Monthly Archives: October 2020

Carve Out Your Own Pumpkin

Posted by Oct 25, 2020 History 2 Comments


October is my favorite month for many reasons … it is when my birthday falls and it is also the month in which my beloved father shares his birthday with my precious only child.  He passed away before he ever even got to meet my husband.  Autumn is such a fleeting, magical time.  For me it is a chance to revel in the bright Harvest Moon, to savor the scent of hay, to hear the music in the sway of rustling corn stalks, to feel slightly chilly temperatures at night, and to rhapsodize about the glorious color changes in the trees.  It is a time to give thanks to Mother Earth for her blessings and to remember we are a part of her.  I am not a great artist but in my early twenties I discovered the delights of creating one’s own Jack-o’-lantern.  The carving of vegetables has been a common practice in many parts of the world.  However, it is believed that the custom of making Jack-o’-lanterns at Halloween began in Ireland.  In the 19th century turnips were hollowed out to act as lanterns.  They were said to represent supernatural beings that were used to ward off evil spirits.  Over the years I have found that life is very much like carving a pumpkin:  maybe you are given a “perfect” one and the carving is easy; maybe one is a little skewed by how it grew in the patch and it requires more time to properly take shape.  I have found the key in carving your own pumpkin is that it lies with the carver.  Your gourd may very well be imperfect:  maybe the stalk on top is broken for all to see; maybe it doesn’t have a lot of seeds on the inside but no one can tell; maybe it has gotten dented or scarred along the way.  Regardless of the pumpkin you were dealt, I believe you can always carve it into something which brings you joy.  After all, isn’t life what one makes of it?  One can focus on the blights or choose to create character and beauty from them.  I am no Martha Stewart, but the pumpkins I have carved over the years have brought me contentment and I have learned something from each one.  Sometimes they have been perfectly symmetrical; sometimes they have looked a little wonky.  Sometimes I have compared mine with others and felt it wasn’t enough.  Regardless, I believe we all have a chance each year to make our own proverbial pumpkins better — both inside and out.  The French novelist and playwright of Guadelopean origin, Simone Schwarz-Bart, said, “Only the knife knows what goes on in the heart of a pumpkin.”  God has given us free will to carve out our own destinies.  In that carving, we can either focus on the best or dwell upon the worst.  What does your Jack-o’-lantern reflect this year?  Each one of those glimmers and grooves, regardless of how they got there, make it unique.  How we choose to carve out our souls with what we have been given makes us who we are.  You don’t need fancy tools; you just need the willingness to work on it.  Never stop trying; never stop striving; never stop believing.  Your light may serve to shine a way for others.  No matter what the circumstances:  I pray you never feel too old, too “good,” too sad, or too afraid to continue to carve out your own pumpkin.

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Sugar Rush

Posted by Oct 18, 2020 Food 6 Comments

I think I was in the fifth grade when I told my folks I no longer wanted to be a part of an elite choir called The Dallas Girls’ Chorus.  My public school elementary teacher, Mrs. Martin, had suggested when I was in the third grade that I try out.  I think I sang for a year and a half and I absolutely LOVED it.  I never wanted to quit the choir!!  Then the entire chorus of maybe 100 something girls got the opportunity to travel to Washington D.C. to sing for the current President of the Untied States.  I knew there was no way my folks could get that kind of money and I wanted to protect them from the pain and embarrassment I felt.  They had sacrificed a lot just to provide for my uniform!  I felt guilty, but not as much as if I had told them how ruthlessly I was shunned by the choristers there.  I distinctly remember this one girl in particular, who wore her beautiful dark hair in two French braids.  Once when we were standing in line at the water fountain during a break the girl in front of me said to her that she liked her hair.  With a hollow voice, I can still recall her saying, “the maid did it.”  That is the precise moment I realized just how very rich I was.  It killed me to leave the choir but I knew I had the unconditional, unwavering love and support of my parents; parents who were ALWAYS there for me.  As I look back I feel it was deplorable to not somehow provide for the maybe four girls who could not afford to make the trip.  But what does all this have to do with a sugar rush?  Well, every now and then when I was a kid the ice cream truck would stop by our apartment complex.  Daddy always had quarters and he would send me out to the black top road to choose something.  I am married now and we live in a house with a little girl of our own.  I had not heard the sound of a real ice cream truck in four decades!  Our third grader heard the music from a distance and shrieked with glee!  She asked if she could go see if they had anything for her that was gluten-free.  I texted my girlfriend who lives about a mile away with a little girl about the same age.  She told me he was going sort of door-to-door by request (text) and was kind enough to pass along our address.  When that truck pulled up I felt so very small again.  Sure enough, they had some old school classics I had loved that were gluten-free.  My little girl jumped up and down and thanked the man repeatedly.  I could feel her excitement and saw the light in her eyes.  The young man could not have been more genuinely kind.  Since they accepted credit, I added an “adult” ice cream on for myself.  You have not LIVED until you’ve had whiskey ice cream!!!  As I spoke with the operator, I learned it was a family business.  The magic and wonder those tunes and that truck managed to bring back was indescribable.  Dylan Lauren, the daughter of the American fashion designer Ralph Lauren, said, “People will say candy is recession-proof, and we’re definitely seeing nostalgic candies coming about, and people want that sugar rush and that nostalgic happiness, like their childhood times.”  I told Mr. Sugar Rush that anytime he was in the neighborhood he could count on us!  Childhood lasts for but a moment; magical memories last a lifetime.  Life is short:  if the opportunity presents itself and you are able — indulge in the sugar rush.

