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!

Home Decor and Birthday Flowers

I am not blessed with the Home Decor gene. My house is filled with kitschy pop culture junk, stacks and stacks of books, and guitars. The only saving grace is my grandmother's paintings and my husband's outstanding photography. Otherwise, the theme is basically Salvation Army meets Entertainment Tonight circa 1985.

But I had to create a flower arrangement. It's a very special flower arrangement for a very unique birthday celebration. There's no color scheme or special theme. It's totally random: We walked into Hobby Lobby and I said, "Luke, pick out whatever flowers you want for your mom."

So....

We had to get sunflowers of course; they're her favorite. Luke picked a large yellow cabbage rose and a pink rosebud. The Colonel chose purple hydrangeas. I found some Shastas and an iris. We just picked what we thought was pretty. (And they were all half-price that day!) 

We decided to get a big ceramic pot to put them in. We needed ribbon - Luke insisted on green, her favorite color. The ribbon needed little gold stick-on letters and I couldn't find them. 

Ah! There's an employee I can ask. An employee who was quite obviously having the worst day of her life because she wasn't the cheeriest individual I'd ever encountered and she was almost positive there were no such things as little gold stick-on letters...

Dude.... we're in Hobby Lobby.

I just said "thank you" and found them myself right next to where I'd looked the first time, about 10 feet from where we were standing.

By the way, Suzy Sourpuss, I can assure you that whatever was stuck in your craw that day wasn't as bad as you thought. I've lived through the worst day of my life. If I can survive the reason I'm buying these silk flowers, I'm pretty sure you're gonna be okay. At least I hope so. 

Anyway....

All these materials we gathered sat on my dining table for almost two weeks. One, because, like I said, I'm not adept at flower arranging, and Two, it was just hard. I don't have to explain why. I thought I might have Luke assist me, but he was busy enjoying his Halloween costume (already) and flowers are, after all, "girl stuff". The Colonel helped me though, four days before its debut, and he did very well. He even bought some extra accoutrements to complete the final product. 

It looks great. A fitting birthday bouquet.

We placed it first thing in the morning on this August 20th. It was a little cloudy out and it wasn't even hot. The night before I knew I needed a song to play - and Bob Marley just seemed the one to speak to me.

Three Little Birds

It was one of her favorites, and y'know, if there was someone who really had something to worry about it was our Cassie. But even on those days when she had to be up at the crack of dawn to have Gabriel at the hospital, she always looked her best; she'd fix her hair and wear a dress or skirt... and a smile. She had to stay upbeat to assure both her boys that "every little thing was gonna be all right". 

"The" photo, with the coffee cup and the chipped black nail polish, was all about smiling:

"Everyday I practice smiling.. And even more so if I'm upset. I'm hoping by making that facial expression I can ignite something inside to keep my head up. When I start down that negative thought path I'll find a mirror and try to smile. Yes I said "try" because honestly it takes a little while to pull my mouth into a smile some days.. It might sound cheesy, but sometimes it's the simple things that can make a difference."

#smile #nevergiveup #headabovewater

That's why I tried to smile when those birthday memories came up in my news feed. I had a moment where I couldn't smile at all after I went for coffee once The Colonel was on the road for the Wild West and I had to pull myself together at the traffic light at 71 and 7th Street. Then I went about my day, helping my parents clean out their cabin to get it ready for new owners. A cabin full of extra home decor by the way, because the other women in my family have the gene for that. It totally skipped me, but I think I did okay on the birthday flowers after all. Now I have another pink Christmas tree and a braided rug in my car. And two more of Mamaw's small paintings. 

And hopefully, back at Hobby Lobby, Suzy Sourpuss is finding a reason to smile. Because despite it all, there will always be one, even if you're not the greatest decorator.

The Winds of March

 

NOTE: I started this blog on Thursday, March 18, 2021. It’s almost a live document, with the continuing changes I’ve made to it since. The public will get this shorter version. The “Director’s Cut” will be strictly for me privately.

You are my child

You came like the morning light

With all your love in your eyes....

                "Winds of March"

                Infinity, Journey

The outpouring of support for this family has been monumental. Despite the horrific events of the last two months, our cup truly doth runneth over.

People want to help. Ask what they can do. "If you need us, call us." Hundreds of people. After a year of being isolated, you begin to think you're alone in the world.

Not so.

Such is the impact of one young woman in just thirty years. From that six-year-old little girl who, upon her first sleepover at my house in 1996, curled up next to a nightlight saying, "This is like my own little campfire" to an amazing 30-year-old who carried her handicapped son on her back as she walked down our back steps for the last time.

