I love it when the whole Pritchett clan comes to stay for a day or two or three! I spent the morning with Luci and Nathan while Elena was at rock climbing camp. Will and Bonnie climbed too, along with practicing for an upcoming marathon. Luci adores Nathan (he'll be 15 in March)--and vice versa.
We all met for lunch at Osaka, then I napped while they bowled. When Bonnie and Will took Nathan to Helotes to feed his pig (to be shown and auctioned in January), Elena and I went next door to let the dogs romp. Carma's becoming a wonderful dog but has never liked little girls. Her bark is scary but we didn't know what she'd do when she met Elena. Our fearless animal whisperer worked her magic and won Carma over in five minutes. Soon both dogs were begging for her attention and kisses.
Will and Bonnie brought dinner from Cava's--Mediterranean food. We're now going to bed early so we can all be at camp at 9:00 to watch our rock climber.
I hear we're having a cold front coming in this weekend! Good--I'll get to wear my new fleece-lined jacket, the one I ordered after getting a taste of cold weather on our way to Durango, the one I may only wear twice a year.
Luci and I slept late--one of us had a bad leg night last night--so we're off for a short walk before Bonnie and Nathan arrive. They will visit until Elena's rock climbing camp is over at noon and then we'll all five spend the afternoon together, and they'll spend the night.
I've assembled the ingredients to make cannelloni for dinner unless we opt for eating out. It will be my first cooking venture in a good long while, so wish us luck!
My new friend Laren told me about Peaky Blinders, a series on Netflix, which I'm liking. And I have a new David Whyte book from Nellie to start listening to on our walk. It's going to be a good day in Texas--and I hope the same for all of you!
Christmas 2021 was a most enjoyable day!
I drove out to Helotes to see what Santa had brought Elena--Nathan at his other dad's house this year. From Santa she got Air Pods, a skateboard, and some horse tack; from her parents a new horse riding helmet, shoes, and other things. She was, as always, thrilled and thankful for everything, either still believing in Santa Clause or pretending to in the spirt of the game.
A blanket from Aunt Day and family
Bonnie made yummy pecan pancakes, then we had a big noisy group FaceTime with our Virginia family and a virtual tour of their almost-finished kitchen remodel. Will worked in the afternoon and I came home and had a nap and long phone visit with Carlene.
At sunset, the sky brighter red than it's been all year, my across-the-street neighbor came over and we visited on my porch for three hours. I've always liked him so much (for the two decades we've known each other), but until lately we've mostly visited on the go. Don't we all love those times when nobody is in a hurry and we can discover a whole new level of friendship?
While he was here, another neighbor brought a plate of Christmas dinner, scrumptious tenderloin and green beans, mango mousse and apple crisp. It was my favorite kind of party--spontaneous, great people, and dinner made by a real chef.
All these years as neighbors and I'd never known that she owned a restaurant I loved back in the day--The Greenwood, a small and always packed natural food cafe near SAC. Remember alfalfa sprouts and avocado sandwiches on multi-grain bread. carrot cake and vegetable stews? This was The Greenwood, one of my favorite places to meet friends for lunch in the early Seventies!
When we buy a house--or are given one as a gift, as I was one unforgettable Christmas in the late 90s, we also land in a neighborhood; meet each other's grandchildren and dogs; and can be there for meals and errands (as it was turn to discover in spades this year) when one of us, say, cracks her noggin on the pavement. I could never have imagined a sweeter place to live than this!
Luci and I wish a Very Merry Everything to all our beautiful friends who are like family and to our scattered (Georgia to Virginia and Texas) family of Harrises, Learys, and Pritchetts.
This year especially, after all your support, I am grateful for every one of you and so thankful for your calls, groceries, cookies, emails, errands, gifts and visits. (I won't include a photo of myself on this Christmas card--I still look ghastly but am feeling almost just fine!)
I hope that all your houses are filled with whatever brings you joy and let's all hope together for a better year in 2022 in the world!
We left San Antonio Friday afternoon and drove as far as Lubbock where we spent a night in a pet-friendly hotel. Yesterday morning, Elena and I were outside with the two smaller dogs and I fell smack dab on my face on a concrete curb. Glasses flew and I lost my grip on the leashes. Elena helped me up, then her parents found us, me with a baseball-sized bump on my forehead. The ER doc did a cat scan and said I wasn't allowed to go into high altitudes with a concussion, so we headed back home.
I am so disappointed that they (and I) had to miss the long-awaited ski trip. I spent last night at their house, then they brought me home tonight where I will rest until the swelling goes down.
