So grateful

It's the day of gratitude.  A time for reflection.  My list of gratitudes:

1. My husband.  Life with Paul improves with age.  He still has the ability to surprise me.  I really can't say for sure I know what he will do next.  But, after 34 years, we also know live in a place of constancy; not much can shake our foundation.

2. My children and their spouses.  They all are so different from each other.  What they share is a hardfast loyalty to each other.

3. Grandchildren.  They are my heart.  They have added to my being.  The role of grandmother now defines much of who I am. 

4. Extended family.  Although we don't see enough of each other, I am proud of my family's legacy of honor and decency and strive to live up to it.

5. Friends.  I don't have all that many, but the ones I do make up for it in quality of friendship.

Happy Thanksgiving!  I stole my daily values quote for this blog today.  It's from Better Life Foundation.

“As we express our gratitude, we must never forget that the highest appreciation is not to utter words, but to live by them. ”

John F. Kennedy (1917-1963); 35th US President

Meet Sam

 

 

Sam - Samantha - will be joining our family in December.  She is a merle color border collie.  Merle means her coat is marble color.  She is not a replacement for my Tex, although it does feel as though it is a little too soon for another dog.

 

Truth is, Paul has been barking (clever wordplay) for a long time about getting a merle border.  He has said that for his 60th birthday he was gonna do it.  His merle source has this litter that is ready early December, and since he turns 60 in January, we agreed the time was right.   

 

Right now Sam lives on a ranch about two hours west of Fort Worth and slightly south too.  Paul and I will drive there on Friday, Dec. 6.  We are excited and eager to have a puppy in the house.  It's been awhile.  We choose to live a happy bubble and not think about the hard work that comes with a puppy, instead we can't wait for the baby softness and the sweet breath and sharp tiny teeth and the puppy antics. 

 

In our happy bubble we, too, are certain Mika and Baxter will be just as happy to welcome a puppy to our family. 

 

 

 

 

Scary thoughts on Halloween

If today is Halloween, then tomorrow is .... NOVEMBER! 

What the what!?

2012 is just about history.  Sigh.  It doesn't make sense that we already are at the end of a year that just started. 

Age, you know, compounds the speed of time. The older we get the faster time flies.  We blink, and presto, our children are adults.  We blink, and presto, we have grandchildren.  We blink, and presto.... (fill in the blank).

When we turned 40, we figure we have lived half our life.  Midway.  That's not so bad.  There's still a balance of time left on the clock. 

At 50, the balance tips against us: we are on the downside of life, we know that. We become more aware of the ticking of the clock.  Fifty is the age we begin to calculate the remaining years we have left: 20? maybe 30 if we stop eating badly?  maybe 35 if we start working out every day?  Tick, tock.

This next year Paul and I hit 60.  It's downhill....  wait a minute.

Truth: I am not that freaked out about 60.  I think maybe Paul is more so, but he is playing racquetball almost every day now and just got a tattoo.  I just spent the weekend in Rhode Island and then drove to Austin for the following weekend.  Did the train and subway thing all by myself!  Oh yes I did.  We have lots of plans for just the coming week. 

Aging is liberating in so many ways.  We have chosen which life lessons to follow at this point.  We love the family we have made and are grateful every day for what we have. 

It's still true about time passing more quickly as you age!  That I wish I could change.  But my life and where I am at?  I wouldn't change a thing! 

Unbelievable

I didn't think it would be possible.  After all these years.  Didn't see it coming. 

I am now a cat .... liker. 

Spent a long weekend with son John in Providence, which meant spending a long weekend with his cats George and Fred.  The bonding was a process for all 3 of us.

At first we observed each other.  At times John insisted that I pet and play with them.  I didn't really think they were into it either.  By the end of the second day, however, Geroge was wanting to sit on my lap and Fred hung out close by, often on the same couch where I was sitting.

Day three we were chums.  We played with toys, Fred fist bumped with me, George followed me everywhere.  John claims George would follow me into the kitchen because she thought she would get fed.  Still, she sat on my lap too and I know she loves me.

I wonder if Mika and Baxter would like a kitty?  Oh well.  This weekend I go to Leander to see Jenny and Michael and they have a cat!

Jumpy as spit on a hot skillet

This week the wait may be over.  Likely tomorrow.  Our son John will find out the results of the bar exam he took ... IN JULY!  I fully believe the long wait is built in to for the benefit of someone's demented sense of humor.

We all are so nervous.  So, in Texas slang, how nervous are we?

As nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room fulla rockers.

As nervous as a porcupine in a balloon factory.

Jumpy as spit on a hot skillet.

Shakin like a skinny dog tryin to pass a peach pit.

Sweatin like a turkey on the day before Thanksgiving.


We are proud of you John.  We have your back no matter the results. That's a given. You have chosen a difficult path, but as we used to tell you when you were little: you can't get lard unless you boil the hog. 

Goodbye, Tex

Yesterday we had to say goodbye to our dearest Tex.  She was only 9 years old but had been sick for awhile.  We just didn't know how really sick she was until an unforgiving cancer tumor was discovered in her lung.  It was all too apparent her struggle to stay alive was becoming unbearable, even though she didn't complain. Our wonderful vet Dr. Riley and his staff at the Animal Hospital in Arlington gently guided us through the difficult process of putting her down.

Tex was our granddog.  She first was adopted by Andrea in her junior year of college.  Andrea raised her the first 2 years, Paul and I had the last 7 years.  She really became my dog.  Followed me everywhere. We had a special bond that dates to her first years.  I would visit Andrea at college and spend most of my time hanging with Tex.  One visit, the temperature had dipped below freezing and Andrea's apartment didn't have heat.  After Andrea left for school/work, Tex and I headed for the nearest motel - and heat!  When Andrea finally realized she couldn't care for a dog, I was the one who "rescued" Tex.

We are heartsick right now, but also grateful for the time we had with this special little dog. 

Thank you Tex for your loyalty and companionship.  We won't foget you!

Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose

Yesterday was a losing day.  First the Texas Rangers, leading their division from day 1, lost to the A's on the LAST day of regular season, giving Oakland the division title.  Ugh.

Despite coming in second, post-season play continues for the Rangers.  Shake it off Josh Hamilton.

Then the first of three presidential debates occurred last night.  The president's performance was awful.  Just awful.  Mitt Romney showed up and appeared presidential.  He took one shot after another, landing critical blows.  The president?  He wasn't even close.  Maybe he landed one little slap.

Despite losing the first debate (badly), the campaign continues, including two more debates (which could be good or bad).  Shake it off Mr. President.

Ahhhh, October

October could possibly be the best month of the year.  Cool but not cold temps, Halloween, harvest, kids in school, baseball ending, football getting going, holidays around the corner and just a general feeling of order in the universe.

I even like saying "October."  Maybe it's my inner German relishing the guttural beginning of the word: Auch- toe-ber.  Actually is was just recently that I discovered my German ancestry.  I was able to trace my mother's maternal side of the family back to 1700s Germany.  I had always assumed the Shirey's hailed from Ireland.  Nope.  Germany.

