A Glimmer of Light

In the far distance, I think I'm finally catching a glimpse of the end of the tunnel. It seems like I've been on a giant hamster wheel for months.

In preparation for the trip to Salt Lake City, I spent a good part of my free time between Christmas and the flight out getting my genealogy files up to date and data changes put into the computer data base so I would not have to pack along a wad of paper. As soon as I got back I was facing a deadline to get the annual family newsletter put together for next Saturday's reunion.

Now, at 10PM on Sunday night, I'm down to the proofing and revision stage of the newsletter, which means I may actually have it done on time. After the reunion, I'm not facing another deadline for awhile.

This afternoon I indulged in a rare nap after I had the newsletter writing pretty much behind me. Mojo and Xana cuddled up next to me and we all slept about two hours. The house is a wreck, but the nap turned out to be a much better use of my time than house-cleaning would have been. Mojo thought it was an outstanding idea.

That little light at the end of the tunnel is looking mighty good.

LSW

B'days

This morning I read where Judy Carne is 68 today. Bizarre to think of her as the Laugh-In go-go dancer of the sixties and now she's in her sixties.

But today we really celebrate the 2-year mark for Mr. Mojo. He woke up flirty today, so I think he may know. In people years I have a teenager. Explains a lot.

Coco hit the 2-year mark back on March 24th. Two teenagers. Ouch.

However, they now tend to mind me when I tell them to come in. They are beginning to understand the concept at least. Now if they ignore me, it's not so much "duh" as "in your ear, lady". I think that's an improvement. Maybe.

My two babies are growing up.

LSW

Xana and Me

Last evening I had to get a prescription filled for Mother. When I went back to the pharmacy to pick it up, I let Xana ride along with me. That did not make the two little ones at all happy, but the old girl likes a little special treatment now and then.

Poor Xana is beginning to fear that every trip in the car means a trip to the vet and a jab with a needle. When she realized that we were headed to a drive-through, she got all happy. Nothing she likes better than a chance to lean out the window and look inside a drive through window. She was a bit disappointed that it wasn't a hamburger joint, but she enjoyed watching the birds that nest in the rafters of the HEB pharmacy canopy.

After we completed our business, I drove her slowly through our old neighborhood with the windows open and she sniffed and sniffed and sniffed with utter satisfaction.

She was a happy little dog when she got back to the house and got herself thoroughly inspected by the ones who were left behind. She thinks it's right and proper that they should be reminded who is top dog around here.

LSW

How Do I Spell Relief?

After all the diet cheats and feeling guilty as hell this morning when I stepped on the scales, I weighed the same as I did when I left. Whew. I can only attribute it to the fact that I just can't eat as much as I used to. It's nice to know that I can treat myself occasionally and not have it hit me in the waistline.

Welcome back to Texas. Humidity and heat after several days of shivering. Nice to get back into my bucolic commute after several days of big city noise and negotiating the DFW airport. This morning I followed big combines down the highway, spied a bull and cow having an amorous encounter and enjoyed the remnants of bluebonnet season.

And I slept well last night for the first time in a week. I usually sleep well on vacation, but I could not turn my mind off this time. Too many things on my to-do list that needed to be handled when I returned. It was quite a relief to curl up against the little dog bodies and get a decent night's sleep. The to-do list is still long, but it's easier to cope when I'm not doing it long-distance. And I have Mojo and Coco and Xana and Boo and Scout ready to assist with the slightest encouragement.

And I have a pile of paper that shows my research time was profitable.

And I didn't gain any weight. Relief.

LSW

Being Bad is Good

And what I mean by that is that I have thrown the diet out the window for the duration of my visit in Salt Lake City. On the positive side, we are getting by on two meals and one snack each day. On the negative side, one of the two meals is generally pig out time.

It's such a hassle to get yourself all set up at a work space in the library that you don't want to move once you are settled. By the time you have set up the laptop and gotten the wires all arranged and wound your security cable around two sets of table legs and through the handle of your briefcase, and dragged your files out and spread them around you, and draped your jacket on the back of the chair - well, believe me you think long and hard about whether you want to repack everything in the interest of lunch. You're allowed to leave your work area for an hour, but I have a hard time walking out of the library with my laptop sitting there unwatched. So we grab a quick 15 minute snack in the library's lunch room and resume our work until we can't ignore the hunger pains any longer.

