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Sunday, February 27, 2011

About Old Souls

Last week I had a bad day at work – too many distractions, too much frustration, too little sense of accomplishment.

One of my coworkers came in for a class with her children.  She has a remarkable young son, Christopher & a beautiful infant named Tessa.

Christopher came to my work station & gave me a hug.  Then I reached out to his mother & asked Tessa to let me talk to her for a while.

Christopher & Tessa’s mother is extremely generous about sharing her children.  Christopher, as his mother told his father, has me wrapped around his finger.

I keep crayons & colored pencils & treats in my filing cabinet for Christopher.

That day, I wanted to hold Tessa & remind myself that no frustration I felt was as important as our collective commitment to our children. 

Tessa’s & Christopher's cousin Cate soon arrived & after a time, asked if she could hold the baby.

Cate is four, soon to be five & used to carrying her baby brother Conner.

So Cate & sat down on the couch in the lobby of the gym & I placed Tessa in Cate’s arms.
We talked about lovely babies smell, how sweet it was to hold a baby.

I told her she was doing a great job of holding Tessa, and that I thougt she knew what to do because of holding her brother, Conner.

And I said:  You are the only one in your family who is both a little sister & a big sister.

It is a recurring theme between us, this lovely & unique position she holds in her family as the middle child.

The she said:  I am the oldest. I am older than Tessa, I am older than Conner, I am older than Christopher, I am older than my sister.

Oh, I replied, I thought Claire was older.

I am taller & I am older.

I leaned over & whispered:  Are you telling me that you are an old soul in a very young body?

She looked up at me, & behind those beautiful eyelashes, replied simply:  I am.

I believe it.




Sunday, February 20, 2011

About that Husker Victory – to Andres & Fans of the Underdog

  


Andres, 

As the daughter of an Aggie & sister of an Aggie & aunt of a future (third generation) Aggie, & as a former Aggie Sweetheart (my picture is in my father's annual & the first song I learned was "Goodbye to Texas University, so long to the orange & the white"), as the survivor of so many Thanksgiving dinners overshadowed by the UT-A&M football rivalry, I am, alas, a UT fan.  
  
I even married a Longhorn. 

Those were interesting Thanksgivings. ;-)  

Although my ex-husband was not a diehard fan of his alma mater - he thought the ambiance in Austin was too liberal, the ambiance in College Station too conservative, & that if one wanted a balanced education, a working man's university, like the University of Houston, was the place to go.

I did not become an open UT fan until long after my father died.  

After his reaction to my announcement that I was voting for McGovern, I feared what he would do if he knew I secretly wanted to go to UT & UT Law School.

When I was looking at colleges, he offered me a bribe - a Mustang - to attend A&M.

At the time, they had no impressive English department.  I did not like the signs that said I was not to walk on the grass – as if it was holy ground.

And I was never going to be an engineer.  I never got a Mustang.

Eventually, I ended up at the University of Houston.  I attended football games & cheered the Cougars under Bill Yeoman.  I followed the Cougars basketball program under Guy Lewis & wept when Hakeem the dream & Clyde the Slide & all of Phi Slama Jama lost the title to Georgetown with one brilliant final throw from Patrick Ewing at the very last minute.

But I never completely said goodbye to the orange & the white.

I hope you won't hold this against me.

Friday, February 18, 2011

Esther & Immigration – dedicated to Cecilia

When I was in the flower business, we had an employee, Esther, who prepped the flowers.

Esther was an immigrant from Central America.

She paid for her way into the United States, she endured what the men who promised her entrance did to her.  It was not pretty.

She left behind her daughters & her family so she could send money back to them.

Her country was in turmoil – her  cosmetology business destroyed.

She needed to believe in something – she believed in the American dream, the same dream the current speaker of the House of Representatives is so found of calling upon in moments of weeping.

Esther never weeped – she cleaned flowers, she cleaned houses, she worked a cart at a cafeteria, she took English lessons, she went to cosmetology school.

Desperate, she paid a peer to marry her.  He later died of AIDS.

Esther got her citizenship without the benefit of paying anyone, she got her cosmetology license, she married a good man.

And she and her husband bought a house in my neighborhood.

Esther did jobs no one wanted to pay anyone to do if they had to pay their portions of Fica & Medicare taxes.

Once she got her green card, she paid into the system & is no doubt paying since that day.
I want people like Esther in our country.  People who give back.

So, Cecilia, what do you do with an Esther, who entered illegally, worked illegally, eventually obtained citizenship legally?

