They met at a Christmas party. He wasn't dating anyone special. A buddy had offered to fix him up with a girl, but she didn't sound like his type. She was dating a few different boys, but none of them were special.
He had grown up in the country and loved country music. She had grown up in the "city", a small town near Amarillo and loved jazz. Jazz was playing at the party and, with his usual lack of tact, he said "Who's stupid music is this?" She said "It's my music. And it's my house. I like it. If you don't want to hear it, you don't have to be here". He turned to look at this sassy girl and fell. Hard. She had beautiful blue eyes behind her thick glasses. She was little and curvy and the cutest thing he had ever seen. She liked big, muscular guys. This guy was ridiculously skinny, but he had laughing green eyes and a wicked grin.
His buddy told him later that this was the girl he had wanted him to meet.
They went on a total of three dates that December. He had been cordially invited by the United States Army to become a soldier. He was going to be leaving for basic training right after New Years. He proposed on their third date. He said he didn't want her dating anyone else while he was gone. She said she didn't want him dating anyone else. He said "Well then, I guess we should get married." Not romantic, but it worked.
She had to break a date with another boy later in the week because they got engaged.
Their marriage wasn't perfect, but it was still wonderful. They had two little girls. He had a career as an engineer. She had a career making their house a home. Most of all, they had each other. The two truly became one.
Two months before their 43rd wedding anniversary, she left him. Sat down in his chair, put her feet up, closed her eyes and left him. And left their girls and their sons-in-law and their grandbabies. And left a gaping hole in the lives of everyone she knew.
It has been one year, two months and six days since she left. His girls have told him it is OK if he wants to start dating. He says she was it for him, his only love. He goes to church, to the doctor, to visit friends and family. He is doing alright for a man walking around with only half of a heart.
He still misses her every day. He still wears his wedding ring.
So Happy 44th Anniversary to my Daddy. I wish Mama was here to celebrate with you.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Rhetoric
So, my children were bickering this morning, as usual. I don't even no what it was about, but it ended thus...
Prince Charming said "It was a rhetorical..." Little Runner Girl interrupted and said "That wasn't even a question!" To which Prince Charming replied "You didn't even let me finish. It was a rhetorical phrase!"
Prince Charming said "It was a rhetorical..." Little Runner Girl interrupted and said "That wasn't even a question!" To which Prince Charming replied "You didn't even let me finish. It was a rhetorical phrase!"
Friday, June 5, 2009
Diamond State
I had a fairly magical childhood. It wasn't perfect. In fact some of it was not good at all, but I always knew I was loved. Both of my parents were affectionate and fun and found lots of ways to make everyday things special.
When we moved to Arkansas in the late '70s, it was almost like moving to a different planet. Having lived in Houston for as long as I could remember, I had quite an adjustment to make. My parents made a real effort to point out the beauty around us.
Early one morning, days after moving into our new house, my Daddy called me to come outside. He was very excited to show me something. There in the grass was the most incredible sparkle. "Come look" he said "it's an Arkansas diamond!" We walked closer and closer, the sun glittering on this diamond in our yard. Finally, I laid down in the grass to get a closer look and my Daddy stretched out on the grass beside me. All these years later I still think that is what made it so special, that he would stop getting ready for work to lay in the grass with his child. Even up close, the light was incredible, the shine nearly blinding. The diamond, of course, turned out to be dew. "But it's just as beautiful as diamonds" my Daddy said "and God scatters them in our yard every morning for us to enjoy."
I was a lucky, lucky kid!
When we moved to Arkansas in the late '70s, it was almost like moving to a different planet. Having lived in Houston for as long as I could remember, I had quite an adjustment to make. My parents made a real effort to point out the beauty around us.
Early one morning, days after moving into our new house, my Daddy called me to come outside. He was very excited to show me something. There in the grass was the most incredible sparkle. "Come look" he said "it's an Arkansas diamond!" We walked closer and closer, the sun glittering on this diamond in our yard. Finally, I laid down in the grass to get a closer look and my Daddy stretched out on the grass beside me. All these years later I still think that is what made it so special, that he would stop getting ready for work to lay in the grass with his child. Even up close, the light was incredible, the shine nearly blinding. The diamond, of course, turned out to be dew. "But it's just as beautiful as diamonds" my Daddy said "and God scatters them in our yard every morning for us to enjoy."
I was a lucky, lucky kid!
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Why I Don't Like Oreos
When I was a kid, like probably most kids in this country, I liked Oreos. Crunchy chocolate cookies. Creamy filling. Tasty stuff.
