Wednesday morning in Missouri

When I awoke Wednesday morning, there was no rain. It was a beautiful, crisp, sunny morning, with 7 inches of snow on the ground that fell between 1 and 7 a.m. Here's Buck, (all 125 pounds of him) eating a big face-full of snow at my aunt and uncle's house.


My cousin and her husband and I had stayed at a motel in the next tiny town from the family farm, about 9 miles away, and drove back to my aunt and uncle's house on gravel country roads. It wasn't too bad, but we were all taken by surprise. The power had gone off at their house for several hours during the night. But we enjoyed the beautiful, quiet serenity of the snow-covered country and took advantage of the moment to shoot Christmas card photos. Each year of their marriage, my cousin and her husband have had a photo taken together to send out. If you promise not to tell, I'll show you the one I took for them this year. If you get one in the mail, act surprised, OK?


We had a hectic day Wed-nesday, and I wasn't able to get away to shoot some beautiful snow pictures like I wanted to. But at the end of the day, I was outside getting a breather just as the moon was rising over the east field. I was happy.

Fall's nearly over

Around the neigh-borhood.



"Bob and Larry" looking a little worn out on my front porch.




The collage of leaves which cover my front yard. P.S., don't forget to clean your gutters once the leaves stop falling at your house.

These were all taken Tuesday as I was leaving town for Thanksgiving. It was a rainy day -- I battled rain and fog all the way to Missouri.

Epiphanal living

According to the Christian liturgical calendar, we're about to enter the period of the church year called Advent.

Advent is the period of time which covers the four Sundays before Christmas. It's a time of preparation for the coming Savior, sometimes marked by prayer and fasting. In my church it is also a period of study and is one of the periods of activities specifically for families. It's a way of helping children understand that there is a spiritual aspect to the Christmas holiday as well as a chance to pile up a bunch of loot.

We were talking about the paradox of the Christmas season in Sunday school class. Some of my friends in our singles Sunday school class are parents, trying to co-parent with former spouses. They confessed that they often feel a competition with their children's other parents and family members, trying to come up with the most presents. They're often over-stressed by multiple commitments in a short period of time as well as the need to perform perfectly and stage a Martha Stewart-type presentation.

What's missing? Could it be that the Savior came as an infant so we'd be forced to listen carefully? Are we missing the quiet and time to listen to the Quiet Voice?

I have to confess that my Christmas holidays have never been a pleasant experience. In my childhood, Christmas was sometimes shared with cousins and grandparents in Missouri. I loved my time spent with cousins, but the gatherings always added another layer of criticism and punishments from my grandmother.

I was raised in an athiest household, so my only exposure to the spiritual aspects of Christmas came from my Aunt Dot and the time spent at the Christian Church of Camden Point, Mo. I remember being stunned to attend a Christmas eve gathering at the church. Santa was there and had presents for all the children. I figured since I didn't go to church I would just sit quietly until it was time to go home. But Santa called my name that night! He had a present for me!

This was the second time I had gotten a present at a gathering away from my house. When I was 6, there was a family Christmas party at Conoco in Ponca City, where my Dad worked. It was a pretty heartbreaking affair, I think especially for my mother. The children all received a mesh stocking filled with hard candy and an orange. Then there were boy gifts and girl gifts. My "gift" from the company was a three-inch-tall hard plastic doll that was broken to pieces when I unwrapped it. I was disappointed, but my poor Mom nearly started crying. My big gift that year was a pair of shoes -- she had stood me on the dining table on top of a piece of paper and had traced my feet so "Santa" would know for sure what size shoes to bring me.

So it's foreign to me to think about the abuse of children through overindulgence at Christmas. And indeed, that's what I consider over-gifting -- abuse. Excess creates greed and a sense of entitlement. It's also overwhelming for children to have so many things that they can't focus on or appreciate any one item.

Maybe it's because of my earlier experiences -- being thrilled by a simple gift in that tiny Christian church one Christmas -- but for me the gift of the holiday is found in quiet, listening to that tiny, quiet voice of the One who came to be the ultimate gift for us all.

Taking that time for quiet reflection can also open the door to Epiphany, the time that comes right after Christmas. Epiphany is, simply, that "Aha!" moment when you finally "get it." It's the lightbulb moment when one sees with greater clarity the lesson in a moment or an experience.

Though we're not to Epiphany, the season, I've been witness this week to people who are living what I call epiphanal lives. There has been something in their life such as an illness or a spiritual awareness that has caused them to turn their lives in new directions.

One is a woman in western Oklahoma who owned and ran a restaurant with her husband. A year ago, she started studying artwork and learning to paint with oils. About the same time, they moved into their dream home -- an extraordinary home sited over a creek with red rock bluffs. The roots of 100-year-old burr oaks on the facing bank are as entwined as the couple's love.

Just as the couple was moving into their new home, her mother died. And within four months, she was diagnosed with congestive heart failure and had a heart attack. A defibrilator was inserted in her chest to shock her heart back to life if it stops.

She told me her prognosis is not very good as she gave me a tour of her home. She showed me the great room which was actually built out over the creek, cantilevered above the bluff with glass walls on both sides. Then we moved to her art studio, just off the gourmet kitchen.

But the part of her home she was most excited to show me was her shower, in the master bath.

"Go on through the curtains," she urged me. I started to poke my head through the shower curtain just to take a peek when she planted a hand on my back and shoved me on through.

I found myself standing in a space roughly the size of a car wash, with three separate shower heads (one was a rain shower, another a waterfall, the third a massaging spray) and steam. I'd estimate the shower room was about 10 x 10 feet. We sat on the built-in bench which easily could seat four people.

I giggled at the absurdity of it all as she started up the steam and told me how she could add different aromatherapy oils to a little inlet. She talked about the parties they've held in the house and how, at times, she and her girlfriends would sneak off for a little steam and a few glasses of wine.

"We've had up to 12 people in here at a time," she said.

About that time we heard the male voices of those we had left in the great room, looking for us. There was her husband, the architect, an attorney and the photographer who was working with me. We hollered for them to join us, and pretty soon we were all chatting -- until we all stopped in the same instant, realizing we were in the shower, for gosh sake.

So then we moved to the patio and the outdoor fireplace, which she called the most sensuous part of the house. "You can feel the companionism of the fire," she said. I loved the way she expressed it.

Though she acknowledges her physical being may not last forever, she said she intends to make her remaining time one wild ride. She has devoted herself to her art and has every intention of being the best artist she can be.

I'd say she is well on her way. She had a show opening in 50 Penn Place the day we visited her home. Not bad for a novice who had never painted a year ago.

***

The next epiphanal life I encountered was the next night at a benefit concert in Kingfisher at the middle school. Two bands (made up mostly of the same people) were performing. The first set was the bluegrass band (The Bonham Revue). Incredible music played for a small crowd in the auditorium of the middle school. After an intermission with some reconfiguring, they reappeared as City Moon, a country-western band. One of our guys from the singles group is in the bands, so a group of 10 of us made a road trip to listen. Despite small numbers, they raised a honkin' big amount of cash to benefit a woman with sky-normous medical bills.

Aside from whooping and hollerin' to the music, we talked with some of the other guys in the band. They were telling us about some of the off-stage stunts they pull on each other during performances trying to crack each other up. They've got things right: Music and performing have to be fun or there's no point in doing it.

