We planned to go out for breakfast after church today at a “ma and pa” place we heard about, but got there and found it closed.
So, we went to Chipolte and had healthy salads instead…whoopee. Who is this alien being I live with and what did he do with my husband??
Then we went to two tall stores and spent several hundred dollars on clothes for this imposter!!! He seemed to actually get a kick out of trying on things…weird…
One saleslady couldn’t find the size for him and actually said, “We cater more to big, heavy men and not so much to tall skinny ones”…I thought he was going to faint!
Friday, July 15, 2011
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Hawkeye Pierce, Dr. Kildare, & Wally Cleaver
For some reason, God did not bless me with brothers or sisters...non who survived infancy, anyway. But he did give me 10 first cousins and most of them were close to my age, within just a few years. I have a lot of wonderful memories of them.
But over the years I've lost touch with most of them. There's one whole family of 5 who can't even get along with each other, much less offer time to a cousin; in fact, one of them passed away about a year ago. Another 3 seem to be on their own roller coaster.
That leaves my 2 cousins on my mom's side: Chuck and Mary. Our mothers were twins, and possibly because of that special bond between twins we spent a lot of time together growing up. Mary is just a few months younger than me, and Chuck was 4 1/2 years older.
Chuck passed away today and I want to write my reflections:
To say I looked up to Chuck is like saying 'the sky is blue.' How could I not?? He was smart, funny, quirky and wise in a 1950's childhood sort of way. He grew up to be a physician and was the pride of our family.
He probably never realized it, but he had a huge affect on me. I know I was under his radar most of the time, usually occupying the 'annoying younger cousin' status. But he always loomed very large in my eyes. I was thrilled when I got to dance a foxtrot with him when I was 12. And when he actually commented positively about something I’d said, I saw it as a real affirmation. He was my ideal for a guy in so many ways. I think he’s the reason I always liked ‘smart’ boys!
And I remember his many childhood accidents…often involving knives and forbidden games of ‘mumblee-peg’ or plate glass windows intersecting with the line of his cartwheels. He loved showing off his scars and I thought he was about the coolest guy around.
I was still in college when he was in Viet Nam. He sent me a note, thanking me for a little care package I had sent. The main thing I remember is that all he wanted was to go home to his wife. And 40 years later he was still in love with the same woman.
I'm grateful to say in adulthood we developed a real friendship. Chuck, Marsha, and Kim came to see us in Texas a few times over the years, and we visited them in Illinois on several occasions.
Chuck's last visit to our home was when he came to Texas for medical meetings. During this visit Chuck and I had a lot of time to just talk. We did a little sight-seeing in Dallas and watched a movie. Each afternoon he handed me two mini chocolate bars, saying they were 'good' for me because they were dark chocolate. It's important to note our mothers were rabid over chocolate. Both of them hid Fannie May's in their houses, doling them out once in awhile. I guess we both inherited their 'chocolate' gene.
When he drove away, I never dreamt it would be the last time I would see him. I was just thankful to be loved and accepted by this guy I’ve loved all my life. He is the big brother I always wished was mine. To me he’ll always be the perfect blend of Hawkeye Pierce, Dr. Kildare, and Wally Cleaver.
Chuck was a scientist. He knew the human body was only worth about $50 for the minerals and so forth in it. But he also knew a person is more than the sum of his or her parts. We’re all created in God’s image, and we’ve all suffered from the sin in this world. In the hustle bustle of life, we all need to take a moment and do what Psalms 46:10 says: Be still and know that God is God. When it seems there’s no rhyme or reason for what has happened from our human perspective, we can trust in our hope for the future. A future where we’ll see Chuck again through the promises of Christ.
In the book, Heaven, by Randy Alcorn we’re told there will be lots of activity in heaven. So, if something needs to be built or overhauled, photographed or researched, Chuck will be able to handle it. Rest in peace, dear one.
But over the years I've lost touch with most of them. There's one whole family of 5 who can't even get along with each other, much less offer time to a cousin; in fact, one of them passed away about a year ago. Another 3 seem to be on their own roller coaster.
That leaves my 2 cousins on my mom's side: Chuck and Mary. Our mothers were twins, and possibly because of that special bond between twins we spent a lot of time together growing up. Mary is just a few months younger than me, and Chuck was 4 1/2 years older.
Chuck passed away today and I want to write my reflections:
To say I looked up to Chuck is like saying 'the sky is blue.' How could I not?? He was smart, funny, quirky and wise in a 1950's childhood sort of way. He grew up to be a physician and was the pride of our family.
He probably never realized it, but he had a huge affect on me. I know I was under his radar most of the time, usually occupying the 'annoying younger cousin' status. But he always loomed very large in my eyes. I was thrilled when I got to dance a foxtrot with him when I was 12. And when he actually commented positively about something I’d said, I saw it as a real affirmation. He was my ideal for a guy in so many ways. I think he’s the reason I always liked ‘smart’ boys!
And I remember his many childhood accidents…often involving knives and forbidden games of ‘mumblee-peg’ or plate glass windows intersecting with the line of his cartwheels. He loved showing off his scars and I thought he was about the coolest guy around.
I was still in college when he was in Viet Nam. He sent me a note, thanking me for a little care package I had sent. The main thing I remember is that all he wanted was to go home to his wife. And 40 years later he was still in love with the same woman.
I'm grateful to say in adulthood we developed a real friendship. Chuck, Marsha, and Kim came to see us in Texas a few times over the years, and we visited them in Illinois on several occasions.