The doctor said I'd feel pretty awful this week, but I actually feel okay--except I can't read or write very well, thus the huge font. Hopefully, tomorrow I'll get my glasses fixed or get some new ones.
Apologies for not calling or texting back--my departure and packing have taken up all my Texas time. Luci and I are all set with winter clothes (a sweater gift to her) and are now ready to go, sans skis. I won't be skiing, but I look forward to the hotel next to the river where we can walk, three blocks from downtown Durango. I'm also excited about a drive to Molas Lake between Durango and Silverton, a place that is iconic to us from my children's growing up years, where we met the Kots when Linda and I were still in our thirties!
A lifelong friendship (and trips to Cape Cod and from CC to Texas) was forged in the week we shared at Molas Lake!
I may or may not keep up with the blog, but am hoping to send snow and shivery pictures as we leave Texas on a hot and muggy day.
Bonnie and I have been friends for forty years. She was my brilliant, funny, beloved professor at UTSA when I decided, at 32, to go back to graduate school. She's still brilliant, funny, and beloved, and we're both seasoned (and possibly wiser?) by forty more years of living.
You may recall that she and Deb Fields wrote a book called Wonderful Old Women and asked me to photograph an assemblage of fascinating vibrant women over 80 whom she and Deb had interviewed. They decided to keep the word, Old, to claim the reality of age and to counter the offensive "little old women" trope.
In 2021, Bonnie got a new hip and I got a new knee. Retired from UTSA, she's still teaching a Zoom writing class to seniors (who never want to miss her class) and she goes to the gym four days a week.
Our friend Gary died eight years ago. After his diagnosis he was told he could expect two good years--which he had. I still think of him when I drive past Demo's where we used to meet for lunch when he drove into San Antonio to do his piano gigs. He never met an animal he didn't love and he and his wife fed deer out of their hands outside their house.
So, Bonnie wondered, what would we do if we knew we had two good years to live? She'd asked a few other friends that question and they had ready answers.
As we reflected on that question, neither of us wanted to change our lives in a dramatic way. I'd like to go back to Italy--but until and unless COVID is ever a thing of the past, international travel seems virtually impossible.
We're settled into a place we love--we both see Texas politics as repugnant, but we love our circles of old friends. We prefer quiet visits with one or two or three good friends to parties. We know that old friends are not replaceable.
This has been a fun Elena weekend--starting with Friday night's lighting of the tree at Helotes City Hall to the music of a band and the Helotes Elementary School choir. Here's our girl (10 in January) at the concert.
Yesterday she participated in a small rodeo--only 8 or 9 riders. The event specified the pattern (side-walking the horse, slow-walking, opening a gate and closing it, etc) for each ride. Elena was by far the youngest participant and she did great!
Today is Part 2--this time faster moves.
Luci's mama must have taught her litter to observe good boundaries. Luci is not the most obedient dog--she does things her own way and in her own good time--but she doesn't cross my sleep boundaries, which is one of the best things about her. I give her the same quiet when she sleeps in my bed for twelve hours, and I wake up in the middle of the night. It's tempting to pick her up, but she prefers being left to her dreams. If I watch a movie, she burrows under the cover without complaining.
Because she's so little, she has a small footprint, so her errors in judgment are not big deals. She doesn't touch my shoes on the floor--except for the furry bedroom shoes which she treats like surrogate puppies. She cuddles against them, but she also shakes them and throws them hoping to entice me to play the game of Get The Shoes Back.
If she were a German Shepherd or a bear cub, we'd have to have a few more rules.
She was most likely taken away from her mama too early--either by accident or by being chosen by some previous humans. Then somehow she was separated from those who took her. I'll never know her history because she doesn't speak English, but will be forever grateful to Janet for finding her for me at SNIPSA.
When I take a bath or brush my teeth, she watches carefully to see if this might be a day I'm going to leave her for a long long time, like two hours, and she's going to have to sit by the Christmas tree in the window the whole time and wait.
Luci has what the dog books call Separation Anxiety. If she knows for sure I'm leaving, and if I don't say "Come on!" (words she loves) and if I say instead, "You stay, I'll be back," (her least favorite words) she literally trembles. She follows me from room to room. Her idea of a perfect day would be a walk with Freda or me followed by a lot of hugging, then a late afternoon romp with Carma. Both dogs know when it's time for their playdate and beg Jan and me to make it happen.
Jan got them advent calendars at Trader Joe's, each day with a treat. They get so excited when they see the advent boxes coming out!
I'm off to a birthday lunch at Cappy's to celebrate Kate's birthday, then tonight to Helotes to hear the 4th grade Christmas music.
Happy Birthday, Kate!