Is she part of the group of illegals you claim to fear?

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

About Stuart Schwartz

Memory is dynamic & sometimes fleeting & reinterpreted over the years.  But there are moments, when a name or a moment or a voice filed away in our memory banks explodes.  Like a flash of sunrise.

And so, while I am sure you do not remember me (I recently stopped reaching out on Facebook when Nita Gulbus had no idea who I was & she has always been so present in my memories of El Paso) – I wanted to say that I do remember you.

El Paso was a lovely time for me & my memories of my time there are strong.
 
Always, over the years, I remember certain names & moments.  And sunrise & the desert & joy & celebration.  And how the Thunderbirds always won everything in those days.  How we all felt that we were fierce & could do anything.

I remember your name, Stuart Schwartz.  I remember your face & your voice.

And I remember your energy.

And your smile – it is still infectious & lovely.

Monday, February 14, 2011

Remembering John

Tomorrow is the anniversary of my brother John’s death.

Although I have no memory of my sister  Janet’s birth, I do remember John as an infant. 
 
The whole umbilical cord upset me.  In my five year old mind, someone was not taking care of business.  What was it & who was taking care of it? 

Funny, the things one remembers, or thinks that one remembers.

Both times I gave birth, John brought flowers to the hospital. 
 
When we were growing up & moved from Dallas to El Paso, our parents built a house.
John, Janet & I got to pick out the color of our rooms.  I picked out lavender, I think I remember Janet picking out blue & I know John asked for pink.

Now, how this choice of pink played out for the only son in our little family, I do not know.  His room ended up orange, with bright orange enamel trim.

Years later, I took my son Sam, just a toddler, to the store to buy shoes.  And he picked out a pair of pink high top tennis shoes.

One afternoon after we purchased the shoes, I dressed Sam in a pair of Oshkosh overalls & a pink Ralph Lauren polo inherited from his brother & his pink tennis shoes. 
We went to the park to play. 

Sam was having a great time & one of the other parents present, a father, asked, “What is her name? She is so adorable.”

And I replied, “His name is Sam & he is adorable.”

Over the years, I have seen Sam in a pink shirt or two – his choice.  The color goes well with his skin tone & his eyes.

And I am sure John smiles.

We miss you, John.

Sunday, February 13, 2011

Reading & Still Wanting to Fly

Every time I give myself & my budget the luxury of visiting a bookstore, I take me leisure, buy a coffee & browse.

Most people who know me have heard the story of how my father taught me to add, subtract, multiply & divide before I could read.  

And that at age 7, I read Jane Eyre for the first time.  From a lovely volume my father’s mother gave me.  

All those years ago, even in an accelerated curriculum, there was not much between Dick & Jane & the classics.  There was, of course All of a Kind Family, & the Little House series & Nancy Drew  & the Hardy Boys & Beverly Cleary & all the condensed classics my mother provided with our subscription to Reader’s Digest Condensed Classic series.

My mother always took us to the library – one did not browse bookstores in those days.  So, when I liked a condensed version of a classic, we checked it out of the library.

It is a different reading world than those days at the library – a world technology is changing as I write.

But I still go to the bookstore, take my leisure, buy a coffee & browse.

It depresses me that there is no longer a Women’s Studies section in my favorite bookstore.  I used to enjoy pulling Camille Paglia’s books off the shelf & refiling them under fiction. 
 
I got caught once, hiding the volumes in my son Sam’s stroller.  When the store’s staff member confronted me, I simply smiled & said, “But I am certain you meant to file her in the fiction section.”

Several years ago, I read an article about banned books in schools.  One was “The Higher Power of Lucky” by Susan Patron.  It is a Newberry Medal winner.

The objection was to an observation by the title character, Lucky, about a dog, using the word “scrotum.”

I immediately ordered it & reading it, I wished Susan Patron had been old enough to write when I was 11 & when the book ended, I grieved.  

And then began my search for more novels aimed at people who needed to move beyond what was offered in public schools but who were not quite ready for “Anna Karenina”.

The Harry Potter series was already a part of my life & my library.  I rank it right up there with “Lord of the Rings” – high praise indeed.

My exploration into the genre between the beginnings of reading & middle school have led me to moments of immense wonder.

This morning I read “The Girl Who Could Fly” by Victoria Forester.

And I, who no longer fly except in the childhood of my dreams.  I, who longs for the ability to soar unafraid, soared as I read this novel.

I am thinking about trying to fly again.