We're safe! For now at least . . .

We are being invaded by bunny wabbits! 

There are four or five of them that visit our little corner of the world on a daily basis.  They don’t belong to anybody on our street.  Their owners live a street over from us.  But the rabbits have figured out how to get out of their backyard, go through the yard behind their house and then over to our street where they have the run of the a two block area. Literally.

Neighbors put out fresh water for them.  Some have put out treats for them, too.  We all look after them.  And folks slow down to make sure that they don’t accidentally run over them.

Our safety is a main concern at this time so you’ll be glad to know that our cats Mister and Cleo are keeping us safe from this hoard of hares. 

Well, actually Cleo just ignores them.  If they’re not applicants for members of her staff then forget them.  They probably wouldn’t sit still long enough for them to do her any good. 

They don’t have opposable thumbs – so their getting food for her is out of the question. 

They can’t get to the tap to pour her fresh non-dog flavored water (she “shares” the water in the water bowl with the dogs only if she must).  And I bet they won’t figure out that they really need to go to the bathtub and fill her “special” cup for her and for her only.

They won’t lay still long enough for her to lay on them so that she can bathe herself (don’t ask). 

And I doubt if she’s up to playing a game of tag – that would only mess up her fur.  So – choke ‘em.  There’s a reason for the phrase “dumb bunny.” 

Mister looks at the rabbits with distaste as they hop around the yard.  We’ve watched him watching them.  His poor little mind just can’t figure out what those things are.  I swear he wrinkles his brow in concentration.  If they get close he gets this “deer caught in the headlight/panic” look on his face.  “Oh, no.  It’s going to eat me.  Get it away.  GET IT AWAY!!!”

It’s good to know now that we will never be able to rely on Mister to save us from anything. Advance warning is always a good thing.

Protect us from Invading aliens?  Nope. 

Zombies.  Are you kidding?  They’re dead people w/ flesh falling off of them.  And they smell funny. 

Ice cream men?  He runs the other way when he hears their carts coming at us. 

Small children going door to door trying to raise money for a school fund-raiser?  Well, maybe them because they’ll pet him.  They won’t get him food.  But if they shower him with adoration and affection – then they are (for that moment) a means to an end.

This cat has quite the following in the ‘hood.  He is gorgeous.  And he is huge. The mailman stops to pet him. Small children drag their grandparents behind them as they run up to lavish love on him.  These folks just fawn all over him.  And Mister takes it all in stride.  He puts on quite the show for his adoring audience.  Sheesh.  What a ham.

So – we can’t depend on him for any kind of security (I guess we need to take down the sign that says “Beware of attack cat”).  But we can still rely on him to be part of our 72 hour kit.  One bite at a time.

Meet Our Little Mrs. Sunshine AKA Moonbeam

One of the sweetest, dearest phone calls I’ve ever received:

Ring.

Me:  Hello?

Her:  Hello, Mother-in-law.

Me:  Hello, Daughter-in-law.

And I grin from ear-to-ear.

The newest member of our family is our sweet, sweet ClaireMarie. Well, she’s been a member of the family for a while but now it’s OFFICIAL (tah-duh-duh-dum!!!!).

She and our oldest got married out in Arizona.  Met with the State and/or County Authorities for paperwork to sign.  Then went to a botanical garden where they met up with a small number of friends . Words were said over them.  Vows shared.  And a kiss to seal the deal.

Unfortunately we didn’t get to attend but that’s okay.  There will be a huge party later.  We’ll all show up, ooh and ahh over them, meet new friends, hug old ones, eat, take pictures, eat some more.  And if we’re lucky – maybe we’ll get to dance. 

These two are certainly meant for each other.

She’s smart.

He is, too.

She’s beautiful.

He ain’t bad either.

She’s a tad shy.

He’s never met a stranger.

Her other persona is Doctor PhD) Clark .

He doesn’t have another persona.  What you see is what you get.

She’s (hopefully) finished with school.

He’s (hopefully) going to graduate in 3ish years.

She’s kinda grown up.

He’s working on it.

We couldn’t be happier – unless they lived closer to home.  But they’re working on that, too.

