Father's Day 2013

Another time, another place.....

At the beginning of our life adventure--
I smile of the memories of Dad picking me up and
Twirling me around, our walks, talks, and card games
When he seemed to change the rules at every junction--and
Those times when I had to leave and go
Back to my life in Dallas, Dad forever said, "Be my prettiest girl"
So hard to believe he's been gone since 2001
I miss my Daddy.

January 19, 1974 was Saturday

And I went to my first real time high school dance. It was held at our town's Armory after a high school basketball game, which my diary tells me. was a loss. However, the next line tells me the dance was BEAUTIFUL. I actually wrote it in caps. Too funny!

First I wonder who got us TO the Amory, because neither I or my possee had a driver's license yet. And I doubt we walked, because it was January in Iowa afterall. Even if the Armory was just a few blocks away.

But the dance. My first ONE! So psyched. I'm sure I wondered if I would even dance with anyone. My diary tells me, I danced with a guy from my French class, three times. I was horrible to him in French class--you see, during a speech I called him a 'cochon'--which was pig. My teacher wasn't amused, but he was. Wonder what ever happened to him? I also wrote how this other guy I danced with, jetted around the floor like a turkey--just all over the place. You ducked to make sure he didn't bop you in the head with his arms. Sweet guy tho. Even found me when he heard about my book I self published. Very sweet indeed.

Yet the night belonged to a guy I had such a mad crush on. In fact, mentioned him on the blog a few times. We reconnected, years later, at our 20th Reunion. He lived in Chicago by then. However, this night in 1974, all my dreams came true when we danced--twice. The second dance wound up being the last dance of the night. I wanted to put my arm around him, I wrote. He called me by my first name. Melted, I did. Back then, I had a nickname I still hear when I head home, but to hear my actual name uttered from HIS lips, while a chat over a can of soda pop? I floated higher than the clouds. I felt like a princess eventho my gown was faded blue jeans, and tennis shoes.

During our 20th Reunion tryst, Chicago Chum wondered how it would have been different if I'd told him my feelings. He said he never realized I was crazy about him. I guess that's what writing fiction is for--to have the stories come out the way you want.

I smile at the memories my diary made me remember.

Now cue up Steve Miller and "The Joker"--it had been #1 a week before the dance. Don't know if it was played that night in 1974, I just know I like the song.

Christmas Eve 2009

And this picture is the view from my front door here in Dallas. Just like Iowa--almost. :)

On this day of all days, as I always do, I recall the spirit of Christmas Eve Past. Especially when I was a kid and didn't know my parents 'helped' Santa out during this night. Just could never get why they seemed to be so tired on Christmas Morn and why sometimes the milk I left out for Santa would smell like that funny stuff my dad drank: SCOTCH.

Or that first Christmas after my mom's death three months prior. It was iffy Dad and I would have any kind of celebration. Both weren't feeling it. Then I remember one day, Dad pulled the King Edward Cigar from his mouth and said, "Dammit, we're having Christmas." The next thing I knew, we had a tree and goodies under it. It wasn't the same, yet it was. The next Christmas Eve, I woke up to a beautiful piano in my house. Dad was shining it up. I hadn't heard anything, when it was delivered that morning. I still have it with me on this Eve.

Or the Christmas Eve, my boyfriend at the time--we'll call him Comic Book, due to his love for them, especially Superman, and Thor--and etc. Anyway, it was our first Christmas and we'd dated pretty much all year. Since his family, which we was not that close to, was in Louisiana, I invited him to my parents house. Our relationship was shakier than the Titanic when it met that iceberg, however on this night, Comic Book was a true little boy as he realized some of the presents under the tree--for HIM. He'd never really had such a thing. Considering my dad could NOT stand Comic Book, the gesture was grand.

