Advent

It is hard to hear the admonishments of John the Baptist ..." repent, repent, repent."
So I have been looking for some insight and found it today, actually yesterday, in the daily devotional I read, Forward Day by Day. In it the writer noted that "the promises we make during Advent -- to amend our lives, to be loving and forgiving toward others --often fall short of our best intentions. " With God's help, spiritual growth and renewal may occur. Finally I found words that resonate more than "repent," instead love and forgive.

Beautiful music everywhere, deeply moving sermons at St. Francis, the smiling faces of my little grandchildren ransacking my little apartment, this is supposed to be a good time. Instead, I was just moping about, well staying busy, cooking and baking, buying and wrapping, writing and mailing, wearing those aged yet memory laden Christmas sweat shirts and attending most of the events to which I was invited.

Finally, while listening to and enjoying the splendor of a new version of "The Nutcracker", while tears streamed down my face (I'm my father's daughter, we are criers), it became clear what I need to do. I have to forgive the man that doesn't want me. He is not an awful person. He just doesn't want me. Wish he did. He doesn't. If I forgive it won't be so painful. I will feel better and be ready to celebrate all the holidays with family and friends, new and old, who still will put up with me. It is not unusual to be saddened by the loss of someone about whom you feel strongly. I am not mentally ill.

This Advent ... this coming of Jesus into all our lives, when we choose it, I will forgive and be loving to those who want me to be.

Thank you to the Ranchers at Down Home Ranch, the choir and congregation at Christ Church Cathedral, the choir and congregation at St. Francis, and Father John, who plainly spoke of my situation and comforted me in so doing. Thanks to President #41 and Mrs., to the cast of "Beauty and the Beast" (even if I could barely see them from the upper balcony. (note to self: no more shows in auditoria, only in theatres where faces and their expressions can be seen.) Thank you to all the kind and dear people who have taken me in to their interesting jobs and lives at the City.

It would be plumb dumb to fail to hear the Advent message, to fail to forgive and love, as we have been shown to do.

I'm not quite ready for "Merry" anything just yet ... but I'm working on it and I still have time.

The Curse Continues

When I was in high school, more than fifty years ago, one of my most serious "crushes" was on an older man. He was out of school, looked sort of rough, drove a Cadillac and lived a very fast life. He paid me very little attention and was not at all encouraging. But I thought he was hot stuff. He married and moved on and so did I.

While I worked at WRIT radio station the night time disc jockey, college educated with a degree in English literature, was the friend and crush. We even did a television show together ... black and white on a UHF channel. Then he was drafted and went off to San Antonio and an Air Force stint. I later found out that he was gay.

After my first divorce the craziest of all the crushes happened. A brilliant and funny radio newsman with very little grasp on real life seemed to find me entertaining and I him. That was short lived as well and came back to haunt me many many years later as his grasp on reality became even weaker and he stalked me mostly by mail and phone until I needed to invoke the help of a mutual friend who had some law enforcement cred.

And then, after the last divorce, a creepy man for whom I worked enticed me into a less than pleasant (but seemed like a solution at the time) arrangement that meant he was looking at my growing children as "workers" for his weird plan. It was something about becoming self sufficient to protect yourself. I mean, weird.

So, I went for thirty plus years with no more crushes, at least none acted upon at all. But then I slipped. Someone for whom I could have had one all along called and asked me out to dinner. Damn, I was done. We had been family and church friends for many years. I thought he was most upstanding, as does he. He made no bones about it. Not looking for a girlfriend, not ready for a relationship. Still healing from wife's death. Yada yada yada. And now all that has changed. After sharing a lot with me he has decided he is ready for a relationship and has lined up a wife-clone with whom to have it. He dumped me by e-mail on Thanksgiving!

Here's the punch line. All of these men have the same first name. Some of them used a shorter version. But I call it the Curse of the Richards.

About going to church

I have always gone to church. It has always been because I wanted to be there. No one ever said "you have to get up and go to church today."

It may be a result of genetics; grandfather who was a well respected Congregational minister with a Divinity degree from Yale, mother who attended with great faithfulness, I don't know.

However, I have always wanted to be there. Were there Sundays when I didn't feel worthy? Many, many, many ... but I went.

