15 Beliefs - 5/9/09

1.  I believe that what goes around comes around - the karma thing, you know.

2.  I believe that you should be nice to the elderly, they always know things I should know and maybe if I'm nice to them they'll share their knowledge with me.

3.  I believe that dogs are much smarter than people give them credit.

4.  I believe that children have a strange way of intuiting the truth, even when adults are lying to them.

5.  I believe that if someone is hurting a member of my family or someone I love I will very definitely do everything within my power to stop them, even if that means shooting them with my rather large 357 Magnum.

6.  I believe that we can manifest both good and bad things in our lives.  Good thoughts beget good things happening and vice versa with bad things.  Like a magnet, so to speak.

7.  I believe that God is with us always and that we should speak to him every single day as if he were our best friend because he is.

8.  I believe that family should stick together and support each other and be there through both good and bad times.

9.  I believe that I was put on this earth to bear and raise the two very special and almost perfect children that I was blessed with.

10.  I believe that I was born into this world to spread a message that says "Everything is as it should be."

11.  I believe that money doesn't buy happiness it just gives us more choices.

12.  I believe that computer hackers that spread computer viruses and Trojans will go to a very special place in hell that encompasses a large room full of the most up-to-date computers that they can't get to do ANYTHING because they are so infected by viruses.  The computers will almost work for them and then they just die and they can't fix them no matter what they do.  They stay there for eternity.

13.  I believe that the afterlife is just right here, just a thin veneer to another dimension and that our loved ones who have passed are now guardian angels helping us in our daily lives.

14.  I believe I can make the weather change if it's not too severe.  Really, I can do this.  I have done it and I will do it again.

15.  I believe that you can become really good friends through e-mail with a person you have never laid eyes on.

Wedding Speech - 6/20/08

Hello Everyone,

My name is Roxann, or some of you know me as Roxie, and I’m Angela’s Mom.

First, I’d like to thank each and every one of you for being here.  You have all traveled both near and far to witness the union of these two wonderful young people and we appreciate that more than words can express.  To all the bridesmaids, I’d like to especially thank you for helping Angela with the planning of this beautiful wedding.  You all helped her so much and I know she is truly grateful.

Secondly, I’d like to formally welcome the groom into the family.  I think Rey already knows how we feel about him, but it’s best said this way.  Even of Rey weren’t officially part of our family, we would still welcome him with open arms as a true and wonderful friend.  He’s simply a joy and a blessing and we couldn’t be happier that he is now truly one of us.

And lastly, I’d like to offer these words of wisdom written anonymously …”Love is what makes two people sit in the middle of a bench when there is plenty of room at both ends.”  And also, “It’s so easy to fall in love but hard to find someone who will catch you.”  I believe we will often find Angela and Rey in the middle of the bench and also catching each other time after time.  I sincerely believe they will have a long and very happy marriage!

I love you both so much!

We Survived the West Texas Desert - 3/7/09

Last fall my husband and I decided to drive River Road on the south side of Big Bend National Park.  The sign clearly said “Only 4-wheel-drive vehicles allowed.”  We qualified, so off we went on our adventure.

The sunny day allowed the surrounding scenery to unfold in its breathtaking rugged beauty; craggy mountains against azure blue sky punctuated by large cacti.  Dry riverbeds announced little or no rain, and dust billowed out behind us as we steadily drove deeper into the 800,000 acre park.

We relished our escapade with the wind gently blowing in open windows and music softly playing Tom Petty. Our camaraderie enjoyed an all time high. 

I stood with my head out the sunroof relentlessly clicking my camera.  I thought if I took enough of them, surely I’d get at least a couple of magnificent images.

Suddenly, our 2003 Chevy Suburban listed heavily to one side and my astute husband declared something amiss.  He stopped the truck and got out only to discover that not only did we have one flat tire but TWO flat tires at the same time.  I have photos documenting this but wouldn’t qualify them as magnificent. 

We had one spare and our cell phones didn't function in the middle of the desolate place in which we found ourselves. Fortunately we had plenty of food and water in the cooler so in the unlikely event we had to spend the night, we would survive.  This was reinforced when I found a chilled bottle of La Crema 2006 Chardonnay while rooting around.  I figured if I slowly sipped that bottle of wine I would probably make it until we were rescued.

As the day progressed the temperature climbed to 107 degrees. Our clothing was drenched from blotting our sweating bodies as I held the golf umbrella over my husband while he changed the tire. Our camaraderie diminished as fast as the temperature rose.

As we waited for another car or Park Ranger to drive by we wondered why there wasn’t more traffic.  We began to imagine what would happen if no one appeared.  Would we have to hike out?  Should one of us stay with the car?  How far would we have to hike?  Hadn’t I read about black bears, wolves and mountain lions in the brochure provided at the entrance?  Was it time to open the La Crema?

After a few more minutes I heard my husband mutter sheepishly, “I wonder if OnStar would work?”

“Oh my God,” I shouted. “Try it!”  I  was beginning to realize that his brain needed to bake a while before it worked properly. 

I was overjoyed when we were able to speak to a live person after all that waiting, sweating and wondering. OnStar was eventually able to patch us through to an individual with a 4-wheel drive tow truck that would begrudgingly drag us out. A Park Ranger guided him and later informed us that park personnel only travel that back country road every 3 to 4 days - sometimes even 5! I’m relatively certain the La Crema wouldn’t have made it.

Tiger Feathers - 3/7/09

She stood stoically with her short, pudgy arms wrapped around the old worn out stuffed tiger, a present on her first birthday from her absent father.  She left a trail of soft eider down feathers wherever she went, reminding me of Hansel and Gretel in the forest.  I had repeatedly tried to coax Tigger from her arms for about a week.  I wanted to mend him but she held him so tightly, even in her sleep, that I simply couldn’t pry him from her. 

