Anonymity ?

Some years back I was at a family celebration and visiting with another friend of the family.  She is a lovely, educated woman, attractive and well dressed.  But she was wearing shoes that can best be described as utilitarian.  She commented about her footwear.  She said, "you know, after a woman turns fifty five, no one looks at her feet."  Now that's a pretty freeing statement on its own.

More and more it seems to me that after sixty five, or maybe seventy, no one looks at one much at all. And conversely, I know I do a very poor job of setting names and faces in my memory.  Only this morning a cute young mom with a couple of Kyndall-sized kids greeted me as the end of the church service.  I said, "I know I've met you , please tell me when and where."  Turns out it was the wild Chuckee Cheese birthday party a few weeks ago.  At that party she had asked me if I was at Christ Church because I looked familiar.

Now I have a new identity and its working really well for me.  If you have kids you may remember back to the elementary school days when they had friends over to play.  When things got out of hand, or not, a visiting child would come running to you saying, "Laura's Mommy, so and so pushed me."  Or maybe, "Stephen's mother, do you have a bandaid?"

Guess who I am now.  I am Kathy Bosley's mother!  Her range of acquaintances is huge, from early days of teaching here, to years of church work and now she and her children's involvement at All Saints (never mind that years ago she worked at Chili's and made a lot of friends there too).  Its a great introduction and so many people connect immediately.  The first Sunday I introduced myself to Fr. Brandon (Chaplain at All Saints and on the staff at Christ Church) I followed that with "you do know Kathy Bosley, don't you."  He replied, "doesn't everyone know Kathy Bosley?"

What a gift it is not to have to explain oneself.  Better still what a great connection it is.  Today after introducing myself to a man for whose family she helped in many capacities for many years, he studied me a bit and then said, "I see her in you."  Wow.

Not every holiday memory ....

is filled with joyfulness.

My Father died on Super Bowl Sunday, 1977.  In order to find out what date that actually was ...January 9th, I always Google "Super Bowl Winners".  He was in the hospital in Lordsburg, NM, and we were in Alief.  We had been there to tell him goodbye at Christmas time.  He had always wanted to go up in the mountains and die under a tree like the Indians (Native Americans) did.  He could see a couple small ranges of mountains out his hospital room window.  He was 71 years old and had been in failing health for several years.

Fast forward to another holiday, Thanksgiving two years ago.   That was the day I got home from New Braunfels to find an e-mail from "the man of my dreams" telling me he had found the woman of his and I was out of the picture.  Not a huge deal since he indicated at the beginning of an almost three year "relationship" that he was still grieving a dead wife and not ready for a romance.  However, after three years you sort of hope things are coming around.  They were not.

My mistake.  I had wished for a "romance" since I was aging quickly and had been alone for a very long time.  I don't know why not one of my family or friends ever "fixed me up" with anyone, not uncles visiting from another state, not some friend's ex-husband, no one.  Perhaps there were good reasons.  Anyway, when this particular fella called and asked if I would like to go to dinner, since he was going to be up Grimes County way on something important, I dropped the phone and hollered with glee.  (It was a recording)

I won't bore you with the events that led up to this or with how I'd known him for about 40 years, him and his wife and children.

The facts are, not all holiday memories are just swell.  Super Bowls are no long played in early January, so that doesn't bring immediate memories of my Dad's passing.  However, every year at this time it is Thanksgiving and so I have an exact count of how many years ago my heart was broken (it was broken).  Today its two years.  I'm doing well, thanks for asking.  Still think about him.  Still conjure up pretend scenarios where he shows up, calls up .... or even, e-mails me to say he's sorry.  I guess he's not sorry.
And thankfully, as the years pass, I realize that is probably just as well.  We wouldn't have agreed about the election.  Tyler is much farther away than Navasota.  And I am a grateful and confirmed "loner."

So, to heck with memories, have a swell holiday filled with pleasant memories.

Hi Ho Hi Ho .... its off to work THEY go.

This Fall has brought a bustle of new employment and opportunities to our family.  I think it is just lovely that so many of us have found new ways to stay busy and earn money.  I am equally thrilled that I am not really one of them.

Youngest child, Kathy and Lane have opened their new store, Clothes Mentor, in a very posh area of Tyler and it seems to be going very well.  Since they are also hard at work at their day jobs, I pitch in with cooking and kid transport.

Oldest child, Laura, is taking on a new position at Randolph Brooks CU, where she has been a valued customer for a very long time.  We hope it will leave her time to stay at all the gorgeous quilts and crafts that make her so happy.

Other daughter (in-law) Laura is criss crossing the South in her job with Convention South ... a job I think I would have loved to have.

Granddaughter Katelyn is happy to be back in Baton Rouge and working near LSU while she ponders her next step in education.  She's also helping out a cheer buddy a couple days a week in New Iberia.  (Who wouldn't want to be in New Iberia?  The place just smells wonderful.)

GD Alexis is in the cheer business too, as a member of the Blazers cheer squad while she studies at UAB.

Then there are the grandsons.  Matt has moved to Chattanooga, TN, and says I should come visit ... that I would like it.

