For the boys: Our wedding

My sister-in-law is getting married in June.  We are all so very happy for her, for them.  She is having a very small outdoor garden wedding, and has hired a harpist to perform the music before, during and after the ceremony.    She was sweet enough to invite me along for a visit to the harpist's house, to hear her play and discuss what Sandra wanted in the way of music.  It was really fun, and special.  Something about hearing the music brings all the excited emotion to the forefront of your brain, and we kept welling up.  It also brought back memories of our own happy event.

We were married in Fredericksburg, at the Herb Farm.  I remember when I first had the idea, and brought Jav to see the place, it was February and everything was dead.  He looked at me like I was a little crazy.  But we visited again in March and started to cement our plans.  They employed an excellent manager for weddings.  Her name was Sue, and she was down to earth, didn't mince words, listened well, and was very efficient.  We liked her immediately.  Jav started to realize that it was a good idea to wed in Fred, because his relatives who lived in Mexico would have a shortened trip.

There are many things you plan for during those pre-wedding months.  And there are things that come up that throw curve balls at you, almost like a test to see if your relationship is really up to snuff.  When we started calling florists (there were only two main ones in Fredericksburg) to plan the bouquets, corsages and boutonnieres, we were told they couldn't help us because it was Mother's Day weekend.  So after frantic call to Sue, she suggested we use white spring flowers straight out of the Herb Farm gardens, and she didn't charge me very much to do it.  They were simple, elegant and gorgeous.  Crisis avoided; wedding still on!

One thing that is always on the mind of a couple about to get married outside is weather.  Especially coy and fickle Texas spring weather.  We're talking about a place where we ran our A/C from 3 pm until midnight two nights ago, then ran to turn the heater on around 2 am after our yearly "sometime around Easter" blue norther blew in.  Normally by May there are no more threats of cold weather, but rain is another story.

The forecast for our special day looked perfect.  Sunny with some clouds, and a high in the upper 70's to low 80's.  No chance of rain whatsoever.  I spent the day getting my hair coiffed and my face painted at my sweet Aunt Gina's house.  Every time I stepped outside to take or make a phone call I marveled at the beautiful blue sky and started to forget about any weather worries, since I had other things to think about.

Flash forward a few hours.  The bridesmaids, moms and I were in the house used for a spa at the Herb Farm, bustling around and making last minute wardrobe and makeup adjustments.  Pictures were being taken.  We were silly and giggling and had tons of nervous energy.  All seemed well.  The wedding was ten minutes from starting, and someone mentioned a little black cloud that had appeared on the horizon.   I glanced outside a few minutes later, trying to make sure no one could see me, and the little black cloud was bigger and heading straight for my wedding.

By the time Dad took my arm and we started heading down the path to my destiny, the wind had picked up and it was sprinkling.  That's also about the time we heard the first thunder clap.  Guests were gasping and looking at each other and the sky, wondering if the hairdos and mascara were going to hold.  The wedding party and Lutheran bishop who was officiating were all safely tucked underneath some trees.  But all the guests were seated right out in the open.  So much for planning for everything.

The Bishop pressed on, even when it started pouring and almost all the guests scattered for shelter underneath trees, archways or anywhere they could find.  There is a picture our photographer took of two sections of empty seats, with the exception of my dad, Jav's dad and my Uncle Robert, who was 81 at the time of our wedding.  We had asked my brother to do a reading.  It started out saying something about "Weathering life's storm.." or something to that effect.  He of Perfect Comic Timing paused and gave his best ,"Wow what a coincidence!" look to the crowd, and got a raucous burst of laughter for his effort before finishing the reading.  He and Olga, our friend and other reader, had to yell to be heard over the wind and rain and sometimes thunder.  My cousin sang Mozart's Laudate Dominum, accompanied by electric piano.  I am not too fond of synthesized music and had no idea when I asked her to sing that her accompaniment would be on a plugged-in piano.  I guess the reality of how hard it would be to lug a real piano out there didn't sink into my head.  But Laurie's voice is so beautiful that it didn't matter.  The poor, brave man playing fought through the storm even though he could have been electrocuted at any moment.

We were never upset enough during all of this to think, "Our wedding's ruined!" or anything that drastic.  I remember we kept looking at each other like, "What can we do?" and then back at the crowd, and were concerned for everyone's obvious discomfort throughout the ceremony.  But I also remember that when I caught faces during my quick glances back, everyone seemed to be smiling and happy.  Upon the Bishop pronouncing us Man and Wife, the rain started slacking off.  By the time we made our way back under the archway and started receiving "Congratulations!" every where we turned, the sun was starting to peek through again.

