First Weekend of Fall

I have to say: I live in an incredible neighborhood.  I know it has a stereotypical '09 reputation but what I know of it on Ogden and Argo and Abiso is altogether wonderful, down to earth people helping each other out and creating our own little community inside Alamo Heights. 

When the storm hit and felled trees, my neighbors across the street (who had no damage at all) rented a huge trailer and got busy cleaning up, attracting helpers up and down the street.

Last night, Jan knocked on my door after one of those in-bed-most-of-the-day days, calling out "Meals on Wheels!" She brought a glass of wine and a bowl of deliciousness featuring roasted garbanzos and vegetables!  Then she took Luci on our nightly walk with her and Carma.  If that's not stellar friendship, I don't know what know what is! 

Because of Luci, I've been walking the neighborhood for the past five years and have met friends of all ages.  Sydney and Phillip are in their twenties, lovely people, with two little children.  Sydney worked as a nurse before having James and Rowen, both under three.  Last week she asked me if I knew anyone with a sewing machine she could borrow, and I told her, "This is your lucky day!  My mom gave me her Bernina so I have two."

It's hard for me to ask for help, but she and Julian have always  said they are happy to help if I ever need anything.  Yesterday I needed something heavy moved and they were here--with Shannon, the man who lives next door, in a flash--and it was done.

Will is here for the weekend, speaking at a conference and finishing up a few sales on the property they are selling--the house closes in a couple of weeks.  He spent the morning coaching me on the use and safety issues of the scooter.  I've been waiting to use it until I had someone to walk me through it--and he's a great teacher.  I finally feel like I can maneuver the neighborhood without problems, so it's like a brand new toy! 

Day and I are taking an online class called Making Zen--taught by several fiber and mixed media artists. We'll be dyeing fabric, embroidering, and learning new skills involving needles and thread. Every afternoon next week, we'll both be getting six classes, with a lifetime library of classes to watch whenever we like.  I'm psyched about it!

For some unknown and unknowable reason, my foot and leg pain decreases when I hang out with family in Georgia, in Virginia, and in Colorado.  After three days in a row of being practically bed-bound, I'm going to tell my kids: "If this keeps up, I'm going to move to Colorado or Virginia.  Which of you wants me?" 

For the foreseeable future, this house stays my home base--where else would I find this many friends in such close proximity?  But I'll hopefully manage to go to Georgia, Colorado, and Virginia more often and stay a couple of weeks in each place instead of only 5 or 6 days.  .  

Where in the world, at this age, would I ever find a neighborhood as great as this one?  

Meanwhile, in Colorado, Elena attended her first homecoming dance at her new high school.  She wore a short black dress and cowgirl boots and looks like she had a blast with her new friends.  They are definitely all in their happy place and I couldn't be happier for them!

By the looks of it, the getting ready for and dressing up together were the highlights of homecoming:

PIcnic and Party at Palmetto Park

This foursome friendship is priceless!

I'm the youngest by a smidge but following close behind my three dear friends who have already (or in Sylvia's case, about to) moved into The Eighties. I'm so grateful to have had these three lively, vibrant, loving, reading and writing friends for over 50 years.  

Sylvia brought stacks of our "newsletters"--which we created years ago to reflect together on "life its own self" (ML) long before blogs and email accounts and social media. 

Each month one of us suggested a topic and off we went to our typewriters to write a page or two.  Over the years those pages became boxes of pages.  Beverly and I wish we had the energy now to arrange them all, along with stacks of photos) into a book!  We built a connection the likes of which you just can't get over cigarettes, martinis, and bridge.  

Beverly is the queen of celebrations and meaningful rituals and retreats.   Yesterday she brought Mary Oliver poems and we read them aloud.  Larry made and sent two chocolate birthday cakes for my upcoming 78th birthday and Sylvia's 80th. I told her one of my favorite ever birthdays was my 50th.  She and Larry hosted six friends at their beach house in Port Aransas, and Larry grilled shrimp for us. It was a magical weekend on the sand! 

Mary Locke and Beverly brought a picnic, presents, and party favors. Mary Locke described us as a group this way: "we're all still full of curiosity and zest for life!" I love that--because I, too, see passion and curiosity in each of us.

Sylvia is about to turn 80?  When we all met,  she and I were in our late twenties.  While the others of us were already mamas, Sylvia was glamorously single and happened to live in an upstairs apartment that is now the upstairs of Jan's house right next door! 

Back when I lived in Helotes and didn't know this neighborhood at all, we went to Sylvia and Peter's wedding party at Allen's house across the street from where I live now. (Feels like a few lifetimes ago!) 

