Life was just a bowl of cherries.

Sooooooooo imagine my surprise to learn - after all these years - I was one of the "popular" girls in high school. Who knew?! Certainly not me. Had I have been apprised of that fact 45 years ago, I.Would.Have.Never.Sat.Home. on a Saturday night. I also probably would have never gone without lunch because someone must have been dying to buy my lunch and were just too shy to say so, because I was sooo intimidating - again, because I.Was.Popular. I say this with apologies to BR who actually did feed me lunch every day when we were dating. But, see I was so popular, I decided he was too good for me and broke up with him. And, he was.....and he still is. But, God isn't quite finished with me yet so I keep working. I sure wish I had known I didn't have to work so hard for things. My goodness.....people were hiding around corners with that silver platter full of good things and I was just too dumb to realize it. My only claim to fame was I hung around the "coolest" girl in school. She really WAS popular and good enough to let me exist in her orbit. You see, she KNEW. She knew what was going on with me and a lot of other people and cared enough to try to make things better. She knew that no one in a small town really knows what goes on behind the walls and windows of houses. So, just so you know. When I attach adjectives to myself, these are the ones I use most.........driven, insecure, impatient, funny, sarcastic, fair and easily hurt. Nope popular didn't come up. Neither did judgmental, narrow minded and vindictive. Just sayin'.

Dependents

Somehow the hubalump and myself are unable to come in contact with living creatures without making them dependent on us. Our dogs can barely function without us - especially since one of them is a stonecold princess who now believes the only way she can eat that horrible dog food is for you to hand feed it to her. We decided we wanted to try to encourage more activity of the winged variety around our homestead so we bought a couple of super cheap bird feeders two weeks ago. 2 birdfeeders $8.00 5 bags of bird seed later $20.00 House finches now too fat to fly - PRICELESS

Randomness

So.......this guy actually resembles a guy I know and of course we ALL know Snow and her band of mine workers. One wonders, how did SHE score 7 guys willing to work like dogs to support her?! If you find the irony here...please comment.

Elastic

Elastic is an amazing thing. As long as it is in good working order all is right with the world. We tend to overlook elastic. Why wouldn’t we? It is there, holding things up, supporting and stretching to meet our ever increasing load. But……..let elastic lose its’ ability to maintain support and suddenly we have a whole new appreciation for it. Just like the lady who suddenly lost her slip in a graduation processional, we are left exposed with our unmentionables puddled around our feet. And we wonder why? What happened to make elastic turn on us, give up and just let go. Perhaps we continued to expose it to more heat than it could stand. Perhaps we were constantly asking it to stretch beyond its endurance. Maybe, we’ve called upon it for too many years without doing any preventative maintenance. Whatever the reason, it snapped! Do you see the analogy here? I hope so. But, just in case, you’ve missed it – ask yourself “are you the elastic or are you the wearer?” Are you desperately trying to maintain support or are you merely calling on your elastic to keep everything from falling down?

I Don’t Think So!

So the whole breastfeeding mother with the "almost ready for pre-school" child who is still suckling has me a bit undone.

While I one hundred percent believe people should raise their children as they see fit....I think "raise" is the key word. I don't think I would have done my children any service by trying to keep them little forever. I truly felt it was my duty to try to raise independent strong individuals who could sustain themselves if the need arose.

I fear some of these newer and more avant -garde parenting techniques will go awry at some point. I already see more of a tendency in parents to make excuses for their children instead of making them "face the music" when they are wrong.

One thing I know for sure is the world WILL NOT coddle them, make everything fair and pretty and easy. Life is hard, often harsh and certainly more often than not..............NOT FAIR.

I guess while these parents are there to run interference for their kids everything will be swell. But what happens when LIFE bites the parents in the butt? What happens if mom has to suddenly go to work, at night, maybe in the daytime too?

What happens if that nice, neat, safe and fairy tale existence comes to a screeching halt? Are those children going to be prepared to handle the changes that will become necessary?  Or will they be traumatized by the radical change in their young lives?