October comes from the Latin "octo" meaning eight, as in the eighth month, according to Wikipedia.  The same source also reports October is Black History Month in the UK, a month with 31 days.  Here and in Canada Black History Month is February, the shortest month of the year.  Hmmmm.... just saying.

Take a look at some other October highlights:

National Pork Month

Clergy Appreciation Month

Pregnancy Loss and Infant Loss Awareness Month

Filipino American History Month

National Arts & Humanities Month

Domestic Violence Awareness Month

Breast Cancer Awareness Month

Lesbian Gay Bisexual Transgender History Month

National Cyber Security Awareness Month

Dwarfism Awareness Month

Auto Battery Safety Month

So, on your way to your annual mammogram (men get breast cancer, too), call your gay pastor to invite him or her to share a pork dish at your favorite Filipino restaurant.  Explain you are on a committee planning an arts fair and plan to include artwork by children living in violent homes.  After lunch, drop your computer off with the Geek Squad before getting your car battery checked, preferably by a little person.

Happy October everyone!!

Transported back in time

Andy Williams died this week.

His song "Moon River" and his TV show were part of the backdrop of my childhood. 

His passing reminds me I have been around a long time.  His passing takes me back to my childhood, a time so very different than my life now.  His passing makes me think of my father.  I picture him singing "Moon River."  When I was a kid, if there was a song playing, my dad was singing.   

Don't get me wrong.  I am not looking back with sadness, it's more of a fondness.  Fondness for a simpler and more innocent time of my life.  I wouldn't want to go back, but for just a few moments, it's kind of nice to reminisce.

The U.N. is coming, the U.N. is coming!!!

Lubbock is in danger.  Grave danger, you ask?  Is there any other kind? 

Thank goodness County Judge Tom Head, whose middle name I have learned is Knuckle, is on it.  He has asked the county for a property tax hike to cover money needed to build a proper military defense against foreign and domestic invaders. 

It's countdown to Armageddon, cautions the elected official, IF President Obama is re-elected. 

This guy is not kidding.  He wants to be prepared for the invasion.  The U.N. will be taking over if Pres. Obama gets a second term.  Pres. Obama, says County Judge Tom K. Head, intends to hand over the sovereignty of the United States to the U.N. 

That is, the sovereignty of the U.S. minus Lubbock. 

Luckily for the rest of us chumps, this guy has read the small print in the U.N. charter.  Apparently he has found something in the charter that gives our president authority to hand America over to the U.N.   Mr. Head put his brand of math to work, putting two and two together:  Pres. Obama hates America.  Pres. Obama loves the U.N.  If re-elected, goodbye freedom, hello Secretary General Ban Ki-moon.

Years from now, the history books - ebooks - will describe the heroics of a few good men and women.  Remember Lubbock! will be the inspired message to all the boys and girls.

Or not. 

The New York Times reported the best response to this current nonsense:

     Down the street from the (Lubbock County) courthouse, blue United Nations flags flapped in the breeze outside the office windows of Rod Hobson, a criminal defense lawyer. The flags flew in jest, not in support of Mr. Head. Inside, Mr. Hobson’s 5 ½-pound Yorkshire terrier was on patrol, dressed as a “war dog” in a blue United Nations beret made by his wife.
     It is hard to be pro-Obama in Lubbock, but it is even harder to find official-looking United Nations flags to wave outside an office.






 

Common ground

Republican convention is all that's on TV news programs this week.  Sigh.  I find it hard to relate to anything.  Today, however, I found common ground with Rep. Gov. Chris Christie who will deliver the keynote speech tonight at the convention. 

Christie was a guest on MSNBC's Morning Joe today.  They were talking about a personal attack on the governor.  The attack came in the form of a New York Post headline.  The story related something about Gov. Christie believing Mitt Romney won't win without his support.  The headline: "FAT CHANCE."

Christie is a good 300 plus pounds.  Comedians, especially the late nighters, take shots at his weight all the time.  The Post is famous for its clever use of irony in its headlines.  This headline, however, was not clever.  It was cruel.

Obesity is emerging as one of our country's leading problems, if not the number one health concern.   

As an obese person, I feel for Christie AND his kids and wife.  I don't like jokes about people's weight.  I can't think of a single fat joke that is funny.   

Obesity is a medical condition (see link below).  For many of us, that extends to our mental ill-being.  It's a struggle to act against urge, especially when that urge is wedged solidly in the brain. 

I'm not a fan of the governor's politics and doubt I will listen to his keynote speech tonight, but I do side with him and his supporters who find personal attacks on his size inappropriate - and cruel.

http://www.webmd.com/diet/what-is-obesity

FB activity

I spent a couple of hours on FB last night, as in fantasy football  (you thought I meant my Facebook account, which is still deactivated: see previous post).    Last night was my fantasy football league's draft.  This will be my fourth year playing as the Coyotes (as in University of South Dakota Coyotes).

The best part of last night's draft was my 10-year-old nephew Eddy!  He has joined my league, but luckily his team LivinADream is not in my division.  I know his team is gonna kill.  I took his advice, too, last night and scored the Eagles as my defense.  "You have to have good defense," the wise young one said. 

You know, I think that advice applies outside of sports, too.

Good one, Eddy.  I hope we both do well!

Retreat from FB!!

I deactivated my Facebook account.  Yep, you heard it right.  I said "buh-bye" for these two reasons:

1.  Political pollution.  I found myself increasingly annoyed by pro-Romney postings.  Problem is I really, really like the people who are doing the postings.   This campaign feels particularly vicious.  Feels racist.  I needed to back up and take some deep breaths - and remove myself from the political poison that is ruining (in my opinion) FB.

2. I don't really have that many friends on FB.  Sad but true.  There are only a couple of friend cliques I will miss following: the Barrett family (I LOVE everything April posts); my son and his friends (thank you Haley for often "liking" my posts); the SD contingent (who are the most guilty about the pro-Romney stuff, which I can safely say on my blog because they don't read it); and finally a scattering of family members who post, mostly from Washington and Montana. 

I would say this retreat is a real sacrifice, but it isn't.  I won't have withdrawls and no one likely will even know I am gone.  But I will know.  And that makes me feel .... a bit liberated.

Happy Birthday, Funny Girl

 

Today is my granddaughter's first birthday.  Finley is 1.  No more counting by months, as in my baby John is 320 months old.  Says more about me than about my child or grandchild.

Big birthday party tomorrow.  Her Uncle Michael and Aunt Jenny are driving up all the way from Austin to celebrate Finley's big milestone.

On her birthday in June, I blogged about my daughter Jenny.  Then I stopped blogging for two months, missing Andrea's birthday in July.  ("I'm waiting for you to blog about my birthday," Andrea reminds me... often).   I hope this makes up a little for slighting my lovely Andrea, the child who has produced my only grandchildren.  I've posted a few of my favorite pics of Finley. 

