Spent the afternoon and evening working at the house. We are SO VERY CLOSE to finishing and listing. In fact, last Friday we met with a local realtor who was very encouraging — she commented on the “Wow Factor” when she walked through the house — knowing the age of the house and being familiar with the neighborhood from other listings, she had a good idea of what we started with, and she was very impressed with the updates we’ve made and the fact that we’ve managed to stay under budget so far.
We were thrilled when she recommended we list the house for almost $30,000 more than what we’d originally been thinking. She’s sold quite a few homes in the area and she pointed out the square footage, the floor plan that makes the most of every square foot and the fact that we have an indoor utility room (rather than washer/dryer connections in the garage) make our house worth a very pleasant sum.
The goal is to finish everything within two weeks and then stick a “For Sale” sign in the front yard. Tomorrow I’ll be waiting for the delivery and installation of a range hood (the first one has a dent in it), and I’ll be putting the second coat of trim paint on the closet shelves in the blue bedroom, the front bathroom door frame, the back bathroom baseboards, and the door frame between the utility room and garage. Then I’ll be painting the bedroom that was mine as a child, for the last time. I keep wondering who will end up with our house and what the rooms will be used for. It could very well be a starter home for a young family with children. Or it could be a home for someone downsizing from a larger place.
I’m imagining the shelves that held all my childhood books, and the closet floor where my Barbies and stuffed animals resided — those shelves could end up belonging to a little boy with Star Wars figures scattered about, shoe boxes of Legos on those shelves — and maybe a Batman costume hanging on one of the clothes rods.
Or in the case of the downsizing buyer, maybe there will be stacks and stacks of quilting fabric — a stash of brilliant color from floor to ceiling — and a sewing machine table near the window seat where plenty of good light pours in throughout the day.
If you’ve spent any time on the internet, you have most surely seen a video, story, blog, or photo of a tiny house. I still remember the first time I saw a tiny house online (and then later a real one off I-10, near Seguin, Texas). I was enthralled with the dollhouse like details and how much one could fit into a tiny house that was well-designed. I could definitely see a tiny house parked out back of our place to be used as a guest house, writing and/or craft studio.
A Texas Tiny House near Seguin, Texas – one of the company’s prototypes, this little house is made with all recycled materials.Another tiny house — what you see is the entire living room. The ladder leads to the sleeping loft above the kitchen.The sleeping loft. I took this photo standing on the ladder a few inches from the foot of the bed. Not sure where one keeps his or her clothing.
I cannot, however, see living in one full time. While I do not deny I have plenty of stuff to get rid of, the things that I use, that my guy uses — it just wouldn’t fit in one of those houses.
Earlier today Jami and I managed to throw out a healthy stack of papers, though. We managed to throw out enough stuff that we were able to consolidate what had once taken up two filing cabinet drawers and three plastic file boxes into just one file cabinet drawer, and it’s not nearly full. Mostly we threw out school papers from her brief three year stint in public school. We pulled a few “samples” of her work for posterity’s sake, and in the trash the rest went. It was really satisfying to take the few items we decided to keep and put them back in the formerly crammed full filing cabinet drawer, with plenty of room to spare. Soon I will begin scrapbooking again, and those items will make their way into a book where they can be viewed and enjoyed on a regular basis.
I guess I’m just too sentimental to be a complete minimalist, although I am working on only keeping the things that give me joy, or that mean something to my family. I realized that much of what I was keeping was out of guilt: “I can’t get rid of that, my mother gave it to me.” Or, “My girl may want that someday. I need to keep it safe for her just in case she does.” After realizing this, I’m being more selective about what I keep for myself, and I’m asking my girl to make the decisions that relate to her memories. I just know that it is hell going through your family home after a parent dies, having to make those decisions when you are already overwhelmed by emotions. Hopefully I can get my own “warehouse of memories” under control so my girl doesn’t have to deal with that when we are gone. I’m learning there’s a great deal of peace to be found when you let go of the things you thought were important, but you’ve discovered really aren’t. And it makes room for the things that bring you joy.
Do you ever have a day when your best intentions to accomplish great and mighty things are all for naught?
Sure you do.