On the trip home, my friend (who's engaged to our band pal) was telling me about the banjo player who was pulling the most stunts that night. I asked about his day job. Turns out he started out as a stock broker and now is some sort of administrator/bean counter at a hospital in an eastern Oklahoma town.

He, too, has experienced the epiphany and found music as his creative outlet. Actually, all the guys in the band have. They all have day jobs running the gamut. But they've been pulled together by a small voice, with a definite musical flare. And they prove my theory that music is often a prayer that reaches the parts of the heart that words cannot touch.


***

The last epiphanal life came to me as a story being told by a girlfriend on our drive to the benefit concert. A friend of hers needed to pick up a gift while they were out shopping and wanted to go to a particular candy store well known for its chocolate.

The proprietor seemed especially content with life, meeting all her customers with a cheerful conversation and extraordinary service.

"I used to be a baker," she said, out of the blue. "But one day I woke up and decided I liked chocolate better."

She said she makes less money and works much harder now, but she's much happier. Chocolate will do that for you.

So will listening to the Quiet Voice.

Can you hear it?

TV with impact

Did you guys know I'm a Nielsen household? Well, I am. I've been asked three times to keep a diary of my TV watching. I'll be putting my latest diaries in the mail tomorrow. Y'all should be scared if people really pay attention to what we report collectively as the TV viewing of the American public.

That aside, today (which was not part of my reporting period) was an interesting day for television. Two programs in particular had quite an impact on me. First was Oprah Winfrey, whose topic today was "How Clean Is Your House." Featured was a woman whose house was so filthy she had not allowed anyone inside for two years. Her pets had turned her house into a toilet, and she had not washed dishes probably during that whole time. Her floor was carpeted with nearly new clothes -- it was simply easier for her to buy new ones than to do her laundry. I won't even describe the scenes that made me wretch.

I'll do a separate post later about why this program was so important. I think, personally, that Oprah hit the nail on the head when she said to the woman that she needs ongoing psychological help to deal with the issues that got her to that point. But I also think that pronouncement was not particularly newsworthy to the woman and definitely was not a helpful comment. There are avenues of help available, which I'll discuss in the next post on the topic.

The other program that blew me away was on ABC -- a Prime Time special with Peter Jennings interviewing President Clinton at the opening of the Clinton Library in Arkansas. What an interview! My favorite part was when Clinton laid blame squarely at Jennings' and ABC's feet for their coverage of Ken Starr's garbage regarding the White Water investigation.

ER (the program, not the blogger) is on NBC right now. I have always loved this show but I'm starting to feel like it's run its course. During the commercials I'll be doing intense spurts of housekeeping. I feel like WATCHING television, not BEING ON it. And I can feel the Oprah producers peering through my windows, just in case...

Freedom to think and write

We would all like to think that we're free to write about whatever we want to on our blogs without fear of having to explain or justify our thoughts. This is one reason we use aliases. The down side is, we sometimes have to invite people to come read our blogs in order to get responses and feedbacks. We want it all -- the freedom to say what we'd like to, without getting gigged about it, and yet having an audience that will respond.

This is a painful conflict at times. For example, my post below about lost love. I thought I made it clear in the disclaimer there that I DID NOT WANT TO BE CONTACTED (off blog) about my thoughts. It was not clear enough.

So I am posting this link, which I found on Southern Belle's site. It gives a great explanation about some of the unspoken etiquette of blogging. This is a new world and the rules aren't widely known (if indeed we may assume there is an etiquette involved in anonymous or semi-anonymous writing. I DO make that assumption in some cases, and expect to have those wishes to be left alone respected.)

Anyway, I hope this link and the information contained in the disclosure prove to be helpful and useful. I'm also posting it in my side menu for future references. And anyone who agrees and would like to have a similar link on their site may get a button from the site itself.

READ ME

Three-Alarm Decisions

Disclaimer: The thoughts below are just that: thoughts. I have no intention of acting on these thoughts; I have no intentions of ever speaking them to anyone who has been in my life in the past. In no way would I want these thoughts to be interpreted as a signal that I am predatory or have designs on anyone who is off limits. OK? So don't even start with me. Don't ask me for details. These are, simply, thoughts. The end.

***

Sometimes there are critical points in our lives when we make decisions that have lifelong consequences. And some of those critical points come at times when we don't have a damned clue about how to make those choices.

We can be impulsive and jump into situations that are no good for us and wind up in a world of hurt. This includes getting drunk and trying to drive home from a party, and hurting or killing people. At best, we may realize we have no idea how we got from point A to point B, which is 50 miles from our intended destination of point C. If we're smart after being this stupid, we wind up being so scared that we learn not to do this again. Peeing in your pants when you wake up driving 65 mph on a strange road is still preferable to crashing into another car and killing someone else's friend, mother, or lover.

Six times in my life I've had to bury people who were close to me after someone got into a car in that state. That's too many people to lose to Jose Cuervo, my friends.

We can also over -think decisions to the point we make "safe" choices that are no good for us. And just like losing someone in a drunken driving accident, we can pass up the chance for the great love of our lives.

I was 18 years old – a freshman in college living in the dorm. In 1973, it was a big deal to have “co-ed” dorms; pretty tame by today’s standards considering the guys and girls were separated by an elevator lobby.

He had come to see my roommate, one of his high-school classmates. She was on her way to some sorority party so we got the briefest of introductions. We discovered we had other mutual friends, and soon we were wrapped up in a conversation that lasted for hours. He lived on the other side of my dorm floor, so we ran into each other often and got caught up talking.

At some point he caught my gaze with the darkest brown eyes I’d ever seen, and wouldn’t let go. The kiss that followed was repeated, often, during the next four years.

Passion was kept in check by ambition. We both had strong drives to do well in school and lay the groundwork for our futures. I’d been taught by my parents, especially by my dad, that it was ultimately important that I be able to support myself without needing to rely on a man to take care of me. Absolutely nothing was to get in the way of my becoming a modern, independent woman in their eyes.

And so I remained both obedient and rebellious.

My parents didn’t discourage me from drinking. They did teach me to be responsible about it and said they’d rather have me drink a fifth at home than a beer somewhere on the road. So I remained sober until that fall freshman year, when one fateful night I drank a pint of Bacardi rum mixed with Coke. Every drop. While keeping a diary.

Like I’ve said, I don’t believe in drinking and driving. So I walked that night – from one side of the room to the other, on top of the furniture to avoid touching the floor. My roommates caught me walking on top of a desk when they came home that night and tried to put me to bed. I didn’t understand the physiology of what I was doing – it made no sense – but as soon as they would put me into my bed, I was springing up and walking again. I thought the bed was launching me like a catapult.

They almost had me down in bed again before they realized I was getting sick. They kind of guided me to the bathroom where I spent the rest of the night, locked in.

Mr. Brown Eyes came the next day to visit and heard part of the story from the roommates. The rest he deciphered from the diary. He kindly pointed out that by the end of the notebook, I was writing one letter per page.

It was an awakening moment, after I sobered up. I realized I could have died of alcohol poisoning. And I realized I would be like the alcoholics on both sides of my family if I didn’t put a stop to this right now. That fateful pint pretty well sealed my decision not to drink as an adult.

So with renewed vision, my resolve was strengthened and I remained committed to my goals during the remainder of my college career. I drew the line with alcohol, as well as sex.

As tempted as I was by those brown eyes, we never crossed a certain line. And I was tempted, powerfully tempted. But we had each said there was too much at stake to take the chances of being derailed by the byproducts of lust. OK, I said that more than he did. His fear was being thrown off his career path by love.

