The Best Things In Life Are Only A Memory Away

 I was listening to my new favorite CD, the newest Gillian Welch, and she was singing the words, "I spent my childhood walking the wild wood". It sounded like something my mother would have said.
 By today's standards, my mother's childhood was not an easy one, but her stories captivated me like a Jane Austin novel. She could make hoeing cotton sound romantic.
 Story telling is an art form many of the older folks in my family possessed. I used to love to hear my Uncle Dorsey recite family history. He had done a lot of research and hard work to get the facts, but the best stories were the ones handed down to him from my grandfather.
 I also loved listening to my father and his brothers reminisce. I remember a story about the three of them walking home from some job they had done. They were just little boys, but their father died, and they had to provide for their family. The boys took what was supposed to be a shortcut and got lost in the piny woods. Suddenly it started to rain, making it even harder to see where they were. When the rain became a down pour, the water rose so high, Daddy's brothers were carrying him to keep his head above water. They reached a clearing in the woods, just as the rain subsided, and turned to see a man staring at them. Daddy said he had a mean look and was holding an ax. Then they noticed the steel and realized he was warning them not to tell anyone about that place. They ran the rest of the way home.

 I was on the edge of my seat as I listened, even knowing they, obviously survived the ordeal.
  I also enjoy hearing my brothers reminisce and I have a few stories of my own now. But I'd like to hear what our children remember about their times together. That's my son in the blue and red coat, and these are his cousins. I want to know where that pile of dirt came from, (is there anything more fun for a kid than a pile of dirt) and what's the story with the dead flowers Chelsea is holding. I hope they can remember this day, because it seems like they had fun.

Fried Potatoe Memories

  A friend at work was telling me, yesterday, that when her family first came to this country and her brother was learning English, he tried to order some french fries at McDonald's. He kept saying potatoes and the girl kept telling him they did not serve potatoes. I could just see my friend's family sitting around telling that story and laughing. But when I thought about it, I wondered if that girl understood french fries were made from potatoes. Or most are, I'm not sure about McDonald's, although they are the best french fries in the world.
 When I was growing up, my mother made fried potatoes. They were different from french fries as they were still recognizable as potatoes. I was talking about this with my brother, Jerry, once. He was saying it was important to soak the potatoes in salt water before frying them. When Mom heard this, she laughed and said, the only reason she had soaked them in salt water was, because she was cooking for 10 people. This was the best way to keep the potatoes from turning brown before she could finish peeling and slicing them.
 Mom was an excellent fry cook, and we all have the arteries to prove it. She always used a large cast iron skillet and Crisco. We would likely all be dead by now, had she not discovered vegetable oil some time in the late 60's. But I think her magic was in that cast iron skillet. One of my ex-sisters in law used to call it her cauldron. She was not implying that Mom was a mean witch, this was one of my nicer ex-sisters in-law, but suggesting she was spooky in other ways. She dreamed things before they happened and always knew what her kids were up to. I think when God gives a woman that many children, He may also give her a heads up about whats going on. It's only fair.
 Fried potatoes are one of the many things I try to avoid these days. I'm not even sure where my iron skillet is, but it does sound good.

 Once, we were having one of those family get together things, and I was thinking about how everyone buys their chicken already fried. So I bought enough chicken thighs and legs to feed the whole tribe and fried them my self. After the first hour of standing over a hot stove, I remembered why I love KFC so much. The sad thing is, no one seemed all that impressed. It was just fried chicken. They ate it without ever realizing the love, devotion and hard work that went into it. Kind of like we were with Mom.

Please enjoy this video and forgive me for my last post

 Dear Jesus,
 The antidepressants aren't working. My first thought this morning was, it's Lauren's birthday. My next was, am I still alive?
don't get me wrong. I'm so thankful for her life. The memories I have of her are worth every minute of sadness and pain I have experienced since she's been gone. I just don't know how to keep going.
I took daisies to the cemetery, today, but she wasn't there. I wanted to cry, but these stupid pills won't let me. My heart hurts, but my eyes are dry.
I lost a sweet friend to cancer this week. It broke my heart to see her husband and sons grieving, but still, I could not cry. I thought how much I will miss our little talks and how she made me laugh. I really need a good cry.
Lord, thank you so much for these lives, no matter how short they were. They made my life better.
Please give me back my joy, and forgive me for my anger.
I love You and worship You.
Your daughter, always and forever
Sheila