She always held him closely as we sat watching cartoons.  I would sit cross-legged, Indian style, on the sofa and she would crawl up there and plop down in the middle of my skinny legs.  As we watched the tube she would suck on her right thumb while digging in the hole in Tigger’s side with her left forefinger.  I kept telling her that I would be very gentle, just as I am when she has a boo-boo, but she would have none of it.  Short of ripping him from her arms and causing even more damage to her most precious possession I was out of ideas as to how to repair him.

All of a sudden I had an idea.  I thought if I encouraged her to do the mending herself it might appeal to that independent streak she had inherited from me.  I didn’t know how well a four-year-old little girl could wield a large needle and thread but we were going to find out.

The Day My Heart Broke in Two - 12/15/09

I remember the day my heart broke in two very well.  It’d been a difficult day because my ex-husband had called to say he was getting married.  She was 19, his secretary, and I was 30.  I had asked how he could have fallen in love with someone so soon after our divorce the month before.

I held it together at work.  I picked up our children, Angela four and Brandon one, from daycare. After dinner, which I couldn’t eat, I bathed them and rocked Brandon to sleep with a bottle while Angela played in her room.  After reading the negotiated amount of books to Angela, two instead of her usual three, I collapsed on the couch.  I was utterly exhausted.

Suddenly I bent over, tears streamed down my cheeks and into my mouth so quickly it was as if a dam had broken loose. I couldn’t breath, I was gasping and sobbing so hard I didn’t think I’d stop.  I curled into the fetal position and lay there in agonizing pain.  The couch and my shirt were completely soaked under me.  I sobbed gut-wrenching, body-wracking tears.  The weeping was loud enough to awaken Angela.  I couldn’t have silenced myself if I’d tried.

“Mommy, what’s wrong?” she tremulously asked.

I opened one eye and saw Angela looking at me with fear in her big brown eyes. I sat up and tried to silence myself but couldn’t.  I stared at her.  I couldn’t speak.   Suddenly, she simply reached her small pudgy arms up to me as if she knew what I needed, a hug from my Angel.  I lifted her into my arms, still weeping as she wrapped her sweet arms around me so tightly neither one of us could breath.

We stayed that way for some time. I finally slowed to a snivel and was able to unwrap her arms from around my neck.  We didn’t say a word, just stared into each other’s mirrored-brown eyes.  I think she knew I was past the worst of it.  She turned around and sat down in my crossed legs with her right thumb in her mouth and lumpy, yellow checked pillow in her lap.  That was her usual position when she needed comfort.  I didn’t have it in me to soothe her. 

After several minutes, I turned her around and said, “Honey, Mommy was very sad and needed to cry.  I’m sorry I woke you.  Sometimes grownups get sad just like children and they have to cry, too.  I think you understand what I mean, don’t you?”

Halfway through my words she started nodding, completely understanding.  I saw in her eyes that she not only comprehended, but also agreed with me.

“It’s going to be okay, Mommy.” She said as we walked hand-in-hand to her bedroom, I knew she was right. I realized I needed to be strong and brave. My children depended on me and I wouldn’t let them down.

My little girl grew into a loving, kind, and loyal woman.  She’s 27 now and one of the most stalwart friends I’ve ever had.  Our lifelong friendship began that day so many years ago - the day my heart broke in two.

Night Sweats - 2/15/09

I fling off what feels like 20-ton covers and worry that a heat-sensing missile might re-direct itself from the other side of the world and head straight for my sweat-drenched body.  I absently thank the darkness for I know my image right now is far from lovely.

When I mention “night sweats” I don’t mean the dewy moisture we discreetly blot with a tissue on a warm summer day.  I’m talking about the drenching kind of sweat that a 300-pound Sumo wrestler might experience if left in a dry sauna for 30 minutes.  I’m embarrassed to say that I sleep on a large, soft, absorbent beach towel these days in order to prevent the laundering of sheets on a daily basis.

As my snoring husband sleeps peacefully beside me I curse the fact men don’t experience this oh-so-ugly phenomenon.

Without warning, my body suddenly shivers as the ceiling fan does the job for which it was created.  As I drift off I imagine a menopausal woman drafting the first diagram for the slowly whirling blades above me.  She’s doing this at 3:13 a.m., of course.

My Own Personal Angel - 2/26/09

I awoke at 6:00 a.m. and felt the urge to use the restroom as I grunted my way to a sitting position, scooted to the edge and groaned and pushed my way to a stand.  These once easily maneuvered movements demanding much more from me than they once had and certainly taking twice as long.  I thought to myself that I should watch out what I wish for.  We had tried for three long, tearful years to have a child and when I finally gave up on that dream I became pregnant.   

It had been an utterly blissful first trimester and a relatively easy second one.  The third one had just been cumbersome.  My thin torso had become an ever-enlarging basketball under my clothing but still my arms and legs remained thin.  I had no morning sickness whatsoever, a blessing I didn’t appreciate until after I became pregnant with my second child.

As I shuffled back to bed I realized I was having some pretty powerful cramps that had nothing to do with my visit to the bathroom.  I gingerly sat on the edge of the bed and as I clutched my thrashing middle I woke my husband with the words, “Honey, I think I’m in labor.”  He bolted out of bed and immediately asked if I was ready to go! 

“Uh, not quite, I’m not dressed; I could use some coffee; and the thing that got me in this condition is hanging out,” I mumbled. 

He giggled and then eagerly asked, “When was the last contraction?” 

“I’m not even sure it IS a contraction, could be gas,” I retorted.

We waited until the next “cramp” and then simply started monitoring the timing like they taught us in Lamaze class.  As expected, the pains became more frequent and around 8:00 a.m. we decided it was time to head for the hospital.  We jumped into the pickup, or rather HE jumped into the pickup and then made winch-screeching noises as he grabbed my arm and hoisted me into the truck.  We made it to the hospital in record time.  After checking in and settling into the “labor room” my doctor asked if I was going to get this over before the Super Bowl began and I assured him I had every intention of it!  He mumbled something about first time moms as he left the room.  Boy, did I prove him wrong!