Move over John, there's a new comedian in town!!

Thank you, Todd Akin

It's been two months since I last posted something.  Not that there hasn't been stuff to write about.  Trips to Montana and Spain.  Political season locally and nationally.  For some reason I just couldn't get into it.  Until.... Todd Akin. 

Akins is the Missoui GOP candidate running for Senate.  He misspoke in a local interview about pregnancy and rape and the whole nation seems to have heard.  Apparently, there are some cruel reports masquerading as science claiming that when women are legitimately or forcibly or really, really raped, they can't get pregnant. 

Mr. Akin was only repeating what he and many, many others have said in the past.  Mississippi voters heard this demeaning message just before they rejected the personhood amendment to their state constitution.

In Texas, we have seen this coming on.  This war on women.  Just yesterday 3 federal judges from the 5th Circuit Court of Appeals ruled in Gov. Perry's favor, allowing the state to cut federal dollars supporting Planned Parenthood's non-abortion clinics in Texas.  This translates into cutting access for thousands of women to medical services including cancer screenings, well-woman exams and birth control.

So, thank you Todd Akin for getting me back to my blog.  I have a feeling this won't be the last we hear from you and your nutty professors. 

Below is a link to a most brilliant and funny blog regarding this issue.

http://www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/borowitzreport/2012/08/an-apology-from-todd-akin.html

Tragic reminder

We are putting extra locks on our doors today. Paul is doing it right now. Mika is barking up a storm at the pounding and drilling. 

This extra security is necessary not to keep intruders out, but to to contain precious little ones in.  Two events this week brought this gap in security to our attention.

First, the drowning of twin boys in their grandmother's Arlington pool.  Their father had stopped at the house to check on his mother.  He let his guard down for mere minutes.  Minutes.  The two boys.... you know.  A father's worst nightmare.   

Second, the same day this horrible tragedy was reported, we left granddaughter Addie, age 2 1/2, unguarded for several minutes in the family room watching TV.  We were in the next room watching an important soccer game.  Distracted.  Problem is, Addie's TV room leads to the backyard and the backyard swimming pool.  Even though the door was locked, she can open it.  Even though she knows the rules, she's 2 1/2. 

Every family with a swimming pool who heard the tragic story this week I assure you was reassessing their own pool saftey.  I guarantee we are not the only ones installing extra locks as a result of this tragedy.  Their deaths will have prevented other deaths and injuries.  I am sure of that.

The time it has taken me to write this blog, Paul has finished installing locks that are out of reach of an adverturous child. 

Our hearts go out to the family mourning the loss of their darling boys. 

Forgive me

I have a secret.  I watch Bravo's Housewives of... series.  Not all the time, but enough to know who is who in all the different locations: New Jersey, New York, Atlanta, Orange County and Beverly Hills. 

In my defense, not all the locations air at the same time.  Bravo spreads them out over the year, although seasons do overlap.  Sort of like sports.  Basketball and hockey both just finished, but not before they overlapped baseball, which will overlap football.  That's the same with Housewives.  Right now New Jersey is wrapping up, Orange County is in the middle of it's season and New York season just started.   

Paul caught me last night watching Housewives of New Jersey.  Truth is, I let him catch him because I am tired of trying to hide my grotesque interest in this series.  It's takes too much effort. 

Maybe coming clean is the first step toward giving up this hideous addiction to reality soap opera.  Just not until I see what happens in New Jersey between the self-important and seemingly clueless Teresa and her adorable brother Joe. 

Thank you, Jerry Sandusky

Thanks to Jerry Sandusky, today it's OK to discuss sexual assault.  His conviction on 45 counts of child rape is today's top story.  Next week, the topic goes back underground.  Most likely.

I have had the privilege of working several years with survivors of sexual assault and incest.  If there is just one fact to get across in all of this, it's that most of the time the victim KNOWS his or her attacker.

U.S. Bureau of Justice Statistics: 93% of juvenile sexual assault victims know their attacker. Breaking it down:

• 34.2% of attackers were family members.
• 58.7% were acquaintances.
• Only 7% of the perpetrators were strangers to the victim.

Sexual assault of is not  Stranger Danger.  The danger is Uncle Bob or cousin Millie or the "friendly" neighbor/coach/youth leader or a parent's current partner. 

I've said for years that sexual assault or incest can be found in just about every family.  You may have to climb a limb or two to find it, but it's there. It can be found on a couple of limbs in my family tree.  We just don't talk about it.  Which is what breeds the shame.  That shame then converts into poison.  Possible side effects of said poisoning: depression, anxiety, OCD, eating disorders, bipolar disorder, PTSD, borderline personality disorder, suicide, homocide.  A hefty toll for something that is not the survivor's fault.

Sandusky's conviction and likely life sentence are certainly reasons for celebration.  I also hope they are reason enough for silent survivors to finally tell their story. 

Here's a good place to start if a person wanted to talk about their own abuse:

http://www.rainn.org/get-help

Grandmother cred

Life is so unpredictable. 

Take Karen Klein of Greece, N.Y.  When the week began nobody outside of her family and friends had heard of her.  Now at the end of the week, her face and her story have been told all over the world.  She's the lead topic around the water cooler this morning thanks to four 7th grade boys. 

Karen is the bullied grandmother/school bus monitor in this week's amazing YouTube video.  A CBS report this morning said the video had upwards of 2.5 million hits so far.  The video, shot by a teen, shows four teenage boys harassing her nonstop while she remains calm, yet obviously uncomfortable.  Profanity-laced insults are directed at her appearance and it appears a couple of times, they poke her with objects and their hands.

I wonder what the boy who posted this video thought was going to happen when others witnessed the incident?  What did he think the reaction was going to be?  It sure was funny at the time, at least that's the reaction he likely got from his friends and other students on the bus.  Where were the other students riding the bus when this was happening? 

The reaction has been overwhelming support for Karen Klein.  The public has responded with flowers, letters, and apparently a lot of money.  It struck a nerve.  The public is not OK with teenage boys harassing a grandmother.  Not just any grandmother, but a grandmotherly grandmother.  If it had been me, a grandmother, I may not have acted so grandmotherly.  But Karen Klein did.  She modeled classy behavior in an ugly situation. 

So this morning one of the fathers of the boys speaks to reporters.  He aplogizes.  He is saddened, he says, by his son's behavior.  I believe him.  Like the victim, he, too, is modeling classy behavior in an ugly situation, although I don't see him getting gifts from the public.  Predictably, his son and the other boys are getting death threats.

Cue the public blood lust: "If I were on that bus...." or "if I were their parent..."  The ending to those statements may differ slightly, but all involve bodily harm.   These kinds of reactions are not helpful.  They just make us feel better about ourselves for some reason. 

It makes me think of that famous Rodney King moment: can't we all just get along?  (RIP, Mr. King, who died last week).  It's that lesson again.  And again.  And again.  This week it's Karen Klein telling those boys on the bus in the middle of the attack: if you can't say anything nice, don't say anything.  That's straight, 100 proof sage advice - total grandma cred.  These are the kind of words and actions, powerful words and actions, that pack more punch than a death threat or an actual beating.

