As a kid I lived for Saturdays:  Cap’n Crunch cereal, “Scooby Doo”, “School House Rock”, and then roller skating every afternoon from 2 to 5 at Broadway Skateland.  I got one quarter which I would spend on a “suicide” — all the sodas at the fountain combined into one.  I didn’t even like it; I just thought it was cool to order it.  Colored streamers billowed from the ceiling, as round lights changed colors in time with the beats of disco music.  We all orbited around an elliptical track like tiny planets revolving around the sun.  Presiding over us all was a giant disco ball suspended magically from the center twirling and sending out fragments of light in every direction.  Kids sat on mushroom shaped stools with shagged carpeting to put on their brown rental skates but I had my own.  My Daddy wouldn’t allow me to have black speed skates (he said those were for boys) but I did have white ones which I actually competed in at a local level much like figure skaters do at the Olympics.  Console video games were hot then and if I ever felt like giving up my drink money and using the water fountain I could play a game of Pac-Man.  A quarter was the ticket to everything in the seventies.  They were glory days in a way and I loved the rink as I never did a “club” when I became older.  There is just something so freeing about the wheels … gliding and spinning, that cannot be accomplished in regular shoes.  I have often thought it was like a child’s innocent version of Studio 54.  For so many kids it was an institution, a coming of age arena in an era that predated the internet, texting, and cell phones.  I am so glad our church had a function last year where the kids went skating.  Burk and I could not WAIT to take our little one!  I got her a cool skating outfit just like I had when I was little:  roller skate hair barrettes, a shirt with roller skates on it, and the all-important dark blue jeans rolled up at the bottom with a rhinestone design on the back pockets.  I even wore my School House Rock shirt in silent tribute.  See those skates I’m wearing?  They are the SAME ones I wore all those years ago as a sixth grader (wish I could say the same for my jeans size).  We all got glow necklaces which they did not have when I was little.  I skated backwards as I tried to hold up my then three year old who had never been on skates.  She was in the smallest size they had.  We all left EXHAUSTED.  The local rink in this picture is going to close its doors.  I resolve to go and take my girl back to the rink of my youth and pray it stays open.  It is a living piece of time and I want that for her:  the joy, the freedom, the independence, and the glorious feeling that the world is yours as you skate out on that waxy wooden floor.  American novelist Nathaniel Hawthorne once wrote, “Time flies over us, but leaves its shadow behind.”  I want my little one to have some of the same shadows as I … before they skate by.

When it comes to cars I have always appreciated performance and superfluous extras.  Growing up we only had one car, an unairconditioned station wagon with paint ladders on the top.  But being able to look backwards from the rear of the car and wave at other people was so much fun.  My little one could not believe I did not have a car seat growing up.  I didn’t tell her I used to straddle the console between my folks up front or that I could stand, lie down or ride on Daddy’s paint cans pretending to play the drums.  Car seats?  I didn’t have a seat belt!  It was the ’70’s after all.  I may not have thought much for safety as a kid but I certainly think about it as an adult for my child.  My husband and I are trying not to be helicopter parents, constantly hovering over our little girl.  I have been hit hard twice in the last two years in accidents that were not my fault.  The first was by an uninsured motorist (T-boned) and the last (rear-ended) by an illegal who fled the country the very next day.  In both cases I had my little girl with me.  I am so grateful to God she has been OK!  And I am thankful to have been in cars built well enough to absorb a lot of the shock.  It’s not like the old days when cars were tanks.  That’s a huge part of why I do not want a bubble car; one is too vulnerable in a big city full of hostile, distracted drivers.  OK and yes, it lacks a turbo engine and ambient lighting.  Anyway, the last two cars I have had were black and I have decided switching to silver might be a proverbial fresh start.  Silly, I know.  American actress Alexandra Paul once said, “The cars we drive say a lot about us.”  In my case, I’m taking back the Edge.

It is probably the one thing the hubs and I were excited to have season opener tickets to:  Seussical the Musical.  The Dallas Children’s Theater outdid themselves on this one, and they have had some greats.  I was glad to see adults there on their own as well as those with kiddos in tow.  This was truly for children of all ages.  It is a theatre that does not patronize kids; giving them credit for being smart enough to get jokes and understand plots.  Hence why it is also so enjoyable for adults as well.  Seussical the Musical is sort of moderated by The Cat in the Hat and centered around Horton the Elephant, of Horton Hears a Who.  I do not want to give anything away, as I believe everyone should try to go and see this show.  The time flew by (inside pun for those who have seen it) and before we knew it the curtain came down for intermission.  Their box office is so inclusive and attentive to anyone with different needs.  Since our daughter cannot have gluten they graciously allowed us to bring in gluten free red velvet cupcakes and retrieve them during the break.  So we got to eat cupcakes right along with everyone else and our little four year old was so happy.  In the words of the famed American children’s writer Dr. Seuss:  “A person’s a person, no matter how small.”

I have always admired the symmetry of two tall green plants flanking the doorways of homes.  Some are more grand than others, but to me they all lend a sort of stateliness no matter what their size.  That is what I was attempting to create when I bought two Japanese Pencil Hollies for the windows on either side of our front door.  I’m sure they would have looked more formal in some type of urn or pedestal planter.  But I love Paloma here and thought it just might fit.  Now she resembles more of a quetzal but she makes me happy nonetheless.  If she could talk I think she’d say she sees lots of comings and goings:  big wolves trampling in and out, gatos malos (bad cats) trying to escape for a bit of adventure, a little girl with curly hair stripping off her clothes before she quite makes it all the way through the door, a mother hauling in groceries every day before going to work and a father hauling out recycling every day after he has worked.  But they are a happy bunch.  Our house is full of all sort of wolves, original art, family pictures, seashells, and our little girl’s toys.  Our home is our refuge and has on many occasions been called eclectic.  I have always supposed that was a polite term for unusual.  I have never fit into any mold and neither has my husband.  I think that’s why we’re so perfect for each other.  The French fashion designer Paloma Picasso once said, “I don’t have anything to prove anymore.  I can relax.”  For years I felt the need to prove myself.  By the grace of God, and with my husband’s help, I do not feel that way anymore.  It is incredibly freeing — and that sums up our dove’s tale.