I Am Thankful

Today the inbox of my Gmail account delivered the latest stats for this blog. The Sitemeter, for those of you who do not know, is a tracking system so bloggers like myself, can see how many people are reading our blogs. Apparently, it's time for me to compose a new post since my daily viewers added up to a big goose egg.

My excuse for not posting lately is that since Oct. 29, I have been teaching second graders again in a local elementary school. "What were you thinking?" you may ask. I thought that it was better pay than the one a day sub jobs I had been doing. The reality is that I had temporary amnesia and forgot all the hard work that a teacher puts in. I also forgot how my feet, ankles and knees would feel after walking up and down a very long hallway on hard tile floors. Ouch!

The two classes I teach for a half day each, has some dear little 7 and 8 year old students who are somewhat high-maintenance. There has been much to do in regard to establishing routines, discipline plans and control since I started the job. Even though my work hours on the schedule are 7:30 a.m.-3:30 p.m., my real work hours are 7:30 a.m.-5:30 or 6:00 p.m. Once I get home, I relax a bit then fix dinner. After a meal, I am back at it reading and working on lessons to teach the class or grading papers. Then, I attempt to be in bed by 10:00 p.m. "Attempt" is a key word here. If I need to make copies for the class the next day, I try to get to school earlier than 7:30 to be the first on the machine. I have not been first yet. Happily, I am thankful for a 2:30 conference time when the children are not in class and I am allowed a bit of quiet time to reflect on the day and what I need to do for the next day.

This assignment has been a challenge for sure and I am totally exhausted when I get home each evening. It's good to know that I can still get in a classroom and teach the children. Although, I may not have taught them the scheduled reading theme or the social studies lesson for the week; I have established a discipline plan, rules with consequences and some routines. For me being back in the classroom has been a little like riding a bike. I remember how it works, but forgot how hard peddling uphill can be. Doable, but a strain at times.

On weekends I catch up on laundry, clean up the house, and do my grocery shopping with half of Baytown. Then, I do more work on school related tasks. The old red book bag comes home with me every day, including the weekend and I continue grading papers or preparing my lessons to teach. But I am no exception. Everyone who is employed and has a family is busy. It is a fact of a laborer's life and one that likely can not change. Of this, I am certain.

When I was a child, my mother had this unwritten rule; if you go out tonight, you do not go out tomorrow night. That is a rule I wish I could make my husband understand. He goes somewhere almost every night. Not that he is playing or going out to have fun every night, he is attending meetings, or rehearsals of some sort. There is a lot of work for him as a theater teacher, volunteer at our community theater and a worship leader at church. He is also very exhausted at the end of the day. We are both ready for the Thanksgiving break. Who wouldn't be?

Since it is Thanksgiving week, we will be on vacation relishing in our freedom from work. We are going to play with grandchildren, pay attention to our families, watch TV, relax and laugh. My intention is to not bring anything school related with me to the lake cabin where we'll be together with our family. This is going to be a great week for family fun!

Okay, so now you know where I've been and where I am going. After this week, I may be absent for another four weeks. You'll know when I'm back because you might hear the faint sound of crashing cymbals, or perhaps glimpse fireworks lighting up the skies or simply feel my happy vibes spreading across the air. That's how happy I'll be to be free of this long term sub assignment.

It would be wrong for me to complain about this job because I feel absolutely sure it came from God. I know this for fact because I prayed to the Holy Father for work. We needed better pay and I prayed daily that God would send a job my way. I was not thinking it had to be a teaching job, but I should not be choosy. God's ways are not my ways. I am grateful for my job. God has never failed to care of our needs as He has provided me with jobs, temporary, seasonal, small pay or not so good pay, He has cared for me. For this I am extremely thankful for all 7 weeks of this temp job, and also for the much needed funds it is affording me. God is good. Make no mistake of that! I will be fine because "though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, God is with me."

The Best Dog Ever

Mary's Boston Terrier, Sputter. 1962

 Little Mary wanted to play outside every day with her new dog, Sputter. Sputter was a sweet black and white Boston Terrier her family got from a friend of her uncle's who lived in East Texas. He was already 3 years old when Sputter came to live with Mary's family. He'd been the pet of a woman who said that she could not properly care for him anymore.The woman feared that Sputter would be killed if she let him roam around her large lawn so near a busy highway. It would be Sputter's fate to live his days in a crate while the woman was away at work. The woman began to feel sorry for Sputter and realized he needed a home with children in a safer environment. Knowing his niece and nephew wanted a dog, her uncle told Mary's parents about the dog needing a new home. One day when they visited her uncle, Daddy drove to the woman's house so his children could meet Sputter. Mary and her whole family thought Sputter was smart and fell in love with the playful black and white Boston Terrier. The crate stayed with the woman because Sputter would be allowed to sleep on an enclosed porch just off the family's kitchen in his new home. Even though he was not the puppy Mary had talked about, she was very happy to have Sputter.