The short train of my dress got muddy, but other than that I came out unscathed.  The Herb Farm staff opened up the bar, the Frank Sinatra started up, and the rain was all but forgotten.  We had many, many people come up to us over the next few hours and tell us that the we were blessed to have that rain during the ceremony, that it was good luck and meant Fertility.  And lo and behold, here we are nine years later, blessed with two beautiful boys at our age.  So every time I think back about that happy, happy day, I smile to think about that little unplanned-for cloud.

Sense memory-summer

My neighbor Helen (who is in her seventies and just the neatest person) and I got to talking about memories on the way home from the grocery store a few months ago. She thought it was remarkable that a certain smell can conjure up another place and time. I've been thinking about our conversation alot lately, and realize that all of our senses can hold memories. I wanted to get some of these logged. This first post will cover memories about summer, which is quickly coming to a close this year.

The smell of chlorine in swimming pools makes me think of summer evenings at the Y with my Mom and brother, where lots of times we had the giant pool almost to ourselves. Years later when I was going through much turmoil in my first marriage I would walk my dog Stanley past the apartment swimming pool and be calmed by that smell. When Gabriel plays in the sprinkler I am taken back to several different backyards where we would take what my Mom called "shower baths" in the sprinkler.

I think food smell memories are the strongest. One food smell memory takes me to our summer trips to visit relatives near Corpus. My Aunt Sarah was a wonderful cook, but something about her green beans were magical. They were picked fresh from the garden and simmered with onion and bacon, and you could even smell them cooking outside where we played on the tire swing. Mouth-watering! And yet another one takes me to Fredericksburg where we used to stay with my Aunt Lou and Uncle Robert. When we woke up in the morning, the smell of breakfast cooking always lured us to the kitchen. But it was the smell of my Aunt Lou's homemade brown bread toasting that I will always remember. I think those trips turned me into a toast junkie. When I need to be comforted after a bad day I can always count on the smell of bread toasting to calm me.

And finally, this isn't a smell but a feel. Whenever I walk on thick St. Augustine grass, I am transported to my grandparents' backyard where my brother and I would spend countless hours playing croquet, having handstand contests or exploring my grandfather's wood shop. I can feel the cool grass beneath my bare feet, taste the pink lemonade and smell my grandmother's freshly washed linen hanging on the clothesline. Summer, summer, summer.

Portraits

We went to have the obligatory family portrait made about a month ago, along with some shots of both boys and just Joel. We went to JC Penney's, I guess because that's where we've had Gabriel's pictures taken and it's affordable. My problem with them is twofold. The result is nice, but very generic and boring. And they have ridiculous turnover so you never know if you're going to get someone who knows how to photograph kids. We got lucky with Gabriel. Not so much this time. I ended up having to make Gabriel smile for every picture, and she had NO clue how to deal with Joel. She kept trying to get him to sit up by propping him with some pillows. And of course, being three months old, he kept falling over. When we left, I vowed in my head to not waste our money there again.

When Jav and I decided to get married in Fredericksburg, my Mom and I took a really fun trip to find the cake baker and photographer. I had come up with two, one an established studio and the other just a person who came up in the search. His name was Michael Roche, and we had our first meeting with him at the local coffee hang out. He seemed very stand-offish and even a bit snooty, and informed us that he never worked in color, only black and white or sepia. So if we had wanted shots of the Fred. Herb Farm in all of it's spring color, he wasn't our man. I liked the samples of his work that he shared with us, but I left the meeting thinking there was no way in you know where that I was going to let that jerk take pictures at my wedding.

So we drove to Kerrville to see the big studio, and it was there that I discovered how little I like the standard, posed pictures that people have taken at weddings. You know what I mean. The close up of the hands with rings. The bride simulating taking off her garter and all the groomsmen lined up. Gag. Yawn. Driving back to Fredericksburg, I decided to give Mr. Roche a chance and just hoped I wasn't making one of the biggest mistakes of my life.

It turned out to be one of the smartest moves I've made. He really wasn't a jerk, either, just extremely shy and cursed with one of those "artistic" personalties that are hard to converse with. He took the most beautiful pictures. They have life and movement, and show the joy from the occasion better than I ever thought possible. Even his posed pictures of the wedding party, etc.. have a playful quality. And he did take quite a few in color, the first time ever for him. He ended up staying way past the time we hired him for and took pictures of everyone dancing and the mariachi band. Whenever I flip through the album, I am transported to that happy day. I will never be able to repay him for what he gave us. And I have a dream of having him take the boys pictures some day.

The link to his website is here. He has ten pics from our wedding, numbers 10 through 13 and 17 through 22 under "Weddings".

