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!

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

So Long, 2019

Younglings:

I don't normally do the "end of the year" rundown thing, but I kinda want to this year, because 2019 was a bit of a roller coaster ride.

On January 1, we were gearing up to take a motorcycle ride and my shoulder did "that thing" again. I was just putting on a motorcycle jacket. Geez. So I thought, "Well, that's a fine how-do-ya-do to kick the year off." But I have a friend with muscle relaxers and so I just went back to bed. Thanks, Glenn Smith.

February - I turned 50 on the 5th. Not really that devastating. I had a great birthday party with Poppa Don, Memaw and Poppa Bill, and one of my best friends in the whole world, Christine, at a restaurant owned by one of my best classmates, Jason, from Mena. The food was great, Mom made me a chocolate cake with white coconut icing (as is customary), and all was right with the world.

Then Poppa Don took me on a surprise vacation. I had no idea where we were going until we got to the airport. I thought they'd dropped us at the wrong terminal; Poppa Don kept telling me we were flying American, so...why are we at the Lufthansa gate? That's because we went to SPAIN. THE SPAIN. The one I studied for a year and a half to get my Spanish language teaching license. It was phenomenal - my first trip overseas. The trip of a lifetime.

We had spent three days in Madrid, Barcelona, Segovia, Toledo, Salamanca, and Avila - then I wake up in the middle of the night to a Facebook message telling me my best friend, who'd been at my birthday party, had died of complications from the flu. The next morning we toured the Prado but we had to go back to the room so I could break down. I was on this trip of a lifetime and my best friend has died. On Valentine's Day. She hated Valentine's Day. LOL. I didn't know quite how to handle that. She'd be appalled at the Valentine's Day stuff that's already in the stores here in December.

A few weeks later we went to Alabama for her memorial service, where her brother had asked me to speak. Again, it was not easy, but her family and I shared some wonderful memories, and I know she's up there, petting all the cats. I also made a new friend - Christine's friend Carla from when they were in junior high together, before Christine moved to Mena. When we came home, Poppa Don bought a new motorcycle. Alrighty then!

Later on that spring there were some changes made to my job. Changes I'm not so happy about, but I get it. I won't dwell on that.

In May, we went to Georgia to watch Number One, Kobe, graduate from high school. What a party! Mackenzie graduated, too, on the same day, but it's kinda hard to be on Atlanta and Indianapolis at the same time. We spoke to Kenzie and Nathan via FaceTime on Christmas Day and it was so nice to "see" them.

Both Papaw and Great Great Grandma had medical issues during the summer, and later on during the fall. Luckily, they came through each and are doing much better. Memaw and Poppa Bill are doing very well, and I'm grateful for that.

Poppa Don sold Westark Concerts and is now officially retired. We took a trip to New Orleans and had a great time as always. School started again for me and I was back into the routine. We got the rest of the floors in the Plantation refinished and the house looks amazing. 

In September, I went to see KISS for the first (and last) time. Wow. Worth every dime. I went to Detroit, Michigan for the first time and even wandered into Windsor, Ontario for about 15 minutes. Beauty, eh? Then I went to see Heart and Joan Jett (third time for both) and they were phenomenal as usual. Heart kicked off the show with "Rockin' Heaven Down" (coincidence???) and Ann's vocals on "Mistral Wind" - absolutely sublime. It was almost like a religious experience. My trip to the VIP bar might have had something to do with that, but no matter. That was a show for die-hard Joan & Heart fans.

We went up to Fayetteville in October to hang out with Kaytea and Beau and watch the Cate Brothers' 50th Anniversary show at George's. Another really cool moment, despite the pinot grigio that tasted like soy sauce (!!!). Poppa Don and I were wandering around on Dickson Street afterward and ate burritos from a food truck. We enjoyed it so much we're going to do that again in March when the Cates do an encore show. That same day, however, we went to Sallisaw to remember Uncle Alvie, who passed over into the next world doing what he loved - hunting elk in the beautiful San Juan Mountains of Colorado.