Chuck's last visit to our home was when he came to Texas for medical meetings. During this visit Chuck and I had a lot of time to just talk. We did a little sight-seeing in Dallas and watched a movie. Each afternoon he handed me two mini chocolate bars, saying they were 'good' for me because they were dark chocolate. It's important to note our mothers were rabid over chocolate. Both of them hid Fannie May's in their houses, doling them out once in awhile. I guess we both inherited their 'chocolate' gene.
When he drove away, I never dreamt it would be the last time I would see him. I was just thankful to be loved and accepted by this guy I’ve loved all my life. He is the big brother I always wished was mine. To me he’ll always be the perfect blend of Hawkeye Pierce, Dr. Kildare, and Wally Cleaver.
Chuck was a scientist. He knew the human body was only worth about $50 for the minerals and so forth in it. But he also knew a person is more than the sum of his or her parts. We’re all created in God’s image, and we’ve all suffered from the sin in this world. In the hustle bustle of life, we all need to take a moment and do what Psalms 46:10 says: Be still and know that God is God. When it seems there’s no rhyme or reason for what has happened from our human perspective, we can trust in our hope for the future. A future where we’ll see Chuck again through the promises of Christ.
In the book, Heaven, by Randy Alcorn we’re told there will be lots of activity in heaven. So, if something needs to be built or overhauled, photographed or researched, Chuck will be able to handle it. Rest in peace, dear one.
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Etiquette - Schmetiquette
When I decided to describe the following two similar events, I thought the social commentary would develop from a different angle. Here goes:
Several months ago I left Steve's office on a business day. I was dressed nicely and was juggling my big purse, a box, and a bag. I got down the stairs and was heading across the parking lot to the next asile where my car was parked. Being the ever-graceful person I am, I started losing control of the stuff. A young man walking near me said, "Can I help you with all that?" By then I was at my car, but thanked him anyway.
This morning I left Steve's office, again juggling. This time it was 2 bags of trash, a box of old brochures, my purse, and a plastic mop bucket. I was dressed this time in an old T-shirt & cotton pants, with no make-up, wild Saturday-morning hair, and red spots on my face from a visit to the dermatologist yesterday. I should note that I have a 'deal' with Steve...I clean his small office on alternate Saturday mornings, and he pays for a cleaning lady to clean our big house! It takes me about an hour, and the house would take days!
Two young men approached me as the stuff was slipping out of my grasp. They both looked at me, but kept walking. I dropped one bag, picked it up, took a few more steps and was beside two more young men who were chatting with a third who sat in his car. I was still bouncing this stuff around, and again, they all looked at me but none asked to help me!
I was sure this was indicative of class distinction! One who looks like the boss's wife deserves a little help. The old cleaning lady doesn't. But Julia had another view when I told her about it. She says young men aren't taught to help a lady in distress! She thinks the first guy was the exception, and the next 5 were more typical.
What is this world coming to???
Several months ago I left Steve's office on a business day. I was dressed nicely and was juggling my big purse, a box, and a bag. I got down the stairs and was heading across the parking lot to the next asile where my car was parked. Being the ever-graceful person I am, I started losing control of the stuff. A young man walking near me said, "Can I help you with all that?" By then I was at my car, but thanked him anyway.
This morning I left Steve's office, again juggling. This time it was 2 bags of trash, a box of old brochures, my purse, and a plastic mop bucket. I was dressed this time in an old T-shirt & cotton pants, with no make-up, wild Saturday-morning hair, and red spots on my face from a visit to the dermatologist yesterday. I should note that I have a 'deal' with Steve...I clean his small office on alternate Saturday mornings, and he pays for a cleaning lady to clean our big house! It takes me about an hour, and the house would take days!
Two young men approached me as the stuff was slipping out of my grasp. They both looked at me, but kept walking. I dropped one bag, picked it up, took a few more steps and was beside two more young men who were chatting with a third who sat in his car. I was still bouncing this stuff around, and again, they all looked at me but none asked to help me!
I was sure this was indicative of class distinction! One who looks like the boss's wife deserves a little help. The old cleaning lady doesn't. But Julia had another view when I told her about it. She says young men aren't taught to help a lady in distress! She thinks the first guy was the exception, and the next 5 were more typical.
What is this world coming to???
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
The Birds & the Bees...and the Butterflies
This is a memory from about 9 years ago. I just have to write it down so it isn't lost through time.
Rachel was 3 and staying with us for a few days while we lived in Houston. One day Steve and I took her to a museum with a beautiful butterfly exhibit. It was designed such that visitors walked first through an exhibit of all kinds of insects, and then proceed up into a glass pyramid where jungle plants and plenty of sunlight make a great habitat for butterflies. We took in all the sights and listened to a docent talk about truly beautiful beetles and other bugs. Rachel was fascinated, but when we entered the pyramid she was in awe! Butterflies were everywhere and constantly landed on our heads, shoulders and hands.
The three of us wandered happily for quite awhile. It was lunchtime when we left the exhibit so we decided to have lunch there in the museum. We were all eating and being a little quiet, when out of the clear blue Rachel asked, "Mimi, what is 'sex'?" I nearly dropped my sandwich and choked on my diet coke! Had the docent said anything about reproduction? What do I do with this question??? If I say too much, I'll be in trouble with her parents. If I ignore her, she'll ask again, only louder.
I turned to Steve hoping for help. I got a look that said, 'It's all yours! She asked you!" The thoughts that ran through my head! I settled on, "Well, that's whether someone is a boy or a girl." But I could see the wheels turning in that little red head. I knew there would be a follow-up question and I was dreading it! Just as I was about to change the subject to ice cream, she said, "Well, what did they mean about in-sects?"
