One More Time

The Leader of the band is tired

And his eyes are growing old

But his blood runs through my instrument

And his song is in my soul

My life has been a poor attempt to imitate the man

I'm just a living legacy to the Leader of the Band

    - Dan Fogelberg

That's when we lost it. I know I did. 

Sorry, y'all. This took me a few days to process.

There are stories. Many, many, many stories about how Paul Gray had an impact on my life. I wouldn't even know where to begin.

In the beginning, I knew him from church. He was the choir director. He was my sister's band director. Then he was MY band director. There wasn't a time when he wasn't connected to my family. His wife Billie was a dear friend of my mother's and she was at our house quite often. His oldest son Paul (Sonny) was Liz's classmate. I remember when his younger son Michael was born. When he was around 5 or 6 was one of my first babysitting jobs: New Year's...1983? The year "Every Breath You Take" was the Number 1 song of the year, because I stayed up to listen to the countdown while in the Gray's den. The Grays were a big part of our lives: church, school, home.

We went to band concerts and football games and marching contests and parades before I was even in band myself. My sister and I grew up with "Gray Standard Time." It was already a way of life. I joined the middle school band in the 6th grade, under the direction of Randy Been, but I couldn't wait to be part of the "Big band" with Mr. Gray. I knew that would be epic.

And it was.

The summer before I was a freshman, Mr. Gray asked me to join the High School band for a clinic at the Arlington in Hot Springs, conducted by the incomparable Dr. Francis McBeth, no less. I was just this little kid, riding on the bus that day with all these high-schoolers. I was tucked back in the lower end of the saxophone section. But what an opportunity. Then two-a-day marching band practice started at the end of July.

Yikes. 

But I did that, for four years. Worked my way up to first chair, held that position through my senior year, when I was drum major. Was a "band aid", copying parts and helping put together band folders for both marching, Christmas, and concert season. Lived in fear of being the first band to get less than a First Division AND Sweepstakes at ANY contest. (We never were that band - we ALWAYS won Sweepstakes.) Heavy duty pressure there. There were 100 of us when I joined as a freshman, and that's a hefty number for a school Mena's size. It was a pretty big deal.

Paul Gray was a formidable man, but if you KNEW him, he wasn't so scary. He liked to play golf. Richard Wagner was his favorite composer, which is probably why I like Wagner also. (We didn't play Elsa's Procession when I was in band, but Liz's group did. So hearing at the service, the recording by the 1980 band, was a propos. I analyzed the band transcription for a homework assignment in Tom Chase's Form and Analysis class, Spring 1990.) Six-to-five military marching style, with glaring white tennis shoes, was so ingrained in me that I considered corps-style marching an abomination when I was dragged into it kicking and screaming when I went to Henderson. (I learned to enjoy it though, because if Mr. Gray thought I was giving Wendall Evanson trouble, my ass was grass. And he would have told me so.)

Paul Gray was tough but had a great sense of humor. He let us do cool things like the end of show "scatter" and the great Senior Walk-Out (I can still see Suzanne Redman popping up out of the French Horn section and basically telling him off, in jest of course. We sophomores thought we would all surely die...). He was the first person to show me the World's Smallest Violin Player playing "My Heart Bleeds for You." We could tell him about our senior high weekend escapades and he never judged us, never blew our cover. When we played against Paris and they played their alma mater, to the tune of "O, Tannenbaum," he turned to us and mumbled, "Don't laugh!!" (We did anyway.) He was like a crazy uncle you could share a six-pack with.

One story I always remember was after a LONG bus ride home after an away game in Alma. Another girl (can't remember her name but she played clarinet) and I were the last ones to be picked up but we assured Mr. Gray that we had rides coming, so he left. And we waited, and we waited, and we waited, tried to get to the payphone over by the cafeteria...until finally my parents realized no one had gone to get me. (This was WAY before cell phones, y'all). We both made it home, but since then PG opted to stay until EVERYONE went home. He gave me a set of plastic "baby" keys at Band Banquet that year. I kept them for a long time. I'm sure they're in a box somewhere because I keep EVERYTHING.

My partner in crime Christine Cooper and I both sang in the church choir under his direction. We probably got in trouble a few times for giggling. He was much more mellow for church choir rehearsal, with the older folks. Those of us that knew him during the day though were still relatively terrified.

I was drum major my senior year. He DIDN'T chew on me too bad when one afternoon during rehearsal out on the football field I turned on the wrong yardline, thus causing chaos in each rank and file that followed. Maybe because he MIGHT have asked me at some point to do that on purpose to see if everyone else was paying attention. I apparently beat him to that...so of course we had to do it "One more time!" Then one more time after that. And another after that. And so on, and so on, and so on... 

Geese, he called us. Others were goats. We were geese. And dummies. But those Sousa marches, y'all.

He was one of the first to trust me to be "in charge" when we did pep rallies and basketball band. I'm pretty sure you'll see his style in my conducting, if I ever get the chance to do that again. I was his second-in-command and that was a big role. I never wanted to let him down.

He taught me music theory and the old church modes. Basic composition. I remember the album he played in Music Appreciation (a class I didn't really need but took it anyway) of what Beethoven's 5th would have sounded like with the "deleted scenes." I wish I could find a copy because I thought that was so cool. He prepared me for being a music major better than anyone else on the planet. You REALLY need to love music, and because HE did, I was able to carry my love of it forward.

Speaking of walk-outs, however...