Yesterday we took advantage of the hotel's shuttle service and went to a new place for us, the Market Street Grill. We indulged in seafood and margaritas. When we first visited Salt Lake City, it was hard to find a place to get a mixed drink. Now they can actually serve a pretty darned good margarita. I ignored my conscience and ate a plateful of fried shrimp and french fries. Umm, umm, good.

Today we decided we needed a play break, so we shut down research operations at 2 o'clock and went for a walkabout. Salt Lake City is in the process of reconstructing a big hunk of its downtown area and a lot of the places we used to prowl are no longer there. We did get to explore the Deseret Book Store, the LDS Museum Store and Edinburg Castle and eat at another new restaurant. Then we returned to the library for a few hours. Finally, we stopped for dessert and coffee before collapsing in our room.

Tomorrow I plan a long siege on the microfilm reader. Every time I come here I spend one day plowing through books and feeling frustrated. Then the second day I start with the microfilm and I remember what I enjoy the most - seeing the original records and finding my ancestors' names in ancient, spidery writing. I've already accumulated a few marriage records and wills and I expect to get a lot more tomorrow.

Tomorrow's main meal is planned for Cafe Martine, a little place we spotted on our walk this afternoon. It's French food, so I expect I will continue to be bad. But, then what's a vacation for anyway?

Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we diet.

LSW

SLC, FHL and Me

Today we flew to Salt Lake City for the fourth time. Amazing how much shorter the trip has become. I'm getting used to the flying, I guess. Almost fell asleep at one point.

The flight to Dallas was uneventful, except that we had 40 minutes between planes and we were stepping lively to reach the SkyLink that took us clear across the airport to the other terminal. Have you noticed it seems to be a rule that wherever you land in Dallas, your connecting flight will be on the opposite side of the airport? Anyway, we had just enough time to make a restroom stop before boarding.

Since I flew American in November, they've stopped serving free snacks. You can still have complimentary sodas and coffee, but if you want to eat you have to cough up $3. Fortunately we both thought to bring along snack bars, so we managed to keep from caving in from hunger.

About 45 minutes out of Salt Lake City we were informed that it was snowing there. We flew above the clouds most of the way and during that last leg we were in the clouds. And it was a bumpy ride. And I was calm and cool through the whole thing. Actually the scariest part of the whole trip was the 2o minute cab ride to the hotel. I think the guy was trying to break some kind of speed record.

We ate and hit the library for a few hours. We quickly got back into the groove there, but our long day began to catch up with us and I was beginning to nod off in the middle of the stacks. We decided it would be a good idea to get a good night's sleep and start in earnest tomorrow. Besides Lost was about to come on.

Right now I'm sitting here looking out over the city and a snowy mountain and hail is hitting the patio door. Far cry from Texas.

LSW

Teachers, Part 3

Meanwhile back in the schoolroom.

When we hit High School, those of us who would probably attend college ended up with fewer choices than those who might or might not choose to further their education. If you were on the college plan you took both Algebra I & II, Geometry and Trig, Physics and Chemistry. I was the only girl in my class who was definitely on the college plan. This had some benefits and some disappointment attached. On the positive side I managed to avoid a year of P.E. because the only way Physics could be worked out for all was to schedule it opposite the girls' P.E. class. On the downside, the science teacher and I nearly came to blows that year because he was an arrogant ass who plainly did not think a girl should make the top grade in his class.

Mr. S was one of only two teachers who ever caused my parents to request an audience with the administration over unfair grading practices. I'm not sure what exactly was said in that meeting but the bottom line was that I was excused from taking Chemistry the next year because neither the administration or my parents or me or Mr. S wanted to go down that road again. (The irony is that two years later I garnered 4 hours of Chemistry credit on my college entrance exams. Go figure.) The man was impossible and continued to be for many years. Sad to say, he did not come to a happy end, which goes to show that you reap what you sow.

The other teacher who earned my parents' wrath taught English for part of one year. Mr. P was undoubtedly the worse excuse for a teacher I ever encountered. (Well, there was that Economics professor in college who might tie him for that position.) Anyway, Mr. P's idea of teaching English was to have us copy articles from magazines, day after day. The boys in the class learned to get him talking about one of his pet topics and while they shot the breeze, the rest of us were laboriously copying article after article. His idea seemed to be that we would learn sentence construction by osmosis. His Waterloo came when he began to dole out grades based on who kissed up the best. It did not take long for the administration to realize that something was wrong when below average students began making As and normally A-students were making below standard grades. He departed before the year was half-over and was replaced with Mrs. Bird, the superintendent's wife and one heck of an English teacher. I, for one, was relieved and delighted to see her. The brown-nosers were not.

