National Poetry Month

Good grief but this has been a fun but busy week.  I'm tellin' ya...these poets meet and speak all the time and now I'm doing it, too.  Monday night, Coffee Oasis.  Wednesday 4 great guys featured at the Friendswood Library, Thursday night I read at Archway Gallery.  This morning was the monthly meeting of Gulf Coast Poets and featured Sandy Stromberg, a friend who has taught me much and taught me more this morning.  And tomorrow afternoon is critique group which I hope doesn't go on too long.  Whew! 
And I'm writing along and sending stuff to my two dear friends who are willing to read my shit and critique it. 
  And my birthday celebration just keeps going on as more gifts arrive.  I live a charmed life.  Here's a poem I'm working on:
 
            Birthday



I’ve never been this old before

but I do plan to be a little older tomorrow,

even older, maybe wiser next week.

In this morning’s shower

sliding rolling hills met my soapy rag

where parts once were perky.

Can’t say I miss them,

just not sure where they went.

A wrinkled old lady wrapped in crepey skin

leans out of the recliner

arm wings flapping

as she waves the remote

after Dancing With the Stars.

She sounds and looks familiar,

could that be me?

She looks as though

she could use some cake or chocolate

with a cup of tea.

Let the party begin.

Eat cake and celebrate

another rockin’ rollin’ year.





Kay Cox

April, 2010

Wow and double wow!

My heart is full and my soul refreshed. I spent the day at the MFA of Houston soaking up the work of Alice Neel, my favorite portrait painter. It is a huge collection and I definitely will be going back. She was a remarkable woman for her time and never really well-known for many years. I so admire her and that even though her work was not well accepted until her late years, she just kept on painting. I watched the film of her placing her pregnant model and she tried several placements and poses until it was just right. I was glad she placed the model near a mirror which gave off a reflection included in the painting. Her treatment of background I find fascinating as she frequently leaves much of it perhaps drawn but not painted which gives great prominance to the figure. Her figures are so full of emotion which she manages to capture mostly through their eyes and the eyes are always confronting the viewer...very interesting. Only her sad figure of Andy Warhol has his eyes closed.
John Singer Sargent is also exhibiting and along with his seascapes (many done between the ages of 18 and 24...geezus) is a large exhibit of Sargents owned by the Museum or Houston collectors...an impressive collection. I particularly like his more Impressionistic work.
I feel so fortunate to live in a city with outstanding museums...yay Houston!

This is the wonderful strawberry cake my friend, Barbara, made for my birthday celebration with my Alvin writing group. Believe me, it tasted as good as it looks. Barbara is the queen of cakes and loves to bake. She is also a gifted writer and wrote an amazing poem about me which she framed and gave me as a birthday present. What a treasured friend she is and we have known each other since 1965 I think. She's also a former police officer and has some pretty hilarious tales to tell about her experiences. I look forward to many more years of keeping each other laughing and crying together. Here, have a piece of cake.

Here is another one. I have put pockets on the back so that a note can be inserted. Crazy fun!

Sewing fun

I've been having a good time making these funky animal dolls. Lots of fun with color and scraps of fabric. I decided I should be doing somthing with all this stuff that has been collected over the years. I think I should give this one a name but it will probably be a gift to someone and they can name it.

Being lazy

I have been totally out of the loop and nowhere for a week it seems.  It started with allergies, progressed to big time sinus and according to the doc yesterday was a virus on top of it all.  I've felt so bummed...didn't want to do anything but cough, sneeze, wheeze and drink liquids.  Spent a week it seems in front of the TV with a book and some soup and no ambition to do anything else and still don't have much.  Missed poetry events, class, everything this week...feels like a time warp.
Finally feel some better.  No sleep as the doc put me on a steroid yesterday that kept me awake until 4 am but hopefully today will be better and my nose is only dripping a little bit. 
My energy is slowly returning, thank good ness, as it is spring.  My azaleas are blooming and my daffodils and I should be charging forth getting lots of stuff in order.
In the meantime between books and TV I'm watching the cats watching the squirrels...better than most TV shows.

More spring

I love this slow, drippy rain and the fact that it sorta lays down the tree pollen for a while.  Maybe my nose will quit running.  I can feel the earth going slurp, slurp as this gentle wet settles in.  I do feel for my friends in the northern USA who are fighting major floods as all the snow begins to melt.
It is cool today with the rain which calls for soup...specifically chicken corn chowder and hot corn bread.  And it was sooooo good.  Enough left for the cold days coming this weekend.
I'm back sewing again and making funky little stuffed things...fun and an opportunity to use up scrap fabric.  And I brought out a canvas and played with a drawing on it...a sure sign that my Aries nature is coming soon.

Spring has come to Seabrook at last. Every year I look forward to this tulip tree or pink magnolia as some call it bursting forth with it's incredible blooms. And bless her heart even after some really cold temps this year, she is coming forth with her best garment yet. Gotta love this gal!

For all my writing friends

Esoterica: One of my all-time favorite lists is Hungarian/Canadian/British author Stephen Vizinczey's "The Writer's Ten Commandments." He's given permission to change the word "write" to "paint,"--or to other words for that matter.




1. Thou shalt not drink, smoke or take drugs.



2. Thou shalt not have expensive habits.



3. Thou shalt dream and write and dream and rewrite.



4. Thou shalt not be vain.



5. Thou shalt not be modest.



6. Thou shalt think continually of those who are truly great.



7. Thou shalt not let a day pass without reading something great.



8. Thou shalt not worship London/New York/Paris.



9. Thou shalt write to please thyself.



10. Thou shalt be hard to please.

Whew!

What a relief!  Hubby has come to his senses and is declining the invite to China.  It is a good thing.  We have lots of reasons not to trust the guy who issued the invite and when he said he wasn't going to be able to accompany hubby all the way, it became a no go.  Thank God I didn't have to say "ARe you out of your mind?  You can't even get through airport security by yourself."  He is in the early stages of Alzheimer's and though he can talk your arm off intelligently about the space program, he get easily confused in crowded situations.  I was so concerned but didn't want to rain on his parade.   He will help the inviter to write the paper, etc., just not go and he seems very okay with his decision.  Whew!  Life does present its challenges but they seem to come harder and faster as I get older.

New projects

The sewing machine is smiling at me saying "Come here, honey,  Let's get started on a new quilt."  And the stack of old blue jeans that I have dismantled lay near by ready to be torn into strips.  My idea is to make a quilt of old blue jeans for my grandson.  I think I will have to get someone else to quilt it...it is just too hard on my back and my small machine.  The other calling project is to start slapping some paint around on canvas.  I've done a little collaging this week but so little real art in way too long.  It is time...I'm going to have to cut down on my social life and meetings that I attend to plunge head long into all this and still get meals on the table and laundry done.  As I get older, everything seems to take longer than it used to or maybe I'm just taking more time to smell the roses along the way.  But before I get started on any of this, I have to get our taxes done...oh, lovely, right? 
      Spring is around the corner.  The pink magnolia in the front yard has swollen buds that are on the verge of popping open with its gorgeous pink blossoms.  The azaleas are lagging behind due to our cold winter.  I will ply them with some food now that we are past frost in hopes that they will burst with their usual fuschia display.  The tropical plants all took a beating but dear Victor has come and cleaned all the dead stuff away and hopefully there is enough green left that we will enjoy some recovery.