One day we were getting reamed up and down, in and out, during spring contest season. I don't even remember what we were playing. I'm sitting there, first chair saxophone, thinking, What the crap? I'm over here working my butt off and everyone else is slacking off...so in my just-turned-18-years-old mind, and with all the other senior drama at the time, I'm taking it personally. So I got up and just left the band hall. Something I WOULD NEVER DO. Naturally, I was called in for a "talk." His tirade of course had nothing to do with me. It didn't have to do with anybody, really. He just wanted us to be our best, as always. Uphold our reputation as one of the best high school bands in the state of Arkansas, maybe even the country. He knew I was doing my part; he expected nothing less. I needed to cool my jets and keep up the good work, get over myself. I aired my frustrations, he listened, and I was all the better for it. 

We talked for quite a while that day. One of the first of many conversations I had with various mentors over the years about the need to have a thicker skin to maneuver one's self through the world in order to survive, especially when you were in danger of choosing a path less trodden by women. Professional musician, huh? Brace yourself, young Padawan. You're in for a bumpy ride. Here's what it's gonna take. And that wasn't just a discussion about the music world, that was about the world in general, which I really knew nothing about at that point. I would have the same discussion with Rick Dimond, Earl Hesse, Wes Branstine, Jim Buckner, David Rollins, Lydia Evanson, The Remarkable Ryes, Kay McAfee...But Paul Gray was there in the beginning. He gave me, and everyone under his baton, that foundation.

His influence got me through 5 years of college. Everything I was learning about teaching instrumental music always brought me back to what he taught me first and it built the foundation for everything I would do for years to come. I only band directed for two years, but those kids in that little school in Sanford, Colorado got to experience Paul Gray whether they knew it or not. I may have made a junior high trumpet player cry (a boy no less - that kid had got on my last nerve!), but they earned a 1st Division the first time they'd ever gone to concert contest. They marched on the football field for the first time in several years. They marched in a Christmas parade. Went to a clinic sponsored by the Monte Vista band director. Went to solo and ensembles at Adams State in Alamosa. We did some things, and some stuff, too. Because Paul Gray showed me how.

One thing I was reminded of when I read Mr. Gray's obituary was that he was preceded in death by his son, Roger, age nine. I vaguely remember this event; even though I was only four at the time. Since my mother and Miss Billie were very close, I remember snippets of conversations they'd had about it; other mentions by Liz and Sonny and their friends. Now that I know this type of grief, losing a child, I regret that I didn't have the opportunity to talk about this type of life-changing event with Mr. Gray (I can't call him Paul; it seems so disrespectful). I'm sure there were days when he didn't want to give everything he had to band directing; but we never saw that. Maybe his "goats" and his "geese" provided solace for that. I had a role model for a future experience and I didn't even realize it. Thank you, sir. Because that helped me more than anything.

A legend is gone, but what Paul Gray has left behind will live on through the lives of all of us who sat in those band rooms, on the stage at the old Middle School Auditorium, the grounds of Boyd and Bearcat Stadium, the parades routes down Mena Street, the First United Methodist Church Sanctuary, and other venues across the state of Arkansas and beyond. And for those of us who also got to hang out with him outside the confines of music, we will miss his laughter, his candor, and his friendship greatly. And someday, we'll see him again.

One more time.

August 20, 1990 - Happy Birthday, Bony Refugee

You would have been 33 years old today. The same age as Jesus when He was crucified. Do you get to talk with Him about that? What a privilege that must be. I know you relied on him heavily before the day you left us.

I wanted to celebrate this weekend differently. Back in December, Dad called me. I was Christmas shopping in Jonesboro. I had just walked out of the Five Below. He said tickets to see Metallica in Dallas were only $100, for TWO nights (different sets, different openers each night - Pantera and Mammoth WVH on Friday; Five Finger Death Punch and Ice Nine Kills on Sunday). What a steal. What a show!! He said that could be my Christmas present: "Get 2 and take someone with you." Kattie, if she was able; Kortni maybe if Kattie couldn't make it. I could drive down, not only spend mother/daughter time, but stay with MY sister. See the nieces and great nephews. Spend your actual birthday at the 2nd show then hightail it back here and even be at work on Monday for the first day of classes. I'd be tired but I could've done it. Even if I'd flown - flights go directly from Memphis to DFW and back. I would've made it work.

But no. This didn't even count as an exception to the rule, so...oh well. I stayed here. I sold my tickets; will get about 85% back of what I paid originally for both. I'll use it to register for the event I'm going to in October and that vacation leave was approved.

I worked all day on the 18th and have enjoyed the weekend anyway. I hiked in the woods at Village Creek, got a good nap, ate my meals. Wrote some more on my latest book. (It will be ready by Halloween, I promise!!) Was up fairly late.

It was hard to get up on Sunday. I sent you a birthday text. I wish you could answer.

I made an omelet for "brunch." It didn't look very pretty but it tasted good. Y'know, the very first time I made an omelet, a la Julia Child, if flipped perfectly. I have been unable to recreate that feat effectively since. I flip it and it goes all over the place, even in my special Wolfgang Puck omelet pan.

I added some avocado and baked a can of biscuits to try some apple butter one of my faculty had made. It was good. I drank coffee out of my Disney Villainess World Domination mug. Elephant was very interested in joining me for breakfast; he doesn't normally do that, but he was peeking over that edge of the cage. Probably wondering where you were.

I finished The Blanket Of Evil from Dark Shadows. Only took me seven years, haha. Now I can focus on the chevron afghan Dad wants: with purple and yellow because of some LSU joke you two shared; maroon and white for Killeen's colors; and green, your favorite color. It will look almost like the blanket I made for Gabriel. I did some comic reading. I don't know why I let them pile up. We could have read them with the boys.