I’m so pleased that they met each other.  For years we’ve been praying that someone very special would come into his life.  To soften his heart.  To make him happy.  Laugh at his jokes.  Groan with appreciation at his puns.  Stand by his side.  Learn to love him.  Listen to his woes (and he’s had a few of those). And help guide him in the right direction.

She’s done that..

Our sweet girl is helping smooth away the rough edges.  Soften his heart.  Strengthen his soul. Appreciate his many good qualities.  And teach him how to love. 

All that and EVEN more.

They are blessed.  And they don’t even know how blessed they are.  But someday they will.  I think that they will come to that realization of all their blessings and how much love they have when they hit a rough spot, start to skid off the road of life but are able to right their direction – clinging to each other. And they’ll look at each other in amazement – “We did it!!!

As Jim & I grew into our marriage we hid many speed bumps.  But we were very lucky because we were able to get back on our path.  Stronger than ever.

Bring on the world.  My Sunshine and Moonbeam can handle it.  Together. With hearts in hand.  A smile on their faces. A prayer in their heart. Ready to meet and greet whatever comes their way.

Ta da!

All that and more . . .

Look at me – I’m Brenda Lee!!!

(With apologies to the song writers of “Grease” fame and to the writers of “The Closer”.)

I’m supposed to watch my sugars. 

“Supposed to watch them do what?” you may ask. 

Not be anywhere near the vicinity of my mouth.

But I just can’t seem to help myself.  Most know that I have little self control.  I have a hard time telling me, "no".  And it's even worse when it comes to food (of any kind) that I'm not supposed to have.

I’m the department admin so I’m “responsible” for making sure that my little band of co-worker bees are happy AKA have swell treats on hand.  Which I do – in abundance.

I do try.  I keep the “good stuff” in another part of the office.  I keep a container of things I don’t particularly care for on my admin bar.  Less temptation.  Plus Starbursts stick to my teeth.  And make my tongue turn funky colors.  So it’s not a big threat.

However, the candy in the files area IS a threat to me.

So I sneak over there during the day and just grab a piece or two.  Toss it in my desk so that I can’t see it, shut the drawer, and pretend that I don't know it's there.  And for the majority of the time I’m just fine with that.  Until I hear those obnoxious little murmurings from my drawer.

“Eat meeeeeeee.”

“You want some of this?  You know you do!”

“These are snack size so they don’t count for much.”

I can usually sometimes ignore those promptings, that is unless I’m stressed, depressed, happy, sad, lonely, frantic, etc.  You get the idea.

I opened my drawer a few minutes ago and I can say is that Brenda Lee would be proud.  Candy of just about any brand that you can think of.  Even a few that I’ve never heard of before.  And for today those lovely little bite-sized chocolate candies will be my nemesis.  Tomorrow – who knows?  Maybe the bananas or apples or oranges that the building management supplies for us, but I doubt it.

But for now I’m licking my fingers, trying to catch every tiny little morsel so that it doesn’t land in my keyboard (what? You think I use canned air to clean once a week just to keep my desk in some semblance of order?  Silly.  Not even close.

Twizzlers used to have the slogan, “Makes mouths happy.”  Unfortunately I’ve discovered that they aren’t the only ones that are making me happy today.

I know.  I’ll pay for it later.  But this is a sad case of “I want what I want when I want it.”

Check on me tonight.  I’ll be the one passed out on the couch.

When I was 17 . . . .

When we had our first cold spell a couple of weeks ago, I woke up just knowing that I was 17.  17?  Really?  Yes, really. 

I was ready to jump out of bed, grab my favorite jumper and long sleeve blouse from the closet.  Put on my cat-eye glasses.  Find my penny loafers and my knee socks.  Rat my hair, smooth it in place and spray the living daylights out of with AquaNet hairspray.  Smear lip gloss on my lips (Bonne Bell, of course).  Grab my books that were covered with paper bags from the Safeway.  And race out the door just in time to catch the school bus. 