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Milestones

Posted by Oct 11, 2020 Family 2 Comments

I remember when I was growing up I had so many milestones … the first time I was tall enough to ride the cool rides at the State Fair, when I got my ears pierced, when I could ride a big bike.  They sort of went from size related to being age related … the first time I could drive; the first time I could vote; the first time I could have a margarita without my parents at dinner.  This is picture of a milestone for my little one.  A little over a year behind the other kids in terms of bone growth, she finally qualified to ride in the back of the car without a booster seat!  She requested Starbucks, because everyone knows big people drink coffee.  So we toasted with two Mocha Frappuccinos; one “leaded” (with coffee) and one unleaded (chocolate milk.)  As we grow older I think sometimes we lose sight of those first “big deals” we experienced.  Milestones can be measured in so many ways … sometimes it’s by default, (the physical things) and sometimes it is measured by accomplishment.  I never had an age I wanted to marry; I just knew I always wanted a family of my own.  On the other hand, I wanted to have my college degree by a certain time.  Milestones and time often go together.  For instance generally babies learn to sit, crawl, talk, and stand by a certain time:  those are the physical to which I refer.  Then there are the goals we set for ourselves which often a time constraint is placed upon.  It took me seven years to graduate from SMU but I did it on my own.  Some things we can control and some we cannot.  It took me two decades to find the man for whom I had been praying to marry.  Life seems to me like a spool of yarn.  When we begin we are young and the possibilities ahead of us are endless.  I can remember when summertime lasted forever.  Now I view it as a few precious months that fly by.  A couple of days ago I passed a big milestone.  To me any milestone is a blessing, and they are markers whether we like it or not.  My father taught me to always set goals.  Once they were achieved, he taught me to have more to which to aspire.  “Goals” are viewed differently:  for some it is measured in money, for others it is measured in the completion of a project.  There are goals to lose weight, goals to pray more, goals to travel, and goals to be more organized.  Milestones are often measured in meeting those “goals,” wittingly or no.  As I reflect upon the major milestone I have just reached, I find myself turning less toward what I want and more toward what I can do for others.  And here I go aging myself, but one of my all-time favorite groups is ABBA.  Agnetha Fältskog, one of the singers in the famous Swedish pop supergroup, is quoted as having said, “My path has not been determined.  I shall have more experiences and pass many more milestones.”  My life begun in many ways later than others.  My daddy used to say that time and tide wait for no man.  He also used to say that time was the one thing that could not be replaced.  More than any physical gift, I cherish the precious time I had with my beloved parents.  Now I cherish the precious time I have with my beloved husband and daughter.  Wherever you are; whomever you are:  I pray that you be thankful for all of your life’s milestones.

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A Field of Flowers

Posted by Oct 4, 2020 Nature 2 Comments

From the time I was around three to the time I was seventeen I lived in a small two bedroom apartment with my parents on the edge of Dallas.  We did not have a even have a pool, but we had something far better:  all three of our windows (the living room, my bedroom, and my folks’ bedroom) faced an enormous, undeveloped field.  The wildflowers grew taller than I:  there were Queen Anne’s Lace, sunflowers, “Indian blankets,” and Black-Eyed Susans that I could identify.  I have countless fond memories of watching the voluminous tall stems dip and sway in the wind.  It was the ’70’s:  the last of an era where kids could run wild.  When I was little I rode FAR on my Big Wheel which I loved more than anything.  As I became older I rode my bike.  Every night I would pick a small bouquet of wildflowers for Mama to put on the table.  She cooked everything from scratch and I was to be in by the time Daddy got home.  I never realized what a tremendous blessing I had in that field.  There were no houses, no lights, no wires … just unmown flowers as far as the eye could see.  My dream was to get married, be a mother, and have a house on a creek bank not far from where I grew up.  God was gracious and my husband was able to buy our house when we got married.  It sits on a hill and just opposite it are miles of greenbelt with tall trees rising up from the creek beds.  It is one of the only places in Dallas where one may still encounter something natural.  By that I mean no concrete, no “helpful” stone erosion barriers, and no professional landscaping.  I have taught my little girl to recognize Morning Glory, to savor the scent of wild honeysuckle, and to value “trash” trees like the Mimosa which are considered an invasive species and are now undesirable.  Trees and shrubs improve soil and water conservation, store carbon, moderate local climate by providing shade, regulate temperature extremes, increase wildlife habitat, and improve the land’s capacity to adapt to climate change.  Any time we see a field while we are driving I shriek at my child to REALLY look at it.  “Undeveloped” land in the city is a rare and priceless thing.  I find it mostly remains on flood plains.  A favorite poet of mine, William Wordsworth, once said, “How does the Meadow flower its bloom unfold?  Because the lovely little flower is free down to its root, and in that freedom bold.”  I brought my little girl to the place where I grew up, and it was so rough she was wary to leave the car; not out of snottiness — out of fear.  I had her and my husband get out and we walked into the field pictured above which was my childhood and the life which formed me.  If I could grant one wish for my precious child it would be this:  for her flower to be free down to her root, and in that freedom she be bold.  I grew up with nothing and yet I had everything:  I had a field of flowers.

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