What The Night Brings

I am loving the cool weather. But Spring has sprung and I am all to familiar with her waltz across Texas, over too soon like a Bob Wills ballad. Bluebonnets, Black Eyed Susans and me, will soon wilt under triple digit heat.

I lost another friend recently. He would drunk call me after wooing beach babes with his guitar at surf side pubs and bars. Forever young and full of fun. Forever a cool surfer dude.  Me, the forever night owl. I will miss those midnight texts followed by a call.  Full of melancholy and mischief he was the real deal.  I loved every minute of his crazy talk or the occasional serenade. A night owl can appreciate such things-things that go on after midnight in the moonlight while others slumber.

The sudden loss  full of change and uncertainty. It has been difficult for me to give up trying to understand. It is okay to let go and be comfortable in the not knowing. I think it is true youth is wasted on the young.

Most recently my energy is better spent paying attention to being authentic, genuine, real, bona fide. Have you ever noticied how many times you laugh at stuff you do not think is funny? I have made it a point to stop doing that. The result has caused me to be more mindful and worth the effort.
I do not have insomnia. I am a night owl. I always have been. I love animals and I like to fish but I don't like to catch anything. Because pulling that hook out of  tender flesh has got to hurt and the poor fish was just looking for a meal himself. I love dogs. I have a dog but he is huge and I think dogs should have a bed on the floor-in the house. Sofa's are for people. Just so you know the real me.
Be authentic. Be yourself. The world will adjust.
Time marches on. So it goes. kisses

My dog on my brown sofa. 

Worst Day of First Grade

The first Sunday of February 2019 will soon be dawning. Midnight fog will magically rise and transform into clouds.  Unlucky vapors too close to the ground melt into dew, forever earth bound.

I was in first grade in 1967. School was pretty confusing till about 6th grade but I do have a few vivid memories. About the worst occurred early one day before school started.
The first and second grade classrooms were in a big U with the gym and school offices in a separate building in front and an asphalt patio in the middle. Kids would arrive at school and run around on the asphalt till the bell rang when teachers materialized out of nowhere at the proper door.
One morning I was lolly gagging on the sidewalk waiting for Mrs. Townsend to appear when a boy from my class ran up to me. I do not remember his name but I can picture his face and hear his jibber jabber which made no sense. He acted like a feral child and probably needed to be in a special classroom. But here he was standing right in front of me. I shook my head and tried to tell him I didn't understand. When fast as a flash he grabbed the front of my dress and ripped it all the way open-from collar to hem.  Then proceeded to point, jumping up and down laughing, jibber jabbering like he was proud to violate me in such a manner. I was shocked and shaken, deeply humiliated and he left bloody scratches on my chest which hurt. A crowd gathered around us and a few of the boys joined in pointing and laughing. My 6 year old mind was racing.  I was trying my best to hold my dress together not knowing which way to turn. An adult finally stepped up and I will never forget, all she said was,  "Let's get you to the office. Maybe they can safety  pin your dress."
Pin up my dress?? As if it had casually spontaneously combusted!?   I wanted to disappear and never come back to school. Why wasn't she fussing at those laughing or asking me to point out the perpetrator so he could be punished?  Parading me across the square was just too much to bear.
The Principal's secretary was kind and empathetic. Finally some relief. She safety pinned  my dress and cleaned the scratches. She asked me what happened. I am so grateful for her concern which felt like a warm blanket giving me back some of what I had lost. I believe she is why that was a bad day and nothing more.
I'm thinking that was the worst day of first grade. I hope the boy got the help he needed.
Have a happy Sunday.
kisses

Shiver

Billy Mata and The Texas Tradition ai Quihi Gun Club

It is the 4th Saturday of the month and I should be two-stepping at the Quihi Gun Club to a real live country western band. Authentic country music only. Recent radio pop frowned upon as an abomination. Tradition thrives in Quihi, Texas where Bob Wills is still the king and Billy Mata packs the dancehall with his Western Swing.
Midnight finds me lounging on my brown sofa. Flannel teal colored pajamas for warmth as I contemplate my future. Disquisitive as to why the digital wall thermostat reads 70 F but my hands feel like ice. Must be the lingering humidity seeping and settling a chill in my bones. Jack Frost has made himself at home this year.

My mind wanders to a tragic, oh so sad story from Michigan where freezing temperatures dropped to -12 F.  A forever nurse friend called me heartbroken. A sweet and gentle female coworker never made it home after her evening hospital shift. She was found frozen beside a church. Hand print bruising on her arms was the only sign of trauma. An abusive boyfriend is suspected of pushing her out of his car. How long can one survive in such extreme cold? I shiver as the thought crosses my mind-I bet he knows.