Road trip memories

This donation to our garage sale last summer (thanks Susan-but I kept this one for myself), prompted a belated posting regarding the Family Road Trip. It's amazing to me how this one thing prompted so many membories.

My parents used to take my brother and me on one or two road trips a year, either to stay with Texas relatives in Ingleside or Fredericksburg, or to Colorado in the summers once we were a little older. I remember stopping at two different retail outlets whose very existence depended on the Family Road Trip. One was Nickerson Farms and the other was Stuckey's, and one had a blue roof and one a red one (I don't remember which was which). Stuckey's sometimes had a snack bar, and Nickerson Farms had restaurants attached. I remember getting the BEST burgers there, old school style with thick bread slices instead of buns, and grill marks all over, and dripping with grease. Yum.

My brother and I were also allowed to spend a very thrifty sum on crap for the car at these establishments, and we took our role as consumers very seriously. I remember spending quite a bit on books like the one above. I also remember turning little cows and pigs upside down to hear the very unrealistic noises that were supposed to be moos and oinks, kitschy salt and pepper shakers, road trip bingo cards, every rainbow color and flavor of candy cane you can think of, lots of things to write on and write with, and alot of glass and ceramic items that I guess were meant to be gifts for whoever was waiting for you at your destination. (I always looked at that stuff as extra stuff to dust, and not much more).

I don't remember if Philip and I fought in the car very much. I remember we sang, as a family, early on, before I thought it was very uncool to do so. My parents bickered from time to time. I remember one particularly stressful trip to Colorado where my Dad got lost for awhile. We were all very hungry and apparently in the middle of nowhere in New Mexico. We accidentally drove onto an Indian Reservation somewhere around Taos where they were having a festival of some kind, but we were not allowed on the property. We finally stumbled on an old and not very well-stocked grocery store where we at least bought beverages and snacks to hold us over until we found civilization again. I think my Mom started speaking to my Dad again once we got to the Colorado border.

But I mostly remember fun times, especially on the way to the destination.

(posting from Belle Vernon, PA, where we're having a wonderful time)

Moving in the same circles

Jav and I realized early on that we spent five years of our youth at very close proximity without ever meeting. From 1976 to 1980, we lived one street over from his family. Their house backed up to the house that was across the street from us. Maybe we saw Jav or Sandra, but I don't remember it. We pretty much kept to the kids on our street, and they to theirs.

Then the other day we happened to be driving down Lancaster, which has changed so much since we were kids. My grandmother, Mom and I used to head down to our favorite shopping center several times a week in the afternoons. We would have pie or custard at Wyatt's Cafeteria, my grandmother and Mom would shop at Monnig's Department Store, and I would love walking over to Mott's Five and Dime or Skillern's Drug Store. Sometimes we'd go to Cloth World to look at patterns or thread or buttons.

I was relaying all of this nostalgia to Jav, and he remembered that his Mom used to take Sandra and he to the same stores in the afternoons after school. They didn't hit Wyatt's very often, but his mother would shop at Monnig's while he and Sandra goofed around in Mott's. We both reminisced about where everything was in Mott's - the toys, the baseball cards-I can remember the layout like the back of my hand. Jav also remember that he HATED having to wait for his Mom in Cloth World, the most boring place in the world to a 10-year-old boy.

We decided we just had to have been in the same place at the same time long before we ever officially met.

Piano lessons

Every once in awhile I get to listen to Selected Shorts on NPR, where famous short stories are read by actors. It's always a good listen. The one last Sunday night was called Simple Exercises for the Beginning Student by Alex Ohlin. It was about an 8-year-old boy whose parents were having marital problems, but he found solace in taking piano lessons. The descriptions of the piano teacher, the way she wrote out the pieces he was to practice that week in very meticulous handwriting in a little notebook he kept, the nervousness of the boy as he realized how little he had practiced all week..all of this brought back so many memories.

I really feel like I should be thumped in the head sometimes for squandering away the gift my grandparents gave me (they paid for my lessons) for nine years. I don't really remember if I liked taking piano or not. I know I didn't practice enough, just the bare minimum to get by at the next lesson. I was always really nervous before recitals, and once completely went blank about halfway through a piece. I'll never forget that music, or how horrible that moment was. I paused for what seemed like hours to me (it was probably only seconds), went back and started again and made it through the second time. I guess I had many recital experiences that were pretty good, but it's always the bad moments you remember more.