So what changes as a result of this video going viral; as a result of millions witnessing Karen's powerful words and actions?  Well Karen Klein is likely going to be able to retire.  Awesome.  And, at least the one kid whose father came forward, that kid is likely going to change for the better.  I believe his father was genuine in his sadness and we all know there's nothing worse than a parents' disapproval, except maybe a thousand death threats. 

But maybe, just maybe, the lesson will stick this time and there will be no more bullying EVER again on ANY school bus throughout the universe. 

A girl can dream.

Survivors

Yesterday my youngest granddaughter got a mild sunburn and her 2-year-old sister rolled up the car window on to her tiny pointer finger.  Dad had to release said finger from window's grip. 

Forgive me, but that made me smile.  But only after I heard they had survived.

Life and death is the daily norm for little kids, toddlers especially.  It's where they live.  Adults can't be expected to prevent every single injury.  Impossible. 

I was talking about this recently with a father of boys, 4 and 2 years old.  He said he was pushing both sons on swings, side-by-side, a lovely fatherly image.  Without warning, the 4 year-old takes FLIGHT, crashing to the ground.  He's scraped up pretty good, but mostly scared.  After his son calms down, his father asks what happened.

"I let go."

Yep.  That's what I'm talking about.  An adult cannot foresee accidents like that happening because the boundaries of toddler reasoning are limitless.  And that reasoning has nothing to do with reality. No basis in fact because these kids haven't the life experience to put two and two together.   The little boy told his father he wanted to get off the swing, so he let go.  Makes sense to a toddler, never mind that he's got a 5-foot drop to the ground.

Adorable, but only because he survived. 

I understand, sadly, that there are accidents with tragic results.  For the most part, however, the millions of times our kids get hurt, they survive.  We kiss their boo boos, slap on a bandage, offer ice packs and hugs.  It's a sweet part of childhood - sweeter maybe after time has soothed adult nerves and diminished adult guilt.

I admit my kids could tell a few tales.  They survived a good number of hits and near misses.  Some day I should add up the number of broken bones and concussions among my three children.  Not.  I will say John wins the Most Times Hospitalized award. 

Enough time has elapsed for me to share (confess) an incredible story of a gigantic calamity averted.  It's one of the "kid" stories I wrote about in a letter to my parents, letters my mom kept and returned to me a couple of years ago.  So, here's a paragraph, an eye-witness account, from my letter dated 1991.  The kids were ages 5, 7, and 9. 

"I'll quickly tell you this week's hair-grabbing event.  My three kids plus the neighbor's two (ages 5 and 2) were all in the playroom when John innocently threw a large plastic ball up in the air, hit the center screw on the glass light cover, broke the center screw, the glass cover falls in one piece on top of John's head (he's looking up as it falls on him), the cover shatters, Andrea and Jenny huddle covering their heads reflexively.  All my children take hits, only John is bleeding slightly on his arm.  There are glass slivers and chunks all over the room.  Paul and I carry all the children out.  The 2-year-old had been sitting in the closet.  ...I am plucking white hairs as I write this.  I don't want to have to tell this story again, it's too scary."

I guess it's taken me 21 years to tell this story again.  I still recall the event.  I can still see the light fixture fall on my son, his hard head shattering it and then ... they survived.  Just as my granddaughters will survive their injuries as well as many more to come. 

P.S. About that horrible event in '91, all 5 kids were OK, including John.  He thought he might be in trouble for breaking the light fixture.  Adorable.  He wasn't.  In fact, the kids really took it well.  Paul and I were wrecks.  Not too long after, Jenny broke her wrist falling off the teeter-totter playing "Hot Lava" at that same neighbor's house.  I kinda figured that made us even.

Happy Anniversary Frank & Shirley

Here's what 64 years of marriage looks like.  Frank and Shirley Lochridge will celebrate their 64th wedding anniversary Monday.  My brother Jim took these photos today at the Clark Fork River in Missoula, Montana.  He asked me to share with everyone.  Thanks, Jim.

If you're wondering what's in the background: it's a kayaker and a surfer in black wetsuit. 

Jenny by any other name... is still my Jenny

Today is my daughter's birthday.  Jenny is 28.  From the very first, this child followed her own path. 

It was June 14, 1984, in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, around 9 p.m. when my water broke.  I just barely had arrived home from work at the local newspaper.  My contribution to the next day's paper was done, so co-workers encouraged me to leave early.  They knew it was my last day before maternity leave, and I must have looked a mess.  I had been working extra hard, preparing for my long leave.  All that extra stuff you have to do before handing off duties.  I remember feeling drained and not at all prepared for Baby No. 2.  Which is why I so brilliantly decided to take my leave a week before my due date.  Jenny must have taken that as her cue to come knocking.

I recall with clarity the moment my water broke.  I was upstairs getting ready for bed.  The tiny second floor of our house contained two small bedrooms and a bathroom.  Both rooms had slanted ceilings like an attic.  Square footage of the entire house was less than 1,000, including the basement.  I was moving quietly because 2-year-old Andrea was asleep in one of the rooms.  I was on the upstairs landing moving from bathroom to my bedroom when my water broke.  It took a couple of seconds to really process what was happening before I hollared for Paul.

I will spare you the details of the delivery.  You're welcome.  I can tell you that it took about 12 hours after she was born for me to recover enough to hold Jenny and really get a good look at her.  She was perfect.  Olive complexion, ruby lips, soft black baby hair, eyes not quite ready to take in the outside world, yet curious.   

My perfect baby was missing just one thing: A name.  Back in the dark ages one did not know gender before delivery.  We had the boy's name picked out, which I've forgotten.  But we had not yet agreed on a girl's name.

Paul wanted Samantha.  When Andrea was born, that's the name he wanted but I didn't.  So I promised him he could have that name for our next girl.  I broke that promise even though I like the name.  I just wasn't feeling it for my second daughter.  Horrible of me, I know.

I suggested Genevieve and we call her Genny for short.  Paul nixed that, but we were getting closer.  How about Jennifer, Paul asked.  A fine name.  But I didn't want Jennifer.  I was stuck on Genny.  How about Jenny?  Hmmmm.  Day 2 my baby finally had a name: Jenny Lynn Stickney.  On Day 4 of her life, we took her home.

It didn't matter that the room she shared with her sister was not ready.  It didn't matter that she came home to a family already calibrated to suit a 2-year-old's energy.  She would soon change that by injecting her own wondrous energy into the family dynamic.  And so she has for the past 28 years been a positive force in our family, incalculably enriching all our lives.

Happy birthday my dearest.

PS. Of course our child who follows her own path has since changed that name we struggled so to come up with.  She married Michael Cole six years ago and took his surname, but also dropped her middle name Lynn to make her own surname a middle name.  So she is Jenny Stickney Cole.  I like it.  It suits her and she doesn't even get mad or correct me when I slip and call her Jenny Lynn....did I mention she's 28 today?