Countless times I can remember telling him that I had no intention of getting married and starting a family until I was established in my career. Countless times he vocalized his fears that I was born to be the soccer mom with the wood-paneled station wagon (this was pre-mini-van days). I scoffed at the “domestic” label, even when I baked him a birthday cake from scratch and made a fancy swirled pattern in the frosting.

I realized the depth of his fear when I saw his face blanch at the sight of that cake. On one hand, he was touched by the gesture, but his male eyes (those beautiful, dark brown male eyes) must have seen shackles reaching out from that cake.

We continued our push-me-pull-you entanglement through our senior year, and even the summer after graduation. The bittersweet end came when he had to leave the state to go to graduate school.

Even to the end, we played the game. Completely drawn to each other, fighting to resist the powerful, unexplainable magnetism, we continued to spout all the reasons why we couldn’t, we just couldn’t, there are good reasons why we can’t, we can’t, we can’t.

And we didn’t. We couldn’t.

We couldn’t let go of reason long enough to listen to love. In the 30 years since then, I’ve often wondered if he would have changed his mind if I had changed mine and simply admitted what I felt for him.

It’s only now, this minute, that I’m able to cry about it. How different would our lives have been? I dare not think of it too much. Everything would have been different. But we did what we did and life is what it became.

So many friends fought this same battle and lost the fight. Many started their families in a moment of passion mixed with abandon and an open, loving heart that allowed them to set reason aside. Several of my girlfriends had to drop out of high school because of pregnancies. Every one of them is still married to the same man. The ones betrayed by biology in college are together as well, and now are grandparents.

Grandparents!

I scarce can believe it because I never did become the soccer mom. I got so good at avoiding love – seeing it as a weakness -- that I didn’t marry until I was 32. It was a disaster that ended a mere three years later, with no children born.

The rest of my family is gone now, so I remain alone.

My brown-eyed sweetheart has been very successful in his career, I've learned. He found the love of his life in grad school and they’ve remained married all these years. They have three children, the youngest in high school, probably fighting her own battles now.

I hope every minute of their time together has been happy beyond words.

Chili tonight, hot tamale

We're having a chili cook-off at church tonight. My entry is simmering away, almost ready. This is an annual event we have to introduce all the new members who have joined the church in the past year. It's also a good-spirited competition to see who can garner the most votes for their crockpot concoctions. The categories are 1, 2 or 3-alarm chili. Mostly the men like the kind that can blister paint.

We do get some interesting entries, using a variety of meats or other ingredients. Mine is plain-ol' plain-ol. I'm not looking to win a prize, but in my 11 years in the church I've never taken a crock of chili and I felt like I was taking advantage.

Many folks bring a muffin tin so they can sample small amounts of several varieties. We're expecting 22+ crocks tonight.

I wanted to warn y'all that I've got a blog entry cooking in my head, too, that is ever so much more spicy and steamy than my chili. The ingredients will include passion and longing and decisions made long, long ago that changed lives. You've been warned... I'll give you time to digest this while you decide if you're up to a 3-alarm post.

See you later this evening.

Seeking the warmth

A friend of mine was in town for an appointment today so we had a late lunch together at Cracker Barrel. I love Cracker Barrel -- I know it's marketing and as my mother said the one time I took her there, "It's a tourist trap full of crap." OK mom, but I like it. I love the food, and I could shop there for a couple of hours every time I go in. In fact, I usually do. Like today.

Friend needed to find some small gifts for a Secret Santa exchange at her work. She hasn't participated in this kind of exchange before and really, wanted nothing to do with it. I offered to help, feeling confident that we could find several small, inexpensive items that would be appropriate.

So off to Cracker Barrel we went.

First, we fortified ourselves with a hearty, warm lunch. Chicken and dumplings with okra and fried apples for me. Chicken and rice for her. We were both sated and happy for the second phase of our mission.

After we paid our dinner checks, we mosied around the store half. Perfect time for our efforts -- there are Christmas ornaments galore for sale right now. The Halloween items and almost all the Thanksgiving things have been pushed off to the discount corner where prices are cut 50 percent to 75 percent. Oh, but back to Christmas...

My initial suggestion was to get several of the old-fashioned candies and treats that you can only find at Cracker Barrel and other nostalgia vendors these days. Ah, first snag... so many people are diabetic these days that candy is a no-no. OK, continue.

Here's another thought: They carry Yankee Candles (my personal favorite! my preferred scent being Home Sweet Home, but I also like Sage and Citrus and Midnight Dream. Today I picked up a Harvest votive.) Oh, but not for the exchange. Too many people allergic to scents. Hmmm. This is getting tougher.

Next suggestion: Old fashioned toys, like a Slinky, or a kazoo, or ...

There it was. A bottle of bubbles waiting to be blown. Ka-ching, we have our first sale!

The kazoo also made it into the shopping basket, but alas, the Slinky, at $5, was a little over the budget.

Next was the bonanza. There are several small Christmas trees set up among the sale displays, each containing a particular collection of ornaments. Bingo! We quickly find some really, really cute ornaments that complete our job. She's happy. I'm thrilled.

We pay for the purchase -- five items for less than $8. THEN the clerk says "Would you like those gift wrapped, for free?"

Our eyes and mouths opened wide and we said in unison: "YEAH! HOW COOL!"

A good half-hour later, our tiny little purchases are individually dressed boxes wrapped in rustic gift paper with small burgandy bows. Cute as can be. Getting the wrapped packages will be as much fun as opening them for the presents inside, I'm thinking. Very good.

So let me suggest it to you. If you're hunting for gift ideas, go have a good, better-than-home-cooked dinner at Cracker Barrel, then browse the store. Get your friends some good candy, some almonds or cashews or peanuts. Then check out the toy section for checkers, Slinkies, Wheel-Os and board games for anyone and everyone. Pick up a CD of nostalgic music, gospel songs or old radio programs. And let them wrap it all up for you, for free.

You can even get a holiday dinner to go, complete with pie.

They're open for Thanksgiving, serving the whole meal with dessert for less than $10 a person. Count on the lines being long. Maybe I'll see you by the fireplace.

My brain is full

It's time to siphon off some of the thoughts filling up my head. I know it's been a few days since I've posted on my own blog. I've been busy making the blog rounds and commenting on others' posts.

It's been kind of odd and crazy this week. I've been having problems with my blood pressure. Even with my medication I'm having trouble getting it under control, and it's sky-high, way up in the scary range where I wonder if I'll wake up some mornings. I have become more diligent about making sure I take my meds and I'm getting it checked often. Sometimes I'm catching myself thinking I'll never make it to Jeopardy! if I have a stroke. I wouldn't even make it to PeggyHill's Boggle tournament because I would forget all the words in Patsy Cline lyrics.

The worst part of this is that you guys are the only ones I've mentioned this to. I'm afraid to mention it to my closest friends for fear of scaring them. So, there you go. You're now my close confidents, like it or not. "They" are right when "they" say middle age ain't for sissies.

But onward to other things...

As much as I love (and I do mean LOVE) the freelance writing I'm doing, reality is setting in with a heavy hand. It's time for me to start working full time again, for several reasons. More than the money, I need the daily contact and structure that goes with a j-o-b. There are several ways of putting those things into your life, but a regular paycheck is a good motivator. My hope is to find a job that combines my work skills with my personal mission statement -- to do what I can to make the world better when I leave it than it was when I got here. I've done some things towards that goal over the past two years doing volunteer work and church projects. Hopefully I'll find a more intentional way to do so.