Mrs. Bird appreciated the fact that I could write a coherent sentence and studied hard. At the end of the year she awarded the English medal to me, a mere Freshman. I suspect this shocked the older students. I know it floored me.

Mr. Stewart took over English for the rest of our High School years. He was a genial soul who had known most of us for years. He came from a nearby town and had dated one of the popular high school girls when we were in elementary school. Under normal circumstances he would probably have been eaten alive, but due to his pre-existing popularity and the fact that he was a competent teacher, he had a long and successful career. I was very fond of Mr. Stewart, who also attended our church and for a short while lived across the street from us. There was one time, however, when I couldn't keep quiet about a misstep he was making. We were studying the Greek play Antigone, and he persisted in pronouncing it Anti-gone. This went on for several days, until he asked me to either read a passage or answer a question, and I pronounced it An-tig-o-nee. He remarked later to my parents that he realized in that moment that I had known more about the lesson than the teacher.

One of the all-time best teachers I ever had was Mrs. Harral, who taught math. She was also in charge of the school library and several of my study halls and ended up as our class sponsor, so we saw a lot of each other. She tolerated no nonsense, but she had a good sense of humor and she knew just about everything there was to know about math. I remember during the long, excruciating experience that was Algebra II, I began to flounder for awhile. My straight A average dropped to a B in her class. My father, ever the helpful soul, teased me unmercifully until she stepped in and told him there was nothing wrong with a B and to leave me alone. (Considering his track record in college math, he really had no right to criticize.)

We're about half-way through the High School years at this point. Stay tuned for part 4.

LSW

Some Things are Meant to Be

Friday was one of those days when I should have left the check book and credit cards at home. I spent a couple of hours on Main Street in Smithville checking out some favorite antique stores. I found something at every store and only managed to talk myself out of a couple of things.

About two years ago I had come across an antique photo album I was tempted to purchase. Part of my ongoing habit of rescuing other people's ancestor photos. It was priced a little out of my range, however, so I passed it by regretfully. Every time I would go in there, I would look at it again and again come to the conclusion that it was too much. And pass it by.

There are two stores side by side on Main Street that are managed by a husband and wife team. The wife's store is one of my favorites. Just cluttered enough to be interesting. The husband's store, while containing some fine antiques, is more reminscent of a jumble sale. Disorganized, haphazardly arranged. But if you have time, worth investigating. It is the husband's store where the antique photo album has sat for the last couple of years.

I found an old Texas history book at the wife's store and while she rang me up, we chattered about different subjects. I've been in there enough that we recognize each other and she knows I'm a local. I mentioned that I was headed next door and the way my luck was running I would probably find something else I had to have. I'm not sure how it came up, but I mentioned the photo album. She thought a moment and then told me I should check out a certain table where a half-price sale was in progress. She was sure she had seen an old photo album in the sale group. Maybe I would get lucky and it would be the one.

I saw it the minute I stepped into the store. It was the old album I've had my eye on and it was indeed marked down to half the original asking price. It's an unusual old album, standing upright, with a double cover, each side of which has a beveled mirror. Its dusty rose velvet is torn and scuffed and the hinges of the covers are almost gone. Inside is a collection of 49 antique photos. Babies, men and women, and several wedding photos. Most are imprinted with photographers in Round Rock, Georgetown, Hutto and Fort Worth. Some genealogist would probably give their eye-teeth for this little treasure, but I've yet to find any scrap of identification.

At half-price I could no longer resist the call. When I took it up to the counter, the man was surprised to see that it was marked down. He said he would have snatched it up himself if he had noticed the booth owner had included it in the sale. He was too late and the album has moved into its new home.

Where I think it was meant to have been all along.

LSW

The Proof

Still playing with the old slides. Here is the proof that I've never known life without a little dog in my lap.

Sissy was the first of the great dogs in my life. Half chihuahua and half toy manchester. She was a gift from my Grandmother Wilcoxen. She had first obtained a black full chihuahua that she named Sissy. Before she was able to give her to me, she realized that Sissy the first had the snappish chihuahua temperament that would not mix well with a child and decided to keep her for herself. Sissy the first ultimately became known as Black Sissy and my little dog as White Sissy. Both were in my life for several years. Black Sissy was loyal to a fault to my grandmother, but she never did warm up to me. White Sissy, on the other hand, was the perfect child's companion.

