Archives for category: Family

Facing my prejudices…

March 15, 2016 //

Trying to make sense of the hatred in the world, all parts of the world, I have to take some responsibility and look inside myself to see my own prejudices and figure out where they come from. I don’t consider myself prejudiced, but I am. I’m prejudiced now in different ways than I was when I was a a child, a teenager, a student, a wife and mother, an adult.

As a child of the 1940s and 50s, I don’t remember hearing anyone in my family say anything hateful about people of another race. We learned the song, “Jesus love the little children,” with it message of loving all the children of the world, red and yellow, black and white. That is ingrained in me too. Of course, we didn’t see many people of other races or cultures here in Oklahoma. The only African American people I knew were called Negroes and they worked for us at home or in clubs or other places. We loved them, my parents valued their help and worked with them, and I only knew they didn’t have as much as we did and lived across town in poor areas. I wasn’t exposed to many religions other than protestants and a few Catholics until I was in junior high. I wasn’t protected – it’s just the way it was.

My parents grew up in the depression. My father was from Kentucky originally and his father’s family had owned slaves in earlier times. I don’t say that with pride, but it’s a fact that I have to acknowledge, cringing as I write the words. From what I can tell, and I hope I’m not making this up, my family were kind people in spite of this. My father’s mother’s family and my mother’s family were farmers and lived a very rough life. They may have been tough or beaten down, but I don’t think there were too many mean people in there. Maybe a mean drunk or two.

Another song that comes to mind is from “South Pacific,” a beautiful play and film about prejudice that I saw as a young girl. I also read Michener’s “Tales of the South Pacific,” upon which it was based. The song is “You’ve got to be carefully taught.”

You’ve got to be taught
To hate and fear,
You’ve got to be taught
From year to year,
It’s got to be drummed
In your dear little ear
You’ve got to be carefully taught.
You’ve got to be taught to be afraid
Of people whose eyes are oddly made,
And people whose skin is a diff’rent shade,
You’ve got to be carefully taught.
You’ve got to be taught before it’s too late,
Before you are six or seven or eight,
To hate all the people your relatives hate,
You’ve got to be carefully taught!

I’m lucky my family wasn’t crawling with hatred that they passed on to me.

Growing up, I was a pretty quiet little girl, reading a lot and hearing many things. I was also the kind of girl who would never hurt anyone’s feelings on purpose. If my parents taught me that, I thank them. To this day, at 70, there is nothing that hurts me more than to think I have hurt someone else by something I said or did.

There’s no way I can pretend that I don’t know all the racial and ethnic stereotypes out there. I’ve heard all the jokes and laughed at them stupidly, although never in the presence of someone who would be hurt by them. Like that isn’t just as bad, playing to the prejudices of others. I cannot honestly say that I don’t have those horrible stereotypes or feelings ingrained enough in me and that they don’t come to the surface when I meet someone new or see someone on the street. They range from being uncomfortable with the handicapped to thinking through all the implications of someone’s color or nationality to dumb blondes and stupid rednecks. I’m pretty universally prejudiced, I guess.

I hate that I’m writing this, hate that I’m putting this all out there, but it’s true. Maybe I’m justifying it, but I have to give myself a little credit, too. My parents traveled with us and introduced us to many types of people. There were always lots of magazines around and I read them all, locking away all kinds of information that challenged the other things I’ve read. My mind is a mishmash of the bad and good things about people.

I’ve learned that the best way to overcome the things you fear is to meet them head on. This includes meeting people, putting a face with the prejudice that lets you put it all in perspective. I’m not perfect, but I can honestly say that I have friends from almost all races, if I’ve had the pleasure of being introduced to them. I have friends of every religion and belief, whether I agree with it or not. And, yes, some of them fit the stupid stereotype and remind me of why it exists in the first place. The good thing is that I have friends that I can talk to about these things. I can only imagine what their presupposed image of me was and it probably was as stupid as mine was of them.

Several years ago, my job entailed teaching a series of programs to 2nd and 3rd graders on diversity. The classes were developed by Mr. Rogers’ group and called “Different and the Same.” The different sessions focused on stereotypes, bullying, hate crimes, celebrating your heritage, and general kindness towards others. The classes ranged from all white students to a diversity of white, Hispanic, Native American, African American and all blends. They were vocal about the things they had been taught at home, but they soaked up the lessons and understood everything we were trying make them think about. This may have been the most important work I did in my life and certainly something I’m very proud of.

The answer to my self analysis is that we have to keep working on these issues throughout our lives. We can’t give in to our fears, rational or irrational, about other people. We have to keep reaching out, meeting people, learning, and making the effort to see the world through the eyes of others. We have to understand that most of us want the same thing for our children and those we love, a safe home, education, love. We’re not really that different under the skin, are we?

I don’t know how we teach compassion and empathy. I don’t know how we teach people to love. All I know is that we have to keep trying. If not, what are we?

Tags Different and the Same, Jesus loves the little Children, prejudice, stereotypes, You have to be carefully taught

Categories Family, Reflections

Losing a child…year five

January 10, 2016 //

Can it be five years already? Is it only five years? I’m trying to process the death of my younger brother last month and the anniversary of my son’s death is here. Too much death means I’ve shared so much life. That’s how I’m choosing to look at it this time around.

I look through photos and my mind tries to latch on to my favorite or how I remember Clayton. Do I remember him at two, a grubby little boy of already legendary impishness and imagination? Do I remember him at five, already well into his Star Wars obsession?Do I remember him with his buddies in grade school? Or as the latest style setter?Is my best memory of him as teenager? Crazy, silly, exasperating as all get out?Do his friends remember him as the funniest guy around? Possibly the most dedicated and goofy class 9th grade president and 10th grade vice-president they could ever hope for?Do I remember him dancing at his sister’s wedding?Do I remember him with his father without a tearful smile for both of them?Or times with his cousins and sisters?Were his college years his best?Or the times with his sisters?Do I remember his battle with cancer? His courage and his ability to bring us all through it with his incredible humor?Do I remember the friends who were there through all those difficult years?Do I remember most when he told me he was smitten?Or their magical wedding?And their joy at becoming parents?