But alas and alack.  Imagine my surprise when I got to the bathroom and found the reflection of someone’s grandmother looking back at me.  I was sure that I would see my seventeen year old self in the mirror.  Who was that person staring at me?  My brain was absolutely convinced that I was a junior in high school, with all the perks and problems of youth.  Way before I had gray hair, stretch marks and crows’ feet.  Just in time for the youth revolution of the late 60s.  Right at the end of the girl groups.  And the beginnings of Jimi Hendrix’s flaming guitar, Me & Bobby McGee and the Beatles vs. Yoko.

Until recently, I never thought about how much someone’s outside never really reflected their insides.  And, suddenly, there I was - a teenaged girl trapped in this old(er) body.

No wonder my kids (especially my older daughter) cringes when I dance in the aisle at the grocery store.  And now my Gkids are starting to look the other way, too.  What.  You don’t feel the urge?  Well, it was okay when I was younger!  And when folks saw me dancing to the music down aisle 7 – they’d smile.  “Aaah.  Someone so young who loves life!”  But now it’s just staring – or heading the other way when they see me coming.  A grandmother would NEVER act like that.

And sometimes – no, a lot of times - I forget that I’m supposed to act my age.  How does one do that?  Do I suddenly need to find a cane that goes with all my outfits?  Can I no longer wear glasses that are a little funky and have to settle for wireless granny glasses?  Will I have to have blue hair that’s ratted into place and resemble a hair sprayed helmet (with or without AquaNet).  Is this the end of my car dancing days (Which tickles the crossing guards as I drive by on my way to work.  Well, at least they seem to appreciate it and they always wave back at me.)  And that I can no longer keep up the kids, much less my grandkids?   And that the fart/burp jokes that my Gkids tell are no longer funny?  But if I do that by accident (I swear) that it’s embarrassing for them but funny to me?

Well, let me just say this about that:  (ahem!)  Hell. No. I. Won’t. Go.

I can’t help that the 17 year old me comes flying from beneath the surface from time to time, which sometimes means that the filter comes off of my mouth.  And I enjoy having people think that I was once a hippie chick even if I never inhaled.  I mean – never even touched the stuff (I didn’t have to because I’m a party waiting to happen all by myself.).  That I laugh at all the wrong times and for all the wrong reasons just like I did back then.  I apologize (but not really) for embarrassing either my husband, kids or my Gkids from time to time because I don’t “act my age”.  I enjoy feigning shock at all the right times and for all the wrong reasons, getting a kick out of Aggie jokes horrid puns, and knock-knock jokes.  That I’m just as socially awkward now as I was back then.

But I do mind creaky joints, aching muscles, being reminded by my father (of all people) that I don’t need a two-story house.  I hate having to act my age when all I want to do is squirm out this old(er) body, getting my dancing shoes on and rock to the beat.  I don’t like that often I have trouble climbing stairs.  And that sometimes going downstairs is no picnic either.

I hate not remembering things, events, places or faces.  As I’ve stated before – my poor husband and older daughter have to be my memory.  Some of the things I do recall I consider odd or embarrassing to have remembered (like convincing my younger brother to dress up in a blouse, pencil skirt, scarf & high heels and then taking a picture to prove it).  And then I find myself fretting myself into a frenzy because I can’t even remember what I did last weekend.  Or the name of some of the members of our ward.  People I’ve known for years.  And their names?  Gone.    (That problem would be solved if everyone would just wear a nametag like the missionaries!)

I don’t like not being able to hear everyone’s conversations.  And why does it, at times, seem that everyone’s whispering?  Am I supposed to be thrilled that my hearing isn’t as good as it used to be?  And my eyesight?  Not too bad, but why am I now get nervous driving in a part of town that I’m not familiar with when it gets dark. Or almost panic driving at night when it rains. 

My hair is fine.  Very short and worn with Attitude. And I’ve come to appreciate the lovely patina that it’s developing.  And my wrinkles?  I’ve earned them.  My skin does have a lovely glow – thanks to a great shade of blush and the wonder of modern cosmetics and skin care.  And I hate that my cute freckles are now merging together and turning into age spots.  At what age did my skin start doing that?