I had no anesthesia and I have to tell you, I’ve had the flu worse than bearing a child, seriously.  I clearly remember her first cry before the rest of her body was delivered.  They suctioned out her nostrils as she was jutting out of me, screaming, filling her new lungs with precious, life-giving air while the rest of her was still inside my womb. 

At 11:25 a.m. I pushed one last time and she was born in all her perfection. Weighing in at 8 lbs. 2 ½ ozs., my own personal angel, Angela Michelle, made her entrance into our fortunate world.

My Golden Candle - 1/23/09

My candle is small and the color of butterscotch candy.  Its scent is apple cinnamon and is left over from this past Christmas.  It reminds me of our Christmas dinner and dessert, warmth and happiness, family and good times.  The candle nestles in a red ceramic candle holder with star shapes cut out around the entire circumference allowing the soft glow to peek through.   Um, it smells heavenly and is making me crave a big slice of home made apple pie. The flame itself is hypnotic and mesmerizing.  I think I could go to sleep very easily.  Part of the candle has a hole in it on the edge where the flame has melted the wax.  This has made the burning candle more interesting in it’s imperfection.  There’s absolutely no breeze in this quiet room for the flame is straight and perfect and warm.  I wonder if we have made a mistake by replacing candlelight with electric ones.  Certainly the light at my desk pales in comparison.  My candle is waning and is asking to be blown out so it can take a nap.  I think I’ll take one, too. 

Best Friends Forever (BFF) - 5/16/09

People usually think it’s pretty cool the way Tracy and I met.  Our daughters were officers on the high school drill team and, as daughters do, they would occasionally talk about their mothers with each other.  They would often say how much we had in common and they should introduce us.

The day we met is clear in my mind.  It was 1999, our daughter’s junior year.  The drill team had a competition in Galveston and some of the parental attendees were carpooling.  Our daughters set it up for me to ride with Tracy.  She pulled into my driveway and I walked out, suitcase in hand.  Tracy got out to help load the trunk; we put it in amongst the others, got in the car and proceeded to chat nonstop all the way to Galveston.  We’ve yet to stop. Tracy’s two younger daughters were in the back seat and they were flabbergasted about how it seemed we had known each other our whole lives. We simply clicked.  We even shared a hotel room that weekend.  I don’t know many people I literally just met I would have agreed to those sleeping arrangements, but it simply felt right.

I believe in reincarnation and I have clearly shared many past lives with my friend, Tracy.  We have much in common but in so many more ways we are total opposites.  Those differences, I believe, is what makes our friendship work so well.

We never run out of things to talk about, and sometimes we finish each others sentences.  It is the most comfortable friendship I’ve ever had.  She’s so smart and her goofy jokes always make me laugh.  We have helped each other through some difficult times, which resulted in strengthening our friendship all the more.

Tracy and I have never had one moment of discontent with each other.  We agree on most everything and what we don’t agree on doesn’t matter.  Sometimes people take advantage of Tracy’s good and generous nature and that makes me angry.  I often persuade her to just say “NO.”  She depends on me for that.  I rely on her as well. She never hesitates to listen to one of my rants about whatever is bugging me at the moment.  She’s a great listener and always has a calming effect on me during those times.  It’s truly a symbiotic relationship.

I know without one single doubt that Tracy and I will remain friends our entire lives.  If sometime in the future you see two tottering old ladies walking on the beach hand-in-hand, rest assured that will be us, still supporting and leaning on each other.

Memories - 12/9/09

After Lori's comment on Lesson 10 and my friend's desire for a 'happy ending' I edited this piece as follows:


Rhett had called her Ravishing Rita. Ever since he saw her at the real estate office in Austin his sole purpose was to woo her until she fell madly in love with him and agreed to be his bride. It took all his considerable charm to convince her to have a cup of coffee with him.

He wasn't the only man to fall in love with her at first sight. She was a confident, no-nonsense Office Manager who kept the clients at arm's length, following her own advice to leave romance out of the office. She was adept at avoiding the obvious interest of most men, but Rhett had been relentless. She was breathtaking. It was simple genetics and she took care of herself. Wearing a touch of her signature red almost every day, eyes would follow her wherever she went.

Rita enjoyed working the front desk for an hour every day while the receptionist was at lunch. She began her career at the company in that position - sitting day in and day out answering the phone and typing endless real estate forms, chatting with clients to pass the time. Her appearance always helped her get hired, but she'd kept her job because of her abilities. After proving she could handle far more responsibility than the receptionist position required, she moved up to Word Processor. Next came Office Manager, conducting many and varied duties proficiently and with an ease to be envied.

Rita recalled in perfect clarity the day Rhett walked in the door. It had been a slow day with not many phone calls. Everyone except her boss was out to lunch. Idly checking the Rolodex for duplicates and obsolete cards, she looked up immediately when the door opened. Rhett was the polar opposite of Rita, the epitome of male confidence and assurance - he was a man's man. Dressed in a brown custom-made suit with a starched white shirt and yellow tie, his brown shoes gleaming, he took her breath away. He had longish light brown hair and the greenest eyes she'd ever seen. They stared at each other a few seconds before either of them spoke.

"Good afternoon, you must be Mr. Barrow."

"And you must be my imagination, no one can actually be that magnificent."

Rita blushed; she couldn't remember the last time that happened.

"Thank you, Mr. Barrow. I'll tell Mr. Lightman you are here."

"Please call me Rhett, and you are…?"

"I'm Rita."

"Ah, Ravishing Rita, so it is."

"Just Rita will be fine."

"OK, Just Rita. That doesn't quite fit, but have it your way."

She grinned and when Rhett saw that smile he was not only smitten, he fell in love instantly. Just like that.