"I love you, Mom!"

We were planning to go to Boston and Salem. To go through the overflow of dishes and bakeware in the kitchen. Plan a new social media marketing strategy to sell more books. We had PLANS. Lots and lots of plans. The past was gone, the future was bright. Our youngest daughter was happy and in high spirits, and not just because she'd finished off almost an entire bottle of Andre Extra Dry champagne with pineapple juice pretty much by herself the night before. There were about two fingers left in the bottle the next morning. I should have let her have it all.

None of us were ready for this. No one ever is.

Everyone handles grief in their own way, and none of those are wrong. Societal and cultural norms may suggest differently, but in the long run, you should be able to express this emotion however you please.

Blast it on social media? Go ahead. Run through the streets screaming? Have at it. Shut down and hide in a closet? Knock yourself out. As long as you don't hurt anyone, or yourself, it's fair. Totally fair.

Over time I've discovered I'm more stoic. In public. I can break down in private later. I guess it's because I know there are things to be done: phone calls, funeral arrangements, traveling...are phones charged? Is there gas in the car? Did everyone eat? Et cetera....

I posted that I refer to films, books, and music for comfort. I'm reminded of Princess Leia: "We've no time for our sorrows, Commander." What she didn't say was: "Even though my father and his evil cronies blew up my home planet, cut off my brother's hand, and froze my future husband, I gotta keep my shit together so I can beat the Empire's ass." If that's not a role model, I don't know what is. It's probably why Cassie named her son Luke, who now needs all the positive energy the Force can provide.

We never see Leia's breakdown until the very end of the saga, when she realizes her son is gone.

Maybe my pragmatism comes from Scarlett O'Hara, another name bestowed on one of my granddaughters. Scarlett (in the novel) may have been the selfish anti-heroine, but she's another one who had to hold it together for everybody else. There was a war going on, her home was destroyed, her mother died, her father went crazy, her invalid sister-in-law barely survived childbirth, the man she thought she loved was unreliable, and she was such a bitch to the man who truly loved her he up and decided he didn't give a damn.

Scarlett lost a child, too. Her most beloved. And now we know that pain as well. We didn't want to know that, but we have no choice now.

We had a fantastic visit with Cassie the weekend before. I wasn't sure what time she was getting in and I stayed up as late as I could that Thursday, but I did see her when she got there. She hugged me and said "Good night." 

I worked from home that next Friday morning so I could stay with the boys while she and her dad went to yoga together. Luke slept in, Gabriel just played a game on his tablet.

She went with me to, ironically, CVS. I was wearing my KISS t-shirt and some guy said, "Great shirt." At first we didn't know what he was talking about, then I remembered what I was wearing. We went to the grocery store and I was introducing her to my symphonic goth metal. She liked Within Temptation's Sharon den Adel's voice. I think "Angels" was the song. I was buying ingredients for my homemade spaghetti sauce. (When I sent her a picture of the recipe that night, she said, "You know it's a good one when your mom sends it to you and there are grease spots and tomato sauce splatters all over it!")

She came prancing up the pasta aisle carrying a plush gnome with rabbit ears. "It's for Dad and all his other garden gnomes!" I ALMOST said no...doing the Mom thing...

"Put it in the cart."

It's still sitting in the foyer.

That afternoon everyone napped but I stayed in my office and worked on my new book. Somehow just having her in the house made creating a lot easier. I really enjoyed that afternoon. At dinner, we ate spaghetti, drank wine, and talked conspiracy theories.

On Saturday, after we took each of the boys for a quick trip up to the next corner on the Spyder, she told me about how she thought her house was haunted. I'm thinking maybe there was just an electrical short in the bathroom light and that Gabriel's bedroom door latch just doesn't catch, but she was convinced there were spooks. Well...okay then.

She ordered three MEDIUM pizzas that night to feed 5 kids and 4 adults. "I thought they were bigger..." she'd said. But that ended up like loaves and fishes: everyone ate their fill and we even had some leftover. I kept the receipt.

Later on that evening, she walked into the kitchen carrying one of the neighborhood feral cats. "Is this one of y'all's cats??"

"MEOW!" squealed the rather distraught feline.

"Cassie! Put that cat back outside!"

She went to the back door and it leapt from her arms, dashing across the courtyard.

"Oh no!" Cassie squealed. "Mistakes were made! Run away! Run away!"

We spent the evening around the picnic table, talking, laughing, drinking, imparting sage advice to both her and her best friend Summer. We were able to catch all of this on our security camera video; her coming in and out of the back door, full of her usual energy. We had custard eggs for breakfast the next morning, and I sent her off with a big mug of coffee. 