Tom found this cool job, working for art galleries aboard cruise ships.  Between trips he visited cousin Curtis, told him about it, and now Curtis is in training for the same career.  Let me see, they get paid to live on cruise ships and tour the world.  That's another one I could have loved.

Currie is hard at work at two busy construction sites on Houston's east side and comes to visit his house (and his Mother) here in Whitehouse when he can get away.

Three months without a real job ... that would be me and I am not complaining.  I'm also not shopping and not planning any big Christmas gifts to anybody but there's a lot to be said for the idle life.  That's a joke, I'm not really idle but I don't really have a "boss" either.

Hi Ho Hi Ho, its off to Gentle Yoga I go.

Juxtaposition

Almost two months ago I packed up my things and moved to Whitehouse, Texas, an exurb of Tyler.  A lot of thought and discussion went into the move.  I think its going well.  But it is a juxtaposition.

Previously, I lived in Navasota, a small town, in a downtown upstairs loft.  Navasota was about a half hour from a metropolitan area, Bryan/College Station.

In Whitehouse, a town about the same size as Navasota, I live in "the country" with few neighbors and lots of trees, birds and flowers, but I am less than ten minutes from a metropolitan area.

I had lots of friends, lots, but no family.  Here I have a good bit of family, but no friends.

I worked forty hour weeks at the City of Navasota.  So far I have avoided paid labor in Tyler.  But, its coming.  Lane and Kathy will be opening their new store, Clothes Mentor, in a couple of weeks and I'll be putting in some hours there.  I will also help out with kids and meals as they get up and running and comfortable with such a huge undertaking.

Not everything is a big change; church remains important and Episcopal, and I will be joining Christ Church in downtown Tyler as soon as my Vestry duties are concluded in College Station.  Christ Church has an impressive group of priest and leaders and is closely tied to All Saints School where Kathy teaches and the kids attend.  I like the synergy.  I also like that they don't need me very badly.  I'm going to just worship and study there for a while.

I really missed Ms. Mary Lou, Ms. Kim, and all the exercise pals in Navasota but I've found a most satisfactory replacement ... as least as far as the exercise part goes, at the Whitehouse YMCA.  It is most reasonable, well designed, staffed and supplied.  I go to Gentle Yoga on Monday and Wednesday and to Senior Strength on Tuesday and Thursday.  Senior Strength is led by a delightful young Marine who works our little old tushes off but does a great job.  Probably 24 seniors are there every day.  Hope to schedule my work details around those events!

In two weeks I'll be 72 years old.  Personally, I think 72 sounds much better than 71, so I'm not bummed at all.  Tonight I found out that my oldest grandson will become a father in the Spring, so I will be a 72 year old great grandmother!

I am exceedingly grateful to my brunette children, Currie and Kathy, for all they have done to make me feel useful and welcome here.  I've been to the Bascom Cemetery twice to check on Paul.  I know he is somewhere just laughing his head off at the thought of me living here.

So, I am juxtaposed.  I am still healthy and grateful.  I am still alone.  But I remain adaptable.

Soulmate

One of my many self identified sins is envy.  One of the things I envy most is people who have found a "soulmate"... even if it didn't last "forever."

I think I've had a "soulmate" epiphany.

Today is my little brother's 65th birthday.  He died fourteen years ago.  Royce Fredrick Stephenson was born on April 28, 1947.  About eighteen months later he was finally diagnosed with Cerebral Palsy.  He had a very severe case.  He never spoke, never sat up by himself, never fed himself.  However, he lived a full albeit frustrating fifty one years.

He went to school in West Allis Wisconsin up to age 18.  He went to day camp and week camp, which gave my devoted Mother a bit of a break once a year.  He had all manner of assists for his handicaps; talking board, talking books, and eventually computers that he could use, tediously.  He had many devices to help him live an active life and many angels that contributed to them.

When the famous baseball player, Bobby Thomson, came to the Braves for one year later in his career he, his wife Winkie and their daughter Nancy lived upstairs from us on Martha Washington Drive in Wauwatosa, Wisconsin.  Bobby was moved by Royce's plight and bought him his first specially outfitted tricycle with supportive back and lace on foot pads.  It was a treat.  Royce had "standing tables" designed for him to be locked into with locked waist high braces so that he could play in a standing position.  He also would get a little carried away and tip himself over on his back occasionally.

My best friend during high school years, Bunkie Proulx, would come to the house and ask if she could take "Rock" for a walk.  They would walk, she pushing his wheel chair or pulling him in a wagon, to the Milwaukee Zoo ... probably three miles from our house.  When she brought him home he always had wet hair.  She said, and he nodded, "the giraffe spit on him."