I'm not exactly sure how old I was when this happened, but I would guess ten or eleven. I was spending the night with Queen Elizabeth (a.k.a. my oldest friend) and Double Stuff Oreos had just come out. (I think. I don't remember ever having them before. And the weirdest thing about this story is that Queen Elizabeth's mom was always baking so these may be the only store bought cookies I remember ever seeing at her house. Hmmmmm....)
Anyway....we were the only ones up and we found a huge unopened package of Double Stuff Oreos on the table. We got out the milk and a couple of big glasses and proceeded to eat. The entire package! With glass after glass of milk. Bleh! To this day, Oreos gross me out. Oddly enough, I do like Cookies and Cream ice cream. But I always pick out any huge chunks of Oreo.
On a side note...Queen Elizabeth has no problem eating Oreos. She's tougher than I am.
I'm not exactly sure how old I was when this happened, but I would guess ten or eleven. I was spending the night with Queen Elizabeth (a.k.a. my oldest friend) and Double Stuff Oreos had just come out. (I think. I don't remember ever having them before. And the weirdest thing about this story is that Queen Elizabeth's mom was always baking so these may be the only store bought cookies I remember ever seeing at her house. Hmmmmm....)
Anyway....we were the only ones up and we found a huge unopened package of Double Stuff Oreos on the table. We got out the milk and a couple of big glasses and proceeded to eat. The entire package! With glass after glass of milk. Bleh! To this day, Oreos gross me out. Oddly enough, I do like Cookies and Cream ice cream. But I always pick out any huge chunks of Oreo.
On a side note...Queen Elizabeth has no problem eating Oreos. She's tougher than I am.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
What Not to Say to the 911 Operator
About 11 years ago, when the Saint and I moved into this house, I did a foolish thing. This will not surprise anyone who knows me. I was in the kitchen with the loaded dishwasher open, bottom rack pulled out. I was arranging some decorative items in the space above the upper cabinets. While standing on a swiveling bar stool. Wearing socks. Gosh, what could possibly go wrong???
Predictably to anyone with two brain cells, I fell and my hand collided with the silverware tray in the dishwasher.
(My friend Dr. Doctor, upon hearing this story, just rolled her eyes and laughed. Thank goodness she wasn't in the ER that night. She would have made me stitch myself up on the grounds that I should know better.)
I stood up to find blood pouring down my arm and dripping from my elbow. I screamed like the completely calm and non-hysterical person I am and brought the Saint running down the stairs. We both assumed I had landed on a knife. He called 911 and said..."My wife stabbed herself. It was an accident." To which I am sure the 911 operator said "Yeah right, buddy."
No surprise, the police arrived first. The ambulance guys waiting down the street told our brand new neighbors that they couldn't come up to the house until the cops had "secured the scene". Nice.
Of course, by the time the cops arrived, I had stopped gushing blood and calmed down enough to laugh at my own stupidity. The female officer there to help me with what the police thought was a domestic situation failed to see the humor in the situation. She was not amused.
After the police decided I wasn't in imminent danger from a crazed husband, the Saint took me to the hospital where I got several lovely stitches in the middle of my left hand. It turned out I had landed on the corner of the silverware tray and not a knife. Dr. Doctor helpfully pointed out later that a knife probably would have gone all the way through my hand. Ouch!
Predictably to anyone with two brain cells, I fell and my hand collided with the silverware tray in the dishwasher.
(My friend Dr. Doctor, upon hearing this story, just rolled her eyes and laughed. Thank goodness she wasn't in the ER that night. She would have made me stitch myself up on the grounds that I should know better.)
I stood up to find blood pouring down my arm and dripping from my elbow. I screamed like the completely calm and non-hysterical person I am and brought the Saint running down the stairs. We both assumed I had landed on a knife. He called 911 and said..."My wife stabbed herself. It was an accident." To which I am sure the 911 operator said "Yeah right, buddy."
No surprise, the police arrived first. The ambulance guys waiting down the street told our brand new neighbors that they couldn't come up to the house until the cops had "secured the scene". Nice.
Of course, by the time the cops arrived, I had stopped gushing blood and calmed down enough to laugh at my own stupidity. The female officer there to help me with what the police thought was a domestic situation failed to see the humor in the situation. She was not amused.
After the police decided I wasn't in imminent danger from a crazed husband, the Saint took me to the hospital where I got several lovely stitches in the middle of my left hand. It turned out I had landed on the corner of the silverware tray and not a knife. Dr. Doctor helpfully pointed out later that a knife probably would have gone all the way through my hand. Ouch!
Monday, May 25, 2009
Freak Show
Riverfest weekend...the biggest freak show in Arkansas.