I remember wishing I could write in cursive the way my teacher, Mrs. Sills, did. She was so patient with me, and even though I'm sure she knew I didn't practice very much, she never said anything more severe than, "I hope you'll practice more this week,." when it came time for me to leave. The piano was in her very formal living room, and it was always so quiet in her house. I remember that the next student would come in and sit on the sofa waiting for me to finish, and I would think, "Ha ha-you've still got to do your lesson, but I'm almost finished and get to go home." I think the lessons were hard for me to get through because I knew on some level that I was disappointing her - not living up to my potential.

I've seen Mrs. Sills occasionally through the years and once she asked me if I still played. I was so embarrassed to tell her not really. I think if I had a piano I would play. When I think about it now I wish I would have practiced and paid attention more. I heard recently that Mrs. Sills was ill, and I said a little prayer for her.

Rocket Science

I was walking Stanley yesterday and noticed a torn up Nerf rocket in the gutter. This prompted a string of really strong memories from my 5th Grade science project in Mr. Anthony's class. It's amazing to me to think of all the memories our brains have stored up, because this whole thing came back to me clear as a bell. We were supposed to construct a rocket out of balsam wood and test it to see if it would actually fly. I thought about the entire class going to the covered open-air recess area to spray paint our rockets silver. I could almost smell the spray paint and hear the muted rattley sound of the cans when we shook them up, and even remembered the lightheaded feeling I had from the fumes. I could recall how cool they looked hanging there to dry with the sun reflecting off the silver. I also remembered the feeling of absolute dread when it came time to try mine out to see if it worked. I don't think mine ever went anywhere, but there were those teacher's pets whose rockets went waaaaaaayy high up in the air. Science show-offs. And for some reason, all of these thoughts led me to have a strong craving for ice cream sandwiches. Aaahh, the carefree days of elementary school.

Vacation dreams part 2 (the realistic list)

These are trips that I can actually see taking in my lifetime.

1) Poetry festival. I would love to go to one of these on the East coast during Fall. Poetry, beautiful weather and leaves changing, crisp cool air during the days and cold enough for a fire at night. True perfection.

2) Hiking retreat, with hot showers and gourmet dinners. I do not have the stuff it takes to be a true camper. I don't like feeling grubby for days at a time, and I have a tendency to hate sleeping on the ground. I don't know that I'd even like RV life - I think I'd have a feeling of being a sardine locked inside my tin can at night. So this would be the way to go for me, because I love to hike. The more hills and tough spots the better. But I want to clean up and get a nice meal and a warm bed afterwards.

3) Family beach or mountain trip. This is something I've dreamed about ever since my brother had his first child. I think traveling with the entire family is so special, and the kids will remember those trips forever. I remember traveling places with my grandparents and parents, and it though it was just my brother and I, I have such great memories from those trips. My Mom always talks about the summer that their family and their two neighbors families all traveled to Colorado. She is still best friends with those girls to this day. Now we have kids in both families, and I can't wait for this to actually happen.

Getting sentimental over an inanimate object

If there was one thing that made me excited each Christmas growing up, it was the sight of my grandparents Christmas tree every year. We would celebrate with them on Christmas night, and even though I loved the other gatherings, it didn't really feel like Christmas until we would walk into their house and see that tree. We knew what the evening would consist of - lots of singing to the Brothers Four Christmas album, the delicious smell of bacon coming from the kitchen for our traditional German Christmas dinner, me getting to play Santa's elf and pass out presents, and finally going around the room one at a time to open our gifts. We would always all be rolling on the floor with laughter because my grandmother would get the presents confused (she'd get kind of hectic as Christmas got closer and stop putting tags on things), and not realize it until the recipient had opened the gift and had a very confused look on his or her face. There was such a feeling of love and being safe and warm at their house. Those were the most special evenings of our Christmas every year.

After my grandmother died, I decided to take the tree and start using it. It had held up really well for the 30+ years they had been using it. I also took her decorations, which consisted of my grandfathers homemade ornaments, apples, and lots of things Mamaw had received as presents through the years. I put small multicolored lights on it, just like she had. It made me feel like I was 8 years old and back at their house.

Now that I've put up the tree for 4 years, the cats have gotten the better of it. They have jumped on the lower limbs so many times that alot of them had a permanent bend to them, so much so that they wouldn't stay in the little holes on the tree post. I decided to keep the top half of the tree for either the front porch or Gabriel's room next year. But I threw the rest of it away this morning, with tears rolling down my face. I'm going to miss seeing it every year.