6458

Last week on my trip back to Texas from Montana, I had the privilege of witnessing the return of two Fallen Soldiers. The first at Denver airport. The second at DFW airport. One of the Fallen Soldiers was on my flight from Denver to Dallas. The flight crew announced it to us, and asked that we allow the soldier's escort to leave the plane first. We could see, taxing into our gate, a couple of police cars with lights going and behind them, an honor guard.

In Denver, the Fallen Soldier also was met at his or her final destination by an honor guard as well as several family members. Airport staff on the runway stopped what they were doing to stand still in honor of the Fallen Soldier. Inside the terminal, things suddenly got quiet. People moved toward the windows.  Those already close to the windows, one by one, stood up. This spontaneous show of support, paying respects, or whatever it was, continued until the casket was loaded onto the awaiting hearse. A soldier among the crowd in the terminal was seen wiping away tears. She wasn't alone.

It is a sobering reminder of the ultimate sacrifice these brave and heroic souls are making for our country. While trying to find a name for these two soldiers, I found an important site (below). It has the names of ALL our Fallen Soldiers from Operation Enduring Freedom, Operation Iraqi Freedom, and Operation New Dawn. 6458 names as of today.

http://www.militarytimes.com/valor/

 

I will wait for as long as it takes...

As a nation we have come to accept that any kind of work done in our homes will require a good amount of waiting.  Lots of looking out the window for work trucks and lots of listening for vehicle doors slamming just outside the house. 

Have you noticed that nobody sets appointments for an actual time?  Work is scheduled within windows of opportunity.  Between the time the sun comes up and when it goes down.  Still, we have no choice.  If we want cable TV, we wait.  If we want utilities or phone service, we wait.  If we want a new bathtub, a little tiny and not that terribly awesome stinking bathtub.... I wait.

I am in day two of waiting.   Yesterday I waited for the demolition crew to arrive, which they did.  Then it was another couple hour wait for the plumber.  He came too!  Yay!  My tub should be in and working, right?  Naw.  It sits in my garage because today I wait for a city inspector to look at what the plumber did. 

Did I mention this is ONLY a bathtub?  OK.  The walls around the tub were taken down too.  But I feel as though I could now complete the job.  It could/should have been done in a couple of hours once the plumber left.  Everything is pre-fab.  But alas, there's the inspector's role.  For a crummy little bathtub.   

So I wait for the inspector today, then IF he or she is here before noon, I can call the remodel crew who MAY come this afternoon and complete the job OR they may come tomorrow.  What time tomorrow?  Some time after the sun rises and before it sets.  If I am lucky.  Today is the Friday before a long weekend.  Not a good day for work orders.

Deep breaths.

Have a wonderful and safe Memorial Day weekend. 

Class of 2012

Imagine the perfect day: gorgeous weather, happy people (mostly), celebration, good food and drink, interesting speech (liberal), AND bag pipes leading the way to the outdoor venue.  That's New England.  And that also was graduation day 2012 at Roger Williams University School of Law in Bristol, RI.  John walked.  I was choked up most of the time.  My actual view of the graduation was slightly obstructed.  No worries.  The audio worked.  It's over and done.

Onward to the next challenge: bar exam in July!

Below: the kids find a tree branch along cliff walk in New Port, RI.  You might see this again on the Christmas card.... And Jenny stands next to Texas flag.  All nations and state flags were lined up around the RWU campus.   

Cloak of invisibility

I got confirmation yesterday that I am invisible.  Again.  It's the middle-aged-woman syndrome.  We are the Unseen, blended into the cityscape. 

I was waiting to be waited on at a tiny and crowded alteration shop.  The place always makes me think this is what a sweatshop must look like.  Behind the counter you can view the female staff working, about a half dozen, each seated at a sewing machine.  Long racks stuffed with clothing divide the backroom.

The space for customers is divided into the tiny counter area and fitting room area.  I walked in and did the customary survey: who is ahead of me and who is being fitted, where is the line, is there a line?  No one is at the counter.

I deduce that I am to stand at the counter and wait for help.  I've been to this mom and pop place multiple times and know they are kind and also busy.  I make faces at a little baby, who makes faces back.  Dogs and kids like me.  I don't know why. 

A few minutes into my waiting, this tall 30-something male comes in and walks right past me, throwing his suit jacket onto the top of the counter.  Out of nowhere, the shop owner appears at the other side of the counter and they conduct their business!! 

What the F**%!!

I am invisible.  There's no other explanation.  Well, rudeness.  There's that.

While I am used to this cloak of invisibility that comes with age, it still got my blood boiling. I was mad at Mr. Jerk who didn't even ASK if I was waiting.  That's a law, right?  Any person standing between door and counter must be considered AHEAD of any other person coming into establishment AFTER said person who was there FIRST.  If it's not the law, then common sense.

I was mad at Mr. Business Owner.  Where were you when I was standing there politely exchanging funny faces with the baby?  Clothes in hand, I obviously was waiting to be served. 

Last, I was disappointed in me.  I have been working hard all these years to wash off the nice.  Not all of it, but a lot of it.  Got it from growing up in South Dakota.  We're too polite.  We don't like to confront others.  No spotlight for me, thanks. 

Of course, after Mr. Jerk leaves, I belly up to the counter, tossing my clothing at Mr. Store Owner.  Do I let him have it?  You decide:

Mr. Store Owner: You can pick up Wednesday after 4.

Me:  I need them Tuesday.  He writes Tuesday on my ticket.  Ha!  And, I got the last word.

Me: Thank you very much. 

That'll teach him.

Drug dealings

So last night we got out EXPENSIVE  heart worm and flea and tick meds to give to our three dogs.  These meds are supposed to be given monthly.  I say supposed to because we aren't always on it every month.  Last night, we were on it.   We had just enough supplies to cover our darling doggies.

Recap: We have a 9 year old beagle named Baxter, an 8 year old beagle named Tex, and an 8 year old border collie named Mika.  Understand this is not our first rodeo dispensing 2 different meds to 3 dogs.  Plus, Tex  gets thyroid pills twice a day.  We've walked this path.  Or so you'd think.

Paul and I gather the 3 dogs in the area of the kitchen where meds disguised as treats are dispensed.  There is, as you could imagine, building anticipation.  Tails wagging, little bottoms unable to stay seated from sheer excitement.  

I commence to deliver meds to Tex.  She takes both heart worm and the smelly flea and tick easily.  Tex is, well, the greedy one. There's no struggle with the disgusting flea and tick pill.  It smells horrible.  No matter to Tex.  It was covered in bread.  Heart worm pills are yummy, no bread needed. 

So I say to Paul Tex is done, or something like that and the next thing I see is Paul handing Tex a second dosage of heart worm!  Too late, Tex is not gonna turn that down.  Did I mention she is quick? 

Paul!  I gave her one already.

I thought you gave her flea and tick?

Yes, heart worm too.  Both pills. 