Or the Christmas Eve I drove to Iowa from Dallas when I had sinus stuff, plus pain from my sciatic nerve. I'd already put off the trip a couple of days because I was miserable. Dad called me the night of Dec. 23, to check on me. I was stuffy and lie flat on my back to ease the sciatic nerve pain. Dad suggested--quite firmly-maybe I shouldn't come and plus the weather, blah, blah, blah. Of course, I blurted out, "It's Christmas!" Dad tried to sugar coat it how I could come back later in the year--when it was nicer. Then Dad, being the man he was said, "Well, you're gonna do whatever you want to do anyway." So on Christmas Eve morn, I didn't leave as early as I wanted to-still ached and sneezed. However I piled my stuff, desktop computer, two cats and me and up I-35 for a 750 mile trip, I went. Arrived around 9pm Christmas Eve night. Dad said I was his best Christmas present. And he mine. That was our last Christmas Eve together.

So on Christmas Eve 2009. I'm not back in Iowa, eventho friends opened their homes to me in Iowa and in Dallas. Earlier this morning, a chum was at the airport to fly to his parents' home. He'd text'd how there was a delay, so he sat. I called him at 7:15am and coughed and sneezed from sinus stuff and frog voice. We chatted until he got on the plane. Later he text'd his arrival was safe and sound.

Although both my parents are gone, I realize on Christmas Eve 2009. their spirits warm this house.

Some things aren't the same, yet they still are.

I am blessed.

Monday Muse Moments

Windy, yet gorgeous sun filled day in Dallas. Instead of heading straight home to change and go to the rec center to bike and tread, I decided to jaunt to the park up the street from my house. Already had on my tennyshoes and comfy clothes-so why not? There's a pond there, alas there were no ducks to feed. Sat there for a moment then a picnic table became my stop.

The wind danced through the leaves and kissed my faced. Loved it. Made chums with a couple dogs and their humans. All nice indeed. In the midst of it all I did do some musings--musings which have consumed my moments of late:

Well, yes, Dancing With the Stars is one. Can't wait for that. Hard to explain how one show gives me so much pleasure. More than movies, but not more than football, yet more than American Idol. I guess because I always wanted to dance. Of course, seeing Donny Osmond helps too! :) Never once thought, those years ago, when he told me with his newest album at the time, would show he had as much soul as me, that Donny would grace us with ballroom dancing...just love it!

Seasons. Yep, the other things I thought about. Not so much the weather's change, yet more so how seasons change within relationships. Three relationships jumped to mind. All have spanned years. Now they've ended or close to the end. Makes me sad. Never want to say good bye to something which has been near and dear to my heart. However, know, deep in my heart it is the best thing. No words seemed to said. The no words actually show our drift away.

To sit at the picnic bench also made me realize I can't always drive 20 miles to walk around a park. Just because that park. by my old apartment, is familiar-need to let go. Sure I can always visit, yet the park up the street--pond and trees and dogs to meet and all, begs me for a sure promise we'll really get to know one another. Well, it is a pretty park...

In the meantime, I gotta get ready for Dancing With The Stars. Hope Donny brings it on home, while I pray Michael Irvin DANCES

Seasons. Change is hard, yet each season is beautiful.

October 10, 1974 was Thursday

And I day I was pretty sad. You see, a man, an older man at that, was about to finish student teaching at my high school the very next day. I was so downtrodden, as I'm sure alot of other girls were, but I didn't really care about them. Heck, I was 16 and was so sure my crush on the Substitute Teacher surpassed all others. He was 22, with blond hair, Paul Newman blue eyes, and held every high school girl's heart, including mine.

All pretty innocent. Even by today's standards: -nothing happened, except the silliness of a 16 year old girl attempts to flirt--which I yet to read the "How To" manual. My flirt skills kicked into gear one earlier Friday night, during a HS football game. I stood with my chums on the bleachers, while he stood with some others kids, but they disappeared. I guess it could have been half time. I just remember he stood by himself and I inched over to him. Made some crack if he's the student teacher. Of course, he said yes, then he asked my name.