A creepy drunk guy walked up to our ice cream booth and asked Little Runner Girl and me "So, do you both go to (Little Runner Girl's high school - we were wearing shirts with the school logo)?
"No, I'm her Mom" I said.
"Oh, so I guess that means you aren't in high school?"
Another drunk guy tried to pick me up with the oh-so-groovy line "I don't know what's melting faster, me or the ice cream." Hawt.
And then there was the very bizarre guy who went on and on and on about getting fired from LR Waste Management. He kept asking how they could fire him since he owned stock in the company. He had been digging through the trash behind the ice cream cart. Every time he found something recyclable, he held it up in the air to show I have no idea who. He then walked over to the cart, put his unwashed hands on the door handles and said "Everything is recyclable, you know. I just have to teach that to LR Waste Management. I have the only truck that can do it all, you know." Well, OK then.
A great deal of money is spent at Riverfest, often by people who don't look in a position to be spending it. Call me judgemental, but I think some of these people might be better off spending their cash on things like dental care. Or soap. Or clothes they didn't buy ten sizes ago.
One always sees quite the fashion show at Riverfest. 300 pound women in size 4 shorts and tiny tank tops. 300 pound men wearing no shirts at all, but lots and lots of back hair. Shudder. And then there was Matrix Boy. Head to toe black (which could have worked had he known how to pull it off) topped off by a too long black coat. The coat had slits cut up the back and had about 5 inches dragging the ground. In the rain on Sunday, with mud and water splashing up from the flapping coattails, the effect was far less dangerous, sexy punk and far more pitiful child caught in a car wash. Everyone he passed was laughing, including the barefooted redneck woman with (I wish I was kidding!) a total of four teeth in her bottom gums. You know you look stupid if the toothless people are laughing at you!
A creepy drunk guy walked up to our ice cream booth and asked Little Runner Girl and me "So, do you both go to (Little Runner Girl's high school - we were wearing shirts with the school logo)?
"No, I'm her Mom" I said.
"Oh, so I guess that means you aren't in high school?"
Another drunk guy tried to pick me up with the oh-so-groovy line "I don't know what's melting faster, me or the ice cream." Hawt.
And then there was the very bizarre guy who went on and on and on about getting fired from LR Waste Management. He kept asking how they could fire him since he owned stock in the company. He had been digging through the trash behind the ice cream cart. Every time he found something recyclable, he held it up in the air to show I have no idea who. He then walked over to the cart, put his unwashed hands on the door handles and said "Everything is recyclable, you know. I just have to teach that to LR Waste Management. I have the only truck that can do it all, you know." Well, OK then.
A great deal of money is spent at Riverfest, often by people who don't look in a position to be spending it. Call me judgemental, but I think some of these people might be better off spending their cash on things like dental care. Or soap. Or clothes they didn't buy ten sizes ago.
One always sees quite the fashion show at Riverfest. 300 pound women in size 4 shorts and tiny tank tops. 300 pound men wearing no shirts at all, but lots and lots of back hair. Shudder. And then there was Matrix Boy. Head to toe black (which could have worked had he known how to pull it off) topped off by a too long black coat. The coat had slits cut up the back and had about 5 inches dragging the ground. In the rain on Sunday, with mud and water splashing up from the flapping coattails, the effect was far less dangerous, sexy punk and far more pitiful child caught in a car wash. Everyone he passed was laughing, including the barefooted redneck woman with (I wish I was kidding!) a total of four teeth in her bottom gums. You know you look stupid if the toothless people are laughing at you!
Thursday, May 21, 2009
How To Go To Target with Your Firstborn at the Wheel
Little Runner Girl has been driving almost every day for several weeks now, just long enough to think she knows what she is doing. So, after I back the car out of the garage (because I like my mirrors attached) Little Runner Girl takes the wheel. She is quite giddy with the knowledge that tomorrow is her very last day ever at the school she has attended since Kindergarten. She is talking a mile a minute and also driving. We pull out of the driveway and up to the intersection...
"Turn left, Sweetie."
Right turn signal goes on. "Wait, where are we going? Target? I don't know how to get there."
"I'll tell you, but you need to turn left."
"What? Oh, left." (Says my left-handed daughter!)
Through the neighborhood to a larger street. Stop about fifty feet before stop sign and then roll slowly up to it.
"Turn left here. But look first! LOOK! OK, you can go. Go. GO! NOW!" (She wasn't quite committed to turning. Halfway out into a major roadway seems an excellent place to stop and ask questions?)
