I spent most of my life living in one small apartment but I carry very happy memories of running wild through a huge field, riding my Big Wheel everywhere, and playing on the two playgrounds in our complex.  I always dreamt though of not having solid white walls, of wanting a kitchen window, a fireplace, “fancy” sinks, ceiling fans and stairs.  And I wanted the house to be on a creek.  Imagine my shock when I had just gotten engaged and the five bedroom, three bathroom, two-story house I had loved went up for sale unexpectedly — across from a big creek on a corner filled with trees.  Three of the bedrooms and two of the bathrooms are upstairs.  There is a white rock rustic fireplace (Austin stone if you want to be pretentious), and three huge skylights I adore plus one in our bathroom.  Our home sits perched atop a pretty decent hill given how flat Dallas is.  I have the biggest kitchen window you have ever seen and it slides open so I can hear the rushing of the waterfalls from the koi pond we had built right outside.  Our child’s room looks like she lives in the woods.  Her cottage bed embodies much of what I had always longed for.  We have a two car garage that goes right into the kitchen.  I can plant; I can paint and I can remodel if I want!  All of which I have done.  We now have the prettiest screened in porch that over looks the creek and beautiful flagstone in the front with a wrought iron swing.  Our house is not huge; nor does it need to be.  How much does one need??  It’s stuff and things.  I recently explained to my little girl what an apartment was.  It was bittersweet describing something so foreign to her that had essentially been part of my entire life.  The great thing about growing up poor is that I refuse to fall into the Dallas superficial “better than” trap.  I have some really nice things but they do not define me.  Nor will my child be defined by what she has or by what her friends have or do not have.  I want to instill a strong sense of charity in her and awareness of a whole other world that lives right around her.  I love that my husband stays above the fray in the whole “what do you do” (translation:  how much money do you make) game.  I remember when I was in the Miss Texas U.S.A. pageant our director said the only person we were in competition with was ourselves.  Being HIGHLY competitive naturally and carrying a healthy chip on my shoulder from a lifetime of being dubbed “less than” for our financial circumstances, I thought he was really wrong.  Now I realize how right he was.  I am in a competition with myself each day to be a better person than I was the day before:  better for the Lord, better for myself, better for my husband, better for our daughter, and to be better to others.  That is all.

“Develop an attitude of gratitude, and give thanks for everything that happens to you, knowing that every step forward is a step toward achieving something bigger and better than your current situation. ~ Author Brian Tracy

Aesop, the ancient Greek fabulist, famously said, “No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted.”  I was rushing through Home Depot for fountain pumps when I was unexpectedly greeted by a cat INSIDE the store.  Of course I stopped to visit and was thrilled to see the employees had been kind enough to apparently let the kitty stay.  The ear nick clearly marked that s/he had been “fixed”.  I also noticed s/he had a hurt leg and prayed it wasn’t permanent.  Before leaving I wanted to thank someone but I was too afraid to draw attention to the feline for fear s/he would be ousted.  I do know that animal was being sheltered because of the kindness of at least ONE person.  One person CAN make a difference.  EACH of us matter.  Next I went to my doctor’s for a physical.  As I waited to sign in I saw the back of one of her receptionist’s heads and could not help but laugh out loud.  It was right before Valentine’s and she was wearing a headband with red sparkly hearts that goggled wildly back and forth.  What made it so funny was they wouldn’t stop even when she wasn’t moving.  Staring in rapt fascination, I noticed she was also wearing blindingly hot pink shoes.  She then turned around and smiled and I was still laughing.  Seeing her grinning made me laugh even more.  In turn, her smile broadened and there was a cheeky twinkle in her eyes.  What a joy to see a grown woman happy enough to be silly and spread cheer on a holiday that sometimes seems exclusive to lovers.  It was infectious (no pun intended) and soon she had her other coworkers laughing as well.  Dubbing her the “Love Bug”, I got to see her again when I checked out.  I told her I was going to tell everyone I caught a bug at the doctor’s and then together we both said, “a LUV bug!”  I spent a lot of time in hospitals the last several years of my mother’s life; it holds a sadness for me I cannot easily shake.  But for this day, this woman allowed me to forget and to be joyful.  One woman wearing a genuine smile and wibbly hearts on a sparkly headband and a hurt kitty who just wanted to be patted both brought unexpected happiness to my heart.  Each one of us affects someone every day and we may never even know it.  A smile costs nothing from its giver but could be priceless to its receiver.  Aesop’s words hold as true today as when they were written more than two millennia ago:

“No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted.”