Christmas memories

Things I want to remember about this Christmas:
Gabriel's first Christmas morning, even though he didn't really know what was going on
Christmas Eve Mass with all the dressed up beautiful children
Gabriel loving the sound of the jingle bell wreath
Enjoying walking the dogs, especially Stanley (I've been thinking this will be his last Christmas for three years now. He keeps proving me wrong.)
Shopping for a video camera with Jav, and being so tired that all I could do was focus on the big screen TV playing a Transiberian Orchestra concert.
Gabriel staying awake through both of our family Christmases, even though it was way past his bedtime. (That actually goes for me too).
Trying to put up the Christmas lights while passing Gabriel back and forth
Driving around with Gabriel, my Mom and Cade to look at Christmas lights. We knew Cade was
DONE when he asked if he could go home and watch TV.
April forgetting that the kids could hear her as she mumbled, "oh I remember what that is now" while Cade and Macy opened their Christmas gifts from Santa.
Singing every Christmas carol I know to Gabriel softly to help him fall asleep.
Being so thankful to have both Jav's and my parents healthy and young, and watching them with Gabriel.

Teachers

I just heard an interview on the BBC where the subject was encouraging people to find and thank teachers who may have inspired you.

Coincidentally, I ran into one of my high school teachers while grocery shopping in early December. Mrs. Roberson taught World History to sophomores and Current Events to seniors, and I had her for both. I did not dislike her back then, but I dreaded her classes because she had a tendency to ask questions of everyone in class, and I was terrified of speaking up in class all through high school. In the current events class, we read the newspaper and discussed all things going on in the world, and she would have a quiz once a week. Whoever answered the most questions correctly received extra credit points. I didn't understand why current events were important, and although I occasionally got a question right having to do with entertainment or pop culture, I never won the quiz.

She must be in her late 60's now, but still looks great and is still substitute teaching. I told her that I started listening to NPR in college, and think all the time about how I could win that quiz of hers every week now. I said that even though you don't realize it while back in school, after time goes by you remember the really great teachers, and that she was one of the few teachers I learned something from. She got a kick out of hearing that. She has some fantastic ideas about fixing public education, but no one is really listening to her, which is a shame.

I thought about teaching for awhile, but have changed my mind. I still think it's one of the most important professions because you are molding kids for the future. It's probably also a very rewarding career choice because you can actually see the result of your efforts. But I don't think I could live up to the standards Mrs. Roberson has set in this world of "teaching to the test". I really have respect for the good ones who could stand up in front of a bunch of smart-mouthed teenagers and still manage to get something to penetrate our thick skulls.

Songs that transport me

The reason I started thinking about this has to do with my previous post about quitting my job. I was about to leave the house to drive to work and do this very profound thing, and I wanted to listen to some music so I wouldn't be so nervous. For some reason, I remembered what CD I was listening to the day I had my interview 10 years ago (Eric Johnson - Venus Isle), so I thought it would be fitting to listen to the same thing as I drove over to end my time there. It really had an effect on me to realize how much my life has changed in the past 10 years. But I also realized that music is my catalyst for memories. Some people remember what they were wearing at key moments in their lives; I remember what was on the radio.

I think I drive people crazy when we go to restaurants because I can't tune out the piped in mix of music in the background. I always stop in the middle of someone's conversation and say, "good song!" I actually wondered at one point if there was some type of career in making mixes for different restaurants to set the mood. I think I would be REALLY good at this, but I have yet to find out how to get into this very small niche.

I guess I just think music is very important, and can trigger so many different emotional responses. When I have been going through very tough times, I have a tendency to stop listening to music because it makes me very emotional. I remember when our dog Spencer finally succumbed to cancer, there was a Phil Collins song from the Disney Tarzan movie that was playing alot, and I couldn't listen to that song without thinking about Spencer and tearing up. In fact, I still can't.

When I discovered the Buena Vista Social Club outstanding CD of traditional Cuban music, I remember listening to it all the way through for the first time with my Mom driving down to Fredericksburg. We both realized how much my grandfather would have loved the music. Now I can't listen to it without thinking of him and imagining him humming along, or without thinking about that trip with my Mom and how much fun we always have on our road trips.

I won't ever be able to listen to a Carole King song again without thinking of Mom's surprise (sort of) birthday trip and seeing her live. Every time I listen to my Bread CD I think of my Dad, the smell of coffee and lazy Sunday mornings.

When I hear old-school country, especially Buck Owens, I think of Saturday nights at Nana and Papa's house. He would let me ride on his shins like a horse while he watched Hee Haw and Porter Waggoner.

And now, when I dance around the room with Gabriel (something I've discovered puts him to sleep faster and better than any other tactic), I realize I'm combining old memories of much beloved songs with making brand new ones. And even though none of his great grandparents ever got to hold him, they're smiling at the part they're getting to play in his life.

A fond farewell

My home for the past seven years has been a lovely little white house on a wonderful piece of wooded property. This spot became a part of me - so much so that the thought of leaving it one day filled me with despair. We have now moved to our new house, which I love in a whole new way. But I wanted to write a few things about the old one, as a tribute, before I can truly enjoy the next one.

