Cooking with Rocks

Birthday greetings, bottle of wine

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Wed, 01 Aug 2018 02:28:00 +0000

Before I tell you about my recent birthday, I'll give you a quick recap of last year's (I've been a lazy blogger). It was also a good one, as all birthdays are in their own way.

My beloved son picked me up and took me to a nearby gun range. I really enjoy shooting with Zach, and he's very generous with his ammo. Afterward, he took me to James Coney Island, an old-time favorite, for hot dogs and chili cheese fries. But the fun didn't stop there.

We returned home to find Angy leaving a little birthday surprise at my front door. So the three of us ended up having a wonderful, spontaneous time of just hanging out together. Although I love their mates and their kids as much as I love them, it was a real treat to have Angy and Zach all to myself for awhile.

The Three Musketeers were together again.

Like it used to be

Now, on to this year's birthday. I have a lot more details to share since it was just last week ...

In keeping with my long-standing tradition, I took the day off from work and did whatever I felt like doing.

My course had been set for a couple of weeks, ever since birthday coupons from IKEA arrived in my inbox. What else could I do—$15 off my total purchase AND a free meatball lunch with almond cake?

Heck YEAH!

I was also expecting a birthday coupon from Willie's Grill & Icehouse for a free entree, so that would take care of dinner. The day pretty much planned itself.

Only breakfast was still up in the air. I'm not allowed to cook or prepare myself any type of food on the big day (my birthday, my rules). After I considered going to la Madeleine for coffee and a croissant, I thought about how much closer Shipley is, so I had two doughnuts instead.

Angy and Sara came by after Vacation Bible School to go shopping and dining with me. The godly influence of Sara's morning was evident in my birthday letter:

Sara's spot-on portrait of me

Dear Nana | You are a blessing to have | God ❤ you forever and so do we | Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever. Hebrews 13:8 | Your always for us and we ❤ you

Someday I'll talk to Sara about the difference between "your" and "you're," but that wasn't the time. Besides, I had given her and Christian a mini lesson on "lie" and "lay" just the other day in the car.

Christian gave me his birthday wishes over the phone and apologized for not wanting to go to IKEA. Later that afternoon, I got calls from Evyn and Ezra. What struck me most about those sweet calls was that they were real conversations, not like the short ones that used to go something like this: "Hi, Nana. Happy birthday! I love you. Bye."

I'm not the only one growing up.

Lunch at IKEA was surprisingly delightful. Even without the good taste of free, those Swedish meatballs with gravy, mashed potatoes, and steamed veggies would have been delicious on their own. The almond cake—utterly exquisite. Angy enjoyed it as well, and Sara gave her fries and chocolate cake two enthusiastic thumbs up. Afterward, she said, "That food made me feel really happy."

We're just blessed to be able to fully appreciate the finer things in life.

As we leisurely followed the arrows through the store from start to finish, several household items made it into my basket. I'm really good at picking out my birthday gifts. And I'm pretty generous.

After our girls' day out

We did a little more shopping before winding up at Willie's for dinner. I told the waiter about never receiving my birthday coupon, so he comped my fried fish tacos. (I have license on my birthday to order fried food with neither hesitation nor guilt.)

My last stop was midweek Bible study, which turned out to be a special treat because the lesson was on Revelation 21–22. A new heaven and a new earth. No more death or crying or pain. God's illuminating glory. Streets of gold. Crystal river. Tree of life ... What a way to end the day on a high note!

I couldn't have planned it any better.

When I got home, I ate a couple of the chocolate dipped strawberries my sweet friend Misty Dunn had delivered to me that morning. It was a such a good day of eating, and all I bought were those two doughnuts.

Oh, and every place I went, a great parking space was waiting there for me. A charmed day it was.

Now I'm just left to wonder, If I'd been out till quarter to three, would you lock the door?

Life in Mayberry

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Wed, 15 Nov 2017 02:17:00 +0000

Just a fictional town where Sheriff Andy Taylor and little Opie live in syndication? Nay, my friends. Mayberry is a real place.

It's just not called that. And rather than a small town, it's a small neighborhood of townhomes where the spirit of Mayberry abides. I've lived there for 6 months now, too busy enjoying my new life to even write about it.

Arriving at my destination, however, was a long, hard road that ended in my second divorce. Over a period of years, I prayed persistently for two things—peace and a home. I longed for a place that truly felt like my home instead of just somewhere I kept my things. A place where the door is always open to family and friends. Where peace and quiet reign.

In God's meticulous timing, He graciously granted my prayer and, in His usual fashion, did immeasurably more than I asked or imagined (see Ephesians 3:20).

Getting there

I decided to buy a townhome so I wouldn't have all the outside maintenance. But I became discouraged after looking at several places. Although the neighborhoods were nice, and the prices were high, the homes were claustrophobic. Low ceilings. Small rooms. Dark cabinets. Scarce natural light.

Other things I didn't like were that most had an upstairs master and a single-car garage. Some had a side entrance with a servants' quarters feel. All of them needed repairs. And all had a thumbnail of a patio. Just a cement slab with barely enough room for a couple of chairs, next to a tiny patch of grass.

Surprisingly, most of those places were getting snatched up fast. So I actually made an offer on the best of the worst, but I lowballed the amount because I just wasn't feeling it. What I felt was relief when I didn't get the house. And then ...

My lovely, determined realtor, Kim, sent me more listings online. And when I saw the pictures of my future abode, I knew it was the one.

We went to see it the next day. From the driveway to the back gate, I liked everything about it—starting with the Magnolia tree in front, the northward facing of the house so the sun goes over it instead of through it, and the tiled sidewalk by the door. What else?

High ceilings. Lots of big windows and natural light. Plantation shutters. White cabinets in the kitchen and bathrooms. Downstairs master. Two bedrooms and a loft upstairs. Two and a half baths. Over 1700 sq ft. Two-car garage. Move-in ready. And, maybe best of all ...

A flagstone patio with a gazebo and a wood-burning fireplace.

Here's the current view to the left, and below, the current view to the right.

Two flower beds and potted plants amply satisfy my gardening bug.

When Kim and I were checking out the patio, a friendly voice called to us through the fence from the big, corner-lot townhome next door. Ron introduced himself, then talked about how he and his wife (both retired) were the first homeowners in the neighborhood and how much they love living there. He assured me that I'd love it too.

We opened the gate to see a nice bit of green space with a sidewalk leading to a black iron fence. Noticing an entrance to what might be a park, Kim and I strolled the short distance to have a look.

The gate was locked, so we peered through the fence at beautiful foliage, an enchanting little bridge, a guy casting his fishing line over the water, and other delightful sights. We heard the soothing sounds of water fountains and birds singing. It must have been the Zen-like vibe that caused us to speak in a hushed tone.

When I jokingly asked why we were whispering, Kim pointed to these words etched in stone in front of a park bench ...

As a former hippie chick of days long past, I considered this Beatles lyric a
special confirmation that this charming neighborhood is where I'm meant to be.

I didn't need any more convincing, but I got it anyway. We walked back to the front of the house and met the other next-door neighbors, an adorable young couple who greeted us warmly. Kim told them I was considering buying the house. That was all Kevin needed to shake my hand and give me a hearty, "Welcome to the neighborhood!"

He and his wife, Kiara, told us how much they enjoy living there. Kevin talked about what a good neighbor Ron is and how they all look out for each other. He also said that I could expect an invitation from Ron for a beer on his "tricked-out" patio. Then when Kiara asked if I like wine because some women in the neighborhood have a wine club, I just looked at Kim and said, "Are you kidding me right now."

Oh, and the house is just 10 minutes from work.

Naturally, I told Kim to submit my offer. No lowballing this time. She submitted it that evening, the sellers accepted the next morning, and by noon I had a contract.

Now here's the really amazing God part of the story. Those inferior townhomes were selling fast, typically within 2 weeks. But guess how long this perfect-for-me house had been on the market ...

An astounding 5 months! God saved it just for me.

While my contract was pending, the house continued to be shown and people started making offers. I found a passel of various realtor cards in a kitchen drawer, so there was apparently a lot of interest. Had they only known it was a gift to me from the Maker of Heaven and Earth, they could have saved themselves some time.

Immeasurably more than I asked or imagined.

Here's one of three fountains in the park.
The tunnel goes under the street to a fountain on the other side ...

... where the sidewalk ends with an engraved quote from Seinfeld: "Serenity now!"

Being there

The first night I slept in my new home, it was on the couch in an otherwise empty living room, with stacks of moving boxes nearby in the dining area. May 17 was a special night.

The only other furniture I brought was my desk, a small bookcase, a trunk, and the nightstand and lingerie chest I've had since I was 8 years old. So I spent the next few months shopping, decorating, organizing, and planting. It was a fresh start on life, and every morning felt like Christmas.

I'm not exaggerating, folks. That's how good life has been lately. And one reason I'm reveling in it is that all will not be right with my world forever. Some trial or trouble is always around the corner. But I do feel better equipped to handle whatever comes next, because how could I possibly complain about anything?

In my old neighborhood, I barely knew one nice neighbor. And right before I moved out, a crazy neighbor severely vandalized my brand-new, long-awaited vehicle (my first one in over 20 years). It really stinks when you're an innocent victim caught in the crossfire of a feud.

Bless the rule-following
citizens of Mayberry

How different it is here! The people are all so friendly. Many of them have dogs and are often out walking them in the quaint, well-kept neighborhood or the marvelous park. So far, I've met Coco, Rocko, Jo-Jo, Tup-Tup, Charlie, Gwen, and Macey, and their owners, of course.

Even the delivery drivers are friendlier here. With my extensive add-to-cart activities online, packages were arriving frequently. I was cleaning my front door one day and stopped when I saw a FedEx guy getting out of his truck. He smiled and waved as he bounded up the walk. I returned the greeting, but my face fell as he veered toward Kevin and Kiara's door. "Don't worry!" he called out cheerfully. "I'll bring you something tomorrow."

I was outside again the next day, and sure enough, he brought me a package, beaming as he said, "I told you I'd bring you something!" I think he was even whistling while he walked. And I think that was the moment I first realized I was living in Mayberry.

If a package is left at my door when I'm not home, Kevin puts it in his house for safekeeping. Then he sends me a text that he has it and to let him know when I'm home. After I do, his next message is "Here I come."

During the Hurricane Harvey aftermath (another great thing about my house is that it's never flooded), I got a text from Kevin that said "Hungry?" After replying "Always," I got the familiar "Here I come." I walked outside to a big smile, a sweet hug, two kolaches, and a donut. Now that's a good neighbor. He's also a brother in Christ.

Ron is great too. He has loaned me his big ladder, unstuck my garage door, and replaced my driveway lightbulb. Every trash day, he picks up my empty can and recycle bin from the curb and puts them by my garage.

One Saturday, just like Kevin said would happen, Ron invited me to have a beer with him and Ruth on their tricked-out patio. It was while I was sweeping out the garage. I was so happy to get the coveted invitation that I dropped my broom and scampered over without a moment's thought of my appearance.

It wasn't until I was sitting on their swing with a cold beer in my hand that I realized I wasn't even fit to be seen at Walmart. No makeup and pulled-back hair were bad enough. But no bra and pajama shorts? Goodness gracious. The best I can say is that my T-shirt wasn't hideous. And all I could do was try to curl up in a ball as much as possible without looking like a total freak.

With Betsy & Jen. We laughed so
much that day it was ridiculous.

Anyhoo, I've been having the best time extending invitations of my own. Friday dinners and Sunday lunches with family. Saturday morning coffee with Aunt Jeanette. Saturday afternoon brunch with Betsy and Jen. "Happy hour" with a gang of work friends. Dinner with my pastor and his wife. Coming up: "Bull Durham night" with Clai.

These times are wonderful even when things don't go as planned. It was raining during the happy hour get-together, so people couldn't flow out onto the patio as I had hoped. But it was cozy with all of us crammed together in my little living room (the open layout makes it feel bigger).

And when Lance and Cheryl came for dinner, my crockpot had been on warm all day instead of low, growing bacteria in the brisket instead of slow-cooking it. But just before they arrived, I made it back from Goode Company BBQ with meat quite likely tastier than any I could have made.

As much as I love having people over, I cherish my alone time, doing things like:

Sitting on the patio in the morning, drinking coffee and reading my Bible
Standing barefoot on the patio in the evening, watering my plants with a hose
Walking in the park at sunset, enjoying God's creation and reflecting on His kindness

It's not always quiet, though. Sometimes I like to crank up the music and dance like nobody's watching, because nobody is! Living alone certainly agrees with me, especially in a place like this.

I'll leave you with just a few more park pictures and this blissful thought ... Mayberry abides.

O happy day

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Thu, 29 Dec 2016 19:50:00 +0000

Instead of writing about the joys and pleasures of this Christmas season, I thought I'd share my testimony, the story of my redemption. Without it, all joys and pleasures would be fleeting.

Besides, sharing about the "happy day when Jesus washed my sins away" is a pleasure in itself. Please read and enjoy:

My testimony of salvation

Well, and maybe I'll share just one picture of the grandkids on Christmas Eve ...

Chicken Thursday

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Mon, 14 Nov 2016 18:48:00 +0000

A white-haired veteran who had served 10 years in the Marine Corps said, "I try to have more hope than opinions." That gem of wisdom from Arthur might have contributed to him living a life with no regrets—a claim I've never heard from anyone else before.

I had the pleasure of meeting him during a visit to the spinal cord injury unit at the VA hospital, along with my friend and colleague Jasmine. We were there as part of a volunteer group.

Arthur’s roommates, Claiborne and Mr. Johnson, are both Army veterans who live in Louisiana. Claiborne served in the Korean War and Mr. Johnson served in Vietnam. (No disrespect intended. I just remember two first names and one last name, although one first name might actually be a last name.)

We brought them a box lunch from Jason’s Deli and a “Home of the Brave” T-shirt, both provided through our employer. The men appreciated those things, but clearly not as much as they appreciated our listening ears. We mostly just asked questions.

They seemed to relish telling their stories and giving us a glimpse of their lives. The men spoke of their infirmities only when asked and even then just briefly.

Everyone needs for someone to be interested in them, even if for just a little while. And how much more for veterans like these—away from home, away from family and friends, held captive in their beds.

After 4 months in the hospital, Arthur is hoping to go home in a few days. Claiborne and Mr. Johnson have been there most of the year and still have months to go.

Besides all of them being disabled vets with ongoing medical issues, they have much in common. For example, each one of them:

Raised a passel of "good kids"
Raved about Chicken Thursday
Had no complaints
Praised the hospital staff for the care they provide
Expressed gratitude for their many blessings
Welcomed our offer to pray over them
Thanked us for our visit as heartily as we thanked them for their service

To expound on a few of the bullet points above:

Arthur raised 8 kids, and Mr. Johnson raised 5 foster kids in addition to his own.
The second Thursday of each month, a charity provides Church’s fried chicken. God bless whoever does that. The men love it and really look forward to it.
Burly Mr. Johnson actually did have one complaint. It was about the always-steamed-never-seasoned hospital food, which in context was only to express how much he enjoyed that deli sandwich.

Mr. Johnson shared fond memories from long ago as well as from last month. He reminisced about taking his brood fishing in the Louisiana swamps when they were kids, beaming as he spoke of fishing poles sticking out of both sides of the car. He also spoke of his wife’s last monthly visit when she brought him gumbo and boudin. The way Mr. Johnson described her Cajun home cooking, it was as if he could almost taste it again in the retelling.

He hopes to go home in March, but said he’s not counting the days. He did express gratitude for the laptop and TV that helps him pass the time.

After Claiborne served his country, he served God as a minister until old age and health issues forced retirement. He has no legs, has undergone over 30 surgeries with more to come, and lost his wife this year. Yet Claiborne talked of God’s goodness, grace, and blessings.

Let me tell you, we had worship with this precious man. At the end of our visit, while the 3 of us clasped hands, leaned in close, and prayed, Claiborne kept whispering, “Yes, Lord. Thank you, Lord.”

Earlier, as Jasmine and I were walking toward the hospital entrance, she suggested we have a “No Whine November.” I agreed it was a good idea, though not confident I could pull it off. A scant 2 or 3 minutes later, a complaint rolled effortlessly off of my tongue. “No Whine November," I declared, "starts … now.” Pitiful.