Royce was not retarded, at all.  Some of the people who tested him were.  They couldn't comprehend his intricate talking board.  It was very tedious but he could make his thoughts and needs known to anyone willing to spend some time hunched over it.  Now, his spelling was not fabulous, partly I think because he never did get to "sound out" any words.  Case in non point; when they, Mom, Dad and Royce, lived in Ajijic, Mexico, for part of one year they were invited frequently to Sunday afternoon "musicals" with other US ex-pats, to listen to hi-fi recordings of classical renditions.  The hostess asked Royce which composer he would like to hear and he pointed to the "C" on his talking board.  After the assemblage mentioned every C composer they could think of, it turned out Rock was asking for Tchaikovsky, which to him "sounded" like a C word.

My parents were truly devoted to Royce, especially my Mother and especially as they all aged.  When it became apparent that he needed to be placed in an institution (Mother was 4'11" and weighed less than 100 pounds, Daddy was in rapidly failing health) they headed out to find the best spot.  Wintering in Douglas, AZ (the West was much better for Mom's arthritis and Dad's emphysema) they heard about a good smelling "home" in Lordsburg, NM.  As soon as space became available they moved to Lordsburg, Royce moved in to Sunshine Haven, Mother moved into an apartment and Daddy died.  Mother worked part time at the Lordsburg Public Library until she was 84.  She brought Royce home almost every Sunday for a home cooked meal and to listen to his record albums, Tchaikovsky, Glenn Miller and such.

When Mother died in 1992 at the age of 88, my little brother became my responsibility.  That's an awful way to put it.  I had always promised him and her that I would be there when the time came.  But to be there meant jumping in my car after work on a Thursday and driving 915 miles from Alief to Lordsburg, arriving plumb tuckered, spending Friday and Saturday with him, going for rides, of course, and then Sunday driving home.  It was not a good situation so we changed it.  The State of New Mexico had recently mandated and funded "group homes" for developmentally disabled instead of large institutions.  They allowed for our party of two to be a "group."  Royce's SSI and state money funded day care and transport and training at NMSU's speech department in Las Cruces.  We moved into a nice little house and loved our time in "Cruces".  I found some jobs but none that actually supported us very well.  We loved waking up on Saturday mornings to the sound of hot air balloons crossing over that fabulous blue sky above our house, smelling those green chiles roasting and jumping (well, it took a bit of hefting and devices) into the car for a road trip, maybe across White Sands and up to Cloudcroft.  Everything was great except making ends meet so when Mr. Smith called and said he'd pay to move us back to Texas so I could resume doing my job for him, we talked it over and made the arrangements.  I was able to find an adequate house in Northshore, in the same subdivision as the best nursing home I could find for Royce.  I would get him on Friday evening and take him back on Sunday night.  Road trips became rides on the Lynchburg Ferry or all the way to New Braunfels.  The day after a trip to NB to see the flood damage I got a call that Royce had suffered a heart attack and was enroute to hospital.  It was massive and he had always said it would be all right to go somewhere that more of his worked well.  He died that night after most of my kids had made it to his bedside to say goodbye.  I did not handle it all that well.

But only today have I realized that I'd been whining all this time (mostly to myself) about not having ever had a soulmate.  In thinking and talking about how much fun we had, how many serious conversations we had, and how many nights we went to bed still laughing about something we had said or done or planned.

And I did have a soulmate ... it wasn't a husband or a boyfriend or a lover, it was my little brother!  I really should have gotten it before this.  But at least I get it now.

Happy Birthday Royce!

Death, 2012

When one reaches her seventh decade, a certain amount of dying is to be expected. This Spring started, a few weeks ago, with those "expected" passings. My dear family priest saw the passing of his mother. Juanita Williams was ninety five and failing perceptibly, even to herself. On a damp morning in Tyler, she was funeralized and buried. A friend's one hundred and six year old mother, long a nursing home resident, also passed away. Her memorial is next Sunday.

But the tide began to turn. While I was at the Tyler funeral, my co-worker found his older and ill brother dead at home of COPD related illness. The brother was but seventy four.

On Monday another co-worker, younger still, and alive still, was found at her water plant, down and unresponsive, the victim of a massive stroke. Thank goodness she was found promptly, provided excellent care both on the way to and at two fine hospitals. Today she stopped to say hello to all of us on her way to a bout of "rehab" (rehab is the operative word of this decade I think).

But sadder still, last evening we heard of a hideous auto accident in Northeast Texas that took the lives of a fifty seven year old grandmother and her darling little three year old grandson. Eli was the son of our friend and co-worker, Sarah, and her husband. He was the cutest little kid you've ever met. He had an extended family that adored him.

My point is, I expected to learn to deal with the deaths of those my age and older. Nothing prepared me for going to a memorial service on Monday for a three year old.

I don't know what to do. I don't know what to say. How on earth do you console a mother on the loss of her little boy? How do you console a father on not only that loss but the loss of his own mother?

And an even thornier question, how do you sit through a Texas service where you are told that it is all "God's will?" It was an awful accident. Maybe it was even a preventable accident. It was an accident. I don't believe that the loving God I worship identifies a cute little three year old and marks him to die. I don't. And I don't want to sit quietly while someone says he did.

So, beside praying for this grief stricken family and town, please pray that I keep still and pray too for them. Please help them find some consolation and comfort as time goes by. I just don't know what to say or do but I know there will be a lot of tears shed for Eli.