Helga the Horrible

Bone Crushing.  That’s not usually the phrase I think of when I consider getting a massage.  But that is exactly what came to mind after my first minute on the table at the hands of Helga the Horrible. 

I had an about-to-expire Groupon for a half-price massage at a spa I’d been to a few times in the past.  The gal I knew was no longer there so I was given luck of the draw.   Spas are designed to be peaceful and relaxing, with soft-spoken young ladies who take you back to the relaxation area and serve you cucumber water while you wait to be pampered with a massage or facial.  They aren’t cheap either, so I rarely treat myself.  But a 1 hour massage for $30 is hard to beat, and I figured they had to have decent “massagers” or they wouldn’t still be in business.
I sat relaxing with my flavored water for only a few minutes when a large, muscled, plain looking woman entered the room and softly called my name.  I stood and smiled tentatively, then the smile faded as I noticed the large teeth her smile revealed.  Suddenly I felt like Little Red Riding Hood staring at the jaws of the Big Bad Wolf.

She led me to the room to get ready and slipped out, closing the door quietly behind her.  As I undressed and slid onto the table, in between nice warm blankets and a warming table, I tried to quell my growing uneasiness.  The strange music playing not softly enough through the speakers didn’t help.  I’m used to those nature sounds of wind and water; the sound of strange voices and instruments emitting foreign sounds was just not conducive to quiet nerves.

Helga knocked on the door and I told her I was ready.  I was face down, trying to breathe slowly, listening to her move about the room.  Then I felt the first assault.  Hands moved up my neck, almost choking off my air and threatening to relocate my jaw.  Bones were seemingly crushed, muscles relocated; my nerves quivered inside their sheaths, terrified they were next.  Helga was very thorough; no eligible part of my body was left untouched.  She rubbed the polish off my nails and the freckles off my arms.  My hair looked like an army of Barbies in their highest heels had romped through it.  My legs felt as if they’d been on the rack of torture.  I couldn’t believe my hips were still in their sockets.  My scar tissue at the knee was given a beating, my 37 year old scar repositioned down the leg.  The callouses on my feet retreated in full surrender under Helga’s tank-hands that cleared away any knots, kinks or spasms.  Her entire arm steamrolled my back over and over.  How could my flesh be made to move around so, I thought to myself, gritting my teeth after the second time I asked her to please not massage so “firmly.”  She gave special attention to my buttocks, which were covered by a sheet thank goodness, and which were experiencing their first massage ever.   Praise God in heaven I didn’t get her for my facial !!!  

However, in all fairness I must admit that after all was said and done, when I was alone in the room again, shakily dressing and wondering how I could tame my hair for the walk through the salon, I did feel loosened up…

Monday Night Dinners

Taco Night.  Monday Night Dinners.  These terms mean a lot to our family and “family” who participated back when.  Recently we revived the practice and had some of our kids, theirs and their friends from junior high & beyond who were regulars.

Some things have changed.  The kids are in their twenties now; their friends have careers and college educations and fiancés or regular steadies.  Some have babies and children which only adds to the chaos and fun.  And Paul and I have classed up the menu a bit.  When Sydney arrived she said, “Walter said Taco Night so of course I couldn’t miss it.  Then he said steak and baked potatoes, and seemed surprised that I was confused!”  Who says Monday Taco Night can’t be on a Wednesday with prime beef steaks?  But the love, banter, all hands helping in the kitchen and the laughter haven’t changed.  Oh the laughter, music to my heart and balm for my soul. 

Laura was in town (oh happy day!) so she helped me prepare the dining room table.  A setting for everyone, this time totaling 12 since all the kids but baby Liam were old enough to sit at the big table.  Kaelyn and Liam were already with us, Kaelyn playing upstairs with Emily and Molly, Liam either in Aunt Lolly’s lap or Grandma’s arms.  Paul had the steaks marinating, potatoes in the oven and grill ready to fire up.  Amanda and Austin arrived first, and as she set about preparing her awesome spinach/walnut salad she and Laura caught up.  Austin, a “tree-man”, and Paul went immediately outside evaluating our tree situation. 

Pretty soon Walter and Eryn arrived, looking refreshed – amazing what a couple of kid-free hours can do.  Birthday-month boy was in full form, already asking about presents.  Another thing that doesn’t change :)  A knock at the door and Aunt Tracy was here.  She’s still and always the Cool Aunt – another thing that doesn’t change.  She and I were looking pretty festive in our Jamaica sundresses we’d worn out to dinner on our recent Sib Trip. 

I kept looking heavenward, my grateful heart overflowing as the volume inside my home rose to include kids laughing and squealing, dogs weaving in and out of people’s legs, girls exclaiming over the baby and taking turns holding that precious cuddle bug, and all in the male species busying themselves with platters of steaks and tending the grill.  Amanda joked, “How many guys does it take to grill steaks?  However many there are.”

At table, platters in place and glasses poured, Paul offered God a heartfelt prayer of gratitude in Jesus’ name for our blessings, abundance, means to have the meal and loved ones to share it with, and a request that our time together be special.  And it was.

Walt quickly started the witty repartee by asking about the oversized round saucer under his plate.  I said, “Those are chargers, of course.  You know, like we always had when you were growing up….”  Which made us all laugh because I wouldn’t have known a charger if it bit me back in the day.  He announced his ‘placemat’ would be the overflow for his food.  Sydney quietly asked if she might have a fork, setting off another round of jokes and laughter about my table setting attempt at elegance for this crew.  Conversation flowed as freely as the second servings; no silence at these meals and I loved it.  Liam at one end drooling as he worked in a tooth, Austin at the other beginning to clear the dishes that were officially empty, and Paul and I seated in-between, feeling as happy and contented as we looked.