I'm very tired tonight. So I'll say goodnight while I'm partially coherent and wish you all sweet dreams as well. May tomorrow be a wonderful day for you!

Back from camp

It was a wonderful weekend. Just the right cool nip to need a light jacket on our morning walks. Here are a few photos just to let you all know what the camp looks like -- I hope you aren't TOO jealous.




















A perfect fall afternoon with the glow of the sun on the cabins, just before it dipped below the ridge of the canyon.


A lot of people like to climb the canyon up to a lighted cross on the ridge. That's something I gave up when I was in college and had to run up the trail with a load of inner-city sixth graders.


The B.C. Clark chapel is a tiny place of worship. It will hold at most 16 people in the tiny wooden benches that hold two people each. The tree has been there long enough to find its path between the roof of the chapel and the canyon wall. Yes, the chapel was named for THAT B.C. Clark -- the one of the jewelry store with the state's official Christmas song. The Clark family has long been benefactors of the Oklahoma United Methodist Church.


A hand-carved cross rests on the altar of the chapel.


An emblem of the camp is the dinner bell, rung before nearly every meal served in the dining hall in the camp's 50-year history.








What the heck... here's a photo of me at the bridge that crosses the big mud puddle.

Have a great weekend -- I'm unplugging

I've got a few hours before I leave for my retreat, so I am going to begin now by signing off my computer. I am going to try to keep myself occupied so the withdrawal goes easier -- peel my fingers off the keys, pack the weekend suitcase, toss my stuff in the car. I hope I have time to go to the camera store -- this may be the day I fulfill my lens envy!! I'm going to look, anyway. I'm very happy with the 18-70mm zoom that came with my Nikon D70, but now my lens hunger is even greater. This also will be a good weekend for trying out something new, while I'm down in the canyon.

The canyon (aka Canyon Camp, the United Methodist Camp near Hinton, OK, west of OKC) is a beautiful, glorious place. Geographically it has red rock walls which form a series of five canyons.

Peace to you all!

What Do We Need Today?

We need:

To relax now that the election is over. Things aren't perfect; they never were and never will be.

To have hope. Maybe things will be better than we fear, if not as good as we'd like.

To cook a good, healthy dinner for our household. Vegetables. Casseroles. Healthy soups. Something that feeds our bodies the nutrients they need without piling on a lot of excess fat.

To exercise. It's a two-prong plan, we all know that. Input and Output. (I had a typo for a second--outpoot. Maybe that is more appropriate.)

To set aside fear. This is a topic on several blogs this week. Fear is paralyzing. It clouds our judgment and keeps us from moving forward. It is also a fake -- it doesn't really exist but in our minds. We can't control corporate fear -- the fear of society that makes us give up our quality of life in search of safety -- but we CAN conquer our own fear and perserver through our daily lives.

Puppies. We all need a good puppy to play with -- one that will grow up into a loyal, faithful, lifetime friend. Puppies are gifts from God to remind us that love is a universal option, that it is given unconditionally, that it can be warm and fuzzy, even with a cold nose. Sometimes it's messy and needs to be cleaned up after. But it is also a blast. It's hard to think of having a new puppy after loving a dog through its whole life and yes, its death. It's hard to think of taking on that responsibility again in exchange for the joy of fuzzy love. Especially if you bought white carpet after losing the previous fuzzy love of your life.

To give away the leftover Halloween candy. It's making me sick. I bought three bags and only gave away part of one bag. I think I will go find small children and toss this stuff at them. TRICK OR TREAT!

JOY. I am anticipating joy this weekend as I go on a singles retreat at our church camp. This is an annual retreat for our group. We don't stay in the kids' summer camp bunk houses. Nooooo, we get to stay in the lodge, which is as nice as a hotel with meeting rooms for playing Cranium and working on our planning sessions. And we don't have to cook -- we can go to the dining hall and sit on the wood benches at the wood tables. There will be plenty of time for photo-taking and outdoor walks. These are the things that renew my spirit seasonally.

Be happy, happy. Look for the good. Stay safe, but turn your back on the annoyances of modern life. Listen to your God's voice inside you. He speaks more often than we listen, and it's His wish to give us all the good in life. Listen, and accept it. Peace.

IT'S ELECTION DAY!

Happy holiday! It is ELECTION DAY. We have until 7 p.m. to make it to the polls and VOTE.

This election is not just about choosing the president. There are local issues and local races also (how did you miss knowing that? Didn't you get the same 1,693 phone calls I did?)

Look at your sample ballots if you haven't already. By now you know what you think on each of the candidates and the questions. Now, you have two choices:
(1) Get in your car and drive to your polling place. Take your ID just in case there is a challenge (don't expect one, but be prepared.)
(2) Put on your walking shoes and walk to your polling place. Take your ID just in case there is a challenge (don't expect one, but be prepared.)

Now, VOTE. Follow the exact procedures set up at your polling site, whether you have a paper ballot, a voting machine or one of the new-fangled video screen things. DO IT RIGHT, you hear?

Once you have completed the process, smile sweetly at the poll workers, breathe deeply and slap on your "I VOTED" sticker. Be a positive example for others. Offer someone a ride to the poll if they can't get there, then buy them a cup of coffee to celebrate on the way home.

This IS a holiday, people. There are rules!

VOTE!

Let's Write a Novel!

Today is Nov. 1, the first day of NaNoBlogMo -- blogspeak for National Novel Blogging Month—a "seat-of-your-pants approach to novel writing" designed to extract a novel from your head within thirty days.

Here's more from Blogging Your Novel about NaNoBlogMo:

"If you've got the fever to unlock that story trapped within you there's only one cure—more cowbell! Okay, there's another cure: sit your duff down and rock that thing out. Get it out of your head and share it with the world.

"Some say the hardest part about writing your novel is just getting started, others say sticking with it is what breaks them. In any case, to help you achieve your goal, we've come up with our own brand of inspiration: NaNoBlogMo. National Novel Writing Blogging Month is our spin on Baty and friends' ingenious program (NaNoWriMo).

"To reach 50,000 words, you'll need to write every day — Blogger was born for this gig. Add to that the fact that blogging already has a successful track record in the book world and the big picture begins to emerge."

***
Now, from me: Those of you already working on major works, like your own book or master's thesis, are exempt from this. The rest of you, consider jumping in with me. It's always more fun with friends! The instructions are posted in the link above -- there are methods suggested for keeping track of your work without having it lifted by a wordthief. No one really reads your text -- the thing merely counts your words.

I'm going to try this for grins, though I already know of several interruptions in my routine this month. What the heck... I may not make it to the word total that's suggested, but putting one word in front of another will get me closer to the goal, right?

OK... here we go ...

It was a dark and stormy night ...

Which Country Are You?

Australia -
Founded as a gigantic prison
colony, Australia has turned into a Mid-Level
world power. Known for its wildlife and
culture.


Positives:

Reformed.

Culturally Admired.

Mid-Level Power.

renowned Flora and Fauna.


Negatives:

Founded by Criminals.

Island Nation (Isolated).

Talk Funny.



Which Country of the World are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

Fun with books

1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Open the book to page 23.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the sentence as a comment on my blog.
5. Post the text of the sentence on your own blog, along with these instructions.

Mine:

"If one man says it does not mean a Negro, why may not another man say it does not mean some other man?"

-- Benson Bobrick, "Testament: A Soldier's Story of the Civil War."