Was he the best uncle ever?Or the best son, brother, friend, husband, father? He was all that and a kind, generous, loving, cantankerous, hilarious man to boot. Ultimately, he was uniquely Clayton.

It’s been a journey through his life today. Five years later…I miss him more, I appreciate him more, I love him even more.

Tags 5 years, cancer, son

Categories Family, Memories, Reflections

My brother Jim

December 31, 2015 //

After my brother died last week, I realized he was the immediate family member I had spent the most time with. He was 67 when he died and I didn’t have that much time with either of our parents and our sister is younger. That’s a sobering thought among all the other mixed emotions that have swarmed me.

I was 2 1/2 when Jim was born and our family soon moved to Tulsa from Oklahoma City. We’ve been here ever since. This picture was taken soon after the move.We tagged around together for a couple of years until we were joined by our little sister, which smashed him between the two girls.I was glad to have a brother because that meant we had baseballs and comic books and all the other boy things of the 1950s. We shared a bedroom for our early years, complete with green chenille Hopalong Cassidy bedspreads. I wouldn’t have had those without having a brother and I loved those bedspreads. As I got older, I moved to my own room and he had to share with our little sister until our parents built a large home and we each had our own bedroom. When our parents would leave us alone, my sister and I would torment him, knocking on his door, irritating him until he chased us to the door of our bedrooms where we pressed against the doors so he couldn’t get to us. Siblings at their most tender.

Jim was uniquely himself, a very smart, polite, handsome boy. At an early age, he began to battle his weight and our parents tried to help him as best they and doctors knew to do back then. It was a life-long battle for him. He played ball, was a cub scout, learned golf as we all did. We swam and played outside and had a great childhood. One of his great loves that continued throughout his life was fishing. I don’t remember exactly where we first fished, but it was a part of our time with our uncle, our father and others. Jim loved it!

Through adolescence, Jim developed an interest in photography and had his own dark room. He was brilliant but not a brilliant student all the time. His rebellion was growing in typical teen fashion. By the time we got to college, he followed me to Oklahoma State University and studied English, further developing his interest in writing. By the end of those years, he left and travelled Europe, living for awhile in the Canary Islands. It was hard to communicate in those days and my parents were worried sick. He came home and opened a record store, but eventually ended up in the family automotive parts warehouse. He learned computers early and took care of that for the business long before the rest of us even understood the potential.

Jim married, had a daughter, divorced. That was that except that he loved his daughter unconditionally until the day he died. This is a fun photo he kept of them on one of the trips they took together.He had friends and pets, including a parrot he brought to the office with him for many years. In his later years, he adopted a dog, Kelly, from friends who were moving abroad and loved that little girl until she passed on.

His life was his and I’m sure he was lonely, but you never knew. He had fishing buddies and his drinking buddies and his writing groups and his Mensa contacts and other friends. He played poker online, watched football and other sports and followed the stock market. He seemed busy all the time with one thing or another.

What it comes down to is that he’s gone and I’m the one who was with him the most until the end. Those last couple of years were rough as his health had deteriorated and the options were few. It was the ultimate nightmare when your brain is years away from death and you are watching your body make the decisions for you. For the last 17 years of his life, he slept with a machine for sleep apnea, probably setting some kind of record. He had diabetes and was massively overweight and suffered constant pain from arthritis in his hands and knees. I realized the other day that the last time he came to our holiday dinners was 2006. I always packed up Thanksgiving or Christmas dinner to take to him in the next years. How did it get to be that long?

My goal was to help him stay in his house as long as he could since it was paid for and all the care he would need was expensive. I quietly admired his strength of both body and spirit as he conquered the obstacles. He went from a cane to a walker. When he didn’t feel he could drive anymore, he quit. He got a motorized cart and drove himself to the store, the bank, the barber. I was amused because he used to drive a midget racer when he was a kid and he delighted in this machine in much the same way. He never asked me for any help and made all his arrangements himself. He found someone to install poles around his house to help him lift himself up from his recliner, his office chair and his bed. Eventually, he added a second motorized cart for inside the house and had a ramp added to his house so he could drive that cart to his garage and transfer to the other one to make his trips. He took a lot of pride in being able to figure all of this out. Jim was 6’2″ and must have had incredible upper body strength to be able to manage all these things. He hired some nursing service helpers to come over for a couple of hours for small chores, but they weren’t much more help than I was really.

Those last couple of years were painful to watch. I told him I had no idea what to do to help him other than run errands for him or get my kids or grandkids over to help move things or do small chores for him. He appreciated everything so much. Every week he emailed me his grocery list, which he dictated to his voice program on the computer to save his hands, yet another gadget that helped and delighted him. I would deliver the groceries and unpack them for him (he would put them away later, using his handy grabber gadget), then sit for a chat to hear about what was going on with him or to share the escapades of my family. He kept up with everyone on Facebook, a treasure for those who are away from the action. His pain was increasing. He had fallen a few times through the years and the fire department rescued him. He never stopped praising their kindnesses to him. He screamed in pain when he moved and was now going to bed at 3:30 or 4 in the afternoon to get off his cart seat. I could tell other things were starting to go bad as he described his ailments.

The final weekend, I was going to the store and called to see if he needed anything. When I couldn’t reach him, I went to his house and couldn’t get in with my key. I called 911 and they told me they had taken him to the hospital the day before. When I got to the hospital, he was on a respirator and sedated and I was never able to talk to him again. He had made the 911 call himself and had to be put on the machine before they got any information. He fought all the way. His doctor told me he had seen him before and Jim had told him he had no family. I wasn’t surprised. He wouldn’t have wanted me to worry. He always called me after he had been taken care of. I told the doctor I was here, as were other members of the family, and he was very glad. He didn’t want him to be alone at the end.

That last decision I made was per his directive, so it was really his decision. It wasn’t fun or lovely or anything peaceful. It was the right thing to do, to let nature take its course, which was to let him quit suffering. Since then, I’ve been spending time in his house, going through the papers and belongings I need to take care of. I know people don’t want to do this kind of thing, but I find it kind of peaceful and revealing. You relive the person’s life when you have to touch everything.

