CONnieVERSATIONS

Community: in six words

Worn out from an out-of-town speaking engagement, I  considered staying home from church on Sunday, May 4. This has not been a good year for me health-wise. I developed bronchitis on Christmas Day 2007, and since then I'd had four rounds of antibiotic in four months. I felt guilty, though, because I had already missed so many Sundays. So I dragged myself to church--literally dragged. I was stiff and hurting all over.

The music was lively, and some part of me joined in halfheartedly, but it didn't quite penetrate my brain fog of chronic fatigue. I fidgeted in my seat, moving my legs to keep my knees and hips from locking up.

When it was time to celebrate Communion, the musicians shifted to a slower tempo and the elders passed through the congregation, serving the sacred emblems of bread and wine. I reached toward the silver plate extended in my direction and caught the eyes of Randy Schmidt. "It's an honor to serve you," he said quietly, a grin crinkling the corners of his blue eyes.

Something inside me broke at his words. My fatigue did not miraculously lift. My pain dissipated not one whit. But in that instant when he said, "It's an honor to serve you," I experienced a moment of eternity. A moment when my spirit was lifted out of the here and now and brushed against unseen realms. This was why I had come to church. Not for the music. Not for the preaching. For this moment of communion--not just with my savior but with a dear friend and brother and an entire body of believers.

"It's an honor to serve you." Randy has served me and my family in so many ways for so many years. This man has taken time out of his busy work day to come fix my mom's dishwasher so she didn't have to pay for a service call for a small repair. He ruined a chain saw blade cutting up a tree felled by lightning in our back yard. Just the week before he'd been up in our attic at 11:00 p.m., trying to find where the roof was leaking in our new house.

Communion. Community. Eloquently expressed in six short words.

It's Snowing! In Austin!

Like the typical Texas idiot, I ran outside to snap a few photos as soon as it began snowing . We may get 1 to 3 inches here in Austin, which is major for us. It only snows once every couple of years and almost never accumulates. Of course, we had ice before the snow, then it changed to a mix of sleet and snow, and now it's back to snow.

Unfortunately, you can't see the flakes in these photos, but they were gently falling all around me when I snapped took this picture.

I put a few more pictures on Flickr.

For the first time in 50 years, they had to move the gubernatorial inauguration inside. We had planned on attending the inauguration and the barbecue dinner afterward on the capitol grounds. I may be a Republican, but I'm not crazy (well, except for the pictures-in-the-snow thing); nothing could make me venture out on the icy roads.

Not even Texas barbecue!

Blogger Stories: In Good Company

Today was a red-letter day* for this relatively recent comer to the blogosphere. Toby Bloomberg, author of one of my favorite blog hangouts, Diva Marketing, e-mailed to say she had published my blogger story. Thanks, girlfriend. I love your Friday happy hour!

And wow, was I ever honored to be in the company of two outstanding bloggers I've been following for a while: Ted Demopoulos, author of Blogging for Business—whose book by the same name (coauthored with Shel Holtz) I happen to be reading at the moment; and Lewis Green, whose Business Solutions blog is part of the Marketing Profs Daily Fix lineup.

The collection of Blogger Stories Toby has put together is great reading, and always good for a bit of inspiration when I start wondering what possessed me to start not one, but three blogs. The stories have also introduced me to some interesting voices I might not have discovered otherwise.

* Writer's curiosity struck when I wrote the words red-letter day, and I suddenly wondered where the old expression had come from. Wikipedia, of course, has the answer.

Which Superhero Are You?

It's a bird .... it's a plane .... no, it's me!!!

You are Superman

Superman 100% Spider-Man 95% Iron Man 75% Green Lantern 70% Robin 60% Wonder Woman 55% Supergirl 45% Batman 40% Hulk 40% The Flash 30% Catwoman 10%

You are mild-mannered, good, strong and you love to help others.

Click here to take the Superhero Personality Test

Las Posadas, Bunny Run-Style

Last weekend our Bunny Run neighborhood, located just off the Capital of Texas Highway at the Pennybacker Bridge, celebrated a community tradition we've come to love. Las Posadas is a popular Mexican celebration that recreates the search of Mary and Joseph for a place for the birth of Jesus. Variations of the tradition are celebrated throughout parts of the Southwest U.S., and neighborhood leaders here in Austin have created our own version of the event.

I'm terrible at estimating crowds, but somewhere around 80-100 neighbors of all ages gathered for the annual Las Posadas at the home of Tom and Sharon Burns. The weather turned out perfect for the outdoor event. Two fire pits kept the revelers warm, and tables set up in the garage were loaded with offerings from great cooks - a variety of salads, veggies, and 26 dozen tamales complete with chili and cheese.

Desserts? Chocolate was definitely the flavor of the evening, and I especially enjoyed my mom's world-famous (well, they should be) brownies. And my compliments to whoever made the Zebra White- and Milk-Chocolate Cheesecake. It was divine!

Bursting open the contents of two pinatas is always a highlight of Las Posadas. The younger tykes swung the bat at a Santa pinata, then older kids pummeled a star-shaped pinata.

