Memoir from the Perspective of a Friend

I've heard more cuss words than possibly anyone else in her life. They may be directed at me, the people she works with, family members, pets, money problems, government, people she doesn't know, or things over which she cannot control. She has never harmed me physically, however, for she knows I'm much to valuable and know to much to ever hurt me.

I'm able to see her day and night; from early in the morning before daybreak to early in the morning long after the sun has set. These "early" times are when she is at her best, for the house is typically quiet and she can often see more clearly at these times. Of course, the later in the evening means she may be slower and not so exuberant about spending time with me.

We generally are working together, but sometimes we shop, play, or are creative together. The work we compile and the people we talk about is incredible; from surgeons to candy manufacturers, and from jewelers to consulting groups. Just recently we moved into attacking numbers together, figuring out how to track all sorts of categories of spending and earning while keeping as much money as possible.

Shopping can take long hours or is quick and speedy, with sometimes a quick decision for a particular product and others just looking to see what is out there. There are endless shopping destinations with me, and I enjoy pursuing it as much as she does. I try to make it as safe as possible, but sometimes I hear the cuss words because of the protections in place to keep her money in her hands and not somebody else's.

Playtime is somewhat limited, with only a couple games that are preferred. One is a rather dull game that changes but is repetitive, while the others she chooses for her students. Creativity is endless with me, and I have so many opportunities, but sometimes she just wants to go see what her friends are doing with me.

The cuss words aside, she is a faithful friend, visiting me on a daily basis, and I will be with her until my memory is full, or until she upgrades to a new laptop.

A Daddy Memory without Daddy

It was the beginning of 1967. I was one of four children living with our mother in Fort Worth, without our dad. You see, daddy was in Vietnam at the time, a war that we knew little about and was very far away. Daddy sent us packages from Vietnam, with little gifties and messages to each of us. It was always so wonderful to receive those personalized packages containing fabrics, toys and treats from another world.

I shared a room with my two sisters, me on the top bunk, my little sister on the bottom, and my older sis on a separate bed all by herself. My baby brother had his own room, as did my mom.

For some reason, that evening I could not sleep. It could have been that I had had an active day and was hungry, or it could have been the television in the next room, that seemed to be trying to get my attention. Slowly, quietly, I climbed down the steps to the top bunk and crept into the kitchen, from which one could see the TV in the living room. I could see what was on, and it was a little girls dream show, the Miss America pageant.

My mother was sitting on a chair, exhausted looking, with a kitchen towel in her lap. I can’t imagine the strain of living with four children six and under, on my father’s military pay, in a city where she did not grow up, but where her in-laws lived. Dad had moved the family there before he left to have, supposedly, someone to watch over mom and the family, but I recall my mother telling me in later years that it was not the best move for her personally. She would have rather been in the same city with her parents and siblings.

“I …, I’m hungry,” I said, to call attention to myself, just as an announcer made a pitch for some soap flakes, and interrupting the procession of lovely ladies down the runway. Mom looked startled to see me at first, and then her face softened with pity for her child who basically just wanted some attention, and alone time with her.  

She stood up from the easy chair and came to hug me. I had wanted to say, “I miss Daddy,” his playfulness, his loud voice, and his nightly kisses before bed, but I substituted those words with the more easily awarded request for food.

“What would you like to eat,” she asked, never hesitating to grant my request for food. “I don’t know, how about Cheerios,” I stated, looking forward to my favorite cereal that floated like little tan-colored life savers on a creamy sea of milk.

She served the cereal and I unexpectedly devoured it, and I remember not finishing the final few floaties in the bowl. I don’t remember who won the beauty contest, or even if I finished watching the show. But I remember my last question to mother before she ushered me back to bed.

“Mommy, when is daddy going to be home?” I inquired.

“I don’t know, sweetie, but we will pray that it is soon,” she answered, with a wistful smile on her face. She kissed me and I clambered up to my bunk, and visions of floating Cheerios lulled me to sleep.

The above entry was written at the Lake Travis Library Memoir Writing Group that I attended. The prompt was to write our earliest memory, and this one came to mind. 

