I've Been Thinking

I've been pensive all week, traveling back in time in my mind, trying to formulate the words to tell you about "the big reunion" with my high school friend. I went to Houston last week and we spent two days and nights catching up on our lives over the past thirty-eight years. It was an emotionally exhausting experience for both of us, one I can't get off my mind. 

Let me say that seeing her was wonderful, but it did not play out as I had imagined it during the weeks leading up to the visit. During that time we had spent hours talking on the phone and texting one another; I became more anxious and excited as the visit approached. For reasons too tedious to go into here (they don't affect the story at all) I booked a room at a hotel near her house and we had our visit there. Here's a brief commercial for the Holiday Inn Priority Club: I booked a deluxe room so that we would have extra space. When I arrived, the clerk told me they were sold out for the night so, because I was a Priority Club member, they upgraded me to a suite. It was wonderful, with a living area, dining table and chairs and separate bedroom. I've lived in apartments smaller than this suite, so it worked out perfectly for us. Now back to the story. I called her when I checked in and, shortly thereafter, came the knock on the door. I thought I would be girly and giddy, squealing with delight, but when I opened the door, we both just stood there, looking at each other, buffering ourselves against the woosh of years flying by. "You look the same," she said.  "You don't," I replied. Then we laughed and hugged. 

We talked for hours, falling easily into a feeling of comfort and companionship. We talked of the people in our lives, weaving the past and present together to explain who we had become. It was gut-wrenching at times; life has dealt some hard blows to each of us, more to her than me I think. But here we were, survivors with a sense of humor. She went home at night to feed her dogs and sleep in her own bed, giving us some time to decompress and process what we'd heard. 

The next day we ventured out for lunch and later, to Starbucks to pick up a cappuccino for her in the drive through. "Stop!" she cried as I started to drive away. "I need a bunch of Splenda and a straw," forgetting that I didn't know that. I didn't know what she put in her cappuccino, but we both agreed that it felt like I should. We had reconnected so quickly and seamlessly that it was hard to believe almost forty years had passed, that I didn't know her favorite foods, drinks or personal obsessions. As we reflected, we remembered that we had not known each other all the way through high school. She had moved to Baytown during middle school and went to a different school from me. It wasn't until our Junior year, when we both were on the staff of the Gander Gazette newspaper, that we connected and remained best friends until we graduated. She and I were a little different than most of our peers. Both of us had an enormous degree of freedom and independence from our parents. Mine were divorced and I lived at home with my Dad and younger brother. My older sisters were already married and gone; she never met them. Her parents were on the verge of divorce and she had forged a level of independence necessary to survive. Even then I thought she was a warrior. She worked several jobs as well as giving private lessons to younger flute players, bought her own car and clothes and excelled at everything she put her mind to, except being organized. We laughed a lot about that, remembering everything she did was either at the last minute or late. The fact that neither of us had a "stable" home life, one where the mom and dad sat down with the family over dinner at night, where the kids had assigned chores and were guided in their endeavors by involved parents, somehow made us closer. We knew we were different from most of our friends and felt somehow that we were stronger and better prepared for life ahead of us. I think it was safe to say that, even in high school, neither of us believed in fairy tales.

So here I am, days after my return home, trying to assimilate it all. I found out that her brother has lived very near my brother all these years. Their sons have been in Cub Scouts and Boy Scouts together and go to the same school. She and I worked and lived near each other for years, liking the same restaurants and probably passing each other time after time, leading similar lives and never connecting. I keep thinking what it would have been like if we had kept our friendship after high school. Most likely our differences would have led us to drift apart -- I got married, she stayed single; I raised children, she didn't. Maybe the best solution is what has played out, two old women, both banged up and bruised by life but still kicking, reunite and recapture the love and friendship they always had and searched for during the intervening years. Sounds like a good novel, doesn't it? Maybe I'll add it to the list. 

So here's to you, A.K.L. You were my hero in high school and now you are again.  I know the years ahead of us will be filled with hours of talking, writing, laughing and drinking coffee. Hurry up and get well so you can come up here to visit me, meet Scottie, the dogs and the rest of my family and you and I can continue our journey.

Thanks for stopping by today. I'm deep in thought about another post and will be back here soon. 