I noticed today that several famous people share your birthday. Notable ones are Robert Plant of Led Zeppelin. Ke Huy Quan from Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. Misha Collins from Supernatural, the other "Cass" LOL. (Luke still watches. I think he's on his third run.) H.P. Lovecraft. Dimebag Darrell. Phil Lynott of Thin Lizzy. You're in good company.

Made my last meal kit meal for dinner. I don't have the strength for your favorite. Besides, Dad (and your grandma) makes much better Chicken and Dumplings than I do anyway. I did have a cocktail in your honor: A Hawaiian mimosa, or I call it now, a Cassondra. That's what we were drinking that last night you were home with us. What an awesome weekend that was. I wish we could do it again. I ate Reese's today, too, because that's just what I needed to do.

Even though this weekend didn't go the way I'd originally planned, I did try to enjoy it. Dad's out in Wyoming on another motorcycle/photography adventure, and I'm here. Far from "home" myself but there is a lot about where I am that IS good. One of my friends texted me Friday morning asking if I was okay and that meant a lot to me. I appreciated that tremendously.

I tried not to let the disappointment get me down. I tried not to think about it. (The Old Scarlett O'Hara Tactic: "I'll think about it tomorrow.") It's your birthday, but that's now a text you can't answer, a phone call or a FaceTime you won't pick up. You aren't able to come home or visit me, and I can't go where you are. Not any time soon, anyway. I promised you I'd make it to 100 and you'll be upset if I don't honor that. Forty-six years will be a long time to see you again but if I show up sooner, you'll send me back:

"Not yet, Mom!!"

We miss you a lot. The world is less brighter. We have little tolerance for things that aren't that important in the long run. I've written line upon line about this; things that I'm not ready to share but someday maybe I'll publish of book of these essays I've done since 2021. Rants, breakdowns, monologues. Sometimes they're overwhelming and I have to just stop and breathe.

But this is YOUR birthday celebration and I did it the best I could under the circumstances. I really wish you could have been here. Dad got you the best gift though by having those climbers take your keychain up to the top of Devils Tower. That's really special. I know you'll love the view.

Happy birthday, Bony Refugee.

Keep Rollin' on that River, Anna Mae

The year is 1984. I have not yet turned to the Dark Side and become a metal head. MTV, The Devil's Channel, is not yet available via cable in Mena, Arkansas. But we do have Night Tracks every weekend on the TBS Superstation, and Friday Night Videos on NBC after The Tonight Show. There was also this thing called radio. You may have heard of it.

Since 1983, I've been a huge Stevie Nicks fan. Then this older singer from the 60s and 70s made this fantastic comeback and I've switched gears.

Her name is Tina Turner. 

I know one song. I have the 45 single that belonged to my sister called "Proud Mary." The B-Side is "Funkier Than a Mosquito's Twitter." The new song though is called "What's Love Got to Do With It" and it's pretty good. In the video, this 42-year-old woman looks fantastic: Strutting around in the jean jacket and the leather mini skirt and the black patent leather pumps with the spike heels. I copy the outfit - still have my teardrop pearl earrings and the rhinestone necklace. That hair, though. And those legs. Those cheekbones. And the VOICE.

Then there's "Better Be Good to Me." Again, a WOMAN dancing around in black leather, with Cy Curnin of The Fixx, no less, and making it look classy and sexy and cool all at the same time. She's just BAD ASS. (Oh, and Jamie West-Oren, also of The Fixx, is playing guitar.)

I got the "Private Dancer" cassette for Christmas that year. (As well as "Purple Rain," "Reckless," and "1984." What at year that was. Wow.) I played it as nauseum. "I Might Have Been Queen." "I Can't Stand the Rain." "Steel Claw." Not a bad track on it. I sang along and knew every word. I also got (maybe for my birthday?), a VHS of one her shows in England. Again, watched it over and over. (And yes, that's the Lost Boys saxophone guy, Tim Cappello, before he was the Lost Boys saxophone guy.) I copied the dance moves, and inadvertently became quite well-known for my Tina Turner impression. I performed it between acts for the FBLA March of Dimes Variety Show matinees we did for the High School and Middle School. Not bad for a white girl.

The first pair of heels I ever owned were black patent pumps. I wanted to BE Tina Turner.

When we finally got MTV in Mena (I'll tell my bootleg cable story some other time) and our own exorbitantly priced VCR. I recorded her videos (along with many, many others) when they came on, and Tina came on a lot. She was even mentioned in the very first episode of "Heavy Metal Mania" for her role in "Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome." Dee Snider: "Now, Tina Turner's not strictly heavy metal, but the lady's definitely heavy, all right?" "We Don't Need Another Hero," performed in full Auntie Entity garb, played a lot that summer. I didn't see it in the theater. I think we rented it? Or maybe I didn't see it until it came on HBO? I don't remember.

"Master Blaster runs Bartertown!"

I can still see her last scene, prancing up and hopping on Auntie Entity's vehicle. How we'd all like to move like that, that combination of grace and sass. She could be sexy without being slutty. Rock and Soul Bar None.

My favorite Thunderdome song though was "One of the Living." The video first aired in the fall of 1985 and there she was slinging around a red Jackson guitar. Didn't really work but nice try there, unnamed video producer. Too bad it wasn't a bigger hit because it's a really good song.

"Break Every Rule," the follow-up to "Private Dancer," came out in 1986 and it was...okay. I didn't really like "Typical Male," "What You Get is What You See" almost sounded country. but I absolutely loved "Back Where You Started." I've always wanted to cover it.

By this time though, I was deep into the Metal Realm, so I took a Tina hiatus. I did eventually move on to my second pair of patent leather pumps by the early 90s. The ones I'd had since high school had served me well and were retired. I think I had the heel taps replaced twice. I did read "I, Tina" at some point.