He persisted and she finally relented, agreeing to that first cup of coffee. That became the first of many shared moments together. He was accustomed to getting his own way and knew with confidence she would eventually return his feelings. He wasn't mistaken. Like a mighty oak from a small acorn, her love for him steadfastly developed over the next several months.

During their long courtship, Rhett and Rita made a trip to Rockport; three hours drive from Austin to the coast. Rhett negotiated real estate deals in the area and truly enjoyed the beauty, small town friendliness, and quietness he experienced while successfully finalizing his contracts. He longed to share Rockport with Rita, anticipating long walks on the beach.

They spent many a weekend there, exploring Rockport Beach Park and checking out the Maritime Museum. They visited Fulton Mansion, and gazed at local art in the Rockport Center for the Arts. They would have morning coffee at Coffee House by the Bay, and fresh seafood at Charlotte Plumber's or Cheryl's for dinner. Afternoons were spent bird watching at the Aransas Wildlife Refuge, or visiting Big Tree - a thousand year old Live Oak tree over on Lamar Peninsula. Midnight would find them stargazing at the end of Fulton Pier - so many perfect moments. Rockport is where Rita fell deeply and passionately in love with Rhett. He would have it no other way.

Eventually they built their home on Copano Bay. They furnished it with beautiful art and so much devotion it literally beamed from within. They were married in front of the fireplace, with a small group of family and close friends celebrating the love and commitment the two of them obviously shared.

Over the years their love never faltered and just going to the grocery store or local Wal-Mart was a treat for both of them. Any time spent together was a pleasure. Once, Rita, always the pragmatic one, was steering the cart through the store busily marking items off her list as she dropped them in the basket, unaware that Rhett had been filling it with anything red he could get his hands on. A small red ball, hand mirror, metal convertible Hot Wheel, crimson lipstick, a Sharpie fine point permanent marker, and wine colored clipboard had all found their way amongst her purchases.

"What is that?"

"Just some stuff I need."

"It's all red."

"I know. It's my favorite color."

"No it's not, it's MY favorite color, and yours is green to match those jade eyes of yours."

"It used to be green, now it's red."

"You really need all this stuff?"

"Yes, I need it ‘cuz it's red."

"You're crazy, you know that."

"I'm crazy in love with you."

Rhett and Rita continued in this quiet contented marriage full of happy moments until that fateful day when Rhett had a business engagement in California. He had chartered a small jet out of the Rockport Airport, an old Air Force training base that allowed jets to land and take off, an asset to the small community. She drove him to the door of the waiting plane, ready for take-off. After hugs and kisses she waved as he boarded and then drove home, wishing she'd accompanied him. The uneasy feeling she experienced that day couldn't be shaken. It nagged her until she finally broke down and called him on his cell phone, something she wouldn't normally do while he was busy working. The call went straight to voice mail. That's odd, she thought.

Later that afternoon she got the dreaded visit from the local police chief. Chief Moore had become a friend over time and made the trip to Rita's front gate with a heavy heart. He knew it was going to be one of the hardest things he'd ever done, to tell Rita that Rhett had died in a freak accident during a lightning storm over Arizona. The look on his face, combined with her intuitive sense that bad news was coming, was all it took for Rita to break down to a crumpled heap on the front step. There was no consoling her. She wept convulsively, uncontrollably and eventually had to be taken to the hospital in Corpus Christi. They sedated her and she waited for her brother to arrive from Austin so he could take her home.

Every year on Rhett's birthday she would dress in his favorite color and walk through their old haunts - the grocery store, Wal-Mart, the beach park and pier, Big Tree, everywhere they'd ever been together. It was the only thing she looked forward to all year long. She'd had to move back to Austin – living in the place where she'd experienced so much happiness was not an option. There were too many memories, too much pain, and the heartache was beyond her control. She simply couldn't live that way.

Don, Rita's brother, would drive her down, wait in the car while she walked through every place they'd ever been and then quietly drive her back home as she wept. No words were necessary, he was there for her and that's all that mattered.

Rita never knew the impact she had on Rockport citizens. She became known as the ‘Vision in Red'. A once-a-year apparition that some Rockportians believed was just a specter, a ghost, not even real. More often than not, she felt that way, too.

During one of these annual torture fests, Don decided enough was enough. He made a side trip to the local Humane Society. Rita, consumed in misery, never knew what hit her. She didn't even realize where they were until Don plopped an eight-week-old golden retriever in her lap and announced, "Now take care of it."

The puppy sat quietly looking up at Rita with a concerned look and then, ever so gently, licked her salty tears. Love at first sight had just occurred for the second time in her life.

Abe became her constant companion and eventually she began breeding golden retrievers full-time. Abraham proudly lived up to the meaning of his moniker, "father of many" in Hebrew. Surrounding herself with puppies, Rita finally had a reason to live again. She made it her life's work to find good homes for all of them. Rhett would be proud.

The Tale of Roxie's Deviled Eggs - 11/18/09

 

I am the youngest of three children.  Our momma taught my older sister, the home economics queen, all the good stuff when we were growing up. She was the one who helped cook dinner, while I was relegated to clean-up duty and mundane chores like peeling potatoes - I didn’t even get to mash them.  Finally, around the age of 11, I’d had enough.

“I want to make something all by myself without any help.  Pleeeeeze?”

Momma thought about this for a minute and made the all-important decision – she would allow me to make deviled eggs, something she figured I’d be hard put to make into a disaster. Let me tell you, I have a forte for disasters in the kitchen, but those are other stories.  There I was, 11 years old, boiling eggs and getting the ingredients prepped.

“How long does it take for eggs to be hard boiled, Momma?” I yelled from the kitchen.

"About 10 minutes after the water starts boiling,” she answered from the next room.