How apropos that Jasmine would suggest this before we visited men who had reason to complain but didn’t.

And it’s a shame they don’t have more than Chicken Thursday to rave about. Why don’t more people do more for our veterans? Why don’t I?

Confession time. I’m good at giving when it’s easy.

Visiting the VA hospital was a company-sponsored event. I was encouraged to volunteer and driven there as a carpooler. It was during paid work hours. I was given a T-shirt to wear and a nice challenge coin as a new member of the Veterans Employee Network Group. And I was incredibly blessed by the veterans I met.

That’s a whole lot of receiving for a little bit of easy giving.

Something I’m really good at giving are my opinions. It’s easy with so many!

Now, thanks to Arthur, I aspire to have more hope than opinions. Because you tend to give what you have more of. And wouldn’t hope be a good thing to give?

Along with other needed things, of course, like a deli sandwich and a little time spent listening. Even when it's not convenient.

Splendid isolation

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Tue, 23 Aug 2016 12:52:00 +0000

According to the National Park Service, Big Bend offers "splendid isolation." Indeed it does.

I went camping with my brother Rex at the park, which encompasses 800,000 acres and the Chisos Mountains. For 3 full days and 4 nights, we were completely off the grid. No electronics. No internet. No clocks. We heard no news. And the only music we heard was what the birds and crickets were making.

It was lovely ... peaceful ... still. Just what I needed.

Even the 13-hour road trip from Houston was pleasant. We drove the back way through little towns so we could stop by if we saw something interesting. In Castroville, it was Haby's Alsatian Bakery, where we each got a ham and cheese croissant, a hearty sausage wrapped in a freshly made tortilla, and their best-selling apple fritter. Because how could we possibly choose just one thing at a place like that?

Then it was an antiques store in Uvalde, where I bought a few books, mostly for decor. My favorite content is a 1942 volume of "The New Human Interest Library," subtitled "Gems of Literature." It contains the US Constitution, Declaration of Independence, famous speeches, fairy tales, and poems. How cool is that? And Rex bought two wine goblets because that's what he does.

Another stop was Langtry to visit Judge Roy Bean's historic saloon, the Jersey Lilly.

Rex bellying up to the bar

Let it rain

As we were entering Big Bend territory, the windshield wipers were working overtime. Several campers passed us going in the opposite direction. Yay! Fewer people at the campground.

I love rain, and it's a good thing because it rained every night we were there. The best rain was on Wednesday. After a day of fun meandering and for at least an hour before the rain began, we were relaxing in our camp chairs, sipping red wine, and enjoying the magnificent thunder roll across the mountains as the cool breeze swirled around us. It was a glorious time for a thunder lover like me.

When the rainstorm hit, it came fast and hard. Rex looked up to see it right on the edge of camp, so he grabbed the food containers and ran for the tent, hollering, "Get in here now! Leave the wine if you have to!"

Whut? I don't think so.

Under my arms I tucked my paper and pen, hat, shirt, and water bottle. I grabbed the wine bottle, then realized I couldn't carry two goblets in the other hand without spilling them. (Rex has metal wine goblets for camping. We like to rough it, but we're not animals.) Since mine had less vino, I chugged it down so I could hold it at an angle. Then I ran to the tent and dove in, spilling nary a drop.

Camping necessities:
Screw-cap wine, water, shop towels

I had teased Rex about having a fold-out nightstand for his tent. But now, it made perfect sense. Where else would there have been a level surface for setting the bottle and goblets?

While the rain and thunder continued, we foraged in the food supplies for dinner. What pairs well with sweet red wine? Vienna sausage, of course, served with mustard and saltines. It was quite delightful. And it was a nice follow-up to our tasty meal the first night of beef jerky, hard lemonade, and the apple fritters from Haby's.

What is it about camping that makes any food taste fabulous!

Our prime spot in the Chisos Basin Campground

Rex's trusty tent kept us dry all week. And although we had a little mud, we never had a puddle since we were camped on a hill. The desert air would dry our canvas chairs in no time at all, and it wasn't even humid after the rain would stop. So no complaints from me about the rain. Well, except for one ...

Star light, star bright

The cloudy night skies were pitch-black, shrouding the stars from sight. And stargazing topped the list of things I wanted to do! I hardly ever see stars in the city, so I was really looking forward to that. There was also an unseen meteor shower the last two nights we were there, and the opportunity to see it was one of the reasons I was okay with going in the August heat.

Every night I prayed that the sky would clear long enough for me to see the stars at least once. As I retired on Thursday after another dark, rainy evening, I was beginning to lose hope.

It must have been well after midnight when my eyes suddenly popped open. I was wide awake. My first thought was how I had been sleeping much deeper than the previous nights. Then I looked out the tent window, and what to my wondering eyes should appear but ... stars!

Rushing outside before my legs were steady, I threw my head back to survey the wondrous sight and almost fell down. So I leaned back against the car and slowly rolled my head from side to side, marveling at the illuminated expanse above.

A little while later, I made my usual predawn trek up to the restroom—sans my umbrella, flashlight, and staring down at the path in front of me. Instead, I fox-trotted up the hill and kept my eyes on the sky. There wasn't a single sound nor a single light in the entire campground. It was just me and the stars.

Then I sat in my chair for a bit, reveling in the splendor of God's light show. (No, I wasn't being selfish by not waking Rex. Unlike me, he camps often and sees plenty of stars.)

Although I was wide awake, when I lay down again I instantly fell back into a deep sleep. The next morning, I reflected on what a beautiful, unexpected way God answered my prayer. It was as if the Almighty had tapped me on the shoulder and whispered, "Come and see."

Praise Him, sun and moon; praise Him, all stars of light! (Ps. 148:3)

Boquillas

I've been to Mexico border towns before, but nothing like Boquillas. Even getting there was different. After passing through customs on the US side, Pedro took us across the Rio Grande in his rowboat, gallantly helping me in and out of it.

Then we had the choice of getting to the village by walking or by truck, horse, or burrow. If not for the triple-digit heat, we would have preferred the slow burrow experience, but opted for Felipe's truck instead.

After the sweltering trailer where we went through customs on the Mexico side, we strolled through the poor little village, first passing the two restaurants, then a house where a man sells his wares from the porch. He called out to us, but we wanted to see what else was there first, so we waved and said we'd be back.

Just one little girl approached us selling bracelets, and the only other people we saw were huddled under canopies at the end of a road. It looked like a personal gathering, so we turned and went back to the vendor we saw earlier.

Ranger Mark and Pablo

Pablo seemed to understand what we were saying, even though he spoke no English. As I selected a couple of walking sticks, an amiable park ranger, Mark, came up and introduced himself. He told us about the village and why it was so quiet that day. Victor the Singing Mexican, their premier resident, died the day before of a sudden heart attack at the age of 65.

So instead of the street being lined with canopies under which vendors sold their wares, the village was in mourning. As Pablo talked about it, the only words I understood were "Victor" and "corazón," but his sadness translated clearly. I told him how sorry I was for his loss.

We then went to the Boquillas Restaurant for an authentic Mexican meal, made from scratch by Mena in her clean little kitchen. Every bite was truly delectable.

The owner and waiter, Ventura, told us more about Boquillas and Victor's funeral procession that would go through the village to the little cemetery on the lower level. They were just waiting for Victor's son to return from helping fight a wildfire in Colorado. I really wish we could have stayed for it.

Ranger Mark stopped by the restaurant for a cold cervesas and sat with a couple from the Czech Republic, whom we also met. And all the visitors met Joaquin, an 86-year-old resident. He spoke of living on a ranch for over 70 years, and proudly showed off a rock with his face drawn on it, which sat on the table near him. Later, Joaquin carefully wrapped his rock in a cloth, tucked it away, and ambled down the street using a rickety old wheelchair for a walker.

That was a special day.

Pine Canyon

Our one big hike was the Pine Canyon trail. Off the beaten path, it isn't even in the park brochures. The "road" to the trail is so rough and rocky that we could barely drive 5 mph, so it took 50 minutes to go about 4 miles.

The first part of the trail was a slight incline on a mountain in 103° heat, with only an occasional tree to duck under for quick relief. Rex assured me that there was plenty of shade in the canyon.

Now to me, a canyon trail would be on somewhat level ground. But oh no. Even after we got in that shady, breeze-less canyon, it was uphill most of the way with the trail winding along the mountainside.

The last part of the trail was much steeper and rockier than this,
but I was too weak by then to take a picture.

So how long do you think it took me to walk 2 miles uphill on a rocky, uneven path in stifling heat? ... No, longer than that ... longer ... try a whopping 3 hours! I thought about quitting a few times, but I'm so glad I didn't.

At the end of the trail, we stepped into a waterfall oasis—a beautiful, refreshing place to rest, cool off, enjoy our surroundings, and have a little picnic lunch. I knew then I would live.

Turn your sound up to hear the gentle waterfall (01:08)

Two good things about me taking numerous and lengthy rest stops to get there were: 1) The only other hikers, who arrived shortly before us, were able to enjoy the waterfall by themselves as we did later; 2) Rex didn't have to hoist my limp, unresponsive body across his shoulders and carry me back to the car.

You're welcome, folks.

Actually, Rex said he would not have carried me—deeming it more prudent to make sure he was able to get himself back safely so he could tell my story.

What played a big part in helping me soldier on was knowing that the 2 miles back would be mostly downhill, which I covered in a mere hour and 15 minutes. Then after another 50 minutes of 5 mph driving, we were back on the paved road. When we passed the crowded parking at one of the touristy trails, I was feeling even better about the experience.

It left us with a hefty appetite, so on our last night we actually cooked dinner (that is, we heated canned chili) and feasted on Frito pie.

Oh, I would be remiss not to mention the exquisite pleasure of pour-over coffee every morning. Utterly sublime.

Homeward bound

Dividing the drive home over two days, we stopped at brother Mike and sister-in-law Toni's charming little ranch in the hill country of Camp Verde, where there were long showers, soft beds, good food, and sweet fellowship. What a lovely way to assimilate back into society.

I limited this post to just a few highlights of the trip for your sake. But if you're not tired yet, take a gander at more pictures below.

And until next time ... via con Dios, mi amigos!

One of the two Boquillas shopping outlets we visited on the US side
(Money goes under the rock that's inside the can)

Rio Grande view from the shopping outlet above

Our ferry captain (and the glow of Rex's finger)

Scene in downtown Boquillas

Our muy bien lunch and Joaquin's rock (circled in the background)

View from our camping chairs

View slightly to the left

View from the early stage of Pine Canyon trail

View from a drive

Entrance sign (taken on the way out since it was raining on the way in)

An unexpectedly good birthday

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Tue, 26 Jul 2016 04:08:00 +0000

The third annual "Treat Yo Self Day" didn't happen. Instead of the birthday extravaganza where I lavish myself with treats from morning to night, I just went to work.

The last time I worked on my birthday? I honestly can't remember. It just never seemed like the right thing to do.

But I took most of this year's vacation days to take care of Mom before she passed—an infinitely better use of my time off. So now I'm carefully meting out the few days I have left. Ergo, the extravaganza was forgone.

Nevertheless, I always love my birthday, and today was no exception. It started out a little shaky, though. I cried most of the way to work, thinking about Mom. I wonder when I'll quit thinking, This is my first [fill in the blank] without her.

My friends and colleagues certainly turned things around. They gave me treats ...

... decorated (trashed) my cubicle while I was at lunch ...

... and as I walked back in, lunged out of their cubicles on cue and blew horns. Yes, they tried to give me a heart attack for my birthday. Thankfully, there's no picture of my reaction.

I liked the message on my whiteboard. Jasmine ran out of room to finish writing "birthday" and had to improvise. I also appreciated her omission of the obligatory exclamation point. It reminded me of something Dwight from "The Office" would write.

The cake Melissa got me was delightfully unique as well. It was supposed to be cupcakes with white icing and cupcakes with red icing arranged to look like a target—commemorating the acquisition of my License to Carry. Apparently, there was a slight misunderstanding at the bakery. Don't you just love it, though?

Not a lot of work got done, so it was practically like having the day off anyway. And in honor of the special occasion, some of my colleagues took it easy as well, spending generous amounts of time visiting with me. Now that's true team support.

Of all the birthday wishes on Facebook, my favorite ones were from Sara and Christian, my little brunette darlins'. And of the birthday wishes via phone, my favorite ones were from Evyn and Ezra, my little blonde darlins'.

The blondes & brunettes when we were at Sub Zero Ice Cream on Saturday

So when I don't treat myself, God does it for me, in His usual fashion of pouring out showers of blessings through others.

Even so, a little online shopping before bed might be nice ...

Sara Jane

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Thu, 28 Apr 2016 02:00:00 +0000

My first post of the year is never this late, but 2016 has been very different so far. My life, in fact, will never again be the same.

Mummy & me quite a few years ago

The woman I've known longer than anyone—who loved me more than any person could—is gone.

I was privileged to be with Mom on the ride to the end of her life on earth. One day she sighed, "I've been dying for 3 months." "I know, Mom," I replied. "But since you know Jesus, you're really just getting ready to live forever."

She's with Him now—He who is sovereign over all and whose timing is perfect.

Mom was ready to go weeks before Jesus took her. She told us she wasn't afraid, and she pleaded with God to take her on home. But He said, "Wait."

While we waited, I got to spend more precious time with Mom as well as write her eulogy and, with the help of my sweet and talented daughter, Angy, create a video of her life in pictures.

I was staying at Mom's house. Angy came every day to help me take care of her. For weeks, we thought she could go at any minute. But when the day came that God ordained in eternity past for Mom's death, He let us know that it was imminent.

After Angy got home that evening, the Lord wouldn't let her sit still, stirring her heart and prompting her to go back to Mom's. About an hour and a half after she returned, Angy, Rex, and I were caressing Mom, loving her, softly weeping over her, and watching her take her final breaths in peace. God arranged it perfectly.

He brings about all things at the proper time—

"He who is the blessed and only Sovereign, the King of kings and Lord of lords" (1 Tim. 6:15).

The most wonderful time of the year

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Fri, 01 Jan 2016 05:28:00 +0000

Pajamas. Pillows. Laptop. Wine. I've got all the makings of the perfect New Year's Eve celebration. As the sound of fireworks punctuate the night outside my window, I sit propped up in bed, reflecting on my lovely 24.5-day Christmas vacation.

After many days of joy and good cheer, I've been experiencing some of the emotional downside of the final days. Sadness over the last piece of fudge. Bewilderment over what to have for breakfast since the leftover sausage balls and deviled eggs are gone. Dread over the thought of having to set my alarm again.

But there's plenty of good things to reflect on. Aside from all the wonderful holiday festivities, it's been so nice to just have time. Time to do things like:

Sleep late, one of the many benefits of which was watching movies and football games at night without crashing before the end
Meet my son for a delicious breakfast followed by firearm shopping
Finish reading one book and resume editing another book, both of which I started months ago
Search 9 stores for little "Mashems" because one of my grandsons wanted them
Be cool in holiday traffic and just enjoy singing along to Christmas carols on the radio
Take 5 days to wrap 35 gifts for grandkids (It's enjoyable for the first few; then it's just work.)
Complete my gift spreadsheet to ensure that each kid had the same number of gifts to unwrap and that I would pass them out in the correct order, aided by my new method of including numbers on the name tags (How did I not think of that before!)

The wee ones

I also spent an entire day revamping the story of "The Three Trees" and coming up with illustrations for the kids to color as a Christmas Eve activity. They took turns holding up their artwork while I read the story, fighting back my tears during the parts about the tree that became a makeshift cradle for the newborn Christ and the tree that became His cross. It was a fitting prelude to talking about the reason for the season before gifts were opened.

The big one with his new robe and keyboard

Throughout the evening and all day on Christmas, it's like I told my friend Monica—for a solid day and a half, my mouth never stopped moving because I was either eating or talking. She made some "as usual" comment that I could only agree with. Her honesty is appreciated.

Most of my Facebook friends posted pictures of Christmas celebrations with their families. I don't know what this says about me and mine, but our main post was just a lot of trash talk about the annual Scrabble tournament on Christmas night. I was humbled again this year, but I'm still doubling down on my accusation of ... well, I don't want to say cheating, so I'll go with "unfair advantages."