Choose kindness; choose smiles.

Last year on St. Valentine’s Day our then three year old took her first karate lesson.  Her uniform was the smallest they made — a 00000 — and she was swimming in it.  Despite looping it around her so many times, her white belt still trailed along the floor.  She stayed out on the mat the whole lesson and never cried.  I remember her sitting there taking everything in with her great, big dark eyes.  She was also sucking her thumb, something she only does when she gets nervous.  I had no idea how very proud of her I would become until I saw older boys twice her size bawling red faced for their mothers.  She just watched everything and I’m not sure they thought she would be a good fit.  But by the next class they gently coaxed her little thumb out of her mouth.  She didn’t speak, but she participated.  I was beyond thrilled to discover that this was a South Korean martial arts studio, as my father served eight years in Korea.  He knew some of the language and also was trained in that fighting style.  A true war hero, at his funeral he received a full military burial complete with a 21 gun salute.  I felt Daddy’s hand on this; I cannot explain it.  My father treated me no differently growing up simply because I was girl.  He never took my femininity away, but he made sure I could take care of myself and not be dependent upon some man or others for that matter.  Burk and I met because I changed his flat tire!  But I digress.  After the first month of class I remember putting an exhausted little one in her car seat and she said, “Mama, may I please suck my thumb now?” and then proceeded to pass out.  Burk and I decided early on this was going to be a commitment.  It is a discipline that she will be able to use throughout her entire life.  If she had been miserable we would have considered taking her out after six months.  But gradually she got a little more confident and even started practicing on her own.  She is now in the advanced class and to date she has earned her white belt, her camouflage belt, her yellow belt, her orange belt, and now her purple belt.  This sweet picture was taken after she was awarded her purple belt.  Next month she will test for her green belt.  They have never treated her “like a girl” and she is in a mostly masculine environment.  A family member asked if she could not do something “a little more civil like be a camp fire girl.”  Martial arts IS civil; it is all about avoiding violence but being prepared to defend yourself if you ever had to.  She does want to be be a Girl Scout when she turns five and that will be her second activity outside of school.  Nothing against ballet, but (rhetorically) I wonder what will serve her better once she is in college and, heaven forbid, she encountered a threatening situation?  Either she could throw her tutu at her would be attacker or she could twist out of their grasp, palm strike them to their face, and take them out at the knees.  I saw a great YouTube video of a delicate woman somewhere in India being harassed while waiting for the train.  She seemed so frail and the man was becoming more and more aggressive.  Just as the train came, she turned to get her purse, elbowed the guy and then flipped him to the ground before she walked calmly away to board as throngs of people cheered.  I am so glad my karate kid girl is studying such an ancient and noble practice.

“When people ask me about what I learned from martial arts, I don’t talk about favorite punches or kicks, or about fights won or lost.  I talk about learning self-discipline, about ethics and manners and benevolence and fairness.” ~ Author Jonathan Maberry

What could be better than that?

Ever since I can remember, my daddy always referred to our cats and dogs as “the babies”.  It’s something I picked up saying as well when I moved out and got my first wolf hybrid, Nashoba.  Animals have always been a constant in my life.  Ever since my husband and I got married I have always gotten him one Valentine from me and one from the animals.  I have noticed a rise in Valentines from pets over the last few years and I think that’s great.  I can’t tell you how many times I heard, “Just wait until you have a baby … ” with the implication being my first “babies” wouldn’t matter anymore.  I was an only child and I always thought of the animals as my siblings.  Of course I understood there was a difference but they were still a true part of our family.  This year we both got cards for our little girl that had kitties on them.  They both said she was “purrfect” but Burk outdid me because his said “pawsitively”.  Of course I got him one from the zoo and signed everyone’s names — from the wolfies and our one-eyed Shih-Tzu, to the gatos malos and the mouse, to the turtles and the koi in our little pond.  I will never be able to say enough how grateful to God I am for my husband and our child.  But all those years before they came along I at least had my fur “babies”.