Day-um. Then they made the movie.

"What's Love Got to Do With It?" came out in 1993. I was living in Little Rock (unfortunately) and my buddy Craig Crane went with me to see it one afternoon on a weekday and there were about 6 people in the theater. Angela Bassett was phenomenal. She lip-synced Tina's voice, so when the scene comes up where she sings with the Kings of Rhythm for the first time...chills.

It's not the prettiest voice, but there's something about it - it's unique and distinctive, and that's what used to sell records - a sound that just catches your attention and you go, "WOW." It just has that "thing."

And it's amazing I don't hate Laurence Fishburne. His Ike Turner was terrifying.

I managed to snag copies of "The Best" and the "What's Love" soundtrack on CD, and also found a karaoke tape of "I Don't Wanna Fight". I used it to audition for a band that looking for a singer. I didn't get that gig. 

Bastards.

I'd even bought my first wig for that, trying to get back into performing, because I'd cut my hair super short in 1994. (I went through this Legend of Billie Jean phase, plus I needed to lose the over-permed, over-colored, wanna-be-big hair damage of the last 8 or 9 years). It was with that haircut that Mom and I went to watch Tina perform at Riverfront Amphitheater. (Chris Isaak was the opener. He was going on about cooking oil and saran wrap at one point. Mom: Who IS this guy??) Tina's show was fantastic, worth every dime and more. Keep in mind though the diversity of Tina's audience, and me with that pixie haircut? I was getting a lot of looks from the other side of the fence. Mom: "You need to grow your hair back out." I just laugh about that.

Somewhere around in here I rented The Who's "Tommy" just to watch Tina as "The Acid Queen." Yikes. Did she just pull Roger Daltry up a flight of stairs? (View at your own discretion. Cheesy now, yet still disturbing.)

1995: Pierce Brosnan became the new James Bond. The first film would be "Goldeneye" and oh wow! Tina is singing the theme song! But...it's not one of the better Bond songs. Not for me anyway. I was a little disappointed. Oh well.

More years went by. Tina moved to Switzerland. She remarried. I remember an article about how she didn't attend her mother's funeral in 1999, with a good enough reason I suppose; she didn't want her fame to detract from her mother; but I found that sad. Part of me felt like maybe Tina had become a little too full of herself, but I've never been a world-famous superstar, or one of the top-selling female artists of all time, so what do I know.

I'm certainly glad she was though.

With the Groovetones, we did her version of "Honky Tonk Woman." 

We also would do "Steamy Windows" every once in a while. I always wanted to do "Love Thing", from the Simply the Best album. 

I've sung along with "River Deep, Mountain High" on more than one occasion; I don't know how you pull that off without a full orchestra. I know the "Proud Mary" dance better than "Thriller". 

And I'll always remember when Dr. (Mr.) Rye told me not to stand like Tina Turner when I was conducting. That advice didn't work. It's a learned thing because I still do it. Sorry not sorry.

I must go see the Tina musical at some point. I missed it at Memphis a little while back.

Tina was a big part of my adolescence, even though I'd always known who she was since I was little girl. She was legendary. Truly a Comeback Queen in so many ways. She's why I'm not afraid to keep trying "new" things in my life. Age is just a number. Even in her 80s she looked as if she hadn't aged a day. Good genes, y'all. And all that dancing, I'm sure. I'd heard when she'd had stomach cancer and was sorry to hear that.

I'm very sorry she's gone. This one hurts. Rock on and rest well, Anna Mae. Take care of my little girl up there, because her mama loved you and and was inspired by you. I wouldn't be who I am today without either of you. Show her how to continue to be a Queen.

And I'm on my FOURTH pair of black patent pumps.

Oh, I Am My Mother - 2024

And here we are again, in 2024.

I don't have much to update, except that we've made it through another year as mothers, grandmothers, etc.

Cheers to all. Enjoy!

In honor of Mother's Day, I'm posting the article I wrote that appeared in HER magazine, May 2009 (back story - it has been edited):

Good day, Younglings. Mother's Day is Sunday, May 14. And that's why this blog gets re-posted somewhere on social media EVERY YEAR since its original publication.

Read on, Padawans, and enlightened you will be:

OH! I AM MY MOTHER!

Oh, yes! I definitely am! And that’s perfectly okay with me.

People have always considered me a “chip off the ol’ block.” Some women would have flames bursting from their eyes if anyone told them this, but not me. My mom is funny, beautiful, and doesn’t take a lot of crap from anybody. I for sure got the funny part, because if I can make people laugh, I’ve done my good deed for the day. I’m still working on the beautiful part. That always took some work, because my mother couldn’t get me to wear a dress or makeup without great gnashing of teeth. She’s been accused of dressing up to clean house. I’m accused of having too many dresses and not wearing any of them.

When I got married, I instantly became the mother of four. Then there was a fifth, but that's another story for another time. I helped raised two of them on an everyday basis: girls, age six and nine at the time. I skipped colic, diapers, and potty training and went straight to slumber parties and tubes of lipstick left in the pocket of a pair of pants that got put into the dryer.

After a month went by, I called my mother and said, “I apologize for everything I’ve ever done.” I was in my late twenties, so that covered a lot of ground.

All five of these children are grown now; four have children of their own. This made me a grandmother at 31. (I could insert one of those shock emojis here, but I’ll refrain.) It wasn’t until I started hanging with the grandkids that I really noticed how much I was saying things like, “Scat, Tom!” when someone sneezed. I haven’t started calling everyone “shug” yet, but that might be a future endeavor.

