Category: Living my Life

The Christmas decorations I pulled out during Thanksgiving weekend are all now in place – tree trimmed, wreaths on the doors, and most flat surfaces adorned with a tiny village, collections of snowmen, nutcrackers or angels.

The same nativity scene has graced my home for the past 48 years. It was purchased in 1961 from the “five and dime” variety store in Ardmore, Oklahoma. It cost about $5.00.

Each piece is still intact, though the donkey has a small chip. A little lamb disappeared one Christmas long ago and was found several months later under the refrigerator.  The culprit was probably the family cat.

There are only two wisemen, reminding us that the number of magi is not mentioned in the Bible, only the number of gifts. A kneeling cow, sheep, two shepherds, an angel and Mary and the baby complete the scene.  And Joseph is there. I have seen creches where Joseph is missing.  Of course, Jesus is the Son of God, not Joseph, but Joseph did a good thing (see Matthew 1) and he should be included.

So, house in readiness, I will now address the Christmas cards.

During Thanksgiving weekend, in holiday mode, I turned off the alarm to enjoy the pleasure of sleeping later (and not being awakened by an irritating buzz). On Friday I rolled out of bed a little groggy but ready for my first cup of coffee.

I put one scoop of decaf and one of regular in the basket of the coffee maker and pushed the ‘ON’ button. Nothing happened. The digital clock was operating and all other buttons seemed to be functioning properly. This ‘new’ coffee maker is only a couple of years old and while I know small appliances are short-lived nowadays, this seemed ridiculous. I pushed ‘ON’ several more times, thinking, I suppose, that would make it work.

I learned this from working on the computer. Click on an icon and if it doesn’t respond immediately, click on it again and again. Sure enough, it will then respond several times. But I digress.

On the top shelf of my pantry is stored a 20+ year old General Electric coffee machine with the original carafe. I have wondered many times why I am keeping it … except for the fact that my husband bought it for us. It was probably my first electric coffee maker and it was so fancy! It had a clock (not digital) and an automatic switch that could be programmed to have the coffee ready when I woke up. I’ve had maybe a half-dozen coffee makers since then but they all stopped working and were tossed out.  This old GE stilled worked.

I enjoyed two wonderful cups of coffee, as is my routine. A while later when I cleaned the kitchen, I decided I might as well get rid of the ‘new’ broken appliance.  I picked it up to dump out the water.  There was no water in the coffee maker. I had forgotten that step in the process.

So, I learned two things that day. The new coffee maker won’t work without water in it. And now I know why I’m keeping the old one

Have I said I’m in a play?  Well, I am – at the Center On The Square dinner theater in Searcy, Arkansas (www.centeronthesquare.org ). Opening night is one week away.

The play is The Homecoming, based on a book by Earl Hamner, which was the basis for a movie, Spencer’s Mountain, starring Henry Fonda and Maureen O’Hara. This movie was later adapted for a television series and the Spencer’s family name was changed to The Waltons, which can still be seen on Hallmark Channel. I play Grandma Ida.

There are, of course, seven children in this play – from Clay-boy to Pattie-Cake. Most of these little actors are a product of the KidStage program at the Center, and they know how it’s done.  They are quiet backstage, they know their lines and blocking and are having fun doing it right.  When “Clay-boy” spoke too soon, “Pattie-Cake” reminded him that she was not finished speaking.  This brought amused asides from the adults in the wings: “Don’t step on my line,” “I’ll be in my trailer,” “I can’t work like this.”  But we were kidding. There’s not a prima donna in the bunch and they are going to steal every scene.

This is not my first time to be onstage with children. In The Miracle Worker, the story of Hellen Keller and her teacher, Annie’s efforts to make Helen behave at the dinner table erupts into a wholesale food fight – right there on stage. I played Aunt Ev and the toddler cast as Helen’s sister was afraid of me and, one night, screamed so that the “maid” had to come on stage and take the baby off so the audience could hear our lines.  The dog Helen makes friends with was a very good “actor”, but backstage wanted to eat the food props.  There’s an old saw that actors should avoid being onstage with children, animals or food and that production was a triple threat.

Being onstage is one of my most favorite things to do.  So, if I’m not here for the next few days, you’ll know where I am.