My brother’s house was and is a mess. I always looked around, dreading the day when I would have to figure out what was necessary around there. His strength those last years all went to breathing and moving, so everything else is left where he put it, in piles all around. I could have offered to help him with it, but he wouldn’t have let me. So I dig through, finding treasures and learning more and more about my brother every day.

He read a lot. A lot. There are some wonderful books there. I haven’t been through his record collection yet and don’t know what shape they are in. And Jim wrote a lot. Quite a lot. I write the stuff you see here and I write reports and emails and other things, but Jim wrote books and plays and poems and letters and letters to the editors. We didn’t always agree on politics and I don’t always have some of the same interests in topics, but I do know he could write. That was his dream actually. I keep finding new things to save for later. I know more about his inner self all the time. Nothing I didn’t expect or know, but I’m finding it all on paper.

I’m remembering more through all my exploring. Our last conversations flash back at me and I realize he was remembering more too. At the end, he was trying to maintain his last shred of dignity, in his words, and he was facing a limited, painful future. But he was facing it bravely with no excuses, no blame and more strength than I can imagine. He told me stories of his travels and people he met, things I had never heard before.

The thing that stands out to me about my brother through all the things I have known about him through the years is that he was always, always there for me. He was non-judgmental when others were. He was supportive and loving at all times. I always, always knew how much he loved me. Always.

The last time I saw him, he described a morning on the White River, fishing in a deep fog in one of the places he considered most beautiful on earth. His tone was reverent while he told me this memory, reliving something very special to him and he told me he had taken a photo. Yesterday, I reached into a random box and found a sack of packages of photos. The first ones I saw jumped out at me. You know that feeling you get when you see something and you know what it is. And I knew that this was where my brother’s heaven would be, the place he requested his ashes be scattered. The White River near Bull Shoals in Arkansas is where I will picture him from now on. Happy Fishing, Little Brother. I love you.

Tags Brother, death, fishing, White River

Categories Family, Memories, Reflections

70

December 2, 2015 //

Finally! I’ve been waiting my whole life for this day!!! Really, I have. I’m 70 today and my whole life has led me here, like it or not.

I decided to mentally take stock of my years and see where I am.

I’m an educated woman, I’ve been taught and I’ve taught others. I continue to learn because there’s so much to know. So much new stuff to keep up with. And my mind is functioning with a few forgetful moments here and there, probably due to so much being stored in that brain of mine. So much more that needs to be filed away…

My body is still working fairly well, minus a few parts that weren’t in use so much, and I’m lucky for that. I promise to take better care, I promise.

I’ve traveled well, been to several countries and almost all the states. So many more places to go and see…

I’ve given back to my community, hoping to make my little corner a better place, and have received way more than I have given in the life lessons I’ve learned, the friendships I’ve made, the skills I’ve been taught.

There has been sadness and joy, with much much more joy than I ever would have guessed. The sadness has taught me to appreciate the joyful times so much more.

I believe that all faith begins with Love and the Golden Rule and keeping it simple makes life easier in the long run. I believe in living what you believe more than anything.

My friends are there forever, even if we’re not in touch sometimes. It’s fun to reconnect as our lives take different directions.

I’ve been a daughter, granddaughter, wife, mother, and grandmother. Nothing means more. Nothing. Absolutely love my children and grandchildren – absolutely, with all my heart.

So, turning 70 isn’t all that bad. I’m here, after all, to enjoy my friends, watch my children and grandchildren grow into their own lives. Time is going faster and faster and it scares me sometimes to see how little time lies ahead of me at this speed, but what do I know? We only have so much time and we don’t get to know how much, so we live the best we can.

I waited all this time to be 70 and here I am. It’s good. All good.

Categories Family, Friends, Memories, Reflections

Behind the lens…

November 18, 2015 //

I’m a picture taker. I hesitate to call myself a photographer because I don’t really take the time to use all the stops and lens and filters I could use. It’s been something I’ve done since I got my first Kodak Brownie camera when I was 12. I took a class when my kids were little and learned to use the darkroom, which I never used again. I took away from that class an understanding of the way you can manipulate photos to make them better after you’ve snapped the shot, an appreciation of light. Today, I do that with a computer, cropping and fixing as I go.

Mostly, I’m capturing my memories, the pictures of my mind. Maybe I think I’ll lose them otherwise, but I do go through my photos all the time, just as I went through my grandparents’ photos when I was a little girl. Both my maternal grandmother and my paternal grandparents kept all their photos in the top drawer of a dresser. I guess that’s what people did if they didn’t put them in an album. I should have asked them more questions about the people in the pictures. I definitely should have.

Maybe it’s my impatience or my lack of discipline or my trust of the wonder of modern cameras, even on our phones, but I seldom spend too much time using all that I’ve learned in the photography classes I’ve taken. Usually, I have a camera with me and take what I see. And I see pictures all around me. I can’t drive down a street or walk a block without seeing a picture in my mind. I compose all the time, trying to capture the essence of what I’m seeing. That’s impossible sometimes, such as clouds or sunsets, but I can get a little of the wonder of it.

Yesterday, I stepped out my door and was struck by the beauty of the fall leaves in the rain. So, of course, I grabbed my camera and took pictures. For me. Here are a couple so you can see what I’m talking about.I couldn’t let the moment pass. It’s my own memory of that day I walked out my door and saw something so beautiful.