It's turning out to be a long cold Winter. I hope the birds fair well.

The Fragrance of Grandma's House

For we are to God the fragrance of Christ among those who are being saved and among those who are perishing. 

2 Corinthians 2:15 NKJV

I can still remember the smell of my MeMaw's house.  Like cozy familiar warm happiness.  The same can be said for my Granny's bedroom and her famous Fibber McGee closet, mostly filled with faded fine linens she was saving for a special occasion.
 A generation later I pause at rare and random moments when a familiar fragrance from those days breeze by, my memory sparks so vivid I am transported back in time.  If only I could make it last with all the comfort and warm feelings but the scent quickly fades and I am left melancholy. How can an essence from so long ago spark such emotion?
What is it about Grandparents and their particular scent? A combination of spices and musk peculiar to them.
My Mother sent me home with a stuffed Santa and Mrs Clause that have survived many Christmases in the Avery household. My youngest grandson Max spotted them right away during a recent visit. I told him they are from when I was a little girl. He picked both of them up and buried his face as hard as he could in the old cloth dolls. His cute little nose smushed flat. He inhaled as deep as a little boy possibly could, closing his eyes, his face  reflecting pure bliss - "Grandma" he exclaimed!  He is only 7 years old and has not been down to see my Mom in over a year. But Grandma's smell has already imprinted cozy feelings of Grandma love.
I think that is something pretty special.
Time marches on and so it goes. kisses

Paper Spotted With Time

Sitting on my brown sofa in the early morning hours of the first Monday in 2019, I am sorting through keep sakes my Mother just handed  me from my childhood. So many memories. I can't believe she saved all this stuff.   A whole stack of kindergarten artwork.  Valentines from my 6th grade class. A letter I wrote home from my first Greyhound Bus trip to Tulsa, Oklahoma with my Granny in 1975. Things long forgotten come flooding back,  These bits of paper, yellowed and spotted with time are pieces of where I came from, a glimpse of  my developing personality, values and apparent lack of talent in freehand drawing and coloring within the lines. Still true!

The Kindergarten worksheets revealed I only wrote the first 4 letters of my name, with a backwards S.  No wonder Adriana Salinas had to save me the first day of First Grade as I was unsure which name printed on the desks was mine. I wrote about that humiliation in a previous blog. But now looking at what Mom saved for me I was never taught my whole first name in Kindergarten. This explains a lot. So no need at 57 to feel ashamed of my first day of first grade inadequacy. I never expected that revelation after all these years, what a relief. I can't wait to tell Mom and thank her for her organizational skills and thoughfulllness in storing my youth in boxes and envelopes for fifty years. Do the 'other Mothers' do this?

More memories to come. kisses

I found all my 6th grade buddies Valentines cards. We were a fun crew and stuck together. I wonder if they remember me?
Lynn Gourley, Veronica Smith, Melissa Hughes, and Kathy Thomas.

Kindergarten Art-my signature on spilled paint.

Perspective & Context

 I can talk a lot but I often feel I am not the best communicator.  Fortunately I have accumulated friends over the years who decipher my ramblings with relative ease. Mostly they are the ones I grew up with so our perspectives on things are similar. On the flip side it takes effort for me to decode the conversations of more recent friends and acquaintances. Plus we are all getting old so who knows if anyone is making sense anyway? If you don't keep up with trends and television advertising casual exchanges become difficult to put in context. A good example of this occurred last Saturday.

Richard was driving me home from the Raye Theatre in Hondo. We had just watched Aquaman. I make myself sit through movies of this sort occasionally because it makes Richard happy.  He is such a nice man and there is something to be said for a reliable, handsome cowboy to spend every Saturday evening.

So we are bouncing along Highway 90 between Hondo and Castroville in his Chevy truck. It is a chilly night. The heater is on and the fan makes a funny noise. We were both unusually tired. Me from just getting home from New Mexico and he from extended family responsibilities. We were discussing, I thought, Aquaman when he started babbling. I was not catching every word over the truck noises. I heard Transformers, bumble bee car and something about 'the other movies '.  I wondered for a minute if he was having a small stroke or something and started calculating how I would pull the truck over should he completely give out on one side. But he stopped talking and we made it to my house without further incident.

Next day I am visiting with some young people who start discussing the new Bumblebee Transformer movie coming out. Ohhh It hits me! That's what Richard was talking about he was making sense after all. Hearing this put it into context.

I was thinking how important not to quickly judge others, situations etc. on my limited perspective and how easily things taken out of context cause wrong impressions. Something I want to stay mindful of as times change but I feel the same. Talk less. Listen more. On and on and so it goes. kisses