My bike didn’t have training wheels. Maybe they weren’t invented yet, because no one I knew had them either. At any rate, my bike not only had no trainers, it had long since lost other extras like handle bar grips and kickstand. One day when I was about six-years-old, my dad appeared with this full-size, one-speed, second-hand (at least) bicycle.  His plan was for all his children to learn to ride. My two older siblings and even my little brother quickly accomplished this. For me, it meant I had to be tall enough to reach the pedals while sitting, or have the stamina to ride standing up while being poked in the small of the back by the seat (my little brother’s style).  Also, I had to be brave enough to take the bumps and bruises of the inevitable falls.  I could reach the pedals. I was not brave. But, I had a big sister.

Betty was three years older, about the smartest person I knew and, sometimes, she let me play with her.  She said she would help me learn to ride.  One afternoon, she held the bicycle while I climbed on, then she supported the weight of the bike and me while I pedaled around the yard. Finally, she declared I was ready for the sidewalk. We lived in an old neighborhood with many large, beautiful trees. However, the tree roots growing under the sidewalks had made them hazardous for walking, skating and biking.

“Don’t let me go!” I pleaded, agreeing to give it a try. Betty walked behind me holding onto the seat or the fender, keeping me straight as I wobbled along. I kept glancing back over my shoulder to make sure she was still there. She told me to watch where I was going, she wouldn’t let me fall. I got a little steadier and more secure. I could hear her footsteps alongside as she walked, then jogged, then ran to stay up with me. When I finally stopped, I realized that, at some point, she had turned loose of the bike, but continued to run beside me so I wouldn’t be afraid.

They say one never forgets how to ride a bicycle. I hope they are right. I know I have never forgotten some things that come clear to me when I think of the day I learned to ride.

Trust is necessary. 

Balance is good.

Don’t look back. Focus on the path ahead.

It’s great to have help, but what a rush when I do it on my own.

Possessions hard to come by are worth taking care of. Don’t leave the bike out in the rain.

 

My family in Oklahoma invited me to come enjoy a football weekend with them, when Oklahoma State University would play the University of Texas. (There’s orange and then there’s burnt orange.)

Our relationship with O.S.U. began over forty years ago when my husband was Assistant Sports Editor for the Oklahoma Journal and his assigned duties were to cover sports at Oklahoma A&M (as it was then called).  Often the whole family would attend the home games in Stillwater.  Now, with one grandchild holding a degree from OSU and soon to have another graduate there, I am still a fan of the Cowboys.  This weekend was an opportunity for me to revisit some old memories and also to experience something new.

For the very first time in my life, I was a part of  – Tailgating.  This activity is rather like a potluck family reunion. Four couples were the organizers of our gathering on the OSU campus about a block from the stadium.  They brought a tent, cookers, ice chests, camp chairs, folding tables and tons of food. Oh, and we weren’t the only tailgaters. Tents and cookers dotted two square blocks (at least) of that end of town. Friends and relatives of the four original couples came and went, sampling food and talking about football and life. Friends of friends and in-laws of relatives also dropped by.  Children with trick or treat bags appeared. We were ready for them since more than one of us had thought to bring candy.  A carload of people stopped, unloaded chairs, cake and wine. They had come to celebrate the 84th birthday of someone’s mom. I never was sure of the connection there, but we all sang our best wishes to her.

About 30 minutes before game time we walked to the stadium, covering the food, but leaving everything at the site. I was assured “No one will bother anything,” and this was true.  After the game we returned, cleaned the area and loaded up before heading for home. 

I had not attended a college football game in years, and had never seen Boone Pickens Stadium at OSU. Much different from the venue of the Sixties, this sports complex with three tiers and skyboxes seats 60 thousand people.  And the battle between the Texas Longhorns and OSU Cowboys on Halloween night was a sell out.  I loved  the spirit and energy and excitement of the opening ceremonies. The “Oklahoma State University Cowboooooy Marchingband” spread across the field and the crowd was invited/urged to sing the state song, “Oklahoma.” A six-or-seven year old behind me sang out, not missing a word.  Then we were invited to sing as the band played the National Anthem.  This is the tradition I grew up with and I prefer it to listening to a soloist’s rendition of The Star Spangled Banner.  Again, the child sang with gusto, making up the words he didn’t know for sure, a children will do.  Where did he learn that song? Are the schools of Oklahoma teaching the children to sing the National Anthem?  I hope so.

None of us had any illusions about how the game would end, Texas being rated #3 and OSU #14.  And it sounds like sour grapes to mention that there were some bad calls, though the huge screens showing the instant replays bore this out.  Even when it’s my team winning, I hate to see a score of 41-14.

Well, I’m home again.  I have a slight case of indigestion and my OSU sweatshirt smells like wood smoke, but I had a wonderful time with my family in Oklahoma on a football weekend.