Mary Locke, Beverly, Linda, and Sylvia 

Sassy and fun-loving as ever, Sylvia make 80 look wonderful!

Sylvia and Mary Locke by the river

What is that attracted us to each other and bound us into a group so long ago?  That we were all Southern Baptist girls growing up?  That if anyone sang the first three words of any hymn from the blue hymn book, we all knew all the words?  That we had similar sensibilities?  Loved stories?  Were fascinated by the inner lives of ourselves and each other and strangers? That we loved deviled eggs and pimento cheese and black eyed peas and cornbread?  

Who knows?

Some of all that--and more. Here's to friendships that flourish for over fifty years!

Post Script to Jan's "Life Lessons"

        I know you must look forward to my daily reports because they are so uplifting. So today I bring you the household horror news of 9/23/2026: my small floor vacuum, which is only a year or two old, has breathed its final breath. No warning. Just death. And so I shall resort to the old fashioned ways of my mother and haul out the straw broom to do my chores. What more might go wrong, you ask? Let’s not go there.

         While we all have experienced a dying appliance now and then, it’s the continuing saga of these curses that might warrant concern. Is there a poltergeist lodging at 611 Ogden Lane who is trying to dislodge the current landowner?

I Swear

..... is a not-to-be-missed movie based on a real life story of a boy with Tourette's Syndrome.

The acting and story are phenomenal! 

I loved it so much I bought the book as well.   

"I Swear" is available on Netflix. 

Seeking Suggestions

My ex-husband and I, along with our children and their children, are on an ongoing group text.

The way it works is that travel photos and good news are shared.  My Ex and I were raised in bygone days, and we both tend to write, "So proud of you!" or "Beautiful pictures!" or "Way to go!" 

We two ancient people rarely post news of our own, we're more like the background choir.  

So this week, I posted pictures of my new car.  Day and Will always and Tom and Bonnie sometimes  respond with a heart or a thumbs up, sometimes a word or two.  But beyond those.  it's usually crickets.

I'm not exactly pouting about being ignored, but I'm asking you, my friends, to let me know if this is a generational thing--not to respond to texts.  

Two of my grandchildren respond to my texts if they are written to them separately.  Two do not. 

One of my grandchildren who doesn't respond called me last week and we talked for over an hour about his ideas for dealing with chronic pain!  As a big time workout dude, he had a few interesting ideas and I will never forget the kindness of his reaching out, adult to adult, with his suggestions. 

My granddaughter actually Face Times me to share secrets--treasured conversations that mean the world to me!  When I see her name on my screen, I know it's going to be the best thing that's happened all day. 

So what's up with the Group Text silence when I post something that matters to me?  Clearly, these are caring sweet loving kids who would--if I told them in person--show some happiness.  

Many things in this digital age are easy to the Generation Zs in this group--like Snap Chat and Instagram and all the other apps I don't recognize..  Maybe texting is passe? (see I don't even know how to put an accent mark over the e in passe! and spell check wants me to say paste!)

But we're trying--we old-timers!  We can do the basic texts and emails and we play along as best we can.  We congratulate them on their wins, we wish them well, we are crazy about them. 

But we didn't get the memo when text etiquette changed.  We know they all have smart phones within reach 24/7--but I guess they have fatter fish to fry these days.  I feel like posting this morning: "Hey, thank you all for your enthusiasm about my new car!" Or: "Looks like my text from last week didn't go through--so here it is again!" 

My Ex, of course, didn't bother to tap back a thumbs up on my news, but I didn't expect him to.  I spent almost half my life with him and he (even though he has mellowed quite a bit in his old age) has never been keen on my news.

But if anyone has any ideas on what to do with un-answered notes from Generation Z (aka Zoomers) please share!  Without some suggestions, I may resort to....well, saying catty shit to get their attention!

Life Lessons

In the past couple of weeks, my saint of a friend next door, has been besieged with trouble:

Two of her last pecan trees have lost enough of themselves to block the street and are now on their last legs.

George, her innocent-looking little kitty, chewed all the vents while hiding from humans behind the dryer, turning her laundry room into a sauna.

Her alarm system broke--again.

Her $40 Fit Bit died right in the middle of doing its job, counting her steps. 

Her hot water heater also died.

As did her AC, requring her to "spend her children's inheritance" to replace it.

Add to all that, the final blow: her hopeful pomegranates have all turned out to be duds.

If you saw her walking down the street, sassy as ever, her gait lively, her moves evidencing her loyalty to yoga, you'd never know that she's survived a Biblical attack on her sanity and bank account.  She looks on the bright side: her computer, car, and  phone all seem to be doing what they came here to do.  She still has food and water and a roof--which she will remind us is not available to so many. 