And I just hate realizing that sooner rather than later that I’ll be leaving this earth.  Which isn’t a bad thing, but it’s just that I really am only 17 and I still have so much to do. 

See – I have this bucket list that gets longer every day.  The younger me is proud of that list and just knows that all will be checked off one by one.  But the older me realizes that I have to be practical and just scratch some things off, knowing that I’ll never have the money or the time.

Regrets?  I’ve had a few.  But the good I’ve experienced in my life outweighs all the sorrows, bad luck, missed opportunities, and wrong decisions that were of my own choosing.

Yet when I compare the “old” me (at 17) with the “new” me I realize that I’m more blessed than I could ever have imagined. And that I keep forgetting the Powers that be how grateful I am for all I’ve experienced – the good, the not so good and the bad.

That the image in the mirror may not be as cute as that 17 girl, but I’m okay with that.  I’ve had so much fun and I know that are still plenty of happy times ahead and great memories to build. 

That I haven’t used up all the gifts that were given to me.  I’ve even discovered new ones as I gained experience in this life.  That at 17, I never really appreciated the people and things around me.  I’m still working on it, but I’m so grateful for what I have.  And the things I know.  But that there’s so much I still have to learn.  And experience.  And share. And grow.

My life’s grand at 17 or 62. 

When I was 17, it WAS a very good year.  But at 62, so much better.

Dedicated to LED.  Keep on dancin'!

What’s the Worth of a Soul’s Testimony?

Recently on the Middle Aged Mormon Man blog (http://middle-agedmormonman.blogspot.com/), the author shares some wonderful insight on testimoniese and the bearing thereof.  Especially at Girls’ Camp.  Around a camp fire.  With all your Church friends and leaders.  One of the best spiritual experiences.  Ever.  But he takes it to a new level.  Don’t have a friend-amony.  Bear your “real” testimony.  Not what you’re grateful for.  But what you know.

In another article some time back, a ward’s bishopric wanted to have that type of expeirence in their ward’s Fast & Testimiony Meeting.  On the lecturn was a picture posted of the Savior, with three lines below. Tell us your name.  How do you feel about the Savior?  Share your testimony. 

That’s it – pure & simple.  But for some it’s not simple.  And for others the things that they are thankful for are what help drive their testimony.  That isn’t to say that they don’t have a testimony.  It’s just sometimes difficult to separate our blessings from what we believe/know about the Gospel.

But there are some whose testimonies are pure.  As I recently witnessed on my own.

We had a young sister that joined the Church a few months ago.  I’m sure that she was barely above poverty level (if that high).  She had no dresses to wear to Church.  She couldn’t afford them.  She'd come to Church in stained clothes. And hair unkept.  But she didn't seem to mind.  She was just happy to be at Church with her fellow believeers.

You could tell after talking to her for a bit that she would probably be classified as a “special needs student” if she were in school.  She had trouble at times keeping up with the rest of the sisters, but that only added to her charm. A very wise Bishop eventually called her to work in the Nursery - the best place to learn the basic tenets of our faith.

She took care of her niece and nephew on the weekends and would bring them to Church with her – only one at a time.  That’s all she could handle.  But she did it willingly.  She'd take them by the hand and excitedly tell her little charge about the friends he/she would be playing with, the songs they'd get to sing and their teachers that they loved.

And to top it all off – she was married to a man who was in jail.  And she waited patiently for the day when he would be released so that their life together could begin.  She forgave him his wrongdoings and told me that while he had had a troubled past she knew that he loved her.  Because he treated her like a queen.  As every Daughter of God should be.

Even though she was so new to the Church she had the sweetest, most tender testimony I’d ever witnessed. As we were sitting in Fast & Testimony Meeting she slipped me a note, "I've never felt what I feel when I come to Church. I don't know why. I just feel so good and warm inside." She smiled sweetly at me and I returned the smile and gave her a quick hug. That's the closest she could come to bearing her testimony.

But I saw her testimony in her eyes.  The way she eagerly waited for her Sunday School class to begin and the love she shared with the little ones in the Nursery. How she was unafraid to share her true self to her sisters in Relief Society.  Never did I see a sister ridicule or mock her.  They were patient.  They were kind.  But not as much as she was.

