I regret not asking my mother more questions about our family.  Now she is gone and I won’t have answers when the time comes that my little girl asks.  This picture haunts me:  it is of my maternal great-grandmother whose name was Janie Ard.  I heard Mama say she was the prettiest woman in the (Texas) county.  As I understand she died in childbirth, so my grandmother never really had a mother.  That carried down to me as I think my own mama did not always know what to do as a mother.  I feel there is a strong family resemblance and I also feel a sort of pulling call from her but I do not know what to do about it.  I believe in heritage, genetics, and in traits passed down from one generation to the next.  I only wish I had gotten more information (if she even knew it) before Mama passed.  As it is all I am left with is a shockingly similar visual reminder of where I came from.  I think she was strong; I am compelled to look at her and often wonder what she is trying to convey.  But at least I know she is my kin and that I carry her DNA in my blood; my little one does as well.  If you are reading this and you have blood parents still living — and even grandparents — I urge you to find out everything you possibly can about your familial history while you are able.  The Irish writer George Bernard Shaw said:

“We are made wise not by the recollection of our past, but by the responsibility for our future.

However I believe it matters and it also affects us … from the recollection of our past to the responsibility for our future.

One of the fond memories I have as a kid was of a guy at the roller skating rink wearing a giant balloon hat making balloon animals.  Mostly he just made wiener dogs or poodles, but I was still excited to have one nonetheless.  Recently we went to the movies and before the show our little one saw a man making balloon animals (much more sophisticated than when I was little).  Her eyes lit as she happened upon a unicorn and her father shelled out an exorbitant $7 for her to have it.  She loved her; I saw how much joy she brought her, how tenderly she held her, and how she named her with great care.  I suppose I took balloon animals for granted, since I always got them so easily.  I realized with some surprise my little one had never really had a balloon animal before.  It’s a bit of a childhood microcosm for the adulthood macrocosm of when people who have a child so easily are blithely unaware of the struggle others go through in trying to have a baby.  English actress Thandie Newton said:

“Then I became a mother and it just fills every space, that isn’t filled with something else important.  It’s just like this incredible balloon that blows up and fills life up.”

And so from child to mother, I know the happiness a balloon animal can bring.  More importantly, from child to mother I know how special and rare it is to have a baby at 41; how every space in my life has filled up like an incredible balloon.  It is indescribable … sort of like happening upon a unicorn.

I snapped this picture of my little one playing in all her authentic glory but with one exception:  I had her throw on shorts.  The kid is EXACTLY like me and starts stripping before the front door has even closed.  Neither of us like to be hot or uncomfortable.  In my case the offender is my bra; in hers, it’s pants.  So many conversations have been prefaced with, “Go put on some pants.”  “Why?”  “Because people are coming over.”  And while she is rummaging for something to cover her bottom with besides Hello Kitty I’m busy searching for the last place I flung my dreaded bra.  I apologize for mentioning the unmentionable but it’s just the truth.  While she was twirling around today with her tiara and cape I told her about Wonder Woman and how she fought the bad guys twirling into a tiara and cape and always won.  My little one was so interested I decided to look up some old clips for her.  As we played super heroes I found myself lamenting the lack of female ones.  I liked “Electra Woman and Dyna Girl” when I was a kid.  Other than those three nothing readily comes to mind.  I loved the Bionic Woman but I think of her more along the lines of “Charlie’s Angels”.  My favorite American movie actress Geena Davis, who also made my favorite movie of all time, “The Long Kiss Goodnight”, founded the Geena Davis Institute on Gender in Media in 2004 to change media and to empower women and girls.  According to her website, www.seejane.org, her institute is the only research-based organization working within the media and entertainment industry to engage, educate, and influence the need to dramatically improve gender balance, reduce gender stereotypes, and create diverse female characters in entertainment targeting children 11 and under.  It also says her institute has amassed the largest body of research on gender prevalence in entertainment, spanning more than two decades.  As a little girl my Daddy reared me no differently than a boy.  He taught me to change a flat tire, how to work on a home, and said I could be anything I chose.  It would have been nice to see more strong women on TV and in movies.  I am glad my daughter is getting that chance.  As Geena Davis’ slogan says, “If she can see it, she can be it.”