This was a very special evening for me. Our modern lifestyles keep us so busy that we have few oocasions for gathering as a community and just enjoying each other's company. Everybody brought card tables and chairs, something special to eat or drink, and their holiday spirit.

Check out my Flickr photos of Las Posadas 2006 as well as some photos of the Christmas lights in the Bunny Run neighborhood. I'll be posting some more Christmas lights photos soon, so bookmark the link for a return visit!

Neighbors, please feel free to leave a comment with your views about Las Posadas 2006. And for those of you not fortunate enough to live in our wonderful Bunny Run neighborhood, what kind of community celebrations do you enjoy?

My Dad and the Little People

Six years ago today, my father passed away.

Our anguish changed to relief - his suffering was over at last - then back to the grief we'd known for several years as it had gradually become obvious that this much-admired, larger-than-life figure was slipping away from us, one chunk of his central nervous system at a time.

Two years earlier I had found the answer to the questions our family physician and then the cardiologist had not been able to answer. The Internet provided a diagnosis, then we found a neurologist who confirmed it: Shy-Drager Syndrome, also known as multiple system atrophy.

I also found a support group online, where I happened to post something I had read in the medical literature. The particular type of vivd but non-threatening hallucinations of  small creatures, which my father experienced almost daily, was actually common among sufferers of this disease. Although most people described them as leprechauns, my dad always called them the Little People.

When I described the antics of these imaginary beings - which my storytelling father loved to recount in great detail - e-mails began to arrive in my inbox from caregivers grateful to be able to talk with another person who understood. Suddenly they weren't alone anymore. And neither was I.

One day, a few months before he died,  I sat at the computer and began to pour out my thoughts about my dad and the Little People who entertained him. What came out was more poetry than prose, and we wound up printing it in the memorial leaflet for Dad's funeral.

I miss you, Daddy. Are the Little People with you in heaven?

The Little People

I never thought I would find such humor
In the hallucinations of a dying man.
His body grows feeble, his brain withers
From the ravages of a cruel infirmity.
“Can you say ‘neurodegenerative’?” I tease him.
“Not even when I was well,” he replies.
Each day my father recounts for us
His adventures with the Little People.
He doesn’t know what else to call
This myriad of unidentified beings
That populate his waking dreams.
He understands that no one else
Sees them or hears them—
Knows they are not real,
Yet is powerless to make them go away.
Only one of them ever speaks to him—
Steve, he calls their ringleader.
One night the Little People showed up
In Dad’s bedroom at the usual hour.
“Go away,” he told them. “I need my rest.
And don’t come back for sixty days!”
The next night the Little People were back.
“I thought I told you to go away,” he said.
“It’s okay,” Steve replied.
“We don’t take up much room.”
I guess that’s why they’re called the Little People!
Evidently wit does not reside at the neuronal level,
For my father has not lost his keen sense of humor
Even as the disease continues to destroy
His autonomic nervous system.
Or perhaps his ability to still crack a joke
Is simply a gift of God’s grace
To a man and his caregivers,
Who have so little to laugh about
As we wait for the mercy of the inevitable.
When the time comes,
I’m thinking of asking Steve
To say a few words at the funeral.
I’d hate to exclude Dad’s little companions
From the celebration of his voyage to heaven.

copyright © 2000. All rights reserved.

Laugh Lines

cross-posted from Blogabillies

December 1999. Late-night trip to Walgreen's to pick up a few things. I'm exhausted, putting in long hours on an editing assignment code-named "Project A."

The book is on a need-to-know basis at the publishing house because it's the kind of manuscript that reporters - mainstream and tabloid alike - love to get a sneak peek at. Sounds like some crazy spy story, but I've actually been packing up my garbage and sending it home with a friend, to make sure that if any busybodies are skulking about the driveway and poking through my trash cans, they won't find any evidence of my top-secret efforts to insert transitional sentences while hacking away at overgrown verbiage.

I'm not just exhausted, I'm mentally and emotionally drained. On top of the absurdity of work - who would have thought copy editing could be such a cloak-and-dagger adventure? - my father's life is fading away, one painfully slow day at a time. Rare. Incurable. Untreatable. An unspoken question incessantly flutters like a moth against the screen door of my mind: What will Daddy's Girl do without her daddy?

As if that isn't enough, I'm approaching a milestone birthday in less than a month: the Big 5-0. It weighs on me, this prospect of facing another decade. I can't seem to focus on the potential it offers. Instead, I think only of dreams unrealized, hopes unfulfilled, opportunities missed. TILT. Full-blown overload of synapses. Sliding into hormone hell with nothing to hold on to . . .

Perhaps that's why I'm pushing the shopping cart with a white-knuckled grip, mentally reciting the list of items I need as I walk through the drugstore. When I hit the end of the list, I turn the cart around and head toward the checkout.

And that's when I look down at the contents in the rolling metal basket and have an epiphany: every single item in the cart is age-related. Hair color, calcium supplements, reading glasses. Dr. Scholl's inserts for my shoes. Not ordinary moisturizer, but "age-defying super-hydrating wrinkle-reducing eye cream."