That's as close as I ever hope to come to the edge of a cliff!!
Rachel was 3 and staying with us for a few days while we lived in Houston. One day Steve and I took her to a museum with a beautiful butterfly exhibit. It was designed such that visitors walked first through an exhibit of all kinds of insects, and then proceed up into a glass pyramid where jungle plants and plenty of sunlight make a great habitat for butterflies. We took in all the sights and listened to a docent talk about truly beautiful beetles and other bugs. Rachel was fascinated, but when we entered the pyramid she was in awe! Butterflies were everywhere and constantly landed on our heads, shoulders and hands.
The three of us wandered happily for quite awhile. It was lunchtime when we left the exhibit so we decided to have lunch there in the museum. We were all eating and being a little quiet, when out of the clear blue Rachel asked, "Mimi, what is 'sex'?" I nearly dropped my sandwich and choked on my diet coke! Had the docent said anything about reproduction? What do I do with this question??? If I say too much, I'll be in trouble with her parents. If I ignore her, she'll ask again, only louder.
I turned to Steve hoping for help. I got a look that said, 'It's all yours! She asked you!" The thoughts that ran through my head! I settled on, "Well, that's whether someone is a boy or a girl." But I could see the wheels turning in that little red head. I knew there would be a follow-up question and I was dreading it! Just as I was about to change the subject to ice cream, she said, "Well, what did they mean about in-sects?"
That's as close as I ever hope to come to the edge of a cliff!!
Too Hot to Handle!
Recently Kate, our 3 year-old granddaughter, spent the night. She wanted to sleep on the floor in our bedroom right in front of the fireplace. We turned on the fireplace so she was cozy and snug. During the night she got too warm, so we turned off the flame. A few days later she asked, "Mimi, is there still fire in your bedroom?" To which I happily answered, "Yes, Kate, there is!" At that point our daughter announced she was about to throw up.
It's wonderful living to the point of being able to embarass your kids!!!
It's wonderful living to the point of being able to embarass your kids!!!
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Bling
A lady I don't really know said she loves my ring. When I thanked her she said her sister is a jeweler and that has made her very aware of nice stones, etc. I told her I had to wait a long time to get it. Steve gave it to me for our 32nd anniversary.
She then said, "Oh, I figured you were a 'second wife.' My sister says the first wife gets a small diamond, the second gets a big rock!" I told her no, I didn't have a diamond engagement ring. So, mine just sat in the mountain accruing interest.
Just thought that was interesting! (Steve: if you read this, you only get ONE wife...good thing you gave me the big ring! Ha!)
She then said, "Oh, I figured you were a 'second wife.' My sister says the first wife gets a small diamond, the second gets a big rock!" I told her no, I didn't have a diamond engagement ring. So, mine just sat in the mountain accruing interest.
Just thought that was interesting! (Steve: if you read this, you only get ONE wife...good thing you gave me the big ring! Ha!)
South Bend 2008
My cousin Mary was married for 33 years to a great guy, Jim Funkhouser. Jim passed away 2 weeks ago and it took us all by surprise. He was as full of life as anyone I’ve ever known. He was sharp as a tack, but awfully silly. He yakked a lot, but kept his complaints to himself. He was the most considerate host, but also a big practical joker. This side of his personality must have been the last to go…and I think it actually hung around awhile…
When we got the call, I knew I wanted to be with the family but wasn’t sure I could swing it. I only had 2 days due to other commitments including a scheduled trip with Steve the day after the funeral. Off I went to be with my cousin and her sons. Here was my plan: Tues. Jan.29, 2008 – Scheduled to leave Dallas, connect through Cleveland to South Bend, Indiana. Due to arrive at 6:00 pm , rent a car for a 20 minute drive to Elkhart for the wake that evening. Funeral set for Wednesday morning at 10:00 am. Due to fly out of South Bend at 3:00 pm, connect through Cleveland and back to Dallas.
Here’s what really happened:
Left Dallas 3 hours late due to high winds. Missed connection out of Cleveland. Waited in Cleveland 4 hours. It’s OK. I won’t see Mary tonight, but will stay with other cousins and see her in the morning. I finish my Bible study lesson and buy a new paperback. At 9:00 pm (12 hours after leaving home) the new flight was cancelled due to weather. I walked half a mile to claim my bag so I could be dressed for the funeral when I left on the early morning flight.
It’s still OK. I won’t be there tonight, but will make it to the funeral in the morning. I decided to save $30.00 and not stay at the hotel adjoining the airport. Instead, I rode in a van with 3 drunk “30-somethings” to a very old, no-so-clean Ramada. I drug my bag through a dark alley, dodging icy patches to find my room in a back building.
It’s still sort of OK. Jim Funkhouser would have chuckled at me over this.I awaken at 5:45 to make my early flight. The motel “breakfast” was a donut with some sort of crusty surface. I’m hungry, tired and a little cranky, but I’m sure it didn’t show! I learn my flight is running a little late. Oh, well. I’ll have time to finish my book. My flight finally leaves an hour late for South Bend. I’ll have to sneak in to the back of the funeral, but I’ll see everyone at Mary’s house afterward.