Mary & Sputter in Tug of War. 1962

Sputter's previous owner had done a good job of training the dog. He would sit and stay when told to and not move an inch until the owner gave permission. Sputter could shake hands or paws, roll over and lie down on command. The dog especially liked playing fetch outside and would get excited at the mention of going outdoors. Somewhere Mary found an old rubber toy, a fish of all things, which he would retrieve like a hound on a bird whenever Mary threw it out in her large backyard. Mary thought Sputter looked as if he was smiling or laughing as they played together. Sometimes when Sputter returned the fish, he'd tussle and play a game of Tug of War with Mary, not releasing the fish. Tug of War, was Mary and Sputter's favorite game. Sometimes Mary could actually lift Sputter off the ground by holding onto the fish's tail while Sputter kept a tight bite on the head of the fish. She'd lift him off the ground and spin him round and round until he'd let go of the fish. Then, like a football runner waiting for the pass, Sputter would joyfully run out a small distance from Mary looking back for the toss of fish, and the game would continue and end with another round of Tug of War.

Sputter was the best pet a little 9 year old girl could have. He walked wherever she went, sat at her feet while she watched TV and even slept beside her bed when she was sick. One winter, Mary got a bad sore throat with a fever and cough. Mary's mom sent her to bed while recovering. Sputter laid on the floor by her bed jumping up from time to time to see if his friend was ready to play. As she began to feel better, Mary's mom gave her ice cream to sooth her throat. When the ice cream was eaten, Mary would let Sputter lick the bowl. He loved ice cream as much as Mary did and tried to steal a lick whenever possible.

Another day Mary had gone outside with an ice cream cone. Sputter watched her every move anticipating a taste of her treat. As she knelt down to pick some small thing of interest off the ground, Sputter quickly took a lick of her ice cream cone. Mary laughed at her pet doing such a thing, but admonished him just the same.  "Dogs don't eat ice cream, Sputter!" she said, but he was looking up at her with his beautiful brown eyes as if to say, "What? Don't you see how excited I am?  Come on. One more lick. Please?"  Mary laughed to herself, but stayed firm with her decree that dogs don't eat ice cream.

Mary and Sputter were great friends. He seemed to react to her sad, or anxious feelings as if he wanted to help. If she was sad, Sputter might sit beside her laying his chin on her knee or simply stay near Mary for comfort. While Mary rarely got into trouble with her daddy, on this particular day, for reasons that escape me, perhaps she had not minded him and was in for a spanking. She and her daddy were in his vegetable garden when the altercation took place. Daddy took off his belt and holding Mary's arm was in mid-swing to spank her legs for refusing to mind him. Sputter, watching and listening to Mary's protests, began to jump around Daddy biting at the belt. Perhaps Sputter considered this a new game and just wanted to play with the belt, but Mary would always believe that he was protecting her and didn't want Daddy to spank his master and friend. Daddy even laughed a little at Sputter's persistence to grab the belt and gave into his pleas to leave Mary alone. Daddy humorously said later he learned never to discipline Mary when Sputter was around. 

During a season of the dog's life, Sputter developed heart worms and became very ill. The veterinarian told Mary's family that a series of shots could be administered to Sputter to kill the heart worms. However, the chances were great that Sputter might not survive the harsh treatments. His chances of survival were bleak. Mary's parents decided that the costly treatments would not be worth it if they killed Sputter instead of making him well. Sputter's last days were spent either on the indoor back porch or in the garage lying on his dog bed. He moved very slowly and only got out of his bed for water. For Mary and her whole family, it was very sad to watch their dear pet suffer and look at them with sad brown eyes. Then, one summer morning Mary was on her way to the garage to visit Sputter, when she noticed his bed was sitting out by the garbage cans. Her heart sank and her eyes began to whelm up with tears as she realized Sputter was gone. Mary's mom came out on the back porch to console her daughter saying that when Daddy had gone out that morning to check on Sputter, her dog was whimpering and seemed to be asking him for help. Mom told Mary that taking Sputter to the vet to be put to sleep was a hard task for Daddy. After he returned home, Daddy went to the Mary's room and talked to her about how difficult it was to see Sputter in such pain as he whimpered while just lying on his bed. Now, he told her, Sputter was no longer in pain.

Mary grieved for her friend and pet for weeks after Sputter was put down. She never blamed her daddy for what he had to do because she knew it was best for the dog to be put out of his misery. Although, Mary never had another Boston Terrier, to this day when she sees one, she smiles and remembers fondly the best dog ever.

Let's Have Another Cup of Coffee or Tea

Since becoming infatuated with British and Canadian television shows lately, it is only fitting that I should also indulge in a cup of afternoon tea using my finest china cups and saucers. Actually, my nice china is the only set of dishes I own with cups and saucers. Sipping a cup of tea from a nice cup creates the illusion of a calmer, slower day than that of thoughtless mug-sized gulps of coffee in the car on the way to work. The enjoyment of tea is also accompanied by the delicate tinkling sound as the cup lightly touches back on the saucer, the poised feel of the slender cup handle between my fingers and thumb, and the delicate taste of the fragrant tea. 