Here are some random thoughts about some of my favorite things about living there.

- My wonderful landlords, Mike and Susan, who I knew were always there, one lot away, to help me with anything that might come up. Not just house problems, but with anything. I miss having them next door already.

- Before all the housing developments moved in, it was wonderful taking my dogs for a walk. We never knew what wild life we would see, especially if we walked closed to dusk. Squirrels, rabbits, an occaisional possum, horses and cows, random dogs from time to time. We would watch the emu couple staring back at us tentatively, and once got to see their chicks running in a line behind them. I don't know what happened to them - one day they just weren't there anymore.

- There was a horse-boarding barn that gave riding lessons a couple of times a week. I loved watching the students learning to jump the barriers on those beautiful strong creatures. Sometimes the horses would wander up to the fence and I'd try to pet them through the electric fence. Once one of them took a bite out my sweater, which luckily was very thick and old.

- The bird population was amazing throughout the years I lived there. Some birds were around all year- blue jays, cardinals, wrens, grackels. Some only made an appearance while migrating. Woodpeckers covered both catagories. There was one day when what must have been a gigantic woodpecker was squawking his trills from the top of a tree. I never got a good look at him, and only heard him that one morning. My husband became infatuated with the hawk couple that would always circle as he took the dogs for a walk Saturday mornings. One late morning we laid in our hammock between the grand oak trees and watched them soaring and determined they were having fun.

- The trees themselves hold an especially fond place in my heart. The majestic oaks in the back of the yard were overgrown with huge grapevines, and to spend time back there, looking up through the trees, was heaven to me. That's where most of the birds would spend their time. Several nights I saw possums quickly making their way back up the vines to the other side of the fence.

- One day Jav and I heard the dogs going crazy and went out to see three armadillos, (we think adolescents) rummaging around looking for grubs in the dirt.

- Again, the dogs led us to discover a big turtle who had come from under the house. He was scared to death, having made it to the fenceline, but was now trapped by the dogs. We decided to drive him to Randol Mill Park, thinking he needed water nearby. (This was before researching and finding that there are water turtles and land turtles.) The turtle came out of his shell after driving a few minutes, and was very agitated to be in a moving car. When we were about three minutes away from the park he started peeing on me, which Jav found hysterical. We deposited him on a sunny rock and wished him well in his new home.

The things I will miss most about the house are

the toads that come out in late spring-there deep bellowing mating calls all night long

the ladybugs who invaded our house every November or so, and stayed up the corners of our ten foot ceilings all winter, and all tried to find their way back outside at the first hint of warm weather

the insect population - everything from wasps and praying mantisis to cicada and katydid to the dragonflies that would take care of the mosquitos-I am no longer fearful of bugs but realize how much they are a necessary part of everything

the cardinal couples, one in the front of the house and one in the back, insistently chirping at me to refill the bird feeders

the first whipporwills in the spring

the sound of owls, calling to each other from the tops of trees

the rose bushes in front, one blooming only once in early spring, and the other with it's delicate pink full flowers blooming about four times a year - but always just before Christmas and in April around my grandmother's birthday

going out in the middle of the night and not hearing anything but natural sounds

and finally the donkey that could be heard braying all over the neighborhood. He didn't really seem to have a set pattern, but it would always make me smile when I heard him. When I walked the dogs for the last time, saying goodbye to the neighborhood, we heard him braying goodbye.

The house and the land changed me into a person I never thought I would become. Living there has made me a stronger person, has taught me to appreciate quiet, and has left in me a respect for nature that I would never have had living in suburbia.

Goodbye dear little house, and all the trees, birds and wildlife that surrounds you. I hope the next tenants will take care of you and learn to appreciate you like I did.

Ordinary World

I'm sitting at work listening to Ordinary World by Duran Duran, a song I've always liked. But the line, "Where is my friend when I need you most - gone away", really hit me hard today. My best of lunchtime friends, Glenn Mitchell, passed away Sunday unexpectedly. Glenn was the best host of the best radio talk show in this market, and possibly beyond. One of his many, many fans wrote in her online tribute, "he was like a ray of warm sunshine on a cold day." I agree. He was the high point of my work day. No matter how crappy or stressful of a day I was having, my mood would always brighten to listen to him during my lunch hour. I started leaving to go home everyday because of him. His "Everything You Always Wanted to Know" Friday show left me with so many interesting new things in my head that I would write them down to tell my husband later over dinner.