The song "The Most Wonderful Time of the Year" has been playing in my head, so I took a moment to personalize the chorus. All I had to do was replace "mistletoeing." We didn't do that, and it's not a word anyway.

It's the most wonderful time of the year
There'll be much ~~mistletoeing~~ Scrabble crowing
And hearts will be glowing
When loved ones are near
It's the most wonderful time of the year!

The sock snowmen makers

For a day of post-Christmas fun, Sara and Christian came over. I love that they showed up wearing their new robes and pajamas. We made sock snowmen and a Happy New Year card for their mommy and daddy. We played Spoons and rolled dice. We talked a lot and laughed a lot. We ate candy. When Angy asked Sara if she had a good day, she replied, "I loved it so much." Yeah, me too, little girl.

Well, it's getting late, and all that's left to complete my New Year's Eve celebration is venture outside at midnight to see what's popping. Or not. At least my new year's resolution is made—get a concealed carry permit in January to go with the late Christmas present I'm getting myself.

Here's to an armed and safe 2016!

The big move

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Thu, 19 Nov 2015 00:32:00 +0000

News of the big move broke over a year ago. It was a major life event I wasn't ready to accept, mostly because it made no sense.

The reason given for the forced migration of employees from their home offices to the corporate "offices"—a misnomer since there are only cubicles—was better collaboration. But my manager was on the east coast, the vice president I did communications for was on the west coast, and the rest of the team were scattered in between. I was the only one of us in Houston, so who was I supposed to collaborate with?

Plus, I had a lengthy list of valid reasons why teleworking was good for myself and good for the company. My manager knew me as an employee who was always at work rather than always at home. And she knew the long, uninterrupted hours I put in were needed to keep up with the demands of my job. So she asked that I be put at the back of the line for a cubicle on the Houston campus.

Thanks, Bonnie, and thank you, Lord, for giving me plenty of time to get accustomed to the idea. You've been bringing me along at the pace I needed. And how far I've come since the "old gang" dinner in January when, on my second margarita, I ranted to former colleagues about how stupid the move was. How a capital-E-extrovert like me who likes to have a good time couldn't be around people all day, or nobody would get anything done. I warned that I'd be chatting people up. And I vowed to bring back hallway bowling, Nerf ping-pong, and other such workday activities of old.

A couple of months later, I learned where I was landing in the new organization because of the company split. My new manager would be Melissa, and our VP would be Tracie. Fantastic! I adore them both. Oh, but guess who was sitting across from me during my margarita-fueled rant about how little work I would do after I got back on campus ... yep, my new manager. It's a good thing Melissa realizes that 90% of what I say in that type of situation is just to get a rise or a laugh.

The boss ladies were looking for space to get our new team together on campus, and I would be expected to come in. They gently broke the news to me over a lovely lunch with gifts and cake to celebrate my birthday as well as my 25th work anniversary. No rant this time. I had already accepted the inevitable, and it made sense for me to be physically with the people I'd be working closely with on a daily basis.

That's all I ask before I fall in line—just make it make sense.

My first day back was September 28. As I headed out the door with my backpack and my new lunch kit, it felt like the first day of school, like a fresh new beginning. But by the time my 18-minute drive along the back roads had taken 35 minutes and I narrowly escaped a wreck, I was over it. Where did all those people come from! I'd been blissfully sheltered from rush-hour traffic for so long that it was a culture shock. (Spoiled. I know.)

One of the boss ladies suggested that I leave the house either early or late to avoid traffic, whichever worked better for me. Leaving early was the most appealing option, so I just had to decide what I could do at the office instead of at home. The two choices were put on my makeup or read my Bible. Charitably deciding not to subject the nice guy at the coffee drive-thru with my zombie face, I opted for reading at the office.

It's working out great! Not only do I beat the traffic, but reading Scripture in my quiet little cubicle before the others arrive is the best start to my workday. And since I'm no longer reading in bed with a groggy brain first thing in the morning, my reading pleasure and retention have improved.

I was relieved that the cubicles weren't as bad as I had envisioned. Ages ago when I started teleworking, I left a giant cubicle farm in the bowels of the building where there were no windows. But I returned to a single aisle of cubicles on the 7th floor with windows all the way down one side. Not too shabby.

The boss ladies wanted to give me a cubicle with a window, but the only one not occupied by a team member had been claimed by a squatter. He refused to move even though his team was in another city and he rarely came to the office. (In 6 weeks, I saw him exactly 3 times. And yes, I was nice to him even though he was in "my" spot.)

I had to take the cubicle right across the aisle from Squatter Guy, sharing a wall with a huge server room that emits a loud, constant hum. It's like sitting in the back of a plane all day.

To alleviate the sting, Tracie gave me a fake window to a fake beach for my wall. That was really nice. When I'd get claustrophobic, though, I'd have to stand up and look out Squatter Guy's big window to the real world.

But you know what? If I hadn't spent two months in the hole before Squatter Guy quit, I wouldn't be enjoying my big window so much now. That's right, it's finally mine!

I'm also now facing the other direction and I'm a bit farther from the hum of the server room, so it's like I moved from the back of the plane to the front. I tell y'all what ... God's timing on every little thing is absolutely perfect.

Naturally, I'm enjoying the social aspect of working on campus. Can you guess what I dressed up as for Halloween? Hint: My slogan was "business on the top, party on the bottom."

If you guessed that I was a teleworker, you're partially correct. Specifically, I was a teleworker at a video conference. The only times I dressed up in my home office were on the rare occasions I had to be on the webcam. So I'd dress on top, but stay comfy and casual on the bottom.

I first considered going as a nonspecific teleworker. But I was concerned that my colleagues would never look at me the same had I shown up in full-blown teleworker mode. "Party on the top" would have meant bed hair, no makeup, wife-beater undershirt, and no bra.

Yep, I made the right decision.

Although the list of positives about teleworking is way longer than the list of positives about working on-site, I'm staying focused on the latter. And some of those positives carry a lot of weight, especially these two: 1) It's invigorating to be out among the living again; and 2) My back is hurting less since I'm not super-glued to my chair for a ridiculous number of hours each week.

I won't lie, though. It's been a difficult period of adjustment. Here are just a few little examples: 1) I'm still unable to keep my shoes on all day; 2) I still talk out loud to myself while working; and 3) I tend to get pouty in the evenings when I have to get up from watching TV in my recliner to pack my breakfast and lunch for the next day.

But when all is considered, what else can I say but this ... How blessed I was to be where I was. How blessed I am to be where I am.

How blessed are the people whose God is Yahweh! (Psalm 144:15)

A birthday not according to plan

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Wed, 29 Jul 2015 03:24:00 +0000

It's my birthday and it's going to be fabulous, just like last year. That was my first conscious thought. It made me smile even before my eyes were open. But then I looked at the clock.

"Crap!" That was my first word of the day.

It was after 8:00. The plan was for Angy, Mom, Rex and I to meet in the HomeGoods parking lot at 8:30, then take my car to La Madeleine. I called Angy to see if she would pick up the others and wait for me at the restaurant. My phone call woke her up.

Like mother, like daughter (Ezekiel 16:44).

With plan B shot down, I considered just throwing on my clothes and taking off. But when I called Rex, still mumbling in a disoriented panic, he calmly said, "Take your shower. You'll feel better." Then I heard Mom in the background: "Tell her to put her eyes on too." So I said I'd be there by 9:15.

It was almost 9:30 when I whipped out of my driveway. Speeding and weaving around traffic, I yelled to unsuspecting motorists, "Don't you know I'm late for my birthday breakfast!" (Confession: sometimes I enjoy being horrible as long as other people don't know about it.)

Finally, we were seated at La Madeleine, having coffee and a good time. My plan was to eat a light breakfast so that after a little shopping I would be ready for brunch at Down House. But the others talked me into ordering a hearty breakfast, which turned out to be a good thing, as you'll see later.

The gracious stranger taking our picture said to make a crazy smile.

We had such a nice time, and I received some lovely gifts. So although my birthday had a rocky start, it was now going more like I had envisioned.

We returned to the strip center where the other cars were parked. It's one of my favorite shopping spots, and I planned to hit HomeGoods, then Barnes & Noble, then Office Depot. My plan was soon thwarted. There was a power outage in the strip center and all the stores were closed. Huh.

Angy and Mom decided to go on home. I told them I enjoyed our breakfast so much that even if I didn't do anything else, it was already a great birthday. (Later, I would wonder if God tested me because of that statement.)

Rex and I soldiered on. We were determined to replicate the full day of delicious eating and fruitful shopping we did last year (see The birthday, part 1).

As we were getting in my car, I realized I had grabbed Robert's keys instead of mine, and the automatic door opener for my car was missing from his key ring. Uh-oh. It must have come off somehow at La Madeleine. We went back to search, but it was nowhere to be found.

I learned later what a waste of time that was because it came off of Robert's key ring years ago. I must have neglected to lock the car at the restaurant, then just thought I unlocked it when I was actually using the door opener for Robert's truck. I tell you this boring incident only because it's indicative of how the rest of the day went.

We browsed at a couple of stores along Highway 6, but didn't find anything to buy. As we drove in the direction of the Heights where we planned to have brunch, Rex and I talked about how there's never a reason to get upset when things don't go our way because God is sovereign and His plans always trump ours. As my pastor's wife, Cheryl, has said, "If you want to make God laugh, just tell Him your plans."

Because of freeway closures and stalled traffic, we stayed on the back roads all day. And goodness gracious, we traversed an awful lot of them. I don't know what it was, but if we should have turned right, we turned left. If we should have gone straight, we went in a big circle. If we should have made a U-turn, we didn't. Much of my birthday was spent driving around, lost and confused.

We finally located a shopping center with a HomeGoods and an Office Depot way, way out on Eldridge, which we discovered is a world apart from North Eldridge. We also discovered that not all stores of the same name are created equal. These were quite awful, and we left them empty-handed. So even though it was afternoon by then, my trunk was still bereft of packages.

Badly needing the solace of food and drink, we headed for Down House (via an indirect route). I was glad to get out of the car, but it wasn't easy. I was wearing shorts and had been driving so long that my legs were stuck firmly to the leather seat.

We walked in at 3:30. Brunch ends at 3:00. So I had to cross off the chicken and waffles part of my plan. Instead, Rex and I had a Bloody Mary and split a burger, which was exactly what we had last year, except last year it was at a different restaurant and tasted a whole lot better.

Afterward, we drove to Montrose and found yet another shopping center with a HomeGoods and an Office Depot, but left empty-handed again. Hope, however, was still alive. As planned, we were going to finish our shopping at a place that sells custom silver jewelry. Each of us would surely be walking out of there with a little drawstring bag of goodies.

We pulled up 20 minutes after the shop had closed.

My spot-on gifts

Apparently, I wasn't supposed to buy myself a birthday present. Nor did I need to. People gave me the type of things I would have picked out for myself. (Good job, people!)

Not shown in the gift photo is my "FootMate System," and not clearly visible is my electronic callous remover and my foot cream. Just me mentioning recently that my feet were getting past the point of repair was enough for Mom to circle the wagons and rally the troops. I can just imagine her announcing, "We've got to get Paula Kay some foot care products!"

The last item on my birthday plan was eating Mexican food at Cadillac Bar. We weren't all that hungry after our late non-brunch, so we just had appetizers and a margarita. I was so full afterward, it annoyed me to see other people eating. How can they stuff themselves like that when I'm so full? Do they not care that it's making me sick to watch them?

For a full 12 hours, my brother and I tried to replicate a great day we had before, but nothing much went according to plan. Even so, we enjoyed our adventure and appreciated it for what it was—time spent together and somehow always finding things to laugh about.

We managed to stay in a good mood throughout what could have been a frustrating day. It's all about knowing the One who's in control.

This is the day that the Lord has made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it. (Psalm 118:24)

Hall of Friends

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Wed, 01 Jul 2015 03:58:00 +0000

Something's always wrong to some degree, right? And sometimes, all you need to make things better is a little time with friends.

After being uplifted recently by a couple of my long-time BFs, Jennifer and Betsy, I began reflecting on all the lovely friends I've been blessed with throughout my life. This inspired my Hall of Friends. So the first ones in are Betsy and Jennifer.

Betsy, me, and Jennifer
at Drew's Pastry Place last week

See how they're tucked in behind me with their bodies at an angle? Maybe they were just trying to fit in the shot. Or maybe they were positioning themselves so they wouldn't look as wide as me. Never mind that they're not as wide. The point is that best friends can do stuff like that and you're totally cool with it. (But either way, girls, one of you have to be in the middle next time, okay?)

The three of us met when we were in the same group at work, and even though that connection ended years ago, our friendship continues and our bond keeps getting tighter. We meet every few months for lunch and make an afternoon of it for our year-end celebration in December. These ladies just fit the bill of what friends should be.

Now for the other inductees to my Hall of Friends.

Keeping this to a blog post instead of a book required that I establish some hard-to-meet criteria. So lest any of my many wonderful friends be disappointed not to see their names here, please note that an inductee must:

Be a female without familial connection
Think my flaws are endearing
Appreciate my sarcasm (realizing it's not a flaw)
Share her secrets and keep mine
Laugh every time I say something funny
Pretend not to hear when my attempts at humor fail
Instantly forgive me for the asinine things I say
Make me feel better by just being around her
Have considered me a best friend for at least 7 years
Be totally honest while having my best interests at heart

Examples of the last bullet point include: telling me when I've got food on my face, or better yet, nonchalantly wiping it off (thanks, Betsy); not allowing me to refuse a breath mint if I need one; and telling me right away if a new haircut is unflattering instead of waiting til it grows out.

I could list many more criteria and examples, but don't want to scare off potential BFs, because you're never too old to have new ones.

And before revealing the other honorees, my apologies to best friends from elementary school. For the sake of time and space, I'm starting from junior high, which was 7th–9th grade back in my day.

Shelly
Something clicked between me and Shelly when we met the first day of school (in spite of her dorky outfit). We were instantly best friends and spent as much time together as possible, even walking several miles to each other's homes, meeting midway along the railroad tracks. It might have been only 2 or 3 miles, but it felt really long, especially during the sweltering summer breaks.

From grades 8–11, Shelly and I had every class together, sat together at lunch, never went to the restroom alone, hung out before and after school, had sleepovers on weekends, went to parties and rock concerts together, and double-dated. Our first job was at the Metropolitan movie theater downtown, and our second job was at the Burger King by Shelly's house.

Our names were always spoken together at school. Paula and Shelly. Shelly and Paula. Never one without the other. Then came the 11th grade when my 16-year-old BF did the unthinkable.

Shelly got married. Moved. Changed schools. And she didn't have to get married—she chose to. I felt demoted, cast aside even. And our dream of riding horseback from Texas to California after graduation? Squashed.

As much as I adored her boyfriend-fiance-husband, I wasn't exactly thrilled. Looking back, I must admit being terribly petulant and selfish about it all. Case in point—when shopping for bridesmaid dresses, I chose a tiara to go with mine.

Shelly (10th grade?), me in the 11th
(the real tiara wasn't nearly this big)

Nobody puts Baby in a corner.

If anyone wears a tiara at a wedding, it's the bride, of course. But this maid of honor wore one. And Shelly was okay with it. That's the kind of crazy, selfless friend she was.

I hung out with Shelly, her husband, and his friends on occasion, our most memorable adventure being spring break of '71 on Padre Island. But I didn't have a BF at school anymore. Just hung out with my guy friends and other girlfriends until I began dating an older man with hair halfway down his back and a Harley. He became my world then, and his friends were my friends.

Dennis Kay
I didn't have a BF again until I was 19 or 20 and my boyfriend's BF started dating Dennis Kay. I couldn't have hand-picked a better friend. Dennis and I laughed like Shelly and I did. We just had the best time together. I absolutely adored her and loved hanging out with her.

Dennis and I went through a lot of changes together. From being the freewheeling hippie-chick girlfriends of older men, to being married ladies, to being young mothers. Through it all, whenever we were together, we had a blast.

Dennis, me, and Shelly (ca. 1980ish)

This photo of me with both Dennis and Shelly is one of a kind. I think the only time the 3 of us hung out together was at my toddlers' birthday parties.

Suddenly it seemed, Dennis divorced her husband and started a new life. I was dumped again. The first time through a marriage. The second time through a divorce.