Today was that day for me. I’ve been fighting allergies for a few days now, not sleeping well, and waiting for the Flonase I picked up to actually make a noticeable difference. I must have been tired last night because I did not wake up until 9:45 am. Thankfully, my daughter’s dog did not make a mess in her kennel before I let her outside! (We are responsible for the “grand-dog” while she is at college during the week.)
I planned on working on a project, but then I got a couple of business calls, one of whom was a potential client. I’d prepared four quotes for her (she is having a difficult time figuring out what she wants to order), but there were a couple of other possibilities she wanted pricing for. So I prepared three more quotes, and now I guess we will wait and see. By the time I got finished with that, it was pretty late in the afternoon, and the project I’d hoped to work on hadn’t been touched for all practical purposes. So I’m going to see if I can get a little done while I wait for laundry to finish.
Tomorrow is an exciting day — my sister and I are going to a film viewing at my niece’s college, about three hours away. My niece loves movies. She doesn’t just love to watch them, though. She analyzes them, studies them, critiques them. (If you like to watch a movie without thinking about it too hard, she is not the movie buddy for you.) Anyway, Tara wants to make movies, and so she is attending college to do so. When I first heard about this dream, I kind of poo-pooed it (to myself, of course), because I didn’t realize how truly passionate she was about this dream. I’m really glad my sister is her mom, rather than me (although a lot of people have said my niece and I look more like mom/daughter than they do). My sister never doubted her kid’s dream and so she has gone the distance to make sure Tara has a chance of fulfilling that dream. Like I said, Tara’s lucky to have such a great mom, and she has really appreciated the opportunity she’s been blessed with.
She’s worked so hard in her classes that her advisor recommended upper level classes her sophomore year. She takes extra care when working at the film house (an old house used for filming class assignments), always making sure she leaves things better than they were when she arrived. Because of her diligence, she’s been granted additional responsibility and favor. Probably the most exciting thing to happen thus far is this: she is attending the Cannes Film Festival this year! Her college is taking six students, all of whom had to apply to and be chosen by a committee in California. She wrote essays, had her advisors review them before submitting them to California, and then she had to go through a telephone interview. And she was the first chosen of the group from her college, and has received scholarships that will cover half of her travel expenses!
The students will be working during the two weeks they are in France, as baristas and such, serving the movie industry professionals in attendance (directors, actors, etc.), and if I remember correctly, attend workshops. Work ends at 5:00 pm, though, and then they are able to enjoy the festival. They will earn college credit for this experience, plus memories to last a lifetime. I’m so proud of her and can’t wait to see her dream become reality. She is working so hard, I have no doubts she will succeed.
But I digress with the back story. Tomorrow’s excitement is the film school equivalent of a piano recital. The documentary class students will be presenting their 15 minute films for viewing and we are going to cheer for my niece. I can’t wait to see her work!
Updates on the house are getting closer and closer to being done. Today we stopped by to disconnect the dishwasher (discovered a manufacturing defect after it was installed – they are bringing a replacement tomorrow). The laminate flooring has been put in. Unfortunately I was a bit distracted by other things and failed to get any photos. I’m going back tomorrow to paint, so after we run the vacuum and dust, I’ll get some shots. In the meantime, here are a few of the progress that’s been made, beginning with some “before” shots:
Kitchen cabinets in the early stages of updating. My original thought was “clean ’em good and give ’em a good lemon oil polishing.” Fortunately, my sister, the visionary, prevailed.The front bathroom.
We hired someone to paint the cabinets with a sprayer. It was a lot faster and the finish was better than if we’d tried to paint them with brushes. We think it was worth the investment in giving the cabinets an updated, fresher look.
Before and after. Notice the “fur down” has been removed. I was a chicken — worried about what might be back there. Again, my sister had the courage to say, “Well, I guess we’ll find out!” It’s more apparent in the following photograph, but see that strip of molding around the top of the painted cabinets? That was around the top of the fur down. Angie carefully removed it and saved it so it could be reattached to the cabinets and painted. She rocks!I just can’t get over how beautiful everything is turning out! Angie chose the paint colors, formica, and hardware, and did a great job. My contribution was choosing the tile for the backsplash!Sink still needs to be set and faucet installed, but isn’t it looking good???Brand-new appliances: Whirlpool double oven, smooth surface cooktop and range hood.12 x 24 floor tiles also used in the shower. Love ’em!See the accent tile in the shower? There is also a shampoo/conditioner niche in the wall that features that tile. I couldn’t walk in there when I took this photo, so I’ll have to show it later!Tile backsplash carried over from accent tile in shower,Finally, the front bathroom had been retiled several years ago, but Angie found a box of leftover tiles in the garage. We were able to use them to have this backsplash done in the front bathroom! A nice touch!