Love is patient, love is kind.  It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.  It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.  Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.  It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.  Love never fails. ~ 1 Corinthians 13:4-8

Whether you are single or with another person, smack your cat and smooch your pooch.  If you are alone PLEASE consider going to a shelter and making the best decision of your life — to be in a committed, loving relationship that will bring you both immeasurable joy.  I have often thought there is a reason “dog” is “God” spelled backward — both offer unconditional love, and that is a humbling thing.

Mahatma Gandhi, the famous nonviolent Indian independence leader said, “The greatness of a nation and its moral progress can be judged by the way its animals are treated.”  I have owned and operated a petsitting business for almost sixteen years now.  I stumbled into it actually, given my whole life I knew I wanted to be a journalist.  We only got to take two road trips to Santa Fe as a family before my daddy died.  After the last I had come home a week later and it was like my friend had never been there at all, except for the fact that my babies were thankfully alive.  My condo was ruined and sadly our friendship was as well.  It got me to thinking:  what would I have done?  I had a list of so many things that a woman who heard me verbalizing them all said I should just start my own business.  I had never set a TOE in Cox School of Business while I was at SMU.  But the next thing I knew I had joined two professional trade organizations, trademarked my name, created a slogan and logo, was bonded and insured, invested in special software, got a dedicated phone line, and spent ALL my money taking out a tiny ad in the Yellow Pages.  For anyone under sixteen you’ll have to Google that.  Mama and I were alone and she liked getting out and riding in the car with me while I made my rounds.  We had no other family and on holidays it was a comfort seeing the Christmas lights and checking on my clients’ beloved pets for them while they were away.  I know many see my job as servile and not befitting my college degree.  I also know this:  it makes me happy.  I genuinely love animals; ALL animals.  Over the years I have checked on almost every kind:  from a vicious Chow named Ted. E. Bear, to an octopus, a cat that used to chase me into a corner and scratch my legs to ribbons, a parrot that said, “Hello” every time the phone rang, lizards, a brood of hens (one gal whose name was Lady Bird Johnson), a goose named Honker, a hedgehog named Spike, and everything in between.  Over those years I have tried hiring help.  I have only had a handful of employees and to my utter astonishment I have wound up having to fire them all.  One was so flaky I had no idea if she would show; one had a master’s degree but could not ever seem to lock a door; another would raid people’s refrigerators and leave IOUs.  I lost friendships over that as well.  It is not rocket science but I think it does require a special type of person:  one with an eye for detail, a good memory, a strong sense of responsibility, an inherent honesty, dependability, and — most importantly — a true compassion for and understanding of animals.  I have been bringing Maris with me since she was a baby.  It was extremely difficult having huge dogs snuffle my tiny baby in her car seat and even more stressful watching her as a toddler with dogs around a swimming pool.  But now she is four and she loves to go with me on my rounds, just like my mama did.  She pours food, reports “accidents”, gives treats, and LOVES them all so effortlessly she manages to coax out even the most frightened animal.  Since we live with wolves, no dog breed fazes her.  I have entrusted the key to a client’s three million dollar home to her while we have walked their dog through a giant field.  And that’s when she was three!  My husband loves animals and will sometimes come with us when he has time.  I am so proud of my child and the way she has gone to work with me when other kids were outside playing.  I remember helping Daddy with his painting business and sometimes it was not always fun.  She has not complained and has never failed to tell each animal she loves them and God bless them; just like she has always heard me do.  I didn’t realize how much she listened until she greeted a French bulldog with, “Hello Lover!” as was my habit.  Note the past tense!  She is, without a doubt, the best employee I have ever had.  And she works for lollipops.  😉