She hugged our necks and told us she loved us. And we watched her drive away, ready to take her boys to their dads for Spring Break and enjoy a week of peace and quiet. She looked like she singing along with the radio, or chattering with the boys. It's a little hard for me to look out that back door through the crepe myrtles now, where the car zipped up 17th Street.

Did God know? That that would be the last time? Those last four days at our house? I've always prayed for the Lord to "fix" the things that make my children struggle or for those times when they need guidance. There's a line in "Amadeus" where Salieri asks, "What was God up to?" That's where I'm at right now. I know He has a plan but this seems like a pretty crummy one. Not my will but Thine. I really don't know what to think about that.

And like Scarlett O'Hara, "I'll think about that tomorrow."

There are 5 remaining siblings. They have all reacted differently but with an equal amount of sorrow. The story of how I became a mother to four of those is for another time, but I am devastated to see them hurting so badly, to hear their sobs as I hold them. To watch as Cassie's light fades, their youngest sister - the track star, the straight A student, the single mother who fought the hard fight when Gabriel was born and still managed to raise a fine strong son in Luke, who is probably now the bravest young soul I know, candidly telling stories about his mom to her friends and family who came from far and wide to celebrate her life.

I felt it was my job to make sure her going-away party was an event worthy of her spirit. Beautiful, but not too ostentatious. It wasn’t easy writing that last biography, trying to sum up my youngest daughter’s life on just one page. It wasn’t easy planning her service, but I knew she’d want it short and to the point, with pictures and music and that outstanding sermon from Brother Ron Tilley; her favorite quote from Terry Goodkind and the announcement of her nicknames. (We were just glad he didn’t mention THAT nickname.)

Tiffany and I picked out her dress, one with beautiful embroidery. I made sure her hair was styled properly and her makeup flawless. She was in high style to take one last pole-vault jump into the sky, with mismatched socks on her feet, her last ride covered with pink roses and purple carnations, that seemed to fall out of the spray on their own. We figured she was choosing flowers for her future garden.

I've told my husband, her father, that once this is over, he can take off on a motorcycle ride as long as he wants to. To find peace out on the open road, feel the wind and reach out to run his hand over the amber waves of grain. Take pictures of the night sky and sleep under the stars next to his own little campfire. Listen to the stories of the ancient bristlecone pines, and just...be.

I'll stay home and pet cats. Walk dogs. Play music as loud as I want and write my stories. I’ll have that quiet moment to read her text from my last birthday and previous Mother’s Days; fall all to pieces and put myself back together again. Try to fill this huge hole that's gaping open. Fill it up with living until we get to the end of the tunnel where that golden girl, Lady ToughBreed, will be waiting for us with everyone else who has gone before. And will possibly have a workout regimen for us all to start on, toot suite.

Live our lives for those two fantastic boys she gave us. Strong Master Luke and the Angel Gabriel. Regale them with stories of the Bony Refugee and everything they meant to her, and what she meant to us. And I'll definitely think about that not only tomorrow, but every day thereafter.

In the Jewish faith as well as Victorian tradition, it’s customary to mourn a year and a day. Now I understand why. This is the first Mother’s Day without her, for me, the family, and especially her boys. It will be the first 4^th of July, Halloween (she loved Halloween), Thanksgiving, Christmas. Everyone’s birthdays. HER birthday. I know the “seconds” won’t be any easier but those firsts will be hard. Today was hard. It’s all hard and still doesn’t make a lot of sense. It still doesn’t seem real, as I look through pictures and memories and find things that belonged to her or gifts she gave us, like this little gold owl that sits on my home office desk right next to Master Yoda. She’s not here but yet she is.

So....

For those who continue to ask, “What can I do?” Do this: Hug your children and tell them you love them. Take a picture when you say goodbyes. No one cares what your hair looks like, or what you’re wearing – they’re just glad you’re THERE. Cherish every moment. And NEVER forget the good times, like these "blast from the past" pictures with all of my kids:

I want to say Happy Mother’s Day to all mothers of all kinds, and extend an all-encompassing thank you to everyone who has experienced this journey with us. Your kindness, prayers, and friendships have meant the world to us. And to two little boys who must remember how much their mother loved them, and how much she was loved by so many.

 

And I still believe in the good
And I still believe in the light
And I wanna feel the sun
I wanna free you tonight
And I still believe in the good
And I still believe in the light
And I wanna feel the sun
I wanna free you tonight

                "Into the Light"

                The Dream, In This Moment