family picture catch-up

Elliot trying to get free.

Ray...oh so handsome (gosh I love my sons!)..

Elliot the stinker. "neigh, neigh" is what he says, "riding" his horse or carrying a play horse over to me and "galloping" it up my leg..

Indeed, "neigh, neigh"...:)

Henri

ah! reminded of Star.

"We cannot escape ourselves.." Henri

a toast

Were she living today, Julia Child would be one-hundred.

"Cooking is like love; it should be entered into with abandon, or not at all." Julia Child

Jacques Tribute (Pepin, New York Times)

He's Gone (to Guam)

When he was a baby, he cried for hours on end each night. It wouldn't be until he was two that he would sleep through the night. I tried everything, read the books, listened to friends, wheedled, cajoled, brought him to bed with me, didn't bring him to bed with me, let him cry it out. It was horrible.
When he was a toddler he would walk around the house calling plaintively "Are you...arrre you?"--when I was in the bathroom.
Those years are gone.
The years of diapering and feeding and listening to him and meeting friends and girl-friends and travel and lessons and sports and...life. Are gone.
He is in Guam.
He flew from St. Louis, to Dallas, to Hawaii, to Guam.
He sent me a long note letting me know how he is, assuring me that things are fine, that there is a Beach on
Base, that he plans on snorkelling.
I reminded him to "remember" the signs of a Tsunami (the water recedes and does not return).
I could almost hear him sigh...

de-camping

The guy next to me had already de-camped, due to it being Elvis Week and all (we had to move)..
It was time for me to move also
and so...

I found me a new park.

When you are new to RV'ing, decamping can be a bit stressful. Not to mention, wondering if your RV will start up after sitting idle for two full months.

And so....

Step one, evaluate...(in my case, take a picture--that is my neighbor's (never did know his name) empty spot).

Fill up water jugs, take out trash, clean surfaces of any moveable items..

Place any breakables (I carry glass-ware, plates and cups) where they are well padded and immovable.

Put down awning

and place any outdoor stuff (neatly) inside..

Before pulling out, put down the antenna, drain and undo the sewage pipe, cap and place in sewage designated place (the rear bumper), wash hands--that is a given. Put in your step, detach the electric cord and coil it in place...make sure all the hatches are battened down and closed (VERY important).

Get in and pray that the sucker starts....

The sucker started. It drives like a big old bus.

Setting up in the new spot, was...well, easy.

Dining outside with a book and journal. Priceless.

...i won't talk about periodic home-sickness...

A portent of Fall

Summer is winding down, and with it, the heat. Hopefully. The yellow school buses have returned to the roadway. Memphis schools are back in session.

It has been a long, hot summer here in Memphis, but at least, there has been rain. Missouri is still so dry. A person on the radio made the comment the other day that to catch up, Missouri would need a foot of rain. That was in the boot heel, down around Cape Girardeau.

I've become accustomed to the drive up I-55, which runs north to south, St. Louis to Memphis. I've become accustomed to the radio stations, the Ag reports. There is a small store off Exit 80 which sells freshly picked corn, home-baked goods and ice-cream. The corn is excellent, sweet and good, you can eat it raw.

Dylan was back for a month this summer and so, I drove back to Columbia as often as I could to see him, to hang out, sleeping on friends couches and in guest bedrooms, going to Ragtag, to Sparky's, to Lakota, to Ernie's. Haunting the library, wandering the shelves, checking out books and looking for all intent like a homeless person who gathers their books around them, using their backpack as a pillow and accidentally napping in public, on a couch, in the library. Which, if you must know, are really not that clean....

Dylan and Elliot on 9th Street



the joys of being a grandparent

You can never have too many pictures of your grandchild.....

the apartment

In May my brother's wife asked him to leave. So, he packed his bags and moved out of their two story pseudo-colonial house. The one on the cul-de-sac, with the trees and the terrace and the french doors. The one with the kitchen re-done and the large train-set in the basement, inherited from our grandfather. That one, that house. He bought himself another house, with cash and moved into an overpriced hotel.

Mother told me about the drama on a Sunday as we talked on the phone. "I already know, Amanda told me."  There wasn't much to say, what can you say? So instead, we talked real-estate, mother and I. The house he bought was a complete gut job. He showed it to his wife. She hated it. She thought it was stupid for him to spend their money and she was incensed. She wanted him to move back.

She had told me (that is, his wife) her side of the story. He has told me his. They have both talked to me because he is living at my apartment. The place he was staying was costing him too much every month. Mother told me this also. When she mentioned it I told her that was silly. "He should move into my place, no one is living there, it's empty, sparsely furnished." And so she told him and he finished up his week at the over-priced Extended Stay, then moved in.

(Lawrence)

Stewart, pensive.