Her prayers were pure, too.  She told us that she had been bullied all through school.  And that it was tough for her and she’d go to her Heavenly Father in prayer.  She never asked for the bullies to stop.  She didn’t ask for retribution.  She just simply prayed to the Lord for help in knowing how to handle them, how to show them that they were wrong.  No hate.  She just needed to know what she could do on her part to make things better.  For all involved.

I learned a lot from her before she moved away after her husband had been released from prison. She's been gone only a few months, but I so miss her sweet spirit and pure testimony.

"I don't know why I feel this way." I welcome this reminder from one that is so new to the Church and is now discovering and accepting the wonderful gifts that the Lord has blessed us all with. And I need to learn to be as thankful - and hopeful - as she was. And I hope and pray that the members of her new ward learn to appreciate and love her as much as I learned to.  And that they’ll realize what a unique treasure they have in their midst.

So back to my original question - what’s the sorth of a soul’s testimony?

As we read in 1 Peter 3:4 - But let it be the hidden man (or in this case, woman) of the heart, that in which is not corruptible, even the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, which is in the sight of God of great price.

In other words - priceless.

(Big) Man Down!!!

 For those of us that are lucky enough to live in the Great State of Texas – or have travelled to DFW from other parts of the country - we've lost a much loved member of the family.

Big Tex, beloved icon of the State Fair of Texas, died on Friday, October 19, due to an electrical fire.  Well, actually it could be said that he “fried” that day.  It happened mid-morning to the horror and despair of those that were in attendance.  And I have to say that the news spread outside the gates of the fair like, uhm, wildfire? 

Thanks to the ever present phones/cameras there were pictures all over the internet within minutes of the fire, even before the firefighters arrived.  Eerie pictures.  Some with only his face visible in front of the flames that were on the back of his head, which gave him the look of a fiery halo.  The look on his face changed from friendly to angry, maybe a bit insane.  Not a face I’d like to meet in the dark.

The only parts that survived were his arms and his belt buckle.  Don’t know how much damage was done to his frame.  Considering how long he’s been hanging around the fair (since 1952), I’m pretty sure that it’s a lot.   

The State Fair folks say that he’ll be replaced next year.  Bigger (he's over 50’ tall).  Better.  And still decked out in his Dickies.  But may I please make a suggestion?  Oh, okay – a few suggestions.

Big Tex was originally built as a huge Santa Claus. If you think he looked weird, you should have seen what he looked like back then.  If I had seen him as a child that would have scarred me for life!  Since being purchased by the State Fair folks, he’s been reworked/redesigned over the years, but now I think it’s time for a new shape for our long legged hero.

If you’ve never had the honor/thrill of seeing him in person and the pictures on line still don’t give you a clear mental picture, then allow me to help you get a better idea of what he looked like. 

If you’ve ever seen an old(er) rancher then you can visualize Tex’s body shape.  Long skinny legs, pot belly, massive chest.  Basically the shape of my dad.  Not that that’s a bad thing, but I see that body type quite a bit around these parts.  Not that every one of them is a cowboy (or an engineer as in my dad’s case).  But you get the idea.  Maybe with better design he can lose that belly (because we all know that belly fat is unhealthy).

His face, even with his permanent grin, was a bit off-putting.  If eye-to-eye with a toddler I would consider him scary looking.  I’m sure he was quite handsome in the beginning.  But I’m afraid that he hasn’t weathered the elements as well as hoped.  If I had met a man that looked like him when I was a child – let’s just say that I probably would have been in need of “years and years of therapy.  And if you think I’m afraid of spooky, jump-out-at-ya movies now – it could have been 10x worse.  Not that I didn’t love Big Tex.  I just wouldn’t have wanted to run in to him on long, dark country road, in an alley, or be in front of him in the line at the bank.

So, rest in peace, Big Tex.  I’m sure we’ll see you next year.  Bigger.  Stronger.  Better wired.  Still lookin’ sharp in your Dickies.

Next year we’ll go back to the fair.  And if we’re lucky enough to be meeting up with friends and/or family, we’ll be able to tell all, “Meet you at Big Tex!” 