When I travel, I take photos to use in my blog or to remember my trip or to remember where I was. I now take pictures of the restaurants where I eat so I can remember when someone asks me because I would surely forget. I take a lot of photos from the car and it’s amazing what you can get, even through the windshield. It is definitely a problem when I’m the driver because I pull over a lot. A lot. Here’s a photo from Chinatown in San Francisco. I looked up and realized that there were people living lives above the tourists populating their streets. They must be immune to our presence by now.My favorite subjects are the people I love. I’m okay with posed pictures, but I love the candid shots that show me something you can’t see with a pose. My friends are caught in an impromptu dance. She was recently diagnosed with ALS, yet they are marching forward, surrounded by the love of their family and friends. This moment will stay with me for a long time.Here’s a long ago photo of my Daddy, relaxing with his paper on a Sunday morning. Most people knew him as elegant, athletic, handsome and he was. He was also Daddy with his tan line from his golf shoes, his rumpled curly hair, and his daily paper. My youngest granddaughter is in love with all animals and not afraid to get up close. This bird was so patient to let her see how his feathers work.Last summer, my family got together for a swim party and I watched my grandsons play like little kids. The oldest one was leaving for college in a month and I caught him enjoying his cousins. How many more times will I get to see them all together playing?The boys made up game after game in the water in total joy with the familiarity of brothers and cousins.The boys are all athletic and I caught one of the younger ones (at 15 and 6’5″) showing his intensity in a ball game. He is a pitcher and first baseman, by the way.I catch my youngest granddaughter all the time in moments that remind me she is still a little one, our last for awhile. Oh, the sweetness of a sleeping child. Here’s another older one that I caught on the Christmas before my oldest grandson was born. All my children are gathered together in that moment before the grandchildren began to arrive. By the end of the following year, we would have three boys…but we didn’t know that at this moment. So much happened after this. So much.Here’s a picture I took at the OSU Homecoming Parade a few weeks ago, intending to use it in my blog. Little did I know that a horrible tragedy was about to happen about a mile down the street. Little did I know that this would capture the essence of the parade’s innocence and delight before the horror happened.Years ago, I was volunteering with the local domestic violence shelter. We gave a Halloween party for the women and children and I was taking Polaroid pictures for them. We didn’t use film because we wanted to respect their privacy. That event taught me so much about my camera and myself. One woman held a one year old in a body cast, wanting a photo for the father who had caused this pain. I had to stop myself. I lifted the camera to take a photo of one woman and seeing her eyes through a lens made me put the camera down for a moment. There was too much there, too much of her I was seeing. I lifted it back and took the shot, but I’ve never forgotten the power of what you see through a lens, what focusing on something teaches you in that moment.

So I’ll go on taking my camera with me, stopping to capture my family and friends, everything beautiful, interesting, funny or memorable around me. I sometimes feel artsy, as anyone can with the sophisticated equipment we have today, but mostly I do it because I can’t help myself.

You get the picture.

Tags camera, lens, memories, OSU

Categories Art, Family, Friends, Memories, Nature, Photography, Reflections

40

November 5, 2015 //

Forty years ago today, our son was born. Forty years ago. Five years ago today, he texted me:

Two months later, he was gone, his 6’2″ frame weakened by the residual effects of intense radiation ten years previously. At least we had those ten years.

Normally, I’m pretty stoic about all of this, able to process his life and keep it in perspective with the ways of nature and the universe. I understand life and death pretty well, knowing we all aren’t given long lives or easy lives. I don’t cry much anymore, having cried myself out with the death of my husband first and then my son. I talk about it, write about it, keep myself surrounded with the people who make me happy. I do ok.

This year has been different, especially the last few months. I’m in a new zone of the grief process, a new layer that I wasn’t expecting. I can’t pinpoint the exact reason for this feeling because I can pinpoint a whole bunch of reasons. Whatever is causing it is real and painful, but I know it will pass. The song, “Forever Young,” goes through my head. Yes, he will be forever young, although I’d like to have watched him get older along with his sisters and all my grandchildren. Not to be.

I try to be angry but it takes so much energy that I need for the living. I should be madder than hell that he isn’t here to watch his daughter grow up. He is missing such fun things with her and her mother. I should be livid that he isn’t here with his wife and daughter and his sisters and their families at our family gatherings. I hate that he’s not here for his 40th birthday, celebrating with his friends. Damn it! That would be easy, I think, to rail against the universe. I don’t really do that too much, although today I will shake my fist once for good measure. I’m not mad at God or nature or any person or event. I’d get mad at cancer, but there are so many diseases equally devastating. It’s part of being a human being, this living and dying.

Mostly, I miss him. I miss him all the time. It creeps up on me at odd moments, as these things tend to do. It’s not the big events in life where the loss is felt the most. It’s the day to day flashes of what was and what might have been.

I defy anyone to think this won’t happen to them if they have enough faith or understanding or people around them or therapy or support groups or exercise or alcohol or drugs or whatever it takes each person to survive loss. It still waits around each corner, ready to disrupt your thoughts or sleep or activities. It can stop you in mid-sentence or mid-thought. If you let it, I guess it can paralyze you. You keep moving, keep moving along.

Don’t feel sorry for me or anyone else grieving. It is what it is and mostly we get through it, some better than others. There are no rules, no timeline, and no way to escape. Maybe that’s ok. Maybe that’s how we measure how much impact our loved one’s life had on us and others. So, don’t feel sorry, just appreciate the power of the love we have lost.

I have a feeling that his birthday will help release me from the pain I’ve felt this year. I hope so. My memories will still make me smile and laugh, his daughter will still do things that remind me of her daddy, my family will remember together. He was part of us from the beginning, forty years ago today, and he will be part of us for eternity. That’s how these things work.

Sharing all of this emotion is debatable but probably a good thing for me and for any of you who ever have to go through this. My heart is with you, whoever and wherever you are. It’s a feeling that you don’t really share with those around you who are going through their own ways of dealing with grief. Even married couples who share the same loss can’t grieve the same way. It’s personal and very very lonely.

I can feel it beginning to shake off because I’m looking forward to being with my family, sharing hugs and laughs. This grief comes and goes, but it will go back into hiding for sure. The sun shines, the seasons pass, the world moves on, and we who feel loss step out and join in the joy that is life, carrying the memories with us all the way.

Images of my son’s forty years pass before me. I don’t have a favorite because each is precious. Today, I can’t summarize his crazy, funny adventure of a life for you, but I can share him, dirty faced in his favorite cowboy hat, at 2 1/2 years old. I can’t help but smile thinking of this baby/boy/man of mine and how much a part of our hearts he will be as long as we can remember.