During dessert I decided to give Walter his birthday present, the long awaited 6-string acoustic guitar he had hoped for. I loved seeing excitement and appreciation light up his face.  Amanda asked him to play something, so he entertained us with his Song in C, which was the only chord he knew at that moment.

You know it’s a good party when everyone shows up and stays later than they intended.  But even excellent evenings must end.  Hugs.  Collecting condiments and childrens’ items to be taken home.  Thank-yous and goodbyes and promises to do it again.  More hugs.  As I watched the last person drive away and returned to my already-cleaned kitchen, all I could think of was Psalm 16:6.  Whether we have tacos or tater-tots,

            “The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places.”

Journey through December - Overtime

The drive from Houston to Dallas was indeed interesting.  Fortunately the rain didn’t last long.  Although it came down boots and hats, almost everything in the truck bed was packed in plastic so nothing was damaged. The upside-down furniture was packed in so tight that the rain couldn’t even get to the table tops.  I looked on with relief as Paul unstrapped them when we got to Dallas and I saw the wood was fine.  After all the craigslist searching, it would have been quite the disappointment to arrive at the Ranch with damaged goods.

But it wasn’t time to go to the Ranch yet.  It was a different kind of Cowboy time.  Dallas Cowboys.  Football.  In Jerry’s House.  Sunday afternoon in a Suite with grand food, a fabulous view of the field and best of all our children and theirs with us.  ALL of our children, together under one roof, for the first time since our wedding day.  It was only December 16^th but Christmas had already come for me.  The older grandchildren were there too, as well as Sally and Jim, beloved sister and brother-in-law.  My heart was full and my eyes were brimming; what a grand day.

My biggest desire was to get a group picture of all of our children together.  As I watched everyone go in and out of the suite, going down to the field or out to explore the stadium, I began to think that would never happen.  How could I corral everyone one into one area at one time?  Fortunately, daughter-in-law Carri came to my rescue and managed to make it happen.  She’s a get-it-done kind of gal.  That photo still makes me smile today – Craig & Kerry, Chris & Dawn, Heather & Steve, Laura & Craig, Walter, John and Carri – and amazingly you can see all the faces and all of them are smiling.  Really. Big. Deal.

Another cool shot is the one of Grandpa with his kids and grands, down on the field.  His gorgeous red sweater stands out against the blue and white worn by the others, happiness written all over his face.  Not to mention the picture of the Robinson kids, in which Heather clearly stands out as the most beautiful :)

The fact that the game ended in an exciting overtime, Cowboys 27 – Steelers 24, was gravy.  I was raised on God, Dallas Cowboys and Dr. Pepper so it was truly a banner day for me.  It was after dark when the game ended, so we assembled in our various cars and threaded our way through the parking lot to the freeway.  By the time we got back to Sally & Jim’s where we had parked our Jed Clampitt truck, it was after 9:30.  We still had over an hour drive to the Ranch but neither of us wanted to wait.

This was the big week we had been waiting for, planning for over a year.  We gave our thanks and hugs to the Nations, then I hopped into the driver’s seat and started the engine.  Grandpa would get a short nap while I headed north east to Ben Wheeler.  No rain, no freeway, just open road on a clear night with stars in the sky and smiles in our hearts.  Soon we would be at the Ranch, and our children and grandchildren would see the results of months of effort, some of them for the first time.

The Happy Club

Just an afternoon at Emily’s & Molly’s house.  In town for work and staying the night with them,  I happily picked the girls up from school.  At home only to discover we have the wrong house key, an impromptu plan is born.

As they know, Grandma travels with snacks in the car.  Lots of snacks.  So we scrounge up some paper napkins, goldfish, sunflower seeds, rice cakes and bottled water and have ourselves a nice little Tea Party right there on the sidewalk with the ants and roly pollies – pinky up and everything. 

Pinky Up Tea Party is followed by a walk to the park.  Grandma also travels with a stroller so we put Molly in that.  She likes to be pushed fast.  Sister pushed and did a bit of careening around the corner. I wasn’t sure the umbrella stroller could go off-sidewalk but being a Jeep it held its own.

Molly loves dandelions so she selects one along the way and we pick it for her.  Emily says whoever gets to pick it gets to make the wishes.  I hold on to it so Molly can wish-blow the fluff into air when we get to the park. 

Swings are Molly’s first stop – anything with the capability to “go faster”.  She likes to swing really high, and she always says “go faster”, even if I’m already going faster than I want to.  Emily is more like me, she likes to swing lower but long and steady, and she’s got the nice long legs to kick out and giver her extra swinging power.

Emily leaves the swings to go make a club under the playscape. When I come up to join her, she introduces herself – “Hi, my name is Emily and this is a very happy Club.”  She created a general store where wood chips (conveniently used for playground cover) could be used to purchase pretend books.  I buy two and Molly buys one.

Mom and Dad call us on the cell phone, trying not to sound worried but wondering where we are.  We just needed an outing, I tell them, and assure them we’ll be back soon for supper.  A little more swinging, some sliding and playing chase and it’s time to head back.  Secured in her stroller, Molly immediately cries, “go faster” and Emily is only too happy to push her way faster than any Grandma probably should allow.  Besides, it’s good exercise for Grandma legs.

We make it home with no mishaps, arriving tired but with happy smiles and another happy memory.  Emily was right, it was a very happy Club.