I land in South Bend, race to the rental car booth and grab the keys. On the way to the car, I notice a lot of ice, snow and stuff falling out of the sky. I ask 3 people about driving conditions. Three Yankee accents tell me it is awful! For crying out loud! I’m from Texas! We don’t do ice!I call my husband (for the twentieth time) and we decide I shouldn’t try to drive. I turn in the rental car paperwork, but can’t find the car keys! I dump out my pockets and my big satchel purse. They are nowhere to be found. The rental lady is not amused. Neither am I. Suddenly, a man walks up and says he found some keys! Well, thank you Lord. I had no desire to own a subcompact car in Indiana. But I have just spent a lot of money and won’t see my cousin or pay my respects to a sweet guy.
There is nothing left to do but sit on a bench and cry, so I do just that, and hope no one notices me. I’m not making a scene, but a man appears beside me asking if he can help. I tell him I’ve had to cancel plans to drive to a funeral in Elkhart because I have no experience driving on ice. He offers to drive me there! He doesn’t look like an axe murderer, but there simply won’t be time for me to make the slow drive on ice there and back to catch my afternoon flight. I think Jim would have told me to make an adventure out of it.
I explore every nook and cranny of the airport, even viewing the tiny museum and seeing pictures of South Bend from the era when I lived there as a little girl. I’m disappointed the candy shop doesn’t carry Fannie Mae’s. I’m sad because this makes me think of Jim buying that candy for his mother-in-law’s funeral. He asked all the guests to have one to remember her crazy love for the stuff. Typical, thoughtful Jim.
I wander into the secure area to sit and wait. But I can’t get through because now I’ve lost my ID! After dumping everything out of the satchel again, I find my license disguised by a big Post-It note stuck to it. I expect to see Steve Martin and John Candy any minute. For crying out loud! Could I please catch a break??
I sit and read for an hour (now on a second book). I get up to stretch my legs, taking my stuff with me. When I sit down again it is on another row of seats. Now I can’t find my reading glasses! As I sit, feeling certain I’m losing my mind, a lady walks up and hands me my glasses. Someone sent another angel to me!
Time to board my plane to connect through Cleveland. I get on the plane. I settle in and start reading. The left engine winds down suddenly. We all get off the plane. Flight canceled due to mechanical problems. OK! This is not funny at all. Chaos reigns in the small airport.
I get reassigned to a later flight, leave the secure area and claim my bag for the 3rd time in less than one day. Gosh, Jim. I wish you were here to tell one of your famous jokes and calm down this crowd of crazy Hoosiers! I wait 3 more hours and change into sweats in the restroom, using the baby changing table for my clothes. It would have been plenty of time to make it to Mary’s but they have left for the burial in Terra Haute.
While in the security line I notice my tickets say “Stand By”…but I had been assured I was confirmed! I use my cell phone (rather than lose my place in the long line) to straighten this out, then put the phone in my pocket. This is the last flight out of South Bend today! It’s my turn through security and I still had my cell phone in my pocket. Alarms sound! Homeland security has already been watching me because I’ve been lurking here for hours and hours. I’m immediately asked to “Step aside” (at least in Texas he would have added “Please Ma’am”) for a pat down. Suddenly a huge, tall woman comes at me with her hands outstretched aiming for my chest! I can only imagine the joke Jim would have come up with on this one!
Finally, I’m on my way to Cincinnati…which is really in Kentucky. I’m thrilled to be making progress, but my seat is more like a shelf next to the flight attendant’s work station. She is a chatty Cathy who decides I look bored and need a job. She shoves plastic bags and a crate of bottled water at me. She wants me to put bottles in the bags and hand them to her as she needs them. I hear all about how she’s 50, never married, and can’t find a good man. She hugs me twice as I sit on my shelf and thanks me for listening. We land and I get away as fast as possible.
In Cincinnati I am bumped up to first class! I drink 2 glasses of wine on the way to Dallas. Jim would have approved! I finally get home at 10:30 pm, about 37 hours after leaving home.
At 10:00 the next morning Steve and I are flying to Florida for a business meeting. As soon as we arrive, I manage to change and go to the cocktail party with Steve. We strike up a conversation with a young couple I've never met. I nearly faint when I see his name badge…Brian Funkhouser! And as I push my jaw back into place, he tell us his dad’s name is….Jim Funkhouser!!! While we quickly learned they were no relation to my cousin’s husband, I still thought: OK, Jim. I get it.
This was your last practical joke and it was on me. I’m honored. Rest in peace, dear one.
When we got the call, I knew I wanted to be with the family but wasn’t sure I could swing it. I only had 2 days due to other commitments including a scheduled trip with Steve the day after the funeral. Off I went to be with my cousin and her sons. Here was my plan: Tues. Jan.29, 2008 – Scheduled to leave Dallas, connect through Cleveland to South Bend, Indiana. Due to arrive at 6:00 pm , rent a car for a 20 minute drive to Elkhart for the wake that evening. Funeral set for Wednesday morning at 10:00 am. Due to fly out of South Bend at 3:00 pm, connect through Cleveland and back to Dallas.
Here’s what really happened:
Left Dallas 3 hours late due to high winds. Missed connection out of Cleveland. Waited in Cleveland 4 hours. It’s OK. I won’t see Mary tonight, but will stay with other cousins and see her in the morning. I finish my Bible study lesson and buy a new paperback. At 9:00 pm (12 hours after leaving home) the new flight was cancelled due to weather. I walked half a mile to claim my bag so I could be dressed for the funeral when I left on the early morning flight.
It’s still OK. I won’t be there tonight, but will make it to the funeral in the morning. I decided to save $30.00 and not stay at the hotel adjoining the airport. Instead, I rode in a van with 3 drunk “30-somethings” to a very old, no-so-clean Ramada. I drug my bag through a dark alley, dodging icy patches to find my room in a back building.