Marilyn Gay
What kept me from being a tiara-wearing martyr this time was my growing friendship with Marilyn Gay. Having been washed in the soul-cleansing blood of the Lamb just a few years prior, I was discovering the incredible joy of a having a BF who is also a sister-in-Christ.

Gay had been a Christian for a long time, so she was a mentor to me as well as a friend. And, like my BFs before her, we had the best time together. It was just different. Deeper.

We not only socialized together, we served together. I was with Gay at least 3 or 4 times every week for church and ministry activities. We also wrote Christian songs together that Gay performed at church. Somewhere between all of that, we would talk for hours. And a better prayer partner I've never had.

Gay in 1997

When I got cancer (lymphoma) in 1986, Gay was there every step of the way. She did whatever she could for me. And during an entire year of body-crushing chemo, not a single day passed that she didn't call to check on me, never hanging up without saying, "I love you."

Life took some twists and turns that resulted in Gay moving, me getting divorced, and both of us joining new churches.

Sherry

Sherry with James
(who was too close to crop
out of my girls-only post!)

Gay and I had become close friends with Sherry, who became a true and lasting BF to me. She filled the void beautifully after Gay moved.

Sherry and I encouraged each other, but she helped me a lot more than I helped her. The kindness of Sherry and her family, especially during my divorce, is something I'll always be grateful for.

Even though we've been separated by distance and circumstance for a long time now, if I ever need Sherry, I trust that she'll be there for me in whatever way she can. BFs always have your back.

Clai
My job brought my next BF forever, Clai, who's like Shelly and Dennis rolled into one. Talk about clicking. We're all about honesty, unwavering trust, and cracking each other up so much it's ridiculous.

A friendship can survive anything if it can survive traveling together. The business trips Clai and I took were some of the best times of my life and only solidified our relationship.

In San Francisco, San Diego, and Washington D.C.
Note the "blind" selfie with a nondigital camera (and check out my giant spectacles!)

Even though we gradually drifted apart after I remarried, we're now back to spending time together. It was like rediscovering your favorite robe in a corner of the closet, slipping back into its extraordinary comfort, its perfect fit, and wondering why you ever stopped wearing it. (Yes, Clai, you remind me of an old robe.)

We're again enjoying our time together so much that if other people are around, we have to try really hard not to ignore them. Even through text messages, we can make each other laugh to the point of pain.

Back to Marilyn Gay
It was during the early years of my second marriage that Gay was diagnosed with breast cancer. I'm sorry to say that I wasn't there for her like she had been for me. Sure, things were different. We lived farther apart, weren't involved in each other's lives like before, and I was busy focusing on making marriage work this time.

But that's no excuse. Although I was with Gay at the hospital for her mastectomy, I visited only a few times during the months that she fought tenaciously to get well. And I didn't call nearly often enough.

I was supposed to go see her one Saturday, but something happened and I couldn't make it. When I called to postpone our visit by a week, I heard the disappointment in Gay's voice. What she knew, and I didn't, was that the end was near. She did say that the treatments weren't working anymore, but gave no indication of just how dire the situation was. She still sounded the same, and the last time I had seen her, she still looked great.

We had a good, long conversation, talking of things like timeless eternity and how we'd get to spend it together.

The following Saturday as planned, I went to visit Gay. She had declined so rapidly in that short time that she could barely speak. And I was so shocked by the drastic change in her appearance that I could barely speak, either. But at least we got to say "I love you" one last time.

At her memorial service, the pastor read a letter Gay had written to "leave some 'bouquets' of thanks to some special people," two of whom were Sherry and me. "To Paula Kay," Gay wrote, "my buddy, who is always my friend."

Her last words to me were a testament to what a true friend she was. Gay understood why I wasn't there for her in the same way she had been for me, and there was no blame, no judgment, only gratitude for what we shared. "To Paula Kay ... who is always my friend." Present tense. Without end.

Gay concluded her message by saying, "Each time you see a flower that you enjoy, close your eyes and hear me say, 'Thank you for giving to the Lord.' Because of you, I truly am a life that was changed. I love you all. See you in Paradise."

Back at ya, sweetheart. I miss you so much.

Ladies, let's celebrate our friends. Cherish the old ones. Make new ones. Enjoy them all.

Austin III

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Wed, 29 Apr 2015 02:48:00 +0000

The blankets of Texas bluebonnets had already been put away for the year. Even so, the drive to Austin for little brother's birthday celebration was lovely.

I was especially relaxed since the food itinerary was locked and loaded. Applying knowledge gained from past mistakes, I had carefully considered when and where we should eat, then presented my proposal to Rex and Dale the previous weekend.

My easygoing brothers were amenable to the itinerary, to wit:

Lunch at Gus's World Famous Fried Chicken. One year of regret about not doing it last time is all I can take.
Dinner at Gloria's. It's a tad pricey, perhaps because they call it Latin cuisine instead of Mexican food, but it's good. This will at least ensure avoidance of a mistake like the Uncle-Julio's-Fine-Mexican-Food debacle of Austin II.
Breakfast at the Driskill's 1886 Cafe & Bakery. This time, I would not leave before having one of their cinnamon rolls, the delights of which was a memorable discovery during Austin I.

At some point during the drive—after much talk of how we wanted the ashes of our bodily remains disposed of—I realized we'd be arriving later than the itinerary supported. So after several miles of contemplation, I presented a modified version.

Lunch, no change. Gus's Fried Chicken was going to happen. But since we'd be having a late lunch, we could have only light appetizers at Gloria's, and then at the end of what was sure to be a long night, get something from the food truck fleet at 7th and Congress.

Again, the plan was approved, and I was at ease. (My brothers are excellent traveling companions.)

Gus didn't let us down. The juices of the tender chicken are trapped inside extra crispy skin with surprisingly thin batter. And it's cooked to order, so it arrives piping hot and fresh.

Out-of-focus chicken is all there is to show you
(a 3rd trip is like a 3rd child when it comes to picture taking)

After my first bite, I realized the rich, ruddy color is likely from cayenne pepper. We didn't see mild and spicy options on the menu, and the waitress didn't ask. It makes sense, though. Spicy is just how fried chicken should be. And while it wasn't hot enough to give us swollen lips, we were definitely "lip aware" by the end of the meal.

We made a grievous error, however, by substituting potato salad for one of the sides. It was truly the worst I've ever attempted to eat. Just couldn't do it. The other sides weren't great, either. So before leaving, plans were made to order only the chicken next time, along with fried pickles for an appetizer since they were better than the fried green tomatoes.

Now that's a solid plan.

We walked around for a while, then went back to the hotel. Aside from wanting to relax, we felt obligated to spend time in a room that breaks down per hour to about ... well, a whole lot.

What we liked best about the Hilton were the beds. They're super comfy and minus the standard germ-infested bedspread. Why can't all hotels nestle a soft white comforter between clean white sheets?

Stretching out on the top sheets, we watched 4 straight episodes of "House Hunters." (Did I tell you what excellent traveling companions my brothers are?) We even managed to find something to laugh about in every episode.

The sky had been cloudy all day, and by the time we turned off the TV, it was already getting dark. So we trekked over to Gloria's, where we sat outside, enjoying the mild weather, margaritas, and muy bueno tortilla chips with salsa.

Adhering to the food itinerary, we ordered appetizers—one of steak fajita quesadillas and one of steak fajita nachos. Now, I'm accustomed to being served a pile of nachos on a platter, not 6 chips neatly arranged on a child's plate. My mathematical mind (sarcastic smiley) instantly calculated 2 chips each. Really, Gloria?

At least the chips had a generous serving of meat, unlike the sparse sprinkling on nacho platters, so that was a plus. It was all quite tasty and actually turned out to be just the right amount of food. (Stupid, greedy stomach.)

We had barely begun our stroll to figure out where to go first for live music. Then WHOOSH! We were bum-rushed by an outburst of wind, halting our forward motion. As debris swirled around us, Rex pointed across the street and yelled, "Dizzy Rooster!" We made it inside just seconds before the floodgates of the sky opened up.

The muted TVs on the wall showed what looked to be a spirited description of the storm by a local weather girl (come on now, that's so much easier to type than meteorologist). A warning flashed across the screen: "Stay indoors." You betcha.

As the rain crashed down, the band played on. They were decent enough, interspersing songs we'd never heard with sing-along classics from the likes of The Beatles, Ritchie Valens, and Steve Miller Band. One of the current songs I knew and enjoyed, "Chicken Fried" by Zac Brown Band, but I doubt that Dale and Rex did. Bros need to learn that country fans have more fun.

The fun stopped when the DJ took over, pandering to the college crowd with the kind of thumping hip-hop that drives me up the wall. We were sitting right next to a giant speaker, and the music was so loud, I could feel my heart vibrating and my rib cage rattling. I jumped up, screamed, "I can't take this!" and bolted for the door.

Thankfully, only light drops of residual rain were dripping down by that time. But even if the storm had been raging, I might still have been out on the sidewalk.

The bros made their way outside, and we soon heard something we liked coming from Darwin's. Now that's more our kind of place. Room to move around, comfortable seating, professional bartenders who never let your napkin get too wet or your water too low, and patrons wrapped up in the music.

We love blues rock and got a heavy dose of it from Trent Turner and the Moontowers. The father-son dynamic gives the band a special touch. And what a masterful touch Trent has on lead guitar, reminiscent of the late great Stevie Ray Vaughan. Trent's respectable cover of "Voodoo Child" was in honor of Stevie Ray and Double Trouble being inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame that same day.

Trent, who we found out later is an ER physician, plays every song as he says "like my life depends on it." He played the guitar behind his back and even with his tongue. Dale and I left with CDs, not just because they were "free" for a $10 tip, but we wanted to hear more.

It was time for the third item on our eating itinerary, so we headed for the food trucks. Maybe because it was 2 a.m. and we were running out of gas, but we chose the truck that had the shortest line. Make that no line at all. In retrospect, it wasn't a good basis for choosing.

We ordered 3 pork egg rolls for the bargain price of $21. While waiting for them to cook, a group of young Indian men came up behind us. They were in a jubilant mood and had apparently been celebrating. We were soon engaged in conversation.

The guy with the biggest grin told me that he was getting married. "Congratulations!" I said, returning his smile. Then I grew serious, locked my eyes with his, and began a barrage of questions without allowing him time to respond.

"Are you absolutely sure she's the right one? Is she the woman you want to grow old with? Can you not even imagine life without her? Are you really ready to commit yourself to this woman forever?"

The poor guy blinked a few times, then said, "I am Indian, so it is an arranged marriage."

"Oh well, good luck with that."

Our food was ready and packed, so we took it back to the hotel. Stretched out on the beds again, we found a free movie on TV, but we didn't find any pork in those egg rolls. At least I had breakfast to look forward to.

Coffee at the Driskill was exquisite as always. I wanted an egg breakfast, as the bros did, but I extracted a promise that no matter how full they got, they'd still split a cinnamon roll with me afterward.

I had a hard time deciding what I wanted and put off placing my order as long as possible. When time ran out, I panicked and ordered the Croque Madame. It was an epic disappointment.

I ate most of it anyway, and darn if we didn't all get too full to share the coveted cinnamon roll. I pouted, then planned next year's meal so I won't mess up again.

No signature breakfast plate for me, just a cinnamon roll and an order of bacon. That's going to be perfect. And our late night snack will be from the food truck with the longest line.

I'm feeling pretty good about Austin IV.

Ups, downs, and what-have-yous

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Mon, 23 Mar 2015 22:46:00 +0000

Maybe someday I'll start writing shorter, more frequent posts instead of saving up my thoughts. Or not. At any rate, here are some ups, downs, and what-have-yous from the last couple of months.

Easter season

It has begun! The Easter season is such a glorious time—the beginning of spring and the special celebration of Christ's victory over death. It's all about newness of life and confident expectation.

God created the seasons, and we can count on spring arriving every year after winter. Yeshua, the Passover Lamb, rose from the dead, and believers can count on Him raising us up on the last day. At the moment God gives us spiritual birth, He makes us new creatures and seals us with His Spirit (2 Cor 5:17; Eph 4:30). Yahoo-hallelujah to that!

Some reasons why 150 eggs weren't nearly enough

And then there's the big Easter egg hunt. I began my own hunt weeks ago for tiny treasures. Many shopping hours later, it was finally time for the fun task of filling the eggs. As it turned out, I was short on a few colors, and all of Jackson's yellow eggs had gone missing. (Each grandkid has an assigned color so there's an even distribution of treasure.)

I bought a few more packs of multicolor eggs, but couldn't find all yellow—the bulk option of 2000 for $140 notwithstanding. I ended up settling for assorted colors with designs on them, so Jackson's getting a new assignment this year. Crisis averted.

Sweet sorrow

On Valentine's Day, my kids' dad passed away. They had been taking care of Clyde for 8 months while he suffered from cancer. Thankfully, they got to share a lot of precious moments with him, but probably none more so than being at his bedside when God took him.

Zach was the only speaker at his dad's memorial service. With my son's gift for writing and plenty of prayers to get through it, he delivered the most beautiful, fitting eulogy I've ever heard. All of my kids—Angy and Darrell, Zach and Kelly—made the service one that even Clyde would have liked.

They held it on serene, rustic property, in a building called the Alamo. It was set with intimate table rounds and soft lighting. The dress code was jeans and boots. "The Pilgrim" was the featured song, and the playlist after the service was outlaw country music and classic rock. And the obituary cards were printed with Clyde's favorite picture of himself—in his 30s wearing a Mickey Mouse shirt.

For the slide show, Angy and Kelly located almost 200 photos, most of which they had to scan. Zach selected the background music that would have personal meaning to his dad. And Darrell set up and tested the AV equipment for a seamless presentation.

Everything fit together to create a special service. And although Clyde had told the kids he expected only 5 people to show up—3 of them just to make sure he was dead—over 80 people came to pay their respects and share their memories.

I savored the extra time, the meaningful time, spent with my kids and grands that week. What sweet sorrow it was to comfort a grieving granddaughter who's ready to go to heaven so she can be with her grandpa ... to hold a weeping grandson who longs to see his grandpa "just one more time."

Sending farewell messages to their grandpa via balloon

Being with Mom

I stayed at Mom and Rex's house while Rex was cruising around the Caribbean. Mom had been really sick the week before and didn't want to be alone. I didn't want her to be alone, either. An awesome mom with as many kids and grandkids as she's got should never have to be alone anyway.

Rex left on a Friday, and Dale spent the night with Mom. I arrived on Saturday and stayed through Thursday morning, when I met Angy in a parking lot and handed off Mom to her. Then Angy drove Mom to the next drop-off, where Romaine picked her up to take her gambling in Mississippi. We had Mom covered, and she was well aware of the plan.

However, when Dale returned Saturday afternoon, which I thought was just to have some of the chicken chili and cornbread I made, he brought an overnight bag. I told Dale that I'd already grabbed the guest room, so he'd have to sleep on the couch. He was surprised that I was staying because Mom had asked him to spend the night again. Apparently, she was hedging her bet in case I didn't sleep over.

Speaking of the guest room, I was so settled in after a few days that I did a complete overhaul of the room. Compelled to make better use of the space, I rearranged the furniture. Then I got rid of the clutter and gave the room a thorough cleaning, all to make it more to my liking. At least I stopped short of drilling holes in the wall to rehang the mirror, on the off chance that Rex wouldn't like the new arrangement. I'm not that obtrusive.

I set up my temporary office in the dining room. Work was atypically slow that week, so I was able to enjoy a daily lunch break with Mom and quit working at 5:00. We got into a little routine of having a cocktail, then watching "Wheel of Fortune." Mom's really good at the game, but when I make it a contest, she chokes.

As I started work on Monday, it was eerily quiet in the house. I got up to investigate and found Mom in her bedroom, watching TV with the sound so low she couldn't possibly have heard it well. I asked what she was doing in there. "Just trying to stay out of your way," she replied. I assured her that she wasn't in my way and urged her to go about her business as usual.

Mom emerged from her room, but she was still keeping quiet. I told her more than once that a little noise wasn't going to disturb me. Even so, when I was on a call with a colleague, I noticed Mom tiptoeing toward the garage with a bag of trash like a burglar trying to sneak off with a bag of loot.