What? You are going to China?

Well, this should be interesting...my husband who seems to have Alzheimer's in regard to anything that isn't related to adventures in space.  A true space cadet, he has been invited to give a paper somewhere in China.  He claims a Chinese friend is going with him and I certainly hope so as he can't even get through security at the airport by himself.  His way is paid for by I know not whom and he is so excited.  I think it is great that he have this one last adventure.  He will be 79 next month so I think this is a great birthday trip.  And I emphasize, this should be interesting.  He has lost his cell phone twice in the last few months only to find them both after he had purchased new ones.  Anyone need a phone?  He has been officially diagnosed with Alz and is on Aricept which seems to be helping.  I just hope this guy knows to keep tabs on him 24/7.  When talking about the space program, what should and shouldn't be done with it and the future in space, he can be right on but that is about his limit....sweet, nice, brilliant man who can't remember shit and is hard of hearing.  I told him to tell his friend that if anything happened to him, to cremate him there and just send the ashes over...is that awful of me...probably.  I just hope he can get it together to go by the first week in April.
They will spend two days touring after the conference and his friend will take him shopping but for what?  Seems like everything made in China that I might want is at Walmart.  I am through collecting junk to sit around the house...I want to get rid of what I have now, not add more.  Ahhh...maybe jade earrings?

Life goes on

I'm back in business...happily ensconced in front of CBS Sunday morning with my new Toshiba lap top and still trying to learn my way around Windows 7.  So far I can't say I'm in love with it as it has some quirky stuff going on but perhaps I will get used to it.  And slowly I'm coming to grips with what I lost when my old one crashed.  But what the hey, it's only stuff and I can create again.
Has anyone tried hooping?  My friend Rowan teaches it and has a full page article this morning in the Houston Chronicle.  Dancing with a heavier hoop swirling around one's middle.  Rowan is teaching it and has lost 50 lbs. and looks great.  I think I'm ready to try it as my workouts at the gym don't seem to be doing something about my middle, darn it.
Friday was a total loss...it was the day for my colonoscopy check-up.  If you haven't had this lovely procedure, the prep the day before is the worst, really the worst.  Imagine the worst stomach virus only this time you are experiencing it on purpose...cleaning out your whole system before the procedure that takes about 20 minutes.  DH took me over at 6:30 am and the waiting room was crowded....geezus, all these folk volunteering for this?  So I was taken to Bay 3, told to strip to my socks and put on the paper gown.  Soon a pleasant nurse named Jackie took my vitals and put in a catheter for an IV.  There must have been 12 bays in this little hospital and they were all full of beds moving in and out.  Soon it was my turn and it was grand Central Station with a traffic jam of gurneys rolling in and out, some with patients knocked out.  I was rolled into the op room and greeted my doctor for the first time and looked around at various screens as I lay under the bright lights.  A nurse came with two vials of the magic stuff and put them into the catheter.  I was out like a light and here comes the problem.  I'm very sensitive to any kind of anesthetic and don't remember anything for quite a while after that.  The procedure went fine, I'm fine and don't have to do it again for 5 years but the problem was afterwards.  My husband said I started falling when I tried to get into the car, the nurse caught me and helped me in.  I have no memory of getting dressed, getting into a wheel chair, being rolled out to the car and barely anything until I woke up in my own bed around noon.  My husband was so worried that I would fall getting out of the car at home that he drove around for a while so I would come to.  He stopped at Starbuck's and got me a giant coffee which seemed to help and got me home and into bed.  So weird to have no memory of all of that.  This drug is designed to allow one to respond but not remember what goes on while you are on it...guess it is kin to the "date-rape" drug.  It is scary to think what could have happened if I had fallen at home.  I think the docs in there are going "ka-ching, ka-ching, ka-ching" every time they roll another one in.  Not a comforting feeling!  What else would motivate a guy to spend his working hours sending cameras up people's asses? 

Weekly Entertainment from Entertainment Weekly

Sorry I have no illustrations for this....but in a recent article in a popular magazine a performer's vocals were described as a "singing orgasm."  Now there's a thought.  I do recall orgasms that left me singing but I can't recall any singing orgasms by me or any of my partners.  However I'm not ruling out that possibility.  Are there voice coaches for that?  Or would it be a specialty of a sex therapist?  What exactly should I ask when inquiring about this training and how long does one have to train to become skilled in singing orgasms?  Would such a coach take on a more mature student?  Mature, not old, just mature.  And does Medicare cover this service?  I'm trying to imagine just where one's focus might be in all of this.  It sounds challenging...like trying to pat one's head, chew gum, and rub one's tummy counter-clock wise at the same time but then I'm not a singer.
      I wonder what my husband would say if I suddenly broke out in an aria from Aida or Madam Butterfly but then he is a fan of Gilbert & Sullivan.  Maybe he would be happier with something from the H.M.S. Pinafore...probably better rhythm in that.  Also I wonder if a costume or wig is necessary for this magical experience.  Perhaps we should consider a duet.  We could do ads for Viagra...big or little ones depending on its success.

How did I get to this point?

Still no computer...it is a matter finances really.  I would love an Apple but will probably be limited to a PC.  But what I have come to grips with is how dependent I have become in just a decade on this little machine.  The rest of the world seems to run on one and so do I.  Are we just communication sluts?  Addicted to knowing?  I am amazed at the chunk of time I now have without it.  I even rediscovered my handwriting yesterday preparing for my memoir class.  But let me tell you, folks, I don't write as well by hand...I really don't.  thoughts get lost while tediously moving the pen across the page.  Other writers tell me they have a different experience and write first by hand and then edit it onto the computer. 
I was so hoping to have a new lap top for the workshops I'm going to with Max Regan this weekend but alas, I doubt it....it occurs to me I could have a big step toward the new computer if I didn't go to the workshops but I really want to go and will be happy to be there writing by hand while everyone else is clicking away.
Another sign of aging...I rediscovered some memoirs I wrote about 5 years ago and they are better written than what I wrote yesterday.  Darn!...What is going on here?  Is it my memory or just my thinking process cluttered with other stuff?  A bifarcation point?

Oh no...Murphy's Law

My computer crashed!  I've heard of others having the problem but yep, it has been verified!  There is no recovery of all those files that I didn't put on a CD.  All those pictures gone, all the documents vaporized.  The doctor said it was a fatal virus that there is no medication for, that there was no vacine for it in all the vacines that were current.    I'm borrowing my husband's computer now and trying to figure out what to get as a replacement and how to pay for it.  But I'm also noticing the amount of time that has been freed up.  No Facebook checking, no diddling around with other sites. 
     As for me there is no DSM IV diagnosis for computer loss.  It feels like an invasive attact, a violation.  How dare some varmint come and infect me!  Hmmm....and yet I feel like I have lost a close friend.  Maybe I should have a little ceremony in the back yard and bury the old one.  Two hundred years from now some land developer can dig it up and make some judgement about what it might be for.  Probably not...two hundred years from now this will probably be all under water if our society doesn't do somthing quick about global warming.  So how should I mark the grave?  Maybe a colorful flash drive glued to a stick.
       So now the question is:  Mac or PC?  Lots of folk tell me Mac and I am going this afternoon to a friend's house to play on her new one.  Any comments on the subject would be appreciated. 
        Dang....life is what happens when we are making other plans!  Off I go...hubby wants his toy back.