White Sissy was a terrific watch dog. She was with the family through the San Gabriel and Oak Hill years and even lived a year or two in Smiley. She had one peculiar trait. She was always vigilant in alerting the family to any stranger, except if that stranger were a Baptist preacher. How she knew the difference we never knew. But all Baptist preachers were welcomed to the house without fanfare.

One day an insurance salesman came to call and Sissy failed to sound the alert. After he and Mother had visited, she commented that he was the first stranger to gain entrance without argument from Sissy and she only did that for Baptist preachers. The man gave an odd look and confessed that he had formerly been a Baptist preacher.

My fondest memory of Sissy was playing in the church yard in Oak Hill. She would run huge circles around me, running so fast she was a white blur. Every so often, she would dip in close to me, just close enough for my fingers to graze her fur, and off she ran again.

I guess Sissy is the reason I never feel complete without a little dog in my life.

LSW

Once Upon a Time

Easter of long ago (about 1958) involved a new dress, a new hat, and an Easter Egg hunt in the side yard of the church. This particular day we were living in San Gabriel and I was still an only child.

A few years later, I was a big sister. Easter still meant a new dress, new shoes, a new hat and an Easter Egg hunt. This photo was taken in Smiley. You'd think the parents would have picked a more photogenic spot than in front of the beat up garage door.

But don't we look fine? Dig those spiffy glasses!

(Just for the record, when I got to thinking about Easter photos I realized that they were on slides. These are my first slide scans on the new scanner. Not bad, huh?)

LSW

A 98% Good Day

How to spend a birthday:

1) Take the day off. Preferrably on a day when it's not raining for a change.

2) Cash in a completed frequent drinker card for a free sugar-free vanilla latte on your way to the outlet mall.

3) Hit Hobby Lobby and find several good bargains that are all on clearance or on sale. Use your 40% off coupon on the one item you found to buy that was not already marked down.

4) Mosey on down to the outlet mall and start your day at Border's, where you use your 30% off coupon to acquire a Sherlock Holmes audiobook for next week's commute.

5) On impulse, visit the Calvin Klein outlet and buy a pair of size 10 jeans. The ability to get into size 10 jeans is a new development that should not be ignored.

6) Next go to Coldwater Creek and finally locate a pair of brown slacks that you've been seeking for several weeks.

7) Head on to the other outlet mall and spend a pleasant hour trying on clothes at Chico's and find yourself having to send the clerk back for smaller sizes. Repeatedly. Find another pair of heretofore elusive brown slacks. And several other pieces you didn't realize that you desperately needed. Use a 15% off entire purchase coupon in addition to the normal frequent buyer discount to save $73 on the whole lot.

8) Start drifting home, stop for a quick meal at Luby's, then a brief stop at Half-Price Books where you pick up two great books on crafting dollhouses, 2 books of collected FoxTrot cartoons that have been on your Amazon wishlist for awhile at quadruple the price, and the last of Dan Brown's books that I did not yet have on audio.

9) Get home and collect puppy kisses.

10) Now comes the 2% bad. A check of today's mail and Mother's idiot insurance company finally responds to my fax to disenroll and claims that I can't do that under the rules established by Medicare. Wanna bet? The feud resumes Monday morning. I refuse to spoil my birthday weekend getting mad at those morons.

11) Check your email and discover birthday greetings from 1 aunt, 1 old friend, 3 cousins, 1 co-worker and a sister-in-law. Soon thereafter get a phone call and a half-hour's pleasant conversation with another aunt I don't get to talk to very often.

12) Collect some kitten snuggles.

13) Head to bed and contemplate that tomorrow is a holiday. Plan an assault on the local antique shops and an enchilada plate at La Cabana.

Just as you decide your life sucks canal water, it will surprise you with a really good day.

LSW

Forgive Me, For I Have Sinned

Happy Birthday to me. In honor of the day, I am taking my annual "personal day" and tootling off for a day of shopping.