I thought ... now we don't have enough heart worm pills. 

We are left with Sophie's Choice: which of our beloveds gets the protection?  Which one doesn't?   Bax or Mika?  Before I can offer a suggestion, such as halving the pill, Paul has tossed the pill to .... you guessed it, Mika.  Mika the Wonder Dog.  Mika the subject of Paul's artwork.  I wonder: if it were between ME and Mika?  I can't go there.

The damage is done.  We now turn our attention to the lone stinky flea and tick pill left to dispense to Baxter.  Now,  Baxter has discriminating tastes.  She is no Tex.  She is gonna detect the stink under the bread and no way is she going to eat it.  Going in, I know this.  Paul should know this.  All we have to do is coax and outsmart a tiny beagle.

Of course my darling and brilliant Paul covers the disgusting thing with soft bread and then with carefree abandon, TOSSES it to Bax who is standing next to ... you guessed it, Tex.  We can't even get out a "NO Tex!" before she has it swallowed!!  Within a nanosecond of Baxter rejecting the gift, Tex swoops in to accept it for her.  Gone.  Another double dose.

A little stunned, Paul and I look at each other.  What just happened?  What do we do now?  We look at Bax.  We look at Tex.  Did I mention these are expensive pills?   Will Tex OD?  Will Bax get fleas?  I can't stop laughing. 

Twelve hours later Tex shows no signs of distress.  Maybe she spent one of her nine lives (see previous posts about Tex really being a cat... Hermaphrocat).  Bax will get her meds today AFTER Paul and I communicate.  First course of action: Put Tex in bedroom lockdown until mission accomplished!

So busy doing Nothing

Since unemployment - end of February - I feel my time has increased in value.  I am sooo busy doing Nothing.  Nothing with a capital N.  Sometimes I also do nothing with a lowercase n, mostly watch too much TV, YouTube, FB.  But the capital N nothings are the kinds of things that give me a sense of accomplishment these days.

The capital N nothings are the things you list when asked the, "What did you do today?" question.  Most days my answer: I wrote a little bit (this blog counts).  I cleaned something.  I exercised.  I babysat a grandchild, which I do almost every day now for a couple of hours.  I drove someone to the airport (did that once because I was the one available during the day).  I ran errands.  I had lunch with friends (that counts). One day I helped a lost and wandering elderly woman in our neighborhood find her way home (called 911 and rode in police car because she wouldn't get in unless I did).  

These are things I consider capital N nothings.  There are, however, other capital N nothings I have rediscovered.  They are accomplishments as well, but harder to quantify.  Such as thinking.  Reading something and giving it more than a couple of seconds of thought. Then reading more about that something.  Listening. There seems to be more listening, which kind of overlaps with thinking.  More listening to music, more listening to people, more conversations with family members.  Stuff like that.  Capital N stuff. 

I am so fortunate that I can take this time to do Nothing, most people cannot.  I don't need the income to pay the mortgage or put food on the table.  I have a sugar daddy for that.

Doing Nothing adds value to my life ... for now.  The master plan is to be back at work by the end of this year.  In the meantime, I'm gonna keep very busy doing Nothing!!!

 



.  

Buh-bye

Yesterday I finally got the good news.  I've been waiting months for this and it is finally happening.  Or at least we heard yesterday it was imminent.  Likely to occur.  Soon.  For me, not soon enough.

The Newt is bowing out.  In Newt fashion, yesterday he announced that he will announce next week he  is out of the GOP presidential race.  Even penguins hated his politics.  (re: he got bit by one at a recent appearance at some zoo). 

Hey Newt, don't let the door hit ya.

Pillow talk

I wonder who invented pillows?  What a marvelous legacy, whoever you are.  Wikipedia says you might be Asian dating back at least a thousand years.  Or, Wiki says you may even have invented the pillow as far back as ancient Egypt, which puts you living sometime around 1350 BC, give or take a few hundred years.

This pillow gratitude came to me last night as I was hugging my favorite pillow.  Just the right amount of softness.  Such a simple comfort.  I love my pillow.

My free advice today is find a pillow you love, if you haven't already got one.  You spend very little for a massive return that just keeps on giving night after night.  And at nap times too.  

I wonder who invented naps?  What a marvelous legacy...

I did not know that

I learned two techie things this week.  Both by unhappy accident you might say.

First techie thing I learned:  I ordered the DVD of a British sitcom called Miranda.  It airs on KERA (DFW public TV) Sunday nights at 10:30.  Writer and star Miranda Hart is nothing short of brilliant and, more important, always makes me laugh.  Out loud laughing.  The show is current in the UK and has won a gazillion awards.  It's not just me.

So I go to Amazon to order the DVD from some supplier in the UK.  But when the DVD arrives, it doesn't work!  It just shows some message about "wrong region."  I even try different DVD players.  Same annoying message.  Next, I do some google research and talk to a youngster at Best Buy.  Turns out as an anti-piracy move, DVD players and DVDs are now made to match specific "regions."  This allows distributors to control how and when and where their material is distributed.

I did not know that. 

So, the US is in region code 1; and Europe is in region code 2.  If you buy something that comes from outside your region, your DVD player won't work because manufactures of DVD players also are on board with this, obviously.  Get this, though.  There is a gadget called an all-region DVD player that you have to buy online because, says the Best Buy guy, they are no longer sold in stores.  

Dilemma: do I now spend more money to get the player? 

Answer: Of course I do (Craigslist here I come).  That is how much I am obsessed with Miranda.

Second techie thing I learned: I bought a new computer last weekend, and with it, I purchased the Geek Squad support services for a year.  (see previous post Extended Family: empty nest = lost tech support).  I let them load the new computer with stuff and dropped off old cranky and slow computer for a tune up. 

During the exchange, I ask the Geek why my virus scans the last few months always come back "congratulations, you have no viruses," when for years, it always returned finding stuff to "quarantine."  He didn't have to even think about the answer.

It appears that someone - OK me - allowed another anti-virus protection onto my computer.  In fact, I had three anti-virus programs standing guard over my precious hard drive.  Turns out, he says, the effect is that they battle each other, not the viruses contaminating my computer and slowing my processor.  Theses competing programs literally attempt to wipe out the other, which is why, I am told, you can have only one anti-virus program.

I did not know that. 

The Geeks were able to not just tune my old computer, but restore it to ONE anti-virus program so it is back on the fast track. 

If only I had known about the virus thing before I purchased a new computer.  And if only I had known about the regional DVD code thing before I bought the DVD set. 

I guess life is a classroom.  Some lessons are just more costly than others.  That, I did know.

The unchosen

I have been driving South Cooper in Arlington, Texas, around 3:30-4:30 p.m. each week day for a few weeks.  Which means I am passing the area of Cooper Street where day laborers assemble.  In the early morning there may be from anywhere from 50-100 or so men gathered in small groups spread over a 3-block area.

