Marcus

As of today, my two oldest grandsons, are both over the dividing line between kid and adult.  Today is Marcus' 21st birthday!  (Jackson will be 25 in October) 

He just sent me a fantastic picture of himself that captures the man he is: sun-tanned and cheerful, fit and glowing--but Google is not letting me post it.  Some glitch!

His parents are in Copenhagen for a week and when they return, Marcus is scheduled for a tonsillectomy.  His girlfriend Lucia is home for a month in Spain.  So I'm guessing he and his brother will be going out for dinner tonight, Marcus having his first legal drink!

As a little boy, he was shy. He proclaimed that he would never move away from his mama, that he'd always live at home.  He was a Mama's Boy for sure.

One day I looked down at a three-year-old Marcus as we were packing the car to go somewhere.  "Here, Marcus, can you hold these keys for me for a minute?" I asked.

His face registered a mix of delight and pride, honored to be tasked with such an important job.  He timidly took the keys and held them carefully, then said, "Yenna, I've never holded keys before!" 

He played the trumpet for a while, played lacrosse, adored all sports, had an incredible memory for athletes, coaches, plays, wins and losses.  When he went to college, he reinvented himself: he knocked on doors and got whatever he asked for, mostly jobs relating to sports and sportscasting and writing.  He made so many friends and created the life he wanted. 

He interviewed a star basketball player for his podcast, a girl from Spain, an art major.  

When Day heard the interview, she said, "Marcus, I think she likes you.  I mean likes you!" 

"Like she's into me?.....Nahhh" he said.

But his Mama was right.  I don't know what transpired, but pretty soon pictures started showing up of Marcus and Lucia.

One night the two of them were having a meal with Jackson and Deanna and the whole table was filled with his friends.  Jackson (reportedly) asked Marcus: "Did you ever think this would be your life, all these friends, a cool girlfriend and all?"

Marcus said, "Yeah, for sure.  I always knew this would  be my life!"

Here's to Marcus and 21 candles!  Here's to knowing what you want and going for it.  Here's to creating the life you want!

Cultivating the Joy of Aging

Charlotte texted me this poem by Jayne Gumbel, and I wanted to share it with all my aging friends and family:

Cultivating the Joy of Aging

Some mornings now

I wake before the world

and sit quietly with my coffee

like an old woman

who has finally stopped arguing with the wind.

The body speaks differently these days.

Knees remembering storms.

Hands carrying the ache

of everyone they have tried to love.

Still!

Wendy, the willow waving no matter the weather!

The birds call my name from the trees -

as though nothing precious has been lost.

This delights me!

I was taught to fear becoming older.

As though aging were a narrowing.

As though beauty belonged only

to smooth skin and unbroken things.

But the heart!

the heart becomes enormous

through weather.

I have cried enough now

to recognize sorrow

in the eyes of strangers.

I have lost enough

to stop wasting time

pretending permanence.

And joy? true joy!

No longer arrives like fireworks.

It comes quietly now.

In painting, in poetry.

In a friend who still reaches for my hand.

In the courage to rest.

In forgiving the life I did not live.

In belonging to the earth

instead of trying to rise above it.

Aging is not a punishment.

It is an initiation.

A slow loosening

from performance, certainty, and speed.

A returning.

Not to youth -

but to something kinder.

Sometimes I think

the soul grows older on purpose

so we will finally learn

how to love everyone.

Even ourselves.

Especially ourselves.

And when my time comes

to leave this shimmering world,

I do not want to say

I stayed young.

I want to say:

I stayed astonished.

A Mother's Day message from Candy to Carolyn

Two of my dearest friends and I all grew up together.  Not as children and teenagers but as mothers of small children and faculty wives.  Our husbands were professors of art at S.A.C. in those days--and we three and other wives bonded as we watched our children play on the yard of the Koehler House where most of the faculty and student exhibitions were held.  

Carolyn's Candy and Joy's Kim and my Day were girlfriends--and Kim had a big brother named Chris.  The three of us now have two sons and four daughters in their forties and fifties. 

Now we three mamas are in our late 70s and early 80s.  We still get together when we can and it's always so dear to be with friends who go back that far. 

This morning scrolling Facebook, I happened to read Candy's Mother's Day message to Carolyn and it was so beautifully written and such a spot-on description of Carolyn that I'm taking the liberty of posting it for anyone who didn't see it on Facebook. 