P S Tell Lauren happy birthday and I love her

Detours

 The street in front of the bank where I work, is under construction. I don't know what they are doing, exactly, but it involves tar, gravel, orange cones and very slow traffic. I don't care for any of those things, so I took a little detour. I drove down a street lined with small wood framed houses and grassy lawns. There was a young girl sitting on the front steps of one of those houses, and it was like a picture from my past. It was the same house where I had babysat the entire summer I was fifteen.
 The first day of Summer vacation, my parents woke me up to tell me, I would not be sleeping late and going to the pool everyday, because they had made a commitment to their friends. I would be their Summer babysitter.
 My mother drove me there every morning at 7:30. If I was lucky, the little girl would still be sleeping and I could get in a nap. But most days she was up and watching Captain Kangaroo. I tried to convince her, Sesame Street was a much better show, but at two, she already had a mind of her own.
 She really was a sweet little girl, and we got along well. Her parents provided me with a bike to ride, that had a child's seat. So we would ride all over town. Thinking about it now, she really needed a helmet, as I was not so coordinated, with the extra weight on the back. I wonder if she has headaches or blurred vision now. hm....
 At fifteen, I didn't handle dirty diapers very well, so I decided to potty train her. Her parents were thrilled. To this day, I'm not sure how I managed it.
 I cleaned house for her parents and made lunch for them every day, all for 15.00 a week. And, yes, even way back in the 70's that was slave wages.
But, it was a fun Summer. We sun tanned in the backyard while listening to the best music on A M radio. We made cookies and colored in coloring books. I bought her some chalk and we made a mess of the sidewalk.
 After lunch, when she was napping, I would talk on the phone or watch soap operas, or smoke her parents cigarettes on the back porch. I didn't really like smoking, it was just the idea of getting away with it.
 It may not have been the best Summer ever, but I get a good feeling when I think of it, or when I hear the music we listened to on that old radio. It's like a detour for the mind.

Still Missing You

We lost Lauren 5 years ago Friday. It doesn't seem possible. I look at pictures like this one, and it feels like she should be in the next room watching the Rangers play. I see that Gieco commercial, the one about, "Hey you woodchucks, quit chuckin' my wood!", and I can almost hear her laugh. She would think that was so funny.
But the truth is, I haven't seen her in five years, not really. I mean I see her in my dreams almost on a daily basis. But even in my dreams, I know it's not real. If I dream about her being a baby, I'm thinking, how can I protect her better so she never leaves me. If she's grown, it's like I know it's a dream. Crazy, I know, but I'm crazy since she's been gone. I just cant quite get a grip.
I took pink and orange flowers to the cemetery, Friday, and sat and talked to her for a long time. I told her all about Sarah and Jonathon, and Eric and Denice. I talked to  her about the Rangers and about this terrible drought we are in, and the wild fires burning up Texas. I know she's not there, but maybe she knows what I'm saying.
Tomorrow is my birthday, and again, I remember sitting with her in the funeral home on my birthday five years ago, not believing what was happening. I wonder how many more birthdays  will have before I'm with her again.

You Ought To Be In Pictures

 I have a birthday next month.  Not only will I be blah blah years old, this is a drivers license renewal year, which of course means the dreaded drivers license picture. With the rising cost of everything in the world, I would still be willing to pay more for my license if they would just hire a professional photographer. One who could airbrush out my wrinkles and double chin. Maybe they could hire some of those photographers who used to do Glamour Shots. I never had a Glamour Shot, but I always wanted one. They could provide hats and scarves, and one of those rhinestone studded jean jackets. I would turn the collar up, or hook my thumbs in the lapel while giving that "I'm above all this" smile to the camera. Maybe I'll just bring a boa and tiara to wear. And maybe when filling out forms that ask Mr., Mrs. or Ms, I'll just pencil in Princess.
 My drivers license picture is so bad sales girls question if it's really me. I think maybe I need two pictures. One for when I get pulled over. This one would show my Innocent, "what did I do ?" look, or as I like to call it , my Richard Nixon. Whhhaaat, me? The other should be my shocked, is the room spinning look, when paying out at Walmart.

This is the only time anyone ever ask for my license. No one ever questions if  I'm old enough to drink or buy glue, so I suppose I'm making too much of it. But it would be fun when anyone ask to see pictures of my kids, to slip in my TX DPS issued boa, tiara photo, and say, "oh that old thing?".