Some of the shows I have been remembering over the last couple of days: The Grace Slick interview - what an ability to laugh at herself. The former Vanity Fair movie review writer (his name escapes me at the moment). He was English and incredibly funny, so funny that I ordered his book that day. ANY Kinky Friedman interview. Every year when he had a band featured in the Irish Festival. The fantastic Art Prostitute introduction. I even looked forward to pledge drive weeks, because his shows would somehow rise even higher. I loved hearing Glenn and Brian Garner talk about the English language. The Brain Trust shows that I never wanted to end filled with therpeutic laughter.

I've learned about places to eat in this area and the wines to order. I heard great Texas music. I learned more about US presidents and politics, ancient history and culture, and broadened my horizons about current issues. I was fascinated with subjects I'd never heard of before - and hung on Glenn's every question to continue finding out more and more and more. I loved hearing his laugh with it's oh-so-human goofy snort. Glenn had such great questions to ask. He was always professional, prepared, kind, gracious and funny.

I came late to the Christmas Blockbuster. I've only listened for the last three years. But last year will always be truly special for me. My husband and I listened while I finished up some Christmas cooking, we wrapped presents until late at night, and went to sleep listening to the Dylan Thomas "A Child's Christmas in Wales", which I had never heard before Glenn's show. Something about that piece makes me feel like I am six years old again, watching for reindeer in the sky. I will make a point to find a print or recorded version of it, so that I will be reminded of Glenn each Christmas and what he brought to my life. He brought so very much - how can I possibly forget? My world suddenly seems much more ordinary.

I am wondering where my friend is - and will miss him every day.

Silence is golden, but jazz is jumpin'

I just don't listen to music as much as I used to. As I've gotten older and acquired a more stress-filled life, I like having no TV or radio on at home, especially when the windows are open this time of year. I like hearing the birds and the wind. Of course, Jav and I are apparently extremely old-fashioned and haven't quite endorsed the whole IPod thing just yet. I thought about asking for one for Christmas this year, but we've decided to ask Santa for living room furniture instead. Being an adult is just no fun sometimes.

I still like listening to music when I'm working, though, and have decided that the best kind of music for me to concentrate to is jazz. This is a wide-ranging category, encompassing big band classics like Frank Sinatra, hard-core improvisational Charles Mingus and the old-school countrified jazz of Norah Jones. No other type of music gives me more energy, or a clearer head to concentrate. It's also music that makes me happy. I credit this to my maternal grandparents. I spent a lot of time in their house, and they always had on Guy Lombardo, Glenn Miller and Benny Goodman. They were old school about their jazz. I remember taking them the When Harry Met Sally soundtrack to hear Harry Connick, Jr. for the first time. They thought it was a bit too jazzy for them. I remember them saying, "That's nice, but they lost the melody somewhere". But I kept listening and delving deeper.

It may be goofy to admit, but I really started this love affair when Sting left The Police and made a whole album combining jazz and pop (Dream of the Blue Turtles). I've always loved Sinatra and that big band sound, but I branched out to Tony Bennett and the late great Bobby Short. I determined that sometimes smaller is better, and began discovering that the intimacy of a small combo is just as satisfying as a 16-piece orchestra. I found Wes Montgomery, jazz guitarist extraordinaire. And Oscar Peterson, a large, large man with exquisite touch for his piano. I discovered, quite by accident, a band that has become one of my absolute favorites. Dave's True Story is a smart, sassy combo out of New York with a singer whose voice slips over the clever lyrics like molasses. They had one song, Winter Wonderland, on a Pottery Barn Christmas compilation, and I searched online for them to find more. One of my dreams is to hear them live, but they only tour East Coast.

Check them out here





Currently, I want to search for some Lionel Hampton, Louis Armstrong, Charlie Parker, and Sarah Vaughn at Half Price Books.

But the nearest and dearest to my heart is still Big Band. I would lose track of myself without my Artie Shaw CD. My Deserted Island list would include my Best of Ella Fitzgerald. I guess it just makes me feel six again, safe in my grandparents living room, my grandfather dancing with me standing on his feet, my grandmother jitterbugging with her broom behind us. I guess it just makes me feel that love all over again.

Music from My Dear Dad

Here I go thinking too much about how I got to be me again. But I have to give equal time to my Dad.