Bedfellows, Bubble Baths, and a Trip to the Zoo

My Emily is not the best bedfellow.  I remember Grandmother saying that about my little sister Tracy, but she always let Tracy get in their bed.  Now I understand why.  It doesn’t matter how many times Emily throws her legs over me or twists the covers or knocks knees, I love her sleeping in the bed with me. 

A couple of weeks ago she and Molly were here for a mini-spring break and Emily slept with us two nights in a row.  The first night she woke me up with a sudden “kerplunk” of her legs thrown over mine, both of hers at the same time landed squarely on me.  I moved them back and went back to sleep.  About an hour later it happened again, this time her knees sort of crooking over my legs, getting a good lock.  I unlocked them from mine and tossed them back over.  Then I decided I may as well get a jump on this deal so I threw my legs over hers and went back to sleep.  Two can play that game.

The next morning as I was making breakfast – Emily’s favorite, my “over done” (meaning over-easy) eggs cooked in butter with toast and fruit – we laughed at the kerplunk story.  She told it to her mom, then to Grandpa, my co-workers and pretty much to whomever would listen.  To her the story just got funnier as we told it, like the one about the Rollaway Cart (see blog June 2011). 

The girls came to visit their new cousin, Liam.  Emily wanted to hold the sweet newborn, but Molly was mainly interested in exploring the backyard – which was not at all Molly-proof.  It slopes down over an uneven path directly to the edge of the creek, and it was all I could do to keep ahead of her so she didn’t do a nose dive.  She loved “Uncle Walter’s backyard”.

Later at Grandma’s Emily set up school on the upstairs back porch while we were waiting for supper.  She was the teacher of course, with her desk, chair, crayons and paper arranged, and I was her only student (Molly doesn’t sit still for school, too busy trying to pole vault off the porch or blow bubbles or poke a stick through the spokes of the exercise bike or see if she can squeeze through the railing).  Emily made sure I drew my cat exactly as I was supposed to and copied my letters correctly. 

After I passed art class, she got out all the stuffed animals from the grandkids’ room and made a zoo along the porch, grouping the animals by like kind.  There were sections for dogs, bears, mice, cats, tigers & lions, and a special cave of honor for Bambi, who always gets special treatment.  On our first visit to the zoo, we made the rounds admiring all the animals.  Then we made the rounds again to pet each animal, making sure no one was overlooked.  Then we made the rounds again to feed each one, using crayons, one per animal.  Molly was in and out of the zoo, but Grandpa loved it.

Bubbles baths next.  Big Bubbles all the way.  Grandpa has the best hands for swishing the most bubbles, but Grandma does a pretty fair job too if there is enough bubble soap.  I let Emily soak a little longer, being the head zookeeper and all, while putting Molly to bed.  She was exhausted and for once went down pretty easily.  Grandpa almost woke her up by choosing just that time to replace the porch light outside that window, but fortunately my wildly quiet arm waving and evil-eye got his attention.  (Dang, I should have let him replace it, the darn bulb is still out there waiting to be replaced…)

Once Emily was de-bubbled and wrapped in a towel like a taco it was off to bed, where she and Grandpa and I enjoyed reading Ramona the pest.  Emily held the Ramona doll, and talked Grandpa into petting Pete the cat.  We read most of the chapter where it’s Ramona’s first day at kindergarten and she doesn’t want anyone to take her to school because she’s a big girl but of course her mom insists so she goes with her big sister who is bossing her around.  As a big sister I love that story. 

But it wasn’t until the following week when I was at Emily’s house for her 6^th birthday party that we had our next Bedfellows experience.   That evening we danced to music from the keyboard, made up our own songs and were in general very silly.  Which was followed by Bubble Bath.  Which began to involve a lot of spitting of bathwater, for some unknown reason.  I left the bathroom to go change my shirt, catching myself as I dug through my suitcase, thinking, “Wait, what am I doing, I’m going right back in there!”  I must be getting old - never change your shirt until after they are out of the bathtub…

It was movie night and Emily got to pick, so we watched “Wreckit Ralph”, which was actually better than I expected.  We snuggled on the couch under a blanket with popcorn and giggled at the banter between Ralph “Admiral Underpants” and his friend Vanellope von Schweetz.  Emily and Molly and I adjourned to their room where they played quietly.  Molly put her babies to bed in Great Gran’s old wooden cradle, and Emily played with her miniature pet set, taking them to the little wooden church I’d given her for Christmas.  I laid on the bed watching them, delighting in the scene.  It had everything I deem important – family, tradition, faith, fun, love, home, the feeling of security.  I felt happy and comfortable – and then just happy, as Emily climbed into bed with me and started intentionally throwing her legs over me. 

I tried to explain that kerplunk was only funny if it happened while you were sleeping.  We laughed and drifted off.  This time she had new tricks under the covers.  We slept feet to feet, where she laid on her side and her feet touched one of mine, tucked under one of my legs, our feet-prints meeting.  Then later we went knees to knees, each turned on our side facing each other.  Each time I looked at her sweet sleeping face and smiled.  Doesn’t matter to me if it’s kerplunk, feet to feet or knees to knees, I’ll take this little bedfellow any night.

New Dentist

I think I’m going to like my new dentist.  Especially since he kept Valerie.  But last week when I met him, well, let’s just say I don’t want to have that exact experience again.

For 34 years I had the same dentist, Dr. J, at the same location.  He knew my history, did all my fillings, crowns, re-fillings, re-crowns, and teeth cleanings.  He also did the routine dentals for my children, and we became good friends.  Heck, he’s not much older than I am so we kind of grew up together.  He knew my need for extra numbing shots, my sensitivity and my tolerance for pain.