Ho hum...

Okay, this is getting old...all this gray and gloomy weather but it has put me indoors and getting stuff done.  I finished the jean jacket for granddaughter's birthday next week.  $19.95 at Target and I've spent $25 on trims and sequins.  It has a picture of Justin Bieber on the back; he's the latest teeny-bopper heart throb.  We are giving her tickets to his concert at the Houston Rodeo next month.  Last year I made her one with Taylor Swift on the back but she has lost status this year.  I love revamping these jackets with lace and buttons and stuff.  I can't sell them with the pictures on the backs as I feel sure the pictures are copy-righted even if I get them off the Internet. 
My studio is even cleaned up...holy moly.  About time, huh!  My writing class is going so well.  The teacher doesn't teach us anything which is rather odd but we learn by listening to each other's stories and oh what stories they are.  By now we are all so hooked into each other's dramas that we keep taking the class to keep up.  It would be nice however if every now and then the teacher added a little something but after 4 semesters I've given up.  When I run across an article that is about writing memoir, I send it on to class mates.  The teacher in me just can't help it.

Rolling down memory lane

Who says one can't go home again.  I do with my annual reunion in my home town of Austin.  It is hard to believe but this trio have been friends for more than sixty years; two of them for more than 66 years.  And we still have such a good time together.  I married following my junior year at UT and the other two married after graduation and we are still married to the same great guys who seem to have a great time together at our annual get togethers.  We bring pictures from high school slumber parties, junior high year books and laugh and giggle and gossip all over again.  Next meeting we have agreed to bring our wedding albums.  We feel so fortunate to still be healthy enough to get together and share our many blessings as we toddle into our elder years. 

We grew up in a post war age...after WWII and before Korea, a time of magic and dreams at the budding stage of women's liberation when the Ladies Home Journal was telling us to wrap ourselves in cellophane to greet our husbands at the door while our college degrees told us that we were fully capable of doing anything we wanted.  We three have rasied families, had careers, have volunteered in our communities, cared for aging or ill parents and have traveled widely on the planet.  We still find each other interesting and wise.  We have traded sodas and cookies for wine and cheese but never have lost our desire for good chocolate (that is a given, right?). 

There was no organ recital of our aches and pains though I know we have them but some honest discussion of our plans and concerns about the last stages of our lives, where we will live, who will care for us and what we would like when we make our transitions to our next life.  How many people do you know that you can have these honest discussions with?  I consider it a mark of friendships with deep roots.  We do go way back...we loved not only our own parents but each others.  I knew their siblings and envied them for having some.  One still has her precious mother alive, now 97.  We tease her about her good genes.

I am so grateful that I grew up in basically the same neighborhood all my life...3 different houses but the same neighborhood and my friends had the same experience.  We had to grow up and move on to experience how the rest of the world lived and worked but we were secure in our sense of self and place no matter where we ended up.  What a gift!

This afternoon my daughter and I took the Spectator bus from the Kemah parking lot to the Extreme Makeover building site. It was teeming with landscapers, contractors frantically trying to get it ready before the family with 12 children return tomorrow afternoon. It is almost scary to think that this house went up, all 6,000 sq ft of it, in a week. Workers were frantically trying to put in the landscaping today following the bull dozer across the yard. Tents were set up on a lot across the street for workers and volunteers. This whole family had been living in two trailers on their property since Hurrican Ike so there is a real need here. The family has four children of their own and 8 adopted kids, several of whom are special needs children. It has been fascinating and what a boon for Kemah as it has brought in good business for restaurants, Wal-Mart and Home Depot much less local contractors. The show should air the middle of March I was told so look for it. It is the biggest house the show has ever built. I would love to see the back yard as evidently they put in some awesome play stuff.
Rain is predicted for later this evening and tomorrow...darn. Some folks are planning to camp out at the site so they can have a front row when the family returns tomorrow. Geez...built so quickly, I pray this house is up to handling another hurricane if heaven forbid we should get another.
Notice the green structure at the back of the trailer obviously ready to go inside when it is time...should be interesting. There are 8 or 9 bedrooms in the house and I don't know how many bathrooms.

Mary Karr

My idol, Mary Karr, was in town last night speaking at the Hobby Center to a sold out audience.  She is funny, witty and has an amazing grasp on language and especially metaphor.  I was thrilled to have her sign my copy of Cherry, her wonderful memoir of her adolescent years and probably the best revelation of female teenage sexuality ever.  Nothing is sacred to Mary, few secrets not spread out like lacy underwear for all the world to see.  She is Texas through and through even though she is now living in NYC and teaching at Syracuse University and belongs up there with iconic Texas women like Molly Ivins and Ann Richards.  In the audience were two of her high school teachers from the little town in which she grew up and she honored them for working hard to keep her in school.  I can't wait until her latest book, Lit, arrives and want to collect more of her poetry.  She claims that all Texans speak metaphorically.  God, I wish that were true.  I think my dad came closer to it than my mom who was a stickler for "proper" English.  Metaphors are the spice of life and language and when I asked her if she thinks in metaphors, she answered a definite "Yes."

Someone asked her what she thought it was about the rather grim, derelict part of Texas around Pt. Arthur that has spawned such creative folk as herself, Janis Joplin and Robert Rauschenburg.  Her answer was that in such impoverished surroundings one was forced to create an inner life, one relied on one's own creativity to get through life.  I think she's so right about that.  It makes me sad to see my children and grandchildren rely so much on outside stimuli to be entertained.  My childhood was filled with imaginary games, homemade theater and dramatizations with imaginary characters and costume, drawing, reading and writing stories.  I would like to think that kids are still doing all that and that TV and video games haven't totally taken their place.  Guess time will tell.

New Year Intentions

My intentions for the year 2010...hmmm....
to love and be loved
to experience more joy and laughter
to experience wellness and gratitude every day
to give something somehow somewhere to someone every day
to commit to creating, writing and painting
to experience my work growing, developing and supported financially
to clean and clear more crap out of my house and my life
to eat healthy and exercise regularly
to continue to grow into my potential whatever that is and live it OUT LOUD
to travel
to be more patient with myself and others
to honor the wisdom that comes with being an grand old broad and negotiate the rest with dignity and some fashion of success
to have FUN doing it all

From the Daily Om

I gotta tell you...the Universe is listening in. I hadn't anymore written that last blog than this showed up on my Daily Horoscope:



January 8, 2010
Endings as Beginnings
Aries Daily Horoscope
A significant ending in your life could leave you feeling alone today and unsure of what is coming next. You may experience a sense of loss or feel abandoned because a phase of your life has come and gone. Solace can be found in the fact that all beginnings are preceded by endings. Though you may mourn for what has passed, try looking toward the future. You may find that in leaving your past behind, a myriad of opportunities are waiting to be discovered. Consider all that you once dreamt of and ask yourself which of those dreams you might find pleasure in resurrecting today. A fantasy that once tugged at your heartstrings could become a real goal for you.