I always thought it was kind of odd that my parents did not get into rock and roll. No Buddy Holly, Elvis or Beatles for these two. But my Dad got closer than my Mom. This list will be a bit different from my Mom's, because with Dad it was more about getting to spend time with him. I remember my Mom letting me stay home from church some Sundays just so I could hang out with him. His job was in retail when we were little and he normally worked 6 days a week - sometimes pretty long hours. So I was always so excited to have a whole Sunday morning with him all to myself. I would help him make pancakes for breakfast, then I'd play while he read a book or the Sunday paper. Or he'd work out while I read this old set of history books. When I got a little older, he'd set up a work space on the dining room table and let me help him with whatever paperwork he was trying to catch up on. But we'd always listen to music. Here are some of the artists that bring to mind the fondest memories of spending time with my Dad on Sunday mornings:

Jim Croce. Definitely a life that ended too soon. I Got A Name made it on my "Top 50 Songs of All Times" list. (To be discussed in a later entry).

John Denver. Laugh if you will, but the man could sing. And write some beautiful songs. The record Dad had was a Greatest Hits, with Grandma's Feather Bed, Thank God I'm a Country Boy, and Annie's Song being the ones I remember from back then.

The Ventures 50th Anniversary Album - I guess they're known for their instrumental surf music, but this double-record had Beatles songs, Neil Diamond, and all kinds of hits from the 60's. This was actually my first introduction to Beatles music, and I didn't find out until years later that someone did these songs before The Ventures, and even sang on them! My Dad loves the songs that the Beatles wrote, he just doesn't like hearing the Beatles sing them.

The Carpenters. I think my Dad had 4 or 5 albums of the Carpenters. This seems like a good time to bring up that although my Dad has a lovely singing voice (imagine Larry Gatlin, but not so brash), he loves to whistle along with songs. He has the prettiest whistle I've ever heard. And his whistle shined the brightest on these Carpenters albums. One of his favorite songs was a cover of Leon Russell's Song For You. Once again, I never knew someone else originated this song until Julie made a mix tape for me for Christmas with Leon himself singing it. His version would make my top 3 songs. The words are so sweet-and it's sung straight from the heart.

The Brothers Four. My Dad loved folk music like this. I especially remember a jaunty little melody called Tie Me Kangeroo Down Sport. Has anyone seen A Mighty Wind - Christopher Guest's parody of the Folk Movement in the early 60's? It made me laugh, but maybe not as hard as people whose parents didn't listen to this music. Some respect for the genre kept me from wanting to make fun of it too much.

Bread. I've saved the best for last. If you've never heard of this band, I strongly urge you to check them out. I think they are possibly the most underrated band from the 70's. They were definitely laying the groundwork for bands like The Eagles. I'm not that fond of the sappier numbers (like If, one of those overplayed wedding songs), but songs like Everything I Own, Look What You've Done and Mother Freedom are good over and over to me. I have their 2 CD Retrospective-and would have to bring it along if I was going to a deserted island.

These days, Dad listens to alot of country now, which I will forgive him for. In fact, we danced to Leanne Womack's I Hope You Dance at my wedding, and when he started singing it to me I cried. It was one of the sweetest moments of my life.

This is just a small sampling of some of my Dad's influences. But they are the songs that will always make me pause and smile and think of Sundays and Dad. I still love to hear that whistle, coming from the back of my parents' house. So any fathers out there reading this, know how much it means to your kids to just spend time with them doing nothing. Don't think that they have to be entertained. Just put on some music, sit back, and enjoy each other.

The Latino Sound

We're listening to a new CD - Los Super Seven (self-titled CD), a motley crew of 7+ musicians with their tribute to border radio. People like Freddie Fender and Flaco Jimenez (accordianist from Freddie's band), and David Hidalgo and Cesar Rosas from Los Lobos. What great music this is. I feel like I'm sitting in a dusty bar drinking my cerveza with Pancho Villa, discussing the politics of the day. And hoping a gunfight doesn't break out in the dusty streets outside.

I can't help thinking about my grandfather. He grew up along the border, and could speak street Spanish. He loved border music, and would have been singing along to most of these songs with his beautiful deep bass voice. I think he would get such a kick out the fact that I married into a Hispanic family.

This last fact has greatly broadened my horizons of Latino music. I already had some CD's in this genre-The Gipsy Kings (Spain), The Bueno Vista Social Club and Celia Cruz (Cuba), Bebel Gilberto (Brazilian). But Jav and his family has opened my ears to great bands (Mana), pop stars (Juanez, Christina Aguilera, who I like much better in Spanish), and traditional crooners (Pepe Aguilar, Pedro Infante, Luis Miguel). These last three were included in our wedding reception music, mixed in with Artie Shaw, Frank Sinatra and Ella Fitgerald. We decided to incorporate music that both of our grandparents loved, and it was a great decision because both of our families were moved by what we had chosen. Little did my new family know that I had a grandfather who loved all of it.

I feel very lucky that my eyes are being opened to a culture that's different (but still similar in many ways) to mine. If I could only pick up Spanish as easily as Bapaw could!