2015 is the Year of Love

Sunday, I heard a message at church that set the tone for my year. Our pastor's daughter is a missionary with YWAM (Youth With a Mission), based in Hawaii, and she travels the world, supervising, initiating and offering support to youth who are spreading the Gospel around the world. She is 20 something and celebrates five years with the organization.

Arriving later than usual, but not so late for my family (after worship music, and today, after meet and greet, and the offering), we probably missed the first 5-10 minutes of her message, but came just in time for the meat of her story.

Her message was this; If we are to be the hands and feet of Jesus, the only way to ensure it is to show it with love. She showed a short video that exemplified love with a missionary and his wife's example by living in Nepal and serving and giving to the poor there. They arrived with a mission to share Jesus, but their example of self-sacrifice demonstrated Jesus's character. By observing their loving their actions, people wanted to know how and why they were there. All the inquirer had to do was ask, and the missionaries were able to share how they had been impacted by Christ, and were thus motivated to serve. She went on to share that we can adopt this attitude if we are willing.

God is Love. Love can be found in everything. It can be shown in millions of ways. If I think LOVE, how can I speak, think or behave badly?

If you think, "I cannot do that," as I am prone to doing, remember the beginning words of Psalm 23, "The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want." Where there is a will, there is a way. God will provide what I need to share that love that I have in this new year.

Big Christmas in Small Spaces

Christmas 2014 displayed itself in a big way in small spaces. Speaking strictly of my family's experience this year, it is merely an observance of the evolution of the celebration of the spirit of the season for the four of us. Three parties within the range of our home brought to life the joy that we feel when celebrating with our loved ones.

We kicked off the holiday with my sister's second annual party, big with love, music, food, drink and even a magic act to close the evening. 25-30 people inhabited her approximately 1500 sq.ft. home, with most of the activity occurring in the elongated open kitchen/dining/living space of approximately 10 x 40 feet. Meeting and greeting was boisterous, with 95% of the invitees already familiar with each other because of family relations. The excitement over the food was evident with the "ooohs" and "ahhhs," at the placement of each delectable treat on the table.

Food is a family favorite, both to discuss and to consume, so I must address it with each description of the three events. Melanie's party portrays weeks of planning and preparing, with love seeping out of each piece of handcrafted gingerbread or rosemary cookie. The cheese and olive tray, served with unique and tasty crackers, and homemade kale crunchies started off the display. She is an excellent cook, and we had delicious pork tenderloin, crab puffs and hot cheese bakes. Individual attendees brought cheese balls, salads and desserts. The grand finale of the yogurt cheesecake was quickly consumed.

The second small space of the holiday was at brother Jerry's at his family home. Chili, caroling, family and gift giving were a part of the evening, with much additional food to talk about. It was composed of the exact same crew, minus a couple and plus a few, for approximately the same number of individuals attending. This house is another small abode, with the gathering taking place in the area of the home to include the kitchen, dining and living, only in more of a separated square space instead of the long room of the first event. Children from four years of age to adults in their seventies filled the air with talking, laughing and plenty of eating.

And yes, the spread was formidable here too, with delectable dips and dippers, veggies and olives, incredible chili and cornbread, and an array of cookies and candy to hold a bakery in awe. The first course of the evening was eating and drinking, with the second a delightful tour of the neighborhood and spirit-filled caroling with a range of voices to be envied, and the third was the dessert trays, followed by more enjoyable drinks made by Jerry the bartender.

On Christmas Day was the final gathering, held in my own home of just over 1700 square feet, of which the majority of time was again spent in the lateral part of the house of 12' x 40'. The long room contains a kitchen with a bar at the south end, and a dining/living space interrupted by a double-faced fireplace.

The afternoon was the timeline of this party, with guests including my bartender brother (but not as a profession), his lovely family of six and my parents, to be joined by my beloved cousin Karen after our meal. And the meal was fantastic, if I may say so myself. Prime rib and ham were the featured meats, with designer green beans and a carrot creation (it was too good to be called a casserole) brought by my mother, same day rolls, baked potatoes and a cornucopia salad with no critical fresh ingredients missing delivered by my brother's wife, Jenn.