So that’s it for now. I am really please to see my childhood home receive the update it’s needed for so long, and I’m hoping whomever buys our home enjoys the updates and makes a lot of good memories here.
There’s been a lot of exciting stuff happening the last few months, but because there’s been A LOT of exciting stuff happening the last few months, I haven’t blogged about any of it. I’m going to try to catch up with a very picture-y blog post. Enjoy!
Isn’t he handsome? We went down to Galveston for the annual beach party in September. I don’t usually take selfies without makeup and wearing a cap, but I actually like this photo of us. I need to get over myself, don’t I?On the way to Galveston, before the cap smashed my hair. LOL
Then we went to UH to spend Friday with our girl during Family Weekend. We had another social obligation on Saturday, so we weren’t able to go to the game with her, but we all enjoyed the time we did get to spend together. Thankfully, her guy and his buddies went up to Houston for the game, so she had a good time without us.
My date was supposed to look like a 1920s’ mobster, but everyone who sees this photo asks if he’s Amish?
A coupla’ gansters and a moll.
Laura, Amber, and John
My sister-in-law, Amber and me.
My sister-in-law is still very active in a sorority group from her high school years in Galveston. They have revived their tradition of throwing a formal, and now they do it for charity. This year’s theme was “Putting on the Glitz” and proceeds from the 1920s’ style bash went to The Ronald McDonald House. We had a great time for a worthy cause!
Because my husband is the extrovert that keeps me from holing up in our house for weeks and months on end, we ended up at the Galveston Greek Festival the next day… He grew up attending the festival and we try to go whenever we can. This year we were just a tiny bit disappointed (well, a lot disappointed…) We went Sunday afternoon, and by the time we got there, they’d sold out of the dinner plates. The gyros are good, but we are big fans of the dinner plate that is loaded with Greek yumminess like spanikopita, dolmas, salad with feta and kalamata olives, and pastitsio (a pasta casserole-y type thing that I adore). It was agreed that we will go on Saturday next year and make sure we get there EARLY.
Galveston Oktoberfest with AJGot to wear my scarf! First cool night of the year!Martha, AJ, and me
I thought we were done for the month, but that slavedriver husband of mine yanked me up and out of the house the next weekend to attend the Oktoberfest at the Lutheran church in Galveston. This is another one of those where we are going to have to get there earlier. I know that beer is a huge part of the Lutheran/German experience, but I’m not a big beer drinker. There are craft booths in the church, but both years that we’ve gone, we didn’t get there until the booths were closing up. So NEXT YEAR I want to get there early enough to see what’s up with the crafty folk.
I think that is everything for now that can be addressed in this little “catching up” post. I do plan on posting some photos from when my New York daughter (my bio daughter’s best friend) came to visit for a week this past August. I will save that for another day, though.
Sunday was my husband’s 52nd birthday and we celebrated by attending The Elizabethan Madrigal Feast at The Center for Arts & Sciences. One of the things I love about living where we do is the convenient access we have to quality fine arts events without having to go into Houston. The Center for Arts & Sciences, in Lake Jackson, is comprised of Center Stages (the oldest community theater group on the Texas Gulf Coast), the Brazosport Art League, the Brazosport Museum of Natural Science, the Brazosport Planetarium, and the Brazosport Symphony Orchestra.
The Elizabethan Madrigal is the Brazosport Fine Arts Council’s big fund raiser and is held every other year. It’s such a huge production, it would just be too difficult to do every year. We attended in 2014 and had such a wonderful time, we promised ourselves we would try to make it a tradition. Tickets are in high demand and sell out quickly, so I ponied up the $10 membership fee to the Council so I could buy our tickets when they first went on sale. We had excellent seats, right next to the action! My girl was even pulled into one of the dance sequences by a member of Queen Elizabeth I’s court.