There were dreams for this apartment and I was shopping for couches the week there was a company meeting and we were told about the loss of a multi-million dollar contract. Three weeks later, there was another company meeting, we were told that two offices would be closing (Phoenix and Philadelphia), three hundred people out of work after the New Year. A month later, another company meeting, our office would be laying off and..well. With the first announcement I stopped shopping for couches. Still, there were couches I saw that would have been wonderful in this place. Couches and two rugs, one for the living area and one for the dining area. Rugs that would have tied the room together. But no.
So now, while I live in an RV in Memphis, Art lives in my apartment. His kids visit sometimes and I hate to admit it, but it is lovely. It is nice to return to a place where there are children and happenings and life! Walking through the back door I'll often enter into what is a "mess", which means only that a few toys have been left scattered around the apartment or there are a few dishes in the sink, undone, or golf clubs of varying sizes and styles are laying on the floor, in the bags, stacked against the wall.
Of course, it would be wonderful for them to have their marriage back and it would have been better to not have the circumstance where he needed a place, temporarily, to stay. Of course. But life has a way of unexpectedly throwing a curve.

whither thou art...Memphis?

There is the hum of the air conditioner which sits atop the "bus" and outside is the general malaise of summer. Kids walk by in wet swimsuits while older folks are out dog-walking. Families wander by...Welcome to RV life.

This morning the "neighbors", who were here when I pulled up last night following a quick trip home, were packing up to pull out. Two skinny little kids hung around and watched as mom and dad packed and put away, then hitched up and pulled away. Goodbye neighbors, goodbye.

Last Saturday I talked at length with Steve, who travels in an RV with his partner and their two little dogs.  He reminded me that it was wise to spend so little on something which could be a very long shot (RV'ing full-time for work). RV'ing for a short-time, full-time for work.. I miss home. I miss the generalness, the dailiness, the people with whom your life becomes embedded. You know their lives and they know yours.  Out here, it is like bobbing, bobbing..a buoy on a vast ocean.

I suspect that this ocean will become smaller the more I'm on it.

RV fascination

There they were this morning, lined up in the park as I drove through after a late morning run.

pictues past

There they lay, spread across the table, pictures of a life, or rather, of lives. The boys and mine.  It is June and already I''m working on Christmas gifts. Scrapbooks of pictures, each individual, one for each son. Wanting to get them completed by the time Dylan is back for his month this summer.

The day is getting on..a young boy and his father just jogged by, a middle age man is wandering around looking for something (probably the little dog that just jogged between my RV and the neighbor's), and it suddenly smells as if a skunk has found its way into camp....phew!

residence

A bird flew in today and flapped around while I opened all the screens to let him out. He flew out the way he had flown in.

Goodbye Texas, goodbye...

There was that sense last week when walking up the steps, entering through the front door, climbing the stairs to my third floor room with bath that this was "it!", the last time I would be here (there). Tuesday was the last day of work before Ray arrived on Wednesday where he was picked up from the airport and where we drove back to "the house".

We did the San Antonio things: going to the Alamo, the Riverwalk. Going to Chris Madrid's for their awesome burger with beans and chips and cheese topping.

 On Thursday we breakfasted with Blair, another traveller and one of my favorite co-workers (who was still in town) before driving up to New Braunfels and going to Schlitterbahn: another awesome.









Friday was the trek up Hwy 281 to Wichita Falls to see Dylan. Stopping at the Hard 8 for barbeque.

Saturday was golfing with the boys on the Base Golf Course, a bonding experience and perfect for Memorial Day weekend.










And Sunday, the local driving range and putting and chipping and thinking that we need to get golf gloves.
And Monday....saying goodbye to Dylan....until July!

Basketball perspective

For the past three months I have been living down in San Antonio Texas. Now, prior to living in Texas I did not watch professional basketball, there was no need. The reason there was no need is because the towns I lived in, in the Midwest, did not have professional basketball teams. Instead, they had College Teams. That is right, capital C, capital T.  The professional teams in my area of the Midwest consisted of Football and Baseball..especially Baseball. oh yes, and Hockey. ahem.

Now, living in San Antonio I kept hearing about the Spurs, the Spurs, THE SPURS!!!
It was plastered on the sides of buildings: GO SPURS. Walking into patients' rooms people would be watching basketball, just as avidly as we--where I am from--would watch baseball, and yes, football.

"Why on earth are these people watching basketball?" I would wonder, "Who cares!..the NCAA is over, finished! Shouldn't basketball season be OVER!" Of course, I would think this to myself, not saying a word. Until finally, finally it dawned on me that basketball season should not be over because this was, after all, the playoffs! Yes, in a very small way I caught the fever and began watching this, this professional basketball. A little bit.

Tonight, basketball was on, the Spurs playing against Oklahoma. My youngest son was sitting on his bed in his hotel room watching the game, I wandered across the hall and watched some of it before wandering back to my own room.

What changed? Perspective. It was, like much of life, a matter of a changed perspective.

...and the Spurs? They won.

God must love Golf...or so I keep telling myself.

Does God love golfers?

