Please welcome my brother to journal land! His journal is entitled, I am better at writing than speaking....and he says the title says it all! A father, husband, cop, Christian and so much more.
http://journals.aol.com/ktmcoach/Iambetteratwritingthanspeaking/
There are so many reasons that I’ve neglected my journal lately. If I’d taken the time to write about many of the things that have been going on, I’d have some pretty special individual entries. Now the moments have passed, and I am not sure that I can recreate the enthusiasm or interest that I had at time. Rather, this will be just a jumbled catch-up of the past couple of weeks, to let my friends and family know I am okay and for my historical record.
Today begins Abs third week of boarding high school and I am happy to say….she LOVES it! Actually, in all this time, I’ve only had a few emails from her begging me NOT to pick her up to show/sell her lamb at the county fair because she doesn’t want to miss any classes! (Good Lord! My child has been abducted and just who is this cooperative little imposter?) And, she said she has “many friends” and “this place is cool…way better than home!” Score one for mom!
Parent’s weekend is October 15th and 16th and I guess that will be the first time I will see her, since she’s not coming home for the fair. I can’t wait to talk with her, find out about all her classes and meet all her new friends! I’m hoping to see a very happy teenager at that time.
I am thoroughly enjoying this empty nest and I think the best part about it is that my house stays clean! The freedom that I am experiencing is almost a little daunting. I’ve been raising kids for a long, long time and I’ve never had this feeling that all I have to worry about is me! One Saturday, I took off to Los Angeles, to visit my Uncle Lee and his stepson who’d come from Northern California to see OSU and UCLA play in the Rose Bowl. I couldn’t let them come within a few hundred miles and not be able to give them a hug! I met them after the game at the Burbank Hilton and enjoyed a nice dinner and then spent the night with them in their suite. Since they had an early plane to catch the next morning, I had the place to myself, so I propped up my feet and enjoyed the very thick Sunday Edition of the Los Angeles Times before stopping in the hotel restaurant for a nice quiet breakfast. After my meal, I hit the road and did a little shopping on the way up the mountain. Another great mini-vacation!
My Grandma Jessie is just barely hanging in there. My Aunt Mary called the other morning and said that Grandma had a very rough night. Mary is at the point that she’s staying with her constantly because she‘s told her how tired she is and “I guess 89 years is enough.” Grandma was pretty coherent yesterday when I called to tell her how much I love her. She said, “I know Lisa and I love you too. I’ve just had soooo much love in my life!” I then said, “Grandma if you go to Heaven soon, would you please tell my dad how much I love and miss him?” She replied in her sweet Okie drawl, “Oh, yes I will and your mother too!”
I just cried because I thought that was so very sweet! What an amazing woman.
More later.
The car packed was packed to it’s breaking point Saturday with nearly all the essentials needed by a 13 year old heading to boarding school. Tam, Ab and I made the best of our 3½ hour trip on Saturday to Ab’s new school, by joking and talking about the adventures she would experience in the new setting. After an extended summer that she was really getting to like, Ab joked that she’d rather stay home and eat Cheetos, than go back to school.
Especially “that one” where she didn’t know anybody!
Ab mentioned that she was glad Tam came along to help her decorate her half of the dormitory room. As if I couldn’t hang a poster of Kurt Cobain! Geez. It was my job to make the bed. I can guarantee that’s the last time it will be made for quite some time.
Upon arrival we were glad to see an eclectic mix of kids, also new to the school, as the “returning students” were not going to arrive until the following day. Of course to hear her tell it, they were all “preps!”
I knew when I saw the girl wearing way too much dark make-up and a fan-folded dollar bill in her hair as a very stylish bow, a teacher that had wide
purple stripes in her hair, and a White boy with a huge afro, that Ab would eventually find a kindred spirit. Walking to the beat of a different drum has some advantages.She wore her “You’ve ruined my life and can’t you tell I am clearly miserable here” look for the entire registration period, which had the desired effect on me. It was especially heart-wrenching when I heard that Ab’s Korean roommate ditched her after dinner for a group of Asian girls. Then Ab wandered around by herself for quite awhile.
Later, during the dorm meeting, she made sure to stand away from the group of giggling and happy girls who were there to introduce themselves. I watched her from my perch on the hearth of the fireplace and breathed a little sigh of relief when I saw that Tam had forced some interaction with Ab and another new girl who was also off on the sidelines. “Tansy” commented on how cool Ab’s Slipknot shirt was and I think they found some common ground.