(Idea swiped from Erudite Redneck at http://eruditeredneck.blogspot.com/, who swiped it from http://well-yah.blogspot.com)

All's I can say is....

38-35.

Tulsa Rose Garden

Just thought I'd post some photos from the Rose Gardens at Tulsa's Woodward Park from Monday. There are so many varieties since the garden is a test garden for the All America Rose Selections. All kinds of colors, as you can see:


There are roses of many colors and varieties. Some do well and some don't. The test gardens helps growers know which varieties produce well in a variety of locations around the United States.



















I like this ruffly rose. It's mostly pink with a white varigation in the petals.


Here's a nice orange rose.


And a pretty pink rose.


This one is gorgeous.


And, my love, it's like, a red, red rose...

I hope you like the roses. Tomorrow we'll return to a little history lesson. Stay tuned (no footnotes included.)

The Vette

I think my traveling companion would be very disappointed if I failed to show you our mode of travel for the Talimena trip.

Beaver's Bend State Park

I have loved the Beaver's Bend area of Southeastern Oklahoma since I was a child. One of my favorite memories is of a late fall day when my family, along with my dad's parents, were at Beaver's Bend for dinner. There was a thick carpet of gold and red leaves on the ground. Outside the restaurant there was a playground with swings near the water. I loved the swings, but more than that I loved running through the leaves, listening to them crunch and smelling their distinct warm fall smell. There was such freedom in that afternoon -- running and jumping in the piles of leaves, throwing them up in the air, rolling in them just to hear them crunch.
So I took advantage of this weekend's opportunity, extending the drive to return to Beaver's Bend.
Things have changed dramatically in 40 years (can you imagine that?). There's a new lodge which is beautiful -- it looks more like an apartment complex than a state park. There's no restaurant now. But I did find the swings!









This shows how diverse Oklahoma's geography is. You've seen the wheatfields of north central Oklahoma and the mountains of southeastern Oklahoma. Here's an example of the lakes. Did you know Oklahoma has several islands? Here's one at Beaver's Bend.

Change of Plans

I never did make it to Mistletoe Market. Instead, there was an impromptu trip to the Talimena Drive in southeastern Oklahoma. I'll just post a few photos tonight -- more to come later.


Sunbeams shine at sunset.




In the mountains of south-eastern Oklahoma.

Moonrise on Talimena Drive in the Winding Stair Mountains.


The road to nowhere.



From the Tulsa Rose Garden -- the last few blooms of summer. Ladybug just hanging out.

Hunting season starts today

Ahhh yes, the calendar says Oct. 22. Right in that range before first quarter moon on Oct. 22 and Full Moon on Oct. 27.

Yes, the air is about right -- misty, 72 degrees, light breezes from the south-southeast. Perfect. It will keep the less determined hunters home; the sun won't be an issue; the temperature means I won't be burdened by having to carry a jacket.

Ahhh, yes. Let the games begin! Mistletoe Market starts this morning at the State Fairgrounds! How could I be so lucky... I live less than a mile from the hunting grounds which allowed me a little more time to prepare this morning. S-T-R-E-T-C-H those hamstrings. Bend and stretch -- have to avoid that "shopping-bag lumpitis" syndrome -- keep the load evenly distributed to avoid injury.

Mistletoe Market, for those who don't know, is THE shopping kickoff for festival lovers. Just like every weekend in the fall is filled with various neighborhood home tours and fundraisers and cookbook sales, Mistletoe Market launches the "cozy home" hunt.

It's in one building of the Oklahoma State Fairgrounds for three days. The prey: all kinds of candles, soup mixes, soaps, lotions, decorative items, jewelry, handmade clothing, purses.... you know, all the things that make men break out in rashes.

Hunters usually team up in pairs or small groups. The Ladies Who Lunch usually have their cute totes filled with all kinds of smell-goods when they mob the corner concession stands for their chicken salads.

Me, I'm a loner. I find I can scan and manuever best when I don't have to stick with a companion. It makes me a more efficient shopper. I can scan an aisle and see the booths that I know don't interest me. I can serpentine among slow lookey-lous and baby strollers parked in the middle of the aisle.

Now it's time to prepare for the day. Comfortable clothes are essential. My Easy Spirit tennies will guard my feet -- must remember to double-knot the laces. (Retying them can spell disaster in a shopping crowd. I could be trampled.)

I want to try to avoid the concession areas. Overpriced, watered-down soft drinks in flimsy wax paper cups are a hindrance to the mission. So I'll grab my stainless steel coolie, pop in a can of Diet Coke and I'll be set. If I don't drink it all on the drive over, it will stay cool while I shop. Maybe I'll stick a small bottle of water in my purse, too.

Normally, I can make it through the maze in a couple of hours. More than that and I'm too worn down to carry out my catch. I'll let you know how I do.

Cheers, jeers, cringes and fun!

Cheers: Kudos to KFOR-TV's helicopter pilot and cameraman who helped rescue an Alzheimer's patient who was lost and unable to return home without help. The man was driving on I-40 and the helicopter was there to pick him up as he came to a stop. Good work, good Samaritans.

Jeers: Boo to the Shawnee police officer who has been stopped twice for drunken driving.

Cringes: It's the third week of October in an election year. I have had my fill of political advertising on TV and will scream the next time I get an automated telephone call telling me how to vote. Question is, will I last another week and a half, especially listening to the rhetoric flying between Brad Carson and Tom Coburn? I'm not sure.

Good thing the weekend is on the way -- I'm hoping for a chance to try out my new camera, a Nikon D70 digital. Definitely a step up from my HP 315 digital which is basically a point-and-shoot. It will be so nice to have a real camera to work with again. When shooting film, I use a Nikon Fm that I've had since 1982. The D70 will be a great companion -- rather, it will probably become the big dog of the pack.

While we're cruising the area...

Welcome to the White Eagle monument, visible on the road between Marland and Ponca City.

Notice the tower on the hill at the horizon? Here's the story:

White Eagle was the hereditary chief of the Poncas when they came to Indian Territory in 1877. As chief, he led the Poncas in their last war against the Sioux before they left Dakota Territory and Nebraska. He was also the medicine man and religious adviser. White Eagle led the "hot country" Poncas, those who chose to remain in Indian Territory, for 50 years.

In his last years when the tribe was engaged in negotiations over allotment, White Eagle reluctantly encouraged his people to comply. Shortly before his death in 1914, he passed leadership of the tribe to his eldest son and the last hereditary chief, Horse Chief Eagle.

White Eagle's death was an occasion of great ceremony. Dressed in his traditional regalia, he was buried in the Ponca cemetery near White Eagle, the village that bore his name near the Ponca agency. The chief's favorite horse was killed at his grave side.

On a hill about ten miles south of the 101 Ranch White House, the Miller brothers had a tall stone pillar erected in memory of the old chief. On top, its eyes watching over the rolling prairie, is a white stone eagle.

Beneath the pillar is buried Bill Pickett, a rodeo star from the early 1900s who originated "bulldoggin'." There are others buried on the hill as well; unfortunately, the area has suffered vandalism



This is the ruins of the "White House," the big house on what was the 101 Ranch. I need to go through my old print photos. Unknowingly, I took the last photograph of the White House, the afternoon before it was destroyed by fire. I stopped to shoot the photo because a bare lightbulb caught my attention, shining from a second-floor window. I had assumed the power was long ago cut off at the historic building. The next morning I awoke to the news that the ranch house had burned to the ground.



