Saint Helen’s Birthday Bash

Studly Doright, the love of my life, was raised by an extraordinary woman who I’ve dubbed Saint Helen. Last week Studly and I traveled to the Texas panhandle to join in the celebration of Saint Helen’s 80th birthday.

The event, held at the Senior Citizen’s Center in Hereford, Texas, on Sunday afternoon was grand, with well over a hundred people in attendance. I turned to one of my children as I observed Helen greeting yet another guest and said, “You’re going to need to hire folks to come to my 80th.” 

I believe said child muttered something about there being no way I’d make it to 80 before dutifully responding, “Sure, Mom!”

Eighty is only two decades away for me, so I better start being nicer to people. Dammit. 

Back to Saint Helen, though…I took a great many photos and while most of my followers are not among her friends I hope you’ll indulge me. She really is a terrific person and the very best mother-in-law imaginable. 

 

This wonderful cake was made of cupcakes with a layer of icing covering them to make it appear like a regular sheet cake.
 
 
Helen, on the right, with her childhood friend Billy Tobe and his wife, Louise
 
My daughter, her middle daughter, and I arranged all of the flowers for the event. Not bad for three novices. 
Daughter Ashley created this arrangement for a memory table.
  
This creation on the reception table was mine.
   

My lovely 11-year-old granddaughter, McKayla took charge of the flowers on the refreshment table.

There was much laughter, tons of hugs, and general merriment all afternoon.   
Saint Helen’s friend, Leona
    
Father Tony bearing gifts of homemade sauerkraut and store bought water guns.
  
Monsignor Bloom with Saint Helen
  
    
Friend Annette.
  
Cousin Leighton.
 
 
Saint Helen with Studly Doright

 
Studly and I with Saint Helen and our children and grandchildren.
 

Two of the great grandkids kung fu fighting. No one was injured in this battle.
  
All of the great grandkids who could be present. Two had to leave early and one missed the celebration due to circumstances beyond his 3-year-old control.

 
My five grandbabies. Nothing makes me happier than having them all in one place.
I can’t imagine a better way to celebrate than with this bunch. 

Peace, people!  

 

  
 

A Poem for Helen

Some people light up the world. Not in a showy, boastful way, or a flashy, sassy way,

But in a deep down, soul-satisfying, love you with every beat of my heart kind of way.

Their spirits are so infused with goodness and grace that they make everyone around

Them feel important and valued and loved. My mother-in-law, Helen is one of these

Extraordinary people who can erase your fears with only words and a calming touch,

Whose faith and spirit make you glad to be alive and in her presence. Today we 

Celebrate her being on this earth for eighty glorious years, and we hope for many

Many more. 

Birthday Flowers

 
My birthday flowers,
a thoughtful gift from my son
and his lovely wife,
look as beautiful
today as they did Monday
and smell heavenly.

Thank you Jason and Liz!

Tiny Kitten 

I was out and about enjoying my birthday, shopping and using my birthday coupons–Chico’s, Ulta, Sephora–all the good places, when I came across a young woman looking as though she’d fallen on the sidewalk. I hurried over to see if she needed help. She did, but not the kind I’d imagined. 

She was on her stomach peering over the edge of the sidewalk and risking decapitation every time a car sped by because she’d found a tiny kitten venturing into traffic, and subsequently discovered its siblings living in a storm drain.

Alex

Other passerby stopped to help. We rounded up a large box from Bed, Bath, & Beyond and a blanket from my car. I walked over to PetSmart and got some kitten milk and a bowl. The brave little kitten came to us immediately, and we put him in the box, but the other four were cowering as far away as possible.

One member of our group called the animal shelter. They promised to dispatch an animal control officer, but said it might take awhile. I assured everyone that I’d stay until someone came to pick up our little guy, and that if no one showed up I’d take him home for the night.

Reluctantly everyone went their separate ways, having classes or jobs awaiting them, and I was left babysitting the kitten in the box and watching for one of the others to make an appearance.

A number of folks stopped to visit and to coo at the kitten, who by this time I’d dubbed Alex. I figured that would work for either a boy or a girl. But after an hour, no one from the shelter came to our aid.

I was just about to pack Alex into my car when a young woman came down my way and fell in love with Alex. She wanted him/her, but had to get her brother’s approval. After a quick call to him and an ok, she prepared to take Alex home–on the bus! I squelched that pretty quickly and told her I’d give her a ride home. I was relieved that I wouldn’t need to care for a kitten.

However, while we were standing there gathering up Alex and his meager possessions someone (yes, me) kicked the kitten milk over and another of the tiny kittens was lapping it up and inching our way. So intent was this little one on the trail of milk that I scooped him up and had him in the box before he could even mew. Yep, it looked like I was going to have an overnight guest after all.

This one appears to be the runt of the litter. She’s completely black and so hungry. I’ve got her snuggled down in the box with a blanket and kitten milk. I am not keeping her, but since I found her on my birthday, I’m naming her Cake. 

 

Cake

Please wish us success tonight. She is very weak. 

Peace, People! 