A motley crew of love

I've now watched both seasons of 

My Family

It's a beautifully written and cast movie about love and honesty, forgiveness and openly expressed anger, acceptance of differences, and so much more.  

One of my favorite lines:

"We're not exactly a family; we're a motley crew of love."

This one, in my opinion, is going to win some awards.  It's a not-to-be-missed story.

Wonderful Series on Netflix

An Italian film called My Family.

Usually, I prefer to watch a foreign movie with subtitles, but this one is very well dubbed, so I'm listening to it in English.  

Just beginning Season 2 on September Friday night.  

I've got the blues!

 Out with the red, in with the blues!

SO I bought my first and last red car in February 2025, right after the election.  Carlene gave Bob and me each a portion of the sale of her house (each our bedroom, she said) and I chose a cool Honda HRV Sport.  Four wheel drive. Black interior.  

I had two long road trips in it and it handles very well.  But it wasn't....

BLUE! 

I wanted blue. I always want blue.  I made an impulsive decision to go with the red, and after a year and a half, it just didn't feel like ME.  

So after seeing this little powder-blue Volkswagen Taos, I went over to the Alamo Heights VW dealer and took a test drive, fell in love! Tonight it came home with me and Luci in it. 

My salesman, Cameron Harris, was wonderful!  Today was his 34th birthday and he shared his red velvet birthday cake and lots of easy-going no-pressure conversations.  I considered buying Blue's big sister, a dark-blue Tiguan, but Jan and I decided the lighter blue would be less hot on these summer days.

My three favorite cars have all been blue:

My first car-of-my-own was a 1990 turquoise Acura Integra--a beauty. 

My second Mini Cooper was Easter-egg turquoise. 

And now we have Blue, a gorgeous 2026 Taos. 

What a thrilling day to get the BLUES! 

Live Love Laugh

On childhood trips to Daytona Beach, Bob and I could hardly wait to stop at a restaurant called The Green Frog.  Not particularly for the food, but for the toys and trinkets you could get there.  

Traveling in other directions, say to Chattanooga to see our Harris relatives, we were just as excited to stop at Stuckey's--wtih their signs and jingles, "Just wait til you get to Stuckey's; Stuckey's is not very far...."

Backseat kids must have been the target audience for these food stops.  Stuffed and plastic animals, bows and arrows, and all manner of cute things created a festive air of expectations and it was worth the wait.  

The super gas stations of today are Stuckey's on Steroids.  You can buy anything you want: kitchenwares, sweat shirts and jerseys, deli foods, toys, you name it. Roadside stations big and small feature a wall or two of rhinestone pocket books, fringy blouses, crosses, flags, and inspirational quotes on distressed wooden plaques. 

Inevitably two signs are always in on the wall: 

Believe

Live Love Laugh

Believe what? I always wonder.  Believe in.... the Easter Bunny, Santa Clause, the Tooth Fairy? 

America the Beautiful?  Jesus? Yourself? It could be anything you like, just believe something. the soggy seems to say. 

"Live Love Laugh" is printed, painted, stitched, and stenciled on wood, paper and fabric millions of times a year.  

The book I'm reading now is entitled Live Love Laugh--written by Kristin Kobes Du Mez  a scholar and historian of religious movements in American for the past two centuries. It's subtitled: The Secret History of White Christian Women and the World They Made. 

Live Love Laugh

Six years ago, I read her excellent book, Jesus and John Wayne--that traced the shift from gentle lesus in the Gospels to big strong tough John Wayne Jesus.  A big segment of the Christian communities of the time yearned for a more "badass" Jesus.  An Alpha Jesus.  Jesus with big muscles and a gun. 

In this her most recent book, she traces the long and bumpy road to the changes in religious sentiments that have led to the current political climate.  

it's a fascinating read!

When it's for your own good

When we were children and had to take medicine, our parents told us it was for our own good.

Now that we are adults, that phrase is a cover for manipulation: I know better than you do what's good for you.

My least favorite cliche in the English language--when people gang up on another adult or violate her privacy--is "We're only telling you this (doing this, revealing your secrets, whatever) because we LOVE you."

When the boundary busters and the boundary bustee are in their 70s, both sides know how it feels to be treated as if we've lost our marbles:  it's patronizing and insulting for a person, or group of persons, pretending to be benevolent, to share our private information with someone else (our children,  spouse, best friend) hoping to get them in on the same icky "love" attack. 

Here's my opinion: If you really love a person, don't go over their heads or behind their backs.  If you think I have a problem, take a look in the mirror and attend to your own --I've got mine covered. Most of my family--including my children--give me credit for having a brain. 