Somehow, I don't think breastfeeding them through a full set of teeth and potty training is going to stand them in good stead when reality hits the fan.

What will see them through are parents who have encouraged them to be independent thinkers and doers. Kids who know their parents love them enough to set boundaries for them and make sure they are safe inside those perimeters.

The caption on that controversial picture asked the question...."are you woman enough?" Obviously not.

But I was enough of a woman to give it my best shot at bringing to the world a good man and a good woman. Sometimes, I feel I was really successful, sometimes I feel I could have done better. But I know for sure my children  understand the world far better than a near 5 year old who still stands and nurses like a calf.

Ten Things

So, it occurred to me today there are lots of things I have never done. So....I thought I would list a few.

10. Never flown in a helicopter (or jumped out of a plane).

9. Never been out of the U.S.A.

8. Never cruised (except in a car).

7. Never shot a gun or a bow and arrow.

6. Never been to jail (except as a visitor or while playing Monopoly.)

5. Never went deep sea fishing.

4. Never went snow skiing.

3. Never had "work" done on myself.

2. Never smoked marijuana.

But the # 1 thing I have never ever failed to do was....dance when the music played.

Oilfield Trash

When you grow up as “oilfield trash—OFT” or “oilfield scum” as we were called, you learn to gravitate to others of a similar calling. Probably we clung together because no one else understood us or wanted to be lumped in with us. Gerald Lynch, the author of Roughnecks, Drillers & Tool Pushers said, “we stuck together because we spoke the same language and lived the same life.” Rarely could you find someone outside the “OFT” who understood what doubles, thribbles and fourbles were. Living in the Huber Oilfield company camp Mayfield, which consisted of 3 houses on a remote lease in the Texas panhandle, there were seldom children of my age around. Occasionally, our camp had a family with children but those times were rare. Oil patch people were good to visit back and forth with each other so I did have some interaction with other children. But until school age my acquaintances were all children of roughnecks, tool pushers and drillers. They were my only friends until I began school at Pringle, a small rural elementary school with a total student body of maybe 100 kids. It was here the OFT kids learned to co-exist with the farmers’ kids and the transient workers’ children who were with us for a few months each year and then moved on. My childhood was simple and I know now how amazingly lucky I was. I remember listening to the Farm and Market report on the radio every morning. The slogan “the best part of the Golden Spread day” sticks in my mind and makes me homesick for truly early mornings in the Texas panhandle are lovely to behold. The fact the F & M report was sponsored by the Smart Form Shop in Amarillo tickled my daddy. Something about the sponsorship of canners, cutters and prime beef by ladies’ foundation garments was wildly amusing to him. Routine drove the day. The presence of an old tin lunchbox, a huge coffee thermos and a scuffed up metal hardhat told me if daddy was home or not. And supper was typically on the table at 5:00 pm and we were safely tucked away in bed by 8:00. My bedtime lullaby was the constant beat of a pump jack working through the night. Even as a child I came to learn the sounds that signaled the need of maintenance on those iron horses. I could tell you exactly how long it took a dirt clod to disappear from sight in an oil slush pit. I knew the sound of a gas flare off and a “pig” running through pipes. I learned the term S O B meant many things and not all of them were bad. Sometimes it was preceded by good, lucky, handsome, talented and hardworking and therefore, not offensive at all. Because children were “seen but not heard” we often weren’t really seen either. Our invisibility gave us listening ears to jokes and stories definitely not intended for our tender years. Therefore, we all had very colorful vocabularies and we could cuss with the best of the hands at a very early age. OFT were prone to pranks and dirty tricks and frequently even dirtier jokes. Often, they told huge whoppers. They were vivid, colorful and interesting people who lived hard lives, worked risky jobs and loved what they did. But, more than anything on earth, I learned I could trust those rough men and the tireless women who packed their lunches and washed their dirty oil patch clothes. I instinctively knew then and know now they are people who can be counted on. You might not be readily accepted but once you gain their trust, you become a part of their world.