Since I would not be at the office on my birthday, my old friend and boss treated me to lunch yesterday at Main Street Grille in Round Rock. Another old friend and co-worker joined us and we had a good visit and an excellent meal. In my case, Shrimp Diablo (large shrimp stuffed with jalepeno pepper, wrapped in bacon, laced with some kind of honey sweetened sauce and served with a chipotle dipping sauce--Lord, it was good). My first sin was to eat the risotto that I had intended to take one bite of and then stop. I really intended to be good after that. But my friend was having none of it. He insisted we order dessert and he would eat half of mine so I would not break my diet too much. I opted for the least offensive of the offerings, a New York cheesecake with fresh strawberries.

You guessed it. I ate the whole thing. This has been only the second time I have eaten a real dessert since the onset of the diet. I guess if you have to cheat, your birthday is the best excuse you can have.

So this morning I really expected to see the scales pay me back with an increased pound or two. It always does when I splurge on a Mexican plate, and then I'm good for the rest of the week and return back to my target weight.

Back when I was on the strictest portion of the diet, I was using an analog scale. The amount of weight I lost was right at 30 pounds, which on the analog scale showed me just under that magic 140 pound mark that was my original target. One day I decided to replace those old scales with a new digital scale and was chagrined to discover that my weight was actually a couple of pounds over 140. Even though the weight loss was the same, I felt like I had not hit my goal, so I had to knuckle down and get back to dieting until the digital scale hit that magic number.

Since then, I've bounced between 140 and 142, but maintaining without too much effort. I knew that I would be at the high mark when I stepped on the scales this morning. But...

Even with all my sins, the reading was 139.5.

Happy Birthday to me!

LSW

P.S. I have also been blessed with sweet puppy and kitten kisses this morning. So far, so good.

Invasion

We pause to consider. We knew it was inevitable, but we thought it would be awhile longer before the invaders made it to Bastrop.

As of Thursday, the infection took root in my own backyard.

Starbucks.

They're heeeere....

LSW

Teachers, Part 2

Along about 6th grade, we all hit puberty. The boys' collective mind ended up in the gutter for the year and any comment that could be remotely construed sexual in nature sent them into gales of laughter. The girls, hormones all atwitter, were delighted to discover we had a young male teacher not too many years out of school. He pretended not to know we all had a crush on him and managed to teach us a few things that year. There was one day I remember that he pushed my temper to the limit. We were scheduled to have a quiz that day, and I had spent the previous night in feverish study for it. Instead of our customary quiz sheet, he announced that the quiz would have only one question. He wrote on the blackboard, "Why?". The compulsive students, of which I was one, were lost and could only panic over the thought of a blight on our academic record. Of course the results of the quiz did not become a matter of record. What it taught me was not to be blinded to the obvious by sheer panic.

Seventh grade was a major disappointment. We acquired a teacher who was having some kind of personal problem and was ultimately unable to cope with our little band of hellions. The boys were quick to spot and exploit her weaknesses. She failed to understand that we were not sweet little kids, but devious little teenagers. To make things worse, she was prickly, sensitive to perceived slights, and generally irritable. Needless to say, she did not endear herself to us and only incited us to harass her at every opportunity. She ended up taking medical leave and we finished out the year with "Miss Mittie" Bundick. Miss Mittie was another born teacher who didn't take any crap from her students. We had run amuck for much of the year, but she planted her thumb firmly on our little psyches and we kept to the straight and narrow until the term was over.

Now, what I learned from Mrs. H was never to underestimate my opponent. What I learned from Miss Mittie is that it's better to be in a class that is under control. You actually learn something.

In eighth grade we began to change classrooms and teachers for each subject. Life became more interesting when our world began to expand beyond the competence or incompetence of one person. Many of the teachers we encountered in the eighth grade would be the same teachers we had through high school and will be remembered in the next installment. There is, however, one thing that stands out about the eighth grade.

This was the year we were introduced to the concept of home economics and shop classes. These were new subjects for the Smiley school and it was the first time the girls and boys were split up for a period each day. Miss Thomas attempted to teach us to cook and sew. Mr. M took the boys in hand.

I thorougly enjoyed my year in home economics. I learned two things in particular that year. One was the art of making bread. The whole process fascinated me and I still like to make a loaf of bread from time to time. But more importantly, it was Miss Thomas who taught me to knit and crochet. We didn't learn any fancy stitches, but we did make some slippers and in the process I caught the knitting bug for life. From those basic knitting lessons I learned enough to be able to teach myself the fancy work later on. If not for Miss Thomas, I would probably never have learned to knit and I would have missed a lot of pleasurable moments clicking those needles together.