We had four of you Younglings (Bozo Boy, Seven, E, and Master Luke) at the house for Thanksgiving and that was fun. We had a Charlie Brown Thanksgiving and watched ALL the Star Wars movies in chronological order (and The Mandalorian) to prepare for Episode IX. We decided Baby Yoda is the coolest thing ever, in addition to the possum that visits our front porch and eats the food I put out for the feral cats, of which there are about four.

We continued to do more home improvements - we built a retaining wall around the front yard and took down the old picket fence. We installed some new "gadgets" (locks and gas logs) and will be doing even more touch-ups in 2020.

I wasn't in the Christmas spirit this year. Don't really know why. After fall commencement, we took off for the West in Garth Vader, Poppa Don's "new" FJ Cruiser. We saw lots of snow in Durango, ate some fantastic New Mexican food in Taos (I miss red sauce!), shopped in Santa Fe. (I especially like my jackalope). On the way home, we stayed in Denison to watch Episode IX. I loved it, as I enjoy all Star Wars films. My opinions about the "toxic fans" - save for another blog post, I will.

We celebrated Christmas in Mena with both sets of parents and fun was had by all. It turned out to be a really great Christmas. I got new clothes, a smartwatch, shoes, handmade bedspreads, candles, homemade soap, honey, wine, all kinds of cool stuff. The trip was awesome but it was good to come home to our beautiful house and our oddball menagerie of pets. 

But this morning I learned that I've lost another classmate, a man I've known all my life since we were little bitty kids in the Methodist Church at Mena. He used to bring Planet of the Apes action figures with him to Sunday School. My mom and his parents were friends for years. We were editors of the high school literary magazine together. We bought wrote for the school newspaper. He grew up and became Indiana Jones. No, really, he was an archaeologist. A real one. He had a lovely wife, two beautiful daughters, was always remodeling his house, made his own beer, ran marathons. I was hoping to see him at our next high school reunion but now he's gone. He was out running yesterday morning and was struck by a vehicle. He had just posted the other day about the Star Wars Holiday Special. I'm still dealing with Christine, and now Michael is gone, too. Both quite unexpectedly and way before their time.

What the $&%*^??

This is why I've begun to take LIFE more seriously, and put up with worthless horse puckey less and less. I don't worry about the things I can't do anything about. I blow off housework to read or write or do the things I enjoy. I'm going to ride my bike and go to yoga whenever I can. I WILL finish the other books floating around in my head. Do what you want to do NOW, Younglings - you don't even have to wait until a New Year starts.

Today Poppa Don and I rode Papaw's Indian trike over to Office Depot and the bookstore. I bought a latte and tipped the barista three dollars because her cash register wasn't working and she brought my coffee directly to me over at the main checkout. I bought a Lillian Jackson Braun book because Christine loved them and I've decided to collect them (and read them!) all in her honor. Later on I posted the picture of me and Michael as Robin Hood and Little John (respectively) from kindergarten graduation in 1975. This has also made me think of Tory and Darrin and Scotty and Ben and others we've lost from the class of '87.

I'm looking forward to spending a nice quiet New Year's Eve eating my favorite Chinese food, drinking my weekly ration of Coca-Cola, and watching whatever I want on TV because Amazon Firesticks are very, very cool. I'm glad I'm NOT playing a New Year's gig. I'll drink cheap champagne and my feet won't hurt at the end of the night. I'll say goodbye to the "Judge Roy Scream" (look that up if you don't know what that is) that was 2019 and hello to the new Roaring 20s - here's looking at you, kid. This is beginning of another beautiful decade.

9/11

Hello, Younglings. It's Patriot Day. And I'm going to tell you why.

September 11, 2001. It was a Tuesday. Kobe, Number One, was only 5 months old. Poppa Don and I were living in Sanford, Colorado. I was teaching high school Spanish and fifth through twelfth grade band.