Watching a Julia Roberts oldie last night, it occurred to me that it's about time for a love affair. The banter between two lovers is electric. Mutual fascination flashes so brightly it lights up every room. To hear a handsome Englishman say "You're bloody gorgeous" must be downright intoxicating.
On further reflection, I decided that a more realistic love affair is the one Julia Roberts' character, a professional photographer, has with her camera. I've barely used my camera since COVID, but I got up and took it out of the closet, first step, and decided to see if together we, my camera and I, can fan the embers of times past, fall in love with picture taking again.
Little did I know in the wee hours of the morning what the day would bring--an invitation for Luci and me to join Will, Bonnie, Elena, and their dogs for a trip to Colorado in a couple of weeks! It will take me that long to assemble a wardrobe for cold weather, but I'm so ready to hit the road with them and start the photography adventure on the road and in Colorado.
I was shopping at Trader Joe's when the phone rang: "How do you feel about a road trip in December?" Will asked.
How I feel is over the moon!
Yesterday was such a beautiful day and I needed to return an online order to Anthropologie, so decided to drive out to La Cantera for a sunshine walk with Luci.
Little kids were stopping me to pet the doggie, my defenses were down, and I was taken by surprise by the rush of one of those kiosk sales people who appear out of nowhere and press a silver package of moisturizer into your hands.
(I later realized she was standing in the doorway of a fancy store--no customers--to pounce on passersby.)
I know to avert my eyes and walk faster when I see these kids-to-me selling whatever they are selling, but I didn't see this one coming.
She really liked me and could tell I was a smart person; she loved my dog; I reminded her of her mother; her products were in high demand, organic and made in the U.S.A. The effects of these miracle products would be immediate and all my friends would notice the drastic changes.
She glanced around pretending to avoid being heard by her co-workers and whispered: "I will tell you a secret but you have to promise not to tell. Today only, I can give you my employee discount...."
Just today, she said, she could drop the price of the $1200 bottle of eye cream to $399 AND throw in two more products for free AND I would get a free consultation with the skin expert of the world. As an employee of the company, she had had to wait six months to see him, but as it happened--my lucky day--he was in the store today. Today only.
Suddenly said expert appeared to help her close the sale.
"You know who he is?" she asked, her eyes flashing excitement to deliver the news.
No idea. Most valuable player of some team? Idol judge? Movie star? I give....
"He's a regular on Dr. Oz!"
That was enough to send me doing my best limpy impression of a run. I had just read that Dr. Oz had thrown his hat in the ring for Senate, that he was distancing himself from those awful "elites" and their awful mask mandates.
I wouldn't buy a peanut from your star skin expert of the world is what I wish I'd said. But instead, I made a fast exit to the parking lot and was out of there, just me and my dog and my wrinkles.
I love the middles of the nights, even more than most days. I woke up with a knee pain and wound up watching The Electrifying Life of Louis Wain on Amazon Prime. I'm only 15 minutes in, but had to stop and ask you all to stop whatever you are doing and see this wonderful whimsical movie, starring Claire Foy and Benedict Cumberbatch.
If the pandemic is ever really over and we go back to normal life, I can say I've spent hours of this solitude catching up on movie watching, I guess. But isn't it amazing how books and movies can transport you into other worlds? This one takes you to the late 1800s in England, to the house of an eccentric young man and his quirky household of sisters.
My friend gave me an annotated copy of Mrs. Dalloway by Virginia Woolf. This week I took it off the top of the stack by my bed and started looking at all the photos and illustrations first, then began the novel I hadn't read since the 80s.
That very night, I discovered Vita and Virginia on Netflix, the story of Virginia Woolf's friendship and love affair with Vita Sackville-West--a lavishly produced period piece that recreated Bloomsbury, London home to Leonard Woolf's publishing company and writers and artists of the early 20th century.
Vita was a best-selling author of the time; Virginia's novels were less popular, but far more well known and studied after her death for her experimental style. (Nothing much happens in the plots of her novels, they focus more on the interior lives of the main characters.)
Virginia was temperamental, brilliant, intense--a genius. Vita was flamboyant, intent on seducing both women and men who fascinated her. While Vita and her diplomat husband had two sons, the boys were more or less footnotes in the movie, presumably in her life as well. Vita did not live at Bloomsbury but her wealthy mother--who supported her family--was extremely disapproving of her daughter's refusal to live by the norms of high society.
Mrs. Dalloway was written in 1925; Virginia died by suicide in 1941. Her final novel, Orlando, was her artistic endeavor to "get inside" the mind and psyche of Vita (who by then was no longer her lover but still a friend).