For the price of a ticket, we were seated at beautifully decorated tables and enjoyed a lovely dinner while watching the performance of Queen Elizabeth and her court. The pageantry is spectacular — the detail of the costumes is every bit as impressive as something you’d see in the “big city” up the road. The players are all volunteers who’ve auditioned for their roles. In the midst of the Queen’s entrance, the presentation of the Christ Child, and several songs and dances, a condensed version of a Shakespeare play is performed. This year’s play was “A Midsummer Night’s Dream.” (When we attended in 2014, we were treated to “Twelfth Night.”)
Here are some photos I managed to capture with my cell phone. I tried to be discreet because the players tend to discourage the use of “magic boxes,” as they call them.
DD and JamiAJ and Laura
Jami is asked to dance!
Missing theater just a little bit.The costumes are simply amazing!
PuckQueen Elizabeth IQueen Elizabeth I and her ladies in waiting.
Overall it was a great afternoon. We are already looking forward to the 2018 Madrigal!
P.S. — I have to laugh! After I posted this, I realized I’d put our photo right above the title, which is a quote from A Midsummer Night’s Dream. However, to someone unfamiliar with the play, it looks quite like I’m saying we are fools. Well, maybe we are. But we’re happy fools, for sure. 🙂
After an encouraging blog post from a friend who knows the struggle I’ve been battling regarding physical fitness, I managed to get up early Monday and Tuesday mornings to go walk. Tuesday started out well: I walked 1.88 miles in 33 minutes. Not too shabby, if I do say so myself. I was pretty pumped up when I returned to the house because my friend told me that if I can walk a mile in 22 minutes, I will be able to complete the USA Fit Half Marathon in five hours. I signed up for the half marathon in August, before I started having gallbladder problems. Discouragement set in when I had to have surgery and then struggled with nervousness regarding exercising so soon after. My friend’s encouragement meant the world to me, so I was pretty excited to be back on track.
Not ten minutes after returning home, I received terrible news. My sweet father-in-law finally succumbed to the cancer he’d been battling for nearly ten years. When I met Bill, he wasn’t much older than I am now. We both attended the same church in Houston, but had never had any reason to interact. One Sunday morning before church started, I was peering over a friend’s shoulder to read a wedding invitation she held in her hand. I am not exaggerating when I say I gasped aloud at the bride’s name. The bride-to-be was the mother of the boy I’d dated in college. The boy I’d dated and then broken up with on less than amicable terms. The boy who broke my heart.
My friend got very excited, insisting I should go and say hello. I wasn’t too sure about it, but the boy’s mother had always been kind to me, and I finally mustered up the courage to do so. Marcia was very friendly and invited me to the wedding. I wasn’t sure about going, but in the end, I did and I’m so glad. Eleven months later I married the boy who is my ex no more. That’s a story for another day, though, because today’s story is about Bill.
Bill
Bill and Marcia met through a Bible study where they were both devoted students of God’s word. Their relationship flourished as they strove to build it upon the best foundation: Jesus Christ. Eventually, Bill proposed and Marcia accepted, and they were married on March 23, 1991. They served in ministry together, wanting to share the gospel with all who would hear, taking it even into the prisons. Eleven months later I married the boy who had come to the Lord and became a changed man, and on that day, Bill and Marcia, AJ and I, we all became family.
Marcia and Bill celebrating their 25th Wedding Anniversary (March 23, 2016)
That all-important word: family. There are those who might correct me, but if I had to tell you what word was Bill Rozelle’s favorite, I would have to say it is family. I can’t think of a single family meal that began any differently than this, “Father, family was your idea, and we thank you for it…” Family was so important to Bill. He didn’t have any biological children of his own, but when he married Marcia, he took her kids and grandkids for his own. When I joined the family, I truly felt I was one of his kids, too. He was always interested in what we, as a family, and we as individuals were doing.
Earlier today I talked with my daughter — she told me how much she would miss their birthday talks. I raised an eyebrow because this is something I’m not familiar with. Apparently, whenever she celebrated a birthday, he would think back to when he was that age and tell her where he’d been and what he’d been doing at 16, 17, 18 and so on. I think she was looking forward to their “21” birthday talk.