 

Challenge - Day 18: "Someone You Love"

Someone I love -- it's a hard choice for me to make. I don't like to toss the word "love" around too easily. You're probably much the same. There are friends I like, some people I love and then there are those I really love deeply. Some of them are family, some are friends, but all have affected my life and touched me in an important way. With that criteria I suppose there is no one who has affected my life more or who I love more deeply than my husband, Scott. 

Do you ever drift away in thought and imagine what your life would have been like had you taken a different course somewhere along the road? I do that sometimes when I think about meeting Scott and getting married. I first married at nineteen, a relationship which lasted only three years, about the time they say it takes for all those attraction hormones to fade away. Did you ever notice how many marriages end after three years? Anyway, I stayed single a long time, until my mid 30s. I had decided that I probably would never marry again and was more or less happy with that. Then Scott came along. Isn't that the way it always goes? He just blew me away. I wrote a post earlier about how well he could read me, how he knew things about me that I kept hidden in the safe. He was also the only man I had known, other than my Dad, who really worked hard to please me. He was always doing some little something for me. Something that showed he was paying attention, that he was watching when my eyes lit up or heard my voice rise a little with excitement. How irresitable is that, I ask you?

I remember the first time I was away from Scott for any period of time after we married. I had traveled with my two sisters to Prince Edward Island, Canada. My sisters are older than me and both married young and stayed married for a long time. They were looking forward to a little break from husbands and children and there I was, moping around because I missed my husband. They both said, "Just wait ten or twenty years; you'll be ready to travel without him then." I can't say they were completely wrong. I do like to visit my friends and have "girl time," but even when I'm having fun, in my heart of hearts I wish Scott were there. He is my perfect traveling companion still, after all these years.

And he still works hard to please me, even now there's no doubt he won me over. When he goes to the grocery store he checks the floral department to see if they have that perfect shade of coral rose I like and, if they do, he brings them home, just because he knows they will make me smile. On those days when I'm working away from the house and he's been at home he will make dinner and have it ready for me when I come in, just because he knows I'll be tired and won't want to cook or go out again. He keeps refilling my water glass on the bedside table when I'm there watching TV or playing around on my iPad, just because he knows I need to drink more water and won't get out of bed to get it myself. 

So when my mind drifts away to "what if," I really can't or won't think of my life without him. We've been through losing a child together, maybe the worst situation a marriage can face. Statistics show that either marriages get stronger after the death of a child or they end; there's very little in between. I feel like we're both broken people and can't be whole without the other. He's the only one who always knows what certain days mean to me, what memories certain songs or phrases exacerbate. He knows when to leave me alone to let me deal with things and when to whisk me away and take care of everything for me. I love him for that and for all the other ways he keeps my life going. He is special. My friends know this, too. I have one single friend who says, "Maybe one day I'll meet my Scottie." He's their benchmark for husbands. Aren't I the lucky one?

Thanks for stopping by today.   
 

Challenge - Day 17: "Sweet"

After a successful trip to the east coast, I am back home and ready to resume my writing challenge. I'm sure some of my recent adventures will pop up in my posts over the next few days; we had a great time.

When I made my flight reservations for the trip, I booked in and out of Raleigh, NC, even though I knew we'd be driving up to Virginia and back. With the current TSA regulations and restrictions, it just made everything easier to come and go from the same location. Our obligations ended early Saturday evening, so Leah and I decided to go ahead and drive back to Raleigh that night instead of waiting to leave early Sunday. The drive would take over three hours, but we weren't too tired, the weather was good and getting back on Saturday would give Leah all day Sunday to get ready to return to work on Monday. Off we went. The first half of the drive, at least, was on smaller country highways; we didn't hit the interstate until almost into North Carolina. It was quiet, not much traffic and an easy drive. We fell into talking about all that had happened over the last few days and how good it had been to spend time together and with our mutual friend, Vicki. Our conversation was relaxed and flowing, typical of long-time friends who drift from subject to subject, back and forth. We agreed ahead of time to keep talking so whoever was driving wouldn't get sleepy, since we both have turned into chickens in our old age -- we go to sleep when it's dark and wake up with the sun. We talked of previous road trips and I told her how my niece, Carrie, and I passed the time when we were driving together by singing. We'd say, "Sound of Music," and proceed to sing all the songs from that show we could remember, laughing and making up lyrics when we didn't know the right words. Then we'd go on to "Mary Poppins," or "John Denver." When I said those last words, that did it for Leah and me and we launched into "Take Me Home Country Roads," substituting "North Carolina" for "West Virginia," even though the syllables don't match. 