It’s still sort of OK. Jim Funkhouser would have chuckled at me over this.I awaken at 5:45 to make my early flight. The motel “breakfast” was a donut with some sort of crusty surface. I’m hungry, tired and a little cranky, but I’m sure it didn’t show! I learn my flight is running a little late. Oh, well. I’ll have time to finish my book. My flight finally leaves an hour late for South Bend. I’ll have to sneak in to the back of the funeral, but I’ll see everyone at Mary’s house afterward.
I land in South Bend, race to the rental car booth and grab the keys. On the way to the car, I notice a lot of ice, snow and stuff falling out of the sky. I ask 3 people about driving conditions. Three Yankee accents tell me it is awful! For crying out loud! I’m from Texas! We don’t do ice!I call my husband (for the twentieth time) and we decide I shouldn’t try to drive. I turn in the rental car paperwork, but can’t find the car keys! I dump out my pockets and my big satchel purse. They are nowhere to be found. The rental lady is not amused. Neither am I. Suddenly, a man walks up and says he found some keys! Well, thank you Lord. I had no desire to own a subcompact car in Indiana. But I have just spent a lot of money and won’t see my cousin or pay my respects to a sweet guy.
There is nothing left to do but sit on a bench and cry, so I do just that, and hope no one notices me. I’m not making a scene, but a man appears beside me asking if he can help. I tell him I’ve had to cancel plans to drive to a funeral in Elkhart because I have no experience driving on ice. He offers to drive me there! He doesn’t look like an axe murderer, but there simply won’t be time for me to make the slow drive on ice there and back to catch my afternoon flight. I think Jim would have told me to make an adventure out of it.
I explore every nook and cranny of the airport, even viewing the tiny museum and seeing pictures of South Bend from the era when I lived there as a little girl. I’m disappointed the candy shop doesn’t carry Fannie Mae’s. I’m sad because this makes me think of Jim buying that candy for his mother-in-law’s funeral. He asked all the guests to have one to remember her crazy love for the stuff. Typical, thoughtful Jim.
I wander into the secure area to sit and wait. But I can’t get through because now I’ve lost my ID! After dumping everything out of the satchel again, I find my license disguised by a big Post-It note stuck to it. I expect to see Steve Martin and John Candy any minute. For crying out loud! Could I please catch a break??
I sit and read for an hour (now on a second book). I get up to stretch my legs, taking my stuff with me. When I sit down again it is on another row of seats. Now I can’t find my reading glasses! As I sit, feeling certain I’m losing my mind, a lady walks up and hands me my glasses. Someone sent another angel to me!
Time to board my plane to connect through Cleveland. I get on the plane. I settle in and start reading. The left engine winds down suddenly. We all get off the plane. Flight canceled due to mechanical problems. OK! This is not funny at all. Chaos reigns in the small airport.
I get reassigned to a later flight, leave the secure area and claim my bag for the 3rd time in less than one day. Gosh, Jim. I wish you were here to tell one of your famous jokes and calm down this crowd of crazy Hoosiers! I wait 3 more hours and change into sweats in the restroom, using the baby changing table for my clothes. It would have been plenty of time to make it to Mary’s but they have left for the burial in Terra Haute.
While in the security line I notice my tickets say “Stand By”…but I had been assured I was confirmed! I use my cell phone (rather than lose my place in the long line) to straighten this out, then put the phone in my pocket. This is the last flight out of South Bend today! It’s my turn through security and I still had my cell phone in my pocket. Alarms sound! Homeland security has already been watching me because I’ve been lurking here for hours and hours. I’m immediately asked to “Step aside” (at least in Texas he would have added “Please Ma’am”) for a pat down. Suddenly a huge, tall woman comes at me with her hands outstretched aiming for my chest! I can only imagine the joke Jim would have come up with on this one!
Finally, I’m on my way to Cincinnati…which is really in Kentucky. I’m thrilled to be making progress, but my seat is more like a shelf next to the flight attendant’s work station. She is a chatty Cathy who decides I look bored and need a job. She shoves plastic bags and a crate of bottled water at me. She wants me to put bottles in the bags and hand them to her as she needs them. I hear all about how she’s 50, never married, and can’t find a good man. She hugs me twice as I sit on my shelf and thanks me for listening. We land and I get away as fast as possible.
In Cincinnati I am bumped up to first class! I drink 2 glasses of wine on the way to Dallas. Jim would have approved! I finally get home at 10:30 pm, about 37 hours after leaving home.
At 10:00 the next morning Steve and I are flying to Florida for a business meeting. As soon as we arrive, I manage to change and go to the cocktail party with Steve. We strike up a conversation with a young couple I've never met. I nearly faint when I see his name badge…Brian Funkhouser! And as I push my jaw back into place, he tell us his dad’s name is….Jim Funkhouser!!! While we quickly learned they were no relation to my cousin’s husband, I still thought: OK, Jim. I get it.
This was your last practical joke and it was on me. I’m honored. Rest in peace, dear one.
History, Bow Ties, & Knitting
Yesterday, Feb. 5, 2011, Jean P. and I took a beginner's knitting class at JoAnn's Fabric in Lewisville. Our teacher was a woman around our age named Holly Jones. As we all learned knitting and chatted it came up that her father had been a doctor in Denton years ago. And something she said made me think she had never married. As a light bulb clicked in my head, I asked if her dad had been the Dr. Jones who was the football team doc for North Texas. When she said, "Yes, he was the guy who always wore bow ties!" I was thrilled! I told her we had known her dad well; he even saved our baby son's life when he became dehydrated from a tummy bug (put him in the hospital and took such good care of Michael and us!). I told Holly I once made a bow tie for her dad, in the North Texas green color. She then told me he had loved that tie and worn it for years, always mentioning that the wife of one of his players made it for him! What a sweet connection!