The television shows I have watched in which the lead characters prefer a steamy cup of tea to the more common cup of Joe, has been on shows such as Downton Abbey, Murdoch Mysteries, Foyle’s War, Doc Martin and even an American show, The Mentalist, where Patrick Jane often requests a cup tea complete with saucer.

When watching these TV shows and the tea being consumed, I must enjoy a little “low tea” of my own in the afternoon. Low tea, I learned, simply refers to the height of table used from which to serve the tea. Low tea would be served on the lower more common coffee table in mid afternoon. Then, “high tea”, contrary to popular American belief, is actually tea served at the evening meal on the higher dinner table, which, of course, is higher in height. Therefore, since I’m not sipping tea at my dinner table, I have low tea from my coffee table. Ironic, that it is referred to as a “coffee” table when drinking tea. Perhaps I should refer to my sofa table as a “tea” table.

Seeing England, the land of our Forefathers, in these shows is very intriguing to me. Having grown up and live in Southeast Texas, I rarely get even a glimpse of the old colonies or settlements the English established in America, much less England or Canada. All of the landscapes are beautiful in these shows; the old buildings where the scenes are shot as well as the characters’ costumes are such fun to watch. Even if I were to visit England or Canada, I believe I’d be disappointed to find that it would look very much like America. Although, I also suggest that some of the reasons I enjoy these TV shows so much is because of the slow pace of life in the stories.

The days I do not substitute teach I’m left home to be as slow as I’d like. Although, I should enjoy these days, I don’t really. Instead, I feel sad, a little guilty, that I’m not adding to our income instead of staying home. I wish I could enjoy my retirement, but some days it simply depresses me not to be out working. However, it is not the love of working I desire, it is the freedom to enjoy my days at home. On those days, I have to talk to myself saying it is all right and I have plenty to do around the house. 

Finding something to occupy my time is an easy task. For the 30 years I taught school, I longed to be left at home alone without kids or anyone to interrupt, to be able to clean out closets, do a thorough job of cleaning blinds, curtains and kitchen cupboards. What was I thinking? Ha! Likely I will not be content until I die. I realize it's not a very Christian sentiment, but I'm praying and working on that with God.

Now to continue my day at home. I believe I’ll have a second cup of coffee or perhaps an English tea while I watch TV or perhaps work on one of the hundreds of tasks on my to-do list.

Sum-, Sum-, Summertime

Since I was introduced to public education as a new six-year-old only one week previous to my entry into first grade, I've had those three months off from school or work and spent that free time doing whatever I pleased. Five years into retirement from Texas Education and I still can not wrap my brain around working at a real job during the months of June, July or August. My teacher husband is off for the summer months, catching up on yard work left to grow during the spring months he was still teaching school. As a theater teacher, his workdays turned into rehearsal evenings and the grass and weeds didn't wait on him.  For many past summers he and I were involved in the Baytown Little Theater summer musical, but not this summer. The days are warm and I'm willing to do just about anything, but unfortunately, those anythings are non-paying just like those summer musicals we spent singing and dancing on stage. Of course, we are also spending a fair amount of time out of town on short trips to places of interest. Maybe I'll find a job next month.

That said, there were a few summers growing up when I continued to attend school. The first occasion for which I took a summer class, was not of my choosing, but rather my 4th grade teacher, Mrs. Mays. It would seem that she thought my reading aptitude not to be up to par and suggested to my mom that I take summer reading at the high school. The fact that one of my girlfriends from my neighborhood was also taking reading made the idea a little more bearable. I was sure I'd miss being at home like my classmates sleeping late, playing outside and watching TV.  However, that would not be the case as my friend and I only lived one block from the high school and could ride our bicycles to school. The other reason summer reading turned out to be a good experience was because it forced me to read books. We were in a sort of contest to see how many books we could read. I remember reading 17 books during that month of classes. And to top it off, the reading wasn't all bad like the home readers the teachers always made me take home during the school year. So, I learned to enjoy reading books that summer. 

After my 8th grade year, and it could hardly be classified as school, I took a sewing class held in the home economics classrooms at the junior high school. Those weeks of domestic sewing was almost camp-like as the members of our small group earned half of a high school credit for our efforts. I remember that summer as a lot of fun with my girlfriends. In a surprisingly relaxed atmosphere set around classroom sewing machines and ironing boards, it was unlike the regular 9-month school sessions we had just completed. Mrs. Kilebrew, our teacher, was a person from whom I would take Home Economics during my ninth grade year. She was not at all as stuffy as I thought she would be. For one thing she allowed us to play the radio loud enough to be heard throughout the large sewing room we occupied. There were no boys in that summer class, not because they weren't invited, they just were not interested in sewing a new summer outfit for themselves. Just as well too because I believe it would have ruined our all female, carefree sense of freedom. With windows open and fans circulating air throughout our non-air-conditioned school room, our small ban of girls laughed, talked, and sewed to such tunes like Otis Redding's Sitting on the Dock of the Bay. To this day, I can't hear that song without remembering Pat Quiggly ironing her garment when all of a sudden the iron caught on fire. She raced around from the two rooms we occupied screaming "fire" at the top of her lungs. Our teacher calmly put the tiny fire out by unplugging the iron and douching the tiny flame. We laughed so hard at her expression until finally Pat joined in our hysterics, and Otis sang out "....sitting on the dock of the bay, wasting time..."