A Rose by any Other Name

Fifty-nine years ago today I was born, and my mom named me Leslie D’Aun. She took my middle name from a friend’s daughter whose first name was D’Aun, but she needed a first name to go along with it. Apparently she didn’t want my name to be identical to that of her friend’s child–even though I never met the kid and I doubt it would have been a big deal.

My grandmother, Nannie Grace, discovered the name Leslie in a novel she was reading at the time. I guess that’s fitting since I’d rather read than anything, so little Leslie D’Aun came to be.

A couple of friends through the years have used my middle name for their own kids–more because they liked the name than that they were naming their child after me. I also have a granddaughter named McKayla D’Aun, but until last week I didn’t know anyone who’d specifically chosen the name Leslie because of me.

My incredibly competent and sweet housekeeper, Rosa, told me on Friday that her sister, who helps her clean from time to time, had given birth to a beautiful baby girl and named her Leslie Marisol. 

Rosa said, “My sister thinks you are so good and nice, so she named her daughter Leslie so maybe she will be like you.”

I might’ve cried. Ok, I cried.

might need to check this website….
 
Peace, people!

Harper D’s Day

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.”

   

 

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.”

Garrett’s Day

When Studly and I decided to have grandchildren we didn’t waste any time. Our Dominique was born on September 13, 2002, and our grandson Garrett followed just short of three months later on December 6.

Garrett wasn’t our first grandchild, but he was our first grandson. He restored symmetry to our family. From the beginning our Garrett was a fascinating kid. He started talking very early and his curiosity was boundless. He questioned everything from the moment he started talking, and that continues to this day.

He taught me all the ins and outs of Thomas the Tank Engine, such as the names of every engine and how to lay down a good track. When he outgrew Thomas and Friends Garrett became a Lego aficionado, a true master builder who once told me that every set must be built according to the directions at least three times before the pieces can be used for other purposes.

Nowadays Garrett is a spelling hotshot. He practically eats words for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. After winning his school’s spelling bee as a fifth grader, he went on to place in the top ten at the regional bee. He’s also a budding oboist AND he can ride a motorcycle. Pretty well-rounded kid. Oh, my favorite thing? He still says, “Nana, I love you.”

There is something he’s not fond of doing–math homework, so awhile back I wrote this little story.

“Garrett Battles the Math Monster”

No one knew about the monster in Garrett’s bedroom except for Garrett. He’d almost told his parents, but he didn’t think they’d believe him. He thought his sisters might be scared if he told them, so he kept it a secret.

As monsters go this wasn’t a particularly awful one. It had but one purpose in life–to prevent Garrett from completing his mathematics homework. The monster didn’t care about English, science or social studies assignments; it just didn’t want him to tackle math.

When the monster first moved into his room Garrett thought he could just ignore it and it would go away. He could see the enormous beast from the corner of his eye as he worked on assignments. It had silver scales, almost like mirrors that winked merrily as long as Garrett practiced spelling words or memorized state capitals. But as soon as Garrett pulled out his math textbook, the scales turned blood red and began pulsing with a menacing intensity. The monster would snarl angrily and poise for attack. Quickly Garrett closed his book and watched the monster mellow out.

“Ok,” thought Garrett. “No math, no problem.”

But there was a problem. Garrett’s math grades began to slip. Then to slide. Then to plummet. Things were serious. It was time to banish the math monster.

Every afternoon Garrett entered his room with the intention of driving the monster out. First he tried to reason with it.

“Hey there,” he said. “I’m in need of a break here. Do you think you could go mess with someone else for awhile?”

The monster showed his fearsome teeth and howled.

Next he tried fighting his scaly nemesis with fists. All Garrett got out of that idea were bruised knuckles and a black eye.

Maybe the monster was afraid of animals. Garrett brought in his cat Lucy to test his hypothesis, but Lucy took one look at the monster, screeched and scampered upstairs to hide under the sofa.

Nothing was working. Then Garrett had an idea. Maybe he needed to attack the math monster with words.

“Hey, Scale Breath,” said Garrett. “Can you spell extrudable?”

The monster looked perplexed. “How about excruciating?”

The monster started growing smaller.

“What kind of monster are you if you can’t handle a little spelling contest?”

The monster shrugged.

“Try this one,” continued Garrett. “Esophageal.”

The monster’s scales began to lose their luster.

Feeling more confident, Garrett said, “Spell Feuilleton.” The monster grimaced and seemed to shrink even more.

“Stichomythia!” Garrett crowed. The monster’s scales were now a dull brown and he was half the size he’d been just syllables ago. “Knaidel!” Shouted Garrett, and the monster shrunk again.

Sensing victory Garrett asked, “What do you have against math?”

The monster hung his now tiny head and said, “I didn’t want you to be good at math. You’re so good at everything else, I just thought that if I could keep you from being a star math student that it would make me feel better.”

“And did it?” asked Garrett.

“Not really,” admitted the monster. “But I did enjoy hanging out in your room.”

“Look man, you can hang out here. Just don’t interfere with my homework anymore. You’re making me look bad.”

“Ok,”said the monster. “Could I ask you a favor?”

“Sure,” said Garrett.

“Teach me to spell?”

Happy birthday, Garrett! I love you! Don’t let the Math Monster win!

Below: Spelling bee stud; Big boy sliding; Hanging out with Dominique

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