Having never been particularly successful financially I believed it important to contribute in other ways. So I have served in many capacities. I was the first female usher at Ascension. So what, you say? Well in 1967 it was a big deal. Sunday school, vacation Bible school, school board, calling committee, Vestries, Membership and Evangelism Council, Usher, Host, Kitchen duty, and others, were places I put my efforts ... oh, and yesterday I was the assigned photographer for St. Francis Day Blessing of the Animals. And I write for the newsletter. Make no mistake, I have always pledged and paid most of my pledges but they are not great sums.

Brought up in the Congregational Church in Wisconsin and introduced to the Episcopal Church by the Chaplain for whom husband, Lindsey, served in the US Navy, I was confirmed at St. Marks on Bellaire Boulevard in 1967 and have been proud to be a member of some exceptionally fine churches since; Ascension for more than 30 years, St. Andrews during my short stay in Las Cruces, Christ Church Cathedral (if you've never been there, you should go), St. Peters in Brenham and now the most exceptional, St. Francis of College Station.

I cannot imagine skipping church on Sunday morning. Not to say there haven't been Sundays in other towns and countries where I didn't go. But if I am at all available I will be in church. I'll probably be there some other days of the week as well. I have found that sharing jobs, study, meals and worship with people of similar beliefs is very rewarding. Certainly there is not widespread agreement on all issues ... we are Episcopalians after all. And we are not required to be in lock step. We are encouraged to pray, study and think.

About going to church .... I love it and hope to continue attending and serving and learning and sharing worship for the rest of my days.

Retired?

Thoughts on being out of work. Friend says "say you are retired, sounds better than "unemployed."

So I am at work on becoming unretired. I have enrolled at the two major employment organizations in Bryan/College Station. Many Navasota employers use them I am told. I have checked on an on-line employment service as well. I have an application in at the City of Navasota.

October fifteenth will be the day I start to worry in earnest. So far its just fleeting moments of wondering. The rest of the time its pretty cool not to have to go to work. Visiting with family and friends, sorting through old clothes to give away, old books to sell, those are meaningful. Baking cookies and cakes, those are fattening but I give them away as well.

Tonight is Vestry meeting, Wednesday noon is Millican Ladies Club (haven't gotten to many of those this year), Thursday night is Millican heritage meeting. Sunday I will go to Tyler to sit on some grands while their Mom does in service at her new school.

And then I will have to get very serious in the search department ... these bills won't pay themselves. I do think networking with family, friends and churchmates is more likely to result in finding something but we shall see.

I am reminded of the opening gambit of the talk on Stoics ... "some things are in our power, some are not in our power. Don't get them confused or you will be miserable." My goal is to not be miserable.

Meantime if you hear of any job openings in the greater Navasota area don't hesitate to tell me.

Mi Familia

When I figure out how to add the photo of the ENTIRE family I will do so.
In the meantime I would like to thank every single member for making the weekend so special and so darn much fun.

As I so often say, when your "grands' range from three to twenty seven it makes for wildly divergent get-togethers. And when they are in three states, jobs and colleges, and special relationships, finding them all on one beach is a huge event. They made it my birthday surprise with a professional photographer. (These are not her pictures, these are ours)

The food was extraordinary too. Hollis headed cooking teams which produced a bounty of chunkleburgers and all the fixins' for Saturday evening at the gazebos beside the beach. Surf was pounding and pretty, and the sky lovely. On Sunday we did photo shoot at 10 and followed with a shrimp boil lunch. Steve and Rachel found the biggest best looking shrimp and they were boiled up with corn and taters ... simply fabulous. (Except for Currie, whose eyes and throat reacted in the vicinity).




By afternoon the storm about which we knew nothing was making for serious waves and currents and many of us battled them until we could barely walk (that would be me, and I can still feel the results.) The "kids" had so much beach fun. There was a most bizarre beach football game on Saturday ... Kagan (age 9) and Hollis (age 50+) were some of the most outstanding players but every one had a blast.

Laura W made favors for all the "girls" ...monogrammed mini duffle bags with goodies inside. There was a chocolate cake with buttercream icing and individual cupcakes for the "fall" birthdays in the bunch, some "Papa" birthday cards for the remaining grandkids with his kind of card humor and a generous check as well.