After enjoying a leisurely meal packed onto one dining and one card table (where we had at least two spills),we opened family gifts, played with toys (the children 4-10 and the fathers), several took walks, and the annual players dove into a game of Lord of the Rings RISK conquering Middle Earth. At some point during the afternoon and evening a beautiful cranberry mincemeat pie, cut  out sugar cookies and caramel corn were served. All home made with love.

What I observed is that in the past, the three hosts inhabited much larger estates, but at this point, we are all in smaller abodes. The love present, the joy on the faces of those receiving gifts, and the peacefulness of the many people who interacted over the 2014 Christmas season tells me that possibly, the small space is a more intimate way to celebrate.

Our Savior, Jesus, was born in a tiny barn, having come from Heaven, the largest, most incredible dwelling place in the universe. While we may consider ourselves humbled to be living in  locations with less grandeur, the reality is that we are so blessed to have a solid roof over our heads, heat to protect us from the cold, and a warm, comfortable bed to lie down in at night.

In the new year, I plan to aspire to humility, and to small spaces.

Exodus

The prompt: She rolled her eyes as another one of her cabin mates tried to stifle sobs. She couldn't believe she had to stay at this horrible camp all summer! Her stomach growled. As she stepped toward her trunk for a forbidden snack, she tripped on a loose board. Curious, she leaned over to peek between the cracks, and saw... 

Exodus
She tossed and turned as several cabin mates in nearby bunks sobbed and cried for their mothers. Yes, it was a new experience, to go to a camp with roughly constructed barracks in the summer, with poor food so far, and it was stiflingly hot in the crowded room. Furthermore, the camp leaders were strict and could be downright mean.

But Keren, who had just celebrated her 12th birthday the week before going to the camp, wanted to be optimistic. She was outgoing and well-liked, for she consistently had a smile on her face and a compliment to give. Now, she was away from her annoying teenage brother, who teased her, read her private notes, and often stole her bagel before school. Many of her schoolmates were packing up and traveling, sometimes with no notice before they left. It was lonely and troublesome at home.

Keren’s mother and father tended to argue on a daily basis, which was both irritating and scary to hear her parents discuss their plan to move, her mother’s complaints about her father not making enough money to buy the tickets, and her father’s criticism of her mother’s reluctance to depart. It confused Keren because she wasn't sure whether they wanted to leave or not. Her mother and father constantly used sharp words, with the family love seemingly gone.

She was almost pleased to be out of that home environment on this adventure. Tomorrow just might bring a better day, although she was sorely hungry, and the narrow bed she shared with another girl was more like a piece of fence with straw on it. Sleeping did not appear to be an immediate option. The camp uniform was too big and scratchy, and looked like blue striped pajamas. She already missed her best friend, Liesel, who she laughed and played with every day.

The entire family had traveled together to the camp, but was separated as soon as they arrived, after being cooped up on the crowded train car with no food or water, or even a bathroom, for what seemed like an entire day. She left wearing the clothes on her back, with her mother and father clutching small parcels of favored belongings.

In the confusion upon arrival, the camp leaders shouted and instructed where to go and what to do. Hundreds of people huddled together and became startled by their yells. The men, including Keren’s father, re-loaded on the train, while her brother was shuttled on a cart led by horses with other boys to a different part of the camp she supposed. As the open cattle car rolled away along the tracks, she slowly waved at her dad, who appeared miserable. She wanted to feel confident that she would see her family again soon enough, although they may not recognize her.

All of the women and children arriving at the camp had their head shaved upon arrival. Then, they had to strip their clothes and were forced into a room where they were roughly sprayed down with water, lined up naked, and given uniforms. The guards separated the younger girls from the women, and then Keren watched her mother, and the others, march away.

It was a mystery to her as to why they were treated so badly. Many were crying, and Keren felt sorry for them. Now, more tears surrounded her as her stomach growled again. Before bed, they’d hungrily devoured a bitter, watery soup, and it simply was not enough to satisfy her.

“I've got to find something to eat!” she thought as she sat up, and gingerly stepped onto the wooden floor. The unkind guards outside told them to stay in bed until roll call the next morning, but her brother had once complimented her for her craftiness in sneaking food from the downstairs kitchen without her parents discovering it. Feeling confident, she tiptoed towards the door.