All my life I've regretted not having a "shared history" such as one would have with siblings, especially. But this is true in other ways, too. The longest I've lived at any one address is 6 years; and that was with Steve, not my parents. There must have been some Gypsy mixed in with the Irish and German in us!
But moving back to Denton after nearly 40 years has brought some new connections to old parts of my life. For instance, I love seeing the old Denton County courthouse where we got our marriage license. And now this Bow Tie story is another sweet memory come full circle!
All my life I've regretted not having a "shared history" such as one would have with siblings, especially. But this is true in other ways, too. The longest I've lived at any one address is 6 years; and that was with Steve, not my parents. There must have been some Gypsy mixed in with the Irish and German in us!
But moving back to Denton after nearly 40 years has brought some new connections to old parts of my life. For instance, I love seeing the old Denton County courthouse where we got our marriage license. And now this Bow Tie story is another sweet memory come full circle!
Monday, August 23, 2010
A "Chance" Meeting
Steve and I met early in the fall semester, 1968. We were in Dr. Crawford’s botany lecture with about 300 other people. I spotted him (hard to miss him at 6’-8”) and my friend, Jean, told me she would introduce us. She was dating another football player, so we planned to be casually walking by the coaches offices when the afternoon team meeting ended. Well, we walked around the block several times before the meeting finally ended! Jean introduced me to Steve, and then she and her boyfriend promptly got into an argument and broke up right in front of us!
But Steve asked me if I planned to go to the freshman game that night, and would I like to go for a coke afterwards. So, our first date was me watching him play football as I happened to sit behind his parents! Right after the game, he came out from the dressing room with blood (someone else’s) all over his jersey. I think that was supposed to impress me. In those days, freshman girls had to be back in the dorm by 10:50pm. So after talking with his parents we only had a few minutes to get me back to the dorm; no coke date! And it was a long time before I admitted our chance meeting wasn’t so accidental!
Steve called the next day and soon we were dating only each other. It was pretty close to love at first sight for both of us. We married on June 14, 1969, at the age of 19. We should have been a “statistic” years ago, by the odds! But we both graduated on time in 1972, and Steve was drafted by the New York Jets. His pro career was extremely short and we both went into teaching for a few years, and then the business world.
A few years ago we started thinking of where we’d like to retire. It had to be a college town, close to a big airport and good medical care. Denton was it! Three years ago we moved back to Denton and Steve bought an Allstate insurance agency. It’s wonderful to be back where we began and to become involved in alumni activities.
We now have 2 children and 6 grandchildren and are still in love with each other. And we are each other’s best friend. Our oldest grandson wore green and white face paint to his first UNT football game when he was 18 months old! (see photo) We hope to keep the Mean Green tradition growing in our family!
But Steve asked me if I planned to go to the freshman game that night, and would I like to go for a coke afterwards. So, our first date was me watching him play football as I happened to sit behind his parents! Right after the game, he came out from the dressing room with blood (someone else’s) all over his jersey. I think that was supposed to impress me. In those days, freshman girls had to be back in the dorm by 10:50pm. So after talking with his parents we only had a few minutes to get me back to the dorm; no coke date! And it was a long time before I admitted our chance meeting wasn’t so accidental!
Steve called the next day and soon we were dating only each other. It was pretty close to love at first sight for both of us. We married on June 14, 1969, at the age of 19. We should have been a “statistic” years ago, by the odds! But we both graduated on time in 1972, and Steve was drafted by the New York Jets. His pro career was extremely short and we both went into teaching for a few years, and then the business world.
A few years ago we started thinking of where we’d like to retire. It had to be a college town, close to a big airport and good medical care. Denton was it! Three years ago we moved back to Denton and Steve bought an Allstate insurance agency. It’s wonderful to be back where we began and to become involved in alumni activities.
We now have 2 children and 6 grandchildren and are still in love with each other. And we are each other’s best friend. Our oldest grandson wore green and white face paint to his first UNT football game when he was 18 months old! (see photo) We hope to keep the Mean Green tradition growing in our family!
A Mentor Mom Story
When I was asked to give a “Mentor Mom Moment” (at a Mother's of Preschoolers meeting) I wasn’t sure what I should talk about. I think the only instruction I got was to be brief! I wondered if I should tell you about a good way I discovered to remove M&M’s from a 3-year old’s nose or maybe tell you something more profound and soul searching from my years of mothering.
Well, I decided to tell you about something sort of “in between.” I have two grown children, a boy and a girl. Both were and are wonderful, but I think it would be safe to say our little girl was a bit of a handful. She was bright and funny, but very determined. She could open child-proof caps and climb the drawers in the kitchen to get on top of the countertop. And she learned to tie her shoes when she was only 3 ½. When our kids were little my husband and I sort of morphed into a “good cop/bad cop” routine in so far as discipline goes. He was the fun guy who rolled around on the floor with them and I was the one who tried to make them behave. I don’t necessarily think this is the best way to do it, but I do think I know when we made this shift.