"Aunt Bonny" was kind enough to find sleeping quarters for most of the "big kids" which was a tremendous help. Everyone worked very hard to make it a fun event. Laura Anne, Matt, Kate and Alexis had the farthest drive. The Wooldridge contingent came in the most vehicles and brought two lovely young ladies with them; Chelsey Corbin, who has been Kate's btf (best Texas friend) for many years, and is considered a "sister" by the W boys, and Morgan's lovely Desiree, who is finding out what our family is really like. Tom's lovely Alissa joined us too. Currie drove from Houma, LA, to Tyler to Galveston because of his work schedule. Bosley's zoomed in on Friday night and I got there first for some lovely sunset. Steve and Rachel made the photo arrangements and the shrimp arrangements. Laura Anne's good friend Julie was able to spend some quality time, too.



Do you see what I mean? Lots of work and lots of fun. Kathy decided after the photo shoot at Papa's funeral that we need some time all together that didn't include eulogies and visitations. I am so grateful that all found it worth their time, money, travel and trouble. It was a most remarkable weekend.

I refuse to be ashamed ...

either of being out of "work" as of five o'clock today, or of needing to go find other "work" in a couple weeks.

When I reflect on all the years I have been employed, fifty five to be approximate, and what I have to show for it, I could be discouraged. I could consider myself an outright failure. However, I do not.

Admittedly, the loot doesn't even fill a medium sized storage facility. And every time there was a windfall, pension plan closing, 401k dispersed, it went to pay indebtedness not to my retirement plan.

So, I'm not a great money manager. I did manage to get four children grown and educated mostly while acceptably attired for the place and times. (Now there are some photographs that might contradict me, but there was abject complicity on the part of the children.)

Most of my income producing years were spent at jobs I enjoyed or endured, selling because it paid, writing and producing commercials because I loved doing it. If I had a demo reel of the radio and tv spots, the speeches, the letters and the programs, I would be proud for you to see them. I do not have one.

But, if you'd like to see the photographs of the places we went, the meals and birthday parties we had, and the many friends we made and still have, it was a pretty good life. You have never heard the whiny "single mom strugglin'" song issue from my lips. In retrospect I have a hard time pinpointing where I went wrong, which choices and decisions turned out " bad" and what I would have done differently.

"Single adventurer with a PhD in Anthropology writes major work on an previously undocumented family in a mountain tree house" would have been a more exciting life but I won't know it.

Now I will spend a week or two visiting with family, children and grandchildren; eating out with friends, maybe even a trip to the Alabama coast for white sand, blue water, great seafood and fun with family there. I will clean out my closet and give the things I haven't worn in a couple of moves to people who have even less. I will volunteer at a couple of places where I should have been doing so already. And then I will set out to find another "job" ... they are no longer "career choices" ... they are jobs. I will need to have a job because, much as I love that chunk of change that shows up in my bank account on the second Wednesday of every month, it is not enough to "pay the bills." My monthly Social Security check is the most money ever contributed to my regular upkeep. Yes, I know I paid some of it, but it is still the most "support" I've ever had. Someday I will have to learn to live on it but not this year. This year I must find a job.

So, if you hear of anyone looking for an adequate administrative assistant or something, have them give me a call ... but not this week!

Retired, again.

After three and a half years as the Administrative Assistant for Bluebonnet Groundwater Conservation District, I have resigned. It is a great job that I have enjoyed. I did it very well and learned a great deal.

Probably I should have tried to stay a few more months. Many friends and family have said, "surely you can take it for just four more months." And I did make the effort. But you know how there is a boiling point from which you cannot get the steam back in the teapot? Well, I reached it and I quit. Very tearing event because a fine young man for whom I would love to work and to whom I could have been a substantive help will be taking the helm after the first of the year.

Fortunately, some folks know the lack of appreciation and serious discomforts up with which I have put for these years and understand my reasons.

Pretty scary time, small town, general financial malaise, etc., etc., etc. I can make it a few months without additional income, very few. For some reason I think I can find another job. I really hope it can be here in Navasota, a town I have grown to love, but if not here, somewhere.