“K”

I was blustering around the kitchen, so excited I could barely contain myself.  I was cooking!  I’d demanded my sister leave the room entirely and asked Momma if she’d sit in the adjoining dining room in case I needed her.  She was agreeable to this arrangement.  I’m not sure at what point in the making of the eggs I was so keyed up to actually be cooking that I fainted.  Yep, keeled over right there in the kitchen.  Slump, slam, thump, I fell to the linoleum.  Next thing I know I’m waking up on the floor with a cold washcloth on my face and my sister and mother’s worried faces looking down at me.

“Wha’ happened?”

“You fainted.”

“I did?”

“Yes, you did.  Now I have to finish the eggs,” my sister complained.

“Noooo, I want to do it.  Please let me finish, y’all can sit and watch me, stand beside me, I don’t care.  I want to make just one thing in my life by myself,” I pleaded dramatically.

I finally got the two of them to agree and the rest of the day is shrouded in mystery.  I suppose it was so uneventful it was not memorialized in my mind.  That was the first time I made deviled eggs.

I have since perfected deviled eggs to the point where now if there is a family gathering, a conversation with my sister will go something like this.

“You comin’ for Easter this year?” - My sister’s heartfelt invitation.

I hear her husband in the background. “Tell her to bring those deviled eggs of hers, and bring more than the 48 she brought last time – make THREE dozen this time.”  I hear him laugh after he yells this.

“OK, we’ll be there with 72 deviled eggs in hand.” I answer.

“She’s comin’ with her eggs!” She hollers with the phone away from her mouth.

“Awesome!” he happily answers.  I seriously believe we wouldn’t be invited if it weren’t for the deviled eggs.

Every time we get together, it’s always the same. Bring those eggs you make, or You bringin’ your eggs? or What is in those eggs?  I’ve made them for a couple of potluck dinners since we moved to Rockport and now I’m getting the same thing here. Those eggs you make are so good; will you please bring them again?  So I do and gosh-darn if word hasn’t gotten around.

Now you’re wondering what’s so special about Roxie’s deviled eggs. I believe it’s a couple of things.  #1 is that I use farm fresh eggs I buy from a young man who has chickens running around wild in his rather large out-in-the-country yard.  I pay $2.00 for a dozen and they come in light blue to a dark sack brown with several hues in between. They range in sizes from teeny to gargantuan.  I don’t care what color or size they are because they’re the richest, most wonderful tasting eggs you’ll ever find.   My recipe follows and you can double, triple or quadruple it if you wish. It’s tattered and torn and has all these math calculations over the top portion for those times when I make huge amounts for family gatherings or the giant potluck down the street.  They taste slightly sweet but have a mild tang and are delicious.  I think the olive on top adds a nice touch, too.

 

ROXIE’S DEVILED EGGS

Items needed for 12 deviled eggs:

6 hard-boiled eggs (large and farm fresh if you can find them)

3 tablespoons real not lite mayonnaise

1 tablespoon Splenda or sugar (I use Splenda)

1 teaspoon honey mustard dressing

1 teaspoon apple cider vinegar

salt & pepper to taste

6 pimento-stuffed green olives cut in half

paprika

To boil eggs, place eggs in enough cold water to cover completely, bring to a rolling boil over high heat.

Reduce heat to a lower medium boil and cook an additional10-12 minutes.  (I find that I have to cook the farm-fresh eggs a little longer, not sure why.)

Promptly chill eggs so yolks stay bright yellow.

Remove shells from eggs, and halve lengthwise with a knife.

Carefully remove the yolks, and place in a medium bowl.

Mash yolks with a fork and add the next five ingredients, up to the green olives.  Mix well.

Very carefully spoon mixture back into the egg white halves.

Place one of the pimento-stuffed green olive halves on top of the egg and gently smoosh down.  Add a light sprinkling of paprika for color and presto, you have yourself a treat.

Enjoy!

Gray Day - 1/25/09

It’s gray outside.  The bay is nearly the same color as the sky and you can barely tell where the water ends and the sky begins.  The water is slightly darker and the texture of the waves gives itself away.  Much like my mood today, the grayness is thorough and deep.  There are no birds in sight, which is rather unusual.  I wonder where is our resident Great Blue Heron?  Perhaps he’s hunkered under the pier, planning his next fishy meal.  The sun is hidden behind a ceiling of thick seamless gray clouds.  My normal sunny disposition is hidden behind a feeling of moroseness.  I have no particular reason for this feeling.

 

Nothing bad has happened, I just woke up this way.  The winter tides are the lowest I’ve ever seen them, revealing the normally hidden floor of the marshy area.   Dead fish carcasses have bared their spiny bones, heads still intact.  Poor things couldn’t find their way out as the tide ebbed.  They will, no doubt, be replaced by their cousins when the tide finds its way back behind the rocky breakwater.  

The breakwater is fully exposed in all its cragginess.  It, too, has uncovered its secrets.  Lost fishing lures and floats, barnacles, a lone empty crab cage with a large gouge in the side where the fortunate crabs escaped their prison.  The once white float the crab cage was attached to is tangled in the rocks nearby.  The green slime attached to it has made the float look like a marbled orb of interestingly mottled art.  I could dredge it out but then it would simply dry out and lose its loveliness I think, so I won’t bother.   

It's chilly and damp out here and the gray surrounds me, I even have on gray sweats to match my ‘tude.  Perhaps tomorrow both the day and I will wake up with sunnier dispositions.  One can only hope.

Late Bloomer - 4/9/09

Oddly enough, I remember the precise moment I realized I was a grown-up, and no longer thought of myself as the “skinny girl.”  I was 18 and considered a late bloomer.  I never really knew what those words meant exactly, but in that moment it became very clear. 

I was in the PX.  For those of you not accustomed to the Army’s verbiage it’s an acronym for something I used to remember but have long since forgotten.  It’s where you shopped, like a department store. 