During the last six weeks of that spring semester, the administration in their infinite wisdom decided to send the boys to home ec and the girls to shop. I'm sure they thought it would be a good trans-gender experience, but Lord we girls were completely lost in that strange world of band saws and planes and various hard woods. In later years when I developed my fondness for dollhouse construction, I've thought back to that semester and wished that I had realized at the time what an opportunity I had been given. Instead, I spent six weeks pretty much immobilized from sheer terror of this strange world I had landed in. I did my best to just survive. Now I wish I had spent that time learning how to use a router. Hindsight.

I did get one other thing (other than panic attacks) from Mr. M that year. We acquired our first small dog from him when their dog had a litter of puppies. She was a little thing we named Dobie because she was half toy doberman. We adored that little dog and we've kept little dogs in the house ever since.

It was also in 1968 that I encountered the Mr. B who assigned us the task of compiling a family tree. He was our science teacher, so I'm not sure how he managed to work genealogy into his curriculum, but he did. I was generally bored out of my skull in his classes (the man seemed to always be talking about caliche). But one day he decided to talk about family history and I've not stopped talking family history since. He also let us knit in class, so I really should be more charitable toward him. But I sure got tired of talking about rocks.

I just recalled that it was in eighth grade that I decided to go out for the basketball team, so I also had Coach H for PE. I really should look that man up and apologize.

LSW

Teachers, Part 1

Some teachers are remembered fondly, others not so much. I was reminded this week how one of my favorite pasttimes has its roots in an assignment made by a teacher that I despised. Much as I hate to admit that the man has had a lasting influence on me, it is unfortunately a fact that such is the case. Maybe I would have gravitated to the hobby naturally on my own; however, it was Mr. B who initially focused my attention on the addiction that is genealogy. I got to thinking about other teachers in my past and their lasting presence (or absence) in my life today. So, permit me a few digressions on my educational past.

First the rules. Those I remember fondly will get credit. Those I remember with less enthusiasm will be identified by initials only.

Mrs. Gertrude Tillman taught me to read. Definitely on my plus list. She was a sweet woman and a great start to my educational years. She seemed ancient to me at the time, but she was a middle-aged 61 when we met. She was a born teacher. My clearest memories of first grade, back in 1960, was reading. I can remember her sitting with a small circle of us, patiently guiding us through the forest of words. I can remember her setting up a chart with our names and putting a little cut-out book beside our name every time we completed reading a book on our own. I had a very long line of little books beside my name at the end of the year. Everything I've accomplished in my life has its roots in learning to read with Mrs. Tillman.

Mrs. B, my second grade teacher, I remember hardly at all. I'm surprised I even remember her name. The year I entered second grade, the third grade was bursting at the seams. The solution was to split the third grade and move half of them in with us, since the second grade was small. Mrs. B ended up devoting most of the year to working with the third graders and pretty much left us second graders adrift. I can't remember anything about that year that matters, except I spent two weeks at home with the mumps and I played a dancing doll in the Christmas pagent. I can't remember doing any school work, but I do remember a lot of chatter among the students and a lot of art work. I have one dim memory of Mrs. B showing me how to put a pretty edge on a picture I was cutting out from a magazine. Aside from that, I can't remember any relationship with the woman at all.

Third grade occurred in a different school. Mrs. P spent the first six weeks we were together mispronouncing my name. I never quite forgave her for that. Her teaching methods left something to be desired, but I do remember learning a few things. An improvement over the previous year, though not by much. Mrs. P divided the class in groups according to the row you sat in. She would post work to be done on the blackboard first thing in the morning and then would work with each group of students in turn in their reading, while the remaining students worked on the posted assignments. We actually made friends toward the end of the year, but she was not an easy woman to warm to and she just couldn't seem to get it straight how to say my name. One lasting influence she had on me was not really her fault. The Victoria schools taught cursive writing in fourth grade. When we left Victoria and moved to Smiley at the end of the year, I learned that cursive writing was taught in third grade in Smiley. So, having slipped into an educational crack, I basically taught myself cursive writing.