We are having a family get-together in Galveston over the Labor Day weekend. It will be a great time for all those grandchildren to have some fun.. I am so grateful to have a family that likes each other. When grandchildren range in age from 27 to 3, that's saying something. Those big boys have remained close for all these years and revert back to silly summers in New Braunfels when they were pre-teens. It is fun to observe.

After that I hope to visit my family in beautiful Fairhope and pay my respects to gorgeous Gulf waters and its marvelous seafood. Then Katelyn and I will celebrate a couple of big birthdays with a night on the town in New Orleans. Kate turns 21 and I will be the big "70." I am living proof of that old saw, "if I knew I was going to live this long .... I would have saved a lot more money.!" I will never brag about what I did or didn't do that was "right" but I am very very thankful to be in good health and still able to pull my weight.

All y'all pray that I find a job ... but not until I get my fun and visits over with!

My Inferiority Complex

And where it came from.

Beginning with a quote from daughter which she attributed to Eleanor Roosevelt, "no one can make you feel inferior without your consent" and proceeding to evaluate my feelings of inferiority, I have concluded:

If your parents feel that complimenting and approving of their children, even a little, will make them conceited, they do not compliment them. The children never get conceited.

I think it was a 1930's kind of puritanism. I know that my mother felt very strongly especially about not praising appearance or good fortune. She was inclined to praise educational accomplishments, slightly. She never did it or didn't do it in a mean spirited sense. She really believed that it was important not to feed any false senses of entitlement. Funny, too, because for her age and time she was a forward thinking woman. She had two college degrees and taught for ten years before falling for a handsome and somewhat dastardly riding instructor.

So, I was not praised. In fact, when I walked in the door after appearing for the first time on a local television station (mid 1950's), the only comment about my appearance was that I should have stood up straighter.

We were from very strained financial circumstances but lived in a seriously upper income suburb where a girl's value was mainly determined by how many cashmere sweaters, Pendleton skirts and Spaulding saddle shoes fit in her wardrobe. I had one hand me down rust colored cashmere sweater. I went to work as a record librarian in Milwaukee's first Top 40 radio station at the age of 15 not because I was dying to be in radio but because the job was offered and I was in dire need of a new winter coat. The Teamster's Union was on strike and except for Mother's income as a substitute teacher we were doing without a lot.

I was never ashamed of how I looked, once the braids were cut and I had regular hair like the other girls! My clothes did not look rag barrel. Frankly, my radio station job afforded me a little glamor as did my television appearances. I felt accepted albeit different at my fancy high school. Well, maybe I felt a little inferior.

But my sense of inferiority was born before I was old enough to consent to it. I guess that's my main objection to the Roosevelt quote or the applications to which Dr. Phil has tied it in recent years. When people my age were being encouraged and complimented, especially for shallow accomplishments, I was already convinced that I had made none.

I was flat chested, skinny, had straight hair and was not obviously talented. Sometimes the boys with whom I played baseball, ran races or "hung out" remarked on these obvious shortcomings.

When I was a 26 year old divorcee with three children a man with whom I worked and with whom I was quite smitten told me that I had "great legs." I thought he must be kidding. Now legs are not really a cash crop, not like bosoms or curls, but for a couple of months every summer in Wisconsin, and more months in Texas, one could showcase them . I don't think I took the compliment very seriously.

All of this is leading to a weird conclusion. After nearly seventy years on the planet and in spite of all my Mother's efforts to the contrary, I am suddenly becoming vain and conceited. I don't know why. No one, not my family, my religion and certainly not Dr. Phil, has given me permission. Its getting bad. When a young person is stunned that I am "so old" and look "so good" for someone that old, I'm believing them. I actually see and own photographs in which I think I look passing good. I even change out my profile picture on Facebook with several that I find quite pleasing.

How does one overcome so many years of "inferiority" ... and we're talking the truly superficial kind ... not some heavy psychological trauma, as one approaches one's golden years.

Maybe because there's nothing to be gained, no one keeping score any longer and damn few people even noticing.

But I do look in more mirrors than I used to and I am not always disappointed.

Degrees

And no, I'm not talking about temperatures for a change.

I'm talking about those letters after your name that are earned by years of hard work and study.