I was standing in line at the local discount shopping mecca noticing the covers of women’s magazines, and thought, “Gee! I knew that in the fifth grade!” How? Because my mother told me. She knows everything, like the names of obscure actors all the way back to the 1930s. My children now ask me, “Who’s that?” when old black and white films turn up on services that stream old movies, like Tubi and Freevee. Nine times out of ten, I know exactly who they are, thanks to excellent maternal guidance.

My mom and I definitely have different musical tastes, although she did think some of Poison’s tunes were kinda catchy. (I was a teenager in the 80s, so...) Without her, I wouldn’t have Frankie Laine and Andy Williams on my Spotify "liked" songs list, right alongside Black Sabbath and Metallica. “The Theme for Rawhide” coming on right after “Iron Man” upsets the passengers in my car somewhat, but you know what? I really don’t care. “Rollin’, rollin’, rollin…”

My mother loves to read, and I remember frequent trips to the library as a child. She introduced me to Stephen King, and we both had extreme fears of Plymouth automobiles for a while. (Remember Christine?) I don’t know if that explains my sister’s avid interest in the film version of Cujo, but oh, well. If I had time, I’d follow Mom’s lead and join a book club, but I don’t think “Building Online Communities: Effective Strategies for the Virtual Classroom” is on Oprah’s reading list.

Mother-daughter relationships are complicated. Every woman knows this. Especially if they survived their teenage years and still have both arms and legs. Several films have captured the dynamic: Terms of Endearment, Postcards from the Edge, Steel Magnolias, and Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood. (Hmm…three of those starred Shirley MacLaine. Wonder what that means?) Some women strive to be like their mothers, others…not so much. Who knows how the Kardashian's offspring will turn out. We won’t even mention Joan Crawford or the Octo-Mom. Maybe Shirley MacLaine could step in and line up everybody’s chakras.

I learned an entirely new facet of motherhood in 2021 when I lost one of my daughters, my youngest. There are no words to describe the devastation and the eventual emptiness the loss of a child can leave behind. I've known mothers who have lived this experience and now I fully understand. It's not a club one wants to belong to, nor is it a club that seeks new members. We'd rather you didn't join. Even though I wasn't there at the very beginning of her journey, I was there to prepare her for her final journey, that she was radiant, that she would "always be young, always be beautiful." That daughter was also a mother, and now as I watch her sons grow up without her, and remember my last moments with her, I realize that I, too, inspired her to say, "Oh, I am my mother!" 

In closing, regardless of whatever may have happened between birth and the day we looked at a stray digital photo and said, “Oh, wait! That’s a picture of ME! I thought it was my mom!,” one thing is certain: We are all shaped into who we are as women because of our mothers, no matter what the relationship may be. Some of us have spent every day of our lives with our mothers. Others were adopted, or separated from their mothers due to divorce or death or other circumstances. Be proud of those traits you’ve picked up, either consciously or unconsciously, and remember those special women on their day this month. Without them, you wouldn’t be reading (or listening to) this column, and I wouldn’t be writing it!

THANKS TO ALL THOSE MOTHERS OUT THERE!! YOU ARE LOVED!!

OCTOBER 4, 1997: That Guy, Part II

OCTOBER 4, 1997

Mena, Arkansas. 

I woke up that morning, around 9, maybe? I sat at the breakfast table at my parents' house, the house where I grew up, across from my dad. I think I was enjoying a cup of coffee with him. Maybe I had something to eat? I was wearing jeans and a plaid flannel shirt, I think.

My sister Liz was there, or was she at a hotel? With Steve, Haley, and Courtney? She and Mom were bustling around, doing things. I think Mom drove me to the beauty shop where Teena Brown would do my hair. That salon was where Books N Stuff is now. 

Funny. I had my hair done in what is now the Paranormal Romance section. 

I had this Xerox copy of a book cover with me. 

Well, of course I was going to have a Princess Leia hairdo for my wedding, just like hers was to wed Han Solo. (At least according to THAT timeline.)

DUH.

I didn't have the diamond tiara but I did have a pretty little strand of white silk flowers, seed pearls, and sequins. Still have that, too. 

Teena pulled my hair into a French twist and placed the flowers across the top. She hosed it all down with a ton of hair spray and Dad picked me up to drive me to the First United Methodist Church on 9th Street.

It was a beautiful day. Blue sky, slight cool breeze. The leaves on the tall oaks in Janssen Park were just starting to turn, a slight tinge of yellow on the edges.

There was already activity going on at the church. Shelton Bohlman had already brought the two large candelabras, the candles, and the flowers: asters, daisies, tiny mums. Preparations for the reception were going on in the kitchen and the fellowship hall.

Dad helped me carry my "stuff" in to the Bill Spencer Sunday School Room right across from the choir closet and the hall telephone hanging on the wall. And there I sat. All alone, for the rest of the morning.

I found this rather amusing at the time. I'd waited for this day all my life, as all women do, thinking for a long time it would never come, and thinking that day: "This 'pre-game' show seems kinda anti-climactic" compared to the countless times I'd seen it depicted in films. Sure, I could hear activity outside the door, but my room was rather quiet. No panic over dark pink nail polish and broken champagne glasses (Steel Magnolias). No painkiller induced grogginess due to female issues (Sixteen Candles) and I'm sure there are other tragically silly cinematic wedding moments.

(By the way, my nails had already been done earlier in the week, at the big nail salon in the Texarkana Mall, which is still in business today. They were a lovely mauve color.) 

I quietly did my makeup. Got into my wedding attire. I don't even remember anyone coming in to check on me until I poked my head out to have Mom or Liz come zip me up. I may have even just done that myself.

I didn't mind the quiet time I had that morning. I don't do well in chaos as it is. And I wasn't even nervous. Cold feet didn't even cross my mind. I already "felt" married. The "big" wedding ceremony just seemed like a formality.