Viewing an ending or loss as an opportunity for new beginnings can make moving into a new phase of life a more enjoyable experience. Though leaving a valued part of your life behind can sting, the fact that the future is not yet written means that there are infinite possibilities waiting for you. A period where you are encountering obstacles can be the best time to consider altering your course to create the life you desire. The pain that loss can cause can be the motivation that drives you to discover unknown worlds or immerse yourself in new knowledge. Endings are simply transitional periods that prepare us for the unknown. The ending that saddens you today will become the starting point for the next amazing phase of your journey.



--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This is almost spooky.

Which way and what?

It is time that I get more serious about downsizing but to what and where? I really don't want to own again or at least that is my thought right now. I am tired of maintaining property. I want to call someone else when the faucet leaks and let them deal with scheduling the plumber; I want to call someone when the light goes out on the oven; I want to call someone when the bathroom heater doesn't heat; I want it to be someone else's problem to wrap the pipes when it is twenty degrees outside.
But where to go that will have room for me to paint? An office for my computer? A dining table to hold 8? And a table for sewing? And might I never want to create another assemblagewith all the funky stuff I've collected? A collage with some of the wonderful papers I've saved? And what to do with years of journals, a constant source for poetry and memoir? Stacks of unframed, unsold art work? Robert Genn says in his newsletter to just burn it...ouch! Maybe a giant sale in my house...hmmmm.
A daunting task before me and I know it must be done. Old clothes and shoes are easy to let go but art supplies? Heart-wrenching! Knick-knacks, no problem dumping them...I'll have the memory of where they came from and who gave them to me. But art supplies? Oh dear! Copies of Somerset Studio? Yeah, go through and save the articles. Books I pass on anyway or sell at $5 a box to Half-Price Books. But art supplies? I have enough to open a craft store...now that's a thought but then I would have to look after it and I'm done with looking after stuff. When this husband goes and I love him dearly, that's it. I am so ready to be looked after.
Maybe that is the lesson in aging...that we return to the children we were. Now that's a thought I could live with as I was a happy child with a huge imagination that only wanted to paint, read and play. I could easily return to that and am working on it.

Hippie boots

Waaahoo! I'm so glad I kept these little babies all these years. They are back in style and the envy of my nearly teen granddaughter. Who woulda thunk! I bought these jewels over 20 years ago when I was hanging out in New Mexico a good bit. I fell in love with them the minute I saw them and had to have them. But darn it, here on the Gulf Coast they sit in the closet for a decade waiting until it is cold enough again to wear them. And at last it is that cold...well, cold for here anyway.
Down in the twenties tonight and colder tomorrow night. I love this weather aside from covering the tropical plants and azaleas and the fact that the master bath stays colder than a witch's tits. Saturday I am gonna put on my skinny jeans and my hippie boots with a red sweater and read my poetry at Barnes & Noble...poems from my new up and coming chap book. It tis mostly done...now to get it printed or published. To do either I shall need to either sell some paintings or hock my boots. Let's go for the first.
So what da ya think about these awesome boots? They are even very comfortable.

Oh jeez Louise

Why is it that such sad things seem to happen around Christmas or is it that they happen all the time but the emotions around the holidays run deeper? We lost a very dear friend on Christmas Eve. A week earlier he had a massive stroke while driving out of his neighborhood, drove his truck into the water and was in intensive care since then. He never regained consciousness and most likely never would have. He would have hated being incapaciated so in many ways it is a blessing he didn't linger on. His wife is one of my best friends and we had dinner with them just a few days before. We hung out together, dined together regularly and we had the pleasure of introducing them to the Kerrville Folk Festival this year. He was like family and never knew a stranger. He had had a full and wonderful life as a sailor, a pilot and was taking piano lessons. We will miss his humor and his kindness and his never-ending support of his wife and me in the arts. Not only am I saddened by this loss but now I realize that I am growing into the age bracket where these things are going to happen and I will lose some of those near and dear. Damn, another one of those hard realities of aging.
This has so brought home the message to me to take every day as a precious one and let your friends know how much you value them.

I Am....

A poem I wrote about having Lyme Disease after seeing the incredible documentary "Under Our Skin." See it if you can.

I am …
Homage to Anne Waldman, “Fast speaking woman: chants and essays”

I am a tick bite
I am a sore throat
I am fathoms of fatigue
I am desperate
I am IVs every 12 hours for six weeks
I am aching joints
I am T cell poor
I am Clafarin
I am called a nut case
I am a war under the skin
I am a doctor who misdiagnosed
I am unable to sleep
I am a mid-line
I am a heart gone crazy
I am a $175,000 cure
I am scared
I am a red rash
I am a Herkheimer that feels like the flu
I am a silent epidemic
I am a killer
I am sexually transmitted
I am able to fuck with your head
I am a doctor who had Lyme Disease
I am three years of antibiotics
I am a spirochete
I am an infusion clinic
I am a firing squad without rifles
I am everywhere
I am hanging on by a thread
I am a borelia block
I am a syringe
I am an immune system forever damaged
I am Lyme disease
I am lucky you didn’t kill me
I am a survivor