Changing dentists can be traumatic, but I weathered Dr. J’s retirement well last year and he assured me the new guy, Dr. H, was young but very good.  I knew Dr. J wouldn’t steer me wrong so I tried the new guy and he was good.  I liked him and the new receptionist Valerie.  The only thing I didn’t like was that right about that time all my 30 yr old crowns and fillings started to fall apart, so Dr. H struck an immediate gold mine.  I’m sure I paid for his lake house, a new car or at the very least his student loans.

We saw a lot of each other for the next 8 months, trying to complete “out with the old and in with the new.”  There was one old crown left that still need replacing and I told Dr. H I’d wait until after the new year and we’d start up again.

It was March before I called to make the appointment, and I was shocked when Valerie told me Dr. H was out and there was another new guy, Dr. N.  Geez, I’m too old to keep breaking in new dentists, especially with everything breaking and deteriorating.  But I really like Valerie a great dental assistant who knows the insurance side of things better than anyone I’ve ever run across, and figured if I had to get a new dentist I may as well go with one whose receptionist I really liked.  I could always ditch him if the first appointment didn’t go well.

Which I thought about during the 2 ½ hour visit.  But it’s wasn’t Dr. N’s fault, it was more a comedy of errors due to the facts that he had been at that practice for exactly 1 week, was suffering from newly acquired Austin allergies, was experiencing equipment problems, and his new dental assistant Tiffany had just graduated from dental assistant school that morning.  Given those circumstances, Murphy’s Law took hold and it got a little crazy. 

Tiffany was a little nervous, and every time she made a mistake kept saying, “Just kidding!”  One thing she did very well was take xrays; I had more xrays in that one sitting than I’ve had in my entire life.  But choosing the tools for the dentist tray, working the water sprayer, suction or air gun she was not yet proficient at. By the time I was done I’d had my face washed, the insides of my cheeks sucked down a tube, and my hair was freshly blow dried. 

After Tiffany “prepped” me, Dr. N came in and introduced himself.  I told him I had fillings older than he was and he laughed.  Good, I thought, at least he has a sense of humor.  I told him I wasn’t a high maintenance patient but I did require extra deadening shots before the procedure.  Tiffany chimed in, “Oh yes, I’m the same way, my last procedure it took 9 shots”.  I wondered if that were Novocain for her or Jack Daniels for the doctor.

The doctor assessed my situation, swabbed the area with local and administered a hefty dose of anesthetic.  So far so good.  As he reached for his drill and examined the drill bit, he frowned.  “This old crown is metal, is this the sharpest tip we have?”  Tiffany replied, “It’s the one we are supposed to use.”  Dr. N started drilling.  And kept on drilling, drilling until I wondered how big the old crown could possibly be.  Finally, he stopped and said to her, “I need something sharper to drill it out.  Don’t we have something better?”

“Just kidding!” said Tiffany, as she rushed out to get another.  A few seconds later she returned with another, which Dr. N dutifully exchanged but didn’t look very hopeful.  He drilled for a while and then finally called, “Balerie, can I see you?”  (He has to say Valerie because he’s from Peru and V’s are hard for him.  It reminded me of Ricky Ricardo.)  Valerie popped in, realized right away he was trying to drill my old metal crown off with a Qtip and brought him the sharpest bit they had. 

Now he had the tools he needed and started to make headway.  Which I could feel because by this time the initial shot had started to wear off.  I let him know with my wild eyes and a slight raise of the hand that he needed to stop, which he did immediately. Valerie was watching from the doorway and said, “the mouth is starting to wake up, she needs another shot.”  Boy, did he ever give me another shot, two of ‘em in fact.  One in the same place as before, and another ‘surprise’ shot on the inside of the roof of the mouth, which hurt like H  E double hockey sticks.  “Sorry,” he said, and looked like he really meant it.

In seconds I was totally numb again and starting to enjoy the comedy routine.  Valerie was working on my mouth, pushing the gums up so they could get a better impression for the temporary crown.  She was enjoying her captive audience, telling me all about her 3 sons, her nephew who was learning to drive, and another nephew who called her “Aunt Chicken Nuggets”.  Her delightful narrative was set to the occasional sound of “Just Kidding!” coming from the other room where Tiffany was “helping” Dr. N with another patient.  I heard the doctor say, “Sorry about that water spray, our equipment is leaking.  Tiffany, can you bring him another towel?”   “Oh sure - just kidding!”

Valerie put pink foam into a plastic tray and placed it carefully in my mouth. While she waited for the impression to set she told me that she’d thought she wanted a girl but wasn’t sure if she wanted a fourth child but her husband would like one and who knows whether they would have another or not.  “I just got them all to the age where they can make their own peanut butter and jelly, it’s tempting to stop there,” she said. 

Finally the impression was made (in more ways than one), and Valerie fitted my temporary crown perfectly into the slot she and Dr. N had worked so hard to make.  She gave me a fresh towel and told me to meet her up front.  I stood up, feeling strange after all that time laying down with my mouth wide open and my hair with that wind blown look. 

Up front Dr. N was standing next to Balerie.  “I hope we didn’t hurt you,” he said compassionately.  “Not at all,” I said.  I turned to Valerie.  “Look, nothing personal but I’d like to stop seeing you quite so often!”  She laughed and said, “You say that now, but I just checked with your new insurance and this crown is $300 less than the last one you had!”  Man, she really knows how to keep you hooked.