"Miss Reba" Bundick was a good teacher. She had taught nearly everyone that lived in Smiley and knew what she was doing. I can remember lessons about Ecuador, long division, and being groomed for the U.I.L. Picture Memory contest. And, of course, that was the year I became proficient in Roman Numerals, though it was Coach M who taught me that and not Miss Reba. Miss Reba was another born teacher and not only taught us well, but also encouraged our creative sides. I can remember being mortified that I just could not seem to grasp the concept of long division and being kept in at recess as a result. But the extra individual attention she was able to give during that time finally got me over the hurdle. Miss Reba was a force and a character that caused grown men to tremble in her wake. Her college ring was a large ring intended for male graduates and she would rap it against her desk to get our attention. She retired not too many years after my sojourn in her kingdom, but her influence was felt for several generations of Smiley citizens.

Fifth grade came along and I had my first male teacher, Mr. K. The thing that sticks out in my mind about fifth grade is that my focus took a holiday. I had a hard time remembering assignments and I seemed to be moving in my own little orbit that year. I maintained my grades, so I can only surmise that for some reason I was either bored or unchallenged and creating my own mental exercises that kept me distracted from what was going on in the classroom. Weird year. Can't remember too much about Mr. K. Can't remember much of anything about that year. I do recall that he threatened to give licks to a group of girls at one point, which scandalized the entire class. He was pretty attached to that paddle board and used it frequently on the boys.

Thus ended my elementary years. Two winners, one loser and a couple of draws.

LSW

Happy Dog

Mojo is in bliss today. This morning I went out and hosed off the deck and it's the first time since last summer he has been able to fight the water hose. Thorougly wet, but utterly satisfied, he stuck by my side while I disassembled the "greenhouse" on the other deck. He barked at squirrels, fought the broom while I swept the debris of 3 months of plant droppings off the deck, and again got to attack the water hose when we watered down the liberated plants.

Mom, thoroughly exhausted, sat down for a second cup of coffee and an episode of I Love Lucy. Mojo jumped up in the chair beside me and snuggled down beside me. Then he turned toward me and gave me a look of complete satisfaction. For an instant his eyes took on the triangular shape that was Bebop's unique way of showing his total happiness. It was almost as if Mojo was channeling my former best helper. Caught me off guard. For a split second it was Bebop sitting beside me.

I would not be at all surprised if I had two helpers with my work this morning.

LSW

Ken and Barbie and Xana and Scout

Way, way back in about 1963, I acquired one of the very first Ken dolls. Those first Kens sported fuzzy hair that did not hold up well to play. My Ken became pretty much bald in a very short period of time. Mother remedied the situation with a black marker and Mattel, realizing they had a design problem, moved to a Ken with a molded head of hair.

Skip ahead 45 years. Mattel has been reissuing anniversary dolls and Ken turned 45 this past year. So they issued an anniversary edition of the very doll I had, complete with flocked hair. I couldn't resist. Today my old Ken (on the left) met the new/old Ken (on the right). My old Ken lost his swim trunks somewhere over the last 45 years, but you'll notice his sandals are still in pretty good shape. The new Ken is a fraction taller and his head is a bit rounder, but he's not far from the original.

Also in the shipment I received today was the latest in the Barbie and Ken Wizard of Oz dolls. When I get a chance, I will get them all out and take a photo. I have Barbie as Dorothy, Glenda the Good Witch and now as the Wicked Witch of the West. I have Ken as the Scarecrow, the Tin Man and the Cowardly Lion. I also have a few Kelly/Tommy dolls portraying some of the Munchkins. The cool thing about my new Barbie Wicked Witch is that she's green, right down to her legs. It's a weird collection, but we all have to collect something, right?

I worked at home today so I could run Xana over to the vet in Elgin for a follow up visit. We were pleased that her weight has held, her blood work came back improved and the doctor felt she was responding well to her fluid treatments and new drug. There's no escaping we have an elderly dog, but she's stabilized somewhat and that's good news.

Sometime during the afternoon I glanced over at the window seat and saw that Scout was still for a change. Not only still, but being incredibly lazy.

What a hard life.

LSW

Wide, Wonderful World

Yesterday I went to the Bass Concert Hall on the UT Campus to see The Lion King. It was an extraordinary experience. The story of the stage production is the same as that of the animated movie, with music by Elton John and Tim Rice. There the resemblance ends. The costumes and stage sets have to be seen to be believed. The actors portraying the various animals are seen and heard in their own costumed personas, but each works with a mask or puppet that take over and you stop seeing the actors and start seeing the characters almost immediately. The casting was superb, the singing lively and energetic, the dancing outstanding and the staging awesome.