One evening I was (where else?) cleaning up the kitchen after supper and Steve was playing with the kids in the living room. All of a sudden, I heard a yelp from my husband and a big commotion going on. I went in to investigate and saw a very interesting sight: My precocious 2 year-old daughter, red faced and furious, staring up at her daddy. And my huge husband…he’s 6’-7” and a former football player staring right back at her, but he had more of a “dear in the headlights” gaze. I asked, “What happened?” and Steve said, “She bit me!” So, I asked him if he had given her a swat or what? He said, “Yes, but you won’t believe what she said.”…Well, I spent all day with her everyday…I knew her pretty well, but I asked “What?” anyway. He told me she seemed insulted and said: “Get that spank off my bo-bo!!”
Of course, I said, “You can’t let her get away with that! Give her another spank!” And he just sort of shrunk back and said, “No, no, I don’t think so.”
Part of the reason I tell you this story is to give you some hope. If you have a little one like mine was, you might be thinking “Oh, Lord, just let me get this kid raised!” or you may even wonder if you’ll battle for years and then have nothing in common when she’s grown. Well, I’m here to tell you there is hope! My little girl grew up to be one of my dearest friends. By now I’ve probably learned more from her than she ever did from me, and you all know her…Julia Ross Sullivan Lockhart!
Well, I decided to tell you about something sort of “in between.” I have two grown children, a boy and a girl. Both were and are wonderful, but I think it would be safe to say our little girl was a bit of a handful. She was bright and funny, but very determined. She could open child-proof caps and climb the drawers in the kitchen to get on top of the countertop. And she learned to tie her shoes when she was only 3 ½. When our kids were little my husband and I sort of morphed into a “good cop/bad cop” routine in so far as discipline goes. He was the fun guy who rolled around on the floor with them and I was the one who tried to make them behave. I don’t necessarily think this is the best way to do it, but I do think I know when we made this shift.
One evening I was (where else?) cleaning up the kitchen after supper and Steve was playing with the kids in the living room. All of a sudden, I heard a yelp from my husband and a big commotion going on. I went in to investigate and saw a very interesting sight: My precocious 2 year-old daughter, red faced and furious, staring up at her daddy. And my huge husband…he’s 6’-7” and a former football player staring right back at her, but he had more of a “dear in the headlights” gaze. I asked, “What happened?” and Steve said, “She bit me!” So, I asked him if he had given her a swat or what? He said, “Yes, but you won’t believe what she said.”…Well, I spent all day with her everyday…I knew her pretty well, but I asked “What?” anyway. He told me she seemed insulted and said: “Get that spank off my bo-bo!!”
Of course, I said, “You can’t let her get away with that! Give her another spank!” And he just sort of shrunk back and said, “No, no, I don’t think so.”
Part of the reason I tell you this story is to give you some hope. If you have a little one like mine was, you might be thinking “Oh, Lord, just let me get this kid raised!” or you may even wonder if you’ll battle for years and then have nothing in common when she’s grown. Well, I’m here to tell you there is hope! My little girl grew up to be one of my dearest friends. By now I’ve probably learned more from her than she ever did from me, and you all know her…Julia Ross Sullivan Lockhart!
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Connections
It was Memorial Day weekend, 2010. On Saturday, we drove with Julia and her family to Granbury. The purpose was to change the silk flowers on my parents' grave. They share a headstone, and it only has one vase. I suspect that was a decision made by my frugal German mother! The cemetary rules are, suprisingly, no fresh flowers. I guess they would rather have artificial ones fade, droop and eventually diminsh with pounding from the north Texas wind than ask the maintanence crew to blow away faded natural flowers. Oh, well... I try to replace the arrangement at least once or twice a year. Usually I can find red or yellow roses (Mother's favorites) on sale at Hobby Lobby; again, that German influence. But Daddy was Irish, and he loved to get the roses with the acrylic dew drops because they looked like tears for Mother. So, I always look for those to satisfy my sentimental Irish side!
The drive from Denton was pleasant; Our son-in-law, David, drove and the kids were occupied with a video and some games. When we arrived at the cemetary we all needed to stretch our legs after an hour or so in the car. Julia did her best to show the kids to be respectful of the graves. But I think the concept of people being buried under the grass escaped them.
While I was busy with the flowers my mind wandered to the two funerals of my parents. In my mind I saw Daddy and I sitting, both a little bewildered, watching cousins place roses on top of Mother's casket. It was a hot day, four days after Mother's birthday and only a week before Julia's wedding. And less than 3 years later I was there again for Daddy's service. The Air Force Honor Guard was over to the left performing a 21 gun salute. I remembered standing to receive a flag from a colonel who had just told the story of my dad's actions in WWII; how he had received the Silver Star, Distinguished Service Cross, and Purple Heart. Today, three of my grandchildren were chasing butterflies across the area.
It's funny, coming back to a place which is loaded with so much emotion. At the time of the funerals I never imagined coming back there with busy grandchildren. Tanner, age 7, was fascinated with the name "Quinn" on the headstone because he knows that's his own middle name. I'd love to bring my other grandson, Quinn, here for obvious reasons! It's important for these boys to grasp the connection to their great-grandparents.
My knees were aching from tending to the flowers and my son-in-law, always sensitive to others, appeared with the floormats from his car for me to kneel on! He didn't realize he brought a tear to my eye doing that.
When I make that trip to Granbury, it is often solitary and hasty. I usually meet a friend for lunch, so I'm in a hurry. But today I'm struck by butterflies instead of the sound of rifles, the kindness of a young man I barely knew at the first funeral, and the sweet connection from one generation to another.
The drive from Denton was pleasant; Our son-in-law, David, drove and the kids were occupied with a video and some games. When we arrived at the cemetary we all needed to stretch our legs after an hour or so in the car. Julia did her best to show the kids to be respectful of the graves. But I think the concept of people being buried under the grass escaped them.