One of several stone pillars which marked areas of the 101 Ranch. My guess is this may also have served as a silo. It's one of the few structures remaining on the grounds.



The ruins of another structure on the old ranch, dedicated to Joe Miller Jr. in 2001. The Miller Bros., owners of the 101 Ranch, held more than 100,000 acres. They were better known for their Wild West Show -- in the 1920s it took more than 100 train cars to move the show from town to town. Stars of the show included Pawnee Bill and Will Rogers, among many.

The 101 Ranch is considered by some to be the birthplace of rodeo.



This arch has been erected as a memorial by the 101 Ranch Oldtimes.

Some of my touchstones

Here are some photos of some of the important places in my life, in my hometown, Ponca City. These are the places where memories have been made or landmarks in my life and town.


Ponca City High School. Some new buildings have been added since I graduated in 1973, but this has been the main building for decades.


The Marland Mansion. Oh, what a beautiful place, and the stories that fill it are amazing. I'll share some another time. This is a MUST SEE if you ever get to Ponca City.


City Hall. There used to be a civic auditorium as part of this complex. An extensive renovation of the complex was completed last year. It is beautiful now -- far more architecturally significant than the earlier buildings and certainly true to the vision of Solomon Layton, the original architect. Layton also was the architect of the Oklahoma State Capitol, and yes, he did intend for there to be a dome.


The Ponca City Library. One of my second homes in my younger days. I had to beg to get a non-resident library card while I was spending so much time in Ponca City during my mother's final illness and after her death. I still have it.


This is where my mom and brother are resting, their ashes scattered in the memory garden. They were the first to be placed in the garden, but now they have company: A soldier and a young woman. Mom and Bob always wanted to spend their time in a rose garden, and so they will.





















The Sentinals. This gaggle of geese were standing silently on the bank of the pond next to the scattering garden at the cemetery. They reminded me so much of the silent angels in dark coats in the movie, "City of Angels." I almost expected one to look like Nicholas Cage.


Dougan's Barbecue, on South 14th Street and Oklahoma (two blocks south of Grand Avenue). If you like barbecue, especially ribs, YOU HAVE TO EAT HERE! It's between Standing Bear and the Pioneer Woman, so it will be a good stopping place on your tour of Ponca.


These hand-carved wooden Indians will greet you as you come in the door at Dougan's.


First Presbyterian Church. This is a major landmark at Grand Avenue and 14th Street. From this perspective you're on Grand Avenue facing east. You can't go any further without going in the church driveway. Look south to see Cann Gardens. Go right for BBQ (Dougan's or Chick 'n' Millie's Blue Moon) and to see Standing Bear. Go left to see the Pioneer Woman and the Marland Mansion. Turn around and go back to see downtown with City Hall, the Library and the Poncan Theater (wish I had a photo on my computer. I'll find one.).

A brief summary of Chief Standing Bear's importance

The Ponca tribe's removal from Nebraska was cruel.

First, their land was included by mistakenly included in a treaty in 1868 saying their land belonged to the Sioux tribe. There was a nasty war between the Poncas and the Sioux over the small parcel of land in question. The U.S. government stepped in and decided the way to solve the problem was to send the Poncas to Indian Territory.

Ten chiefs of the tribe inspected the new territory and decided it was not acceptable for the Poncas. The U.S. government said "tough." The U.S. Army accompanied the Poncas as they were forced to walk to the new territory.

Many deaths occurred during the relocation. Chief Standing Bear's son was one of those who died. They tried to return to Nebraska for burial in their homeland. They and the others who tried to go with them were arrested on order of the Secretary of the Interior. They were ordered to return to Indian Territory.

Meanwhile, Standing Bear petitioned the court for a writ of Habeas Corpus. In a landmark case, Judge Dundy had to decide whether Indians had the same protection under the law as whites. The government tried to argue they did not, because they weren't citizens. Worse, they said, the Indians weren't even PEOPLE so had no right to sue the government.

After an impassioned speech by Standing Bear, on April 30, 1879, Judge Dundy stated that an Indian is a person within the law and that the Ponca were being held illegally. He set free Standing Bear and the Ponca tribe.

A government commission, appointed by President Rutherford B. Hayes, investigated and found the Ponca situation to be unjust. They arranged for the return of the Ponca from Indian Territory and allotted land to them along the Niobrara River.

Statues and Buildings ... back home

An assortment of public art in my hometown, Ponca City, OK. This is the same town where the statue of Standing Bear is located. You can see a great photo on 3&8's blog, My Race Space. There's a link on the left.

"Pioneer Woman." Artist: Bryant Baker. Commissioned by E.W. Marland, 10th governor of Oklahoma.



"Our First Account." Artist: Jo Saylors. Located in Home National Bank.




"Through the Eyes of a Child" by Jo Saylors. It is on the west side of the library.


There's been some contro-versy about this sculpture. It was dedicated in 1993 and was called "Staking His Claim." Now it is called the "Cen-tennial Statue;" it also is a work by Jo Saylors.


Jo Davidson's statue of E.W. Marland, completed in the 1920s. It was placed on the corner of Fifth and Grand, where he could look over the city he was so instrumental in building.


Not a statue, but this fountain is significant to me. This was the subject of my very first feature story, written when I was in the sixth grade. It was donated to the city by the DAR after it was restored and painted. It was a drinking fountain built to serve humans, horses and dogs. It's been located on a few different corners downtown.

Leaving Home

Today I closed on the sale of a couple of rent houses in my hometown. To me, it was more than a financial transaction -- it closed a chapter of my life for good.

These two houses were the last tie I had to "home". Now there is nothing, and more importantly, no one, calling me back to the town where I was born.

After we signed the papers and I got my check in my hand, I decided I needed to take photos of all the places that have been important to me over nearly 50 years. I'll share a few with you here.

This is a photo I have wanted to take for many years. I've never been in this cemetery; I have no loved ones here. But I've always loved the way it looked as I drove by it. The tank farm across the road symbolizes the way nearly everyone in town makes their living, and yet even in death they remain in its shadow.

As I pulled out of the cemetery, a funeral procession was heading down the road. I stopped at the corner gas station and stood at the side of the road as a sign of respect -- that's something that's still done in this and other small towns. All vehicles pull to the shoulder, with their lights on, and pedestrians stop what they are doing, standing straight with hands at their sides.

Two highway patrol cars led the procession of a few dozen cars, with a third trooper bringing up the rear.

Next, I'll share some photos of the public art and key buildings from my town.

Life and Death in an Oil Town

OK, that's just wrong

I was feeling all glow-y warm thinking about miracles after my last post. In the background, I've got Jay Leno on the TV.

And my night is ruined after a teen-age girl appeared on the show, with her dog, who eats his food. Out of her mouth.


*ack*

Miracles Happen

I was gathered with my church choir tonight right after our rehearsal, when we share prayer requests and praises. I've been overwhelmed lately with all the prayer requests for children in bad situations and for the number of people who are discovering they have cancer.

One of the hardest cases recently is a man my age. He was an emergency room physician who has always kept himself in the very best physical condition possible. He and his wife and three children, as well as their parents and other family members, are strong in their faith. This has been a definite advantage for them over the past couple of years after he was first diagnosed with bladder cancer.

We thought the treatment he received was successful -- surgery, chemo, radiation. It was tough to see this strong bicyclist at less than his physical peak.