My colleague is well acquainted with my brand of humor, so I knew I could get away with giving Mom a hard time. "Woman," I called out, "stop making so much racket! I can't work like this!" With a sheepish look, she mouthed "Sorry." Mom is so cute.

During the day, she would alternate reading a little, watching a little TV, gazing out the window, taking the occasional phone call, and just ambling about the first floor of the house. "Mom, don't change anything because I'm here," I said. "Just do what you normally do." She replied, "This is what I normally do."

Mom during a Sunday visit

I can't tell you how many times Mom hugged me that week, longer and tighter than usual, or how many times she expressed her appreciation for me just being there.

Although I visit her nearly every Sunday, I saw for the first time what life is like for Mom nowadays during the week. It made me ashamed that I rarely call her between visits. The weeks fly by from one Sunday to the next for me, but how they must drag on for her. So yes, I've been trying to do better about calling.

But enough about me. Have you called your mom lately? Whether her days are quiet or busy, you know she'd love to hear from you. And you never know when it's going to be the last time.

Just one lie

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Mon, 05 Jan 2015 06:46:00 +0000

I don't leave food on my plate, and I don't leave vacation days unused. These are two things that I feel strongly should never be wasted. If I can't eat something, I save it for later or give it away. And if I don't have time to take many vacation days during the year, I cram them in at the end. Nothing is left on the table!

It's now past midnight on the last day of my extended Christmas vacation. Once I go to sleep, it's over, so I'm writing this post instead.

Looking back over my 30 days of downtime, here are some of the things I enjoyed. One of these, however, is a lie. Can you guess which one it is?

Had 1-on-1 time with my daughter—went shopping and ate fajitas outside on a gloriously beautiful day
Had 1-on-1 time with my son—sat by a fire on a cold, cloudy morning eating breakfast, drinking coffee, and discussing theology
Had sleepovers with the grandkids—played games, did puzzles, made crafts, watched videos, cuddled, and joyfully listened to them rattle on about their thoughts and feelings
Spent a lovely day with my friends Jennifer and Betsy, just talking, eating, and drinking
Except for Sundays, got out of bed at whatever time I felt like it
Took a nice nap nearly every afternoon that I was at home
Ate a ton of holiday food, including old favorites like fudge, spinach and artichoke dip, sausage balls, and deviled eggs, plus new favorites like chocolate muffins and bacon-wrapped dates stuffed with almonds
Read the book "Unbroken"
Read the story of Christ's birth to the grandkids before handing out their gifts on Christmas Eve
Played 3 trash-talking, belly-laughing games of Scrabble on Christmas night with Deke, Rex, and the team of Dale and Didi
Watched a few good movies and countless TV shows about true crimes, home renovations, and competing chefs
Watched 3 football games in 1 day with Robert
Grew even more enamored with J. J. Watt
Gave all of my votes to help Craig Wayne Boyd win "The Voice"
Celebrated New Year's Eve in my pajamas

So which one do you think is the lie? Is it one with a lot of details to throw you off? Or did I just ask that to steer you away from a simpler one that's more likely a lie? Scroll down to find out, then please let me know how you did.

The lie is ...

#6. I took only 1 nap during my time off! Every day was enjoyable in some way, and I didn't want to miss any part of it. Even so, I'm extremely grateful for the job I get to go back to. And now, it's time to set my alarm clock ...

Good stuff from years gone by

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Tue, 23 Dec 2014 05:15:00 +0000

Since I'm halfway through my month-long Christmas vacation, you'd think I would have written a post by now. But I've been too busy just chillin' and doing things I don't normally do, like cleaning out my office. While going through a bunch of papers, most of which became trash, I came across a little gem—my journal from 1994 through 1996 titled "Good Stuff Happens."

In keeping with my current mantra of "streamline, simplify, streamline, simplify," for this post I'm leveraging what I wrote around 20 years ago. So here's a selection of staccato journal entries back when I was divorced, living in an apartment, working two jobs, and raising two teenagers. The good stuff that happened revolved around them, music, Mexican food, and baseball, plus two special vacations. What a fabulous time it was.

Good Stuff Happens

1994

Apr 4: Zach had a great game. He walked only one batter, and hit a home run and a triple (four RBIs).

Apr 5: Took Angy, Zach, and Sean to the Pink Floyd concert at Rice Stadium.

Apr 7: Took Angy, Zach, and Monica to see the musical “Tommy” at Jones Hall and then ate at Treebeards in Market Square.

Apr 16: Took Angy, Zach, and Monica to Fitzgeralds to see the band Milkbone. Earlier, Zach hit a home run.

Apr 25: Zach played his last little league game. He made the last out of the game playing third base.

Jun 2: Zach pitched his first game in high school summer ball. We won 14 to 7.

Jun 5–12: Went to Washington, DC, for a Compaq training event. Saw the sights and cruised around in a limo.

Jun 17: Angy’s 17th birthday. Gave her four tickets to Metallica and $100. Took her, Zach, and Monica to Pappasito's for fajitas.

Jun 25–Jul 2: Went to San Diego for a training event. Had a dinner cruise around the bay and pulled into the harbor as an awesome fireworks display began. Met Chuck Norris.

Jul 16–23: Took Angy and Zach to Key West for vacation. Too fine! Coffee on the veranda, wine on the patio, margaritas on the pier, sunsets, shopping, and jet skiing.

My beautiful girl and the Key West sunset

My beautiful boy catching some rays

Jul 25: Turned 40 today. Coworkers trashed my office, took me to lunch, and gave me a Macy’s gift certificate. Clai bought me a bottle of wine and took me to see “Forrest Gump.” The kids gave me Jimmy Buffet CDs so I could reminisce about Key West.

Aug 31: Zach’s 15th birthday. Gave him $100, and took him and his girlfriend to Pappasito’s.

Sep 19: Started working at the Mason Jar (evenings and weekends) so I can buy a new car. It's my first job waiting tables, and my first tip was 20%.

Dec 26: On vacation. Slept late, spent time with the kids, and enjoyed the great weather. The kids gave me Converse tennis shoes for Christmas, and I bought a video camera as a gift for all of us. (We made Mom and Dad a Christmas video for their present.) Went to the Christmas Eve service at church and sang “Silent Night” by candlelight. Then spent a great day with all the fam.

Dec 31: The kids’ friends came over. I made a lot of food. We did fireworks, then had a toast in the parking lot at midnight.

1995

Feb 14: Valentine’s Day. The kids made me the sweetest card I’ve ever gotten in my whole life and gave me some tulips. Then Zach brought me a rose that night at work.

Mar 25: My first Saturday off … no more working weekends! Zach had his first game of the season. He pitched and we won 15 to 2.

Apr 16: Had a nice Easter weekend. Hid eggs with $20 bills inside for the kids on Friday. Gave them Easter baskets Sunday morning and had a nice day at Mom and Dad’s, eating and playing games.

Apr 26: Zach had a great game. He pitched, got a double and an inside-the-park home run. We won 9 to 1.

May 21: Went to see Lynyrd Skynyrd at the Woodlands with Zach, Nick, and Nick's brother, Ryan. Perfect weather for sitting on the hill, and the concert was great.

Jun 13: Zach’s team won the championship. He hit a home run that scored three in the first inning and he scored the tying run in the last inning. Later, the Houston Rockets won their second straight championship. It was a very exciting night for sports.

Jun 17: Angy’s 18th birthday. We ate at Pappasito's and went to see “Batman Forever.”

Whatever happened to my poster?
And why did I ever have those bangs?

Jul 25: My 41st birthday. Took the day off from both jobs. Slept late, and Zach and Nick made me breakfast. Angy and Zach gave me two dozen red roses. Soaked in a bubble bath and then went to meet Clai. We ate at Fuddruckers and saw “Apollo 13.” Clai gave me a bottle of wine, Mom gave me $100, and Rex gave me gold earrings and a “Legends of the Fall” poster.

Aug 31: Zach’s 16th birthday. Last night I took him to Eric Clapton’s concert. Tonight I took him, Angy, and Nick to Chuy’s for dinner. (Mexican food has become a birthday tradition.)

Sep 12: Last night working at the Mason Jar! Just couldn’t do it anymore. Afterward, I threw my shoes in the garbage and had some beer at the bar.

Nov 3: Zach told me that he was happy every day of his life. That made me very, very happy.

Every day: God is so good. I praise Him for His infinite mercy, grace, love, kindness, patience, faithfulness, goodness, power, and glory.

Nov 20: I finally got a promotion at Compaq! As an editor, I now have a job that I’m suited for, enjoy, take pride in, and am challenged by. Thank you, Jesus … this is the best thing that has happened in a long time.

Dec 25: Went to the candlelight service on Christmas Eve and then opened presents. Had a nice, quiet Christmas at Mom and Dad’s and am having a wonderful 10 days off from work.

1996

Mar 20: Life has been so good every single day. I haven’t been writing because every day has been special. Love my job and everything about my life. I’m getting more involved in church, and I’ve got the best kids in the world. I’m at perfect peace, not so much because things are going well, but because God loves me and He’s in control. And today I’m leaving for Europe! Laurie and I are going to London and Paris.

Mar 21: Karen picked us up at the airport in London. We drove (on the left side of the road!) to her house in a quaint little village called Much Hadham. Had afternoon tea, visited an old church and cemetery in drizzling rain, and went to a little country pub for dinner. It was lovely.

Mar 22: Laurie and I took the train into London. We saw the Tower Bridge, London Bridge, Dungeons of London, Tower of London, and the Crown Jewels. That night Karen took us to a mystery dinner theatre at an old hotel in the country.

Mar 23: We visited Leed’s Castle. Had delicious bangers and mash that evening at the Bull’s Inn.

Mar 24: Karen drove us into London. We saw the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace, Westminster Abbey, Big Ben, and Trafalgar Square. Laurie and I took the train to Paris and checked into our quaint little hotel. Caught a glimpse of the Eiffel tower all lit up on the way.

Laurie, some guy, and me

Mar 25: Walked and rode the subway all over Paris. Went to the Loueve, strolled along the Seine, shopped, visited the Notre Dame Cathedral, went to the top of the Eiffel Tower at night, and had a fabulous dinner in St. Michel.

Mar 26: Visited the Pere Lachaise cemetery. Went to Montmartre at the top of the hill and had a great lunch. Did more shopping and sight-seeing. Had a bottle of wine at an Australian bar and then another bottle at a Parisian bar. Ordered a “cheese royale” at McDonald’s (in homage to "Pulp Fiction").

Mar 27: Had our last wonderful breakfast of fresh bread and café ole, then flew home. It was a fantastic trip, but it was equally fantastic to get home and see my kids.

May 12: Had a lovely Mother’s Day. The kids gave me some stargazer lilies and a card (they picked up the wrong kind and had to cut “Happy Birthday” off the bottom).

Jun 14: Sat on the hill at the Woodlands Pavillon under a full moon and listened to the Moody Blues in concert with the Houston Symphony Orchestra.

Jun 17: Angy’s 19th birthday. Gave her a camera on Saturday, had cake at Mom’s on Sunday, and dinner at Carrabba’s on Monday.

Jul 25: My 42nd birthday. Woke up to find a large vase filled with a beautiful bouquet of flowers, a precious card, and a watch from Angy and Zach. They took me out for breakfast at IHOP, and afterward drove me by a retirement home where they thought I might like to live some day. (They're so much fun.) Mom and Rex had each given me $100. After spending it on clothes, I had a facial, then met Clai at Macaroni Grill.

Aug 31: Zach’s 17th birthday. Gave him $200 to put toward a car. Took him and Angy to eat at Ninfa’s, then had cake at home.

Sep 20: Found my house!

Oct 21–24: Went to Nashville to audit a training class. Closed on my house when I returned. Walked the property and every room of the house and gave it to God, asking Him to bless it and everyone who comes inside. One of the best days of my life!

Postscript: Just a few words about events can unearth a treasure trove of memories. I'm so glad I wrote them. Except for the few of us who share the memories, however, this probably wasn't a very interesting read. So if you made it all the way to the end, thanks for indulging me. I hope you're at least inspired to record your own good stuff so you can enjoy it somewhere down the road. And no, Facebook is not a substitute. You've probably got a lot of junk on there you won't care about later. Plus, you need to have a printed copy, because there's no way the Internet will survive the zombie apocalypse.

My fugue state

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Wed, 19 Nov 2014 02:51:00 +0000

That had to be it. I have no reasonable explanation for losing the past three months other than being in a fugue state. (Thank you, Vince Gilligan. If you hadn't written that in the script for Walter White, I'd have no earthly idea what happened to me.) Lest you doubt that I could have been in a dissociative state for this long, the authoritative Wikipedia says that although a fugue state is usually short-lived, ranging from hours to days, it can last months or longer. So there.

While recovering from the shock of learning that it's already November, I've been trying to piece together what happened since August 3, the date of my last post. My paper trail and online footprint left a lot to sort through—emails, text messages, Facebook posts, credit card statements, folders of documents and photos, etc. To fill in some of the details, I stealthily questioned the people I likely engaged with. So here's at least some of what I did during my extended fugue episode.

Fugue working

Work photo from 1999 (before HP
bought Compaq and stole my youth)

Yowser. I really let HP take advantage of me. Looking at the amount of work I did, it became clear why I'm so worn out. Noticing the quality of my work, however, I couldn't help but be pleased. Evidently, I continued my morning ritual of asking God to help me do a good job, knowing that everything good I do is through Him. So glory to God! He even had the big guy give me an employee recognition award, which I redeemed for a stack of Kohl's gift cards (more on that below).

When I wasn't giving excessive off-hours to HP, I was editing my pastor's book on Ecclesiastes. Oh man, that must have been a blast. I enjoy editing, and I love Ecclesiastes. As a matter of fact, Lance's sermon series on it a couple of years ago is what inspired me to base this blog on enjoying the simple pleasures of life. As Ecclesiastes teaches, the enjoyment of eating, drinking, and working—within God's parameters—is a gift from Him. Maybe if there was shopping back then, Solomon would have included that too.

Fugue shopping

According to my daughter, she and I met at Kohl's early one Saturday morning and had a good time modeling clothes, giving honest opinions, and helping each other narrow down our selection of tops and earrings to those we'd actually end up wearing.

I never go "Kohling" without coupons, and as I discovered at the register, I could use the 30% off coupon instead of the 20% if we exceeded the total amount of the gift cards and I charged a certain amount on my Kohl's card. We had to spend more! So I told Angy, "What about that blue blouse you tried on? It looked good on you. Go!" She trotted off to grab it. (A benefit of shopping early was that no one was waiting behind us.) After ringing up the on-sale blouse and taking off 30%, we were still short. "Weren't there any other earrings you wanted? Go!"

Even if I had left empty handed and didn't have some cute new things in my closet, it still would have been fun. I always enjoy just being with my girl.

My current obsession

Fugue eating and drinking

I sure hope the food was good because I'm paying for it now. All those pants that fit me three months ago? Not anymore. It could have been the Sunday dinners at Mom's, the Wednesday dinners at church, or specifically favorites like guacamole and chips or brownies and ice cream. But it was probably a combination thereof. And I seemed to have developed an obsession with Town House pita crackers with sea salt. Robert has the cabinet stocked with several boxes, and he doesn't eat them.

Also, the regrettably high calories from alcohol might have played a part. I must have increased my consumption because I now seem to have a higher tolerance. After emerging from my fugue state, I celebrated with two glasses of red wine. Barely felt it.

Other fugue happenings

Mom frequently asks how my bike ride was on Saturday morning, so I've apparently made it a weekly activity since receiving my bike, the best birthday present ever, in July. It's amazing how you can lead a conversation to find out stuff. What I gleaned from Mom is that my shiny pink bicycle is a hit around the neighborhood. From little girls to old ladies, it gets admirable stares and compliments. I also learned from Rex that some guy yelled "Nice bike!" as he drove past. Presumably, the guy was being sincere instead of sarcastic.

I was extremely pleased to discover that Zach, my brawny 35-year-old son, returned to college to get a degree so he can switch careers—from pipefitter to high school English lit teacher. I admire him for being brave enough to follow his passion rather than a paycheck. Zachary knows I love to read his writing, so he's been sending me essays as well notifying me of his grades, all 100s and high 90s. I'm so proud of my boy, and I undoubtedly have been enjoying some good reads.