Seesa, Papaw Bill, & Jami
Jami & Papaw Bill
I’ll miss him scrounging around my kitchen looking for coffee fixin’s — he loved his coffee and didn’t always want to wait for the coffeemaker to brew. That’s when he’d brew up some “cowboy coffee” in a mug. The man was serious about his coffee. I’ll also miss watching him peruse our bookcases, pulling some random book from the shelf and making himself comfortable in a corner with his coffee. He loved to read and could become completely engrossed in almost any subject, no matter what might be happening around him. He truly cared about people and when my sister was going through a rough time, he always made a point to ask how she was and to say he was praying for her.
Coffee: Check! Book: Check!
I know my husband will miss him, too. Bill loved my husband as his own son. A number of years ago, they both had motorcycles and would go for rides together. On more than one occasion, my husband accepted Bill’s invite to his church’s annual men’s retreat. A lot of the men rode, and they would all head to the retreat center on their bikes. My husband said those were some great times. Maybe he’ll go again next year in Bill’s memory. I hope so.
Bill and AJ
I’m going to do something in Bill’s memory this January. I’d already signed up in August, but there’s no reason I can’t retroactively designate my participation in Bill’s honor: I’m going to walk a half marathon. My sweet father-in-law, in his day, ran full-blown marathons. He ran in the Boston and New York City Marathons, and he ran in the Houston-Tenneco Marathon. He was a real athlete. I’m just trying to challenge myself to eat better and move more. I think he’d be proud, though. Because we’re family.
With a bit of a delay, thanks to an unexpected battle with pneumonia and some additional drama, the College Girl (formerly known as the Teen Girl) is finally settled into THE apartment at the University of Houston.
Talking to The Tall One and Supervising the Parental Minions from the comfort of her bed.
In the days leading up to August 19th (also known as Move-In Day), we started making lists of things needed to set up housekeeping away from home. Since the College Girl is living in a college apartment, rather than a dorm, she needed furniture. After seeing the one bedroom “model” apartment, it was clear that we would have to be mindful of furniture size because she is sharing a bedroom with another college girl. We had an extra twin bed to send with her, but she needed a desk, so we went to the place where all in need of cheap, DIY, flat-boxed furniture go: IKEA.
Thanks to their website, we’d already done some reconnaissance and knew which desk would allow for the most storage and the smallest footprint at a reasonable price. She tried out some chairs and selected a desk chair conducive to sitting “criss-cross applesauce” that was on sale, hallelujah! We also picked up bedding (high thread count, but on sale FTW!), a table top ironing board, canisters for coffee beans, and a few other things.
It was so hard to keep her from picking up a French press, knowing her aunt had gotten her a very nice one as a going to college gift!
When we got to the checkout, we were all chattering until the cashier mumbled the total. I swiped my debit card and then glanced at the total again:
$1,600.00
WHAT? I was pretty sure that we had NOT purchased enough cheap, DIY, flat-boxed furniture to achieve that lofty total. The young man started going through the list and discovered the plain jane, wire paper towel holder my husband had dropped in the cart — the paper towel holder with a $1.99 tag — had scanned for over $1,000. Corrections were made, I scanned my card again, and we were on our way.
The week before Move-In Day, the College Girl had one of her dearest friends fly down from upstate New York for a visit. We had a wonderful time (I love this girl and want her to move to Texas — Powerpoint promotions are being designed to convince her husband that Texas is their destiny)! The visit ended much too soon, and the College Girl and I took my new daughter to the airport to fly home.
A few miles from the airport, my girl became increasingly quiet and by the time we reached Pearland, she was feeling very poorly.
I felt her forehead and she was burning up. Because I’ve always let fevers do their thing (kill the bad guys) unless they get too high, I didn’t give her any Tylenol or Advil. By the time we got home, she was running between 101 and 102 temp. It was shocking because she had been blowing and going with her friend for five days without any sign of impending illness. When her temp went up to 102.3, I gave her some Tylenol to control it through the night, and we headed to the Altus Emergency Center the next morning since it was Sunday. They checked for flu and strep which were negative, said it was viral and to use Tylenol and Advil to control the fever and make her comfortable. So we did.