The first time I heard a line by Virginia Woolf I was a college student at St. Mary's. It was the line everybody knows even if they've never read her work: "Every woman should have money and a room of her own."
From Luci and me....
Luci has a bone, but she prefers my "fur" lined bedroom shoe. She loves to shake it with all her might and then take off running with it, hoping I'll chase her to get it back--which I do.
I read an essay in the middle of the night by a writer about seriously editing her possessions. Like most of us, she's approaching an age when getting rid of stuff is a kindness to those who may be left behind not having a clue what to do with it all.
While I do that on a fairly regular basis, I realized that I could happily shop for Christmas and birthday presents in my own house. What was once new to me could be new for a while to someone else, then passed on.
In one of May Sarton's journals, she wrote (at sixty): "I used to be acquisitive, now I'm not." I'm not quite there yet, but what I do acquire has to replace something sold or given away.
In a way, every house is a museum, art show, or stage--an exhibit that reflects the pleasures of the people who live in it. Mine is a small stage. Certain objects dance on the stage for a while and then they bow and I clap, but I leave them onstage as reminders: of a trip to New England, a trip to Taos, a trip to Italy 20 years ago. Each is precious to me, but will my souvenirs be precious to people who have their own travels to remember, their own taste to display?
I have photographs, postcards, bowls, jewelry, and fabric I bought in France years ago but never made anything out of. Each object gave me pleasure and delight.
When I do travel, or used to, I stop in little shops and galleries and usually purchase something to capture the spirit of the trip. Here's a doll I bought in the mountains in October:
The writer of the essay discovered in her purging that she had 25 dish towels and she reduced the number to ten. The drawer opened and closed more easily. She felt lighter when she added 15 dish towels to the boxes of never-used silver and crystal in the basement for give-away.
On the uphill side of life, we acquire new things. We're imagining the life we'll have and what we'll need for that imaginary stage. On the downhill side, we realize that the imagined life and the real life never entirely merged for one reason or another and we have to decide what to do with the parts that no longer fit.
I used to imagine giving dinner parties for one thing-- because that's what people do. Some call it "entertaining," though that word always conjures the image of dancing on a table and singing a ditty. I have provided occasional meals for my family over the years, but I have never hosted a dinner party.
It's taken me a while to figure out that I'm just not that person. I'd rather just sit on a porch and have a drink and a cookie with one person at a time.
Today I am visiting with friends on the phone and watching Luci sit by the tree. I got myself a turkey dinner from Bill Miller's and we are happy in our quiet little space.
This is the first time in decades that I've put up a Christmas tree, but here we go. Luci and I got a live 4 foot tree and tonight decorated it with tiny white lights and a few small ornaments.
She got up out of deep sleep to watch me string the lights. I moved the dining table to another room and am now calling this front room the Christmas Tree Room. It turned out so pretty I'm thinking I may get a Papa Bear tree to go with this baby one.
I've been watching "Call The Midwife" for ten years, and rarely does an episode end with making me cry a little. At times, it may border just a tad on schmaltzy, but I love the genuine goodness of the characters as they tackle hard issues of the 60s and 70s--abortion, homosexuality, birth control, Down's syndrome, birth defects caused by Thalidomide, and extreme poverty. Each episode features compassionate people doing all they can to make their patch of earth a better place.
Tonight's finale for season 10 was followed by an hour-long retrospective and celebration of ten years. The actors, director, writer, and special effects team took viewers behind the scenes and made me want to start back over with Season 1.
As a passport member of PBS, you can watch Masterpiece dramas, news, documentaries, independent films, and travel shows--either as they are airing or earlier. If you want to see previous seasons no longer on the PBS site, they're all now available with a Masterpiece Subscription through Amazon Prime.
This is a typical day for me almost six months after knee surgery. (For some receivers of new knees, it's better than this; for some not as good.)
I can do pretty much anything I want--walk Luci a couple of miles most days, shop, take care of stuff in the house. But due to persistent pain about the same times every day, my days feel shorter.
Today started with a walk and doing all my physical therapy exercised prescribed by my new therapist--the one I wish I'd started with months ago. I go there twice a week and she stretches out my legs to relieve nerve pain. "You have some angry nerves," she said.
Then Luci and I went to Tuesday Morning and the UPS store and Whole Foods. At 11:00 the pain flared and we came home so I could take a pain pill and a nap--during which I'm watching News of the World with Tom Hanks.
Most of the hard work needed I pay for--like having the porch ceiling painted and the outside "laundry room" painted for the delivery of a new washer and dryer--which are humming along quietly.