Tags 40 years old, birthday, cancer

Categories Family, Friends, Memories, Reflections, Uncategorized

Oklahoma State University Homecoming 2015 – my view

October 25, 2015 //

Oklahoma State University bills its Homecoming as “America’s Greatest Homecoming Celebration” with a whole lotta pride and reason to celebrate. As the university celebrates its 125th year, the Homecoming theme for 2015 was “Stillwater…Still Loyal…Still True.” It makes you pause a day later because of the importance of that statement in the aftermath of a year of planning, a week of festivities, a weekend of wonder mixed with unbelievable tragedy.

I’m an alum, was a graduate assistant in the English department back in my day, my first married years were spent in Stillwater, my oldest daughter was born in this town, some of my children and their spouses graduated from OSU, I am now on staff part time, my oldest grandson is a Freshman and I have another grandson coming here next year. I have ties galore. I really hadn’t been back for Homecoming weekend until 2011 when one of my grandsons, who was 13 at the time, and I came up for the weekend. It was such a delight that I couldn’t wait to come back. I only live a little over an hour away, but you have to plan for it. Stillwater is a town of 47,000 population, but there were 85,000 people there on Friday night this year. Yeah!

OSU Homecoming takes a year of planning, thousands of hours of work by student groups, and lasts for a week. There is something for everyone. The festivities kick off on Sunday with a ceremony to dye the water in the fountain in front of the iconic library orange. America’s Brightest Orange is everywhere!Every day is a new activity, with opportunities for any student group to participate. There is the Sign Contest on the library lawn, which shows off the creativity and spirit of the students…There’s a chili contest, a carnival for children, and a Paint the Street night open to anyone. A late week rain washed away some of the work, but the remnants were under our feet walking to the stadium on Saturday.Friday night is the WalkAround, a night where the streets in front of the university are closed and people walk around to see the massive house decorations designed and created by Greek Students. These were here when I was in school, but it’s beyond my imagination to see how these are built. When I arrived in Stillwater for meetings early Friday, it had rained overnight and students were hustling, working with huge equipment and lifts to finish the decorations before the judges arrived at 1:00. These structures are beautiful, inspiring, have moving parts, and are great fun. It was my grandson’s first time to work on one, so I was sharing his pride.

He’s in this photo in the white shirt. He’s 6’4″ to give you an idea of the size.Before one of my meetings on Friday, Pistol Pete arrived in the building. I’ve shared my love of our mascot, the only college mascot based on a real person. He was in our department to greet alums and I caught this shot of him walking with one of the little fans, who was just learning to say “Pistol Pete.” He had on cowboy boots with the image of Pete and his grandfather was showing him the picture on the boots and then pointing to the real Pete. I don’t know if this little one understood, but he walked off with Pete, to his mom and grandparents’ delight.While I waited for some of my family to arrive in Stillwater for the WalkAround, I took pictures, as I always do, of things that caught my eye. Here’s Old Central, the original building and the oldest on campus, all spiffed up to greet alums.Everything was in place to greet the OSU family.I walked across campus, catching the moon over the #1 Student Union in the country.As the crowd began to build, the strip was ready with its familiar shops, restaurants and bars.The crowds were building, the streets were closed.When I came in 2011, it was harder to find food if you didn’t want to stand in line for an hour at a restaurant. Now there are food trucks everywhere, tents with OSU clothes and gifts, activities for all ages. The lights came on at Theta Pond, way more beautiful than when I was in school.Five of my grandsons did the WalkAround. Four of them, including the Freshman, had never seen it before and it was fun to share it with them. With bands playing, people of all ages filling every street, sightings of campus celebrities, members of the OSU band doing impromptu songs, dancing on the Student Union terrace, alums running into old friends, the memories flooding, the pride swelling, it’s the greatest street party ever.

By 9:00, the major activities are winding down and the crowd can move towards famous Gallagher-Iba Arena for Homecoming & Hoops, the perfect ending to the evening. This is basically a free pep rally for students and anyone else who enjoys the noise. The arena is famous for the noisy atmosphere during basketball season and this pep rally is perfect in that space. As I entered, the students were seated in groups, waving lighted sticks and screaming. The noise level is intense and my friend had ear plugs. I loved it!

The evening begins with the football coach, Mike Gundy, thanking the students for their hard work and inviting them all to the game the next day. I watched the coach while the music was leading up to him talking. He moved with the music, shooting his hand in the air with the spirit of the evening. On the sidelines, he has to watch the game. Here, he’s a Cowboy all the way – former stat breaking quarterback to coach. Here, he gets to be a fan for a few minutes before he leaves to prepare for the game.Pistol Pete is walking the sidelines, the band is playing. The OSU Women’s Basketball team gives a 10 minute preview of their skills, followed by the pom squad, a skit by the OSU Wrestling Team, a lip sync competition, announcement of winners of various contests during the week, t-shirts are shot and dropped into the student sections, small footballs are thrown to the crowds, a big demonstration by the cheerleaders, ending with a preview of the OSU Men’s Basketball Team. It’s a wild and crazy finish to the day.As we left, by luck of who I know and was with, I got to stand on the field, imagining what a young player must think and imagining what would take place the next day. Those goal posts look very narrow and that goal line is far away from the 50 yard line. Wow! By Friday night, for those of you who are into these things, I had walked over 18,000 steps. And, I still felt good. My head was full of so many years of memories and pride in what was going on in this wonderful place.

Saturday morning, I was ready to go to the Sea of Orange Parade. I remember taking my oldest daughter to it when she was a baby and I loved it the last time I was here. This isn’t really something the student body attends unless they’re in it because many of them have been up all night all week getting ready for Homecoming. This parade is more about families, generations. Stillwater is still a small town and this is the best of what a small town brings to a university experience. I almost didn’t go and visited with my friend I was staying with, but decided I didn’t want to miss any of this great experience and headed downtown alone. I stood near the beginning of the parade so I missed probably the first 1/3 to 1/2 of it, including the OSU Marching Band, all the OSU dignitaries, state politicians, Pistol Pete, the cheerleaders, etc. That’s ok because I got the feeling I was looking for. I’m sharing more photos with you than I planned because it really means more now.

Right after the Stillwater High School band, where I came in, was the OSU Polo Team. I bet you didn’t know we had a team, did you? We also have a Rodeo Team. We do horses here.And there were other horse riding groups…and dogs…and trucks and tractors and motorcycles and cars.