I think I’m going to like my new dentist…

Liam

Liam.  His name rolls off the tongue, feels and sounds almost liquid.  Like the way he feels in my arms when I hold him.  His soft newborn skin, the way his eyes move to the sound of one his parents’ voice or try to focus on me when I talk to him, and the completely trusting way he sleeps against me have stolen my heart.

I am blessed with many grandchildren, three of whom share my DNA.  Liam is the latest on the scene, my first grandson, son of my son.  His great grandmother Owen and great aunt Marie already say he looks like his daddy; he’s not quite 2 weeks old but I too see the resemblance. 

Liam is a happy, healthy, cuddly little boy.  One look at him and you just want to reach out, fold him into your arms and stay that way for hours because the passage of time just does not matter.  His mother of course is the one he needs most right now and if he is hungry his searching mouth with its beautiful full lips let you know he needs her sooner than later.  But he responds to his dad’s numerous kisses too, accepting them graciously if he is sleeping, or sweeping his eyes up to his dad’s face if he’s not.  Either way is precious to behold.

Best of all, Liam is 10 minutes away.  Not 200 miles or 4 hours or another state or even another country.  He’s right here, and his generous parents say I can come by as often as I want to for a fix.  I praise God for forming him into a healthy baby in his mother’s womb, for his mother’s discipline during the pregnancy and courage during delivery, and for the privilege of being present at his almost miraculously ‘easy’ birth.  Father, you have given me yet another precious gift in this newest of 12 grandchildren.  To say Thank You is inadequate, so I shall live out my gratitude by loving, nurturing and praying for this little one as best I know how until he is old enough to approach you on his own and find joy in relationship with his Creator.  Bless his parents and his big sister, and thank you for families filled with love.

Journey through December - Jed Clampitt at The Houstonian

I surveyed the bed of the truck one last time.  It was loaded full, like I’ve never seen it, not even weeks earlier when the 3 futon beds, refrigerator and tile for the new shower were taken to the Ranch to complete the remodel.  This was the last trip, the one where we’d actually get to go and have all of our kids and theirs with us for Christmas.  Neither of us had taken off two full weeks of vacation from work in 11 years.  Excited doesn’t begin to describe how I felt.

We furnished the Ranch in early Craigslist.  I thought back to all the time I’d spent searching ads, talking to sellers and dragging my husband all over Travis, Hays and Williamson counties to find the perfect deals:  futons with nice wooden frames and mattresses that had hardly been used; small wooden side tables for the bedrooms; Texas star light fixture for the hall bath; Western themed futon cover, bedding and bedside lamps.  It had all come together so well and now, finally, I would get to enjoy it all at the Rockin R.

The small furniture items were carefully wedged among the large plastic Ziploc bags filled with new washed towels and bed linens, pushed up against coolers, tools, fishing gear, duffel bags of ammo and whatever odds and ends I couldn’t fit in the back of the cab – which was equally stuffed to the gills. 

We had packed clothes / toiletries for two weeks plus Christmas gifts for both sides of the family.  It was December in Texas, so I had to pack clothes and shoes and jackets for 20◦ to 80◦ weather for all special events.  Our whirlwind trip through east and north Texas included plans ranging from a dress Christmas party to a professional football game to a week of play and work at the Ranch to the rodeo to Christmas Eve service and several family gatherings in between before we’d be home again. 

I’m a pretty good packer and I’ve packed for some long trips that required all kinds of attire.  But never have I had to combine all that luggage with ranch remodel furniture.   I laid out all our outfits for the entire time, and decided to pack in multiple duffle bags according to event, figuring that way some of our stuff could stay in the truck as we made our way from A to B and all stops in between.  There were 6 or 7 different bags plus our pillows plus my CPAP plus my laptop bag with accessories plus my car snack bag plus my purse plus my sewing project for something to do on the road plus special hanging clothes.  Fortunately the dog and all the rifles and handguns had been sent with Craig and family that morning – we could NOT fit one more thing in that vehicle.

One last tour of the upstairs and down to make sure lights were off, doors were locked and the oven wasn’t on and we loaded ourselves into the truck.  All Paul had to do was open his door and get in; but I had to arrange myself, my purse, laptop bag, snacks and sewing project around and on me to get it all to fit.  Paul started the truck and we pulled out of the driveway, looking every bit like Jed Clampitt and Elly Mae (I’m no granny, that would be my sister Marie).

Fortunately, the Rockin R does NOT look like this the Clampitts shed before they moved to Beverly Hills. But unfortunately, we looked pretty much like Jed and Elly Mae.  I say unfortunately, because our first stop was Houston – as in The Houstonian hotel, which is where we’d be spending the night after attending our fancy schmancy Christmas party for work.  We passed through the hotel entrance and immediately I felt my cheeks burn red.  I couldn’t help it.  As we drove through the lush manicured grounds and approached the front with black-tie valets awaiting our every parking pleasure, I had a feeling they’d never seen a truck piled high inside and out like ours. 

  

One of the valets opened my passenger door and paused, not sure where to start or what to say.  In his finest Jed style, Paul stepped out of the truck and said, “Howdy gentlemen, we are going to need your help with our truck.  As you can see, we are loaded up to head for the ranch tomorrow, and I want you to watch over all our belongings in the truck bed.”  My valet took the cue and said, “Certainly sir.  Ma’am, may I help you out?” while the one on Paul’s side said, “Absolutely.  I’ll bring a luggage cart around.”