Wave after wave of setbacks led to the ultimate announcement that extreme surgery was needed. The recovery would make his previous problems look like nothing.

But tonight he was at choir again, stronger every week since he's been able to come back the past month or two. This man, who was so near death, was a little sore tonight -- from taking part in his son's scout camp over the weekend. God's hand has brought him back to becoming a strong man again, enjoying his physical body and testing its new limits.

Ah, but that's just one part of this story. Tonight, HE had a prayer request for his wife's aunt.

The aunt had been checked after a lymph node became tender and swollen. The biopsy showed an adenoma, one of the worst types of cancer. Usually, by the time it is detected in the lymph nodes, the cancer is a Stage 3 or 4 at least, meaning there's not much hope.

The doctors in her small north Texas town were unable to find a tumor where they expected it to be. The genetic signature of the cancer cells indicated it was probably located in the pelvis, but nothing could be found at the local clinic.

The aunt then was sent to M.D. Anderson in Houston. They did complete body scans of every type.

Their conclusion? Yes, there had been a cancer of this type, but it was nowhere to be found in her body now.

The doctors' explanation was that her immune system was strong enough to deal with the tumor and conquered it, leaving only the cell that was found in the lymph node.

I'll accept that. Being that wonderously created is plenty of miracle for me. God heals, even when we aren't aware of it. Miracles come in all kinds of ways.

Changes in Cyberland

This week has been stressful in my online communities (fancy talk for message boards). I don't know if it's a seasonal change caused by fall's arrival or if this is just a turn in the lifecycle of message boards.

One of my favorite message boards of all time was set to close this week. I had not posted for a few months for various reasons, but once in a blue moon I'd peek in to see what was going on. I just happened to drop in when the announcement was made about the closing.

This group involves a sizeable group of people, mostly women with similar interests in matters of the home. They've gathered daily for some years now, in various configurations with various host companies. Each change has been painful as people adjusted to boards that looked different or functioned differently. But for the most part, they took the changes in stride after a little grumble.

This change was sharply different. The original owners of the board were caught by surprise when the hosting company decided it was getting out of the message board business. Their original decision was to close the board and not look for a new host. One of the owners was retiring because of health issues, so it seemed a logical time to say goodbye.

But the community would have none of that! Frantic attempts were made to find existing groups they could take over. Some started temporary boards just to stay in touch. Others scattered to parts unknown in little clusters.

The majority of the group, however, managed to stay together when an associate of the original owners offered bandwidth for the message boards to be transferred to.
So the original board still lives on,which is wonderful. For once there is little grumbling, because those who made the move are so grateful to still have a place to gather together. Sure, there were some folks who stepped away to find new homes, or who declined to make the move for personal reasons. But the bulk of the group is intact.

These people have community. They have forged real friendships from the blips on a computer screen. Many of us have traveled cross-country to meet each other at conferences. Many more maintain friendships off the board through e-mails and phone calls.

It's pretty amazing to witness. Even without their physical bodies being present in the same location, these women have created bonds that will overcome almost anything. The internet has become their kitchen table, their back fence.

On the other hand ...

There are about three other boards that I check fairly often. I tried to participate in them, really I did. There were people I liked at each board. But in the past month, all three have fizzled. One of the boards hasn't had a new post in a week or more. One has turned into Bickerfest. One is so lame it's no longer worth bothering with.

So I have removed my bookmarks to these places. It's time to close those doors and find better things to do. As much as I liked some of those people, they are more like characters in a TV show. No depth. No soul. Just blips.

The people I have met in our circle of bloggers are genuine. Unlike most message boards, we talk about things of the heart -- things that really matter to us. Some bloggers are academicians; most of us are writers (whether they've ever thought of themselves as writers or not); most of us have a deep tie to "place" as well as "relationship." We thrive on the interaction of reading and commenting on each others' writings.

It's an interesting mix of people. That's why I can't go a day without checking out everyone in the circle. You all are real.

As it happens, Tech on Harbor Street (http://51313.blogspot.com/) posted this evening about this topic too. Please look at his site -- great minds think alike!

The perfect season

This is the perfect season.

Rainy days, cool enough for a sweater. That special fall crispness that explodes in our noses -- a mix of coolness and the smell of wet leaves.

Deciding which warm soup's for supper. Pulling the crock pot from the pantry shelf and searching for just the right recipe to fill the senses and the belly.

Buying new fall shoes -- comfortable as a pillow, waterproof and butt-ugly.

Warm socks.

Lighting my favorite candles -- Yankee Candle's Home Sweet Home fragrance.

Fresh sheets and the fall quilt.

The furnace coming on for the first time this year.

The sound of football games -- the perfect sleeping pill for curling up on the couch with a fuzzy throw blanket.

Folks, it's Cozy Time!

Midnight musings

It's midnight. I'm fatigued to the point of tears. There's a ton of stuff left undone that should have been finished before tomorrow morning. I wanted to make a few batches of cookies for the bake sale at church tomorrow. I even went to the store and bought all the stuff to make them.

There's still four partial scarecrows in various stages of repose in my house. I wanted to be able to deliver them in the morning.

Today (Sunday) is the church Pumpkin Festival -- besides the pumpkin patch we'll have a family fun festival with the moon walk, crafts, games, etc..... including the bake sale. There will be a lunch -- hot dogs and chips.

So why didn't I get my stuffed friends finished? Well, I've been working on the revival that will be NEXT weekend -- Oct. 17-19. I'm doing the publicity, pretty much by myself. I've done posters, handouts, newspaper calendar items, a blurb for the bulletin and an article for the church newsletter. And I've made some "trading cards" to give the kids and hand out at the festival tomorrow. I'm proud of the work I've done on this project.

But I'm tired. After the revival is over, I plan to take a break from being so heavily involved in so many different programs in the church. Too many things have overlapped at the same time.





So here's an example of my trading cards. They are based on the evangelist's text, Hebrews 12: 1-4. He's using that as a foundation to speak about spiritual training. If an athlete wants to succeed, they prepare and train for their events. We, as disciples of Christ, should prepare as well to run the spiritual race.

The Remnants of a Life

First, Eda Maye didn't like her name, and most of her friends probably never knew what her real name was. Family members knew better than to use her given name.

From the time she was about 4 years old, my mom was known as Mater, a name that came from the fact that she would follow her older siblings and friends to school, carrying a pocketful of tomatoes. In her adult years, more friends came to call her simply "Smith," or "Smitty," both of which suited her fine.

Mater was an icon of stability. She was a resident of Ponca City from March 1953 until her final illness. She married Bill Smith on March 20, 1953, and they remained married until his death on Aug. 23, 1976. Through those years, she always banked at the same bank, and always had the same telephone number. Once she committed, she remained loyal -- even to those with whom she conducted daily business.

Momma worked as a registered nurse until the birth of my brother, Bob, then devoted herself completely to her family. I was born less than a year and a half after Bob.

She gave us both wings and roots. The roots burrowed deep -- some life decisions were non-negotiable. Bob in particular needed her care because of his physical needs as well as his need for help in navigating this world.

The two were inseparable. Her devotion to him created a ferocious loyalty to a simple lifestyle. It was the kind of life where the family could tell time based on what she was doing at the moment -- at 7 a.m. she was awake to make sure I was ready for school; at 11:50 she was making lunch; at 4 p.m. she was starting supper because Dad would be walking in the back door at 4:35 and it would be supper time. The routine of life was done when it was supposed to be done.