It's hard to plan a day ahead because I never know how I'll feel the next day. If I sleep, I can do most things in the morning and again late afternoon. If I don't sleep all night, I plan on a two or three hour phone-off in the middle of the day to rest.
I've adopted Carlene's adage: do only one big thing a day. Tomorrow our writing group online is having a party, so I'll keep the morning easy.
Almost everyone I know has something going on right now, so we compare notes on ailments and healing strategies.
For the first time in ages, Nathan and Elena spent the night here this week--which was wonderful. Will and Bonnie came home from a meeting late and slept in the casita. I made a simple dinner. They will be going to Washington for Thanksgiving to see Bonnie's exhibit at the Smithsonian--along with her dad who's never been to Washington before and who's going to be so proud of his Mexican history being celebrated there.
I have a fabulous family and friends and dog--and overall, good health--so I'm not complaining. Just giving you all a progress report.
I got an email at 7:00 asking me to log my odometer reading on an app for a "Drive Safe and Save" program with State Farm. I was having a bit of trouble figuring out how to log in, so I called them.
The screen said: 70700 miles and 70 degrees.
Avis, the woman who answered was interested in that quirky fact of all sevens and zeroes; she didn't roll her eyes.
Once, at a Valero Station, I said to the clerk, "There are nine cars out here and they are all white." She rolled her eyes.
I notice quirky patterns like that. Do you? If you do, please let me know.
It's been a week too busy to write. I'm seeing a new physical therapist twice a week and doing my two sets of exercises every day. Replacing washer and dryer. Waiting for various men to do jobs I can't do myself. Assembling a new storage cabinet to perk up the eyesore of an outdoor laundry room. Getting Edward to come paint the screened porch after washing away the mold I'm seeing. Stuff like that.
I bought a new washer and dryer and have been fixing up my outdoor laundry room before they are delivered, including putting a storage cabinet together that has at least 70 parts--after getting rid of the old ones and waiting for the new ones. Stuff like that.
And now it's time for my grocery store excursion. "It's time. Hurry up!"she's saying.
Just got home from a wonderful We Three Retreat in the North Georgia mountains--Carlene and Day and I.
Day rented a perfect mountain cabin out in various local eateries. I wished we could have stayed a few more days, but Day had to get back to work and I had to get back and retrieve Luci from Pritchett camp. The colors had passed their peak by a week or two but were still pretty. Being with the two of them was priceless!
Here we are, Day and I, buying each other souvenirs at a great little shop in Ellijay.
Two universes mosey
down the street
Connected by love and
a leash and nothing else
Howard Nemerov
The book I'm taking on my flight today, a birthday present from Bob and Jocelyn, is called The Book of Dog Poems, a compilation by Sarah Maycock and Ann Sampson.
Yesterday in Whole Foods, a customer squatted on the floor and took pictures of Luci. "I'm sending this to my son," she said. "We send each other pictures of dogs we fall in love with."
Luci is not what you'd call a classic canine beauty. She's scruffy, one ear up, one ear down, not a dog show candidate by any stretch, but she's a show-stopper in grocery stores, hardware stores, McDonald's windows, or anywhere dog lovers happen to be.
Reading these poems, written over the centuries, is a reminder that dogs of all eras have been loved by their masters and are uniquely wonderful companions. I'd be happy to walk all over with Luci without a leash to connect us--if she were properly obedient and if we didn't have so many cars in the neighborhood--but a leash is necessary for a fast-running pup.
A neighbor just came to bring banana bread and Luci gave an awesome bark when she heard him at the door. There is no bite to back up the bark, but she's doing her part.
Will is coming in a few minutes for breakfast and will take Luci to his house for the days I'll be in Georgia with. my "bookends," as Betty calls them--my mother and my daughter, for a few glorious days in the North Georgia mountains.
My two suitcases are small, perfect for road trips or overnights.
All week, I've been mentally packing just enough for four nights in one of my them. I considered taking both, but when I pictured myself with one unreliable leg pushing two in the packed Atlanta airport, I go back to one.
The sweater Day gave me for my birthday has to go--a bulky kimono-style sweater; it can get chilly in the mountains. The camera, the laptop, four days' worth of clothes with alternatives for layering if it gets cold. Chargers, medicines, toothpaste. Bags of Apple Cider Pretzels. My only boots.
And then one night, after editing the list over and over, the obvious occurred to me like an epiphany. I could buy a larger suitcase, go right into a store, not Amazon, people do it all the time, and get myself a brand new suitcase.
I went to TJ Max and picked a teal one with orange zippers. I opened it on the living room floor and put the sweater in, the pretzels, some clothes, my boots. I left it open so that every time I think of something I might need, I can just put it in.
