Reunions

I attended two high schools back in the 70’s: Floydada high school and Dumas high school. Just three hours apart in travel time, but at that point in my life it might as well have been three hundred hours. 

I’d spent all of my school life in Floydada, Texas, population 4,000, until the end of my junior year in high school when my dad switched jobs necessitating a move to Dumas, Texas, population 10,000-ish. Eventually I adjusted to life in the “big city” of Dumas. It was tough, but I made friends and met my Studly there, and graduated from Dumas high school in 1975,  so all’s well that ends well, right?

Fast forward to 2015 and the epic forty year class reunion. I would love to attend the reunion in Dumas, and I’m even going to be in Texas the weekend it takes place. Unfortunately that’s the same weekend the the Doright Family Reunion is scheduled, and I’ll be unable to be in two places at once. 

Floydada’s class of ’75 is planning to meet in Gruene, TX, in October. I’ve already booked my hotel room for that event. After all, these are the grown-up versions of kids I went to school with from kindergarten through my junior year.

I was never “most beautiful” or “most popular,” but I always had a place among my class. And I was probably too busy dealing with my own insecurities to notice those who were more disenfranchised than I was. So I was caught by surprise when a member of the class became angry that she’d been invited to the reunion because she had felt disrespected and unnoticed during our school years.

I wish I’d noticed her more. I wish I’d been nicer, friendlier, more inclusive. I wish I’d known then what I know now–that it doesn’t diminish our own worth when we include others. Who knows how my life might’ve turned out if I’d known that years ago?

To all those who felt they weren’t included, you are loved and valued and I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you this years ago.

Peace, people!

Lingering Over Wine With Friends

We linger for hours
over bottles of fine wines;
no need to hurry.

  
These perfect moments
captured in warm memories
even as we drink.

  
Friends enhance the grape
even mediocre wines
seem superb vintage.

Written in response to the Daily Post’s Daily Prompt: Linger–tell us about times In which you linger, when you don’t want a day or an event to end.

Reading Doldrums

 Circling in the waves,

Caught up in an

Eddy,

Reeling from
the done,

The finished,

The read. 

Now what? 

Am I supposed
to forget 

Those I grew to love,

to fear, 

to hate? 

Where do they go 

When I turn the

Final page,

When we part ways?

I finished book two in a three-part series yesterday. Rushing to shop in my Kindle bookstore I was dismayed to discover that book three won’t be available until March. Of 2016. I’d cry if I thought it would do me any good.

The point is, I broke my Cardinal rule of reading: Thou shalt not begin a book series until at least three books are available to purchase.

Three is a great number because many series end there. If I waited until every book in a series had been written and made available to the reading public I might not ever have gotten to read the Game of Thrones series.  As it is I’ll probably die before knowing what happens to John Snow, et. al.

Thank heaven for Facebook, though. After posting a plea for good book suggestions my feed was pleasantly inundated with not just good, but great recommendations, including that of a novel, The Adventure of the Yrsa written by a friend under the pseudonym, Lillian Sullivan.  

My cup runneth over!

Peace, People.



Things I Love: Good Friends

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Since deciding to learn to cook for my handsome husband, aka Studly Doright, I have experienced a flood of support and advice from more domestically-minded friends. One such friend, Lee Ann, sent me a lovely gift (pictured above) to help me in my quest. Lee Ann and her husband Gary visited us at Doright Manor last month just as I decided to become the cook no one ever thought I could be.

Lee Ann, besides being one of the sweetest women I’ve ever known, is a true domestic goddess. She cooks, sews, keeps a spotless home, and never seems to break a sweat. Even better, she’s never made me feel inadequate for being the exact opposite. That’s the real gift, if you want to know the truth. Supportive and non-judgemental. Now, if I could convince her to support the Dallas Cowboys instead of the Indianapolis Colts, she’d be about the perfect human being.

Love you, Lee Ann! Thanks for the cookbook. Look, you could still wear blue if you ditched the Colts for America’s Team!

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Only The Lonely

Last week I gave out my email address to a complete stranger. Oh, we’d stood next to one another in the checkout line at Publix, but I don’t even know her first name. It started with a D. Dianne? Denise? Desiderata? Surely I’d have remembered that one.

Lonely people do odd things, like speaking to ourselves and answering our own questions out loud. “What do you think of this shirt?” “Nice, but it might be a little tight.” “You think so?” “Yea.” All me. All true.

We say odd things to waiters: “Is this the only menu you have?” “I really like your Muzak!” “Yeehaw, this is good!” Ok, I made that last one up.

We make odd observations aloud: “Hey, you have really cool ankles!” “I wish I had your cowlick!” “Today’s gonna be a good day!”

We try to make eye contact with people who look to be in our general age range, give or take 30 years. Yesterday I got into a meaningful conversation with a nice lady over a shoe sale at Dillards. I really think we could’ve been best friends, but then the woman’s great-great granddaughter gave me a look of pity before wheeling her out of my range.

Now, I’ve always been odd. Being lonely just amplifies it. Honestly, I like my own company, but it would be nice to have someone to hang out with at the beach or to go shopping with while Studly plays golf.

That’s all for now. I think myself and I will go to Goodwill. Lots of nice people there.

Peace, People