I even remember what I was wearing. It was in the fall of 1973 but still warm in Ft. Hood, Texas so I was faddishly dressed in hip-hugger, bell-bottom, corduroy slacks and a white halter-top.  The slacks were a bright orange.  My white sandals and matching white leather belt completed the ensemble.  My long, straight hair hung to the middle of my back, Cher-like.  I was stylin’, man!

I was dashing downstairs in search of something I can’t recall and two fatigue-clad soldiers were coming upstairs. 

It must have been getting close to Christmas because one of them said to the other, “Now that’s what I want in my Christmas stocking!” 

He was talking about me!  I stopped in my tracks.  Nobody had ever said anything like that about me that I knew of.  I realized I was a woman and no longer the “skinny girl”. 

By “skinny girl” I mean I was the brunt of jokes you may or may not have heard.  The one about turning sideways and disappearing; and then there’s the one about turning sideways, sticking out your tongue and looking like a zipper; or the equally not-so-funny one about being embarrassed with a red face and accused of being a thermometer.

Yes, I had very small breasts, my bones stuck out everywhere, knees, elbows, shoulder blades, even my ankles seemed too large.  I just couldn’t gain weight.  I ate ice cream, fattening, fried foods and literally mounds of mashed potatoes.  Nothing worked until I finally got on birth control pills and gained those precious ten pounds I so desperately needed.  I had finally grown into my body.  That’s what being a “late bloomer” is, late to bloom into your body.   

Since I hadn’t had that kind of appreciation before I had developed a very keen sense of humor.  When you don’t have the “looks” you get by any way you can.  I had honed sarcasm to a fine point.  I was the class clown in school, always looking for ways to make everyone laugh.  Like all high school teens I felt the need to be accepted any way I could. 

In that moment I realized not only did I apparently have the looks, but also a respectable body, a sense of humor and, guess what; I had a brain, too!  Was the world ready for me?

Driving & Constipation - 7/30/09

Day One - We left at 5:40 a.m. on Monday, July 27^th, on a hot, balmy day in Rockport, Texas.  It’d taken over two weeks to accomplish all it takes to leave our home unattended for two months.  Everything we considered valuable was in the climate controlled storage unit in Austin.  Things we could store above what we considered the “rising water line” was stashed on top of various locations – the island bar, the entertainment center, the breakfront in the living area.  All the hurricane shutters were tightly in place and the house reminded me of a fortress.  Traditionally the last thing done is turn off the gas light fixtures at the front of the house.  As we drove away in the darkness the house seemed rather sad to me – or maybe I was simply projecting my gloominess of leaving our beautiful home behind with the possibility of never seeing it again.

We picked up Sarah and Joey, her miniature Poodle, and headed out on our thirty hour, 3-day, 1,859-mile saga to Big Sky, Montana.  The first few hours were okay, we were excited to finally begin our trip. 

The dogs were figuring out where they belonged in the car and snarling at each other from time to time but were beginning to settle down.  Abe, our Golden Retriever, simply avoided Joey’s nips and was wondering what all the fuss was about.  He’s a good boy and didn’t bite Joey in half like he’s perfectly capable of.  I believe Joey suffers from what I call “small dog syndrome” and lashes out just in case a large dog gets any idea that he can’t hold his own when it comes to a dog fight.  The unfortunate thing is not all large dogs are as easy going as Abe and Joey might mess with the wrong big dog one of these days and find himself in a situation from which he may not recover.

We drove and drove, occasionally stopping for fuel and potty breaks.  The dogs had to be walked sporadically as well.  The day was an endless blur of telephone poles and white lines on the highway.  The scenery couldn’t keep me awake and I frequently found myself waking from a nap.  I listened to my iPod and slept while my ass grew numb.  The day ended in stinky Hereford, Texas at a Holiday Inn Express – we didn’t even get out of Texas after an 11 ½ hour day of driving. We ate a pre-packed light dinner from our cooler, showered and went to bed early, anticipating another long day.

Day Two – Up at 4:45 a.m. and on the road by 6:00 again.  I was already sick of riding in the car and began to feel an itch in my right eye – please don’t be a sty, please don’t be a sty!  Occasionally stress causes me to have one of these itchy, swollen pustules on one of my eyelids and I greatly feared one was coming on.  The previous two weeks of packing, planning, and laboring had taken its toll on me and I guess inevitably something had to give.  My forehead had already birthed three zits overnight and I was beginning to feel abused by my own body.  Plus, I hadn’t crapped in two days allowing my tummy to look and feel quite bloated.  No, Roxie was not a happy passenger.  At least the dogs had settled into a sort of equilibrium.

By the end of the 10 ½ hour day of driving we had traveled through four states – Texas, New Mexico, Colorado and finally into Wyoming – Laramie to be exact.  Another Holiday Inn Express, a new one, thank goodness.  No fees for dogs and much nicer than the previous night’s accommodations.  I decided a nice soak in the tub after another pre-packed dinner from the cooler was in order.  Maybe soaking in the hot water would allow my tummy and lower intestines to relax enough to finally be able to expel the backed up doo-doo that was causing me such distress.  But Noooooo, that wasn’t happening.  Now I know why my eyes are so brown.  We went to bed early.

Day Three – You know the drill – up at 4:45 a.m. and on the road by 6:00.  By then I had to wear stretchy pants, no way I could button those cute Capri’s around my swollen, bloated mid-section.  I hadn’t planned on the weather being so cool either and fortunately one of the last things I’d done was toss a pair of stretch pants in my overnight bag. I was beginning to believe I might have to implant a stick of dynamite up there to get things going again. I still haven’t ruled out the possibility.

