There were a lot of folks who didn’t think we’d make it, so of course we had to prove them wrong.

Not long after we married Studly went to Ronnie’s Yamaha in Dumas, Texas, and bought me a little yellow scooter called a Chappy. I rode that little scooter all over town and gained some much needed self-confidence. 

After I proved I could stay up on two wheels Studly came home with a DT 175 like the one pictured above. I loved that bike. We took it to the Canadian River, just north of Amarillo, almost every weekend, and while David took on the big challenges I learned how to ride in deep sand (go fast!) and shallow water (go slow!) and on rock strewn trails (pick a line and give the bike its head!). I even ran over a couple of snakes and a good friend (sorry Patricia!)

After our kids came along I stopped riding. It just didn’t seem to be a motherly thing to do. Back then I was pretty bound by what others thought of me. Dammit. Oh, to be young again and to know what I know now! 

Once our youngest graduated high school I took up riding again and wondered why on earth I hadn’t been on a bike for 18 years. There is something about having one’s own motorcycle that is both grounding and freeing, especially for a woman.

Even though I have a mega scooter now, I’d like to find an old “foo foo” bike like the DT. It wasn’t outstanding at any one aspect of riding, but good at most of them. And the memories of those early days of marriage are all wrapped up in it somehow.

I guess if there’s a take away from this post it’s that no matter at what stage of life we find ourselves we should do what makes us happy and more fulfilled. To heck with what others think.

Peace, people.

Adios Antigua

My time in La Antigua de Guatemala was much too brief, but returning home to Studly and the Estados Unidas de Norte America was sweet.

Just a few images of the people and places that made my visit to Guatemala muy especial:

 

One of the many skilled weavers plying her craft.  

  At Hobbitenango–my new nephew looking very much like a hobbit silhouetted in the doorway of the tavern.

  Next time your children complain about doing chores, show them this.

  

Beto and Hanna.😍

  

Iglesia de Catedral.

Cerrito San Cristobal patio dining with a beautiful view of one of the four volcanoes.

  

Leo, stealer of hearts.

   

Ruins in Antigua.

 

One of these three is my son posing at theCasa Santo Domingo.

  

Sunday brunch with the family at the Casa Santo Domingo. This hotel/conference center is a must-see, having been built to beautifully incorporate the ruins of a monastery.

    

Wedding guests enjoying the view from the upper deck at Hobbitenango.

  

Hobbitenango

     

My son, daughter-in-law, and me awaiting our shuttle to the wedding. 

Antigua is an ancient city. Many of the streets are narrow and teeth jarringly cobble-stoned, yet the entire city has free wi-fi.

Motorcycles and scooters almost outnumbered cars. 

   

There are only two things about travel to Guatemala that I won’t miss. The first is having to use purified water for brushing one’s teeth. Bottled water (agua pura) was readily available, but I accidentally brushed with tap water a couple of times. I haven’t died yet, but the day is still young.

The second thing I won’t miss is the method used to dispose of toilet tissue. In most places one cannot flush the tissue; it must be placed in a trash receptacle beside the toilet. For most of us it is an automatic reflex to simply drop used t.p. in the toilet bowl. I’m going to admit right now that I did not fish out the tissues I accidentally dropped into the bowl.

Those were mere inconveniences, though. I would gladly be inconvenienced again.

Peace, people!

Inoculated for Guatemala

I leave to attend my niece’s wedding in Antigua, Guatemala in one week. Squeal!!! But wait a minute. According to the Centers for Disease Control, travelers to Guatemala should have the following inoculations: 

“Make sure you are up-to-date on routine vaccines before every trip. These vaccines include measles-mumps-rubella (MMR) vaccine, diphtheria-tetanus-pertussis vaccine, varicella (chickenpox) vaccine, polio vaccine, and your yearly flu shot.”

I’m okay on those above, but just this week I thought to check on other suggested immunizations: 
Hepatitis A
“CDC recommends this vaccine because you can get hepatitis A through contaminated food or water in Guatemala, regardless of where you are eating or staying.”
And:
Typhoid

“You can get typhoid through contaminated food or water in Guatemala. CDC recommends this vaccine for most travelers, especially if you are staying with friends or relatives, visiting smaller cities or rural areas, or if you are an adventurous eater.”

Now, I’ve been running around shopping almost non-stop for my trip, but did I think about needing inoculations? Nope.

On Monday I told my doctor, whose name I am unable to pronounce, so I’ve dubbed him Doctor When, that I was leaving for Guatemala on April 8th, and needed to be inoculated against Typhoid and Hepatitis A. In response, Dr. When laughed. 

“Your inoculations would be of no use taken this close to your trip,” Dr. When  said. 

“You’re probably going to die,” he added before climbing into his Tardis and departing for another point in time.

Ok, I made that last part up, but that was what I took away from the exchange.

He did prescribe an antibiotic just in case I ran into anything nasty, but I believe I’ll do as my brother instructed and self-inoculate with plenty of cerveza and vino. No waiting period necessary.

 

No street food for me. 😢

  

But fresh produce should be ok! 😃

  

And maybe I’ll skip eating and just shop!

Peace, people!


Caffeine

Studly Doright drinks decaffinated coffee which drives me crazy. Caffeine is the very essence of coffee, the reason it caught on in the first place. Coffee without caffeine is just flavored water in varying shades of brown.

  My personal coffee mug

A cup of coffee 

With a bit of Irish Cream

Sipped in solitude

On this perfect spring morning.

What could be better?

Absolutely nothing, dear.

Unless, of course, friends

Stop by and share a pot with me.

That’s preferable.