Then I remembered we were the customer and I had no reason to be embarrassed.  I was feeling better until they opened the back seat doors and had to perform triage juggling to keep the groceries, table accessories and cowboy hats from falling out as they dug underneath to find the one bag I’d packed for this event and my CPAP bag.  Our hanging clothes added some dignity to our extremely casual luggage and we followed it in to the checkout counter.

Later, as we exited the hotel dressed in our finery to meet our driver for the short trip to the party, those same valets opened doors and escorted us out front looking as if they’d never seen us before.  Which I guess they hadn’t – as we say in my family, we clean up real nice when we need to.

The party lasted late and was a grand success, and I enjoyed feeling totally non-hillbilly in my sparkly top and soft slacks.  We slept well in the luxurious room and rose early the next morning to splurge on elegant room service while we got ready and packed, planning to be on the road by 8.  Watching the sun rise out our 2^nd floor window and dining on fresh juice with an omelet to die for, I let myself relax for 20 minutes before switching to high gear.  We had a 4 hour drive and another major change of clothes ahead of us before the next event – a Sunday afternoon Dallas Cowboy game in a suite with ALL of our children and most of our grandchildren in attendance.  But in the meantime we were back to Jed and Elly Mae, and it was time to get moving.

We were checked out, re-loaded and pulling out of the hotel drive at 8:05.  Good, I thought, we are going to be fine on time.  It was then that I noticed the dark sky up ahead and saw the first very large raindrop on the windshield.  Jed was starting to look concerned and I glanced back at the stuff in the bed of the truck.  This was going to get interesting.

Wedgwood and Violets

Antique lace curtains gently swishing in the hand wash cycle of my washing machine.  Tea brewed using an electric coffee maker steeping in my great-grandmother’s delicate violet china teapot.  Stevia in the impossibly small matching violet sugar bowl.  The dinner plates for the violet china set are the size we would call a salad plate, reminders that humans didn’t always expect such large portions of food.  On one of them sits two lovely slices of whole wheat toast, spray butter melting down into them, a serving of scrambled eggs from an Eggbeaters carton, and a small dish of garden relish, my husband’s concoction of finely diced tomatoes, celery, purple and green onions, and cucumber (some things haven’t changed).  A 15 year old grandson on the other side of the world, and one 10 minutes away who is about to be born any day now. 

The old and the new.  Mixed and mingled in ways never thought of by generations who came before.  My great-grandmother used tea leaves, and while those are available to me I opt for the much more convenient tea bags.  I doubt she had 1,207 varieties to choose from either.  The eggs on her plate came straight from the chicken – I use those too, but again not my only option.  Her butter was churned, fresh and rich; what I used this morning was liquid from a plastic spray bottle.  Yet the beautiful china with its delicate pattern of purple and white violets is the very same for me as it was for her.  It has survived all the packing and unpacking, moves from country to city, and being handed down to my grandmother and mother and eventually me.  A connection to Great Grand not joined by genetics but by preference. 

In many, more important, ways we are not alike.  But we share a love for fine, beautiful things and the tradition of keeping them in the family.  Her teapot keeps the tea amazingly warm without benefit of insulation or a heat source.  As I pour myself another cup, into a delicate cup and saucer from another pattern – this one my paternal grandmother’s gold-rimmed rose pattern set – I wonder if my great grandmother used this china very often.  Did she keep it in the display cabinet, only to be brought out for special occasions?  Or did she use it for an everyday breakfast when she was alone, like I do this morning?  The rose pattern was used every day I know, because Grandmother served on it every time we shared a family meal at her house.  Sometimes I use pieces of the violet or rose china combined with my own white Wedgwood fine bone china – the compliment makes a lovely table setting.  Old and new, mixed and mingled in ways never thought of by generations who came before.

But mostly the Wedgwood wins out, my daily choice, china I love and of which I have a complete set.  I wonder if it is the same in my spiritual life?  The Bible says believers are constantly being transformed by the renewing of our mind, and by the prompting of the Holy Spirit (when I am attuned enough to listen).  I observe my new Christ-nature in the same physical body as my old sin-nature, but I am happy that at this stage of life I can honestly say the new nature is more often my daily choice than the old.  Still, I let the old mix and mingle with the new at times, and there is nothing complimentary in that.  Old, unsuitable language does not mix with the new dialect of unconditional love, edification, prayers to God, and songs of praise.  Old judgmental attitudes and harsh thoughts do not mix with an attitude of working on the plank in my own eye first, and putting the needs of others before my own.  Old selfish desires to do only what I want when I want won’t work with new desires to show Christ’s love wherever I can, use my talents to serve the church, and to bring the gospel to the lost.

Carried away with my thoughts I poured more tea into the cup and stopped it just as it filled to the brim, making me lean over to sip it down to a level where I could add sweetener without spilling over when I stirred.  That’s how I handle my tea, but it’s not how I want to handle my witness for Jesus.  I want that cup constantly brimming over, spilling out into the lives of those God puts in my path, washing them in His love and plan for their lives.  Let the beauty of the Father’s pure love hold them up, supporting and bringing joy to the flower that is each individual soul, knitting a new meaningful life mixed together with the person He knitted in the mother’s womb.  Wedgwood over the Violets. 

Journey Through December - Boots and Hats

It was afternoon when Craig and family arrived at our house for the first time since landing in the states.  We got them situated in their rooms and they rested a bit before calling them to supper in the dining room.  I love having everyone together at table in the dining room.  Decorations were up throughout the house, Christmas china filled the china cabinet, and the table was surrounded by all the accents and smells of the Christmas season.  What a beautiful blessing.