On a hot and windy Saturday in northern Texas and we golfed. Now, it has been approximately twelve years, maybe only ten years, since I last golfed but here in Wichita Falls there is not much else to do except, go to the mall, go to the movies and...golf. So we golfed. Ray, Dylan and I golfed. Then we went out to eat Italian food at Luigi's.

What is it about golfing that is so..well, bonding. There is a bonding experience that happens when you are faced with difficult situations. Not that hanging out on a golf course is a difficult situation, it isn't. But swinging a club and actually hitting a ball without cursing...ah yes, that is where grace comes in.

I am a horrible golfer. Hands down. Now Ray has a nice swing and yesterday proved himself by consistently hitting long drives down the fairway while Dylan hit a few good drives but tended to "slice" more than one ball which shuttled quickly into the "woods" or weeds as it were. My hits were primarily low, fast and straight. At least they were straight, however, a Par 4 hole had me at about ten swings, depending on the hole.

At the last hole, as I struggled up the fairway, believe it or not, hot and tired and sunburned,  Ray and Dylan were already on the green, putting it in. Three more shots and I was on the green, did a long putt and zing! in. The boys, sitting in their cart, applauded. I laughed and we returned to the clubhouse, hot, sweaty and with fine dust caked on our skin and in our pores. Returning the carts and clubs we walked out to the car and drove away talking about our day.

Four balls lost, sunburned skin, an afternoon spent with my boys....priceless.

A Golf Primer (Refresher Course)..

the Last Wednesday at La Fonda's on Main



Brenda and Jose



Dorcas and Keith




John and Brenda



The "group" or a portion thereof....



Keith, the instigator of the weekly ritual.



I drank tooooo many margaritas that night...
but, yum!

We met at La Fonda's on Main every Wednesday, whoever was able to make it. Keith was the instigator, one of the owner's of the B&B, now boardinghouse, where we lived (Brenda and I, the rest did not live there). It was nice and fun, with lively chatter. It was one of the things I loved about living in San Antonio and here are pictures of our last night there. :/....It seems that the things one truly enjoys? Well, they are gone in a heartbeat....but the memories live on for a lifetime.

Goodbye dear friends. One day, hopefully, we'll meet again.

Enchanted Rock

Today I walked across a moonscape, climbed on the back

of a giant.

Saw craters,

scrambled across rocks.

                                                                                         

 Discovered that things can grow on moonscapes

and the backs of giants.

Felt very small in the prescence of a very large God. 

down south

Two more weeks in Southern Texas!

                                                                          Not that I'm counting.

Mission Trail

On an overcast day, with nothing to do, I rented a bike and biked  the Mission Trail. The Mission Trail is part of the National Park System. 

After visiting the Missions, the bicycle and I went to a local Brewery which sits at the far end of the River Walk.  

After the brewery we rode around neighborhoods (the bicycle and I), stopping at a local bakery where a pleasant conversation was had with the owner while choosing what to buy (monkey bread)...Saying goodbye and shoving the wrapped monkey bread into my pack, I rode...home.

Mac-daddy and Miss Kitty

There are many red buildings in San Antonio. There are shapes and colors and...trucks. Sitting on the outdoor deck at La Fonda's on Main last week, talking to the guys (it was a table of men, and..me), I mentioned the trucks. "Of course, everyone has a truck down here.  When you learn to drive, you learn in a truck!" As if it was a given.

While we talked, the fans overhead whirred and birds sang. It was twilight and around us conversations hummed, we watched as other tables were served their food. With the setting down of each dish we wondered out loud what other diners were getting, practically tapping our neighbors on the shoulders to ask.  During the wait, we all ordered more drinks and Keith told a story. Now, the beauty of living in the south, with southerners, is their flair for storytelling. Keith is not from Texas, he is from Mississippi, which to me is even better. So with hands batting about and a sweet southern drawl, he lit into the story of Big Mac and Miss Kitty.

Big Mac was an Irish Brawler who drank, smoked and gambled. Miss Kitty was a southern "Lady". She had been the queen of her debutante ball and a great beauty. Miss Kitty had dated a number of suitable, respectable men but Mac-daddy (as his girls--all five of them--called him), was different. She wouldn't date him. In fact, she would have nothing to do with him. For two years Mac-daddy called on her. For two years she turned down all of his advances, telling him firmly that "no", she wouldn't marry him. Finally, the day came when he packed a suitcase and arrived on her front porch. It was a very gracious, large front porch mind you and when he knocked she came to the door, but would not let him in. "What do you want Mr. MacGregor?" she asked him. "Kitty, I'm here to marry you. If you don't marry me I'm going to join up in the church and become a priest." Now, the true exchange will never be known, but they say that on that day Miss Kitty saved the Catholic Church. You see, she ended up marrying Big Mac not long after that and recently, they celebrated their sixty-third wedding anniversary.

We laughed at the story. Thought it was great. Talked about the birds and the food (as it arrived). We ate more, drank after-dinner coffee and shared desserts. Everyone asked about Dorcas. I haven't met her, but should this week.