This summer of 2012 has been carefree with Kim at home most of the time. I've enjoyed our leisurely days of sleeping until we woke up, then practically doing nothing the rest of the day except enjoying an episode of one of our favorite TV shows. Although we have made some progress on the yard work, it is not fully under control and probably won't be until the fall and winter seasons cause the leaves to fall and we can see the plants that lie beneath the weeds.

It is August now and its hard to believe that I'm about to turn 60 years old just twenty days from now. Summer school with my young girlfriends, trips to Oklahoma with my parents, camping trips with my 3 sons and husband, numerous plays at the Baytown Little Theater and so many church activities over the years have flooded my brain just now. That's a lot of stuff and a lot of summers. School starts back soon and Kim will be actively involved in his school plays, rehearsals, and teaching. The days I don't work will be lonely and quiet with many of them flowing into lonely quiet evenings as Kim has to attend one meeting or another. Hopefully, I can find a job to occupy my time and add to our finances.  Ah, summer!  I will miss you very much! Until next year...

Awakening to a Do-Over Day

As fall approaches, these almost back-to-school days conjure up desires from deep inside of me to decorate an elementary school classroom, but that’s where it ends.  Although, the smell of freshly opened boxes of Crayola Crayons, newly sharpen yellow pencils and soft pink erasers is like none other, all the accompanying work of preparing for wide-awake, ready to go, children back from summer vacation makes me sigh in relief that it is no longer my full time task. Thankfully, schools of teachers will have their opportunity to turn yet another generation of kids on to reading, writing and arithmetic without my name on the staff roster.

Last week I renewed my substitute teacher papers with my local school district and wrote emails to a few of my principal friends to let them know that I am willing to substitute teach or tutor students. That is just enough school exposure to keep me in the loop and satisfy my longing for teaching children again.

Teachers, children and most of their parents are desperately trying to squeeze every bit of summer out before giving in to school for another year.  The stores have had school displays going up since the start of July.  Those new backpacks, pencils, glue bottles, loose leaf paper and binders is a stark reminder to anyone involved in public education that a new beginning is just around the corner. 

When I taught school, I would start by looking back at how I taught a particular subject the previous year and determine to do a better job this time. Workshops were offered, colorful, crisp wall posters went up and new teaching strategies were employed. I’d enter my classroom pumped up to teach with more enthusiasm and welcome each new student with genuine concern for him or her as a learner. My task to enhance their education was a challenge I accepted each August. Sometimes my toolbox of teaching tricks was merely a remodel of teaching techniques already in place. Other years, it was something entirely fresh learned during a summer workshop, and I could hardly wait to try it out on my students. That was always a goal as school started back after summer break, to do a job better with more student success than last year. I love a do-over, fresh start and new beginning. It is a chance to learn from past mistakes and to get it right this time.  As my 60^th birthday is fast upon me, I am concerned that I do not have many more chances to “get it right”.  I may never get it right, but I know I have to keep trying.

What are your new beginnings? Whether you are a teacher trying to guide young minds to higher thinking, a business executive attempting to keep the status quo or a blue-collar worker just trying to put food on the table, don’t give up. Just know that every day you wake up, at the end of every grading period or status report, God has given you a new beginning. Embrace it and be glad you got to have a do-over day.

P My Name is Procrastication

For more than a week I have stared out my back patio door at the plants overcome by weeds that is my back yard. The people living in our house before us were the original homeowners. It is apparent to us that they put a lot of time, money and energy into planting nice plants in this yard adding an orchard of lacy leafed nandina plants. Those dainty plants are heartier than they appear producing lovely leaves that change colors with the seasons. These sprawling plants grow right in front of a wooden fence at the very back of our yard. They might be nice to look at if it were weed-free manicured plants in front of the fence and pretty row of flowers. But we can't even see the nandinas for all the wild vines completely covering them and we can forget any flowers ever surviving in that jungle. Even though the foliage in our yard is lush and green, it is deceiving as good because they are mostly weeds and the beauty of the real plants can't even been seen.

The weeds would be easy enough to remove with a little work if I'd just get my sorry self outside to do it. Procrastination is my enemy. Distractions plague me all day long and I lose focus of what tasks really need my attention. For the past couple of weeks, our weather here has been rainy, sticky and wet. Breeding conditions for mosquitoes are at a high right now. The last two days the sky has brighten and the sun has shone down to dry up the yard warming up temperatures significantly. Procrastinations because of heat, bugs, and the draw of inside comforts has kept me from working in my yard.