In the gloomy quarters with only the light of the moon shining through a few small windows, she lost her balance when she tripped over a loose board. Causing a noisy ruckus with her fall, she scrambled to get back up, again knocking against the slack panel. Embarrassed, with numerous young women looking on, and wanting to overcome her failure to navigate the dark room, she feigned a purposeful floor examination, pointed to the floor and said, “It was loose, I thought …,” and bent down, pretending to peek between the cracks.

At that moment, the door burst open, and before Keren could completely straighten herself up to see who appeared, a bullet hit her in the head, dropping her.

“Heil Hiltler!” one of the guards shouted, and after lowering his raised right arm, abruptly shut the door.

This was a non-winning entry to a short story writing contest this summer. :( It was My first try at writing fiction for a contest, so I do believe that I can produce better work in the future, with at least an honorable mention the next time around! As a teacher, I also understand that judging writing can be very subjective.

Wake Up

“I can’t believe she hasn’t called,” said Jane.

She slammed the plates into the cupboard in exasperation.

“Honey, she’s busy,” said Marcos, Jane’s husband, as he flipped through the Sunday paper.

“But all that time I spent on that package, not to mention the extraordinary efforts we underwent to host them here,” she added, throwing the silverware in the drawer with a clang. “I just don’t understand, not a peep in weeks.”

“I’ve talked to Kenny, and he said something about being happy about getting the shirt back,” said Marcos, chuckling inside about the gag gift his wife had purchased for Marie’s husband. It was an all-American polo shirt, probably manufactured in the 80’s, with a flag, the constitution and patriotic heroes screened onto the fabric. She probably found it at the annual church swap meet. It was her gift to Kenny when they visited that summer for the fourth of July.

“It’s not funny,” Jane retorted.

“I’m sorry, sugar, I know she cares, and you do too. Maybe she has some sort of complication and she can’t connect right now,” Marcos said.

Not placated, Jane finished the dishes and began preparations for dinner.

“We’re eating fish for dinner,” she said to Marcos, aware that it wasn’t his favorite, but wanted to use up the last of the catch their friends had brought them from Alaska.
"Sounds good to me," Marcos answered, not wanting to further rock the boat.

After wiping down the counters, Jenny strode into the master bedroom and plopped down on the bed. She picked up a book and began to read. Within 10 minutes, her eyes began to droop, so she gave in and set the book aside, and snoozed.

The phone rang.

“Hello?” Jane replied groggily.

“Hi, Jane, it’s me, Marie!” her sister said excitedly.

“Oh, hi,” she said.

“Tell me how you have been, and then I can’t wait to share the most exciting news,” Marie said.

“I’ve been fine,” said Jane.

“Awesome,” said Marie. “And how is your job, and Marcos, and the kids?”

“Fine,” said Jane.

“And how about your neighbors, Marlene and Eddie, did they have an awesome summer?” she asked.

“They’re fine,” Jane said.

“Well,” began Marie again, “and what about your wine business, any new distributors?”

“No,” Jane said.

“Jane,” Marie said, “what is wrong? You’re acting like you don’t even want to talk to me.”

“Well actually Marie, I don’t,” Jane said, as shifted the phone to her other ear and propped herself up on the bed.

“And why not? I’m about to tell you the most exciting news and you don’t even have a word to say, except that everything is fine,” said Marie, as her face moved into pout mode, or at least that was how Jane visualized it. “I’d like to be pleasant with you, I mean, I asked how you were doing and everything. I mean, what is up? Why are you being mean to me?”

“When was the last time we talked?” retorted Jane.

“I don’t remember, and I apologize. I’ve been so busy …,” said Marie.

“Yeah, that’s what Marcos said. Whatever,” said Jane.

“Sooo … do you want to just stay mad at me and not hear my news?” asked Marie, hurt.

“All right, whatever,” said Jane, “Or let me guess. You won the lottery and have been having so much fun spending money on yourself that you haven’t had time to call.”

“Not exactly, dear sister, but I guess you don’t want to know, so, LATER,” said Marie, and she hung up the phone.

Jane woke up.

“Oh no,” she thought, “I am not being very forgiving at all. I need to call my sister!”

She punched “Marie” into her cell phone and waited for the connection.

“Hello,” Marie said, and Jane could feel her smile through the miles.