I didn't realize how many John Denver songs I remembered. You know how it is when you start singing, words flow from your mouth without thinking, words I haven't sung in years and years, words that, if you asked me, I couldn't tell you. But when you sing them, another part of your brain takes over and they flow out, as if you just sang them yesterday. I told Leah that I remembered how much I loved John Denver's music when I was young. I had several albums, but my favorite was a live, double album, "An Evening With John Denver." I would lie on my bed at night, giant headphones on so I could turn the volume up high, listen to those songs and sing along. I was really great on harmonies and imagined that one day, John or someone like him would discover that and ask me to sing backup. Leah and I laughed about that.

We talked about John Denver and what a nice, sweet guy he always seemed to be. We were both fans of his television show and just loved his persona. I know he had some sort of substance abuse problems in his life, and it is sad to think that his marriage to Annie -- she who inspired "Annie's Song" ended in divorce -- but overall I remember his laughter and seemingly wide-eyed fascination with life. It still hurts to think about him tragically dying while piloting a new aircraft, one of his passions. I'll never forget this really sweet man who wasn't ashamed to be sweet.

I returned home and, almost immediately, downloaded "An Evening With John Denver" from iTunes. Each night this week I've plugged my earbuds into my iPad and listened to those songs as I fall asleep, somewhere around the fourth or fifth one. Today I'm sharing with you the song that I think best expresses the sweetness of John Denver, "The Boy From The Country," (not to be confused with "Thank God I'm A Country Boy.) I hope you enjoy it and take a minute to remember the spirit of this truly nice man. 

Thanks for stopping by. It's good to be back; I'll see you tomorrow.    

Back in the Saddle . . . Maybe

Here I am, back, out of the blue. I've thought about doing it for weeks but got bogged down with wondering how I would explain why I haven't been posting, so I finally decided that I just wouldn't. Explain, that is. You'll just have to use your imaginations. I will say that nothing bad happened; I may have just needed a break.

Now the big question, what to write about. A lot has happened in the past few months, not just to me but to our nation. At some point I am going to write about how we are letting paranoia affect our lives, but right now, I'm going to write about something that recently happened to me. 

On a Sunday evening, about two weeks ago, our phone rang. Neither Scott or I recognized the caller ID, so we let it go to the answering machine. When the caller started talking, identifying herself, at first I was stunned. I mean, literally, mouth open, frozen in my tracks, stunned. I was holding my breath. Then my brain started to scream, "Answer the phone before she hangs up," and I did. The voice was one I had not heard in about 38 years -- my best friend from high school. She wasn't certain she had the right person; I'm babbling on the other end, "It's me, it's me." And then we laughed, and, when we laughed, I heard her. Gone were years of aging, hard times, disappointments and living with the consequences of the abuses and neglect we inflicted on ourselves. We were here in the photo, 1974-75, senior year as the Editor and Assistant Editor of the Gander Gazette, our high school newspaper. That's me, third from the right, and her, on my right, me wearing a trench coat and her a  hat, both chomping on cigars. This was our staff parody of hard-bitten newspaper men and women, although that guy on the far left looks more like a pimp. From what I remember, he acted more like a pimp (that coat was velvet,) but I digress.

 
That's our teacher on the far right end. It turns out that she was the reason my friend started looking for me. The teacher, Linda, had run into my friend's brother and asked about her. He gave Linda her contact information and she called. It turns out that she (Linda) left teaching and went to work for the State Department and has been with them for 30 years, living and working all over the world. During their conversation Linda asked about me and my friend told her we had lost touch right out of school. (Am I the only person who feels weird calling their teacher by her first name? I am trying to be adult about this.) That started my friend thinking and she went on a search for me, resulting in the phone call.

Now the reason I was so stunned by the call is that ever since I learned about Google, et al, I have repeatedly searched for her. I've kept up with one or two of my high school friends, but they had no news of her either, other than they thought she worked for Exxon after college. So when I heard that it was her on the phone, my old sentimental heart was bursting. I wanted to cry, but instead, I laughed. We both did. We laughed and talked, just like the years since we last did had not passed.

We talked about everything -- the obligatory "this is what has happened to me since I last saw you," politics, dogs, sex, the "old days" -- everything. We talked and laughed for over three hours, until our voices started giving out. Then we emailed and talked again this week. I'm planning to visit her in the next month or two so that we can reconnect even stronger. We hope to include the guy whose head is between the two of us in the photo. He was along for many of our adventures and was as excited as I was to hear that I had talked to her. 