Note the crowds along the street. There were decorated flatbeds and walking politicians and others throwing candy to the kids with nobody acting like they were in any danger of poison candy. I moved down the street and stood beside pick up trucks owned by people who came early to park along the street and use the truck for parade watching. There were generations of families, waving to the parade participants, neighbors knowing everybody who walked by. I overheard people telling each other things like, “she does my hair sometimes,” “that’s my former student,” “he lives in Perkins now.” It’s a small town atmosphere, a family setting at its best.

There were beauty queens…and dance schools, and karate students, and little baton twirlers…There was pride in America…pride in our school and pride in our lives.There were local celebrities…and the ever popular marching lawnmower team, doing its routines along the way.And, bands, small town bands. I’m so very impressed with the number of kids who play all these instruments in the very very small towns. That’s a tribute to some teachers, some tradition, some pride.I walked up to the beginning of the parade in time to see the last of it, the mounted sheriffs turning the corner onto Main, to be followed by the Stillwater Fire Trucks. I walked to my car a little after 10:00, drove to McDonald’s to use the restroom and grab something to eat before I drove to the other side of campus to find a parking place for the game, planning to find some students and meet my friends later. I turned onto Hall of Fame and headed towards the stadium, not realizing what was going on or about to happen a couple of blocks from me. By the time I parked my car on a side street north of campus, I was starting to get messages that someone had driven a car into the parade crowds and people were killed. I was totally ignorant of where the parade ended, so I couldn’t place anything. Dear friends and family were contacting me to see if I was ok. What in the world? I walked the few blocks to the stadium, taking my phone charger with me because it was going down fast. This was becoming a strange day quickly.

The campus was crowded with tailgate parties. I can’t begin to tell you how crowded it gets and how many parties are going on. Here was an elaborate set up near the stadium. Families and friends were gathered to eat and hug and share the day. The smells of grills and barbecue were filling the air. I realized most of these people, thousands of them didn’t know anything or much more than I did about what was happening. But there was a subdued feeling beginning to hover over us. I found one of my student friends and plugged my phone into their trailer (Gad – there is so much to tailgating now!) and heard the first rumors, all of which proved to be false. I had heard a few sirens and saw some helicopters that I assumed were news media. As I left to walk around, I lost cell coverage, maybe due to the stadium, maybe due to the mass of people using all these devices. I saw televisions in tailgate tents turned to the news, but most people probably didn’t know unless they were being contacted. I was getting messages on Facebook, texts, etc. I was using power fast trying to reassure everyone. For some reason, this orange colored dog made me smile in the middle of this strange time.

Mostly the campus was Homecoming as usual, maybe quieter when I think back. It was a day of celebration and of shock. It was time for The Walk, the parade of the band, cheerleaders, pom squad, coaches and players walking across campus to the stadium through a line of fans and well wishers. Usually this is noisy and boisterous. Today was quiet. The band wasn’t playing, other than a few drummers with a somber march. They were followed by quiet, respectful cheerleaders and pom squad. Pete arrived, cheering the crowd as always, somehow reassuring that our world is still there, living and breathing.The team walked by, huge kids. One stopped to give hugs to the people next to me. I’m sure they wanted reassurance, too. They may be big, but they’re somebody’s kid. Coach walked by, slapping the hand of the woman next to me who reached out to him.There was no noise at the end, the parade filtered into the stadium in silence. Game Day was here.

I decided to go into the stadium early because it’s fun to watch it get set up and I knew my friends were somewhere on their way. Besides, I was still having trouble with texts and messages getting through. Walking into the stadium early, the first thing that smacked me in my heart was the great flag at half mast. It’s really true and happening to these families so close by. You couldn’t shake that image all day long.So I filled the next hour watching the crowd build, the team practicing with different units, the school fight songs filling the air. The team came out and warmed up in formation, which I think is so coolThey went back to the locker room, preparing to make their entrance. The KU and OSU bands played and everyone got in place to welcome the team to the field. I felt curiosity, waiting to see how this was going to be handled. As seen on television, there was a moment of silence, appropriate for all. The game was played, OSU won in a lopsided victory that made it easy for fans to slip out after the half-time. I stayed to the end, holding my friend as we sang and swayed to the alma mater along with the tradition of the team singing it with the students after the game. I stopped at a friend’s house after the game, welcoming the chance to get dinner and talk a little before I drove home. It was nice to be with good people, Stillwater residents, though there is no sense to be made of the tragedy of the day. Someone said this was not just an OSU tragedy, this was a Stillwater tragedy. I’ve been through senseless things before, I’ve lost loved ones. I watched video of the crash, horrified to see how close the children on a parade truck and walking came to being hit. I’m horrified they had to see this, horrified that it will haunt them forever. My love goes out to those who were there because the rest of us can only hold them in our hearts and hope for their physical and mental recovery.

The one thing I do know is that the irony of having something like this happen in the middle of such a great traditional weekend of Homecoming is offset just a little knowing how strong the ties are in the community of Stillwater and OSU. This is a strong family with shared memories and a lot of pride and love. It will help. It will.

Tags football, Homecoming, Homecoming Parade, Oklahoma, Oklahoma State University, OSU, Stillwater, tragedy, WalkAround

Categories Events, Family, Friends, Memories, Places, Reflections, Sports

Fly on the Wall

September 14, 2015 //

I’m a very lucky girl…well, a very lucky old girl. My children and grandchildren live close by, all 15 of them, so I can see them as often as we can fit into our busy schedules. I try to see them one on one and as a family whenever we can. I’m so happy to be here to see them grow up – and that includes my own children.

With eight grandchildren, six boys and two girls, one in college, four in high school, two in middle school, and one in Kindergarten, there are lots of ball games, assemblies, grandparents’ days, graduations and, of course, birthdays and holidays. I’ve realized that there is one unique event that has become very special to me – high school football games.

I’ve got grandkids playing varsity football, baseball and soccer and the younger ones playing volleyball, baseball and basketball, so there are plenty of games to see. The difference in the football games is that everyone tends to go to those. I’m not making a judgment because I sometimes have this happen at baseball or soccer games, but football is the one right now. We’ll hope for more crowds at the other sports.