When I was a kid I loved the children’s book series “Frog and Toad”.  I read a ton but there are some books that just stick out in my mind more than others and this was one of them.  When The Dallas Children’s Theater listed they were doing a play of them this season I jumped to get tickets.  Ha!  No pun intended.  For the price of one evening at the opera we were able to buy four plays with our four year old.  I love that they have themes and this was jammy night (note mine is in Frog and Toad PJs!) and they also had some frogs and a toad from the zoo stop by.  It was great fun and the look of delight on my little one’s face was priceless.  My husband, who usually takes very expensive naps (during the opera) declared he had a better time than if we had gone to the Winspear (Opera House).  During intermission Maris got the plush frog and toad I had always wished they would have made when I was a kid.  And she made a little bracelet that spelled her name.  My husband I think had almost as much fun as she and I did and he had never even read the books.  The theater is still an old fashioned escape.  It is different from movies which are manipulated and it requires imagination and also the slowing down of time.  I hope to instill a love of the theater my daughter.  She said she had “the best time ever!”  As addicted as I admittedly am to my iPhone, I am glad they are vigilant about forbidding the use of filming and taking pictures during the performance; they offer darling photo ops like the one I took here.  She got her play poster autographed and I chuckled when I read “Frog” and “Toad” as their signatures.  It is framed and hanging next to the first play we took her to see which was “Fancy Nancy.”  Actress Vanessa Redgrave said:

“Of course we all come to the theatre with baggage.  The baggage of our daily lives, the baggage of our problems, the baggage of our tragedies, the baggage of being tired.  It doesn’t matter what age you are.  But if our hearts get opened and released — well that is what theatre can do, and does sometimes, and everyone is thankful when that happens.”

I believe that is what happened for the three of us.  We all came with the baggage of being tired.  But Frog and Toad opened our hearts and we left much lighter for having gone.  It was certainly a trip worth taking.

Today was Maris’ class St. Valentine’s Day party and the excitement was palpable.  Kiddos were practically vibrating with anticipation.  They’d decorated their own sacks the day before and each kid’s cubby was stuffed to the gills with cards, candy and other fun stuff.  It was also “free dress” day so no one was in uniform.  They ate, did crafts, a (temporary) tattoo station was set up, there were balloons, stickers and more.  It was early dismissal but the school was brilliant and organized a “stay and play” fundraiser where the kids got to have pizza and a bounce house.  I really mean it; one of these days I’m going to throw a party were adults can bounce darn it.  I organized this party and Burk was able to get off work to come help and see Maris.  When I was a kid, my folks were by far the poorest in the class but I was always so very proud they volunteered to be “room parents” for every elementary school party I ever had.  My daddy owned a painting business so he was able to take off and Mama always made the goodies herself from scratch.  I remember a kid telling me once they wished they had my parents.  I always knew I was the lucky one.  I loved being an only child and knew they would both always be there for me.  The three of us were so very close my entire life.  They taught me about love and marriage and showed me what being a great parent looks like.  Poet Johann Wolfgang von Goethe said, “There are only two lasting bequests we can hope to give our children.  One of these is roots, the other, wings.”  I so want to do the same for my little girl.  I think she was glad to have us both there and I hope all the kids enjoyed the party.  Her teacher joked they were gearing up for the after-party and she was right!  They started chanting “bounce house!  bounce house!  bounce house!” and I had to beg to get two pictures taken before she was off like a flash.  I watched my first Valentine looking with love at my second Valentine as she’d taken off with the little boy who had come to get her.  The last words of the song “My Funny Valentine” ran through my mind as I watched my husband and my daughter with my heart full of love:

“But don’t change a hair for me
Not if you care for me
Stay little Valentine, stay
Each day is Valentine’s day.”

When I was a kid, I DREADED going to the dentist.  I cannot remember his name but I can still see him.  He was a sadistic, mean old man who had a mouth full of yellow teeth and reeked of cigarettes.  Of course it was the ’70’s.  I had to have several cavities in the back filled (with lead; again — the ’70’s) and I swear he took pleasure in not giving me enough novocaine.  He asked me to raise my hand if it started to hurt and, later when I did, he leaned in closer with his fetid breath and told me to “stop being a big baby.”  I will never forget one tear trickled unwittingly out the side of my left eye and down my cheek.  It was the one he could not see but I was still humiliated nonetheless.  I was a feminine tomboy and very tough.  I do not know why I never told my parents about the awful, horrid man.  In those days they could not go back and had to wait up front.  Then when it was all over I remember being able to pick out candy while my parents paid the terrible bill.  Talk about a perpetuating cycle.  Well thankfully times have changed and things have drastically improved.  They no longer separate children from their parents and the people honestly like working with little kids.  My daughter LIVES to go to the dentist!  First, there’s the children’s LEGO area in which she “waits” before they call her back.  Everyone is smiling with shiny white teeth and they call her by name.  She has been in the “big chair” for the past couple of times and they always praise her for being so good.  They truly believe in preventative dentistry so this generation won’t have to endure some of what mine has.  The neatest trick in their arsenal is they asked who her favorite princess was and she said Cinderella.  So after they polished her tiny choppers they said they’d given her “Cinderella teeth.”  My little one just GLOWED!  She could not stop smiling!  Then yet another kind person with gleaming bright teeth took her to a different “waiting” (play) area while her handsome, gentle dentist asked if I had any concerns.  I could barely get her out when it was time to go.  She’d scored a pink rubber frog and a balloon with a bear tied to the bottom.  And I got to write her name on the “A+” “wall of teeth”!  Now I was smiling!  I could not help but compare this happy colorful place with the depressing avocado green adult practice of my childhood.  I vividly remember the one poster attached to the ceiling depicting a cat hanging from a tree.  It read, “Hang in there, it’s almost Friday.”