I am not altogether unaware of their existence. My grandfather had a Masters of Divinity degree from Yale in 1898. My remarkable mother had a Masters in Botany from the University of Wisconsin in 1929. Both of my daughters have college degrees and some of my grandsons are mighty close.

Personally I lack higher education and I know it. If I really got a do over I think I would like to be a Doctor of Anthropology. Doubting that I could make the grade or complete the many years of study. But it does sound like what I would want to do. With one year of college, an ill thought out marriage and several small children to support, it was never an option. My career path, broadcasting and advertising, was not without well educated participants and less educated but equally bright ones as well.

All this is by way of introduction to my current whereabouts. I am near a major university and the town it supports. It is my first foray into academia nearness. For example; my wonderful Episcopal church generally numbers 70 to 80 communicants on a Sunday morning. Easily a quarter of them have multiple degrees and virtually all of them have at least one. They are lovely, bright, smart and caring people. But they are not like the real world, the world of profit and loss, the customer is sometimes right, we need an answer today, cut to the chase.

Apparently, for the intellectual in academe, thinking about it and talking about it, studying it and contemplating it, take precedence over getting it done. In my 50 years of working experience, deadlines were major. Commercials needed to be written, approved and on the air, sometimes in two hours. Media buys that start on Friday could be begun late Wednesday afternoon and ready on time. Commercials could be 10 seconds, 30 seconds or 60 seconds. Those were all the options. The yearly calendar was broken into quarters, each containing thirteen weeks and bills went out on the final Sunday of each month. These were the norm. Meditation and contemplation were luxuries left for the ... academics.

I am neither slow nor dumb ... just not highly educated. I love my new friends that are quicker and smarter and have the luxury of contemplation, both professionally and in their other pursuits. But it is taking some getting accustomed to.

On a lighter note ...

Miss Kyndall Grace Bosley thinks that being tossed into the water is a great deal of fun and will keep asking for more until Grammas arms ache!

Why is like whine

Here is my question. Why am I able to so successfully tell myself how to behave but equally unsuccessful at following my own instructions?

I think I am coming down with OCD in my dotage.

I tell myself: your office is freezing cold and it makes you miserable but it is almost August and you'll have a nice new boss in January if you can just shut up, suffer and survive. A few hours later I have my hand on my purse ready to stuff it all and walk out. Now we know I can't afford to be unemployed. We know that the labor market in a town of 7000 people is never great. But, I'm ready to leave.

Next: that guy, the one that doesn't want me anymore oh, but he keeps "in touch" ... e-mails, an occasional phone call. I tell myself; just forget about him, disregard e-mail, don't answer the phone, for goodness sake don't send e-mails and don't call him. Do not, under any circumstances go to a softball game hoping to see him. Do none of that stuff. What, are you stupid?
And then, not only do I e-mail, but I go back from time to time to re-read what I e-mailed.

I'm telling you, its OCD. This is very disturbing behavior for a person who never did anything repetitive or compulsive for the first 68 or so years on the planet. And now I'm compulsive, what causes this?

I read a suggestion about telling yourself several good things regarding the day before you even get out of bed. I have so much to be thankful for, and I am thankful. My family is doing very well, employed, educated, enjoying life and each other. My health is extraordinarily good. At water aerobics the other night our young (17) lifeguard/cheerleader/instructor just went nuts when some of us were telling our age ... she kept screaming at me ... "I don't believe you are 70 years old, really you don't look that old."

I have the best group of friends beginning with extended family members from Florida to Michigan to Washington, with whom I now keep up better than ever before thanks to the internet (Facebook). I have friends from school days in Wisconsin, school days in Texas, radio stations in both places, ad agencies and my friends at Monument. I have new friends, found since I retired to this part of Texas, found at each of the wonderful Episcopal churches that have welcomed me over the years, Ascension, Christ Church Cathedral, St Peter's in Brenham and dear St. Francis in College Station. The Houston radio community is just crazy about keeping in touch with reunion lunches, extemporaneous parties, and of course, funerals.

There is no good reason for me to be losing my mind ... so why is it going?

Posthumous

This has been a tough year for funerals and its only July.