Yesterday afternoon I made a meager attempt to pull weeds and cut down the new sprouting of wayward acorns planted by squirrels. With bug spray, applied to my arms, legs and shirt, the mosquitoes seemed to leave those areas of my body alone. Not wanting to rub bug spray on my face, it was left as an open target and the dive-bombers made their attack. My weeding attempt lasted a total of 5 minutes before I called defeat and retreated back into the house. Therefore, today my tactics to braving the bugs and freeing my nandinas from weed destruction will be different. I have a plan...it would seem that spraying all the plants with yard repellent first would keep the annoying little blood-suckers at bay. Next, I will apply an armor of repellent to my body, without neglecting my face, leaving nothing exposed to the bites of the Texas swamp bugs. Wearing the proper armor, my hope is to free my nandina plants from the sprawling weeds covering their beauty while protecting myself from the attacks of the mosquitoes.

Freeing the nandina plants of the weedy vine nuisance could be a nice metaphor for us as Christians battling the struggles of daily life.  If I were a preacher type, maybe I could come up with a related message comparing my life to the nandinas and letting the weeds, my worries and other worldliness, overtake me so that my thinking of what to do is a tangled mess. The mosquito eating concerns attack and keep me from doing what is needed to take out the vine growing concerns of my life. If I don't use repellant on all areas, not just some, then my freedom won't be complete.

Well, I'm not a preacher type, but believe me there's a message in there somewhere.  Money, finding a job, grown kids' problems, this house, that backyard mess, even worry over my husband's health are all the weeds that cover me right now. If only I could clear those weeds of worry and free the Christ-following soul God meant for me to be, then like my nandinas, others would see the beauty of Jesus in me season after season. The mosquito attack of unexpected car repairs, plumbing repair, doctor visits, trees falling, and threatening storms can all be repelled if I'd simply apply the full armor of God's word. The Father is the best repellant for such weeds of life. It is through Christ that order and freedom can overtake my weed infested life. 

Keep me free from the trap that is set for me,    for you are my refuge. ~ Psalm 31:4

My Personal Cat Story

Over the almost 60 years of my life, I have loved various dogs and cats with a healthy respect for their animal nature. My husband and I currently own two cats, Homer and Baby. They are definitely family and even favor their human of choice. When we sit in our recliners, Baby, the older female cat, sits and kneads on Kim, while Homer, our teenaged male, drapes his long body across my lap for a nap. Those two animals show their love, mischief and familial ties to us like children to their parents.

Growing up in Port Neches, TX, I owned mostly dogs and rarely a cat. My dad was opposed to cats explaining that they carried germs. I suppose his experience with cats getting into the trash, leaving chicken remains, soggy vegetable peels and such nastiness strewed across the lawn, was the basis for his cat and germ theory. As a result, my dad kept a bungy cord strapped across the trash can lid to keep all germ carrying varmints out of the garbage. 

Even though Daddy was not a lover of cats, we did manage to have a few take up residence with us. One black and white stray cat came, stayed at least a couple of months with us and was gone one day as suddenly as it came. Another cat, belonging to my oldest brother, came when his landlord wouldn't allow the Siamese cat in the house my brother rented from him. I don't think my dad was pleased the cat had to live with us, but with Mom's encouragement, he was tolerate of the feline. The name of the cat escapes me, but she should have been called "the queen of Sheba" because she acted like we were her servants. The first winter she became "great with kittens" and would make us all laugh as she planted herself in the middle of the living room floor to bath her big belly of babies. The pregnant cat leaned back in the most ungraceful manner to lick her belly and then she'd wobble backwards like a Weeble from the weight of her tummy. All of us, even Daddy, would roll with laughter at the sight. She gave birth to the kittens in the dead of winter. Back then, we actually experienced cold, sometimes freezing, winters down on the coast. "Sheba" lived in what we called, "the little house", a one-room apartment attached to our garage. Mama made sure the little space heater in the bathroom was lit each morning to keep the kittens and their mom warm during the day. That mama cat could be found each morning curled up in the bathroom sink all toasty and warm while her babies were freezing in the little cardboard box-bed we'd fixed for them on the floor. The kittens must have been born too early because Sheba would not feed them. A few of the kittens died right off. Mama brought the last remaining naked kitten into the house wrapped in a towel covered shoebox. With its eyes squeezed shut and almost no life in its tiny body, we attempted to feed it warm milk with an eye dropper. I prayed over that little kitten to live, but there just wasn't enough strength in it to survive.

The next liter of kittens Sheba had came around Christmas when our part dachshund, part mutt dog, Prissy, also gave birth to puppies. The cat and dog had four babies each. The eight canines and felines were hilarious to watch play outside. Although, one skeptical black kitty did not share her siblings' trust in the four furry rowdy puppies and opposed any approach of a puppy. That tiny fur ball of a cat would arch its back as best it could, and push out a teensy hissss at any of the puppies that came near. The other seven playful animal babies did play with each other. One of the kittens even invented a game. A small bush near a low step outside "the little house" caught the curiosity of the kitten. It began to go up on the low porch step, jump to the small bush nearby, and with all the joy of a kid, would ride a limp branch down to the ground. Then, like a little child on a playground slide, the kitty would run back up the step and take the branch ride again. Soon the other three kittens were playing on the ride and eventually one of the puppies decided he'd give it a try too. The first time the puppy leaped to the branch he soon learned he was not as agile as his kitty cousins and too heavy to ride the branch. He landed on the ground below with an abrupt flop! Such were a few of the funny animals I owned during my youth. My childhood pets obviously conjure up joyful childhood memories.