I've thought about her every day since her first call. My internal soundtrack is running songs and movies from the 70's. She was a fabulous musician and her instrument was the flute. She was first chair, not only in our band, but in State competition. I can close my eyes and see her on stage. Scenes of other things we did keep flashing into memory. Our town opened its first Chinese restaurant while we were in school. I had never been to one before, but she had. We tried it out and she ordered egg rolls and because I didn't know anything on the menu, so did I.  In the years since then, every time I have eaten an egg roll, I have thought of her. We laughed about that, too. Turns out we both think Asian is our favorite ethnic food.

This whole experience has been so large for me that I had to just sit and think about it for a week or so before I could even begin to write about it. I had to wrap my head around narrowing it down to one blog; one that didn't sound like the ramblings of someone with dementia. I'm trying to keep my expectations about our future friendship in control, but it's hard. My head tells me, "Many years have passed. You are different people. Don't expect too much or you may be disappointed." But my heart knows that we were "friends of the bosom" in those days and I don't think that much has changed. 

I'll keep you posted on our progress and will also try to stay on the writing horse with other subjects. Either way, thanks for stopping by again.  

Happy Birthday, Maureen

Today is Maureen's birthday. If you know me or have read this blog, you know that Maureen is my best friend. We have known each other since we were 24. We are older than that now and she will be older than me until October 5. I am not going to tell you everything about Maureen and why we are friends, but I will give you a random list of things that are true.

1.  We know all the same songs. This was one of the first things that bound us together. In fact, we made a challenge game of it. Someone would give us a word or subject and we would sing the first song that came into our head. It was always the same song.

2.  We each think the other is hilarious. She gets all my jokes and I get hers.

3.  Maureen has been with me through almost every major tragedy in my life and somewhere, in the midst of sorrow, exhaustion and agony, she makes me laugh. It may be the laughter heard from insane residents of a mental institutition, but it is laughter nonetheless.

4.  Maureen has a great spirit of adventure and is an intrepid traveler. She just returned from three weeks in Cambodia, where for the first two weeks she participated workshops for college students studying science using a curriculum she had helped to write. Then she set out on her own to visit Angor Wat and the other ancient temples of Cambodia. For our 50th birthday we went to Iceland, saw volcanos and geyers and walked on glaciers. Did I say we went in December? Cold and dark but a great adventure. This photo shows Maureen swimming in the Blue Lagoon, one of Iceland's most incredible natural wonders.

5.  I can't imagine my life without her; she has become my sister. Thank you, Donna, the mutual friend who introduced us because, "y'all are so much alike I know you'll be friends." She was right. 

Stonehenge, 1992

 Happy birthday, Maureen.

A Great Day . . . and Dim Sum

I have been a Dim Sum fan for years. Dim Sum is Chinese for "little dumpling" and is a event originating in Southern China. Restaurants prepare a host of small, appetizer-size bites and have waiters and waitresses that push them around the room on carts. The carts stop at your table, you look at what is on the cart and choose what you want to try. Everyone drinks tea and shares, a little of this, a little of that, chatting all the while and having a fun, social experience. You will see large family tables with lazy Susan's in the middle, generations of family sharing the feast. 

Dim Sum service was more popular here in the 1980's and 1990's and you could find a variety of Asian restaurants that provided the fare on Saturday and Sundays, when you could bring a large group and enjoy hours of visiting and nibbling. Then the sushi craze hit and Dim Sum was harder to find. Our favorite place in Austin, Tien Hong, closed a couple of years ago and we have mourned its loss. Then my husband read a review about Dorothy Huang's Dim Sum tour in Austin. We were so excited! When we lived in Houston, it was Dorothy who had introduced us to most of the restaurants serving Dim Sum. I also took several of her cooking classes and learned to make hot and sour soup and pan fried dumplings (potstickers) among other dishes. So now, several times a year, Dorothy comes to Austin and conducts a similar day to introduce you to Dim Sum and then takes you to a large Asian market to educate you about products available there. After reading the review, we eagerly signed up for her next tour, which was yesterday.

Scott and I, along with our friends, Bill and Susan, made the trek from Wimberley to north Austin and joined the group at Fortune Chinese Restaurant, located on North Lamar at Braker Lane. This is a giant place which has Dim Sum cart service on Saturdays and Sundays, 10am - 3pm, and limited Dim Sum available off the menu seven days a week.