And can hardly wait to hear the old familiar, "Howdy, folks!"  The perfect Texas-styled greeting!

My Rainbow Connection

Today is the 50^th anniversary of the first black student entering The University of Mississippi AKA Ol’ Miss.  The National Guard was called out in an attempt to keep the peace.  Hard to do when the governor of the state was touting his message of hate and segregation off campus and on.  Students rioted. The state was not going to go quietly into that good night.  Trying, turbulent times.   

My how some things have changed.

When I attended high school there were only a few Black faces, along with a handful of Hispanics and Asians.  And only Whites in my elementary school.

I recently did some volunteering through Junior Achievement at my old elementary school.  The kids were shocked when I told them that when I went there and graduated 50 years ago (you could almost see them trying to figure out exactly how old I was).  And that when I was a student there were no kids (or adults, for that matter) from different ethnic backgrounds.  And only English was spoken.  And that they were so lucky to have kids from different countries, with different languages, different family structures.  I’m almost jealous.

And at college I was the only white girl on my floor.  What an eye opener that was.  And in a very good way.  I had an RA whose name was Shirley.  She taught me a lot about acceptance.  And belief in other people, regardless of skin color.

I’ve always believed that the color of someone’s skin is only skin deep.  Everyone has the same color of blood racing through their veins.  And their hearts (normally) beat the same as mine.  I hope that’s what my kids have learned from their parents.

I’m very lucky. I have a very diverse family tree.  Well, at least my Gkids do.  And I hope they’re very thankful for that.

My SIL is Hispanic. One of my “daughters” is also Hispanic and is married to an Italian. One of my “daughters” is Canadian. Both Jim & I are native Texans. One of my Gdaughter’s best friends is Black. My oldest is engaged to a Scot.  My older daughter has spots while the others have naught. I have Comanche blood coursing through my veins. The best man at our wedding was not only Black, but gay (if our parents had only known!) I have co-workers that are Korean, African, Turkish, English, Dutch, Indian, Jewish and Hispanic. And Jim is the only old white guy on his shift at work. Not exactly the workplace that either of my parents worked in.

Thankfully all my kids & Gkids have friends of every stripe and color, rich and poor, short and tall. And I’m grateful for that.

And I hope they realized how blessed they are, that each have their very own rainbow connection.

All of us under its spell, we know that it's probably magic....

For the lovers, the dreamers and me.

Friday Night Lights Ain’t What They Used To Be. . .

I've always considered fall Friday nights almost sacred.  What it was (is?) is Friday Night Lights.  High school football. 

Never really been crazy about professional teams.  The only exception being the Super Bowl  where everyone brings their favorite snacky food, lots visiting goes on while the teams play and then we all race to the TV to see the commercials.  But according to other folks I've talked to - they do the same.  The guys in the group will watch more of the game.  But mostly it's about family.  My story & I'm sticking to it.

College ball doesn't do much for me either - except for either Texas vs. A&M or Texas vs. Oklahoma. 

But high school ball?  Just love it.  And I don't know why.  I can't tell you what's going on except when someone gets the ball and runs like crazy for an end zone.  I couldn't explain a hail Mary if I had to.  Tight end?  Okay.  If you say so. 

So far we've gone to one game - South Grand Prairie High School.  But it's not about the game now.  It's about my Gson Eric.  He's in the marching band and plays the euphonium.  (I never even knew those existed until he started playing in middle school.)  And we're going again to night.

And let's just say I don't do anything that I'm passionate about half-assed.  I've got my sparkly SGPHS Band Mimi t-shirt all ready to go.  Jim has padded stadium seats for us.  I've got my water & snacks ready to pack. 

But we don't all watch the game.  I have more fun watching Eric in the band, watching him visit with his classmates and following his band leader, than the action on the field.  These kids have worked long and hard.  I never realized how difficult it must be to march, follow the director, read music and play an instrument all at the same time.  Talk about multi-tasking!

So now we're band fans.  But that's okay.  We can live with that.

And tonight we're going to a band concert disguised as a football game. 