At family gatherings of any kind, I love to sit back and watch the kids, and I include my kids and grandkids in the word kids, interact with each other. Sometimes, I’m probably too quiet, hiding behind my camera, watching them.

At the football games, I have the ultimate fly on the wall experience with my family. This season, I have a grandson, a senior, playing center on the team. His father is the president of the football parents and he sometimes announces games. Since he is a comedian by nature and sometimes avocation, as well as a former football player who knows the game, he is well appreciated by the crowd. His wife, my youngest daughter, is in the crowd cheering for her guys. Did I mention that most of us graduated from the same high school the kids go to? That adds to the fun with our third generation of Eagles.

My middle daughter is one of the leaders of the soccer parents group (don’t know her exact title, but she works hard) and they are running the concession stand this year to raise money for the soccer team. I can find her there and can watch her leadership skills in action. Her husband is in the crowd – another alum.

My oldest daughter and her husband come to see the games and cheer for their nephew and watch the kids. They are active in the baseball parents group. And my daughter-in-law, another alum, brings the Kindergartener to the games when she can.

I can sit with my big kids in the stands, or I don’t even mind sitting alone, watching everyone go by. Besides the fun of the band and pom and cheer squads, I’m cheering for my grandson and taking pictures – because that’s what I do. Last week, my grandson was one of the team captains, a proud moment for all. Besides the game, I’m watching the students interact, seeing how my grandkids act with their friends. Even though they wave at me or sometimes come sit for a minute and say hi, they are mostly oblivious to my being there. I get to be that fly on the wall, watching them in their own world. Here’s my tall grandson, the senior soccer player, leading the student section, cheering for the team and his cousin and friends. I love the diversity of this school, which was once as white as white could be. My grandsons, who are sophomores, are beginning to participate more. They’re the best of buddies since birth and tend to hang out together as they make their way through the awkward social strata of high school. One drives and one has his learner’s permit, so they’re entering that scary world. Well, scary for parents and grandparents.The two eighth graders, a boy and a girl, are not into hanging together as much as they did when they were very little, and they roam the stands with their own posses, although I see them acknowledge each other here and there. They are usually looking for their parents in the stands to ask for money for snacks.I also see the cousins interact, which makes me happy. You can’t beat that feeling. During some games, my oldest grandson shows up, home from college to pick up his girlfriend, a senior. He’s the alum now, welcomed by his friends who are still in high school or catching up with friends also at the game. He was the senior spirit leader last year but stays away from the student section now. He’s past that – or knows that the seniors need to have their own year.There is so much to take in, watching my kids go by. I can see my own children interacting with their friends, greeting other parents they know through their kids. Again, it’s nice to see the parents greeting, hugging and cheering with other parents, forgetting racial and other differences. It gives you hope.

Through my fly on the wall position, I can hear the music, see the trends, and keep up with a little of what’s going on in the world of teenagers. I can check the expressions and body language of my most precious loved ones. I can see how they are doing in a world that I am really removed from in their daily lives, but get a taste of at the football games. I hope this is what heaven lets me do – watch them from above, sending love and support their way.

Mostly, I rejoice in the fact that I am there and can watch them grow up. I take pride in the fact that they are all adjusting well to their world, making friends, participating in activities, learning about life. I can see their smiles and watch them laugh with their friends. You know what? It makes my heart sing.

Tags fly on the wall, high school football game

Categories Family, Reflections, Sports

In Praise of the Homemakers

August 17, 2015 //

As I sit here procrastinating, waiting for my vacuum cleaner to be fixed, I’m thinking about the log cabin I visited last week. It was set up with some of the furnishings of the time, a real reality check for me in this high tech 21st century. First, there was the home itself, actually larger than some of the Tiny Homes that are all the rage these days. Unfortunately, I can’t see myself in a tiny home for more than a few days before I would miss everything or anything. Anyway, the log cabin had three rooms, making it a pretty good sized place.

My first impression was this window with its little bit of curtain, a sign that a woman (I’m speculating on that, but pretty sure, so I’m not being sexist) had been there trying to make the place a little bit more homey. It touched me and I pictured her sitting at the table with her washbasin looking outside, probably at all the work there was to be done out there. Stepping through the front door, I was confronted with dirt floors and all that implies. I know they got packed down, but there was still dirt. Did they track dirt into their beds at night? For the women who moved from nicer places back east, this must have been an OCD challenge of the highest order, trying to keep the dirt out of everything. In the corner, was this tool that I think was to push the dirt or pack the dirt. With the crack under the wall, I guess you just pushed it outside. Please get my vacuum cleaner fixed soon! Next to is it an ice box for which you’d have to have ice stored from the winter. Maybe they stored other things in there, too. The fireplace is in the center of the room, a big fireplace that probably acted as the heater for the house. Pots and pans were stored inside it with other utensils on the mantel. The dining table was in front of it. Cleaning those pots must have been fun! On one side of the fireplace was the bathtub, which was another challenge. First, you have to get water and heat it and take turns unless you want the whole family there with you. We think we’ve got it bad when kids are knocking on our bathroom door, interrupting our private moments! How do you dump the water at the end? The tub full of water looks like it would be heavy to me.

On the other side of the fireplace was a display of laundry equipment (well, I use equipment loosely). The tub and washboard are well known, but think about using them. My grandmother had one of those along with a wringer washer. We’re not that far removed from all this when you think about it. Praise to my washer and dryer! Note the short clothesline by the fireplace. They didn’t have many clothes. The rug beater on the wall is a prop since there are no rugs in this dirt floor house, but I remember those. Put the rug on a line and beat the dirt out of it. It worked, but you had dirt flying. I wish they’d call for me to pick up my vacuum cleaner! Don’t know about the ironing board here, especially since there was no iron displayed, but it’s another thing to think about. Having one of those heavy irons sitting on the stove to pick up with a cloth and iron the clothes doesn’t seem like fun. At least steam irons are easier if you like to do ironing, which I do if I’m in the mood and don’t have a stack of it like the old days. These days, I tend towards knits.