Kay L. Cox
@2009 All rights reserved

Super wife or at Least I Tried

In the summer of 1965, our house in Nassau Bay was finished and we prepared to leave 7307 Carew in Sharpstown and neighbors that had become family. Ken was working at the Manned Spacecraft Center and finishing up his doctorate at Rice University so I had been in charge of supervising the construction. This involved months of loading our toddler son into the car and winding our way across town. At that time Loop 610 was only in the planning. All of this meant we had little time to socialize with the community around NASA. Fortunately our small Sharpstown house sold quickly and we were at last residing across the street from the MSC. I, at age 25, was figuring out window curtains and my role in the new community.
It would be generous to say I was reluctant to fill the role of a rising executive’s wife. Maybe reluctant isn’t’ the right word…clueless is more like it. My mother knew more about this than I did and I just really wasn’t interested enough to pay attention growing up. I was several years younger than most of the wives of Ken’s employees but tried to keep up. I hated the “division wives luncheons” but felt I should go as Ken was in management. I hired a sitter, donned the panty hose, hat and gloves, gritted my teeth and showed up smiling. I was trying.
The week after we moved in Ken’s office group of employees got together to give us a housewarming on short notice. I panicked and knocked myself out ironing curtains and unpacking between washing diapers and scraping mac and cheese off the floor. I was just relieved I didn’t have to cook. My idea of getting ready for a party at the time was to make sure the bathroom was clean with plenty of toilet paper and somewhere there was ice for sodas and beer.
Fortunately the group was prepared and brought food, drinks, ice and paper plates and napkins. Our breakfast table was covered with newspaper and a huge tray of unpeeled boiled shrimp was laid in the middle. I was dismayed; I had never seen shrimp served with the heads and shells on. I had no idea what to do with them. After a demonstration, I squeamishly pulled the head off a shrimp and then the shell. I thought the whole thing disgusting but didn’t want to appear ungrateful so I just removed myself and became very busy looking after our 20 month old. The beer flowed, the shrimp disappeared. Everyone had a great time and all pitched in with the clean-up. Eventually I got over my shrimp phobia (living on the Bay did I have a choice?) and can now clean and cook them with finesse.
A couple of years and two kids in diapers later, I agreed to Ken’s wish to host the office Christmas party at our house and waded in with both feet. I loved decorating the house for Christmas and spent hours after the kids were asleep creating ornaments and decorations and looked forward to sharing all of it. But the menu was pure agony. Food prep was not and never has been my thing. Like my mom, I can do it but am just not that into it. I finally settled on some kind of Mexican food. The appetizer was the forever Lipton onion soup dip and chips, the only one I knew how to make. I left Ken to get the drinks iced down and prepared chicken enchiladas in baking dishes and a great big salad with pralines for dessert. I so wanted things to look like I knew what I was doing among these more experienced guests.
Guests arrived, drinks served and I popped the enchiladas in the oven while tossing the salad. All was going pretty well until about twenty minutes into the 30 minute baking time when smoke started rising from the oven activating the smoke alarm. I opened the oven door and flames were rising from the floor of the oven where the enchiladas had spilled over. I grabbed the dishes and ran for the baking soda to douse the flames. Ken opened the windows and turned on the exhaust. On checking the enchiladas, they seemed done enough and I announced dinner was ready. All was well and the party went on without another glitch and the kids stayed asleep.
The next year once again I bravely invited the office back for Christmas. We finally had a table in the dining room, my grandmother’s, a buffet (my aunt) and a sofa from my aunt and uncle in the living room so I decided to use real china and go a little more formal with a simpler menu that could be prepared in advance. I borrowed my mother’s silver chafing dish and polished silver trays for small sandwiches. The silver chafing dish sat on a silver tray on the breakfast table with a hot dip and chips underneath. As the doorbell rang with the arrival of the first guests, I lit the sterno under the chafing dish and removed the lid. Soon people went about helping themselves to dip and chips. I went on to talk with guests when I heard a shout from the breakfast room. Shit! There was a fire under the chafing dish. Chips were in flames and before I could get the fire out with a wet dish towel, a leg of the chafing dish melted, the bowl tilted and out went the dip. Good grief! Another fire! What were these people going to think and what was I going to tell my mother? Everyone seemed to still have a great time and made jokes about the dip and fire but I was rather traumitized.
By the time the next Christmas rolled around needless to say I was less than enthusiastic about entertaining Ken’s office. However after a year I figured most had forgiven or forgotten and out of guilt and my need to try again to be the “supportive good wife”, invitations went out to his office for a Christmas gathering. The children were older and I was able to really get going on decorating without the fear they were going to eat them or tear the decorations apart. We put a tree up in the den, another in the living room and even a little one in the guest bathroom downstairs. It was Christmas everywhere.
I had been gifted with a punch bowl and cups (by my mother, of course) which I placed on the new Christmas table cloth in the dining room. The platters of food were going there as well so I prepared a pretty centerpiece down the center of the table of greenery, pine cones and candles on a piece of aluminum foil to protect the new table cloth. The table looked lovely. The buffet held plates, napkins and silver ware.
Guests helped themselves, ate well and were relaxing after dinner with coffee and sweets. The kids were in bed and I was relaxing at last on the floor in the den talking with friends. Others were milling around, talking and drinking. Whew! Life was good, coffee hot and good conversations with real adults. But then Ken came rushing in from the kitchen saying “We just had a big problem but it is over. I took care of it and all is fine now.”
He had been standing in the kitchen next to the refrigerator with his back to the open door into the dining room when the friend facing him and the dining room said, “Is the table supposed to be doing that?” Ken turned and saw flames rising from the centerpiece on the table and it wasn’t the candles. He quickly grabbed the fire extinguisher from the utility room and doused the flaming pine cones and greenery.
Amazingly the remaining punch and food survived untouched. The foil under the centerpiece saved the table cloth; the extinguishing foam was easily brushed off later. It was all over before I even knew anything was happening. But right then and there I decided there was a message in all this. Three fires and that was it. The universe was telling me something. I was done hosting big office parties. No more—to hell with being super wife. If Ken’s rise to fame and glory depended on a classy wife entertaining flawlessly with great success, he was doomed.
I would later hostess many parties for friends and family whom I love and cherish but only taking heed that simpler is better and always have a plan B.

Life little amazements

This afternoon I got a call from Harpo, Oprah's company. They wanted to know if they could quote a line from a response I sent them to Oprah's current book choice, Say You are One of Them.

The book is so interesting...set in Africa, written by an African. Sad and touching look into impoverished families who manage to care for and love each other under terrible circumstances while holding onto their faith. It is a story of children as prostitutes providing for their family accepting the responsibility without question until they are able to finally leave.
They asked me to read a line from my response which they recorded for possible use in promoting the book.
Each day I awaken grateful for whatever the day may bring but certainly would never have imagined this happening.

The Kerrville Wine and Music Festival was so much fun and even better this year having some friends come along. The music line-up was the best we have heard in a long, long time. I adored these guys, Los Texmaniacs, mostly from San Antonio...incredible accordian player and great sound altogether. I was up and screaming "more, more, more" when their set ended and they accomodated. I've ordered their CD...definitely conjunto music...geez, did I spell that right? It fed right into my love for Mexico and so reminded me of my father-in-law, born in Mexico, the son of a Methodist missionary. Dad played guitar and sang Celito Lindo and other Latin tunes. We played the Mexican national anthem at his funeral.
The Wine Seminar was great...so full of information. Four Texas wineries were represented on the panel which focused on port wines. A little plate of chocolate tidbits was served to go with each tasting. I had never enjoyed much port wine before but now think we may try serving one as dessert occasionally especially with chocolate.
The Texas hill country is shockingly brown...the severe drought is taking such a toll...trees are dying, creeks have dried up...so when it began to rain during the seminar, everyone was thrilled. As Kerrvivers, we have learned to expect the mud, the flood and the crud when at a Festival weekend so we made sure we were all prepared with ponchos and umbrellas. Unfortunately all that was in the car so I and a friend volunteered during a slight break in the downpour to walk to the car and get them. We both got pretty wet. After the evening concert, I was mostly dried off when we got to the motel but thought I would never get my feet warm.
Of course, a stop at Schoebel's for lunch coming and going to Kerrville was a must. Their buffet is loaded with lots and lots of veggies with awesome fresh green beans. Others went for their pie...especially the chess pie...not just once but over and over. I was good, darn it, only tried one piece and just ate the top off since I've avoiding wheat.
It was a great weekend and a nice celebration of our 51st wedding anniversary. I doubt when we volunteered to help the Festival out 25 or so years ago in exchange for lifetime tickets that they ever dreamed that these old folks would still be coming. Ha! ha! Here we are!