Left, waiter with Dim Sum cart, and right, groups enjoying the service.


There were about eighteen people in our group, sitting at two large tables. Dorothy flitted back and forth, ordering items for us and explaining the origins and cooking methods of each. All in all, we had about fifteen items from the over sixty items available. Just a bite or two of each item, but, by the time we were done, we were stuffed. Things like Pork and Shrimp Siu Mai, Crystal Shrimp Har Gow, Steamed Spare Ribs in Bean Sauce, BBQ Pork Steamed Bun, Shanghai Steamed Dumplings, Macau Egg Custard, Stuffed Shrimp in Eggplant, Peking Style Pan Fried Dumplings, Beef Rice Noodles, Fried Salt & Pepper Calamari and Broccoli in Oyster Sauce. 

Left, Crispy Almond Tea -- a sweet soup, flavored with tea and almond, covered with puff pastry. You break the pastry into the liquid and enjoy. It was very good if you like the flavor of almond, which I do.

Sesame balls, crunchy on the outside and filled with sweet, chewy sesame paste on the inside. This is a Dim Sum staple; they have been on the carts every time I have eaten Dim Sum.




Among those at our table were two ladies and their daughters. They were members of Austin Families with Chinese Children (FCC) who work together to make sure their adopted children learn about their Chinese heritage. 

What beautiful faces!

More beauties -- Bill, Susan and Scott.









In the same shopping center as Fortune Chinese, you will find MT Market, a large Asian grocery store. That was our next stop.  Dorothy took us around the market, explaining the vegetables and fruits and how they are prepared.

Dorothy Huang, guide and chef extraordinaire.











Here are a couple of exotic fruits we saw. I have never eaten these, but would be willing to try! The first one is Dragon Fruit and the second one is Jackfruit, about the size of a watermelon.

Here's a shot of the rice "aisle" at the market:

It was a great day. We'll be heading back to Fortune Chinese soon to try more of the items. Want to come along? The bigger the group, the more things you can try before getting too full!

Travels With My Foot, Part 2

Well now I know that you readers are as twisted as I am. I got so many requests for more photos of my foot's travels that I will concede to post a few more. But this is it (famous last words.)

My foot at the Bacardi Distillery in Puerto Rico.

On the beach at Destin, FL. My foot is partial to beaches.

Both feet in the El Yonque Rainforest in Puerto Rico. It is raining.

Scott's hand, giving my foot a rum punch in Aruba.

My foot and friends in Norfolk, VA.

My foot, riding a teeny, tiny Vespa.

My foot, gazing at the Mississippi River bridge from New Orleans to Algiers, LA.

My foot, relaxing in a hammock on Little Cayman.

OK, this is not my foot, but isn't this guy cool? He is indigenous to Little Cayman and has great feet, by the way.

My hand, on a glacier in Iceland. (I may be nuts, but I'm not crazy enough to put my foot there.)

All Aboard

Each month five of my friends and I get together to play Mexican Train. For those of you who have never heard of it, Mexican Train is a game played with twelve dot dominoes, rather than the regular six dot. There is some strategy involved, but not much. Mainly you try to match numbers each turn, with the goal of having the lowest points possible at the end of the round. Mostly it is a social game and we look forward to our play day each month.


The ladies in the group range in age from 50-ish to 70-ish, all very vital and active in the community. We have, between the six of us, thirteen marriages, fourteen children and lifetimes of wisdom. With that much experience, you can imagine we have strong opinions about everything and, if put in charge, could pretty much solve all the problems in our town and most of the ones in our nation. Here is just a sample of the topics we discussed yesterday, when we had this month's get-together.

•  Recipes for all the great food we made at Christmas.
• Winter weather in Texas vs Montana (just for you, Lisa.)
• Everyone we know who is battling cancer.
• Whether I should get involved in a situation in my hometown where an old family friend has become a hoarder.
• Who is the craziest person in our town. Believe me, this is a tight race.
• How one of us has a God-given gift for finding lost jewelry.
• The ups and downs of taking Vicodin.
• Arranging the schedule for meals to be brought in for one of us who is having knee-replacement surgery next week. 
• Online yoga.
• Parents with Alzheimer's Disease.

You can see our knowledge is limitless. But in all seriousness, I love these women. I love their strength, energy and sense of family. I draw from the well of their goodness each month and come away refreshed and happy. How could a day be any better?