At least the scenery was more beautiful and the day rather cloudy.  Unfortunately the day’s journey was extended about an hour and a half by construction on the highway before Yellowstone National Park and in the park itself.  Parts of the road were unpaved and there were 30-minute delays predicted by the flashing signs.  By the end of the day I felt dirty from all the construction dust, my eyelid was swelling and itching like crazy, my mid-section appeared six months pregnant and the zits on my forehead were expanding too.  My hair was dirty, my clothes were tight and I was beginning to feel extremely grumpy.  But we made it to Big Sky and the house was as we had left it the previous summer.  The dogs were in seventh heaven.  I was glad to see someone enjoying themselves.

Randy and I unpacked the truck and trailer while Sarah went to the grocery store for a few supplies and sandwiches for dinner.  I had taken out the contact in my right eye since that was the one with the sty and therefore couldn’t clearly see the gorgeousness surrounding me but I knew it was there and that had to be enough.

After a good night’s sleep I truly thought I’d wake up today able to do the deed I so desperately need to – but I’m still stopped up. I’ve been drinking lots of water, eating salads, fruit and cereal and I don’t know what else to do except bide my time and wait to either burst wide open or finally go.  I give a whole new meaning to being “full of shit.”

A Dreadful Day - 4/29/09

I had already completed my daily ritual of coffee and crossword puzzle along with checking e-mails.  I strolled over to the back window to take a look at the view and noticed a boat seemingly playing around, messing up the fishing and causing havoc.  When I looked in the telescope, I immediately noticed no one was at the helm.  No one was driving the boat!  I leaped to the worst possible conclusion and the only one I could have, agonizing over where the driver probably was - in the bay. 

We called 911 immediately and relayed to them the circumstances, our location and to HURRY.  It was distressing how long it actually took for authorities to arrive at the scene.  Several boats passed the circling vessel seemingly unaware of the drama unfolding – I know this because I was constantly looking in the scope, persistently searching for hands in the air, a head bobbing, hopefully a bright orange life jacket, something, anything to indicate the person was still alive.  No luck.  It occurred around 11 that morning.  The Coast Guard, Rockport police, and Texas Parks and Wildlife looked for him for several hours. 

Through the course of the day we learned there was a family renting the house next door for the weekend.  One of the men came over when he saw me looking through the scope to see if I could spot anything. He said it was his brother-in-law, Ryan, who was missing. He asked me to look for a white shirt since that was what Ryan was wearing. His family, his wife and children, his in-laws, all were searching the water, eyes glued to the frothing waves, hoping, praying for a miracle.

I diligently searched through the lens but discovered nothing, but not for lack of trying!  My head ached with closing one eye peering through the telescope lens for literally hours and, like the authorities, to no avail.

Around 4 that afternoon they found his body.  My husband saw them pull Ryan out of the bay with stiffened arms and bloated body.  It was horrible.  We still don’t know what really happened. 

Ryan’s family lost a son, a father and a husband. I cried off and on all day long even though I had never laid eyes on the deceased.  My eyes well up at the memory even now.

How suddenly life can be stolen from us.  I learned two valuable lessons that day - tell the people you love that you care about them every single day for we never know what tomorrow will bring. And the second lesson is always wear life jackets while boating.  Ryan would still be here with his loving family today if he’d only worn one that fateful day.

I try to remember God has a plan and everything happens the way it is supposed to, but this seemed like such a waste. I still mourn for the man I didn’t know.

Morning - 10/29/09

I roll out of bed to greet the day and head directly to the coffeepot, which I have prepared the night before.  With one click of the button the aroma of hazelnut coffee begins to permeate my surroundings.  Every morning while I wait for my eye-opening brew I wander over to the back window to see who is visiting this morning and to recognize the weather of the moment.  Weather changes quickly here and you can turn around for five minutes and see a change when you turn back.  There usually are several birds in the marshy reeds hunting, looking for that perfect tidbit to make up their morning meal.  Great blue herons, snowy white egrets, kingfishers, laughing gulls and an occasional roseate spoonbill are what normally meet my eye.  During the winter months I often see an osprey sitting at the end of our pier on a light pole.  He’s my favorite and such an amazing fisherman!  Sometimes I see him busily gutting a mullet on what has become his usual perch.  His talons are lethal.  His bill tears the flesh so easily and gets to the good parts – the heart and guts.  Oddly enough he drops the part we mere humans enjoy, the muscle, for the surrounding squawking seagulls to finish off.

The weather is cooperating with the fishermen this morning, a picture-perfect autumn day on the coast of Texas.  The sky is azure blue without a visible cloud.   The bay is slightly choppy from the southeast breeze and is the color of a well-made margarita.

The mullet are jumping out of the water occasionally, reminding me of a silver bullet, sleek and metallic colored.  I think they sometimes leap for the sheer joy of it.

We have pigeons, too.  I’ve always associated them with city living but they are here with their iridescent necks and wings just the same.  They roost on the house next door.  I don’t know why they don’t roost on our house.  I do see them drinking from the edgeless pool sometimes, even if it is chlorinated.  It was the freshest water around during the recent drought.  Poor birds.  We had grackles, pigeons and even ducks hanging out in and around our pool this past summer.  I guess you get it where you can – fresh water that is.

The reeds in the marsh harbor hundreds of fish and crustaceans.  The crabs scuttle away if I walk along the pier.  There is no fear from me though, I wish only to see them scuttle.

Life is good this morning for everyone I see.   I turn around when I hear the soft gurgle of Mr. Coffee, anticipating my lovely cup of hazelnut flavoring.  Mm mm, I’m a lucky lady!

Night Out - 5/23/10

Tommy called my cell phone around 4:30 pm while Randy and I were doing our P90X exercise program so I didn’t answer.  After exercising I checked my phone and he had called, texted, and left a voice message so I knew he had something important to say.  His voice message said, “Call me, we’re going to town!” 

Since I didn’t know what the heck that meant, I immediately returned his message with “What’s up?”

“We’ve rented a limo and ten of us are going into Corpus to see Bob Schneider at Brewster Street.  Come with us, I have one ticket left.”

And to entice me even more he added, “We’re gonna’ dance our asses off.”