I am hoping by now that she’s found a group of kind girls that will welcome my shy one into their fold. My parent’s handbook says it takes about 2 weeks for the kids to workout their social circles, before they can start settling into the routine of school. First things first, I guess.
Their schedule is so full for the few days that I haven’t heard from her and I am just beside myself. I can’t wait to hear how it’s going and I am praying that she’s doing better than when I left her. It’s so tough, but I know I did the right thing and I am betting in a few months, she‘s going to love it there!
Today for the umpteenth time in so many years, I presented myself at our Superior Court for my civic responsibility.....Jury Duty.
In my opinion, considering my background, I'd make a hell of a juror, but for some reason, those defense people just don't like me in the jury pool. I was excused and out the door with the second preemptory challenge. Thanks but NO thanks, they say. So, I will see them again this time next year for more of the same.
Time for some awesome news...............My girlchild was accepted to the Arts Academy High School as a Visual Arts student and awarded.......ahem.......$25,270 in scholarship funds for this school year! I couldn't believe it! This is a dream come true! She had to have an additional telephonic interview with the Dean of the Visual Arts department, which was the clincher. He indicated that her artwork was very "fresh!"
I think she's going to love it there and really discover her true talent and passion in the various art forms that she'll have a chance to study. This is a college preparatory school with demanding academics, but small enough that they will keep her busy and on track with her study skills, in a positive environment with kids that have similar interests. I am praying that she makes some awesome friends this year.
We are currently in the process of packing and getting everything together for her arrival at the school this Saturday, with classes to begin on Monday! Today I bought her a desk/study lamp, and colorful new bedding for her dormroom. And a flashlight, because classes go until 6:30 pm. Yesterday I filled up a new fangled plastic footlocker with new shampoo/conditioner, toothbrush and toothpaste, new jammies, socks, writing materials, a laundry bag/soap, etc. Thank goodness I taught her how to do laundry because she's on her own there with that! We still have to shop for some new clothes and a "fashionable" backpack, by Friday. Yikes!
My personal and professional life this past week had me spinning 90 miles an hour (a poor choice of words, all considered) and I am ashamed to say I didn’t realize the magnitude of the destruction and devastation caused Hurricane Katrina until Friday night when I finally sat down in front of the television and watched the benefit concert, Dateline and 20/20. Nothing drives a point home like seeing video and hearing the horrific stories.
I am heartbroken and saddened for the sea of precious humanity awaiting help from a government who has been slow to respond to this overwhelming natural disaster. Our government’s tunnel vision focus has been on possible terrorist attacks, when in fact, “Homeland Security” is so much more. We can only pray that this is a significant wakeup call for all of us when it comes to the power of Mother Nature and the appropriate response in the aftermath.
Once again, I will try to prepare my home and family for “The Big One” that California is predicted to have one of these days. My previous efforts at ensuring “earthquake preparedness” have diminished greatly over the years. Supplies must be rotated and replenished. This disaster has reinforced the fact that a family must be self-sufficient for quite some time before expecting help. I vow to make this a priority over the next few months.
My daughter in law, along with 2500 other soldiers from Ft. Bragg, North Carolina, have been deployed to Louisiana to assist in the relief effort. According to Fly Boy, she was very excited to go, despite not knowing how long they’d be there. I hope they can provide a lot of assistance and that they find it to be very rewarding. I only wish I was in a position to help. If I were retired, I’d make my way there to assist in any capacity needed. Instead, I will provide my assistance via a monetary donation to the Red Cross and pray for strength for the victims of this deadly storm.
Krissy is my youngest half-sister. She's now 38, but has always been the baby. Even after she had a child, she lived at home with our mother and they were two peas in a pod. Mom was not a good role model and suffered from a variety of ailments, including mental illness. Neither of them held a job and I don't know they managed, but they lived on a steady diet of greasy fast food, sugary soda and cigarettes.
About 10 years ago, when she was just 58 years young; my mom died suddenly as a result of respiratory arrest. Not surprising considering the constant smoking. After her death Krissy just seemed to fall apart emotionally and physically. She began using drugs and lost custody of her teenage son due to the drugs and neglect. She became homeless and at one point we even filed a Missing Person's Report with the police because we couldn't find her. We were certain she was dead, but thankfully that wasn't the case. But she could have been considering the circumstances in which she was found.
Somehow Krissy had the good sense to call for help. Our brother came to her rescue, and took her away from the drugged man that wanted to hold her hostage for her part of the rent for a nasty, roach infested motel room in a seedy part of town. Kris was given a fresh start with one of our sisters in the Mid West, but before long she headed back out to California and was homeless again in no time.