I was hooked. None of my high school mates were as polite or as cute. For the next couple of weeks, until the night he was to say good by, I did my best to flirt and chat with him. I didn't have any class he taught, so I'd hang outside his door. And my day was made when he waved while standing in front of the class he was teaching.

Bittersweet high school memory. I figured my quality of life would suffer so after I saw him for the final time the next day. So hard to fathom he would be gone after just a few weeks in my life. Hey, I was dramatic, even then for a 16 year old. :)

Flash forward to today in 2009. I was possessed to walk around the park where I'd trek so much during my recuperation time, back in 2006. The park right by my old apartment. Was a chilled and dreary day, and driving over to that park was on my mind since last night. I just figured I'd head to the rec center before I did all my errands.

Wrong. I had to go around that park, like I use to and sit on my bench. Felt right. Felt good. I know I need to make more memories at the park, just a few blocks from my house, but today...I wanted to be in that park. I was the only there. Just like it was then. The wind brushed through the leaves and kissed my face. I always felt God was telling me all was OK. More memories and dreams of tomorrow as I sent on my bench.

Just like the day back in 1974.

As much as something changes all stays the same.

June 21, 2009 is Father's Day

Big Daddy Don (as a chum called him) has been gone since October 2001. Still so miss the ever King Edward cigar smokin' let's go fishin and then stop and get some ice cream guy! :) I had a habit of sending Dad a good dozen cards on Father's Day-. How that started, I really don't know. Just what I did. And I miss doing that too.

Could go on and on and ON about memories-good and bad-however, I won't. Not right now.

I do picture being back in our house in Iowa with my belly filled with Dad's dee-lish bar-b-q. Dad would situated in his chair, while I sat across from him. The cats (I hauled 750 miles from Dallas) and Dad's hound called a truce and snooze somewhere. With King Edward cigar in his mouth, and ashes sprinkle on his shirt, Dad clicks through channels on the remote.

And then Dad finds the channel that takes us to where we both like to go: Mayberry

Memory--indeed.

I am blessed.

In 1958, February 6 was a Thursday

A baby girl with the middle name of Michelle was born. As we shared the same grade school classrooms, I remember Michelle’s curls and softer than a whisper voice. I was so amazed teachers could hear her answers. But then she was the smartest girl in class. So maybe in envy, I blocked her out. :)

In grade school, Michelle's birthday was the first of three in February. Another girl was born on Lincoln’s birthday, and another on the 16th. My classmates, who read this, will shake their heads I recall such things. Maybe the sugar buzz from all those cupcakes keeps those memories fresh.

Through junior high (it was junior high to us, not middle school), folks started to grow up and learn about themselves. Sometimes you grow together or grow apart. The best part: you could grow back together again. That’s what happened with Michelle and I both shared a class a particular class upon our entry to high school: French.

Her French name was her middle name, except pronounced, “MEE-chelle.” As we fractured the language, there would be some words that made it into our everyday vocabulary. All us French students enjoyed the toss of words or phrases to each other in the hallway, because we loved the bewildered looks on non-French students’ faces. C’est vrai! Bon Chance! S’il te plait! Je suis faituge! Au revoir!

Tiens! Tiens! Tiens! Became the words Michelle and I said each time on contact. Always tuttered three times and usually with smiles. In, I believe, our junior year, Michelle and her family moved back to town. This was after being gone about a year, due to her dad’s job. When we spotted each other for the first time on her first day back at school: Tiens! Tiens! Tiens!

From then and on to high graduation, high school reunions, my autograph of my book to her, and to then the letters (not e-mails, but REAL letters with stamps!) where Michelle basked in the love for her son and not so dwelled on her battle with cancer, the opening was always the same: Tiens! Tiens! Tiens!

By our 25th high school reunion in 2001, the girl with the curls and whisper of a voice was gone.

It's a comfort to know the angels can hear Michelle just fine.