Here it is:

Candy Carlos Banda is with Carolyn Cox.

May 11, 2025

  ·My mama is a magical being, my mooring to goodness and my spurring to evolve. She is such a story of juxtaposition!

Meeting as teenagers and wanting to get married just weeks later, she and my daddy weren’t supposed to make it, but they sure in hell did! Best love story!

Without a college degree, she wasn’t supposed to become Vice President of San Antonio Christus Santa Rosa hospitals, but her badass self did.

Society tells us that we aren’t supposed to talk with strangers in an elevator, but if you have ever been in an elevator with my mom, you know she certainly does just that. This lady makes a point to speak to all, to include all, to engage all.

She didn’t have to be our biggest cheerleader, but there she is showing up at all of our events. My mama is the manifestation of being present, buoying us up through love in action. 

A Catholic-raised girl doesn’t normally choose to live her life with an agnostic husband and daughter with all kinds of existential angsts, but there’s my mama showing us how to do it. 

My parents’ tandem of curiosity and reflection taught me how each of us can grow when we invest in others, ask authentic questions, listen intently, and engage in discussions that explore and examine the essence of being a human in this world.

She didn’t plan on being a widow, but she is now and damn is she my hero. I have been in awe of Mom from day one, but I am most proud of this chapter in her life because she has made the choice to live life with goodness, grace, and strength. She continues to show up and be engaged in our lives. In her constant effort to live a life bigger than herself, she chooses to work serving others. She is figuring out her life on her terms, and it is damn special to watch unfold.

Her being shapes my world. Love you, Mama—alll the way up and back down, again and again and again…Happy, happy Mother’s Day!!! 💛💛💛

Blue Jean Books and Dish Rag Books

I've picked up and then cut up a few pair of old jeans and a few other blue fabrics, and today I am ironing them onto interfacing and then backing them with a kind of tissue paper.  That's what you call book cloth.  Later, on another assumbly line day, I will cover book boards with them to be used on books with exposed spines. 

Same with dish rags picked up for a dollar at a thrift store along with a couple of vintage handkerchiefs.  

The smell of steam on fabric takes me back--since every garment I ever wore was made by my mother, Carlene.  

On the night before she made a dress or a skirt for either of us, she enjoyed cutting out the patterns--McCalls, Simplicity, and Butterick.  

Then she'd iron and neatly fold the fabric the long way, selvages together.  On each pattern piece, there was an arrow indicating straight of grain.  So she'd pin each pattern piece, sleeves and skirts parallel to the grain.  She then cut each piece with pinking shears and pin matching parts together.

My favorite part was sitting beside her as the fabric slid under the presser foot of the machine and watching the parts come out the other side connected.

While I've made a few garments in my life, I find making small pieces like book covers more satisfying at the moment.  When machine stitching is called for I love using her old Bernina to stitch the parts together.

Memories of my mother are woven into everything I make.  To her--and then to me, and then to Day--handmade gifts were the best gifts.  

Lyn's Classes

Lyn Belisle is a well-known San Antonio artist who generously shares her magic in these online classes:

Lyn's classes  

The first one on this site is the one Nellie and  I are working on now. To that end, I picked up sticks and stones and magnolia leaves as Luci and I were walking.  

This class, The Keeper of Fragments subtitled "A Devotional Reliquary Figure," teaches students how to honor the fragments and memories that make us who we are.  Nellie, an artist in her own right, jumps right in and makes beautiful figures.  I, on the other hand, start by collecting pieces--fabric scraps, buttons, string, ribbons, and papers.  And now I'm ready to tear paper and start assembling my figure.

This one is akin to one I've taken and loved earlier, The Secrets of the Spirit Doll.  Both build figures with faces and adorn them with tiny envelopes and bits of handwriting and all kinds of found objects.  

Nellie makes her own clay faces; I use, for now, faces made by Lyn, sold on Etsy.

My usual aesthetic in book making has a lot to do with precision and measuring and stitching.  Lyn's classes are more organic.  She rips and tears and rarely measures, making this a big step outside my comfort zone and a chance to look with new eyes at the things I've been saving.

It's refreshing and meditative.  I highly recommend any of her classes if you're looking for something new and meaningful.  

If you take your dog to the grocery store

This could happen:

A handsome man might squat down a bit and say to your dog, "You are the cutest dog in the whole store:"

Your dog might lick the bruises on his arm--if your dog's superpower is, like mine, healing anybody's booboos. The handsome well-dressed man might then tell you how he loves dogs but at his age, he's not able to take care of them anymore.  He might tell you he's 88 years old.