Go - team!  But band?  You really know how to rock the joint!!!

(My) Girls – They Just Wanna Have Fun

And boy! Did they!

I got to spend the MOST fun time with my daughters & Gdaughters for a short girls’ weekend.

Gathered/picked up all the girls and off we went to the hotel.  A first time treat for my younger Gdaughter Ms. Thang who quickly discovered that jumping on a hotel bed is so much cooler than jumping on the bed at home (plus you don’t get in nearly as much trouble!).  We unpacked and headed out to find us some dinner.

We drove to Oak Cliff which just happened to include a historical tour of the spot where my sweet husband told me we were getting married.  No, I didn’t get a proposal per se, but I knew exactly what he meant when he said, “When we get married . . . .”  Then off to BEE’s Enchiladas.  They claim to have the Best Enchiladas Ever.  And they don’t lie.  And we found out that the food tastes just that much better when you’re sharing with people you love and laugh – a lot.  Five forks up!

We definitely had to “walk off dinner” so took off for Bishops Art District – just around the corner from BEE’s.  Very expensive boutiques that none of us could afford to walk in, much less shop!  We ooh’d & aah’d for a while making a nuisance of ourselves and then went for the REAL reason why we were there – Dude Sweet!!!  A homegrown artisan chocolatier.  They let us sample just about everything they sell – to the point that we were almost all chocolated out – if there is such a thing.  They specialize in dark chocolates – which I normally can’t tolerate.  But this stuff is so good that I never have an issue.  After we all tasted as much as we could & for as long as they’d let us, I bought goodies for us to enjoy back at the hotel.  

More oohing & aahing as we drove past downtown Dallas on the way to the hotel.  Big D knows how to put on a light show – and the Gdaughters were most appreciative & delighted.  As well they should because I’m pretty darn sure that it was ordered especially for their amusement.  Good job!

Back to the hotel – where the girls got to stay in the room & read while the Gdaughters got to go swimming in the indoor pool – late.  At night.  Then after I’d had enough (and after they kept begging for “5 more minutes”) we went back upstairs.  And then Ms. B had a meltdown.  Migraine.  So – a call to The Man in our life – and he came racing to the hotel to give her a blessing. Late. At night.  He’s so good to us.

After Ms. B's recovery the girls decided it was time for a fingernail polishing party.  I never knew that 2 girls could stock away so many different colors/styles/brands of polish.  And every color got tried & tested.  Then on to make-overs.  Each making up the other.  Oh. My.  Clown face meets hoochie mama face – which their mothers made them wash over before going to bed.  But I got a great picture to use later as bribes - which I know will come in handy.

After a few hiccups & speed bumps with the hotel and their lack of customer service the night before – BIG breakfast.  Where we showed up in our PJs.  Heck. We didn’t care.  We were never going to see any of those people again.  And just as long as we don’t show up on the people of Walmart – I’m good with that.

Then packed, out the door and on to our next destination – Women’s Vision Expo.  The girls & I have been coming for years.  Ms. B has come a few times and this was younger cousin's 1^st time.  “Oh, Mimi! Thank you so much for inviting me!”  We didn’t buy much.  But we walked, talked & did a bit of shopping.  I was rather proud of myself for buying myself into a financial hole.  We pretty much watched over each other to make sure we didn’t over do.  Spent a couple of hours there and then on to food, glorious food.  PIZZA!  At a restaurant in Irving where we each got to create our own pizzas.  More good reviews.

Then home we went.  All of us were tired.  But it was a good tired.  And I hope that they all have good memories – and a few giggles – over our time together.

I know I will. 

It’s the Simple Life for Me

Last weekend I spent my time wisely - just hanging out, enjoying the breeze and the company of those I treasure most (w/ the exception of the boys not being there, but you know what I mean).

Storms rolled through the area on Friday evening. Loud. Beautiful. The sort that Younger misses.  The temperature dropped a good 30 degrees which made for good sleeping on Saturday night.  All the windows were opened and a wonderful breeze whipped its way through the house. I enjoyed some alone time on Sunday morning just lying on the couch and listening to the breeze as it blew through the house.