My little one was so timid when she first started taking karate classes she would not even tag anyone for a game of duck duck goose.  Granted, she was only three but she pretty much just took everything in and sucked her little thumb.  By the end of class they’d gently coaxed it out of her mouth and at least she ran around the circle.  In her defense, I have seen many boys older and bigger than she is bawl for their mothers; so this proud mama thinks she was tough!  More than a year and a half later my karate kid girl was the only one in class that day who had done her jobs list.  Students have a number of things they must complete each week to demonstrate they are forming good habits and showing respect both at home and in the studio.  Mine knows I will not give her a free pass — if she doesn’t do the work, she doesn’t get her list filled out to be turned in.  There is also a blue sheet they must take the initiative on in order to compete for their next belt, earning them a blue stripe.  It is not enough to know the kicks, strikes, blocks, and combinations.  In fact, each belt test requires the completion of two blue stripes showing they have performed chores on their own, helped without asking, etc.  As my little girl was standing, her instructor acknowledged her efforts and she was given the honor of choosing the game they got to play at the end.  She chose my favorite — tiger’s tail.  An instructor will get “noodles” and hold them out like long claws while a white “tail” dangles from the back of their black uniform.  The students must outwit the tiger and take his tail without getting caught.  To my utter shock, on this day my little one charged and snuck up behind the “tiger” while he was distracted … triumphantly catching his tail!  She was told to put both hands in the air and say, “I WIN!” and I do not know which of us was more proud.  American Professor of Law at Yale Amy Chua has been quoted as saying:

“I think if you’re a ‘tiger parent’ early on, you don’t need to be a ‘helicopter parent’ in high school.”

I may be a tiger mom at present, but I do not intend to be a helicopter mother later.  Right now I’m just trying to catch the tiger’s tail!

A Friday evening date night is a rarity indeed.  Sometimes we choose for it to be a family night and sometimes one or both of us still has to work.  Or sometimes we may both just be exhausted.  But on this night the stars aligned, the sitter was booked, and we were on our way to see the new Bourne movie.  From start to finish it was a great escape that was clever and not simply mindless violence (of which I am not a fan).  Then we held hands as we strolled through the park to go to one of my favorite restaurants.  Everything was in the mall so it was one stop shopping, no pun intended.  The beautiful park used to be a parking lot and, for an August summer night in Texas, it wasn’t too hot.  At Seasons 52 we got our favorite server and the vegetarian in me delighted in the fresh, seasonal dishes they were offering.  This isn’t the most exciting picture but it captured a happy memory for me.  The corn soup was delicious and I also ordered a black truffle mushroom risotto.  Accompanying dinner was my wine selection from St. Francis vineyards.  I looked at Burk in a way I haven’t in years … with older eyes that were also new.  He looked so handsome and smelled so good.  We talked like we used to about everything from history and politics, to travel and the movie we had just seen.  American actress Alexandra Daddario said:

“I love to travel, and I think being whisked away somewhere for a vacation is a pretty amazing date.  But, I’m really into the basic movie and dinner.  It’s not where you are but who you’re with that really matters.”

I believe this is so true; who you’re with is everything.  The restaurant was quiet and we were relaxed knowing our little one was having fun at home playing with her beloved sitter.  Invariably, since we have become parents, our conversation always comes back to our little one.  It was time to get home.  We missed her and wondered what she was doing.  And that was OK.  In fact, it made it a great date.

When I was born I am told I had red hair just like my mother, who also had red hair.  She was ecstatic and said she was not even concerned with my fingers and toes or anything else — it was good enough for her that I had red hair.  Days later it all fell completely out and I remained bald for several years.  Around two and a half there is a horrid picture of me with about three sprigs of hair each sticking straight out from behind both of my ears, lending me a somewhat Dr. Spockish appearance.  Daddy used to say Mama would get so angry because she would always put me in frilly dresses and frilly socks and people would say I was a cute little boy.  When my hair did grow in it was a sort of blonde red.  My little one was born with the lightest dusting of red blonde hair so striking contrasted against her long, jet black lashes (from my half Choctaw father).  She pretty much stayed bald for her first two years and, like me, people would say she “sure was a pretty little fella”.  I never took offense because I detested bows on babies with no hair and I still cannot stand giant bow-headed little girls.  It’s like they’re all bow and nothing else.  Anyway, when my Baby Doll’s hair did grow in it started to curl; that’s courtesy of her daddy’s fabulous hair.  Immediately every one everywhere we went began calling her Shirley Temple.  She is precocious and I do think she looks an awful lot like her.  Last Halloween it was a no-brainer:  I put her in a short sailor dress, gave her a giant lollipop, and there wasn’t one person who needed help knowing who she was.  It transcended race, gender, age, and ethnicity.  I was surprised because I didn’t think anyone really remembered Shirley Temple anymore; she was Hollywood’s number one box-office star from 1935 to 1938.  Although I was thrilled they did because I loved Shirley Temple as a child actor and admired her work in adulthood as a United States Ambassador.  In 1935, the movie musical “Curly Top” debuted.  The lead song is exactly how my naturally curly headed little one makes me feel:

“Curly Top”

Whenever clouds start gathering
To cover up the sun
It really doesn’t mean a thing to me
It seems a tiny miracle
Comes to me on a run
And never fails to bring a remedy
She’s just a little curly headed thing
Who creeps into my heart and makes it sing
Curly top
You little bundle of joy
Curly Top
You’re like a wonderful toy
You’re just so full of sunshine
Folks agree
You could supply the world
With Vitamin D
Two eyes that make
The heavens proud to be blue
Angel cake
It’s just a copy of you
Take ev’rything that’s sweet
All rolled into one
That can’t top you
Curly Top

Just like during the Great Depression, we need a little more happiness and innocence in this world.  She is mine; my little Curly Top.