After supper Grandpa announced that it was time to play Parcheesi.  When their dad was growing up whoever lost the game had to do the dishes.  They were not familiar with this been-around-forever board game but quickly picked up on it as he explained the rules.  In fact, Caleb cleaned his clock, blew him out of the water and pulled out an exciting win after being behind most of the game!  Beating Grandpa hardly happens :)

Next morning Grandpa was ready and in charge.  Time for everyone to get cowboy boots and hats.  Can’t have your grandchildren coming to Texas and not have a decent pair of boots and a good hat, especially with trips to the Ranch and Rodeo coming up.  We hit the jackpot at Cavenders.

Brown ones, pink ones, green and tan ones.  Boots with bling, boots with intricate designs, boots with holes to pull on and boots with finger loops.  Square-toed boots, pointy-toed boots.  Round-toed boots. Work boots.  Bull-riding boots.  Boots with toes that are roundish-square.  The selection at Cavenders is amazing – and that was just the boots!!

A seasoned salesman quickly sized up the situation and approached Grandpa.  “Boots for everyone!” Paul exclaimed.  I’m pretty sure the salesman’s smile could be seen from South Austin all the way to Buda.   He was extremely helpful, getting a sense of each one’s preferences and making suggestions about bling and brand and boot style. 

Rachel found hers almost immediately.  It was love at first sight.  She tried them on and from that point on during their Texas visit they hardly left her feet.  Hannah and Kerry needed a bit more time.  They are the same size and wanted to make sure each liked the other’s so they could trade at times.  Kerry selected a pair of elegantly styled golden brown ones, and Hannah’s stylish pair looked perfect on her.  Decided, we walked over to the men’s section.

Caleb was sporting a pair of very trendy square toed medium brown boots – the perfect choice for a handsome teenager.   Grandpa and the salesman were discussing the various brands and the merits of each, while Craig searched for his size in his favorite style.  Man, this was FUN!

Next, the Hats.  The boot boxes had been taken up to the register and we began the task of trying on hats.  A cowboy hat has to fit exactly right.  Then there’s the decision between a straw or a felt, a decision not to be taken lightly, and what color.  Again, Rachel spotted her heart’s desire right away – a gorgeous youth-sized pink hat.  On it went, and she wandered off to check out the selection of western shirts.  Hannah found a lovely straw with a beautiful hatband decorated in turquoise.   Caleb’s white straw really made him look the part of a cowboy – I warned him that the young ladies would definitely take notice.  Hats for Craig and Kerry, and we were done.  Almost.

Rachie had fallen in love with a pretty pink & purple western snap shirt, and I knew at once I wanted her to wear that to the rodeo.  I suggested Hannah see if she could find one, and she ended up with a blue one just a few shades darker than her eyes. As Rachel said, “We ARE half-Texan!”  True.  Now they looked it   :) 

Grandpa met our man at the register to settle up and we wandered around in accessories, marveling at the gorgeous purses, wallets and bags.  And a few secret Christmas purchases were made.   One of mine sort of backfired on me though.  I went to a gal at a different register, paid for my item and stuck it in my purse with the receipt so no one would see and spoil the surprise.  But as we began to exit the store, the alarms went off – you know the kind, those annoying sounds that alert staff someone is trying to steal.  In full view of the family I went over, showed my receipt, and spent some time with the lady behind the counter trying to find the tag that was obviously the culprit.  Finally we found it, tucked away in a zipper pocket.

Once more we began to exit the store, everyone giving me plenty of space in case I sounded the alarm again.  This time I made a clean get away and we headed out to the car.  Possibly one of the most fun mornings I’ve spent in a long time – picking out western wear for our grandchildren, and knowing it was just the start of a month-long visit. 

Journey Through December - THEY ARE HERE!!

We pulled into the parking lot of Stan’s Grill around the corner from our kids’ house in Plano.  It was Friday, December 7, and we’d just finished a 4 hour drive and had time for a quick bite before heading to the house to spend the night.  We weren’t there to visit our kids this time.  We were there to spend the night, pick up one of their vehicles and get out to DFW International early the next morning.  Finally the day had arrived – the South Africans were coming!  They’d been en route already for 2 days, and after planning this visit for almost a year we were more than ready to lay eyeballs on them, to hug and smile and link arms walking to the parking lot to begin our Journey Through December.

Our grandchildren Tyler and Reagan were upstairs, supposedly asleep.  But excitement was in the air, and though Grandpa and Grandma were tired and ready for bed they were not.  They knew better than to come down and announce they were awake but they didn’t have to.  Their scurrying feet on the wood floors upstairs gave them away.  We sat on the couch quietly for a few minutes, wondering whether to just go to bed or to make some sort of statement that they needed to bed down for good.  Grandpa chose the latter.

I listened as he walked up stairs, his cowboy boots sounding purposeful on the steps.  As he got close to the top we heard the sound of little feet moving swiftly across the floor, then suddenly nothing.  Grandpa made the rounds into each room upstairs, finding nothing but peacefully sleeping children in their beds.  He never said a word, just walked back down at the same steady pace he had gone up.  And we never heard them again until morning.

We were up early but not as early as Tyler.  No one gets up earlier than Tyler!  But he and Regan dutifully waited until they heard sounds of stirring in our bedroom, then greeted Grandpa as he opened the door.    They hung out first with Grandpa in the kitchen making coffee, then with Kimmy while she did her hair, waiting for their nanny to come and get them ready for school. 