Friday night went to go see a loud-action packed movie – the last Bourne movie.  While I did enjoy the movie I got irked over yet another too long action scene.  Yeah, we get it.  You’re chasing each other down the alleys, across rooftops, and highways of Manila.  I really need to send a note to directors and/or the studio heads asking that they do those of us that get REALLY bored with all that stuff to kindly insert a footnote at the bottom of the screen that says something like, “For the next 15-20 minutes these guys are going to have a overdrawn action scene.  If you don’t consider this a pivotal plot point, please feel free to go out to the snack bar and have a soda on us. Or take a well-deserved bathroom break.”  That works for me.

Got to spend part of Saturday with Younger and 2 Gkids at their stake’s “Granny’s Attic.”  A brilliant idea!  Folks in their stake donate clothes, shoes, linens, car seats, etc. – all gently used.  She was able to get some cute school clothes for both kids and some things for her. I came away with some cute long (maxi - my favorite!) dresses for me.  It’s a virtual clothes treasure hunt.  And all items are free.  Whatever is leftover is taken to the Goodwill for them to do some good with it.  This is held during tax free weekend.  So instead of fighting crowds at the mall and/or box store, we got to visit with each other and members of her ward & stake.

Went out later in the day for yet another movie “The Remarkable Life of Timothy Green.”  A gorgeous & sweet Disney movie.  Great characters.  A very neat story (unbelievable but Disney is very good at making stories like this work).  A good friendship between 2 kids that are different.  A few tears.  Some good laughs.  Thoroughly enjoyable.

And we were bad – skipped out on Stake Conference.  Instead – spent the time at Older’s house, playing w/ the Gpups, peeling a testosterone laden Dachshund off of me, visiting w/ Gkids, and snuggling a cranky baby to sleep.  Nice to know that the ol’ stand up, cuddle, sing and rock still works.  Who says I can’t multitask? 

So – nothing really earth shattering.  Just plugging right along.

Which ain’t too bad in my book . . .

There's Sunshine in my soul

Thirty nine years ago today I was lying in a hospital bed in an American military hospital with hovering German & American nurses and a Hungarian OB waiting to catch my firstborn while my darling husband cheered me on (thanks to hours spent in Lamaze classes).  The doctor was more than willing to help ease my pain with meds but I wanted to be a “real woman” (please see earlier reference to Lamaze) and “do this” on my own.  The doc was confused.  I was determined.  And Jim was the calmest one in the room.  It was almost a contest between the OB & me to see who was going to last the longest. 

I won.  And I got the best prize of all – a 6 lb.10 oz. bouncing baby boy.  Named James Aaron Bratton – after his father, both grandfathers and all the other James’s on both the Birdwell & Bratton family trees (and there are a lot of them!). 

My oldest has finally grown into the man that we always knew he would become.  He is the perfect definition of a late bloomer.  He might achieve success later than some, but he’s received a lot of love and good solid friendships from others to help guide him through.  I’m eternally grateful for his friends, his good friends.  They accepted him when others would not have.  But that’s okay, it’s their loss.  And his friends' gain.

And for his birthday wish, this is what I’d want for him.

Peace.  True peace.  Calming, soothing peace.

That he never has to doubt the love & friendship of those around him. 

That the mistakes he’s made in the past will be resolved and that there will be no more pain. 

That some of the promises he made will not have to be kept (grandchildren – YES!!!). 

That he actively looks for happiness, because he deserves it.  And needs it.  Over the years as he’s grown up – and with a little push from a certain Girl - he’s learned to give so much happiness to others along his way.

That he knows that his parents love him.  And that he’s his mother’s favorite.  Not always because he’s been the one that’s been the farthest away.  Not just because he didn’t deserve it any more than others.  But that he broke my heart – and then mended it a thousand times over.  Any pain that was caused has been removed, smoothed over so that there is no scar.  The memories have faded away.  But the love remains.

Peace.  And with that peace, love.  Reach out for it.   Seek it.  And you’ll be rewarded tenfold.

You are my Sunshine.  My only Sunshine.

And don’t you forget it.