"At the next street, turn right. Right. Turn right. Turn. Slow down slow down slow down. GET IN YOUR LANE!!!"
"Sorry. But that guy was still pretty far away anyway." I give her the look of doom.
"Sorry."
"Listen to me little girl or you won't be driving my car."
"OK. Sorry. I'm being careful. Why is it only 25 on this street?"
"Because people's front yards are facing this street. 25 is fast enough."
"But it's so slow!"
"Slow down slow down!"
"What was that!!!???"
"Speed bump! Slow down!"
"But I don't know where I'm going."
"Not knowing where you're going is NOT a reason to go faster."
"Why do they have to have so many speed bumps on this street?"
"Perhaps so teenagers don't fly through here going fifty?"
"Oh."
"OK, this intersection is tricky. Pay attention. You have to watch the oncoming traffic because there is no arrow. After we turn, get in the right lane."
"Why can't I just get over while I'm turning?"
"Because you can't change lanes in the intersection."
"Why not?"
"Because it's illegal and this guy next to us might not appreciate it."
"I think he is gonna go straight anyway, so why can't I just get over."
"Because it's illegal."
"But why?"
(And I am suddenly reminded that my 4 year old with her endless whys is also the 14 year old driving my car!)
We turn and switch lanes rather abruptly, immediately after leaving the intersection. And then she slams on the brakes. Driver behind us flashes lights and tries to figure out which lane the child is going to use.
"Get over, get over, get in the right lane."
"Is that OK?"
"I'm telling you to get over. Why would it not be OK?"
"I don't know."
We pull into the parking lot in the left lane.
"Honey, get into your lane."
"But there aren't any lanes."
"Sweetie, just because there aren't lines doesn't mean there aren't lanes. The other people driving can't read your mind. Where are you going?"
"I don't know? Where should I be going?"
"To find a place to park. Down there."
"Why so far down there?"
"Do you really think you need to park next to other cars?"
"Ummmm...probably not. Should I park now?"
My father always says he didn't have grey hair until he taught me to drive. I'm beginning to believe him.
"Turn left, Sweetie."
Right turn signal goes on. "Wait, where are we going? Target? I don't know how to get there."
"I'll tell you, but you need to turn left."
"What? Oh, left." (Says my left-handed daughter!)
Through the neighborhood to a larger street. Stop about fifty feet before stop sign and then roll slowly up to it.
"Turn left here. But look first! LOOK! OK, you can go. Go. GO! NOW!" (She wasn't quite committed to turning. Halfway out into a major roadway seems an excellent place to stop and ask questions?)
"At the next street, turn right. Right. Turn right. Turn. Slow down slow down slow down. GET IN YOUR LANE!!!"
"Sorry. But that guy was still pretty far away anyway." I give her the look of doom.
"Sorry."
"Listen to me little girl or you won't be driving my car."
"OK. Sorry. I'm being careful. Why is it only 25 on this street?"
"Because people's front yards are facing this street. 25 is fast enough."
"But it's so slow!"
"Slow down slow down!"
"What was that!!!???"
"Speed bump! Slow down!"
"But I don't know where I'm going."
"Not knowing where you're going is NOT a reason to go faster."
"Why do they have to have so many speed bumps on this street?"
"Perhaps so teenagers don't fly through here going fifty?"
"Oh."
"OK, this intersection is tricky. Pay attention. You have to watch the oncoming traffic because there is no arrow. After we turn, get in the right lane."
"Why can't I just get over while I'm turning?"
"Because you can't change lanes in the intersection."
"Why not?"
"Because it's illegal and this guy next to us might not appreciate it."
"I think he is gonna go straight anyway, so why can't I just get over."
"Because it's illegal."
"But why?"
(And I am suddenly reminded that my 4 year old with her endless whys is also the 14 year old driving my car!)
We turn and switch lanes rather abruptly, immediately after leaving the intersection. And then she slams on the brakes. Driver behind us flashes lights and tries to figure out which lane the child is going to use.
"Get over, get over, get in the right lane."
"Is that OK?"
"I'm telling you to get over. Why would it not be OK?"
"I don't know."
We pull into the parking lot in the left lane.
"Honey, get into your lane."
"But there aren't any lanes."
"Sweetie, just because there aren't lines doesn't mean there aren't lanes. The other people driving can't read your mind. Where are you going?"
"I don't know? Where should I be going?"
"To find a place to park. Down there."
"Why so far down there?"
"Do you really think you need to park next to other cars?"
"Ummmm...probably not. Should I park now?"
My father always says he didn't have grey hair until he taught me to drive. I'm beginning to believe him.
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