A beautiful young woman, in her forties, might ask if she can pet your dog--and of course, you say yes. When she gets back up, she might tell you that your dog made her day, that she'd been having a hard day and just petting your dog made her feel so much better.  You might say you're sorry she'd had a bad day and offer her to come over and pet your dog any time.  And then she might hug you, with tears in her eyes,  like an old friend.

An older woman with blond hair might be right behind her, asking if she can pet your dog.  "She's a Corgi, I know for sure--but she's so little.  Is she a mini-Corgi?"  She might tell you that her daughter raises Corgis (or whatever your dog's breed might be) and that they are the best dogs in the world.  

A baby in a shopping cart calls out to his mama, "Puppy!  Puppy, Mama!  Puppy!"

The sales clerk in the cheese department might say, "I want to touch your dog so much but I can't because I'm working.  I just love it when you come in here."

The check-out girl might ooh-and-aah over your dog and then take out her phone to show you hers--a Corgi Chihuahua.

A well-dressed middle-aged woman might say, "That is the cutest dog I've ever seen."

You will walk out feeling like your ordinary little mutt is a therapy dog!

In the middle of the night when I get up and down, up and down, Luci could deservedly get irritated.  But here's what she does instead: 

When I lie on my side, she scooches under the covers and parks herself against the back of my legs, in the crook of my knees.  At the moment, I can't think of anything that feels better than to feel her so so soft fur against my skin.

Today Will took me to a spinal surgeon to see if there is any involvement in the spine.  Had there been any significant issue there, I'd have been happy to sign up for surgery, but there was none.  Whatever it is is in my feet.  I am not diabetic, but based on the pictures he showed me of diabetic foot pain, it looks like that. 

Next up: neurologist, rheumatologist, and podiatrist!  I learned (from Dr. Day) that the pads on one's feet can thin with aging, and standing on my feet making books and cutting heavy book board is not the best hobby for thinning pads.  I ordered a big thick rubber mat and diabetic shoes, and I'm hoping that those will make a difference.

In the meanwhile, I have a healing puppy and a fantastic family and friends--and that counts for a LOT..  

My yard planned by Bonnie and planted by Orlando--populated by countless birds--is a tremendous joy! 

2026 Fiesta winds down

Fiesta is drawing to a close, San Antonio's ten-day all-over-the-place party!

Because I was up half the night planning and stacking for the inauguration of Blue Jean Books, Luci and I overslept and missed most of The Pooch Parade and all things dog, but we managed to see the tail end of the parade as the dogs and their families happened to end up coming down Abiso and converging onto Ogden for the final stretch.

So we walked on the other side of the street for a block, as the paraders walked back toward the pool where the parade ended.  We saw cocker spaniels, cow-dogs, retrievers, lots of breeds ending in poo, and terriers of every description.  We saw mutts and Weiner dogs and greyhounds.  Luci only broke into the oncoming line of dogs once--to lick a Corgi's face!  (if that's not proof that she's at least half Corgi, I don't know what is!--maybe she saw her former mama?)

Then we got into the car and drove over to Herwicks, the art supply store, to check out papers in search of some Clairefontane notebooks.  The paper in those notebooks is so smooth and beautiful, and I wanted lines.  I have a few so far and I've taken them apart, divided the signatures into smaller signatures, and they are now in the press awaiting a new life in lined books.

We hadn't been there in months, but the manager remembered her and took lots of pictures and gave her a vigorous back rub.  What a sweet man!  "My lady always wants pictures of all the shop dogs," he said.

Then it was nap time, of course.  And that is now done!

The King William Fair and the Arts and Crafts fairs, the finales of Fiesta, are going on just fine without us there--but used to be not-to-be-missed events.  I prefer this year to work on my own craft instead of walking all day to see others. 

The streets around my house are going to be more fragrant to Luci until it rains again.  She walks with her head down sniffing dog pee every four inches or so, then covering it up with pee of he own.  What an amazement it must have been to her--to have our very own streets filled with dogs from near and far, many dressed up in colorful costumes!  That, for Luci, is the whole of Fiesta every year.  

Prosperity!

I often get up in the middle of the night to play Spelling Bee--but that soon leads me to a video on the Handmade Book Club that keeps me awake until.....whenever!

I have enough art supplies to last me forever and beyond--which is why I feel so prosperous this morning.