I got up that day and went to school as usual, just two blocks down the street. Poppa Don was preparing to load up Clifford and head back to Arkansas to work a show; don't remember what that would have been. As I was starting the Spanish 1 class in my upstairs classroom, just before the bell rang, Poppa Don came by to say goodbye, and said when he stopped by the Sanford General Store he'd heard that a plane had crashed into one of the World Trade Center buildings. He wasn't sure if it as just an accident or a possible terrorist attack.
We were on Mountain Time, two whole hours behind Eastern Time, and weren't in the habit of turning on the TV first thing in the morning, so by that time I believe the first tower was starting to fall. He suggested just going about the day as usual, which I did, to not upset the students.

I didn't usually eat lunch in the cafeteria, but I went by there before going to the band hall. I remember a TV being on in there, but I didn't look at it. It was probably just showing a commercial or something similar. We still weren't really sure what was happening so school wasn't dismissed and I got home around three-thirty, and that's when I turned on the TV.

I was shocked. It was surreal, like watching some kind of action film. I remember talking to Memaw, either that night or the next day, and she said, "Where's Superman?" The buildings falling, dust everywhere, people jumping...it was horrifying. My cousin, Maurin, was working in DC at the time at a building site and saw the plane hit the Pentagon. She and her co-workers looked up and thought, "Wow, that plane's flying really low."

Out on the road, Poppa Don saw people lining up at the gas stations, fearing gas prices would go sky high and no one would be able to travel. He remembers the sky that day, clear and blue with no clouds, and no contrails since they'd grounded all air flights that day. How could something so tragic happen on such a beautiful day?

On top of all this, Sanford Schools suffered its own tragedy. A student named Chanci Espinoza, (she wasn't in my classes but I knew who she was), was riding her bike along one of the roads through town with her brother, who was in wheelchair with spina bifada, and a car came by and accidentally struck her. The sun had been in the driver's eyes and she had been difficult to see. I'm not sure if this happened on September 11 or the night before, but I recall someone saying that as Chanci lay in the hospital she mentioned how concerned she was for those in New York, DC, and Pennsylvania. Chanci didn't survive the accident, and we had a memorial service at the gymnasium that following Saturday.

When tragedies like 9/11 occur, and have such an impact on a nation as a whole, artists of all kinds turn to their creativity in order to cope, and to help others cope. I feel it is my obligation as a teacher of music to present some of these compositions to my students every year to commemorate that day, and to never forget.

This year, I have students who were merely infants during 9/11. I encourage them to talk to their parents and grandparents and learn their stories, because they WILL remember that day.

Though there are many to choose from, the two musical pieces I show are the following:

"Undivided"

Bon Jovi's "Undivided" from Bounce, 2003. I was going to grad school in Greeley and working at Hastings when this album dropped, and this was the opening song. I still have one of the promo posters we had in the store. This album was one of their best. (I really miss Richie Sambora.) I love the video. "Bring One Thing That Represents the Best in YOU." 

Watch the homeless man, Younglings.

The other is this:

"On the Transmigration of Souls"

"On the Transmigration of Souls," John Adams, an American composer my class will discuss later in the semester. This piece was commissioned by the New York Philharmonic and won the Pulitzer Prize for Music in 2003. I prefer this video, even though it isn't the entire piece, because it features pictures of what happened that day. The piece itself reminds me a lot of Charles Ives' "The Unanswered Question." Though heartbreaking to watch, it needs to be seen. I only show the first three minutes. Any more and I would fall to pieces.

I will have to do this again tomorrow for my AV class. In some ways I dread having to do it all again, but it's my duty as an educator to remind my students how important this day is, and how we must do everything in our power to keep it from happening again. Those were people who just got up and went to work that day in a nice, air-conditioned office to take care of regular, non-dangerous business. Or were just taking an average every day plane ride. And now they're gone, because four men learned to become pilots and flew planes into buildings. No bombs, no guns. Airplanes. And the day after, nobody cared about political parties or....whatever. They cared about each other and mourned the loss of their loved ones and people they didn't even know.

There's a quote from the movie "Starman" where Jeff Bridges' character says, "You are at your best, when things are worst."

Remember that, Younglings. #neverforget