Or a "dog and pony show" as Brother Crooks called it at the rehearsal the night before. Thanks a lot.

My soon-to-be father-in-law came in with Mom and Dad to take the obligatory bride prep photos: Mom placing her authentic Castilian lace mantilla over the Princess Leia hairdo; Dad placing the garter. Then it was time!

As I was getting ready to walk down the hallway to the front door, Pastor Davis Thompson, who was pastor at FUMC when I was in between graduation and job hunting a few years before and was a tremendous help to me trying to "find myself", call the hall phone to ask what time the wedding started so he could be there.

"In 5 minutes," I replied.

"It's at one?"

"Yeah."

Oops, well, he wasn't going to make it from Hope or Benton or wherever he was at that time, but he wished us well. When I hung up I could hear strains of "With You I'm Born Again" by Billy Preston and Syreeta, played on the piano by Kay Mannon. I took Dad's arm and off we went, out onto the front porch and back into the sanctuary.

I wasn't sure how the opening of the ceremony looked until we viewed the video months later. Uncle John seated his sister Wanda, my mother-in-law. Cousin Quentin, aka Cue Ball, seated Mom. I gave a hug to my friend Claudia who was manning the guestbook in the foyer, with her daughter by her side. I cannot remember the daughter's name.

The music from the opening credits of the film Ladyhawke, by Alan Parsons, played while Tiffany lit all those candles on the candelabras. The song is three minutes long and it synced perfectly. She lit the last candle as the final notes died away.

Cassie went forth and strew flower petals. Kattie carried the rings on a small white pillow that Mom had made. Then Liz walked down as Matron of Honor, then Kay Mannon started the traditional wedding march from Wagner's Lohengrin.

And there was Han Solo, with his perfect smile and ponytail, at the altar, with his best man/son Danny by his side.

The "dog and pony show" only lasted about 10 minutes. Traditional vows right out of the Methodist hymnal, a unity candle (which lasted until about 2011)...I read Matthew Arnold's "Longing." (First heard on the show Beauty and the Beast. The one with Linda Hamilton and Ron Perlman.) Rings, kiss...Papaw Ron snapping photos all the while. And it all took place in the same place we'd officially met a little over a year before during Vacation Bible School, July '96. There's a guitar story there...

And as Mr. and Mrs. Donald L. Riddle walked back up the aisle, the Star Wars Throne Room Theme played. 

The reception was a blur...because we had a plane to catch. In Little Rock. Three hours away. But we had cake, and punch, the usual. For Don's angel food groom's cake, adorned by 12" replicas of (again) Han Solo and the Princess, Don reached into his long black coat and pulled out a toy retractable light saber to "cut" it.

Laughter ensued. I had no idea he'd been carrying it around all this time.

I think I got to eat one small plate of thumbprint cookies, baklava, coconut bon bons, and mixed nuts, as well as a piece of cake - chocolate with white icing, of course - and my favorite pineapple punch, all before I went to change into my peach crepe getaway dress. The guests gathered on the front porch, I tossed my mini-bouquet...have no idea who caught it. Maybe Carol? My student from McGehee who was going to be staying with the girls while we were gone. Don tossed the garter, or the "substitute" one rather. The "official" one, the "something blue" one belonged to Mom and has been passed down for most of the Lee side brides. Don't know who caught that either.

We hopped into a minimally decorated Chrysler Cirrus and off to Little Rock we fled. Mom told us later that the party went on for a while, long after we'd left. Somewhere there are folders full of pictures taken by disposable Kodak cameras that were set out on various tables around the fellowship hall. I'll have to see if I can find them.

I don't think we even stopped until we got to the airport. We got on the plane as soon as they started to board (this was LONG before TSA made flying, or preparing to fly, so tedious) and since it was our wedding day, they upgraded us to first class.

So, so, soooo cool. Even with the Princess Leia hairdo full of birdseed.

We flew to Dallas first, and had a 2 hour layover, so we ate appetizers in the Applebee's there at DFW. We got to San Francisco around midnight. The car we rented was a 1997 Chrysler Sebring convertible - it was awesome. We stayed at the Grant Plaza Hotel in Chinatown, another bit of awesomeness. I did get a photo of the stained glass skylight in the entryway. The whole place looks very different now.

San Francisco was amazing. We drove a little of 101, toured the Presidio, drove across the Golden Gate Bridge, walked through the Muir Woods, ate at a deli in Sausalito, drove Lombardy Street, ate at a Chinese restaurant...in Chinatown...ate seafood at Fisherman's Wharf, and had our portrait drawn by a street artist. We didn't get to tour Alcatrazz because it was closed for repairs at the time. I bought T-shirts, kept the one with the Chinese symbols on it for many years, and bought embroidered slippers, which I still have.

We rode the streetcars, drove right up to the Transatlantic Pyramid building...we were driving down the street and suddenly there it was, right in front of us. I looked up and went, "Oh! There it is!" We drove by the Palace of Fine Arts. We walked into a music store in Haight-Ashbury, me wearing a black cat suit, a long black coat, and the leather biker cap I'd just bought at a thrift store there; Don was wearing Wranglers, a banded collar shirt and a brown sportscoat. Two homeless guys thought he looked familiar. 

"Aren't you Randy Travis?"

"No, he's Travis Tritt. Hey, y'all!! That's Travis Tritt!"

People started to gather and follow us...so...we left. Running across the street to get back in the car, quick!