I also found evidence of:

Surprising Mom on her birthday with cupcakes and balloons at her league bowling, then taking her out to lunch for her first-ever Reuben sandwich (Rectifying that ridiculous situation was a must.)
Being with Jackson for his surgery and appreciating every moment spent with that precious boy
Enjoying Grant Harrison's performance at Main Street Crossing with Angy and Zachary
Having a delicious spaghetti lunch at Zach and Kelly's with all of my kids and grandkids, followed by a pleasant afternoon just sitting outside and talking
Going to Brian Pounds' CD release party with my friend Gillian and enjoying his music as always, along with that of Gary Nicholson
Seeing "Gone Girl" at the movies with Angy and her friend Monica Heckner (BFFs since the 2nd grade!)
Meeting Rex's friend from Michigan (Shockingly, it was at least an hour before John announced, "I just decided that I like you.")

Those were a few of the highlights anyway. I can only hope that my fugue self didn't do anything that will embarrass me later.

Post-fugue fun

I got a last-minute invitation on Thursday to accompany Mom and my brother Randy to see Gene Watson, somewhat of a country music legend, at Dosey Doe. Randy was treating Mom for her perpetual 85th birthday celebration, which started back in August. Although Gene Watson isn't someone I would have necessarily chosen to go see, I'm not one to let a $158 ticket go to waste. And I always love hanging out with mi familia, especially when it includes good food and good music.

My sweet brother and my hot mom (Great job on her makeup, Kimberlie!)

Although Gene is 71, he's still got a beautiful voice, as his die-hard fans will attest. Looking at the cloud of gray heads in the audience from my vantage point at stage left, I noticed in particular the ladies on the front row staring up with adoring googly eyes. It confirmed what I feel—that no matter how old you get, you only change on the outside.

The following night, I met my friends Gillian and Monica for margaritas, crab and bacon quesadillas, and great conversation. It's a special joy to be in the early stages of forming friendships, ones that have the potential to be true and lasting. A lovely fact of life is that you're never too old to make new friends.

It sure is good to be back.

The birthday, part 2

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Mon, 04 Aug 2014 03:35:00 +0000

As I leaned across Jackson to buckle Christian in the backseat, Jackson said, "Happy birthday!" He had wished me one over the phone on the actual occasion two days prior, and I thought it was so sweet of him to do it again. But Jackson knew something I didn't—that the celebration wasn't over yet. After my fabulous "daycation" (see part 1), I really thought it was.

Arriving at Mom's for the usual Sunday afternoon visit, I noticed extra vehicles parked out front. It still didn't register. But soon after we went in, I realized that some of my precious family members were there to celebrate my 60th.

Mom and her 4 youngest "kids" (not shown, the other 10 partygoers)

The gifts

For me, you can never go wrong with a gift of wine. Unless it's white, that is. After I gratefully received two bottles of red, the grown-up gifts ended. The rest were related to some of my childhood experiences, and they weren't all good.

Still love the outfit

The first of these was a baton to conjure up my glory days as a twirler. Considering that over 50 years have passed, I think I handled that baton pretty well. At least I could still do three basic moves. What I couldn't do was toss the baton high up in the air from under my raised leg and catch it. Maybe I should have tried it with both feet on the ground.

Although, I might have caught it if I could throw it correctly. And I might have thrown it correctly had it been a regulation baton instead of a toy one. (Hmm ... more fodder for giving Mom a hard time perhaps?) As I tossed that lightweight thing around, it was flying like a Frisbee. Everyone wisely chose to stay inside out of harm's way.

One of my favorite pastimes has always been giving my good-natured mother a hard time. She's just the most fun person in the world to tease. But she apparently thought it was time for a little payback, because the next two gifts would open old wounds from my 8th and 10th birthdays.

The 8th birthday backstory

How I saw Cadet Don—in black & white

My favorite children's show to watch in the mornings was "Cadet Don." Parents could write in and have him wish their kids a happy birthday on the air. Sometimes he would also tell the kids where their parents had hidden their birthday present. I asked Mom to do this for me and, of course, she did.

Mom got me up early to watch the first show, but I wasn't included in that round of birthdays. When the second show started, I knew I'd be in that one and was beside myself with anticipation.

Finally, the big moment came. Cadet Don said, "Happy birthday, Paula Ray!" What? Could he be talking to me, Paula Kay? Why didn't Mom make sure she wrote plain enough so he would pronounce my name correctly? Give the cadet a break, woman.

Then he said, "Your present is hidden in the washing machine!" Now, a child's mind is beyond understanding. I have no idea why, but Mom's choice of hiding place embarrassed me. I guess the usual "under the bed" would have been more preferable to me than in a household appliance.

Wrong name. Embarrassing hiding place. It sure didn't turn out the way I'd envisioned it. Even though the Barbie doll I wanted was in the washing machine, I've never let Mom forget how upset and disappointed I was over the whole affair.

The related 60th birthday "gift"

Rex suddenly exclaimed, "Happy birthday, Paula Ray! Can you guess where your present is hidden?"

Having recovered from my childhood trauma, I ran excitedly to the laundry room. Uh-oh. A bunch of junk was piled on top of the washing machine. Maybe he meant the dryer. Nope, just a load of forgotten sheets in there. I was about to go complain when Rex walked in and removed the junk Mom had put there. I couldn't help but wonder if she did it on purpose just to get in an extra dig.

Never a good gift

I grabbed my gift and returned where the others were to open it. Well played, Mom. You did a twofer by incorporating an old wound from a school Christmas party and giving me a Life Savers Sweet Storybook. (The image is exactly like it but not the actual one I received, which was somewhat old and damaged looking. Don't even want to know where it came from.)

I was so disappointed when I got the same gift back in grade school because I had all the candy I wanted at home. Where was my cool little toy like the one I had brought for the gift exchange?

The 10th birthday backstory

My request was for a pink bicycle. The one I got was pink alright, but far from the sleek, shiny new bike I was expecting. It was big and clunky and clearly secondhand. Aside from the dull hand-brushed paint, what really gave it away was the masking tape holding the seat together.

When I complained (you know I had to), Mom said, "Now, Paula Kay honey, we just don't have a lot of money to spend on birthdays." I wasn't so much of a princess that I couldn't live with this cold, hard truth. So during the next 28 days, I happily rode my "new" bicycle around the neighborhood.

Then came Dale's birthday.

Imagine my shock when I saw my brother's shiny red spider bike with streamers on the handlebars and a banana seat that nary a butt had sat on, fresh from the Montgomery Ward warehouse. When I complained (you know I had to), Mom said, "Now, Paula Kay honey, you're a girl, and the boys ride their bikes more than you do." Granted, my brothers stayed on their bikes practically all day and I only went for the occasional joy ride. Even so, that excuse did not fly.

But how I've loved to tell the story, over and over again, year after year, ad nauseam.

The related 60th birthday gift

I was told to sit down, close my eyes, and hold out my hands. I had no idea what to expect, and when I felt something brush against my palm, I shuddered. No telling what these sadists were going to do to me next. Here's what happened.

July 25, 1964—Wanted it | July 25, 2014—Got it

I've never been so thrilled with a birthday gift in my life! After all these years, Mom finally made amends. And I absolutely love my brand spanking new bicycle. Suh-weet!

There is a downside though. Dale said that I was never ever allowed to tell the bike story again. But I had to tell it one last time just in case someone there hadn't heard it yet. What I found curious and suspicious is that after 50 years of me telling the story, Dale offered up an excuse as to why the bike he got was new—that Mom had extra money from receiving some kind of deposit back from her summer bowling league. Yeah, right. That was a tad too long coming, bro. Besides, I don't think she started bowling until later.

No matter. All is forgiven. I took my bicycle out for a quick spin and was quickly reminded of how much fun it is to ride one. Gliding past Rex and Dale, I shouted, "Woo-hoo! I've got the wind in my hair!" to which Dale replied, "And the sun on your face!" It was positively exhilarating.

The food

My sweet nephew Deke bought two boxes full of panini and a box of cookies from Panera Bread, one of my favorite places. Half of the panini were chicken, half were tomato and mozzarella, and they were so delicious that I had three over the course of the afternoon. Mom and Kimberlie provided an array of sides, including chips and dip, cheese and crackers, stuffed celery, and deviled eggs. Now that's a good lunch.

12 cupcakes, not 1 stinkin' candle

Kimberlie also brought cupcakes made by her friend who's starting a business. Be on the lookout for the 350° Bakery. I've never tasted cupcakes that good. And the icing was sublime—super light yet rich in flavor and not too sweet. I had a lemon cupcake first, which was supposed to have a candle on it but didn't, then a chocolate cupcake a while later. If nobody had been looking, I probably would've had a third.

During the singing of the birthday song, Angy held a plate with my lemon cupcake on it and Rex held a butane candle lighter in front of my face. I'm not sure if I actually blew out the flame or his finger slipped off of the button. If my wish doesn't come true, I'll know.

It's not much to complain about, but I'll go with it. Now that my childhood birthday offenses have been righted, it's all I've got.

Epilogue

I took my new pink beauty out for a proper spin on Saturday morning. The weather was unusually cool for August and the streets were still fairly quiet—a lovely time to be out pedaling. An advantage that biking has over walking is the ability to cover a lot more ground in the same amount of time, and I discovered a great trail I didn't know existed.

Because of the many years that have passed since my last ride, I was a cautious cyclist. There's also that nasty business about bones getting brittle with age, and I didn't want to end up a casualty my first time out.

By the time I was headed back to my subdivision, however, my confidence was up. I was riding at a brisk clip on the sidewalk next to a busy street. Approaching a turn, I knew it was a super sharp curve, but I threw caution to the wind. Thank God I fell on the grass and the ground was soft from a recent rain.

What Sara said about my bike

A nice young man driving two lanes and a median over stopped and called out to see if I was okay. I assured him that I was and thanked him, then walked my bike past all the curves before getting back in the saddle. Instead of being upset about my wipeout, I felt really good. The kindness of strangers, no matter how small, always touches me.

Thank you, nice young man, for caring enough to check on me. Thank you, God, for being with me always and for giving me such a cool family and a blessed life. Thank you, family, for everything you did to make my birthday the best.

No complaints. Really. Not even about the birthday candle.

The birthday, part 1

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Mon, 28 Jul 2014 13:16:00 +0000

Leaving a decade behind has never bothered me. Turning 30, 40, 50—it was all good. And then came 60.

As the big day loomed closer, I contemplated how life generally consists of three acts. Act 1 is from birth to 30, Act 2 from 30 to 60, and Act 3 from 60 to ... whatever. My final act was about to begin, and although it could last until I'm 90, that's not the norm.

Our days may come to seventy years, or eighty, if our strength endures; yet the best of them are but trouble and sorrow, for they quickly pass, and we fly away. (Psalm 90:10)

Yikes. While I find a lot of Scripture comforting, this verse not so much. Sure, it ends on a high note. The "fly away" part thrills my soul because I'll be winging my way to eternal glory in the presence of the Lord. By the amazing grace of God, immortality is mine!

The rest of the verse, however, is downright sobering. And I can relate to the "quickly pass" part more and more. Time certainly has the perception of speeding up as you get older. Back when I was in grade school, the lazy days of summer lasted forever. Now, those three months just seem like a prolonged hot flash, whizzing by so fast that I've practically quit bemoaning the heat.

After being mopey for weeks about Act 2 coming to an end, I was ready to get over that nonsense and start looking forward to the start of Act 3. So to make turning 60 more palatable, I began planning a birthday of simple pleasures and self-indulgence. While plotting the details at Mom's kitchen table, Rex decided he wanted in on the fun.

My "baby" brother and I took a vacation day from our jobs on Friday, which was a great day for my birthday to fall on. The plan was simple—eat, drink, shop, repeat. And for 12 straight hours, that's just what we did.

La Madeleine

I did share my potato galette.

We began the celebration at La Madeleine. To get fortified for shopping, I had the big country breakfast plus lots of dark French roast coffee. It was lovely to linger over cups and conversation, relaxing in the knowledge that we could just go with the flow all day.

The only thing I wanted to schedule was an observance of my birth minute. Many Sundays ago (3,130 to be exact), I was born at 10:43 a.m. But that was in the olden days before Texas adopted daylight saving time, so I asked Rex to set a reminder for 11:43.

My daughter, Angy, had planned to meet us for breakfast. Darrell even went to work at 5:00 that morning so he could take off a couple of hours to stay with the kids while she was gone. But some crazy stuff was happening at work and he couldn't leave. The effort, though, shows what a nice son-in-law he is.

HomeGoods

I drive by HomeGoods nearly every Sunday, but it's with a car full of grandkids, so Angy and I haven't been able to stop and browse. At last, I was getting to check out the selection of discount household items. Rex is an optimistic shopper, so he grabbed a basket, and we were barely 6 feet in the door when he found something to put in it.

We strolled down every aisle, and when we had made it to the other side of the store, he mentioned my birth minute because he wasn't sure if he set the reminder correctly. (He didn't and probably got woke up at 11:43 that night.) We both checked our phones and saw that it was 11:42. So we walked slowly while staring at the time to watch the minute change. When it did, we were near two chairs on display and took a seat.

The one with our eyes open

Originally, I had said that the moment of silence would be for the passing of my youth. But Rex pointed out that it was actually the passing of my middle age. I didn't like it, but I couldn't argue with it.

We bowed our heads and sat in silence for a bit. Then I prayed aloud, albeit softly, to thank God for my birth and rebirth, the years He has given me thus far, and His gift of eternal life.

Looking up, I noticed a few shoppers close by. We might have made a bit of a spectacle, but undeterred, we remained seated and took a selfie to commemorate the event. Well, we took several before we got something acceptable.

Need to update my will now

As we continued browsing, I came across a unique item with a strange allure. I put it in the basket and decided that if I still felt the allure when we were ready to check out, I'd buy it.

As I placed it on the counter, the cashier asked the standard question, "Did you find what you were looking for?" "Why yes," I replied. "I came in looking for a red cast-iron pig and there it was."

Famous Footwear

The selection of shoes for me at Famous Footwear has dwindled to a couple of rows because my fashion choices have become based on comfort. And I've got sciatica on both sides now, which makes wearing shoes with even a low heel uncomfortable. So it's flats from here on out.

Besides, I decided to embrace my shrinkage. How fitting that at my annual checkup a week before my 60th birthday, I found out that I'm now 5'3¾". And I've been 5'4" since I was, like, 15 years old!

The good news is that I found two pairs of super comfy yet stylish sandals and they were on sale. As we drove away with my new shoes and red pig in the trunk, I was ready to celebrate with some liquid refreshment.

Hankering satisfied

Brick and Spoon

It's been years since I had a really good Bloody Mary, and I'd been having a hankering for one. So we headed over to a restaurant in Montrose I found online that has a separate menu for their Big Spoon Bloody Mary.

Since it was our first time there, we also wanted to try the food but weren't very hungry yet, so we split a burger. Oh my. It turned out to be probably the best one I've ever eaten, and it clearly wasn't a case of being so hungry that anything would taste good.

Between a toasted brioche bun was a thick, juicy handmade beef patty seasoned and cooked to perfection, melted pepper jack cheese, crispy pecan-smoked bacon (that's right, bacon two meals in a row!), avocado, romaine lettuce, red onion, tomato, and house aioli.

On the side were homemade potato chips with a savory/sweet seasoning that was just right. Next time, I'm going hungry and getting my own.

Silverlust

Our final shopping destination was a place where Rex buys custom silver jewelry. He's a longtime patron as evidenced by the personal greeting he received from the owner, a delightful man named Herschel. We enjoyed talking to him (including about how God will keep His promises to Israel) while admiring Herschel's unique pieces of jewelry.

I selected a cross, a butterfly, and a long chain. Rex picked out a cross and an arrowhead pendant. Everything was supposed to be dutch treat, but my generous brother insisted on paying for mine. How great is it when you get to pick out exactly what you want and then have it gifted to you?

It was also fun driving around Montrose, my old neighborhood from the hippie days, and reminiscing. Although it was disappointing to see that the house I lived in on Dunlavy has been replaced with condos.

On the long, slow drive back, we finished listening to Rex's playlist of golden oldies (don't know why he picked that one). Then he switched to the classic rock playlist. Regardless of how long I live, I don't think I'll ever get tired of "Layla" or "Freebird."

Merche

When you can't decide: Italian or Asian?