Nellie sent me a video of books made of indigo and said she had some and would share.  This started me on a whole new road of this bookbinding journey, inspiring me to make a series of books I'm calling Blue Jean books. 

All of them will be covered in various iterations of shibori fabric, denim, and indigo.  The fabrics will be attached to book board with double-sided interfacing.

Signature wrappers that will show through on the spines will be papers of the same blues, then sewn with red or blue or white thread. 

I have finally figured out how to make lined pages!  I'm buying stapled-spined notebooks and tearing off the cover and removing the staples, then using the paper to build signatures.  (A signature is a bundle of pages--books might have four or ten or however many pages you want)

Beads and buttons, adhesives of all kinds, buttons and cords and waxed linen thread, and an unlimited supply of paper for pages--I've been collecting these things forever, and now have so many ways to incorporate them into books.  This is richness!

Besides all the good things we often take for granted--food and shelter and friends--what makes you feel most rich? 

Wimp to Warrior

That's Luci.  She roars like a warrior at night, then (during these delicious days of rain) hesitates before deciding whether or not to venture forth when there's a light drizzle. 

I encourage the warrior part.  "You go get 'em!" I say--knowing there's rarely any them to get. Or: "Have a fun adventure!"

She reminds me of myself--I can be both too.  

I was a warrior today at the doctor's office.  I was explaining my frustration with side effects of  certain meds. I told her that Gabapentin has cost me a couple of teeth and gives me nightmares.  Some are said to cause kidney or liver damage. 

She says no, they're all safe but IF they do cause damage like that, "we can take care of it."  What, with more drugs? I ask her, my hackles rising.  

"I'm pretty sure you could get your pain doc to increase your Gabapentin by three and you'd get a lot of relief," she says, forgetting, apparently, what I'd just told her.  I felt like Luci growling..The tears in my eyes aren't wimp tears; they're the wet part of speaking up, arguing with an authority, standing up for myself.  It took me way too long to learn not to be wimpy with doctors. 

"By three???" I say, unable to hold back my anger. "No pain but also no teeth??"

One day my children and grands were talking in the voices of their dogs.  Gruff, mischievous, bossy, submissive, or squeaky.  "So what does Luci sound like?" I asked them.  Two grandchildren said simultaneously, "She sounds exactly like you, Yenna!" (One of them did a line in a Southern accent to show me.) 

Like me, Luci is very friendly.  She loves people, and she's rarely met one she doesn't hope to befriend--except for the evil postman who throws bombs in our door that she must shake and shred.  When a stranger speaks to her, ever, anywhere--or even to me about her, she gently stretches her whole body onto their legs, all the way up to their knees.  

I was voted "friendliest" in my senior class.  Luci and I share a Southern accent and a friendly disposition. According to a documentary on dogs, that's the quality that best explains why dogs and humans have always worked well as companions.  From the beginning of time, dogs have approached humans around campfires and offered to break bread together--or steak or fish or stewed rabbit bones. 

"I call it," the documentarian said, "survival of the friendliest." We humans go ga-ga over their big friendly eyes and the way they nuzzle up close for pats. Dogs know--if they hope for a bone or a pat--they better be their friendliest selves. 

Luci and I both love to look at things. When we walk, she stops and stands stock still and stares at everything.  Could be an Amazon delivery man putting a box on someone's porch, a little kid riding a bicycle, or dogs taking their people for walks.  Certain dogs she looks and looks and looks at and whines plaintively to inform me that she would like to meet them up close.  

Others she sizes up as not-friend-material  and we move on down the street.  

Of all the countless dogs we've met on our walks, I've only once seen her respond with loud and irrational rage toward one of them. 

An innocent little cocker spaniel approached--attached by leash to its person--and Luci lunged toward it barking with all her might.  

"A cocker frickin' spaniel?" I asked her.  "What's up with that?"

She never told me.

Another parallel: while Luci and I love favors and treats and gifts, we have a hard time asking for them.  We basically wait and see what shows up and then be grateful. We like others to read our minds.

Luci never asks for anything.  She uses her eyes and body language to let it be known that she'd like to go outside or have a slice of turkey.  If I don't respond immediately or pretend to ignore her, she gets in the yoga doggie pose and her eyes say, "Come on, Ma!  You know what I want!  It's not rocket science!" 

We are friendly wimps, we are warriors. We are lookers.  We usually get what we want.