One by one, I unload my necessities and set them in front of the cash register. The clerk scans each item while I bite down on my lip - hard - in a desperate attempt not to cave in and cry. Please, Lord, I pray silently. Let me get outside before I break down.

I must be living right because my prayer is answered. I make it out to the car and fasten my seat belt before giving in to the tears. Except they don't really course down my cheeks as I expect. Instead, a sudden, choking giggle bursts out of my mouth. I am the Madwoman of Chaillot!

Where ya goin'?

Crazy. Wanna come with me?

It's an old family joke, but I figure the very fact that I can remember it probably means I'm not nearly as close to insanity as I feel. I crank the engine, pull out of the parking lot, and let my big ol' premium-gas-guzzling Cadillac roll me toward home.

By the time I hit the Capital of Texas Highway, a rhyme is bumping around in my head. So when I get to the house, I drop my plastic bag of Baby Boomer age-busting goodies on the kitchen counter and sit down at the typewriter to finish the silly ditty that has helped me avoid a crying jag.

Laugh Lines

Where did they come from, these lines ’round my eyes?
They weren’t there last year; a recent surprise.
“Laugh lines,” they’re called; I don’t find them funny.
I’d have them removed, if I had the money.
Time and gravity, taking their toll;
Maintaining youth — impossible goal.
“Growing old gracefully” — gee, what a crock.
Whoever said that has not had the shock
Of shifting and sagging, of parts moving south,
Or creases that run from your nose to your mouth.
Me? Age gracefully? No! You can wage,
I’ll go kicking and screaming into old age.
My body may tire and my face may be lined,
But I still feel eighteen — at least in my mind.
So hand me the eye cream, the Oil of Olay;
Miss Clairol and I have a meeting today.

Blogabillies

One of the great features of the Internet is its ability to reconnect people who've lost touch. Over 20 years ago, Terry Taylor and I started free-lancing about the same time while living in the Dallas-Ft. Worth area. A few years later we both moved away, and I lost touch with Terry and his wife, Susan.
    A few months ago I googled Terry and found him here. We've had fun carrying on e-conversations since then and recently decided we'd turn our attention to a blog. I hope you'll check it out, because these two aging Southern Baby Boomers are having a blast as the Blogabillies.
    How'd we come up with the name? I had created a company blog, called Blogabilities, for our PR firm. When I let the extended family know about it, my cousin Suzanne (sister of Carla, who hosted the family recording session) misread the name. She thought it said Blogabillies and asked me if it was about hillbillies who blog.
    Well, I just couldn't let that thought go, so when Terry and I decided to unleash our incessant scribblin' on an unsuspecting blogosphere, we called our effort Blogabillies. Now T-Bone and Belle are yammerin' on a regular basis, telling stories about growing up in the South, about working  in advertising, marketing, branding, communications, writing, publishing, PR (we've covered a lot of territory between us), and in general celebrating the Southern lifestyle.

Y'all stop by and say, "howdy!"

The Family Reunion / Recording Session

If you're a professional musician looking for a new recording venue or a wannabe cutting a demo, you should check out Letthead Productions in Houston, Texas. I spent about 8 hours there on Friday (many of them in the studio green room, pictured at left), along with almost 40 of my extended family members.

     Alan Lett, owner-producer-engineer, was a delight to work with both personally and professionally. Professionally - he really knows his stuff, has a true musician's ear, and was a thoughtful and helpful coach for our session. I haven't heard the finished mix yet, but I'm sure he'll make us sound even better than we really are.

     Personally - Alan was gracious, patient, and cool under pressure. Believe me, when that many people show up for a recording session, it can get crowded - and when it's family .... well, you know there's a potential for things to get contentious!

     My sister, Laurie, served as musical director and crowd controller. She also recorded three solos and sang on several group numbers. I only sang once (not too close to the microphone!) and played piano for Laurie on one number. I believe there were a total of almost 30 singers, and the others joined us for a catered lunch that our hosts, Dave and Carla, had provided.

     What a memorable day it turned out to be! We managed to record 15 songs in just under 8 hours - a major accomplishment - and had a truly fun family reunion in the process. Photos, videos, and a CD of family singers, dubbed by my cousin Thunder (David) as the Morgan Chubby Knuckle Choir, will be keepsakes for posterity.

 

Stuffed Singers

Happy Thanksgiving!

My family and I left home early this morning and drove to Houston, where we joined about 50 relatives for Thanksgiving dinner at a hotel buffet. Now we're at my cousin's house, singing .... and eating .... and singing .... and eating some more!

Our hostess, Carla, has booked a recording studio for the entire day tomorrow. We have a number of gifted singers in our extended family, so we're going to record a CD for fun and posterity. If I can figure out how to do it, I'll post some audio clips when we get the finished product from the studio. Should be a hoot!

And as if we haven't eaten enough already, tonight we will make our traditional trek to a local taqueria - one of the few places open on Thanksgiving night - for some cheap, tasty Tex-Mex.

I hear that the a capella number is over, so I have to get back on the piano. Have a great weekend!