After a quick stop by Mom's, we arrived at Merche, the last leg of our journey. It's a restaurant close to my house that I've been wanting to try, especially after seeing it in a top 10 list for tapas. Rather than a big meal in the evening, I like having a little of this and a little of that.

The best part about it was having my sweet son meet us there. His company would have been enough of a gift, but Zach also gave me a gift card for two 60-minute pedicures that include a warm shoulder wrap, massage, hot rocks, and paraffin wax wrap. Now that's the way to get your toes painted!

The three of us shared a personal pizza, sesame chicken skewers, and wasabi spring rolls. When it came to dessert, though, we each had our own. And we were there for quite a while. Aside from enjoying the delicious food and beverages, I was thoroughly entertained by the conversation. It was a lovely experience and a great way to end a near-perfect day.

Epilogue

I think that was the first time I've eaten out for every meal unless I was out of town. And having a day where all of my activities were driven by "I wanna" instead of "I've gotta" was a mini vacation in itself. I pondered not waiting until my next decade turns over to do it again.

Rex remarked later that we should do it once a year just for fun. Angy said that reminded her of a "Parks and Recreation" episode where two characters have a Treat Yo Self day. It was pretty much like that, except less extravagant.

Act 3 started with a bang, and my birthday lived up to my high expectations. I considered the event to be over, but my family had other ideas. Up next: "The birthday, part 2."

Egg hunt palooza

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Fri, 25 Apr 2014 22:14:00 +0000

Easter is hands down my favorite holiday. I love everything about it ... the special celebration and remembrance of Christ's passion and resurrection, the Lord's Supper on Good Friday, the new springy clothes, the Easter service on Sunday morning, the family gathering afterward, and the hunt. (Click if you want to read about last Easter and my thoughts on Christians having egg hunts. FYI, I think it's A-OK.)

"To the victor go the spoils" is fair for a school or neighborhood egg hunt, but not for mine. I was thinking about how to make the playing field level this year so my little darlins' could equally share the spoils, and I came across the perfect solution on Facebook (see, it's not a total waste of time). You assign each child a color and have them hunt only for that color of egg. Pure genius.

I separated all the plastic eggs by color and bought color-coordinated gift bags for the kids to collect their eggs in. After spending many hours and dollars shopping for little toys and other treats, I spent an entire afternoon filling 120 eggs, carefully choosing what to put in each egg so everyone would get the same amount and get the things they would like. For example, hair ties went in the pink and purple eggs for the girls, and tiny military vehicles went in the blue and green eggs for the boys. I overbought as usual, so instead of having just one item per egg, I had to really pack stuff in.

Another good thing about a color-coded egg hunt is that for the older, more savvy hunters, we could hide the eggs in harder-to-find and harder-to-reach places, and for my little Sara, in more obvious places.

But best of all, the kids didn't have to be in a frantic frenzy to find eggs before someone else did. I gave them their bags, clearly explained the rules, asked if they understood the rules as I had explained them, and then calmly led them outside where they took their time enjoying the hunt, secure in the knowledge that their eggs would be waiting for them.

Exclamations of "Pink!" "Purple!" "Blue!" and "Teal!" could be heard across the yard. Christian had taken note of Zach's observation that the green eggs were closer to teal. I still maintain they were pastel green, but I must admit that next to the bag, which was a lime green, they did have the appearance of teal by comparison. I wonder ... from whence could my son have possibly inherited such persnickety-ness ... or perhaps it's the admirable quality of keen observational powers. Yep, I'm going with that last one.

Afterward, the kids sat on the patio to open their eggs and discover their treasure. The mood necklaces were a popular item. The boys seemed particularly interested in checking the color for changes, several times reporting the current status of their mood based on the chart that came with the necklace. At one point, Ezra said in his quiet, sweet voice, "Look, Nana ... I'm happy and romantic." Then Christian blasted into the room, screeching, "Nana! I'm happy! And calm! And relaxed!" I agreed with the mood stone only in that the boys were happy. Obviously, it's not an exact science.

I had given my big darlin' the choice of hunting eggs outside or inside, and Jackson chose inside. So I hid his yellow eggs in my bedroom, bathroom, and closet. The little bottles of scented hand sanitizer (one of his obsessions) didn't fit inside the eggs, so I hid them as is. After he would find a couple of eggs and a couple of hand sanitizers, he would start to leave the room, so I had to keep telling him there were more. I guess he was just in a hurry to inspect his treasure.

Then the little darlins' got to hunt in the living room for one big egg each with their name on it that held special prizes. And finally, I had my big girls (my daughter and my daughter-by-another-mother) hunt for little envelopes. I told them that two were in the living room, two in the dining room, and two in the kitchen. Kelly's three were marked with a foam letter K and Angy's three with an X since I had no more A's in my stash of foam letters.

Each envelope held a Kohl's $25 gift card. (Girls, don't expect this to be a new tradition.) I made them work for it, though. The hunt took quite a while, and I had the best time giving hints and frustrating the heck out of them, but in a good way.

How did I manage to get this far without talking about the food! I'll tell you this ... it's hard to beat a good sandwich. And who wants to cook on Easter anyway? The day before, I bought choice deli meats, cheeses, and potato chips. Then I made some good ole ranch dip—the kind that's been around for over 50 years and still reigns as the best—a big bowl of fruit salad, and a Holy Cow cake made with yellow cake instead of chocolate, which I will now call Toffee Caramel cake. It's the kind you eat no matter how full you are. And knowing that you'll be sorry isn't enough to stop you.

The most important ingredient for a good sandwich is, of course, the bread. I learned last year that going to Panera Bread after church limits the selection because of the morning rush of customers, so I left early for church and stopped on the way there. I got exactly what I wanted—a large loaf of freshly baked Three Cheese Bread and one of Sesame Semolina. I think I'll add a loaf of Ciabatta next year. That way, everyone will have more leftovers to make toast for breakfast.

And that's the only change I'll make to the menu. We enjoyed it so much that I plan to start a new tradition and serve the same thing every Easter. So maybe, just maybe, you won't have to hear about the food again.

Toward the end of the day, Evyn and Sara each came to me separately and said, "This is the best Easter ever!" I couldn't agree more.

But you know what ... I bet next year will be too.

Austin redux

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Fri, 11 Apr 2014 13:39:00 +0000

Last weekend was the second annual road trip to Austin for my brother Rex's birthday. Here's a quick rundown of how this one compared to the inaugural trip:

The company: Even better since our brother Dale went too
Bluebonnets along the highway: Even more abundant and enchanting
Food: Less abundant and not as tasty
Hotel room: 400 times better (the dollar amount Rex paid for it)
Music: Even better since we got to hear the fantastic John Evans Band

So the food was the only thing that didn't measure up, and even though food is very important to me, this trip was the clear winner.

Our first meal was a late lunch in the lobby of the grand historic Driskill Hotel. The ambiance is late 19th century, but the hotel guests are a stark reminder of the present. I'm pretty sure those genteel ladies of the past never schlepped through the lobby in leggings and tight, low-cut tops, nor any of the fellas in a cash-patterned sport coat with a rhinestone collar. Isn't people-watching fun?

We had sandwiches made of turkey, bacon, avocado, green tomatoes, and chipotle mayonnaise on freshly baked croissants with some delicious pickles that clearly weren't store bought. Nice.

The best part of lunch, though, was reminiscing about growing up in our little three-bedroom home. I shared a room with Randy and Dale when we were little, but after our three older brothers moved out, I got my own room since I was the only girl. Dale always had to share a room with Randy, and when Randy finally moved out, Rex moved out of the dining room into Dale's room. I asked Dale if he ever resented me because I had my own room. He wadded up his big cloth napkin and hurled it in my face. It was one of the many times I burst out laughing that weekend.

We strolled around after lunch, then dragged Dale to the Capitol since he couldn't remember whether he'd ever been. After our pathetic attempts of a selfie in front of the Capitol, I was thankful when a nice young lady offered to take our photo if we'd return the favor. Thanks to her, everyone is visible in this year's selfie. (I called it a self-portrait last year because I apparently wasn't cool then.)

Returning to the hotel, we were still full from lunch, so we had to kill time while waiting for our appetites to return. I suggested playing a little game of "How many [blank] can you name?" Sometimes when my mind is idle, I challenge myself to name as many of a certain thing as I can just in case I'm ever in such a contest. Lately, I've been practicing naming country singers, so it was the first category I suggested. Crushed my brothers in that round.

Next was "How many rock bands from the '60s and '70s can you name?" (The weekend was about music after all.) We later expanded it to include bands from the '80s, then the '90s, and finally bands from any decade and any genre. By the time we were mentally tapped out, we were ready for dinner. Throughout the rest of the trip, one of us would occasionally blurt out a name that we couldn't believe we forgot, like "Josh Turner!" or "Fleetwood Mac!"

I had gotten recommendations from friends for good restaurants in downtown Austin. None of them included Mexican food, though, and I decided that I'd be in the mood for it Saturday night, so I did an exhaustive search on the web and read tons of reviews. At the top of my list was Michelada’s Cafe y Cantina. Rave reviews, tableside guacamole, patio seating—it seemingly had it all.

Do not go there. It was huge, deserted, and downright spooky. Through the window, we saw only a couple of people at one table, probably relatives of the owners or the owners themselves. So much for my research.

We came across a place called Uncle Julio's Fine Mexican Food. It was packed, which is usually a good sign, but the name was suspect. I vaguely remembered an Uncle Julio's in my online search, and there had to be a good reason it didn't make the cut. But it was getting late, so we decided to check it out. If they didn't have good chips and salsa, we were out of there.

Uncle Julio's has the worst salsa ever. It was watery, flavorless, and tasted like it came from a can. So after having dry chips and a drink, we told the waiter that we just weren't feeling it and asked for the check. He was nice enough to give us directions to another Mexican restaurant where he said the food was actually good. By the time we got outside, however, Rex said the chips were enough for him and suggested we just go listen to music. Since it was his birthday celebration, that's what we did.

Our first stop was a crowded place called Friends. The band was playing some good music, but they sure weren't big on lyrics. I can tell you one thing, though. The lead singer really loves his baby. He really loves his baby. Oh yeah, he really loves his baby.

The next stop was the Dizzy Rooster. We liked that band a lot better, especially when they covered Steve Miller's "The Joker." Over the years, I've sang along about the "pompatus of love" without a clue as to what it means. But I still enjoy singing it.

What I continue to find disconcerting is that many of the young'uns at these places seem oblivious to the music—almost as if it's background noise for them to just drink and get silly. I remember being young and silly myself, but I also remember being really into the music.

Our final stop was Shotgun. Surprisingly, as crowded as 6th Street and the other clubs were, only a few people were there, either sitting at the bar or at tables away from the band. Although nobody seemed engaged with the performance, the rockabilly music immediately caught our ears. We sat at the table in front of the stage and within minutes were fully engaged. Then at the first few bars of "Ring of Fire," we instantly became enthusiastic fans.

Through two stellar sets of the John Evans Band, we heard some excellent original songs and many classic covers. In addition to Johnny Cash, there were standouts like Elvis Presley's "That's All Right (Mama)" and Roy Orbison's "Pretty Woman." I don't know if they were pandering to the old folks at the front table, but it worked. We sang along (loudly), drummed the table, hollered, clapped until it hurt, and tossed cash in the tip jar.

John Evans Band

John took a quick break while the band kept going. He stopped by our table and thanked us for "getting it started." I must have looked puzzled because he added, "Look around." I turned and saw that the club had become packed with people enjoying the music, so I guess our enthusiasm was contagious. Even though I was aware that the applause had been growing louder with each song, I hadn't given it much thought. Later, the guitarist who sang while John was away (fantastic job as well) thanked us too. Nice guys. Great musicians. The total package.

Toward the end of the show, a few people were country-western dancing in front of the stage. One couple was doing professional moves like lifts and flips. They were very entertaining to watch, and it was nice to see people giving the band the attention they deserved. Now, here's a simple to-do list for the young'uns who tend to ignore the musicians: 1) Listen; 2) Applaud; 3) Cheer; 4) Sing if you know the words; 5) Dance if you can; 6) Tip!

When we finally stepped back out onto the street, which had been barricaded to prevent vehicles from entering, I was amazed at the endless sea of people. It was the most notable difference from our Sunday night visit last year. Rex announced that it was 2:30 a.m., and my stomach, which had been lying dormant, woke up with a vengeance. But after deciding it was too much trouble to find food at that point, we made our way back to the hotel and ordered room service from the limited late-night menu.

It took a long time for the food to arrive, and the late-night chef is definitely the second string, so we had some mediocre food before going to sleep at 3:30. The only thing that got us up at 8:30 was knowing we had breakfast reservations and had to get downstairs before they gave away our coveted corner booth by the window. I was sure I'd at least get a really good breakfast again this year. But maybe the late-night chef was still on duty because it just wasn't all that great. At least the coffee, I'm happy to report, was every bit as good as I remembered.

On the rainy ride home, the bluebonnets looked even more lush, the entertaining conversation continued, and the music kept playing in my head. I'm so blessed to have brothers who are such great friends and to live in Texas where there's so much great live music.

Encore

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Fri, 21 Mar 2014 06:01:00 +0000

For the second time in recent months, I went to see Brian Pounds perform. The show, at Dosey Doe in The Woodlands, was part of his BroMance Tour in Texas with Austin Jenckes. These singer/songwriter/musicians became good buddies after competing against each other on Season 5 of The Voice.

It was a girls' night out for Angy and me. Zach wanted to go, had planned to go, and then changed his mind, opting to spend the evening with his lovely wife instead of his mom and sister. It was, after all, their wedding anniversary. (Good call, son.)

To show you the view from where Angy and I sat, here are two uncropped photos taken during the show. I took the first one from my side of the table and Angy took the second one from her side.

Brian Pounds, son of Stephanie and Captain America

Austin Jenckes and Brian doing their bromance thing

Notice the absence of the backs of people's heads. This is what the view looks like from the front row at Dosey Doe. Front and center, I might add. That's what you get when you care enough to order your tickets the minute you hear about the show.

With seats like that, though, there's no slipping in if you arrive late, which we did by a few minutes. (Since when did musicians start being on time?) It wasn't cool of us. But in our defense, the needs of two starving women must be met above all else, and we had been holding back on our food consumption in anticipation of the meal we'd have out that evening. On the long drive to The Woodlands, we talked about little other than food and decided that since the cuisine at Dosey Doe was unfamiliar, we'd go for a sure thing.

By the time we got there, we were so hungry that Angy said we should find a place where bread or tortilla chips are put on the table immediately. We did a big loop around the freeway trying to decide where to eat. I'd start slowing down as we approached a restaurant, but neither of us would make the call, so we just kept driving, keeping watch for the next one.

We were leaning toward Italian, and I slowed down when I saw a sign that said Bertini's, but it turned out to be an automotive repair shop. So we finally committed to Carrabba's on our second drive-by, then scarfed down a satisfying plate of Italian food. And bread. Lots of hot bread dredged in seasoned olive oil.

But I digress—the evening was really about the music ...

Those boys complement each other's styles so well and I think raise each other's games. (Dare I say it, guys? You make each other better.) They took turns singing their original songs and occasionally sang together. The stage banter added plenty of entertainment value as well. Brian's a natural at it and keeps getting better. Every time he said something funny, the man sitting behind Angy, with whom she had not spoken nor even made eye contact, poked her with his elbow. Guess that bespeaks of the party atmosphere the guys created.

At the end of the show, Brian and Austin got a standing ovation that wouldn't stop until they returned to the stage. And good golly, what an encore! They did some fantastic covers, starting with Brian singing "Wagon Wheel," then Austin singing "Simple Man" (always love me some Skynyrd), Brian doing "Steamroller Blues," Austin with "Twist and Shout," and then the two of them reprising their battle round on The Voice with "To Love Somebody."

The crowd was singing along, whooping, hollering, foot tapping, knee slapping, and just having a ball. And although Blake Shelton chose Austin over Brian after the battle round (Austin went on to become a top 10 finalist on The Voice), if Blake had heard them at Dosey Doe, there's no way he could have picked a winner. Both of those guys killed it.

During the second standing ovation, they shared a quick hug before leaving the stage. My only regret is that I that I didn't get a picture of it. For the BroMance Tour, that was the money shot. And I was in the perfect spot to get it. Maybe next time.