Several weeks after she had her first debilitating stroke we heard from her in the county hospital. Before long they put her in a taxi and sent her on her way. Still unable to communicate properly and having extreme difficulty walking, she had a second stroke in the homeless shelter. Ultimately she ended up back in the hospital, where she suffered a third stroke that they didn't think she'd survive.
Her will to live and her drive to regain her strength was amazing and inspiring. In no time she was again ready to be released. I met with the hospital's social worker and we made arrangements for her to collect Social Security Disability and obtain appropriate housing for someone in her condition. Before long she was living in a group home with a loving caretaker who fixed her charges wonderfulhomecooked meals and ensured they took their medications as prescribed.
Kris lived in the group home for the past two years and did pretty well. Eventually her son graduated high school and was permitted to come live at the same place. We'd talk on the telephone every once in awhile, which was difficult because her speech was greatly affected.
I don't know how she managed to purchase cigarettes on her limited income, but she continued to smoke, despite the doctor's warnings, and the concern of her family and friends. I knew the danger and had talked with her doctors. She was at extreme risk of suffering a fatal stroke due to her high blood pressure, which increased with each cigarette she put to her mouth. Regardless of what any of us said, she continued with her nicotine habit.
Today I received a call from her and we managed to catch up on a few things. She had moved to her father's house up north, and her step-mother was going to be her paid caregiver. I was excited for her that she was now in the care of family.
Of course I had to ask the question that every smoker dreads..........
Me: Kris, are you still smoking?
Her: Noooooooooooo!
Me: Oh my gosh! Krissy I am so proud of you for stopping! How long has it been since you smoked?
Her: Yessssssssstttttuuuurrdddaaaay!
God love her...It's a start!
Since yesterday was the 1st anniversary of my father’s passing and I visited “him“ at the cemetery, this topic just seems appropriate.
Life and Death
My family has spent a lot of time visiting cemeteries. With Papa’s interest in our family’s genealogy and history in general, it was inevitable that we’d spend a significant part of our annual vacations visiting graveyards of long dead relatives and various famous and some pretty infamous historical characters.
Every summer we’d head to Eastern Oklahoma and Arkansas to make the obligatory cemetery rounds and pay our respects to our ancestors and in some cases, descendants whose lives were cut tragically short. Papa had at least one son buried in the Indian “Camp Creek” cemetery and a marker for the other son who was “buried at sea.” There were generations of Newman and Riley family members buried in sunken graves shaded by ancient oak trees. Markers and headstones worn by weather and time. Decoration Day flower arrangements soiled by the red Oklahoma dirt. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. Uncles, Aunts and cousins.
At the Salisaw cemetery was Papa’s young half-sister who died as a child in a horrific car accident with her father at the wheel. Muldrow cemetery held “Mama” Spencer, my great-grandmother. Many a time my Grandma Jessie stood at her grave and shed tears of sorrow, as if her death had just happened, instead of years before. “I miss my mama so much!” she’d cry. You never get over the loss of your mama she said. “Jessie, Do you see the angels?“ said Mama Spencer before taking her last breath. Grandma Jessie had sisters and brothers buried there as well. They all had their stories. Some died in infancy. Some too soon as adults, and all before her; the eldest.
It was during those times that I came to know my family’s colorful history. The successful suicide of my paternal grandfather after many unsuccessful attempts. His never ending grief at the loss of Brenda in the accident while he was driving. The Chitwoods, buried in Arkansas, who never acknowledged their illegitimate granddaughter. Their son, buried in Texas, who fathered the girl, and loved her mother to his dying day, even though they never married. Her picture found in his wallet after he died, would prove it.
The war heroes. Family members fighting on both sides of the Civil War. “Change of life babies.” Surprise! The Aunt who tried to extort money from a kidnap victim’s family, even though she had nothing to do with the crime. Tales of the boys hiding up in the trees to watch as she snuck off to be alone with her boyfriend. The great grandmother who fell to her death from a runaway horse and buggy. “Didn’t everyone think Grandpa pushed her off ?” Papa would ask his mother.
The children understood the routine. We visited all the “live” relatives and all the “dead ones.” All of ’em. We remembered. We learned. Heading into Grandma’s house one afternoon after an all day cemetery marathon, she said to us….Did you go to all the cemeteries?” My little brother who was about 9 years old promptly groaned…”No we passed one!” We needed a bumper sticker that read…This car stops at all graveyards!” ”Hey“ I‘d joke with the kids when they‘d had enough, “Don't you know people are just dyin’ to go there?”