We found out tonight that Paul Williams will be inducted, posthumously, into the Texas Radio Hall of Fame. It would have meant so much to him to have been able to stand up and receive the honor in person. He deserves it. He was long a loyal Texas radio veteran. He did it until the very day he died. We didn't get to the event last year because of a ticket snafu but we had attended others including one of the first when my first radio boss, Bill Weaver, was inducted in a ceremony that took many hours to complete. The ceremony will be in the Houston area in the fall. I hope Kathy will be able to attend.

Marty Ambrose will be on the inductee list as well. His sweet wife will probably accept. Marty was the inventor of radio traffic reporting in Houston ... forty plus years of it. He was still on the air after being diagnosed with ALS in the Spring. His funeral was just last week.

This week I went to Ken Grant's funeral. He was already in the Hall of Fame. Can you imagine going to work at Houston radio station in 1949, before anyone had ever thought of rock and roll or top forty radio, and remaining at that station (those stations, KNUZ and KQUE) until they ceased existence in 1997. Forty eight years of remarkable change in the broadcast world, from acetate to blue boxes to cartridges and CD's. Ken was the kindest man, the cleverest man, and he survived through all those changes. It was Parkinsons that laid him low just after moving to North Carolina to be near his daughter, Terry.

All of this serves to remind me how important it is to celebrate the great and special people that we know while they are standing here before us.

One last posthumous note. Many years ago, after a gig by his then wife, Jeannie Seely, Hank Cochran, the Yanceys, and Paul and I, went out to dinner at the San Jacinto Inn. After dinner we came back to our house for whatever we could find for nightcaps and to listen to them play and sing some more. Now, Hank wrote several monster hits, "Make the World Go Away", etc., but his own biggest selling recording was of a song he didn't write. That night he sang it to me,
"Sally Was a Good Old Girl." I've met a lot of famous musicians in all those years in radio but that is the only time one of them sang their hit to me. Hank died this week, too, at 74.

I'm telling you ... it is becoming a posthumous life.

The Un-Bucket List

Must be my summer of buckets. Here's the new plan. Things I never want to do, either again, or ever.

Not going to drink anymore chocolate malts. Loved them and ordered them for many years but I think we've come to a parting of the ways. The one I got at Braum's Ice Cream Parlor in Hillsboro on the way home yesterday took about twenty minutes to go from yummy drinking to excruciating stomach cramps, etc.

Apparently seventy year old digestion systems are unlike the seventeen year old model and I must learn to adjust accordingly.

I never again want to agree to do something just because I will feel like a lazy guilty slob if I say no. There's a "volunteer position" opening soon among my favorite group of Episcopalians. In any other decade I would volunteer. Now I won't. It would require several things from me that I no longer choose to give. For one, it would probably take repeated phone calls. I don't make repeated phone calls any more. It would also hang over my head as a monthly chore with a firm deadline and dependent upon other people to complete. Nope, not going to sign up for that.

I have already stopped buying many of the things that I am supposed to "not live without" ...

Baby Bucket List

A few years back I started a Serious Bucket List. Big mistake. There were two problems with it. One was that most of the items were expensive places I wanted to see. The other was a wish to Dance One More Time with My High School "Sweetheart."

In case you haven't heard, I almost got that one. We reconnected on the internet. He lived in Baja, for reasons we shan't mention here, and he invited me to visit. I bought the ticket and enroute to the airport he called to say he was in the VA hospital in LaJolla, having had a heart attack. I went to see him anyway. We talked for three days in his hospital room. I toured the LaJolla, Delmar, Torrey Pines area of California and ate a lot of fish tacos. There were some memorable moments and interestingly different versions of our young romance. He even got a pass from the hospital long enough to go up the coast for lunch and take me to the San Diego airport. We did not dance.

New plan: Mini-Buckets. Now I do spur of the moment, gosh I always wanted to see that, hear them, try that, little buckets. Its a better way for me.

A few weeks ago I saw that the Marshall Tucker Band would be appearing at Gruene Hall. Now, I really only knew a couple of their "hits" but I loved "Heard it in a Love Song" and thought I needed to hear it in person. Only a couple of the "originals" are still in the band. I had never heard a concert at Gruene Hall, only walked through one afternoon to look at the pictures on the wall. Daughter Laura and her husband agreed to accompany me. It was a lovely warm May evening. The place was packed, mostly a bit younger than me, definite yuppie biker influence, and the opening act was unknown and very loud. But the Marshall Tucker Band was wonderful! I treasure the memory of standing with a dance hall full of people, hearing an amazing re-creation of the big hit, and singing along with everybody else. Mini bucket bazingo!