Luci, awake, is so lively she seems big. If you open the back door in the night, she runs fearlessly into the dark, flying almost, toward some thing (or some one) that needs scaring off. She always runs to the same spot, as if all past intruders are still right where they were when she first spotted them. Unlike me, she never looks cautiously before she leaps. Nor does she ask a stranger, "Do you mind if I jump on your legs?"
But when she sleeps, curled up like a fawn, her size always surprises me. Limp as a knot of rags, she's tiny enough to cup in two hands, smaller than most cats.
Folding washed clothes to go into the new suitcase, I notice that Luci is curled up inside between the boots and the Apple Cider Pretzels. A canine Goldilocks, she's found the just right place for a nap.
An app on my phone counts my steps. Yesterday, according to Appie, I walked 5615 steps. Half of those steps were in the neighborhood with Luci. Half were walking through a huge packed parking lot to the football field and back. 5615 steps, Appie said, equals 2.3 miles, my record on my fake knee.
Does everyone do this: walk around and watch yourself walking--as if you are your younger self looking? Or paying for popcorn and watching your fingers, not as nimble as they used to be, and thinking, "Whose hands are these?"
My gait is not yet what I'd like it to be, the left leg a tad wooden. To top it off, last night was what I've started calling a leg night--burning gnawing pain in the left leg. Will met me and helped me into the stands and by the time the halftime show was over, I couldn't get down the last steep step without putting my arms around his shoulders for a swing down.
The popcorn girls are sweet, maybe fourteen. I'm wearing a gray shawl and a denim skirt and one tells the other about me: "She's so cute." Cute is a word the young use for gray-haired women who are still upright and mobile, possibly more agile than their own grandmothers, possibly alive and their grandmothers aren't.
I look like a little old lady in their young eyes. I know this because I was once fourteen.
The younger women working the windows at the drive-throughs have started calling me "Mama" or "Sweetheart"--which has started to be just fine. All words of affection are welcome.
Here's my sweetheart daughter, Daisy, with Tucker, all ready to open her birthday presents and go to school.
Here she is, six years ago, last time she and Carlene and I had a We Three Trip to the North Georgia mountains--as we're about to do again in two weeks:
Happy happy birthday to Day Anna, my beautiful girl at 50!
Four generations, all 23 year apart, Mimi, Daisy, Carlene, and me--about 25 years ago.
I've had an amazing 73rd birthday, and I'm SO grateful to my friends and family! A lunch at Fredricks on Tuesday with Kate, Charlotte, and Janet (so busy catching up after so long we forgot to get a photo);
a soup supper and dog-watching party with Jan on Wednesday,
Cappy's last night with Will's family (all but Nathan who's at his other house this week),
and continuing tomorrow with a meal at Le Jardin with Freda and Bonnie and Mary Locke. I like to stretch it out and absorb every precious moment, enjoy every phone call and surprise visit, every text and email and card.
A great big thank you to all of you who have made turning 73 painless--in fact, SO a feast of happiness!
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| Jan's soup kitchen next door |
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| Elena and Luci in her Halloween costume sent by Jocelyn and Bob |
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| And in her four new socks sent from Linda Kot |
Luci is rolled up in my blanket like a burrito. All I can see are her eyes and the top of her head.
She weighs 10 pounds. Imagine being in bed with someone 15 times bigger than you and not worry that she could roll over and crush you. Yet, she sleeps as close to me as she can.
When she's sound asleep, I can pick her up and plop her anywhere on the bed, in any position, and she'll stay exactly where I put her like a stuffed animal. Sometimes in a dream, she'll growl a muffled growl, scaring some imaginary monster that only she can see.
If someone knocked on the door right now, she'd spring into action and run, barking. If she recognized the person through the glass, she'd whimper and wag her tail, Wake up, it's our friend!
After saving the day, little guard dog returns to her warm position on the bed. But first she flashes what I'd call a triumphant look in her eyes: I did my job, I did my job, I saved us from danger!
When I watch a movie in bed, she burrows under the covers all the way and snuggles up against my leg. She doesn't care for lights on when it's sleep time.
Luci is generally obedient, but she takes her own sweet time. She's an independent girl, she has to think it over. If she's having a good nap under my driver's seat in the car, she prefers to stay put and I have to pull her out.
She loves to run so much that if a runner happened to be passing, she wouldn't be able to resist the chase and could get hit by a truck. As chill as she is with me, she can go from zero to a hundred in a flash when she and Carma chase each other around Carma's yard.