“Hmmm, who all is going?” I asked, knowing I really love to dance my ass off.  This had already cinched the deal, but I was curious.

“Let’s see, Addie (I thought he said Maddie), Kate and Mark, Valerie, Jamie, Eric, Lana (my date, as it turned out), Amanda, me and hopefully, you.” he replied.

I didn’t know more than half those people but that didn’t bother me one little bit.  I’ve never met a stranger anyway.  So I agreed and thanked him for giving me enough time to get ready for this shindig.

I showered, washed my hair, shaved and put on new “little” clothes and generally made myself presentable.  At eight Lana picked me up and we drove to Tommy’s house where the limo awaited.  As it turned out the supposed ten people this particular limo was rated to hold didn’t take into account that we aren’t all Barbie and Kens so it was a tight fit and our destination was 45 minutes away.  There were nine of us in it already with no room to spare and we still hadn’t picked up Amanda in Aransas Pass.  Katie was uncomfortably ensconced on the floor amidst our feet with her legs crossed and assured us she had worn underwear for the occasion, something she apparently doesn’t do on a regular basis.  I felt pretty good about that bit of information. 

During the ride to Aransas Pass and then into Corpus much alcohol was consumed.  There was wine, beer, vodka, limes, ice chests (which didn’t help the roominess much) and who knows what else.  Lana had provided me with a nice glass of white wine so we were all fixed up for a night on the town.  I couldn’t wait to get there; I had begun to feel somewhat like the proverbial sardine.  I was beginning the process of getting to know my fellow partiers while we all laughed, giggled and enjoyed each other’s company.

Upon arrival at Brewster Street we all virtually fell out of the overstuffed limo and stretched our legs.  I was ready to begin dancing my ass off.  The music I heard sounded great and I was already moving to the music.

Lana and I approached the ticket table and that’s when I discovered I was Lana’s date since her husband had decided to stay home that night.  Thank you, Joe, for doing that!  We had to show our IDs to the gentleman behind the table and when he looked at mine he said, “That’s a good-looking picture.”

I said something about it not having any choice since I was a good-looking person and he laughed and agreed.  It’s interesting how one glass of wine affects my self-confidence. Anyway, we got our armbands and filed up the stairs, people watching us grinned because we were loud, boisterous and obviously having a good time.

We all sort of split up for a while once we got into the building, some went straight to the restrooms, more went straight to the bar and ordered alcoholic beverages.  I bought Lana’s drink and my first Bud 55 Select of the evening.  We looked around for the other eight and didn’t see them.  Finally we discovered them at the front of the stage and it looked like we were going to have a good spot for the evening.

The front band was rocking and I began to sway to the music, oblivious to everyone around me.  That’s pretty much what I do when the music suits me.  I don’t give a pig’s ear if someone doesn’t like the way I dance.  I do it anyway.  Usually people join me and if they don’t then it’s their loss!  As more and more people arrived for the main event I noticed there were quite a few young people staring at these old farts having such a good time.  You’d think we had arms and legs coming out of our ears or something.  I didn’t care, still don’t.

Once Bob began his gig we were really having fun.  We danced, clapped, giggled and jiggled the night away.  We’d break apart and then get back together.  One would leave for the restroom or more alcohol and another would move into that spot.  Strangers joined us and left, new strangers would arrive and we’d dance and shake hands and then, before you knew it, a new person would be beside you shakin’ what their momma gave ‘em.  I think some people decided they wanted to be a part of this fun group of old-timers and would come and go like the tides.  At one point some guy who wore a white shirt overstayed his welcome because he started farting and it stunk like a sulfur mine, I kid you not.  Over and over again I’d have to hold my nostrils closed, it was bad, really bad.  Finally everyone in our group started making gagging noises and pointing at him and he left, thank you ever so much!

I went to the restroom at one point in the evening and as I returned to our strategic position up front some random guy sitting at a table grabbed my ass. I walked a few feet away and then turned around and went back to the culprit. I asked him, “Did you just grab my ass?”

He said, “Yes, yes I did.”  He was obviously so drunk he was telling the truth.

“Why?”

“Because I wanted to.” Still speaking truth, obviously.

“OK, you wanted to, but what makes you think that’s an alright thing to do since I don’t know you from Adam?” I queried.

He motioned to the seat beside him so he could explain to me in great detail but I declined and began walking away, still wondering why he thought it a good idea to molest me.  He began to follow me and I wasn’t having any of that.  I looked at him, held up my wedding ring laden left hand and he responded with, “I’m married too.”

That’s when I realized he was a douche bag.  I said to him in a stern voice, “Don’t follow me, seriously!”

Thank goodness he didn’t.  I was ready to practice my newly learned P90X Kenpo moves on him if he took one more step.  He’s lucky he made the right decision, douche bag.

The rest of the evening was spent dancing, laughing, drinking, and listening to some great, but very loud, music, picture taking, and more dancing.  At the end of the show Jamie and I got our picture taken with Bob.  I wish I’d gotten Jamie’s phone number or e-mail because now I don’t know how to get a copy of it, but I haven’t given up yet.  Where there’s a will there’s a way and I can be tenacious.

On the ride back it was much quieter than the previous one, everyone was tired, drunk (I wasn’t – only had three of those 55 Selects) and danced out.  Tommy decided it was time for one of his infamous jokes.

I hope I get this right. 

Two guys find themselves in the same cell in prison.  The rather large man said to the smaller man, you know, you’re gonna have to put out while you’re in here with me, right?

No, no, I’m not like that, I don’t want to.  It’ll hurt too much.  I’ve never done anything like that before.

But you have to.  I’ll tell you what.  If it hurts, moo like a cow and if it feels good just sing.

Oh, alright, I guess that’ll be alright.  We’re here for a long time together.

So the big guy begins the process and the little guy yells moooooooo, moooooooooooo, Mooooooooon River.

Ha!