For two days we followed their advice, but every time the medicine wore off her temperature would go back up. On Tuesday night it went up to 104.3, scaring us pretty badly. The Tall One advised a cool bath in addition to the Tylenol/Advil regimen, and so after conferring with my sister, The Nurse, who agreed, we convinced the College Girl to put on her swimsuit and take a “swim” in the tub. She hated us for making her get in that cool water because it was so uncomfortable, but it brought her temperature down until we could see the real doctor the next morning.
Thank goodness we went — after blood work and chest x-rays, we learned she had pneumonia in half her right lung. The doctor prescribed TWO antibiotics, and within twenty-four hours she was running a normal temperature again without any Tylenol or Advil. She was exhausted, though, and not in any shape to take care of last-minute shopping or move to THE Apartment.
What in the world did we do before smartphones? While she rested at home, I ran errands to find the last few things she needed. I probably took at least a dozen or more photos of things, sending them to her in text messages: “Do you want the purple or the blue toothbrush holder?” “Is this shower curtain okay?” “Do you need a butter dish?” Thankfully I managed to get everything she needed before my phone battery died!
Because she was still feeling pretty rough on Move-In Day (August 19th), College Dad, the Tall One, and I took her furniture up to THE Apartment. I am SO GLAD she was not with us, because I would hate for what we found to be her first impression of her first apartment. We walked into THE Apartment and almost gagged. The previous resident had apparently had cats… and based on the smell, no litter box. It was just terrible. Considering the residents of this two bedroom apartment are paying a combined total of almost $2,000 monthly, there was no way we were going to allow our daughter (or these other young women) live in that filth. After filling out the condition sheet with “filthy,” “filthy,” “filthy,” “broken,” “broken,” “filthy” — I marched down to the laundry building to turn the sheet in and get the College Girl’s gate key. But I did not just hand the sheet in and take the key. When I walked up to the table and the bright-eyed, bushy-tailed student helping out asked if she could assist me, I said “Yes. You can send someone to THE Apartment to see the cesspool you expect these young women to live in.” She looked a little startled and then directed me to the woman sitting next to her, who apparently had some authority.
The condensed story is: by the next morning THE Apartment had a fresh coat of paint and they were in the process of installing new carpet. Before they put the carpet padding down, I sprayed the concrete slab with an enzyme to break down the cat pee that had soaked through the old padding. And throughout the day we stayed on their case about other things that needed to be addressed. I still have a couple of things I’m nagging them about (like the non-GFI rated outlet under the kitchen sink next to the pipe that was leaking before the College Dad fixed it with some tools he brought). But for the most part, THE Apartment is livable and the College Girl and her roommates have settled in and seem pretty happy.
She makes this cheap, DIY, flat-boxed furniture look GOOD.
So why do I call it THE Apartment, rather than “her” apartment? Because as exciting as this adventure is, as anxious and excited as she has been to move on to this new part of life, every time she refers to THE Apartment at the University of Houston, she refuses to call it “home” or even “my apartment.” I told her it was okay to call it “home,” but she disagreed. And I have to say that meant a lot to this College Mommy’s heart — it’s good to know that she is enjoying her weekdays at the university, but she looks forward to coming home on the weekends. We’ll still have Sunday lunches with the Tall One and the Texan Who Claims to be from Oklahoma, we’ll still have Brew-n-Bake coffee dates, and when time and studies permit, we’ll marathon our favorite shows like Alias, Doctor Who, Friends, and Warehouse 13 while we do cross stitch and embroidery.
The Tall One, the College Girl, and the Texan/Oklahoman
My College Girl
No matter how many things in life change, she’ll always be our girl. ❤
An odd title for a scribbler’s blog post, I suppose. As I sat down to compose this post, I discovered a scarcity of words that surprised even me. Anyone who knows me well knows that I am rarely, if ever, at a loss for words. Fortunately I rediscovered my words, so here we go:
I’m full of emotions right now. Emotions threaten to knock me off my feet the same way a wave knocks you on your backside when you venture too far off shore when the Gulf is choppy chocolate soup. The emotions vying for my attention spring from what seems a multitude of sources: preparing my childhood home for sale, readying my daughter to move into her first apartment away from home, and observing the first anniversary of my mama’s passing.