From Robert Genn's newsletter

As a sometimes teacher, I love these quotes:


"The best way to teach somebody something is to have them think they're learning something else." (Randy Pausch)

Esoterica: In the conduct of your own affairs, understate and over-prove. Give well-planned, information-rich demos. Let folks make up their own minds and take what they want for themselves. Make your comments short and precise. Tenderness and your own humility count. People are human beings first and artists second. Thankfully, some will pull themselves up by their own bootstraps, no matter what you have to say. And while there will always be those who stay put, a properly conducted workshop can be a place of miracles. "The burned hand teaches best." (J. R. R. Tolkien)

So amiss at writing...

I have been terrible about keeping up this blog since I discovered Facebook. Good grief. Now I get all these ridiculous requests for an egg in someone's basket, to tend their farm, discover my chakra color, send someone in the Mafia a new gun and it goes on and on. I have failed the Myers-Briggs so I guess I am without personality. My writing skills have gone down the tubes trying to text my pre-teen grandaughter on her phone. I try to do better but get seduced to join the American Red Cross or Artists United or some poetry group. And then when I do get to my blog, nobody has commented so I think that no one is reading so why should I bother when there is Facebook where it seems that if I sneeze, I get blessed by many. Hmmmmm......

 

This is a wonderful fun fountain in downtown Colorado Springs. It begins as just a blue dome but on the hour it begins shooting water out like an umbrella and rises to reveal a guy playing a horn. Pretty magical. There is lots of public sculpture around CO Springs. I spent a relaxed week there visiting a friend from high school. We did so many things...a jazz concert at The Secret Garden, the movie "Food, Inc.", a farmer's market with more jazz, a gallery opening at a gallery called Rubbish, a tour of the Garden of the Gods and other spots in Colorado Springs. All this began or followed with some great meals of fresh, fresh organic veggies. And the best pizza I've ever eaten at a place called Rico's. What a great place to live...free music every night of the week somewhere. All this with lots of laughter at memories and other stuff and dining al fresco (something just about impossible here because of the heat, humidity and mosquitoes).

Love this from Jan Phillips' Muse Letter

Monet Refuses the Operation

Doctor, you say that there are no halos
around the streetlights in Paris
and what I see is an aberration
caused by old age, an affliction.
I tell you it has taken me all my life
to arrive at the vision of gas lamps as angels,
to soften and blur and finally banish
the edges you regret I don't see,
to learn that the line I called the horizon
does not exist and sky and water,
so long apart, are the same state of being.
Fifty-four years before I could see
Rouen cathedral is built
of parallel shafts of sun,
and now you want to restore
my youthful errors: fixed
notions of top and bottom,
the illusion of three-dimensional space,
wisteria separate
from the bridge it covers.
What can I say to convince you
the Houses of Parliament dissolve
night after night to become
the fluid dream of the Thames?
I will not return to a universe
of objects that don't know each other,
as if islands were not the lost children
of one great continent. The world
is flux, and light becomes what it touches,
becomes water, lilies on water,
above and below water,
becomes lilac and mauve and yellow
and white and cerulean lamps,
small fists passing sunlight
so quickly to one another
that it would take long, streaming hair
inside my brush to catch it.
To paint the speed of light!
Our weighted shapes, these verticals,
burn to mix with air
and changes our bones, skin, clothes
to gases. Doctor,
if only you could see
how heaven pulls earth into its arms
and how infinitely the heart expands
to claim this world, blue vapor without end.

~ Lisel Mueller ~

(Sixty Years of American Poetry, The Academy of American Poets)

Inspiration?

Wheee....I sold another painting which means two things: I have money to travel and I am inspired to keep painting. So off I went to Aaron's super sale on canvases. They are now sitting staring at me in my studio as I write. Writing this blog is a way of procrastinating the inevitable first brush mark on the empty white space. So then may I should think of texturing the canvas before the paint. Virgin canvas is always intimidating and I don't think I am alone in this feeling. I've heard other painters express the same. Sometimes it is as easy as just throwing some charcoal marks on it or putting a wash of some hue all over it. Today I sorta have in mind what I want to do but then I may procrastinate some more with cleaning off my desk, folding laundry. Hmmm....

 

This month marks the 40th anniversary of the first lunar landing. Our community is celebrating that great achievement for the next couple of weeks. Last night my husband and I along with many aerospace folk gathered at the University of Houston/Clear Lake to hear former flight director, Glenn Lunney, speak and to view the documentary, In the Shadow of the Moon. It was an emotional evening for many of us as we viewed John Kennedy's wonderful speech that set in motion our visit to the moon followed by recent interviews of the astronauts that made the trip. It was interesting to hear them speak of their experiences now in reflection 40 years later. At the time they were involved, they were too busy with the technical decisions and mechanics to spend much time in reflection but now several of them related what a spiritual experience it was for them. Ed Mitchell went on to go on a spiritual journey to find the actual remains of Noah's ark. Mike Collins talked of his epiphany spiritual experience. I do recommend the film as it is out on DVD.
Many of these astronauts were our neighbors, most lived on our street or around the corner. I became overcome with sadness and teary watching the prologue of the terrible fire that claimed Gus Grissom, Ed White and Roger Chaffee. I recall when we got the news. We were on our way to downtown Houston's medical center to visit a friend who had just had a baby when the news came over the radio. We were shocked and what should have been a joyous visit had quite a pall over it. It drove home how incredibly dangerous the mission was and how brave were the men who chose the journey. Roger and his family were our neighbors in the next block and by the time we got back to our neighborhood the media was camped in his front yard. Our children were so young they have no memory of this but I will remind them to watch the movie as the whole program was a major part of our lives.
When Apollo 13 got in trouble, my husband was called in to help with the guidance system that he had designed to help them get back down in the lunar landing module. It was a close call and very scary.
I remember when the first man orbited the moon before anyone actually landed. It was Christmas Eve and friends including astronaut Al Worden, his wife, Pam and their girls. We had the TV on and gathered to hold our breath as the astronaut finally came around from the back side of the moon and we all gave a huge sigh of relief when he reported in.
At the first lunar landing, Mike Collins as commander stayed in the capsule while Buzz Aldrin and Neil Armstrong climbed down the ladder to plant the US flag on the moon. Buzz and my husband are still in touch as both are still active in space development. Buzz is 80 now and my husband, Ken, 78 and it is remarkable that they both still have the enthusiasm and excitement about their work that they had more than 40 years ago. Neil Armstrong keeps a very low profile and always has so was not part of the interviews.
Looking back I am amazed at how ordinary we thought our lives were at the time and now realize how extraordinary it was and is to be part of that era in our country's development. I am grateful that there was that opportunity for very young men, some in their twenties, others in their thirties when it began, to courageously step into the unknown, not just as astronauts but as engineers, technicians trying something that had never been done before. Awesome!