I wonder about her mama every day. I wonder what mama dog looked like. Was she big? Was Luci the runt of the litter and she loved her most for being so little? Her mama must have doted on her because Luci loves affection--licking (her me not the reverse) and tummy rubs (me her).
Being separated from her mama and sisters and brothers was probably traumatic, and she never wants to be left alone again. When I leave her home alone for a couple of hours, Jan says she sits in the window and howls pitifully the whole time. She only has me and she doesn't have language to understand when I tell her "I'll be back."
I've never heard her howl.
When I return, she greets me with unabashed adoration, relief, and happiness, jumping all over me.
In the first thirty years of my Texas life, we had lots of dogs, usually dogs dropped off or lost who found their way to our door. Not being a universal dog lover, I didn't love them all the same. But the ones I loved most I eventually had to grieve longest when they died. I'll never forget a single one of them--Tony, Sasha, Black, Cookie, Pollo, Ivan....
Luci to me is not entirely dog. She's my baby, my companion, my daily source of laughter.
If she went missing for two hours--as I do when I get in my car and go someplace she can't go--I'd do my human version of howling at the window. When she came back, I'd do a rip-roaring happy dance like she does.
Yesterday I wasn't able to go to the rodeo, but Will sent me this video of our girl--who won her event and a "Champion" belt buckle she's so proud of she called and showed it to me on the phone.
I haven't figured out how to transfer the video, but picture this: eight poles in a row, the rider and the horse threading the poles, in and out, very fast, then doing it all over again with her mom and Papi calling out cheers in English and Spanish.
She's ridden horseback her entire life and it shows. Our girl was amazing, if I do say so myself--which I do say at every opportunity.
The O'Connor band yesterday afternoon was spectacular, the choreography flawless. The band instruments tugged at a place I rarely go--back to high school--where Betty was the solo twirler, captivating the audience as she threw lit batons into the night of the darkened football field.
Nathan's band was far better than that band of the 1960s, but Betty's twirling was what I went to football games to see. My best friend--not only twirling fire batons but tossing them in the air and catching them! (I had tried out for majorette, but never quite got the hang of twirling and dancing at the same time, never mind twirling fire!)
Bands competed all day yesterday and the parking lots were packed. The O'Connor band got second place with a special first place award to the percussion section--Nathan's section! I kept my eyes on the percussion section of the front row, our guy in his sunglasses and his friend Ava, both so into it that it brought tears to my eyes.
He almost quit band this summer when summer camp took up every single day. He told his parents he didn't like it, but when the two of us were alone, he proudly took out his sheets of music and told me (enthusiasm coming through in spite of himself) about his band director, his new friends, and another drummer named Ava. Somehow he never got around to quitting!
Now Ava and Nathan look like a duet of rock stars and Nathan clearly loves it! He walks like a kid who has found his people and who knows? maybe his passion.
Not only that--he's raising a pig named Gus for his agriculture class. To practice band and care for his pig, he has to get to school by 6:30--and then do both again after classes, making it home after 8:00. That kind of dedication in a 14-year-old boy is amazing to me.
Last Sunday after church, we went to the high school and I got to meet Gus.
The agriculture department at O'Connor is like something I'd have expected to see on a college campus, big barns, kids walking their steers outside, and other kids--like Nathan and Elena (as often as she can join him)--feeding, brushing and cleaning their pigs.
Nathan, like so many kids, spent most of the last year and a half doing zoom school at home. It's especially moving that these kids are now back in school again, able to find and follow what they love
While my grandson, Nathan, was my main focus, I had a lump in my throat watching all these kids, knowing how diligently they'd practiced, and knowing that it indeed takes a village for each one of them. Parents and families have to forego vacations and devote an enormous amount of time taking their sons and daughters to practice and driving to competitions and games and barns!
As a member of Nathan's large fan club, and his grandmother, I am so proud of him!
One of the best things Jan and I have done in 2021 was to adopt these two crazy dogs--Carma and Luci. Jan usually texts about 7:15 if they are free to play. Luci and I walk over and the two dogs greet each other with so much enthusiasm that we humans have to stand back. When Luci hears the beep of the text in another room, she looks at me: get the phone, get the phone, it's Carma!
After running after each other on the grass like maniacs, both are ready to fall to sleep and sleep until morning.
Dogs have the right idea about just about everything. If they want what you are eating, they stare at you until you can't resist giving them a bite.
If they are sleepy, they sleep--a lot.
If they don't like someone or some situation (like their person leaving them in a strange place), their ears go back (Luci's do) and their body language says it all. If she does like the person, which is most people actually in Luci's case, a big jumping and dancing act ensues.