In the first few minutes of Act 1, various animals come down the aisles of the theater. This included antelopes, zebras, and a humongous elephant. In the first few minutes of Act 2, colorful birds flew over the heads of the audience, with the puppeteers sprinkled throughout the auditorium and the balconies. The heavily child-populated audience was spellbound.

Whatever else you say about Disney, they know how to put on a good show. The Disney of today may be more concerned with making a buck than the one I grew up with, but they still know how to entertain.

The one I grew up with gave me many enjoyable moments when my parents took me to see Sleeping Beauty, 101 Dalmatians, The Absent Minded Professor, Pollyanna, and hundreds of Mickey Mouse, Goofy and Donald Duck cartoons. I went to see Old Yeller, too, but I can't say I enjoyed it. It may be a good movie, but my little heart was broken at the end. Terrible thing to show a child. I still won't watch that movie.

I can remember being completely taken with Sleeping Beauty. I was treated to a charm bracelet promotional item that was sold at the screening. I wish I still had that bracelet. For my fifth birthday, one of the few where I actually had a real party with kids, I received a set of paper dolls and I played Sleeping Beauty happily for a long time, until the dolls fell apart from use.

I have another clear memory of a Saturday afternoon long ago. I was preparing to watch the Disney show and my father was preparing to hand-crank a freezer of home-made ice cream. We set up shop in front of the television and I sat on the freezer to hold it down while he cranked. I remember distinctly watching a Goofy cartoon with a cold rear end. Funny how things connect in your mind. I seldom think of the Disney show without thinking about ice cream.

I've had a lot of enjoyment watching Disney movies. I have quite a few in my DVD collection today. I would much rather watch The Sword in the Stone than some bloody, gory adult movie any day. Good entertainment is good entertainment whether you are six or sixty and Disney can usually be counted on for good entertainment.

Those were the days of Hakuna Matata.

LSW

Tea and Art

About 15 years ago, I bought a set of black oriental miniature furniture in an antique store. It's been a long time in finding a place in a room setting, but today I finally created a vignette that I've named "Tea and Art".

The box is a display case usually employed for displaying collectible footballs. The sides are glass and highly reflective, which makes taking photos difficult. Hopefully you can tell what's going on here.


The focal point for the room was purchased a couple of weeks ago in San Antonio. The red chair is by Bespaq, a high-end line of miniatures. This is the one and only piece I own, primarily because I can't usually afford it. I happened across a 30% discount that allowed this chair to come home with me.

On the floor is a red Persian-style rug. There are two cork miniature scenes, one purchased in an antique store and the other from World Market. On the round table at left are three porcelain vases with white and blue designs. Mini-Ming. A black screen stretches around the chair and is flanked by two small display tables that each hold a mini "ivory" Buddha. At the far side of the box is a red, carved trunk that I found at an antique store some time back. Above it is a painting of a lovely oriental lady dressed in red. To the right of the painting is a tall display unit holding an "ivory" pagoda that was unearthed on a junking tour of Georgetown. In the far corner is a black chest that holds a red Buddha statue purchased at the outlet mall in San Marcos.

In front of the chair is a table holding a teapot, teacup and jar of Oolong tea. The owner of this room collects Chinese art and likes to sit and have a cup of tea while enjoying his surroundings.

See what trouble I can get into when I'm not having to worry about house cleaning?

LSW

Top of the Morning

And a happy St. Patty's day to all!

Today I celebrate my Irish ancestry through the Dunavan and Hughes lines. These two are Irish for sure and I believe I have Irish blood coming down through some of my other lines as well. My Hughes kinfolk were weavers and may account for my affinity for knitting and crocheting.

Today I also celebrate having a clean house for a change. I ran into my former cleaning lady a couple of weeks ago and she's back in business. Yesterday she cleaned the house from top to bottom and it was quite a job. I did not inherit a love of housecleaning from any of my ancestors and the best I can normally manage is a lick and a promise. (Those promises seldom get fulfilled.) It's just too hard to work up any energy for housecleaning after a week of aggravating work and that two hour commute every day. I plan to sit back and enjoy my clean surroundings today, since I know they won't last very long.

My Irish blood doesn't mind a little dirt in the corners and animals on the furniture, but my English blood thinks it would be nice if we had these clean up sessions a little more often. Which, if my cleaning lady's health holds up for awhile, I hope will happen.

So in honor of St. Patrick's Day and my clean house, I leave you with a traditional Irish blessing:

May you live to be a hundred years,

With one extra year to repent!

LSW