Then to the folks that weren't kin. Once we stood at Charles “Pretty Boy” Floyd’s grave, while my grandmother recalled her younger days as a neighbor to Pretty Boy and his family. “Public Enemy Number 1” was a folk hero to the Oklahoma people who dubbed him their Robin Hood, for his actions of stealing from the rich to help the poor. His shiny new headstone replaced the one that was stolen years before and “‘fans“ continued to chip away souvenirs.
In Arkansas, along the river at Wilson Rock, we visited the original resting place of Tiana Rogers, a Cherokee woman who married Sam Houston. Papa shared his knowledge of Tiana’s life, and followed it up with a visit to her final resting place at Fort Gibson. Later we’d visit the museum in Houston, Texas to learn more about Sam’s fascinating life in public service. Judge Isaac “Hanging Judge” Parker’s court, gallows and museum were nearby in Fort Smith, and by visiting we learned the fate of many of the lawless in Indian Territory who faced the judge and ended up in the local cemeteries.
I’m not so sure that my oldest children and younger brother’s will remember those times with Papa, but I hope they do. Maybe this entry will spark a few hidden memories and they‘ll be thankful for the special times in their youth. It is now the time in their lives when they are begining to bury their ancestors. I hope one day they will visit those resting places with their kids and share the stories of their lives. Every life has a story and it’s meant to be told and cherished for generations.
This story is part of mine, in honor of Papa.
Experience is a hard teacher because she gives the test first, the lesson afterwards.
~Unknown
Today we will tour another private school to consider if Ab doesn't get accepted to the art academy. This school may be the best after all, considering she's been pretty spoiled and sheltered all her life. This type of rural environment that's about 3 hours North of us, with all of its simplicity will certainly build character. Here's info from their website:
Paul Squibb, a Kent School alumnus and Harvard graduate, and his wife, Louise, founded Midland School in 1932, believing that the essentials of a good education are a student, a teacher, and an idea.
Beyond being a college preparatory boarding school, Midland was created to be a small, rural community that relies on the work of its inhabitants to meet its basic needs. Conceived in the midst of the Depression, these ideals still form the center of the school's philosophy, and every student who earns the privilege to attend Midland will assume not only a great deal of responsibility, but a great tradition of service.
In a world of increasing complexity, Midland School's objective is both timely and straightforward--to foster in young people a strong, lively intellect and impeccable character. A splendid physical setting and the unique opportunities afforded by a twenty-four hour day, seven day week boarding school provide a community in which both students and their teachers live together, bound by the tenets of self-reliance, minimal consumption, and closeness to nature.
The School is a non-profit organization that is governed by a 16-member board. The estimated value of Midland's property is $15,000,000 and the school's growing endowment is currently approaching $4,000,000. Annual giving generally yields $300,000 for the school, the bulk of which helps fund Midland's substantial financial aid. Certainly, Midland's budget and use of financial resources looks nothing like other boarding schools, and we pride ourselves in putting our limited funds into people and program, rather than new structures. It is the hope of the school that our students inherit some of these lessons in frugality, and generosity.
Sounds exactly like what this child needs! Wish us luck!
Now, I am off to roll her lazy fanny outta that bed!
Be Counterculture. Raise your own kids.
As I made my way through the grocery store parking lot to run in and grab a bottle of cranberry juice, I saw the above message on a bumper sticker. It just about stopped me dead in my tracks, but considering why I needed the cranberry juice, I hurried on about my business.
Now that’s a novel concept, I thought to myself.
Then I immediately began to experience a heroic sized guilt trip for even considering placing my child in ::gasp:: boarding school.
I thoroughly beat my self up and questioned my decision all the way home. By the time I walked in the door, I wanted to turn my cranberry juice “cocktail” into the real thing with a big shot of vodka. But I didn’t. I just cried instead.
What kind of mother sends her kid to boarding school? Am I throwing in the towel? Letting someone else “raise” my kid? Is this really the best thing for my child? Shouldn’t I be able to handle a 13 year old? Geez. (Give me a convicted murderer any day.)
Once bitten-twice shy they say. After Bubba‘s escapades, I am just not willing to take any chances with this remaining wild Indian. So, I have made up my mind (again), she’s going. That is, as long as she’s accepted by one of the two schools to which we‘ve applied.
In fact, she better pray that she gets accepted by the artsy school. This second one is a lot tougher. They make ’em do “chores” and chop firewood.
Imagine that.
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