If they haven't seen their human in a really long time, like an hour, they fall all over themselves to greet you with pleasure.
Today I took Luci for a two hour stay at a "retreat" for dogs. When after a pedicure, I went to pick her up and went into the Little Dog house there were twenty or more little dogs all yapping and barking. I, personally, would not have been brave enough to walk into a room of twenty barking humans or dogs, but Luci managed okay. I won't take her back. She's such a mild mannered little dog, a female Buddha really, and that's too many personalities to take in at a time.
Or maybe I'm projecting. Maybe because I'm an introvert and can't bear loud noisy parties, I'm assuming Luci feels the same.
Sunday, I went to church with Will and Family--for "the blessings of the animals." I took Luci, Nathan took Charley and Conway, and Elena took her chicken Milly, the star of the show.
Next week, we'll be celebrating Jackson's 20th birthday, Day's 50th, and my 73rd!
We've been working for a while on how Day and I can get to Georgia to see Nana (after almost two years!) and Day came up with a plan yesterday that works. Instead of visiting at Carlene's house, we're going to rent a cabin in the mountains of North Georgia for Halloween weekend.
I plan to go back by car for a longer visit during the holidays with Luci, but this is the perfect plan for our first "We Three" visit--replicating a trip we took to Hiawasee six years ago.
My leg gets better every day, but it's not yet quite ready for a solo driving trip. We're trying out Kara's K9 Retreat for a couple of hours this morning--as I've decided not to try flying with Luci just yet. Will's family has also volunteered to keep her.
Today is the 70th birthday of my brother, Bob. Who could have known the last time we were together, Christmas two years ago, that the next time we'd see each other (and so far only in photos) he would have walked off 100 pounds of his former self? That's an amazing feat, and my hats (all three of them) are off to him!
This picture was taken in August, about a month before Bob and Jocelyn celebrated their 20th wedding anniversary in Savannah.
The best thing I can share with you this morning is a link to my friend Chris' beautiful blog.
A taste of Chris' post as she returns to her blog after a hiatus:
Those FGO’s I would not have chosen have taught me a lot. One of the lessons is this: Tears can reflect both sadness and joy at once.
This is because grief and gratitude are compatible. In fact, they can enrich each other, deepening the experience–and the wonder–of life.
"Don't let me turn into a crabby complaining old woman," I said to Day, half-teasing.
"You're not much of a complainer," she assured me, half-true.
I complain about the Texas weather--enough already of the 99 degree days! To people who kindly inquire about my knee, I might be tempted to answer with more details than necessary:
"It's been four months," I might say, "It's way better, but--between two and three every morning, I wake up moaning with pain in my foot, my calf, my thigh. The toes cramp and the sole of the foot...."
Well, you get the picture.
Day said she'd read about (and tried) this: Put a bracelet on your right arm. Every time you hear yourself complaining about ailments, heat, politics, COVID, or whatever, move the bracelet to the left wrist.
As we were talking, I put a silver cuff bracelet on my right arm. Within five minutes, I had to move it to the left. The following day I didn't have to move it at all--but it was a day when I was at home alone and didn't talk to anyone.
"From now on, if friends ask about my knee," I said to Day, "I'm just going to say 'Much Better,' thank you." (Yeah, right!)
On the other hand, it's also true: when our closest people ask, it feels good to say how it really is, to complain a little. Mutual honesty gives us a chance to support each other and makes both of us feel a few stitches closer to normal.
Yesterday, I texted the surgeon: "Is this night pain normal after four months? Should I come in for an x-ray or something?"
"I wouldn't worry about it," he responded, reassuringly.
I didn't text my first thoughts back or I'd have had to move the bracelet to the other wrist: "Yes, but you're what? 30? You might worry a little more if it were your leg that wakes you up moaning every single night."
I'm watching the most inspiring program on PBS--profiles of optimistic old people still living full and happy lives.
What are their secrets? You'll have to watch the program--because the ways they answer this question are as unique as they are.
One woman celebrating her 103rd birthday talks about age "being only a number;" she laughs a lot; and she advocates doing something good for someone every day.
These men and women represent varied nationalities and range in age from 75 to over 100. They talk about their passions, their marriages, and their work, all fearless in their vibrant final chapters. I'm inspired by every one of them.
PBS is a national treasure
Tonight, I went to Helotes to a high school football game. Our team lost something like 14 to 39, but our band blew the other band out of the water. I haven't seen many high school bands, but O'Connor's band is dazzling!
If you look real closely you'll see Nathan with the percussion group, and he's loving it!
The band performance happened after the game--which is why the Away Team's bleachers are empty.