Finally

It wouldn't be the 4th of July without watermelon and a parade. But that was just the beginning. We spent the 4th in Charlotte at my son's house surrounded by family and it was just the best ever. Daughter-in-law's cousins came along with her mom and after a big barbecue dinner of grilled chicken, hot dogs, corn on the cob with baked beans, cantalope, watermelon and brownies, we all loaded on to the boat at dark and headed up the lake to some coves for some great fireworks. Dock after dock up and down the coves set off a wonderful display that went on for about two hours. Under a full moon and with a cool breeze and good music, it was just awesome.
The kids crashed after a busy day starting off with riding their bikes in a community parade. Our son set us up at the finish in the shade with chairs and we got to see it all....fire engines, beauty queens, horses, antigue and miniature cars and floats. A great slice of America which makes me very proud.
s

Memorial Day

Last Memorial Day I was in Washington, D.C. and wrote this poem which recently won the Robert Clark Appreciation Award and has been published by Sol Magazine and That Thing We Do 2008:

Memorial Day in McPherson Park,
Washington, D.C.

A soft breeze cools the cement beneath my feet
as geometric shadows of nearby buildings
grow long across worn patches of green grass.
Making their way slowly, one by one they come.
With walkers, wheel chairs, crutches they come,
come to find that certain bench,
to stake a claim on dream time.
Black plastic bags holding what’s left
of a life of hard times and bitter memories
lay near torn and ragged soles.
Darkness will bring nightmares of “Nam”,
dreams of beds and showers
as sirens wail down K Street.

Ducks and pigeons scurry with flapping wings
circling round the woman in green sweats.
Midst the clamor, her hand, a rusty brown,
reaches into a bag and throws the fowl some crumbs.
She who has so little shares what she can.

Oblivious, suited figures hurry through the park
conversations wrapped around their ears.
Passers-by become intruders in this strange land.
Do they bring anything to the table?
Can they hear their pain?
A dark figure stoops under his mighty load
ranting, raving at sights unseen
as he stumbles from bench to bench.
He looks at me and I become afraid.
He shouts a greeting and I nod.

I take a seat on a fading sun-lit bench
feeling overwhelmed.
Here on Memorial Day near the Wall of honor
gather the forgotten ones
lost in the “land of the free and the home of the brave”.
How did it come to this?
Fearful and ashamed
I walk away toward my hotel
knowing that my meal tonight will fill my belly
but will it feed my soul?

Squatting hair

Well, it was haircut week and I am left with what my friend, DeAnne's, brother would describe as squatting hair. What happened? With all the vitamins I'm taking I should have bold, strong, standing-tall hair. A trip to Walgreen's and new gel and we shall see. Is this a message to let my hair grow out? Do I really want to mess with longer hair again? Only if I can have stripes of another color. Perhaps now I should go for the stripes, I think they are called high lights, in hopes that my silver strands will stand on their own.

Foggy Dawn on Clear Lake

Foggy Dawn on Clear Lake

Months after Ike
cold air descends at night
onto the warm, still water.
Lakeshore homes become faint shadows
wrapped in a silver-tinted blanket of cozy humidity.
Silent, calm, ominous
remnants of past destruction
hide beneath the surface.
Sea birds echo the fear
that possible repeats approach with time.
Tossed from anchored slips,
recovered boats line the shore.
Slimy green brown growth covers shattered hulls,
a graveyard of tattered dreams and sails
headed for a dumpster.

Beams of sunrise break through the fog.
People stir from trailers parked in driveways
waiting dollars from insurance, FEMA.
With hopeful eyes and hearts
they stare at their blue-tarped empty shells,
pray that this is the day
they hang sheetrock, lay tile, glimpse the time
they can once again
call this house home.

Masks

We collect masks of all kinds. While in Bali, we were fortunate enough to meet with the Master mask maker in his village and collect a few of his fabulous masks. The Balinese use these masks to play different characters in their dramas and the artist invited us to try on different ones and get the feel of each. On a return visit to him he had arranged a group of men to drum and chant for us and then play for us while we danced wearing the masks. It was an extraordinary time, one of many such events in our visit to that country. When an artist becomes very successful, it is tradition that he/she give back to their village. This artist shared his wealth by building a large community building in his village.

Artists are very honored in their culture and is an integral part of their every day life. Frequently we would come across fresh flowers or fruit placed on a bamboo leaf weaving out near a tree or other plant...an offering to the gods in gratitude for their blessings and prayers for more. Sometimes these offerings would be outside a cafe or a home. In the compound where we stayed in Ubud, the house women would make these simple but beautiful offerings all during the day. Bali is an interesting mix of Hindu and Islam with all sorts of rituals to gods and goddesses so much of the art forms are rituals of faith.

Maya Angelou says...

'MAYA ANGELOU'S' BEST POEM EVER



A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ....

enough money within her control to move out
and rent a place of her own,
even if she never wants to or needs to...

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ....

something perfect to wear if the employer,
or date of her dreams wants to see her in an hour...

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ..

a youth she's content to leave behind....

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ...

a past juicy enough that she's looking forward to
retelling it in her old age....

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE .....

a set of screwdrivers, a cordless drill, and a black lace bra...

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ....

one friend who always makes her laugh... and one who lets her cry...

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ....

a good piece of furniture not previously owned by anyone else in her family....

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ...

eight matching plates, wine glasses with stems,
and a recipe for a meal,
that will make her guests feel honored...

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE .

a feeling of control over her destiny...

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...

how to fall in love without losing herself..

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...

how to quit a job,
break up with a lover,
and confront a friend without;
ruining the friendship...

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...

when to try harder... and WHEN TO WALK AWAY...

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...

that she can't change the length of her calves,
the width of her hips, or the nature of her parents..

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...

that her childhood may not have been perfect...but it's over...

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...

what she would and wouldn't do for love or more...

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...

how to live alone... even if she doesn't like it...

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW.. .

whom she can trust,
whom she can't,
and why she shouldn't take it personally...

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...

where to go...
be it to her best friend's kitchen table..
or a charming Inn in the woods...
when her soul needs soothing...

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...

What she can and can't accomplish in a day...
a month...and a year...


Being happy doesn't mean that everything is perfect.
It means that you have decided to look beyond the imperfections

Latest of a series

 
This is one of a series I'm working on inspired by the fall foliage I saw in NC last fall. My timing is a little off I know being as spring is beginning to pop around here but the memory is still strong. We so seldom get a real fall here on the Gulf Coast the whole experience was a great one for me. Right now there are three in the series but there may be more.

But still there is the question...

what to do with all the "stuff" I am creating? I have a cupboard of journals filled with writing and drawings, closets full of painted and collaged canvases, more drawings, a flat file full of more drawings. I give it away and create more. I recycle and paint over old art work but there is still more. Yes, this is a God given gift to do all this and what I do to fill my soul, to heal myself, to place myself in the universe but God didn't tell me what to do with all the products of all this. My house is pretty funky as you can well imagine.

I think God says "Build a warehouse for all that stuff and let your kids worry about how to burn it when you are gone. Or maybe my great grandchildren will look at it and think geez, didn't she know how to do digital art? What was she thinking?