They are part of my past and present, they are my friends and family. That “Oilfield Trash” is also the salt of the earth and I’m proud to be one of them.

Mom

Over the course of a lifetime, one takes many trips. And, if you are like me, many of those trips were spent with your mother. Hauling you to ballgames, cheer practice, doctor's appointments and filling in when you missed the bus, mom was the appointed substitute chauffeur. Even if your mother merely held your hand as you experienced one of life's challenges, you were traveling together. I made hundreds of small trips with my mother. Remembering those trips prompted me to write about them because I wanted to seek answers to some of my own questions which have plagued me my whole life. I also wanted to put my own mother in a tangible form that would remain long after I am gone. And finally, I wrote for those of you who have one of "those" relationships with YOUR mother. The mother/daughter dynamic is interesting at best - frustratingly complex at times. My journey with my mom took me to a lot of diverse locations, some of them pleasing - some not. But in the end, the most important trip was the trip we took to her final destination. It is my hope that in telling you my story, you may learn something about the differences in driving the car, or enjoying the ride, or hanging on to the "oh crap" handles for dear life. Because, sometimes the vehicle is careening down a steep, dangerous and unknown roadway with the accelerator jammed to the floor. When this happens we are never prepared for the crash that is bound to happen at the end. My story is meant to neither demonize nor sanctify - I am merely trying to put a very real face on a very real problem that we all may someday face. I loved my mother very much and I hope she knew it. Still today I want - no, I crave to make her proud of me. I want you to know that it is okay to be frustrated, unsure, sad and even just downright angry sometimes. Personalities are complex and just because people share a gene pool doesn't necessarily mean they are in synch with each other at all times. But at the end of the day, I hope you will take away from my story how very important it is to make every moment count, we never know when we are experiencing the last one. (Excerpt from Trips I Took With Mother)

In Character

This past week I took one of the little E girls to the movies. G had read a currently popular book and scored quite high on an accelerated reading quiz and was therefore, ready to see the movie. Now we had already discussed at length the book and the movie (which I am the resident expert in having seen it 3 times now), and she was prepared to see what she had only imagined by reading. I prepared her for parts of the movie that were unlike the book so she would not be disappointed or constantly asking why they did it that way. G was prepared to see it. I was prepared to have a nap during it. What I was not prepared for was my sweet granddaughter's dedication to "character." She dressed all in black, with lace up boots. Her shirt was adorned with a card telling her character's name and hometown. She also carried with her a harmless toy bow and arrow. She was prepared to "live" the movie experience in "character." And, I became dedicated to making sure I experienced it once again with her. I was also, struck for the very first time, with how much she and I view the world in much the same way. If not for the fact I would humiliate my family, I would probably go in character every once in a while myself. I enjoy being able to 100% throw myself into an experience or event and let it carry me away. I probably would have made a pretty fair actress given my ability to immerse myself in stories both written and viewed. I see in G that same trait. The amazing ability to continue to re-invent herself to suit her surroundings. A little human chameleon who fits into the story and cares not that she calls attention to herself by being "in character." I'm pretty sure her movie experience was all the more thrilling because in her mind, it was happening to her, the character. She didn't just see it, she was an active participant in her mind. Something tells me that all through her life, G is going to have an ingrained ability to "walk a mile" in someone else's shoes. She will feel what they feel, be happy and sad with them and probably understand them far better than anyone else will be able to. Being "in character" is already shaping HER character - she always has been very "tuned in" to other people and I love that about her. Her amazing heart is one of the things that makes her so very unique - and I think her heart grows with her talent for identifying with others. So while we worry about our "character" perhaps we can try "being in character". Empathizing instead of simply sympathizing. Knowing our fellow man because we "know" their struggles and joys. Lace up your boots, show who you are....be a character. Be vivid, be colorful, be unique, be different, be alive and connected - and you.will.be.remembered. ................and how was your day? I would really like to know.