Homer and Baby are great company to me on days when I'm not going anywhere to work. Which seems to be a lot lately, but that's another blog for another time.  Homer comes to me while I sit at the computer desk and standing on his back legs, reaches up to tap my shoulder and will "mee-ow", which is cat for "I want to go outside, please open the door."  So, I reach around to the patio door knob and he happily rushes out to prowl the mysteries of our backyard jungle. As Baby hears the squeak of the door opening, she'll stroll slowly to the door and eventually join Homer on the patio. Her pastime is spent sitting up on the small brick pony-wall in the breezeway watching the cars pass by on the street. Homer, the ever diligent bird watcher-lizard hunter, takes safari in the tall weeds of our back fence.

With our human children grown, moved out and on their own, I like the presence of our cat pets in our home. They are the quiet children we never had (because 3 little wiggly boys are noisy) and the more independent of our kids. Its easy to take a weekend trip out of town and leave the cats to fin for themselves. Even though I don't expect the cats will take care of me in my golden years, they do keep me company brushing my legs every now and then, as if to say, "I love you". They keep us entertained and give us companionship, always willing to simply hang out with us. That makes me feel wanted and I like that. 

Homer playing in the yard

Baby keeping watch

Kisses on the Bottom From Paul

I just ordered Paul McCartney's latest album Kisses on the Bottom. It isn't the usual music one would expect from a Beatle.  On the contrary, it is music of his parents' day that he listened to them sing as a young boy in Liverpool. He wrote, in the making of this album, that he took in the old tunes his parents and friends would sing as they stood around the piano played by his dad at parties on New Year's Eve. I am loving the captivating tunes McCartney is singing such as the album title, Kisses on the Bottom.  Other album titles include It's Only a Paper Moon, The Glory of Love, and Bye Bye Blackbird; along with many other mellow songs that make me wistful and melancholy.

When my across the street neighbor, Kaye Lynn, and I were young teens, we played a lot of Beatles' albums. She was absolutely in love with Paul McCartney and had a huge poster of him on the wall in her bedroom. We would gaze into Paul's dreamy eyes and melt. He was cute for sure, but teary, hysterical teen was not my style as much as it was Kaye Lynn's. She could get so worked up over the mention of Paul's name. Although, I did love the Beatle music. I'm sure I can still sing along with the first Beatle album I owned word-for-word, predicting the next song before it starts. That album was played over and over on my little stereo turntable in my pink bedroom daily in the 1960's. One New Year's Eve, Dec. 31, 1959, two giggly girls played the music of the Beatles ringing in a new decade and toasting 1960 while clinking Mom's fancy stemmed glasses filled with 7-UP. When I see Paul McCartney's eyes, I still think about my friend Kaye Lynn and wonder where she is and how she is doing. Those were days of learning and adventures.

As I listen to this new album recorded by an elderly Beatle, the soft sound of the guitar is thoughtful. My daddy played guitar. Even though his style was more country than McCartney's, still there is something about these melodies I am hearing that reminds me of Dad's electric guitar phase. Daddy bought a used electric guitar with a speaker attached that sat on the floor beside him as he played. That guitar didn't look like the modern rock guitars you might think of when you think about electric guitars. Dad's guitar was big, more like his country 6-steel-stringed guitar he normally played. There was a thick black wire plugged into the guitar running down to that little red box on the floor.  The sound coming out was amazing to me. He could make a soft melody sing from that little speaker that was not unlike what I'm hearing now on McCartney's album. Daddy was so happy when he played his guitar. I know how it is to get caught up in playing music, while letting the melodies and words waft over your soul. It's a feeling I can relate to even now as I listen to McCartney's tunes. I miss playing music with Daddy and this music is making me miss him all the more.

It surprised me to realize that Paul McCartney was born in 1942 and is 69 years old, turning 70 this June. The surprise came from the fact that this pop music icon from my teenage years is no different from the rest of us and is now a senior citizen. The second surprise in learning his birth date was that he was born the same year my oldest brother, Johnny, was born. Johnny was 69 years old when he passed away last June and would have been 70 on his birthday last January. It is sad to see that generation fading away, but so glad that McCartney is doing well and representing them by staying active doing what he loves, singing and enjoying music. It's older people like him, I need to pay attention to and not lament my approaching 60th birthday so much. Paul is an inspiration to me to stay active, working and loving the things that make me the happiest.

Paul McCartney - Still a dreamy sort of guy!

Well. The music continues to play and soothe my soul. I'm in a blues-sort-of-mood today listening and remembering by-gone days while feeling they all were just yesterday. Music has powers to move, motivate and inspire. I find that my best writing is done with music playing in the background.

So...Make my bed and light the light, 'cause I'll be home late tonight. Blackbird, oh Blackbird. Blackbird, bye bye.

Coastal Depression

Just now I read my last two posts. I thought it would provide inspiration for writing today if I reread them, but reading them only made my depressed mood, moody.