 

What am I doing here?
This is one of those days where I question what in the world am I doing? I've been painting and writing and painting and writing which I love and it feels wonderful most of the time. But then I hit days where I question whether the world really needs more "stuff" and more "words". And closer in does my world need more "STUFF" or more "WORDS?" Is it enough to just like creating all this? Chances are it ain't gonna sell...poetry rarely sells (I take it back...I just sold 3 poems for $5 each). Most of the time the poet has to pay someone to even read their stuff, much less pay for it. So what am I doing here? And what would make it seem like enough? Affirmations help, for sure. What else? Most success seems to be measured by money so that would be nice. But since that ain't happening, what keeps me keeping on? What keeps any artist keeping on? Is it egocentric of us to blog and hope that someone will read it or do we do it just to keep track of our thoughts and lives? For me, mostly the latter but I do love it when someone comments. Like, wow! Someone noticed me. Maybe for the same reason I read other blogs...to find the common ground and relish our shared humanity.

What a sky! Can you see the hint of a sun dog? It was much more colorful through my dark glasses but I had to stop the car between LaGrange and Columbus to soak up this glorious sight. We were on the way back from Austin and my annual reunion with friends I have known since grade school. We went all the way through UT together and one was a sorority sister. I packed my giggle box and it got good use. It always feels like going home for all three of us even though none of us has lived in Austin for over 50 years.

The first night we stayed at the Barton Creek Resort...not a great experience. Beautiful setting, crappy room, unhelpful staff...won't go back. It has a gorgeous view of the hill country but they could improve their management. All we wanted to do was visit anyway and we are all pretty laid back and didn't let anything bother our laughter and sharing memories.

One I had forgotten happened in high school at a slumber party we all attended at another friend's home. Our dates for the night were invited in and we played some card game or spoons until it was time to say goodnight. Dates were invited back for breakfast the next morning. We all trooped upstairs to don our baby doll pjs to sleep in a row in a big room upstairs. After a late night of gossip we all shut our eyes and slept until time for breakfast. Our dates returned and at breakfast our friend's little brother played a tape of all the things we had said about our dates the night before. He had hidden a recorder in the light fixture. Oh geez...we could have killed him, of course. Her parents thought it hilarious but we didn't and ask ourselves now as parents would we have let one of ours do that to a sibling and her friends? I don't know.

Wooohooo! I'm gonna be a groupie!

I'm gonna be a groupie for Jerry Jeff Walker when I grow up. His concert last night at the Galveston Opera House was once again such fun with a combination of old stand-bys like LA Freeway and Back to the Armadillo with some beautiful new love songs. And he's sober or at least appeared to be. He had a great back-up band with an awesome lead guitarist. What a guy! We saw him a gillion years ago in Kerrville at the first Kerrville Folk Festival. It was held in the Kerrville City Auditorium before the Festival moved out to Quiet Valley Ranch. He was on with Willie Nelson. Wow!

And the Opera House celebrated its reopening after Hurricane Ike when flood waters ravaged the place. It looks great. Still work to be done but they got it open for the first time for this concert. Walker has played the Opera House the first Saturday in Jan for the last 15 years and his foundation presented the Opera House with $7500 toward repairs. Really sweet!

Anyway I sang along and danced in my seat and reminisced about previous times with Jerry Jeff. What fun! And so grateful I was well enough to go! He's just so damn cute!

Wait a second

Wait a second


Wait a second

Look here,

You’re telling me

I get an extra second?

2009 is a Leap Second Year?

News to me.

I can see it now,

Times Square on New Year’s Eve

Thousands waiting, counting

down the brilliant ball

10-9-8-7-6

Wait a second!

Now,

5-4-3-2-1

Happy New Year!

My recliner is my Times Square if I’m awake.

May I grab my second from those New Yorkers ?

Even better, from Sydney way down under?

No, wait til midnight I am told.

What to do with this magical gift?

Kick the cat?

Sip some wine?

Blow my nose?

Write a line?

I will put mine in a bank, I think,

A bank of seconds for future use

To shoot the finger

throw a kiss

add one last breath

or take a piss.

Wait a second!

Hear me now!

Don’t forget!

I want those old seconds I have missed.

I’ll bank them like found money that

gathers interest every day.

Watch them grow into minutes, hours, days

Until at last it will be time

to say goodbye to 2009.

Happy New Year!

Kay L. Cox

12/08

Best Movie in years

Doubt

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[Meryl Streep]This movie will leave you talking and questioning for days to come. Academy Award wins for the whole cast. Magnificent screen play. Meryl Streep and Philip Seymour Hoffman's finest acting ever.

Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas! And it has been and still is. What a great week of parties and family and friends. My daughter and I looked at each other over the big breakfast she cooked this morning after opening gifts and thought "How could we possibly think of eating another big meal?" We have been eating wonderful Mexican food for three days....two yesterday. It is traditional in our family to have tamales on Christmas Eve...sure beats the oyster stew my grandmother always fixed (not that it wasn't good but the kids never liked it). So after another big lunch with my niece and partner at Ninfa's we had company again last night for tamales, beans and rice. You have to understand, being born and raised in Texas one grows up as a chili belly. Tex-Mex is a staple in our diet and we are indeed a family of chili bellies.

Tuesday was cookie decorating day when my friend, Susan, came over to teach us icing 101. Above picture is some of our creations. It was so much fun we will have to make this an annual event. The desserts are piling up...cookies, pecan pie, apple pie and soon pralines.

SOOooo we looked at each other after breakfast today and said, "Let's have Christmas dinner tomorrow when more family is coming and go to the movies today." So there we are and I'm even going to get a nap.

Slick and Peanut are just exhausted after a hard day of wrapping packages. They had to jump in empty bags, snatch ribbon, crumple paper and unroll the wrapping paper. Whew! They are just pooped.

The sisterhood of the traveling jean jacket

Well, sadly, the jean jacket was entirely too big for my grandaughter (what was I thinking? it had belonged to her mother in a previous life). By the time she would have grown into it, she would have a brand new idol. SOOOSSOO.....grandaughter opted to share it with my friend, Nanci, whom it fit perfectly with encouragement to add on if she wished. Thus there is now "The Sisterhood of the Traveling Jean Jacket." A happy ending for all with the agreement from Nana to work on one of my grandaughter's current jackets and "please, Nana, no lace."

The jean jacket

This is the jean jacket I am recycling with added embellishments for a grandaughter's Christmas. She is a fan of Taylor Swift so that is her picture on the back. There may be more additions but my fingers are needle sore right now...hand stiching through denim is tough.
It has been a fun project...I just hope it isn't too big for her.

Christmas down under

Christmas in Australia

Nuytsia floribunda Loranthaceae

When I was living in Western Australia while teaching at Edith Cowan University, I was charmed by this Christmas tree (it is actually called Christmas tree). It is a parasite and only blooms at Christmas time...big, clusters of yellow flowers. It has roots that tenaciously can grow for yards and yards underground and pop up a new tree a long distance from its mother.

Christmas season seemed alike but different in some ways from the USA. Santa Claus showed up in the mall and stores were decorated but there never seemed to be the prevalence of crass materialism that prevades the States. Stores would have a small display of cards and ornaments and lights but not racks and racks of glittery stuff which was really nice.
What was really fun was the big parade in downtown Perth with bands and fire engines and of course, Santa but what a difference in the crowd. We were all wearing shorts, sunscreen, sandals and Santa hats. Fun with the spirit of Christmas no matter what the temp.