Then, looking for some more music to enjoy, friend in South Texas had found a young Dutch fellow who is a rising star in, of all things, conjunto music. (For any uninitiated, it is accordion based, polka-ish, Tex Mex) And this youthful Dutch group was performing at a three day festival in Rosedale Park in San Antonio. I went to the Saturday show, a different conjunto band every hour on a breezy hilltop within view of the beautiful Our Lady of the Lake campus.








More darn fun, happy people, great music and great variety. Oh, and did I mention the food? The best taquito plate I ever encountered. Looking at the picture I took of it makes my mouth water.

Another winner in the mini-bucket department.

The Serenity Prayer

Various members of my family are familiar with the Serenity Prayer for various reasons. Personally, I have appropriated it for my own use.

You all know it: God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change.
The courage to change the things I can and
the wisdom to know the difference.

I have assigned the three parts ..
things I cannot change = other people ...
courage to change = my own self ...
wisdom = God.

I am really rolling with the first and third but I struggle mightily trying to change my self.

Here's how it goes. The other person does not want me. I have the wisdom to recognize that fact.

Now my question is: where do I get the courage (or whatever) to come to grips with my part ... just get over it. Quit thinking about him. Get over expecting the phone to ring, the text to appear or an e-mail asking for another try. Just get over it.

One excuse is that I spend an outrageous amount of time by myself, alone. Friends and family have suggested that I may "overthink" things! Another is that I have virtually no experience in boy/girl junk. Thirty years without a significant other ... actually thirty years without a date ... is poor training for handling interpersonal relationships.

Now, did I avoid such on purpose for all that time? I don't think so. I really believe there wasn't anyone out there ... and I guess there really wasn't. Oh, and there still isn't. Sadder still, even if there was, I want the one that got away, went away, was never really here.

Back in my "day" it was bandied about that there was "someone for everyone" ... obviously I made erroneous choices early on and the bottom line appears to be that there really isn't anyone for me. Durn. I thought it sounded good.

When I wished for a view of what it would be like to be "falling down stupid,"" crazy about" and "head over heels," it never occurred to me that I would a) get it, b) like it and c) find out that it was a very temporary situation.

So, now I am wishing for a partial lobotomy to forget all that I learned! Helps me understand why people turn to booze, pills and other mind numbing devices. I don't even have the courage for that!

And don't suggest "counseling" ... the last one I went to thought I was rational!

I thought about quitting my job today ...

I almost always do on Social Security check day. I look at the amount and wonder if I could learn to live on it.

In the three plus years that I have worked here I have never once heard the words "Good Job, Sally". Maybe I'm not doing a good job. Every year on my anniversary I get a carefully bureaucratically worded review ringing with faint praise which concludes with a munificent fifty cent an hour raise.

Now, this is a not a cheerful man. He does not throw compliments around. He is normally accusative, based, he would say, on his many years as a police chief. The fact that he is far more civil to me when our "part-time" employee is present in the offices notwithstanding.

In fact, when I asked today if he wanted me to quit he was quick to point out that if my work was in any way unsatisfactory I would hear about it. Further, he said, if he was displeased with my performance, I would be able to tell. Really? How?

Don't misunderstand. This is a swell job. I am fortunate to have been found for it. Thank you, everyone at St. Peter's who told him he should hire me. I walk to work two blocks and see friends and folks to talk to all the way. The hours are reasonable. And even if there is the occasional twelve or thirteen hour day for a long board meeting, there is an hour of comp time for every hour over eight. I can and do all the tasks assigned and there are very few chores that I absolutely dread. I have even come to terms with dusting and vacuuming every Friday and emptying all the trash. The office is lovely and comfortable, at least until the temperatures get into the high seventies outside and we have to have air conditioning blowing down to the high sixties or low seventies to offset the heat.

I just go through all of these points every month to remind myself how very lucky I am, how grim the job market is, especially if your next birthday is the seventieth, and how little money I have.