Unhappiness is...well, sad. Physically tiring, there is head knowledge that if one sits long enough circumstances will not get better, and still, I sit.

My part time job with the schools recently has kept me busy. It's a good job and the pay is not bad, although the check won't come until the job is finished. A bit of a stretch on the budget to make it until that paycheck arrives. Perhaps a partial reason for the recent depression, budget issues heighten my anxieties.

Yesterday, something happened that I recognized as familiar. Before I retired in 2007, I was beginning to show signs of burnout and depression. Since the school was only a few blocks from my house, I took advantage on a regular basis to go home for lunch just to remove myself from the surroundings. Before those last three years at the neighborhood school, I often drove to a nearby Dairy Queen or McDonald's for a Coke just to leave the campus where I was teaching. Yesterday, as I was giving tests at a school, I had an overwhelming need to leave the building. During a midday break, I drove the 10 or so minutes back home eating the sandwich I'd packed that morning for my lunch. I considered not returning for the day, but I knew I had to finish giving the tests. My actions were so familiar and a little disturbing at the same time.

After driving all the way back home for a short break in the day yesterday, I decided to stay home today. Since it is not a job where I have classes of students waiting on my arrival, no sub is necessary and I am free to amend my schedule.The room where I administer tests is not available on Wednesdays which provided a good excuse for pulling a Ferris Bueller. Not all I had hoped it would be, I am home "working", blogging, checking Facebook, email and watching my cats come and go to the backyard. I should have driven to La' Madeline's in Rice Village or a bar in Houston! I'm still considering my options.

Not one bit of real work has been done since I woke up. I attempted to write this blog entry three different times. Being a public blog, I am aware that people will read and think I am not happy. Well, that is not far from truth, but I'm really okay. Today is a moody day. This month has been a moody month. That's all.

The sun is finally shining. That is a start and that little mockingbird is trying his darnest to make me happier. My next move will be to shower, get dressed and grade some of those tests I gave this week.  Or maybe I will skip the shower and go to the DQ for take out & back to the house. I'd love to run away to a beach house for a day, but I can't. So...

Tomorrow I will return to the school and continue doing my job. Some days life is not as great as all that, but it is better than the alternative.  Blessings!

Family: Life Companions

Me at age 4, Port Neches, TX.

When I was a little girl in Port Neches, TX, my daily joy was dressing up and pretending to be a mom. High heels several sizes too big, one of my mom's hats on my head and a purse on my arm, I'd wrap up my Tiny Tears doll in a blanket and go off to imitate mommy tasks as only a young 4 year old mind can perceive. Usually, that involved putting my doll in a buggy and strolling along the sidewalks or my driveway to places unknown. Playing with my dolls and pretending to be a mommy was a daily game of mine.  I do not recall ever having a husband in these games for it seemed to me that moms did it all.  Walking the baby in it's stroller, feeding the kids, changing their clothes, bathing them and putting them to bed were all the mommy jobs in my game of Life As Mommy.

Today there are many fathers doing a fine job of parenting their children. My own sons do as much as any woman of my mother's day with their children, shopping for groceries, cooking, cleaning, washing clothes and diapering dirty bottoms are regular tasks. They share the job of raising their children with their spouse and help in the daily tasks of housekeeping.  To say I am proud of my sons' willing participation as a husband and parent would be an understatement.  Bravo to young dads!

While my own father did not do a lot of cooking, he could fry up an egg with bacon and toast for breakfast which I do believe was the extent of his cooking. A blessing for us all!  Instead of being a cook, my dad was a fixer of all things broken around our house as well as other people's houses. If the bathroom sink dripped, the toilet didn't flush or the car was coughing, my daddy could fix it. I rarely ever saw a repairman working around our house in 17 years I lived at home. It was only when vehicles were loaded with more electrical parts than Dad knew what to do with, did my he discontinue working on cars. Not only was he a plumber and mechanic in his spare time, he was also a house painter, carpenter and could lay a cement driveway or sidewalk with the skill of any craftsman. A man of all trades, he worked full time hours at a refinery and prepared taxes to pay for my brother and I to attend college.

My dad was a hard worker providing for his family and he managed to find time to play with my brother and I when he could. Dad played softball with us, helped me swim, and made rope swings for me in the large oak trees in our backyard. I spent many hours swinging back and forth in my homemade swings, watching the tree branches draw close to my toes. Singing as many tunes as I could remember, those were some very happy, safe and contented times in my life. No problems were too big for my daddy to handle. He was also a capable counselor and teacher as he spent hours with me on the floor of our living room struggling to help me read. We memorized words, the order of the books of the Bible and even learned to tie shoes on that floor. He encouraged me when I cried thinking the tasks too difficult for me to learn. Daddy taught me to love people, caring for those without the means to help themselves. He worked on the houses of more than one widow and would often keep a watchful eye on their pending needs.