The house is coming together finally. Now that it’s been almost completely emptied of all the things that made it “home,” I don’t get quite as sad when I walk through the front door. I still have vivid memories though, and I remember lying on the green 70s’ carpet in my bedroom — a first grader trying to stay out-of-the-way while my parents moved all our worldly possessions into our brand-new house. Lying on my stomach, I read fairy tale after fairy tale from the hardcover copy of The Grimm Brothers Fairy Tales my mother had given me. It was protected by a glassine dust jacket that still allowed the colorful illustration centered on the front of the navy cloth binding to show through. A companion volume of Hans Christian Andersen fairy tales, bound in burgundy cloth, completed the set. For some reason, I always preferred the Grimm Brothers. They were a little darker, a little more melancholy.
Mine are similar to these, but I didn’t have a slipcase. I’d take a photo of mine, but the college girl is sleeping and I don’t want to wake her up.
My college girl is scheduled to move into her apartment two weeks from Friday. Two weeks. How did the time fly so quickly??? Yesterday we went to IKEA, where we bought a small desk, swivel chair, bedding, and a few other small things. After grabbing a late lunch at Buff Burger, we stopped at Homegoods and Bed, Bath & Beyond. Truthfully, I think she has just about everything she needs for now. We have the luxury of only being an hour down the road, so if she forgets something or gets in a bind, it won’t be too difficult to help out if she wants our help. The challenge will be leaving her alone to figure things out herself. It’s part of the process, and so I’m going to sit on my hands, hide my keys from myself, and resist the temptation to call three times a day to see how things are going. Isn’t this what we’ve been preparing her (and ourselves) for the last 20 years?
I’m dreading tomorrow. Actually, today because it’s after midnight. So it’s August 3.
A year ago today, mid-morning, I got a phone call from my sister. She thought our mama had a stroke. Because our mama didn’t like the hospital in Clear Lake and any EMS that served her area would take her there, we drove her to the hospital in Pearland, at her request. The initial symptoms that we thought were symptoms of stroke must have been related to the cancer that had metastasized to her brain several months before, because after a little time passed, the symptoms were gone. Sitting in the triage area at Pearland, we made little jokes and she requested that they allow her to keep her underwear when they helped her into a hospital gown. As doctors and nurses came and went, she asked when she could go home, and they explained that they needed to send her to a hospital with a neurologist consult. So they made arrangements to transfer her to Memorial Hermann. I wish I’d known that would be the last time I saw her awake and cognizant of her surroundings. I wish I’d made sure to hug her before they took her in the ambulance to Memorial Hermann. Little did my sister or I know that around 4:25 am the morning of August 4, we would say our final goodbyes to our mama.
Truly, our mama had very definite ideas about the way things should be done, and as I’ve spent the last year going through things from the house — reading letters, mementos and the like — I’ve come to the conclusion that some of the high standards she set for us were rooted in her own heart-felt desire to be better than she believed herself to be. Growing up in a small east Texas town, her family lived on land leased out around the South Liberty oil fields. Her parents were good, hardworking folk who loved and did well for their kids, especially considering neither of them went past grade school. We knew our mama was sharp and talented because of the things we witnessed her do for us throughout our childhoods — she was very active in our classrooms when we were small and she eventually worked hard to establish a library (properly organized by the Dewey Decimal System, no less) at the private school my sister attended.
Surprising things we’ve learned this year or so:
Our mama was a member of the homecoming court when she was a freshman in high school.
Our mama was president of the library club at Liberty High School, and she served as regional president when she attended the state convention of high school library clubs.
Our mama wore ladies’ dress gloves (we found white and black gloves, elbow and wrist length), beautiful heels with thin spike heels, and she had a black cashmere coat with a detachable mink collar that makes me think of Audrey Hepburn.
We found a snapshot of our teenage mama standing in front of the Christmas tree at our grandparents’ home — Mama wore a Norwegian style sweater with black pants. In my entire life, I never saw my mama wear pants.