Change did come to her life after Dad's death. She was 53 years old when she learned to drive, and was a terror that would overshadow any 16-year-old driver. But it gave her such independence that she didn't care how many of her friends' mailboxes she backed into, or how many parking lot poles she scraped with her bumper. It opened up whole new worlds to her -- including the bingo halls in town. These became her social circle, where she made loyal friendships. She and Bob were accepted there, and they daubed their numbers happily as they caught up with the lives of their pals.

Shortly after Bob died in 1997, Momma's health began fading. Hospital stays were followed by moves to assisted living centers, and finally a hospital visit in Oklahoma City led to her final weeks in a nursing home. Her brothers Jean and John were able to travel from Missouri together to see her while she was in the hospital, a visit she treasured. John delivered a message from his dog, that she would feel better if she just ate some grass. She laughed harder than she had in months.

She knew she had given Bob the roots she needed, and also given me the independence to spread my wings beyond life in our hometown. A few days before she died, she told me "I don't want to have to leave you alone, but it looks like I have to." We spent the next several hours sharing the words and thoughts of our hearts, and we both knew that this Christmas she would return to God.

Beloved sister-in-law Dorothy, whom she had known since nurses' training in the early 1950s, came from Missouri to say her goodbyes, too.

Momma departed this world at 1 a.m. Dec. 24, 1999. The staff of the nursing home was still in her room, crying, when I arrived a few minutes later. They said they knew the night was different because Momma wasn't performing her usual midnight serenades -- singing bawdy songs at the top of her lungs to make them laugh. The entire staff had come to her room to find out why she was so quiet, and in their company she closed her eyes.

Later, I was going through her things, getting ready to have a garage sale. I stopped for a moment to check the pockets of her jackets that hung on the hall tree with her collection of silly hats. I discovered her legacy in the three tools of "momhood" she kept at hand: handfuls of Kleenex, hard candies and pocket change.

The value was immeasurable -- $13.92 in coins, a half-dozen peppermints, mixed with butterscotch and cinnamon disks, and not quite enough tissues to dry my tears. The mix was a good recipe; it was enough to hold a family together for almost 50 years.

More on prayer and gratitude

The story of picking up pennies reminded me of a hot summer day a few months ago.

I had an out-of town assignment to talk to a new developer in a rural area. I wasn't in the mood to drive so far that morning. I'd been feeling pretty low for a while; I was feeling no joy.

As I reached for my door knob to leave my house that morning, I had a flash.

"You have not because you ask not."

It rocked my world that morning. It stopped me in my tracks, and before I pulled the door open, I lifted my eyes towards heaven and prayed "Lord, I pray for travel mercies today and I ask you to restore the joy in my life." Peaceful calmness settled on my shoulders as I walked through the door and got in the car.

It was about an hour and a half drive. There was a bit of unexpected coolness in the morning air which was refreshing.

I decided to avoid I-35 South until I was well past Norman. Instead, I took I-44 and stopped in Newcastle to get something to drink at the Sonic there. I had been listening to a book on tape -- some silly, badly written murder mystery. I rolled my eyes listening to the ridiculous character development and the unbelievable relationships among the characters. I was glad this trashy tale only cost me a couple of bucks from a discount bookstore at the outlet mall in Gainesville, Texas. I knew it would help me stay awake as I thought of ways it could have been better written.

As I pulled out of Sonic, I remembered the prayer I had prayed leaving the house, and repeated it. I prayed it again as I merged from SH 9 onto I-35 South near Goldsby.

By mid-morning I arrived at the development out in the country a few miles east of the interstate. It was nice to get out of the city and see some wide open country with horse farms.

I pulled up under a stand of trees where the developer's fifth-wheel trailer was parked next to a picnic table. I didn't see anyone around the trailer, but I got out and started walking around.

About the time I reached the picnic table, a pleasant-looking man wearing a straw cowboy hat pulled up to the fifth-wheeler on a John Deer mule and called out my name.

"You ever driven one of these?" he hollered.

"Yeah, my uncle's, up on his farm in Missouri," I hollered back.

"Jump in, then, and follow me," he said as he hopped onto a four-wheeler.

Next thing I know, we're tearing across a sun-kissed, golden meadow that hadn't been grazed for about three years. The gentle wind rippled across the pasture, like fingers combing through an angel's golden hair.

An uncontrollable "YE-HAWWWW!" leapt from my throat. My face started aching and I realized it was because I was smiling from ear to ear.

We stopped near a 17-acre pond where the developer planned to build a family compound with homes for he and his wife and their children's families. It made me think of Walden's pond.

We drove around to several other spots as he related his family's fascinating history on this land. He fairly drew his vision for the development by waving his hand across the horizon -- a community pond here, a dam there, a custom home across the way.

Eventually we headed back to the trees around the fifth-wheeler. It was the only time I've been able to interview people while sitting under the trees, watching homeowners fishing while the photographer took photos. I talked to the people who had already built their homes here about the school system, easy highway access and the amenities they enjoyed. I listened as long as they wanted to tell me about the wild deer and turkeys that made their homes here, too.

There came a time when the photographer's cell phone rang with another assignment. I finally realized I was sunburned from the day's work and felt the grit of the dust of being out in the country. We'd been there for quite a while and it was time to go, much to my regret. I had truly enjoyed the day racing across open fields, sitting under the trees and hanging out at good fishing holes. I learned much about the developer's panache for finding niche business markets. The man could make money digging up dirt -- and did -- among other ventures.

I drove back down the country roads until I reached the casino at the interstate. I stopped there to wash my face, brush my hair and get a bottle of cold water. When I saw the smile still on my face, I knew my prayers that morning had been answered in ways I could not expect a few hours earlier.

"You have not, because you ask not," I heard again.

If only I'd known He'd answer my prayers for joy by sending me on a day of four-wheeling....

Ye-HAWWWW!

Thanks for the blessings

In response to ThePress's post under my giving up thread:

ER, thanks.

Back a few years ago when I was really fit and sassy (instead of fat and sassy), I used to walk and pray at the mall. I would pray that God find some tiny way to affirm my walking and the things I was trying to do to be healthy.

Without fail, every single time I prayed that, I would find a penny placed in my path. Always.
I started collecting them in a special jar.

One day, I really was stressed out about money. It was a few days before payday. I think most of us know that stress of no money left and a few days to go.

So I'm walking at the mall. I didn't find a single penny during that walk.

Suddenly there was a $10 bill right in front of me. I looked around to see if there was anyone frantically looking for it. No one even seemed to notice it, right there in plain sight.

I did what I thought was the honorable thing. I took it to a clerk in the closest store to turn it in. She laughed and said "I don't want to be responsible! Take it to the mall office if you aren't going to keep it."

So I did.

Later the same day, I was walking my dog in the park out in front of my apartment, still fretting about money. We were about 5 minutes into our walk when suddenly, again in plain sight, there is a $20 bill right next to a tree.

I looked around, laughed, and said "Thanks, God. I get it now. Thanks for the blessings."

I give up

I think I should just acknowledge that I stink at relationships and just accept that truth. There comes a point when it's not worth trying any more -- the rewards don't equal the pain. I acknowledge I am no good at playing golf, and so I don't put myself through that. After junior high, I wasn't tall enough to play basketball, so I put it behind me. For me, relationships simply don't do any better than those types of sports. And the cost is much, much higher.

So I officially submit my resignation from the dating world. I'm better off giving my attention to the things I can do without feeling like I'm in some dang made-for-TV movie.

That's it.