As you can guess, I've recently been the target of some love bombing "for my own good." 

A person in one of my friend groups decided that some of the meds I take could--taken together--cause death.  She told two other friends, then texted my children late Sunday night to name the meds I take and warn them.

If I had known they were so curious, I'd have emailed them all a list of my prescriptions and invited them to join me on my next doctor's visit--why not?  But not one of them asked me for that information--they took it on the authority of the one who'd texted and called Day and Will.  Who does that to a competent adult friend who still has her share of marbles?

I've had friends who've walked Luci on days I couldn't, brought me dinner on a bad day, gone with me to doctors' appointments, and done all manner of things to get me through the hardest days.  I can't count the times those gestures of love have made me teary with gratitude, like now, right now, right this minute. 

Labor Day Weekend in Athens:

Day and Tom, Jackson and Deanna, and Marcus and Lucia drove down from Virginia to visit Nana for a belated birthday celebration.   What a van-load of happy! 

Nana and Tom

Luci and Nana

Deanna and Nana

Jackson--who's 25 in October

Gratitude to those of you who read this blog

I don't know who. reads this blog--only numbers.  I was happy this week to see that up to 55 people read my blog without a theme!  

I started this on a road trip to the west coast 13 years ago and I found that this space just kept me writing. 

Thank you so much to all of you who have read it!  

What I'm Reading, Watching, and Making

 Books I'm reading this week: 

On Netflix:

The Airport Chaplain

Private Life

Paddleton

On Prime:

Mr. Burton--excellent movie about the young Richard Burton and his teacher

PBS

Here I Stand--about Dolly Parton

Saved by the World: A documentary about Mary Oliver

Online Art Classes 

I won a 6 week course on gel printing that begins in mid-October. 

I purchased a class on collage from the Take Two site of outstanding art tutorials; I've barely begun, but it's going to be a great class. 

Lyn Belisle's outstanding classes on making reliquaries

I continue to watch a wealth of classes as a member of The Handmade Book Club--today's being a fun class, "Mixed Media Embroidery Hoop"

This is the only book I've made headway on this summer.  The book is made of one 32x22" sheet of watercolor paper.  This is only the beginning.  It still needs content and closures, and I'll show you those when I'm done;

Some days, some years even, are like the air and solid ground. All is well. People behave the way we'd like them to.  We seem to behave the way other people like us to. Stories have happy endings.

Some days, some years even, shake us up. We encounter paradoxes and disturbing things.  They part the curtain and introduce us to formerly unimaginable things we'd rather not see.  Or the slow accretions of aging we've gone through for years suddenly lurch into the foreground, demanding attention. 

Two nights ago I had the unique-to-me opportunity to ride inside an ambulance. My back went out trying to remove a compression stocking. 

Four medics showed up and got me onto a stretcher while Jan supervised.  The newness and suddenness of the situation made me wish I'd packed a Go Bag for times like these. What should I take?  Who would care for Luci? Should I call my family in Virginia, Georgia and Colorado?  Jan handed me my phone (low charge) and the men got my pocket book and a pillow from my bed.

These men did the kind of work Will used to do: taking blood pressure, putting little sticky things on my chest, asking questions, treating me with kindness. 

I felt like a minor character in The Pitt--being rolled into an emergency room. But unlike the full noisy cast of The Pitt, The NE Baptist Hospital was almost deserted as far as I could see. The main guy in charge of Back-Out-Lady stayed with me in the hall until I was checked in, and we had one of those small world conversations that revealed pretty soon that he knew one of my best friends who, like him, had grown up in  Utopia, Texas.

The next day:  Calls from Georgia, Virginia, Colorado: Do you need me to come? Come stay with us.  I don't like living so far apart.  Jan and Freda and Cecelia took great care of me and Luci, doing all the things I couldn't yet manage. 

So this summer, in addition to two very pleasurable trips, one to Colorado, one to Georgia, I've fallen flat on my face in Albuquerque, had to move out for a power outage, and discovered what people mean when they say their backs are "out."  I"m moving gingerly, but planning--as soon as I'm up and about better--to create a Go Bag to be prepared for the next time, if there is one. Here's my list so far of what goes in it: 

A fast phone charger

A list of people to call or text

Password to phone--if you have one.  (I don't).

Copies of insurance card and ID

List of prescriptions.

A change of clothes, underwear, toothbrush, toothpaste, etc. 

Two or three books and a good pen

Non-slip socks

In my case, a note that I have an embedded  neuro-stimulator and controller--in case imaging has to be done and the stem needs shutting down.

Hand lotion. 

Laptop or iPad and charger.

A can of Diet Coke

Some snacks