Don't we wish all children had fathers who provided for their physical, mental and emotional needs?  Fathers play an important role in their children's lives alongside their mothers.  Mothers today have so much to accomplish in a day when  74% of them work 40 hour weeks in offices, department stores, construction sites, schools and many other places where they earn salaries equal to or more than their husbands' paychecks. Fewer and fewer woman are stay-at-home moms, venturing into the workforce providing as much as any man to the family budget. Partners for life, husbands and wives work in tandem to provide and nurture their children as they grow into productive citizens. If only...from my viewpoint, families who love and work with one another while thinking more of each other than they do themselves, are more likely to stay together.

As for my own life, I grew up to marry a good man and together we raised three sons. In adult life, I wore my own high heels into the real world, doing all the things my childhood games taught me. Except when I pushed my babies' strollers, I took them to day care centers or trusted sitters who cared for their daily needs. As a professional school teacher, I was fortunate enough to have time off during the year, spending every summer with my boys. An alternate balance to a working/stay-at-home mom, we played, laughed, argued, cried and learned a lot about life from each other. Their dad taught them how to love and care for a wife and family. Our story is still being written and lessons learned as we experience grandchildren in our lives today.

To all the moms and dads today, I pray for you to be all you can to your children. To those without children, love your spouse as your family. They are your partner and provider of your needs. Women, it's okay to lean on your husbands, it won't make you weak. There will be equal opportunity for your husbands to lean on you too. God gave us each other to help survive life on earth. As you have likely noticed, life is not a picnic. Be thankful for your husbands. Especially now that our children no longer live at home I look to my husband for confirmation of place in this house. He is the person I most look forward to seeing and talking to every single day. We care with love for each other and will continue to be family until the day we die.

The family unit should not to be taken lightly. As the years have gone by, all of my grandparents, Mom and Dad, a brother and sister-in-law, along with aunts and uncles have passed away from this life. Sometimes, thinking about my family and the way we could laugh at an inside joke or just be with each other so naturally, sends my spirits into depression, and I miss them so much. Then, I have only to see my sons with their wives and our grandchildren, Kim's brothers, sister, parents with their families to know I am not alone. Even though celebrations do not involve my own cousins or my surviving brother, sister-in-law or uncles and aunt often enough, I know that I still have a family. Families transition through deaths, births, and marriages causing the make up of the family to evolve in a continuum of familial relationships through future generations. Love them while you can, participate in their lives, tell them how important they are to you and never take them for granted.

To my husband: I love you, Kim Martin. Thank you for being my husband, loving father and example to our boys, my partner and friend in this ever changing life. May we live to be 100 together continuing to walk hand in hand through whatever happens here on earth. Then, on that spectacular day, when we walk through heaven's gates, we will sing with the heavenly hosts and together with our family, sing, "Glory to God on the highest, peace and goodwill to all men"!

My Resolve in 2012

My mind ran through many themes for a blog entry making it difficult deciding where to land on this first post of 2012.  However, there was one reoccurring thought that kept revolving back to mind and it seemed destiny predicted I would write on life’s unknown. One day in January I was packing away Christmas ornaments and I was struck with the realization that unknown things were going to happen in the New Year. That is inevitable and a thing out of my control. It also occurred to me that of the uncontrollable things happening that some would cause happiness and others would not. It is those unknown others that frighten and worry me the most about the next 12 months.   

In 2011, the event that affected me more than any was the unexpected passing of my oldest brother, Johnny. The first of my siblings to pass away after our parents, his death seemed to heighten my worrisome nature. Having hip surgery back in October of 2010 and surviving months of recovery, Johnny was finally back on the job. Coworkers said of that dreadful day that he grasped his chest, gasped his last breath and collapsed. The day was June 20 when my other brother called me in Sugar Land to tell me our brother was unconscious and paramedics had not been able to resuscitate him. Kim and I were in Sugar Land that day to help our son, Kyle, pack his home and family for a move almost 400 miles away. Kyle, wife, Amanda and our sweet granddaughter, Olivia were on their way to live in Abilene. Personally, their move was the second most affective thing that happened in my life in 2011. Taking a close third was our youngest son losing his teaching job in Baytown, ending a 2-year teaching position in a junior high school theater class. All of those incidents left me wondering, as I placed green and gold tree ornaments in boxes, of what unsettling events would affect my life in this New Year.

Unfortunately, my natural tendency is see the glass half empty. I’m working on it and attempting to learn from people who appear to see the glass half full. My brother's passing, while terribly sad, brought our family back together for a memorial. As these sorts of events draw relatives distanced by life's changes, we were able to remember Johnny's life and renew familial relationships. Kyle and Amanda have settled into their new jobs. While I still wish they lived closer to us, we reveled in a long visit with them and Olivia over the holidays here in our house. As for our youngest son, Ryan, he is working for a friend, content and perhaps glad he is not teaching school.

So, why must I anguish over things out of my control doing nothing to prevent the inevitable depressed wave of emotion? As the Father of creation, God knows his children. He knows me. He pleads for us to cast our eyes on the cross and the One who can guide us through the valleys of this life. In 2012 my resolve is to trust in God’s promises to prevent worry of the unknowns. There will likely be blessings as well as sadness in 2012. My hope is in God with whom all things are possible. 

As for me, I call to God, and the LORD saves me: Psalm 55:16