Ice cream and salsa

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Wed, 26 Feb 2014 04:28:00 +0000

Let me first quell any anxiety you might be having over the thought of ice cream topped with salsa. I just thought it was a catchier title than "ice cream and tortilla chips with salsa." Independently, they are two of my favorite things to eat.

They've been on my mind a lot lately because I completed a Sunday School assignment to write my "testimony of suffering," and while recalling harsh memories of chemotherapy, I kept thinking about how extra delicious and helpful those treats were during that time. And we're talking 27 years ago, people!

For an entire year, I had a strong chemical taste in my mouth that never, ever left. So I often used chips and hot salsa to burn out the taste or ice cream to freeze it out. Blue Bell Homemade Vanilla and Welch's Grape Popsicles in particular were heavenly. Just typing that made my mouth water.

Simple pleasures are always there for the taking. Even when I'm "suffering" in some way (quotes needed since I have such a blessed life), I can still enjoy things like these, to name just a few:

Drinking a hot cup of coffee in the morning
Watching the sky change at sunset
Sitting around my mom's kitchen table on a Sunday afternoon
Thinking about the latest adorable thing one of the grandkids said
Listening to a song that makes me feel like I'm 19 again
Trying to guess if those homeowners on TV are going to "love it or list it"

The possibilities are endless.

As I wrote my testimony about having cancer and thought about all the wretched vomiting, that old familiar feeling of nausea would start rising in the pit of my stomach. But then that would lead to fond memories of ice cream and chips with salsa, of gorging on doughnuts or Twinkies before a round of chemo because none of it was going to stick anyway. I had a license to binge, and I used it.

I couldn't include the fun food facts in my testimony, though. That really wasn't the point, and at six pages (edited down from eight), I'm sure it was much longer anyway than what my Sunday School teacher wanted.

I know, by now you're thinking, A dissertation on suffering and vomit? Where is this thing? That's something I've gotta read!

But seriously, if you have a hankering to read about the upside of suffering, go grab a beverage, get comfy, and peruse my testimony of suffering. Then praise the Lord and pass the chips!

My Christmas vacation: A quiz

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Tue, 31 Dec 2013 03:43:00 +0000

It's now day 24 of my 26-day hiatus from work. Yes, you read that number correctly. Including weekends, holidays, and all the vacation days I didn't have time to take during the year, I had 26 glorious days to decompress. It was like having my own "summer of George," and if you're a Seinfeld fan, you know what I mean.

Rather than drone on about the myriad of simple pleasures I enjoyed, here's a short quiz to learn about some of them and also to see how well you know me. Write down your answers and check them against the answer key at the bottom.

1. Of the following party foods I made, what was my favorite leftover to eat for breakfast?

Sausage balls
Spinach and artichoke dip with pita chips
Deviled eggs and bacon-wrapped water chestnuts
Chocolate-dipped, cherry-topped coconut macaroons

2. What beverage did I not drink?

As much water as I usually do, which is at least 8 to 10 glasses a day because I normally follow a healthy diet
Coffee from my new one-cup coffee maker that appeared on the kitchen counter Christmas morning (presumably from Santa rather than Robert since the sticky note wasn't signed)
A delightful cabernet from Dreaming Tree wines, gifted by my friend Betsy during my turn to host the "tea party" that she, Jennifer, and I have every December
A vodka shot with my 84-year-old mom, which was on my nephew Deke's bucket list for his mema

3. What TV programs did I not watch?

Previously aired "Duck Dynasty" episodes that I had missed
Every sitcom with a laugh track because canned laughter doesn't make me want to blow a hole in the TV
"The Rolling Stones, Sweet Summer Sun - Return to Hyde Park"
Endless hours of home renovations via "Property Brothers" and "Love It or List It"

4. How many literary agencies did I query about my manuscript?

One, because preparing submissions is hard work and I'm lazy when it comes to doing things I don't enjoy, plus I like to avoid rejection
Five, because I'm pumped about doing whatever work it takes to increase my minuscule chances of being published
Ten, because a lot of agencies are looking for a first-time novelist whose manuscript isn't geared for commercial success

5. In my time spent online, which one of the following things did I not do?

Reduce the number of unread messages in my personal email account from triple to double digits
Check my work email account and respond to all messages containing questions or action items
Scroll through my Facebook news feed, clicking "Like" selectively and "Share" pretty much never
Read Izzy St. Clair's journal about God's presence in her valley of cancer and find myself humbled, inspired, and thankful

6. What white elephant gift did I get at the annual "Old Compaq Gang Christmas Party"?

An ear wax removal system
Slipper Genie microfiber cleaning slippers in vibrant purple
A Charlie Brown Christmas tree and beanie baby
The hideous gold sandals for men that show up every year

7. Which statement is true concerning gifts I gave to others?

Hid 29 gifts for the grandkids, miscounted the 28 that I set out on Christmas Eve, then had a frantic search for the missing one in the midst of opening gifts
Made wine-glass charms for my brother Rex so that half the conversations at his and Mom's family gatherings will no longer begin, "Is that my glass?"
Took cookies and candy to my neighbor Cathy and her son, Braxton, who was severely injured in a motorcycle accident two years ago, and I learned that he's miraculously overcoming his bleak prognosis by beginning to communicate
All of the above (Praise God for "C" and the note in childlike handwriting on Cathy's fridge that said, "I love you, Mom"!)

8. During the grandkids' sleepovers, what did I not do?

Give Jackson a mani pedi
Scratch Sara and Christian's backs until they fell asleep
Serve Evyn and Ezra breakfast in bed
Sleep in a separate bed so I couldn't cuddle with my grandkids all night and see their angel faces first thing in the morning

9. What was unfortunately not among the many highlights of my time off?

Having the Property Brothers renovate my home
Setting my alarm only on Sundays
Having the freedom each day to choose what I wanted to do
Celebrating the incarnation of Jesus Christ, the Son of God, who came to save sinners like me

###

Correct answers below ...

1. C | 2. A | 3. B | 4. A | 5. B | 6. C | 7. D | 8. D | 9. A

7 to 9 correct answers: We're probably friends or family.
4 to 6 correct answers: We're probably acquaintances, and I can only hope that now you know more about me, you're not disappointed.
0 to 3 correct answers: You're definitely a lousy test taker. (I mean, come on now, at least 3 answers were obviously correct and you should have guessed correctly on at least 1 more.)

Thanks for taking the quiz, and please leave a comment below to let me know how you did.

Happy New Year to "all y'all"!

Brian Pounds live

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sat, 09 Nov 2013 20:55:00 +0000

Brian Pounds
(Photo by Lance Taylor
Used without permission)

His mama wasn't lying when she said, "He's even better in person." I was already a fan of Brian Pounds, having been introduced to his music through his proud mama/relentless marketer Stephanie Pounds, plus his appearances on The Voice.

But Thursday night was the first time I saw Brian perform in person. I discovered firsthand that he's a mash-up of singing and songwriting talent, charm, and down-home cool. Brian draws you in and just makes you glad to be where you are.

Although all the songs he performed were stellar, here are a few that I can link to for you: Steamroller Blues, In the Morning You'll Be Gone, Wagon Wheel (that's Stephanie in the peach-colored top screaming after Blake turned his chair for Brian), and Somewhere, Maybe Carolina, a song Brian wrote with Austin Jenckes while they were competing on the show.

Main Street Crossing in Tomball was the venue. It's a great place to enjoy live music and good food in an intimate setting. According to Stephanie, the audience consisted of 120 of her "best friends," which included a few of my HP friends and colleagues, like Lance Taylor, Bill Shields, and Bryan Weldon.

What made the evening even more enjoyable for me was being accompanied by my kids, Angy and Zach. It was the first time the three of us attended a musical performance together since the Pink Floyd concert at Rice Stadium in '94 (along with our good buddy Nick Zogg). Goodness gracious, that was almost 20 years ago!

I've got to give a shout-out here to the best daughter- and son-in-law in the world, who stayed home with the little ones and let me have that all-too-rare time with just my kids. But I think for the next special event, Kelly and Darrell should go with me and let Zach and Angy do the babysitting.

These "kids" are in their thirties, so I need to learn how to transition out of the mother hen role, at least in public. When the waitress came to our table, Angy ordered a drink first, then I ordered one for myself and coffee for Zach, which he planned to have since he was on antibiotics after a root canal. I didn't specify cream and sugar, and the waitress didn't bring any. Zach said that either she wasn't a very good waitress or he just looked too manly to use cream and sugar.

She turned out to be a pretty good waitress, so it was probably the latter, which Zach proved by drinking his coffee black (also a testament to the quality of coffee there). Then he teased me about ordering for him. I was oblivious to my faux pas until he mentioned it. Angy told Zach that he should just be glad I didn't jump up and yell, "Give my son his cream and sugar!" (Think Shirley MacLaine in "Terms of Endearment" screaming at the nurses to give her daughter a shot.) I guess I should let my manly baby boy order his own drink from now on.

Toward the end of the show, Zach got out of his chair and squeezed in beside me and Angy on the cushioned bench seating. Snug between them, I had one hand around my sons's muscular arm and my other hand resting on my beautiful daughter's knee. Together, just the three of us, we were wrapped up in listening to Brian sing with genuine southern soul. It was one of those perfect moments that I like to write about and keep thinking about so the memory doesn't fade away. It was just too good for that to ever happen.

All for one, one for all

I met Brian after the show, bought his CD and got it autographed (good thing I had the foresight to select a fine-point Sharpie from my extensive collection before I left the house), then told Stephanie how cool it was being entertained by one of her kids while I was with mine. Stepping outside into the invigorating November night air, I savored the feeling that I had just experienced something special.

In my previous post, I talked about how things never turn out as good as I imagine they will. But it was different this time. Everything was as good or better than I had even imagined.

I woke up the next morning singing Brian's lyrics, which come to life so beautifully with Austin's music: Your imagination got the better of you / Keep on dreaming like it's gonna come true / Somewhere, maybe Carolina / There's a light that you've been looking for / Somewhere memories can unwind / Oh somewhere, maybe Carolina / Follow it down the east coastline / Find somewhere you can ease your wandering mind.

I never had to leave home to find my Carolina. It's right here in Texas. And if you ever have the chance to see Brian perform here (or anywhere)—take it. He really is even better in person.

Fall festival

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sun, 20 Oct 2013 00:05:00 +0000

Another October, another HP fall festival at the Oil Ranch. This year, however, was remarkably different from last year. See if you can guess which festival was a better experience based on how they stack up next to each other.

	Last year	This year
Weather	Clear, warm, and breezy	Rainy, hot, and steamy
Time stayed	4 to 5 hours	2 hours (not a minute more)
My participation	Highly engaged and energetic	Low-key and mostly observational
Food	Unpalatable, over-priced frito pie and cheese nachos because the line for the free barbeque was ridiculous	Delicious burgers and fries at Five Guys because the free barbeque was late and couldn't have been worth waiting for in that ridiculous heat

I can see where you might pick last year, but if you did, you'd be half wrong. And if you pick this year solely because of the food, knowing how important it is to me, you'd be half right. Actually, it's a tie, because even though the experiences were different, they were both fabulous in their own way. Stay with me now ...

At the time, I wasn't thinking this year's event was so fabulous. The rain started soon after we arrived, but at least we were close to a pavilion where we quickly took cover. And the rain lasted just long enough for the kids to enjoy snow cones, which Angy got wet getting for them.

Sara, Evyn, Christian, Ezra

Thankfully, the clouds remained. Sun after rain on a hot day in southeast Texas means that it's time to go inside. But I imagine a lot of people were waiting to come after the weather cleared up, and I'm glad they did because we didn't have to wait in line for a thing.

We headed for the train as soon as the rain stopped. Last year, we had to wait in a very long line, only to have some people practically climb over us to steal our seats while we were trying to help the kids get on. So it was especially nice to walk right up and get all the seats together we needed without having to sit on top of each other.

The kids loved pointing out the ducks, geese, cows, and other animals as we circled the tracks. A few times, I commented on things I didn't remember seeing before, but Kelly and Angy assured me that nothing had changed. I must have been too busy last year complaining about the rude seat stealers to enjoy the ride.

The kids rode the horses next. Although they were having a good time, by then the adults were on a steady decline because of the heat and humidity. We started complaining about our clothes. I was especially hating my jeans, socks, and bra (i.e., sweat catcher) while longing for my capri pants and flip-flops.

Then we followed the little darlins' into the stifling barn where they climbed, jumped, and rolled around on a giant haystack, oblivious to the pieces of hay sticking to their sweaty little bodies and sweaty hair. I just stood back, trying not to move as if that would stem the tide of water pouring from my body.

After being rejuvenated from their moms splashing them off in the restroom sink, the kids ran around trying to throw Frisbees. Normally, I would have been out there with them to lend a hand instead of just watching from the sidelines. Although, I think once I might have offered something helpful like, "Put some wrist into it."

I lamented that God's answer to my prayer over the past two weeks for beautiful weather that day was a resounding no. Zach said his prayer had been that the festival wouldn't take up the whole day. He then talked of a new "one and done" philosophy about taking Evyn and Ezra to special events. For example, since he and Kelly took them to the circus last year, he expects the next time they go will be when they take their own kids. (Kelly's not going to let that fly.)

Apparently, Zach's prayer trumped mine. There was no way we were going to last much longer, so he was about to get half of his day back. Zach then reminded me that "God causes all things to work together for good to those who love Him" (Rom. 8:28). So I started trusting that even this misery would work out for good. Right after that, my faith was tested. The clouds parted and the sun bared its teeth. The day was already a hot, sticky mess, and now it was a hot, sticky mess set on fire.

When we found out that the barbeque was postponed an hour and that pumpkin painting wasn't for another two hours, the kids were told to pick out their pumpkins because we were leaving. Their first protest was that they wanted to do the pumpkin painting at the festival. The answer was to paint them at home. Their second protest was that they didn't have any paint. The answer was to use markers.

As I bent over, combing through the piles to help find the perfect pumpkin—good shape and color, unblemished skin, slightly curled stem—I visualized myself suffering alongside farmhands as they toiled in cotton fields during the zenith of summer. Yes, I know, that's being pathetically spoiled by air conditioning.

By that time, it wasn't just the adults feeling the burn. The kids weren't too cooperative posing for the requisite picture at the pumpkin patch, and they didn't protest anymore about leaving early. As we started for the car, Evyn said, "I'm toasting ... I'm burnt toast!"

Now, let's compare pumpkin patch photos ...

Last year

This year

You see the difference, right?

It certainly wasn't what I had envisioned for the day. I had foreseen an experience just like last year, only better. And why not? My perpetual optimism tricks me into thinking every event and occasion is going to be exactly as I picture it—the weather is perfect, the food is to die for, everyone is in a great mood, peace and harmony reign, adorable little forest animals befriend me ... no wait, that's Snow White. But still, I always imagine things are going to turn out better than they do. Then again, it's all about perspective.

God saying no to my prayer for great weather had many positive effects. Leaving the festival early, we enjoyed a nice lunch together, with the adults at one table and the kids at another (they're getting big too fast!). With the afternoon suddenly freed up, Zach got to have the time he wanted to rest from a hard work week, and Angy and I had time to visit my mom.

Jackson spends every Saturday at Mom's house, and since he's not a festival goer anyway because of all the walking, we had to go pick him up. So we decided to stay and visit in lieu of our usual Sunday visit after church. Christian and Sara had fun playing outside with their water guns from the tiny air-conditioned souvenir shop at the Oil Ranch (a brief respite from the heat), then taking a bubble bath in Mom's big tub.

With no clean clothes to put on afterward, they wore only underwear and the bandanas they also got from the souvenir shop. Surely, it's a treat at that age to ride in the car in your underwear. On the way home, Angy and I were talking about how the day worked out so well. At one point, Sara had even said, "This is the most awesome day ever!" And what did we see in the sky out of the car window but a beautiful, glorious rainbow. We marveled at the sight and talked about rainbows being a reminder that God always keeps His promises. What a lovely ride home it was.

The next day, I had the afternoon free for a change. It was so pleasant to spend the rainy Sunday relaxing in my recliner and watching football with Robert. So thanks, Lord, for the lousy weather on Saturday. It made for a really great weekend.