My favorite song of all time has been “The Rose” by Bette Midler from the moment I first heard it:

Some say love, it is a river
that drowns the tender reed
Some say love, it is a razor
that leaves your soul to bleed
Some say love, it is a hunger
an endless aching need
I say love, it is a flower
and you, it’s only seed

It’s the heart, afraid of breaking
that never learns to dance
It’s the dream, afraid of waking
that never takes the chance
It’s the one who won’t be taken
who cannot seem to give
And the soul, afraid of dying
that never learns to live

When the night has been too lonely
and the road has been too long
And you think that love is only
for the lucky and the strong
Just remember in the winter
far beneath the bitter snow
Lies the seed that with the sun’s love,
In the spring becomes the rose

I cannot explain why but I felt led to take out my mother’s rose necklace today.  I have blogged previously about the significance behind it.  She never took it off from the day Daddy gave it to her until she had to go into assisted living on Valentine’s Day in 2011.  I remember her telling me she wanted me to have it and I was sickened by the thought.  I told her I would just hold on to it for her for safekeeping.  The day after Thanksgiving it will have been two years since her passing and I have still not been able to bring myself to look at Mama’s things.  When I lifted up her necklace it brought her back to me instantly and vividly in a way that was comforting and good.  It was so familiar to me; I knew every curve of gold in its petals like the freckles on my skin.  A feeling of love and gentle warmth that was my mother flooded and surrounded me like the sun.  Because of those feelings I have decided to wear it to remind myself of her daily.  My husband has remarked several times how well he thinks it looks on me and that it reminds him of my mother.  So much sadness is still buried far beneath the bitter snow but underneath it lies her love and, resting comfortably is her rose over my heart.

“She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies,
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meets in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellow’d to that tender light
Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair’d the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress
Or softly lightens o’er her face,
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek and o’er that brow
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,—
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent.” ~ Lord Byron, English Poet

She walks in beauty even in sleep.  I would say auburn tresses rather than raven, but she definitely has a heart whose love is innocent.  I pray she continues to walk in grace and beauty all the days of her life.  She is my greatest achievement, my gift from God, and the legacy of all those whose blood she carries who have gone before her.  She is destined for great things.  And she is my whole heart.  I walk in beauty because of her.

American graphic designer David Carson once said:

“Good things are associated with blue, like clear days, more than singing the blues.  Just the word ‘blue’ in the singular is full of optimism and positive connotation to most people.”

I’m not certain everyone feels that way but for me blue is my happy color; dark blue in particular.  I work from my office at home and it is truly my sanctuary.  Recently I added this blue tree and words cannot convey how good it makes me feel.  It is uplifting and soothing all at once.  My whole office is bathed in its beautiful blue light and my only regret is not putting my tree together sooner.  It has been in a box and I have just now gotten around to it.  My husband and my little one both love it and my blue neon clock on the opposite wall compliments it well.  So now when I’m working and I see it I am happy indeed … it makes me feel all blue.

When I was growing up I remember the unbridled joy of stringing Christmas lights around our apartment window.  Oh it made me so happy!  When I got married and we bought our house I was so excited to have lights on our roof.  I have discovered as I have gotten older that anytime I have been silently judgy it has come back to bite me.  In this case it was about people leaving their Christmas lights up year round.  I was NEVER going to do that!  Well, the Christmas lights people seemed eager to put them up but then became mysteriously unavailable to come and take them down.  My husband, who is a wonderful man, certainly would not do it (he avoids any type of manual labor) and so they just sort of stayed.  Epiphany passed, then Easter came followed by Pentecost, I broke my shoulder, then suddenly it was summer.  And still the lights remained on our roof.  I began to get used to feeling embarrassed and found myself thinking at least we’d save money not having to have someone hang them this coming Christmas.  Recently we switched back to satellite for our TV.  It has better reception than it did in its infancy and it has made our internet faster since it frees up the line.  So there I was standing outside the front of our home signing a waver about “an act of God” on this satellite dish when an unexplained mighty gust of wind came through — in JULY — and took our all lights down one by one from the left to the right of our house.  It was as if a giant hand had simply peeled them all off and laid them delicately upon the flagstones.  Not one was broken.  I gaped in astonishment and frankly the cable guy freaked.  He kept saying, “I wasn’t anywhere NEAR them!” and I knew that he wasn’t.  The English poet Philip James Bailey wrote:

“Let each man think himself an act of God, His mind a thought, his life a breath of God; And let each try, by great thoughts and good deeds, To show the most of Heaven he hath in him.”

I know I should go out there, retrieve our lights, and put them away properly in a box; I just keep hoping my husband will do it.  Now THAT would be a real act of God!  😉