While I was busy with the flowers my mind wandered to the two funerals of my parents. In my mind I saw Daddy and I sitting, both a little bewildered, watching cousins place roses on top of Mother's casket. It was a hot day, four days after Mother's birthday and only a week before Julia's wedding. And less than 3 years later I was there again for Daddy's service. The Air Force Honor Guard was over to the left performing a 21 gun salute. I remembered standing to receive a flag from a colonel who had just told the story of my dad's actions in WWII; how he had received the Silver Star, Distinguished Service Cross, and Purple Heart. Today, three of my grandchildren were chasing butterflies across the area.
It's funny, coming back to a place which is loaded with so much emotion. At the time of the funerals I never imagined coming back there with busy grandchildren. Tanner, age 7, was fascinated with the name "Quinn" on the headstone because he knows that's his own middle name. I'd love to bring my other grandson, Quinn, here for obvious reasons! It's important for these boys to grasp the connection to their great-grandparents.
My knees were aching from tending to the flowers and my son-in-law, always sensitive to others, appeared with the floormats from his car for me to kneel on! He didn't realize he brought a tear to my eye doing that.
When I make that trip to Granbury, it is often solitary and hasty. I usually meet a friend for lunch, so I'm in a hurry. But today I'm struck by butterflies instead of the sound of rifles, the kindness of a young man I barely knew at the first funeral, and the sweet connection from one generation to another.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Starting Somewhere
I love my daughter's blog, Living Lockhart. Such a great way to keep track of events and memories. As I am now 59 11/12's it seems I'm full of memories! Something happened this week which has motivated me to record it:
I can just see him, age 5, clutching two quarters and going “by himself” into the big room to shop. It was Thursday School at the Church of Christ in Lubbock where Michael went one day a week. It was the week before Mother’s Day and he had money to shop for a present for me. We had been told there were crocheted towels, hair accessories, refrigerator magnets and more, in case we wanted to drop a hint to our little one. I’m so glad I resisted the urge because I wanted to see what he picked out. A few minutes later he emerged holding a brown paper bag with a ribbon around it, and with a funny smile on his sweet face. Even then he wanted to give me a Papa Quinn-style hint, but instead he made me open it as soon as we got home because he was “worried” about it. (Good heavens! Was it something alive? It didn’t squirm or make a noise, but I gingerly opened the bag anyway) Inside was a miniature terrarium! A glass jar about 5 inches tall, including the lid. There was a little potting soil and 2 or 3 tiny plants. It was gorgeous! Michael was so very proud of himself! I was amazed at his good taste! I kept the plants alive for a few months, but they succumbed to my only occasionally green thumb. But that darling jar! I’ve had it for 35 years through many moves and for several uses. For most of these years, though, it has held cotton balls on my bathroom vanity. I can’t begin to count all the times I’ve looked at it and been reminded of my son’s sweet, giving spirit.
Today Olga, my cleaning lady sheepishly came to show me something. It was the pretty lid for the jar, broken into shards. She felt bad about it, but not nearly as bad as I do. I didn’t get mad at her; I know it was an accident. But right now there are tears at the back of my eyes. I know the dear Lord doesn’t want us to hold things too dearly. I know Michael probably doesn’t even remember giving it to me. My darling boy has a five-year-old boy of his own now. Time just keeps going by.
But I’m not going to throw the rest of it away. Maybe I’ll put a small plant in it and give it a new use, similar to the original. And no matter what, I’ll always have that image in my mind of a cute little guy, blue eyes wide with hope that I would like his gift. What a blessing!
I can just see him, age 5, clutching two quarters and going “by himself” into the big room to shop. It was Thursday School at the Church of Christ in Lubbock where Michael went one day a week. It was the week before Mother’s Day and he had money to shop for a present for me. We had been told there were crocheted towels, hair accessories, refrigerator magnets and more, in case we wanted to drop a hint to our little one. I’m so glad I resisted the urge because I wanted to see what he picked out. A few minutes later he emerged holding a brown paper bag with a ribbon around it, and with a funny smile on his sweet face. Even then he wanted to give me a Papa Quinn-style hint, but instead he made me open it as soon as we got home because he was “worried” about it. (Good heavens! Was it something alive? It didn’t squirm or make a noise, but I gingerly opened the bag anyway) Inside was a miniature terrarium! A glass jar about 5 inches tall, including the lid. There was a little potting soil and 2 or 3 tiny plants. It was gorgeous! Michael was so very proud of himself! I was amazed at his good taste! I kept the plants alive for a few months, but they succumbed to my only occasionally green thumb. But that darling jar! I’ve had it for 35 years through many moves and for several uses. For most of these years, though, it has held cotton balls on my bathroom vanity. I can’t begin to count all the times I’ve looked at it and been reminded of my son’s sweet, giving spirit.
Today Olga, my cleaning lady sheepishly came to show me something. It was the pretty lid for the jar, broken into shards. She felt bad about it, but not nearly as bad as I do. I didn’t get mad at her; I know it was an accident. But right now there are tears at the back of my eyes. I know the dear Lord doesn’t want us to hold things too dearly. I know Michael probably doesn’t even remember giving it to me. My darling boy has a five-year-old boy of his own now. Time just keeps going by.
But I’m not going to throw the rest of it away. Maybe I’ll put a small plant in it and give it a new use, similar to the original. And no matter what, I’ll always have that image in my mind of a cute little guy, blue eyes wide with hope that I would like his gift. What a blessing!
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