“Hello, dear sis,” said Jane, tentatively, “how are you?”

“Excellent,” said Marie, “I’ve missed you so, and please forgive my not calling back. We have had the most exciting summer since returning to Texas, and I’ve just received the most excellent news. But you first, how is your job going? And Marcos, has he had some time to play some golf and run in some races lately? And how about the kids? Have you had a chance to visit recently?” The words came gushing out of Marie in her normal fast-paced manner.

“Well,” Jane said, “We are all doing well. Job pace has slowed a bit since the start of school, Marcos beat Claude Capus in golf the other day, Alfred is doing well in his job and getting excited about his marriage to Candi, and Alicia is performing in a new play next week. We’ll be up there for the premiere then. I also found some incredible fabric for curtains at the thrift store the other day! So, what is your news, I’m dying to hear.”

“Okay,” answered Marie, “Are you ready?”

“Why of course,” said Jane.

“Well,” said Marie, “your sister is going to be a published author, of my own book!”

“How exciting!” said Jane, “which one? The children’s book about the bean’s that you’ve talked about for years, the conspiracy theory story or the one about all the weird people in your community?”

“Neither and none,” answered Marie. “An agent saw my blog and had a topic –food of all things – and thought that I would be excellent at writing about it. This happened soon after we returned from California, and since then, I have been preparing my proposal. As of Friday, I will be writing my first book!”

“That’s awesome!” said Jane, “What’s the title?”

“Wake up.”

“What? That’s the title?”

“No, I said wake up,” said Marcos, as he gently nudged Jane’s shoulder.

“What?” asked Jane.

“Honey, your sister is on the phone,” he added.

Jane laughed and asked him, “Did she tell you the title of her book?”

He gave her a puzzled look and handed her the phone.

“Hello,” she said.

“Oh, Jane, I’m so sorry for taking so long to call you! With all of my summer jobs, and my writing, back to school for me and the kids, I want to apologize for not thanking you for our awesome summer trip and the wonderful care package you sent,” Marie unloaded.

“Oh, dear sister, I was just thinking of you today. And by the way, I’m sorry that I didn’t call to check on you, and congratulations on the book deal!” said Jane.

“What?” asked Marie.

“I just have a feeling that something big is going to happen to you soon,” added Jane.

And they had a wonderful, sisterly conversation and all was well.

The End.

10 Minutes

As I was washing the dishes this morning, pondering all that I'd done this day already, yet regretful that I had not accomplished more, an interesting thought popped into my head.

What if God told me I had only ten minutes to live? What would I do in those ten minutes? This question, as all questions that fly through my brainwaves, included a stipulation. I would be notified of the ten minutes in whatever I was doing at that moment, for example, sitting at my computer at home, at school, in the car, and whether I was with my family, friends, or alone, and that would be my only warning.

First thought was that I must call my family. I was alone as I had this contemplation, so of course I would start with my husband, my children, my mother, my father, my sisters, and before I knew it, I would be out of ten minutes. It would be very difficult to tell each person what they mean to me and to express my love. How about a group text? But that would not be fair, or very nice, unless I just told them all that I love each one of them very much.

Then, typical of me, food popped into my head, the last meal, and with my eyes closed, as I rinsed off the green lettuce holder, I scanned the inside of my pantry, the freezer and the refrigerator. Since I recently ate some fresh eggs from my mother's chickens, served with sauteed onions, mushrooms, spinach, corn tortilla and garlic, sprinkled with cheese and served with a piece of buttery white toast, the Snickers bar frozen treat in my freezer appeared very satisfactory.

And because earlier in the week I discussed with my husband that Australia was on my bucket list to visit, I wistfully pondered that I would like to have gone there before I passed. Going somewhere when I only had ten minutes to live, unless I was already there, did not seem very likely, which leads to my answer of what I would do if I was told that I only had ten minutes to live.

I would first thank God for an awesome life, and for giving me several opportunities to keep on living. With two close-to-death experiences, I believe I am less afraid of death than some. Then, I think I would keep on doing what I was doing, washing the orange frying pan, folding clothes, walking the dog or making deviled eggs. I would certainly call Kevin and my children to tell them that I loved them very much, and maybe have a second Snickers bar.