“There is no trust more sacred than the one the world holds with children. There is no duty more important than ensuring that their rights are respected, that their welfare is protected, that their lives are free from fear and want and that they can grow up in peace.”  ~  Nobel Peace Prize recipient Kofi Annan

We always want better for our children and it makes me so happy that her story will be so different from mine.

I do not consider myself to be particularly vain, but I confess I do care about the way I look to a certain extent.  When I think of all the women who have lost their hair to chemo I am ashamed of myself for even writing this.  My hair has always changed colors.  When I was born I was a red head and my mother was so thrilled!  Then it fell out a few days later and I was bald for several years.  Everyone thought I was a boy.  When it came back in it was strawberry blonde.  It stayed that way until junior high and then it went sort of auburn.  I spent a lot of time in the sun and got perms in my twenties and it went back to the color of my childhood.  A Salish friend of my father’s, who was a darling man, gave me the name Yellow Hair.  Still self conscious, I don’t think I started altering the color of my hair until my thirties.  It has a tendency to go yellow.  So yesterday I asked my hair guy to make it darker.  He practically begged me not to but I was determined.  Now I do not even recognize myself.  I know it will fade eventually; I just did not realize how much of my identity was tied up with the hair I saw in the mirror every morning.  At least I had enough sense not to chop it as I know I do not look good with short hair.  I have never cared for “celebrities” but I have always loved Jane Seymour.  I got the chance to meet her when she was in Dallas several years ago.  She has the most beautiful hair and I love that she has not cut it all off as she has gotten older.  Women used to have long hair; it was their crowning glory.  American journalist Shana Alexander said, “Hair brings one’s self-image into focus; it is vanity’s proving ground.  Hair is terribly personal, a tangle of mysterious prejudices.”  I suppose I need to finally come to terms with my Yellow Hair … and wear it proudly.

I did a lot of things with my folks growing up but going to a nightclub was not one of them, much less when I was four!  Now Dallas has a place they open up to families two Friday nights a month.  There was a party there last night as a fundraiser for my daughter’s school so I figured it would be a good time to check it out.  Maris and I looked at the matching stamps on our hands and grinned; it was a surreal moment.  Grown up drinks for Mommy and Daddy at the bar, juice for the kids to get wild and crazy, and a pizza truck provided sustenance for us all.  I thought the best fun was the light up stuff and goodies at the kiddie kiosk.  The great disappointment came in that there was no disco — only underground grunge.  For me disco harkens back to my rollerskating days when the world was mine; grunge makes me think of yet another date I had when I was single and went to some club I really didn’t like.  But what a joy to be on the lighted dance floor with my little girl.  And I have a sweet, handsome husband now who graciously got us food and drinks and showed us a good time.  My little one wore her twinkle toe light up shoes, glow necklaces, glow bracelets, and sported some of my ancient glow in the dark Hello Kitty glitter.  At the kiosk she got some sort of twirling flashlight thing that reminded me of when I used to go to the circus as a kid.  Then her friend gave her a balloon that lit up.  She really rocked it!  The New Yorker magazine writer James Thurber said, “There are two kinds of light — the glow that illuminates, and the glare that obscures.”  My girl MGM has a glow all on her own; the rest is just guilding the lily.