On the last full day before flying home, we went to get in the car, in a secure parking garage, mind you, only to discover someone had cut a hole in the soft top, and stole our video camera out of the trunk. Luckily, the tape inside it was just footage of us driving 101, the wedding video was safe at home. So we spent the morning filing police reports and turning the car back in to the rental company, and getting another one. A Chevrolet? Honda? Don't remember. It was black. Not the greatest way to spend the last full day of your honeymoon but we did have the afternoon and that night. We had dinner at the Cliff House Inn overlooking the ocean. Incidentally, when Nana and Papaw McChristian passed away, I found an old paperweight of the Cliff House among their belongings. We hung out at a cool little bar called Zeki's. I doubt it's still there.

We crammed a lot of activity into just three days.

The only sad aspect of that entire wedding day, was that it was also the same day the Richardson's of McGehee laid their son, Gary, to rest. He had collapsed after a football practice only four days prior. The first student I ever lost in such a manner. Heartbreaking. The Owls went on to play in the State Championship that season. They didn't win, but they made up for it in '98. When they DID win. We were in Los Alamos, New Mexico by then, but we heard all about it!

Our flight back to Dallas was somewhat dramatic. We ran into bad weather over Oklahoma and I thought, "Great. I'm finally married and we're gonna die in a plane crash. Over Oklahoma. Ugh!!"

But we made it back to McGehee, all in one piece.

And the rest...is history. 

THIS IS RC

  This is RC. He is 14 years old. He first came to our house (loft apartment) in 2008. He was a stray in downtown Texarkana; not a kitten but slightly older, that we'd seen lurking around near the Dowd Building were the Groovetones used to rehearse. Don couldn't get him to come to him, but one of our daughters did, while we were on vacation in New Orleans and she was watching the dogs. She went out to walk them one day, saw this orange cat, took the dogs back in, and when she went back down to get the cat, he was sitting right by the Texas Boulevard door, ready to come in. He was done with being outside, and just made himself at home. He's pretty much been an inside cat ever since.

This daughter wanted to name him "Carrot," but he had this loud, grating purr you could hear all the way across the room. I was thinking he was more of a "Rusty," and not just his color - he sounded like a rusty motorboat. So...Rusty Carrot?

He was also extremely friendly and cuddly. When I took him to Dr. Martin's in DeQueen to get "fixed," I officially named him "RC." It suits him perfectly. When I picked him up the next day, they told me he was the friendliest cat they'd ever had in there.

He's a real "people person." Or cat, rather.

He's also a "cat's cat." He was a big mentor to all the othe felines who joined the family afterward. Tempi, his brother from another mother, Sophie the Weirdo, and Ingrid the Hutt, all fell under his tutelage.

Anyway...

All of our cats are indoor cats. After we moved to The Plantation, there were a couple of RC escapades out into the world, if a door wasn't shut soon enough. The sneaky bastard usually leaped the fence and slipped through a broken window in our neighbor's basement. (It has since been repaired under new ownership.) He would also ease through an opening underneath that same house. I can remember trying to herd him out of there numerous times. But he'd always come back. He'd be on the back steps or the front porch ready to come back in. He would ALWAYS come back. I guess he still had some of those downtown street smarts because he never ventured farther, and he always knew there was food out on the front porch for the feral cats. And the possums and the raccoons... Good motivator, food.

Let me also mention he's quite good at hiding indoors. I always do a "cat check" before we go anywhere, and once before a New Orleans trip, we couldn't find him anywhere. He was behind the TV cabinet in the living room. Just chillin'. 

Dude. Seriously?

He and Sophie are now relegated to the upstairs porch. They go in and out of a cat door, and have the luxury of both comfortable beds inside and sunny patches to lie in outside. They are separated from the downstairs areas by a makeshift barrier at the top of the front staircase. They have no access to any outside entrances.

Since Tempi died in February, RC has somehow mysteriously managed to get outside, not once but TWICE. At his age, (and weight - he's always been a big, chonky boy), there's NO WAY he could jump or climb from the second-story porch without hurting himself. We don't think that's what he's doing. All the sudden, he's just...not in the house. But we fill the food bowl, watch the front porch security cameras, and when we see him, we go get him and bring him in.

Well, however...last Saturday, RC decided to dodge the housesitter at some point. Don was in Forrest City with me, and then I went to Conway for a couple of days. When we were told he was missing, we monitored cameras all night Thursday and didn't see him. I contacted our neighbor, Cristy, who lives in the house with the previously broken window and she said he'd been on her porch on Wednesday. Her boys wanted to pet him but he wouldn't let them. This was good news because he hadn't shown on the cameras since Sunday, upon reviewing recordings. I knew he was still around. I had every confidence he was.

I returned to Forrest City from Conway and Don decided to go back to Texarkana earlier than he'd planned so he could cat herd. Just as he was pulling into town, I got a message from Cristy that RC was in her yard. She even sent a photo. When Don got to the house, RC was on the back steps ready to come in. And was quite vocal about it, as most orange tabbies are about everything. He's very talkative. He was either happy to be back in or mad he didn't get in sooner. I'm sure he totally blames us.

I've been told Sophie was not particularly happy about any of this either. She berated RC most of the night, so much so that he was hiding from her in Don's wardrobe, trying to be as quiet as possible. She eventually climbed in there with him, because they're pretty bonded since Tempi's gone. Maybe he's looking for Tempi, who got very sick all of a sudden, was taken to the vet, and didn't come home except in his little cat-shaped urn that sits on the nightstand in the guest room. He may have been attempting to live out some of his early adventurous outdoor days, but I don't think that worked out so well.