Okay, all better now. Hi Ho Hi Ho its off to work I go ......

Help ....

what is the matter with me? I am nearing seventy years old and I cannot figure out how to have a successful relationship with a man. I've known that for a long time. In fact I honestly went more than twenty years without even having a date. During that time I asked one or two people ... even one or two men ... what is the matter with me? One, who will remain nameless, altho' I worked for him for a lot of years and respect his opinion, said that I was "intimidating' ... I said how do they know that if they don't even ask me out? I think he meant too independent. If you found yourself with four children to raise without any help what would your choices be?

My parents were married until one of them died. I have a child who is approaching her 30th wedding anniversary (next year). I have some very happily long-married friends. I know it can be done.

I can't get a "feller" to stick around two years. Mostly, I can't even get a feller at all. A friend signed me up with Match.com based on her own and her friends incredible success stories. I never got a single date. Now a "separated" guy in Brenham did e-mail a few times. Does separated count? Never met him.

Some of you know that I have spent the past couple of years hankering after an old friend who actually did show some limited interest in me. A dreamboat indeed. I'd have picked him at any point in the last forty years given the opportunity. We did not have a meal, or a text, or a phone conversation that wasn't interesting, fun, even semi-suggestive. It was so cool.

Guess what he said last week? He doesn't want a "girlfriend" ... not now, not ever. Loves his life just the way it is. Wouldn't mind an occasional phone call or e-mail, maybe even a burger somewhere but, NO GIRLFRIEND.

Now, this is my number one top choice and its off the table. Sadly, its also the only choice there has been in many years, by my choosing. I was strong, I told him I knew how to be alone, never mind the occasional call or text. It would be easier not to have continual reminders of what was not to be. And, so far, I'm sticking to it.

But, I say again, what is the matter with me?

I went to a psychologist a while back, to discuss my inability to connect with members of the opposite sex. She thought I was okay! Should have saved that $125!

I don't want to do speed dating. Obviously Match.com doesn't have much in the over 70 demographic. Finding a younger man .... ha ha ha ha ha.

Suggestions? comments? Criticism (we know I don't take it well, but I'm asking)

An Upside to Growing Older

Finally, I think I have found an upside. The older you get the more your eccentricities are acceptable!

Hooray for eccentric. It is early in this Easter weekend that may see members from each of my childrens' families present in this little loft in Navasota. We are praying for a sunny day so that the largest mass will be outdoors at our favorite park, Washington On The Brazos. We are celebrating not only the greatest Christian holiday, Easter, but also the coming third birthday of our funniest grandchild, Kyndall.

When you are in your seventieth year and live in a little loft in a little town, life is pretty simple. Your decor has been downsized, your furniture has been downsized and you are free to go and do without reporting in to anybody.

If I want to switch my "kitchen colors" (it started with all white) from the reds of Winter to the greens and blues of Spring, I just have to change a couple of towels, a couple of candles and a tablecloth. This is easy.

A child of mine has suggested a better arrangement for the pictures on my living room wall. Most of them were purchased at the Fairhope Arts and Crafts Festival over the last ten years and many of them feature Southern water birds. Not being artistic, I don't doubt for a minute that they could be more effectively grouped. But I don't have to. I'm old and eccentric.

It would be nice to have a nice strong man hang my full length mirror on my bedroom door. I couldn't make it work. But, it works just fine leaned at a jaunty angle that lets me see whether or not I've remembered all the parts of my "outfit" before I head out to work, church or a hot date! Yes, after almost thirty years without male accompaniment I now have an occasional hot date with a man of my dreams. Who knew that would ever happen? I can wax poetic about it because its expected of older eccentrics.

I am a little stressed about doing a good job of hosting this largest gathering of family members since the great birthday party in Brenham some years ago. I'd like all the food to turn out well, the little kids to find enough to do and the big kids to enjoy each other's company. Its a new role, being the "only" grandparent from this side of the family and I am anxious to do a good job. Most of all I am so pleased that when all of my family got together at Papa's funeral they found out they still really like each other and even though many are adults now and living far apart, they still reconnect based on some great childhood experiences.

I'm so glad they still like Gramma, too, even if she is becoming a bit more eccentric.