These day laborers must become expert traffic watchers, able to discern which vehicle means business, which does not.  A commercial vehicle or pickup commands their attention, a compact car not so much.  This has been going on for years now.   I admire these strangers, who I assume do not have the legal documentation to work in this country.

By mid afternoon their numbers are reduced, and still there are men obviously waiting for work, waiting to be picked for a job that likely will pay very little.  Day laborers show up for the possibility of work every day, rain or shine, in ungodly heat or extreme cold.

So as I am now driving by daily in the later hours of the afternoon, I look for the handful of men remaining.  I can't explain the fascination, but now I can't not look.  I feel as though these men in the later hours of the day stand little chance of getting work, but even that doesn't seem to dissuade them from leaving their work post.  Waiting for work is part of the job description.

Last week during my daily assessment of the remaining laborers, it struck me that they appeared to be older, maybe not so strong, although that's a hard thing to assess.  Even so, the men still waiting didn't appear to stand as tall, were not as alert to traffic flow or to vehicle type. 

In that moment, I get a flashback.  I am transported to Northeastern South Dakota, year 1963.  There I am, standing in a row with a dozen or so other kids, hoping against hope I will not be the last one picked for a game of Capture the Flag.  Literally all the boys get picked first.  Of course it is boys doing the choosing, including a couple of my brothers.  The picking process is not pretty.  It's as if you are not there because you hear the already chosen players assessing the not-yet-picked players. 

We don't want to pick her because.... the rest is too painful to recall.  But it struck me that these laborers face this kind of harsh judgment daily.  Of course I understand my deep-seeded anxiety at not being chosen in a game in no way equals the stakes of not being chosen for work.  For day laborers and their families, not working means basic survival - providing for food, shelter - just got harder.  Not being picked until almost last for a game means hurt feelings, loss of dignity and loss of other good but less important stuff higher up the needs chain. 

My admiration for these laborers has now multiplied.  I don't know anything about their personal lives, if they are good people or bad people or whatever.  I do know that every day they face the prospect of not being picked for a job and yet they still show up.  That is some work ethic.

Cowabunga!

This morning I am texting son John about today's shocking revelation that the fictional Springfield of The Simpsons is based on Springfield, Oregon.   One of the best kept secrets in TV - and in our family - is exposed by....  Matt Groening, the show's creator. 

What lasting affect will this have on our lives?  Absolutely zero.  Why did I care to let my son know?  Because it's something that connects us.  (I should let Jenny and Michael know, too).  It's also the kind of stuff I find myself doing during these days of unemployment.

Yesterday I got to go to Abilene for the second time in two weeks to watch high school soccer playoffs.  The day before yesterday I spent hours making my own cookie cutter of a whale, then baking cookies.  Hours in the kitchen.  Me.  I also have been making revisions to a book started 2 years ago.   Today I am going to hunt for Sweet 16 charms for that same soccer team who got my whale cookies because they have advanced to the Texas Sweet Sixteen.  I can take my sweet time doing it too.  Oh, and I also have to make those whale cookies again.  (hmmm.  I think maybe I will just go to my bakery this time.  Who am I trying to impress?)

While this not working is working for me, it definitely is time I find something in my field of social work whether it pays or not.  All play and no work makes Mary a dull girl. 

Giving thanks...

Yesterday our area - North Texas and Arlington specifically - was hit by multiple tornadoes. Amazing, no one was killed. Several people were hurt and hundreds of homes and businesses destroyed.  The footage above is the tornado that likely hit Andrea and Jack's neighborhood.  I stole it off YouTube.

Paul's and my home in Arlington was not near a touch-down, Andrea and Jack's home in Arlington was.  Only their dogs know what it felt like when their neighborhood got hit, because none of the humans thankfully were home. Andrea said it looked as though the tornado jumped over their house as so many of their neighbors lost roofs but their house was missing just a few shingles. 

I was in Abilene when all this was happening.  Andrea, too.  She was coaching her high school team's first post-season soccer game.  Successfully, by the way and now it's Midland on Friday. 

During my 4-hour drive home I heard from family and friends in Iowa, Nevada, South Dakota, Washington, and Montana.  Not to mention multiple texts and phone calls from friends and family under attack, such as Linda Carrier who had to corral multiple grades of students in one room for two hours.  Such as my son-in-law Jack who called to assure me my granddaughters were safe.  Such as my darling husband who called to say he could see a tornado from his 15th-floor office building in downtown Dallas.  Get away from the damn window! 

Even my 84-year-old dear mother sent a text.  I think hers was the final of the day.  We already had communicated earlier, but late evening, one more time she had to ask "Everybody Ok?"

Yes ma, we are fine.  Thanks for caring and thanks to everyone else for your concern. 

I love you all!!

Gotcha!

Yesterday, April Fools' Day, I finally got Paul!

It may have taken 30 years, but it was way worth the wait just to be able to say those magic words, "April Fools!!!"

Earlier in the week, I had sought advice from all three children.  The day before I had my plan in place.  The ruse: a yard ornament is missing.  I chose the flying pigs we got at the State Fair.  I figured he cares about that one more than the others. 

Here's how it went down:

It's early morning, we've both been up for awhile, but less than an hour.  I take my place at the front window with Paul just a few steps away in the kitchen.

"Paul, did you move the flying pigs?"  Not too much alarm, just loud enough so he could hear.

"No," he says.

"I don't see them.  You didn't move them?"

Paul starts toward the front window, I can't believe this is working.  He says, "I didn't do anything with them.  Someone probably stole 'em."  He now seems a little annoyed.

 My dear husband then separates the drapes and says with SUCH a tone, "There they are, they're still there ..."  In that moment he knows what's coming.

GOTCHA, SUCKAHHH!  "April Fools!!"  I get to say it with MY tone, as in tone of satisfaction.

To his credit, Paul concedes, "You got me good."

We have an agreement, by the way, that the first person to fool the other April 1st is that year's winner.  No more April Fools gigs allowed for the rest of the day.

Being the 2012 winner felt great, I'm not gonna lie.  What's that Survivor motto? Outlast, outwit, outplay.  It felt a little like that.  Without the million dollars.

Extended family

It used to be when a person talked about having extended family coming to live with them, they were talking about an aging parent or grandparent.  Now when someone says they opened their doors to extended family, it's likely they are talking about adult children. 

Why are we so bent on showing our children the door when they reach 18?  In many (most?) cultures, families don't have that magical age when their child must pack up and leave.  That to me makes sense.  It's more humane and family friendly.  I think, too, it can give the adult child that extra bit of time needed to grow up, giving them a leg up on life.  Kind of like redshirting.   Puts them in a better position to be successful at everything.

As an empty nester for some time now, I can look at this issue more objectively.  I can see what value children, by children I mean grown children, bring to the household.  For example, tech support.  When you need to replace a computer battery, who you gonna call?  Nobody because your adult child can do it with eyes blindfolded and one hand tied behind his back. If you have pets, adult children make wonderful animal and house sitters for those times you want to get away.  And it's nice to have that extra someone in the house to let you know when you are acting strange.  The other day Paul asked if it would be weird if he walked the dogs wearing his swim trunks.  I said of course not.  A third opinion would have been nice.