Mama worked at the Liberty County courthouse after she graduated high school, but before she got married, and her supervisor liked her to fill out the marriage licenses because she had such beautiful handwriting.
Mama was a stickler for honesty — she disliked untruthfulness with a passion, so we were a little amused to discover our mama had sticky fingers, at least as a teenager, when it came to hotel souvenirs. The Library Club attended a couple of conventions and we found a shoe box with odds and ends from a hotel in San Antonio, the name of which escapes my memory. The mother lode was a cache of goodies from the Shamrock Hilton in Houston, Texas. We are now the proud “owners” of an ashtray, a seafood fork, a teaspoon, and a room key with brass Shamrock Hilton key chain attached.
Photo found on Google — our key chain has the key still attached.
There was something entertaining, reassuring, and comforting in realizing our mama had been a silly teenager, just like us. I can almost imagine my mama, who I always thought of as very prim and proper, getting excited over Elvis’ latest song.
Today, when I’m tempted to be sad, I’m going to focus on that teenage girl growing up in Liberty, Texas — getting dressed up, with hat and gloves to shop at Foley’s Downtown and eat apple pie with rum sauce at the Azalea Terrace upstairs.
I miss you, Mama. Thank you for everything, including the stories and the seafood fork. I love you.
Mama in high school. I think she told me she was 16 in this portrait, so it would have been 1959.
If I could unleash my inner “mama bear,” I would let loose with a fresh hell like no one has ever seen.
Hide the can openers, because I definitely want to open up a can of whoop-ass on a college professor who does not deserve his title or position.
That night in early April was particularly bad — my daughter’s dog, Evelyn threw up three times in the early hours, and then again as my girl started to put her in the car to take her to the vet. She’d lost a tremendous amount of weight for a dog her size in only a month, and she struggled to keep the boiled egg or diced chicken down that we cooked for her. The once spunky pup had no energy and spent the majority of her days lying quietly on the floor or the couch. She’d had X-rays that indicated an enlarged heart, and some suspicious masses that could be cancerous. There were additional tests that could be run, but no guarantee, and in the meantime she was suffering.
My girl had to make the very difficult decision to have her sweet Evelyn put to sleep that afternoon. With the vet’s counsel, it was agreed this was the best course of action, to save her any additional suffering. In the middle of the heartbreaking decision, Jami sent her professor an email explaining that her dog was very ill and she was having to have her put to sleep. She asked if she could reschedule the exam she was supposed to take later in the day.
The professor responded with a very curt “You can take it at 5:30 this evening or get a zero. Sorry.”
There are those who might say, “It’s just a dog. It’s not worth flunking a test or damaging your grade point average.” Whatever. Jami saw her puppy being born into this world, and eight years later, she stood by the examination table holding her precious pup as she slipped away, tears streaming down her face. She told me that she had thought about it and taking the test or skipping the test wouldn’t matter — she would not do well either way.
At her request, I left her there to grieve her loss.
Some time has passed and we are doing better, but even now we will get a little weepy when we think of that crazy sweet girl we love so much.
I guess you can imagine how angry it made both of us when we discovered the “professor” read my daughter’s email aloud to his class this semester as an example of how “there is no excuse that will persuade me to let you take a makeup exam.”
He did not read her name, but a friend in the class recognized the email as hers.
If I could have his job, I would. I want to write a letter to the administration, but my girl said that if anyone writes a letter, it needs to be her. I asked her if I could blog about it, and she gave me permission.
So here I am, Mama Bear, venting my fury on the interwebs. He exploited my daughter’s grief to make himself look tough and powerful. It’s a special kind of jerk that can take joy in someone else’s pain. I’m not going to call him out by name, but his last name starts with an “S.” I think it may stand for “Sorry Excuse for a Human.” 😡
For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life. For God did not send His Son into the world to condemn the world, but that the world through Him might be saved. JOHN 3:16-17
Lagnaippe: 1. Chiefly Southern Louisiana and Southeast Texas. A small gift with purchase to a customer, by way of compliment or for good measure; bonus. 2. a gratuity or tip. 3. an unexpected or indirect benefit.
For you, brethren, have been called to liberty; only do not use liberty as an opportunity for the flesh, but through love serve one another. -- Galatians 5:13
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