The Master Bedroom (fancy term) was large for the times. There was one large bed with a chamber pot, which reminded me of the times I stayed with my grandmother who still used one of those. It horrified me as a child, but she didn’t like to walk down the hall at night to the bathroom because she rented out rooms in her house to pensioners (retired men), but that’s another story. There was no outhouse in this little display, but I’m sure they either had one or walked to the woods somewhere. Thanks for indoor plumbing all around! You would think the people had bad backs from the kind of work they did, but those mattresses weren’t made for helping with that. They were grateful to be off the floor, while I’m grateful for soft sheets. Can you imagine what they’d think of Sleep Number beds? And, again, I have to think about tracking that dirt into the bed. I didn’t think I was such a clean freak.At the front of this bedroom was the dressing table beside the curtained window. This still touches me…as do the hooks with the clothes. As I walk (I said walk) into my nice closet filled with choices, I need to remind myself what it would be like to have one or two dresses to wear until they wore out. Most of the lady’s belongings were probably stored in the chest at the foot of the bed. I have my grandmother’s cedar chest, which was probably filled with everything she had at one time. I also have a little trunk that was my great-grandmother’s and probably held her belongings at the time it was new. And I’m sitting here in shorts and a t-shirt and running (well, walking) shoes. Could these people even imagine?The other bedroom had two beds and little else. As I said, this was actually a pretty good sized house with its three rooms. I’m still getting past the dirt floors and the reality of what that meant. When it rained, there had to be mud added to this picture. My my.

Outside, there was a crudely made rocker, the only relaxing place I saw to sit, with a churn beside it. At the side of the house was a large outdoor oven with a big pot. Did they use that for big meals, laundry, or everything I can think of? The dinner bell was the only form of communicating with each other as they worked and played.These were strong people, working from dawn to dusk, taking care of the house, the garden, the livestock and each other. I hope I carry these images with me through my day to remind me of where my people came from to bring me to my life today. This wasn’t my family’s cabin, but I know I have ancestors who lived like this or with even less. Somehow, they raised children who went on to better and better lives until we reached the present generations. This log cabin life is still possible if you want to go back to simpler times, as some people do. I like the simplicity of it, except for the dirt floors and that bathtub and… Actually, I’m awestruck with how far technology has advanced us in such a short time and I appreciate it. Even more, I appreciate the past and what it can teach us today. I appreciate that woman putting up her curtain and sitting at her dressing table, dreaming dreams. Here’s a tip of the broom to her and people like her in all our generations past!

Tags Log cabin

Categories Family, History, Places, Reflections

A Grandmother’s Emotions

August 16, 2015 //

My oldest grandchild left for college yesterday. Another milestone for the family, for this cute guy. It’s not like he’s going that far away and I’ll even see him next week since I work on campus part-time, but it’s still a milestone. For me, the grandmother, the emotions run across many decades.

Watching him packing, I saw his mother and father helping him with everything from checking the car to doing his laundry. It’s amazing how much he’s taken for granted and I know this because I was the same way when I left. I’d never really been away from home other than to stay with relatives, so college was a cultural and environmental shock. I graduated with 650 students and my new roommate was from a class of 6. Wow!

My grandson went to visit the campus a couple of weeks ago just to walk around and see where his classes were so he didn’t have to stumble around the first week. I bet he still does some of that because Freshmen tend to stand out, no matter how sophisticated they think they are. Everything is new and your parents aren’t there to ask for help. Of course, now the kids all have cell phones where we had to get change and wait for the pay phone and make a long distance call, which was through the operator in those long gone days. It doesn’t really matter what the differences are in technology because the emotions are all the same.

This grandson is the oldest of the three boys who were born before my husband died, all born in an 8 month period before and during the time he was battling cancer. This oldest one had his first birthday exactly one week before his grandfather died. And here we are at our next chapter. My mind spins with memories of my own college days, his mother’s, and now the new images of him leaving. And then my mind takes many turns as it goes through memories of his mother as a child and this one’s birth and all the years in-between. Is it a wonder we get emotional with all of those images flying around?

My eyes get teary from happiness for him mixed with the ever-present concern based on the years of knowledge of all the things that can go wrong. I expect his parents will experience what we did, going from waiting up for him to come home to wondering where he is and what he’s doing in a new, wilder environment where we aren’t minutes away. What I can tell them is that parenting never stops, never ever. I still worry about them and feel a rush of relief when they are all home, safe and sound. It’s an uncontrollable component of parenting for me. I know there are people who let go and that’s fine, but I don’t seem to be able to do it. My kids are grown, accomplished, wonderful adults and I love and trust them, but they’re always going to be my kids. I’m a sentimental idiot about them. Nothing they do is too mundane for me to enjoy hearing about, good or bad. But, my mind wonders again.

That’s the problem with this college thing. It’s releasing all the old emotions and memories again, giving them new places to roam. Next year, my next two grandsons leave for college, so this is just the beginning of letting these kids go ahead and live their grown up lives. I have two grandsons in tenth grade this year and a grandson and granddaughter in 8th grade. I’ll be going to graduations and seeing them off to college a lot in the next few years. And then, there’s the one who’s heading into kindergarten. Will I be here to see her off to college and launching her new life?

The average person now starts having kids in their late twenties or thirties. I’ve commented many times about the danger of edging out grandparents along the way. My own grandparents were such an important part of my life that it makes me sad to think of generations of kids without grandparent. I hope I’ve been an important part of my grandchildren’s experiences and memories and I hope their parents can do the same for them. It’s one of the greatest gifts you get in life.

I’m imagining my grandson waking up in his room in the fraternity house with a new roommate from Texas, probably getting up late after staying up all night talking and getting to know each other and the other guys or finding his high school friends on other parts of the campus. It’s a heady time in life with all your dreams ahead of you and all the realities right in front of you. It’s a giant step. Working with college kids, I envy them the experience but not all the challenges that lie ahead as they study for exams, look for jobs, build relationships.

This will be an interesting week and I can’t wait to hear from my grandson. I’m proud of him and all my family and I’m so very grateful to be here to watch all of them in these next steps, step by step really, through life.

Tags college, Freshman, grandmother

Categories Family, Memories, Places, Reflections

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