The point being, don't be ashamed of the number of generations living under one roof.  The larger the number, the greater the pride.  A truly extended family says there is love for family.  It says that there is respect for the family unit.  How can that be wrong? 

Our son is graduating law school in May and, with his degree, he also will be getting a gazillion dollars of debt.  My dear son, I just want to let you know, your room awaits.  And, my computer needs a new battery.

March Madness

March Madness is way living up to its hype this year - and I am not talking about the men's tournament. 

Watched Baylor Bears get into the Final Four last night, beating the Lady Vols from Tennessee by almost 20 points.  Although the point disparity says boring, it was anything but.  Here's why:

- Britney Griner.  The junior from Houston is the best women's college hoops player today with potential to be the best overall.  She is a triple threat: she plays with skill and smarts and heart.  Griner was one of three Baylor players who cleared the bench with LESS than a minute to play because one of their own was under attack.  It was intense with a capital I. 

- Passion and emotion.  The above-mentioned incident happened  because one Lady Vol fought with everything she had to deny another point by Odyssey Sims, the sophomore from Irving MacArthur.  Sims already had scored 27 points and you can't blame the Vol for thinking enough is enough.  But the Tennessee player was overly aggressive in her defense of the goal, which didn't sit well with Sims and her teammates. As both players were being separated, that's when the three Baylor players, Griner included, thought it was a good idea to help.     

- Sportsmanship.  End of the game, Baylor Coach Kim Mulkey stood a moment with the offending Lady Vol player.  You could tell she was giving her encouragement of some kind.  Coach Mulkey explained to a reporter that she understood the player's intensity, after all, as a senior it was her final game. She said her players deserved to be evicted because they knew better than to leave the bench.  Coach Mulkey also asked the reporter to put cameras on the players from both teams who, it turns out, were standing together, arms linked.  No longer adversaries as they stood in solemn respect for the game and for the Tennessee coach.  Coach Mulkey said she asked the Tennessee player to "take care of coach."

- Pat Summitt, coach of the Tennessee Lady Vols.  She recently made public that she has been diagnosed with early Alzheimer's.  Last night's game was possibly her final courtside view.  Coach Summitt is the winningest NCAA basektball coach of all time, in all divisions, men's and women's teams.  She has been given every accolade, trophy, and award so far invented for the sport of basketball.  She took the helm at Tennessee in 1974, before Title 9.   People stood last night as Coach Summitt walked off the court.  I imagine people watching at home, too, were standing.  And crying.

There are three more games to be played before the championship game, which is Tuesday in Denver.  Unless you have a gazillion dollars, you will likely be watching it from your living room as I will be.  Tickets are sold out. 

http://www.ncaa.com/sports/basketball-women/d1

Bath time is FUN!

Finley at 6 months.  Bath time in Jenny and Michael kitchen sink.  Her mommie is making her smile while Grandma Mare takes picture.

there's no place like... Austin

You thought I was gonna say "home."  While that also is true, I just came back from Austin.    Daughter Andrea and granddaughters Addie and Finley and I spent a wonderful couple of days with daughter Jenny and son-in-law Michael.

Highlights: 

• Introducing Wonder Pets to Jen and Michael. 
• Lunch at the world famous Salt Lick barbecue in Driftwood.  Live music there was a bonus.  Addie liked it almost as much as she LOVES Wonder Pets.
• Zilker Park.
• Austin Nature Center

Maybe the best part was flying a kite in the park near the kids' home.  Addie even got the kite to stay in the air.  Thanks Jen and Michael for being the best hosts ever!!!  See ya in a couple of weeks for VOV!

Before a Rush to judgment, consider these facts

Context: Days ago on his radio show that boasts 13-20 million listeners, Rush Limbaugh called a law student a slut and prostitute for wanting her insurance carrier to cover oral contraceptives.  So much already has been written.  It would be way too easy to go after Rush.  So instead, consider these facts:

Fact: June 23, 1960 is the date oral contraceptives were approved by the FDA.  My now 84-year-old mother was among that first group of women to first use oral contraceptive.  I know this because she once sent me to the store to get her medications and I brought back this odd circular contraption containing tiny pills.  What are these for, Mom?  She wouldn't tell me.  It took me years to figure out what they were.  My mom was on the Pill!!!!!

Fact: The number of women now using the pill is about the same as the number of Rush Limbaugh listeners: 16 million. 

Fact: It took at least a decade after the discovery of an oral contraceptive to get FDA approval.

Fact:  In 1957, the FDA approved a drug that treated menstrual problems.  Called Enovid, it was in fact the Pill, but not sold as a contraceptive.  Doctors were flooded with women seeking help for "menstrual problems."  By 1959, more than half a million American women were taking Enovid, most presumably for its contraceptive value.  

Fact: In 1959 President Dwight Eisenhower cleared the way for Enovid to be approved as birth control.  He says in a press conference that birth control "is not a proper political or government activity or function or responsibility."   Even more clearly, he adds, it is "not our business."

Fact: President Dwight Eisenhower was a Republican.

Leap day!!!!!

Today is February 29th.  I am so excited!!  What are some Leap Day traditions?

Women apparently can propose marriage.  Well, that's dumb, cuz really that's every day of every year. 

What else?  Nada? 

No wonder it comes just once every four years.  It's got no bling.  Probably not worth Hallmark's time and energy.

Oh well.  Happy Leap Day. 

Not that long ago or far away...

I watched HBO's documentary last night about Richard and Mildred Loving.  Richard, white, and Mildred, black and Native American, were married in 1958 in Washington, D.C., a stone's throw from their home in Virginia.  Soon after returning home to Virginia, they were arrested and jailed for violating Virginia law forbidding marriage between different races.

The Lovings became the plaintiffs in the Supreme Court ruling that eventually struck down Virginia's outdated law.  The documentary followed the legal battle years, interviewing the ACLU lawyers, the couple's daughter and other relatives and friends.  Both Richard and Mildred are no longer living. 

The footage is in black and white, helping to set the time frame within which this battle was fought.  Early 1960s.  The lawyers, both in their 20s, were a couple of years out of law school when they argued before the Supreme Court.  Mildred was just barely an adult, having married at age 17. 

So I start searching for more about this couple.  Richard died in a car accident in 1975, hit by a drunk driver.  Mildred died in 2008.  I was able to find a couple of contemporary images of Mildred with her children.  What hits you is this is a contemporary family.  1967 wasn't that long ago.

In 2007, on the 40th anniversary of the Supreme Court ruling, Mildred released a rare statement.  This is part of that statement:

I am still not a political person, but I am proud that Richard's and my name is on a court case that can help reinforce the love, the commitment, the fairness, and the family that so many people, black or white, young or old, gay or straight seek in life. I support the freedom to marry for all. That's what Loving, and loving, are all about.

Amen.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Mildred_Jeter_and_Richard_Loving.jpg