Within half an hour we were ready.  Grandpa was to drive the kids’ Tahoe and I was to drive our truck.  No way did I want to drive a vehicle I wasn’t familiar with around DFW.  Plus I’d heard there was construction on the way and I was nervous about it, even on a Saturday morning.  This was one time we did NOT want to be late.  I wanted to be standing at the International Arrival gate well before any one of those precious kids stepped through the entrance. 

It started out pretty well.  We had cell phones, I had the truck’s nav system.  We made a few calls to make sure we agreed we were heading in the right direction.   Then we missed a turn and things started to get a little wonky.  We got back on track alright, but I could hardly keep up with the Tahoe.  Grandpa, who usually drives at the pace of a snail with the flu, was at the speed limit, and not paying attention to whether I was behind him in the lane or not.  Which was particularly problematic when we hit the construction on 114 and the lanes condensed.  He shot out ahead of me as we merged into traffic, and I found myself sandwiched between two lanes of quickly-merging, daredevil drivers who could care less that I was in a big truck.  I saw the car on the right sweep past me, then looked to my left and realized the concrete barrier was coming ever closer.  My lane was ending.  I checked my mirrors, signaled and moved to the left.  Only to be nearly creamed by a red Porsche from out of nowhere who had to be going 90.  He honked furiously as I swerved to the right, narrowly missing a small white sedan who also wanted to be in front.  Amazingly, in a few seconds I was safely merged and looking for the Tahoe.   I was shaking and not confident about where we were headed.  I glimpsed the Tahoe moving to the far right exit lane just in time to get in the right lane, only 4 cars separating us.  No way was I going to call him, my hands gripped the wheel tightly and I just prayed that we wouldn’t get separated or turned around and be late greeting our children. 

At the outer edge of the DFW complex we approached toll booths.  The Tahoe went to first one, then another, switching between those for toll tags and those without.  I got behind him in the cash only lane, only to see him whip into the tag lane.  Caught by surprise I had to remain in my lane.  Sure enough he was through his lane and pedal to the metal again before I could fish out a few bucks from my purse, hands still shaking.  I didn’t know which terminal lane to be in but thought I remembered hearing him confirm with Chris that it was “D”.  The Tahoe was nowhere in sight and as I looked for it a shuttle nearly ran me off the road without so much as a wave or a honk.  Wait, - there, up ahead -  he was exiting right towards Terminal D!  I punched the accelerator and got on his tail as fast as I could.   I was still in shock that he was actually driving the speed limit and maneuvering like he was in a road rally. 

He missed the entrance to our parking area, and started to backup.  Fortunately I saw his reverse lights come on, checked behind me and no one was coming so I too put it in reverse.  A few minutes later we were parked side by side.  I shut the engine and just sat there, stunned by the drive.  Paul came around to open the door and it was all I could do not to cry.  “What’s the matter,  you upset?” he asked cluelessly.  “Oh, just two near-miss accidents that could have killed me and the stress of trying to keep up with a speed demon who normally drives like an old Grandpa,” I said with irritation.  “Oh, sorry,” he grinned.  “Let’s go inside!”

There is only one gate for international arrivals and I began figuring out the best place to stand.  At the end of the walkway was good because you could hug them soonest there.  But I wanted us to be the first thing they laid eyes on when those doors opened, so I tested out several spots along the railing.  Grandpa is not a stand-still sort of person so he was going to wander no matter where I stood.  Finally I had it – on their left, almost halfway down.  They’d be able to go through the door and when they first looked up they’d see us!

We got coffee, and I observed to the man behind the counter that he had one of the happiest jobs in the world.  He looked at me curiously. “You get to see people who live far away and maybe don’t see each other for years greet each other!  How much fun, how exciting!” I exclaimed.  “Yeah, I guess so,” he replied, unimpressed with my perspective on his job.  I didn’t care, I was so excited.  Any minute now.

I kept holding my camera up to the door each time it opened, calculating exactly how I should position it so I could capture them under the “International Arrivals” sign.    I practiced positioning my elbow, arm, and the angle of the camera until I could do it without thinking.  About an hour and a half after we arrived, the door opened and I saw them.  Finally.   THEY ARE HERE !!!!

Journey Through December - Dallas to Dubai

Emirates Airline Flight #222 departed DFW International terminal today at noon bound for Dubai.  On it were two of our beloved children and three grands.  We weren’t there to see them off like we were there to greet them a month ago the moment they stepped out of the International Arrival area.  In that month we have grown ever closer and made memories that will never be forgotten.   We pray them Godspeed and know that other loved ones across the ocean are chomping at the bit awaiting their arrival.

As I begin my blogs about our Journey Through December, the thing that is foremost in my mind is gratitude to God my Father for this incredible time together.  We’ve celebrated special occasions, had mountaintop moments, frequent fun and lots of listening, love and laughter.   It’s almost impossible to come down from those amazing 32 days.  Life has its special moments, but this was over the top.   Thank You, Lord, for this undeserved but most precious of blessings, this Journey Through December.

Before I share the first of our stories I feel the need for a disclaimer.  My husband and I have six children between us and they are amazing.  Each of them is bright, witty, intelligent, fun, and dearly loved, and gathering their unique personalities and styles together in one room – which happened on one occasion last month – was a blessing beyond compare.  Two of them I had practically everything to do with their raising and I am proud of the young adults they have become.  We share a mutual love and closeness that blesses me every day.  However, with four of them I can take absolutely no credit for their raising.  The youngest was in her twenties when they came into my life, some of the others already married with young children.  The respect, kindness and consideration they have shown me since I entered their world has been all I could ever ask for.  To have their genuine love and affection on top of that is icing on a very large cake :) 

Next blog, a story.   I promise.