In conclusion, for almost two days we were a little anxious about this disappearance because we were both far away and neither of us could get home sooner to find him. Luckily, we had good people helping out in our absence. RC has lived much longer with us than he would have as a downtown stray. When his time comes, he deserves his own urn on the mantle with Jack, Kongol, Ted, and his best buddy Tempi. Also, that daughter who brought him to us, who wanted to call him "Carrot", is Cassie Riddle. He's technically her cat. Her son Gabriel loves him best out of all the Riddle Cats. They even like to FaceTime each other.

He may be just a cat, but he's a pretty important one. And he better keep his butt in the house.

New Adventures

Hello, Younglings. And other interested parties.

Yes. I brought all those CDs home. They've been in my work office for almost two decades. At one point my entire music collection (45s, LPs, 8-tracks, cassettes, CDs) were in my work office. Then the CDs were in an office that wasn't my office anymore.

On Friday, August 27 (E's birthday!), I brought them home. Now they're in the library. My other media (the LPs, etc.) are in storage.

And here's why:

After 18 years, I am saying goodbye to UACossatot. 

(NOTE: This almost reads like my CV, so...sorry.)

I started my career in higher ed there in 2003. I had two teenage daughters, a husband, three cats, two dogs, and a turtle. I taught Spanish and Music. I taught Spanish for the Upward Bound program. I taught Spanish for the Workplace at Husqvarna in Nashville. I taught Success Strategies at one point. I taught Music, Spanish, and Employment Strategies online. I taught Music in the AV classrooms. Then I taught Intro to Education and Technology for Teaching. I taught on all three campuses: DeQueen, Nashville, and Ashdown. I taught at 8 o'clock in the morning. I taught until 9 o'clock at night.

I served on committees: Assessment, Disabilities, Distance Learning, which I chaired for five years. I was on Academic Council, Leadership Team (as it was called at that time), and the Accreditation Team. 

For a brief period, I was the Director of Distance Learning.

I moved offices 11 times.

I went through two Leadership Programs, local and state. I served on the Arkansas Community Colleges Conference Board. I went to conferences in Austin, Hot Spring, Little Rock, Chicago, Las Vegas, New Orleans, Detroit, and Overland Kansas. I even presented at some.

I got a PhD. Was nominated for Dissertation of the Year in 2013.

All while raising children, grandchildren, and playing in one of the most successful bands in the region. Plus being a partner in the largest concert production company in the region.

We played Collinfest, Alleyfest, Lum and Abner Days, Pink Tomato Festival, Pine Tree Festival, StarDaze, New Boston Pioneer Days, Dino Days. Conventions for BMI. Clubs in Hochatown, Fort Smith, Ruston, Monroe, Texarkana, Hot Springs, Pine Bluff, El Dorado, Temple and Killeen, Texas. The Peabody (as it was known at the time) in Little Rock. We opened for Joan Jett, Little River Band, Doug Stone, Steve Azar, Jack Ingrahm, Earl Thomas Conley, and a lot of other people I can remember now. We closed for Shenandoah.

I published an essay. And two novels.

We moved twice. Lived in a loft. Bought our dream home. Made several trips out west and to New Orleans. Went to Spain. Gained 7 more grandchildren. Grandparents died. Uncles and other relatives died. We gained a daughter and three sons-in-law. There were marriages and divorces.

Poppa Don retired. We sold the production company. There was a pandemic.

Then we lost a daughter. Forever. That's when things began to shift.

I'd been casting my net for awhile, long before tragedy struck the family. I still had career goals. She wouldn't have wanted me to stop trying. Like everything else in life, I "took it to the Lord in prayer," and even though I don't understand what He's doing most of the time, He put things into motion when they needed to be.

I have been offered the position of Dean of General Education at East Arkansas Community College in Forrest City, and I'm taking it. I've been teaching there as an online adjunct for over a year now and have thoroughly enjoyed it. Now I will be part of their team on a full-time basis. 

This is an opportunity I cannot afford to pass up, and...it's time. To move forward professionally and personally. It's ironic that I should (possibly) finish my career in Eastern Arkansas just like I began over in McGehee back in 1996. What days those were (see previous blog about "That Guy".) And I still have the greatest partner with me, who has supported me in every aspect, all the way across the country and back.

We will still maintain the Plantation...Oops, I'm sorry...the House Formerly Known as The Plantation. It was meant to be our retirement home, and will remain so. Poppa Don will be its caretaker, as well as for the menagerie of pets that reside there. I've lucked out and lined up a great place to rent only two miles from my new campus. One that met all of my ideal criteria: Month-to-month, furnished, utilities paid, covered parking, and I can bring Sharky and Ingrid. I've discovered when you need lodging quickly, always call the church. This is the fourth time in my life that option has been beneficial. Another reason I believe this was meant to be - it just fell into place very easily.

Serendipity.

I am excited for this new phase in my life, but I'm sad because I loved my job at Cossatot. I have made many friends there over the years and I will miss them terribly. But that's the great thing about social media - I'll still see these friends when they post: their accomplishments, their recreational activities, their children and grandchildren. They are like family to me and were so good to us last spring. Many of them knew those two youngest daughters from their years in DeQueen High School and their time in classes at Cossatot, where Cassie received her Associate of Arts Degree. 

There's a lot of connection there, and honestly, there are days when it's hard to be in DeQueen, with so many memories made when Kaytea and Cassie were starting high school and junior high respectively. Cross country and track meets. Cheerleading. Pageants. All sorts of activities. It's hard to drive by Leopard stadium, or even the 9th street intersection that goes to our old house on Circle Drive. It's not every day but there are moments and I have to push it aside and get through it. Even TJ's parking lot holds a special honor. (HAHAHAHA!)

It's bittersweet to say the least, but we need to keep moving forward. I know someone who would insist and be proud. You've got one life, rise up and live it, she says.

So hold on to your hat, y'all! Sit back and enjoy the ride!