You know those people in your life who can only be described as enigmatic? They have an uncommon level of spunk and charisma and, just, PRESENCE. Last week I said good-bye to a treasure of man who fits this description. He was family. And he was my grandfather's best friend for decades.
I'm pretty certain that heaven is a much livelier place today now that those two are back together. I like to think that my PaPa had worked out a gag with St. Peter and Sonny was met with a heaven-sized practical joke. And I'm certain that Sonny will return in kind.
These two old cowboys were from my favorite place in the middle of nowhere--Roby, Texas. This is literally a hole in the wall square of red dirt, but it is my absolute favorite place in then entire world because it is DRIPPING with so many of my favorite childhood memories. Robytown will have to be it's own entry at some point, but while I was sitting in this little country Baptist church at the funeral, I had a few observations:
1. REAL hat head comes from a cowboy hat. That hat, by the way, is waiting for you along with a dozen others in the foyer. You certainly wouldn't think about wearing it into the service.
2. Chewing gum in church is just TACKY. Chewing gum at a funeral is unconscionable.
3. The way that people in small towns not only pull over, but actually get out of their cars and stand attentively when a funeral procession passes by is simply priceless. That's the purest kind of class.
4. Living your life in such a way that you pack the church and leave the preacher struggling to sum up the kind of person you were and the positive mark you made is the way I want to live. The preacher quoted an old bumper sticker: Live your life in such a way that the preacher doesn't have to lie at your funeral. Yep. That's the way to do it.
These days I'm reminded more and more of how unpredictable life can be. One moment you may have everything planned out, but the next moment you may feel like the rug was pulled out from underneath you.
(Not that I would know anything about that personally. Ahem.)
Life is fragile. And fabulous. And sometimes frustrating. And either way it goes by really fast.
When my sweet PaPa died a year ago I had the opportunity to say a few words at his funeral. I talked about how this amazing man was a light in a world full of darkness. How he loved God and loved others and his life showcased both. Sonny did the same.
The legacy that men like Sonny Turnbow and Garland Moore leave for the rest of us is the opportunity to carry that flame and continue to shine light in a very dark and dirty and desperate world.
My own light might flicker from time to time. Or a lot. (There are certainly plenty of times that I feel dark and dirty and desperate). But I'm going to do my best. There are too many people who need the light. And too many who made a point of passing it on to me.
And I take a lof of comfort in know that the darkness? It will never overcome the light.
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
More Than and Thousand Monkeys
I’m just going to say it: my niece and nephew are the two coolest kids on the planet. OK…yes. Perhaps I’m biased. And perhaps those are close to fighting words because you believe that YOU have the coolest kid(s) on the planet. Perhaps we’re both right.
I spent the weekend with Mr. T (4 ½) and Baby K (18mo). In general, Mr. T is all sugar and Baby K is all spice. I love getting in some good Aunt Moose time and just playing with these kiddos. We got down and dirty and managed to squeeze in a weekend jam packed with fun. These kids are sweet, smart, funny and crazy cute.
(Really—Jason, how did you manage to have such beautiful and amazing children??)
On Saturday we were outside playing and we had the sidewalk chalk out. I drew a picture and asked Mr. T if he knew what it was. He said, “Yes! It’s a MOOSE!” I said, ‘You’re right buddy! But do I REALLY look like that??” He looked at me with the most incredulous little face and said, “Uh, NO…You’re an AUNT Moose!”
Duh. Apparently that’s a whole other species. (And I’m not complaining).
At another time I was sitting with him and I asked him if he knows how much I love him. He stretched out his arms as wide as he could and said, “This much?” I stretched out my own arms, which of course were much wider, and said, “Even MORE than THIS much! 5 times more. 500 times more. 5 MILLION times more!” He looked at me with wide-eyed wonder and said, “I know—a THOUSAND times more!”
He jumped up and ran off to his room and came right back with a book. I should have noted the title, but it’s something that starts with a couple of monkeys and eventually builds to the crescendo—a thousand monkeys. He anxiously turned the last page, animated with monkeys everywhere, and proclaimed that he loves me “more than a thousand monkeys!”
Yep. That’s my kind of kid!
I spent the weekend with Mr. T (4 ½) and Baby K (18mo). In general, Mr. T is all sugar and Baby K is all spice. I love getting in some good Aunt Moose time and just playing with these kiddos. We got down and dirty and managed to squeeze in a weekend jam packed with fun. These kids are sweet, smart, funny and crazy cute.
(Really—Jason, how did you manage to have such beautiful and amazing children??)
On Saturday we were outside playing and we had the sidewalk chalk out. I drew a picture and asked Mr. T if he knew what it was. He said, “Yes! It’s a MOOSE!” I said, ‘You’re right buddy! But do I REALLY look like that??” He looked at me with the most incredulous little face and said, “Uh, NO…You’re an AUNT Moose!”
Duh. Apparently that’s a whole other species. (And I’m not complaining).
At another time I was sitting with him and I asked him if he knows how much I love him. He stretched out his arms as wide as he could and said, “This much?” I stretched out my own arms, which of course were much wider, and said, “Even MORE than THIS much! 5 times more. 500 times more. 5 MILLION times more!” He looked at me with wide-eyed wonder and said, “I know—a THOUSAND times more!”
He jumped up and ran off to his room and came right back with a book. I should have noted the title, but it’s something that starts with a couple of monkeys and eventually builds to the crescendo—a thousand monkeys. He anxiously turned the last page, animated with monkeys everywhere, and proclaimed that he loves me “more than a thousand monkeys!”
Yep. That’s my kind of kid!
Thursday, April 23, 2009
On the Road Again
I think I might secretly have hoped that by writing about the recent chaos in my life and sending it out into cyberspace that said chaos would have packed its bags and moved on to taunt someone else.
Yeah. Not so much. (And I even wrote it on Easter).
So it’s been another couple of weeks of work completely consuming my life. Uh, didn’t I trade in working around the clock for something resembling a LIFE when I left Intel?
Anywho, I spent the week in Tampa at a GIS tradeshow (yes, it is a glamorous life, but someone has to do it). The show was a dismal reflection on how the economy is affecting things and it was the slowest show I've ever attended.
But the week wasn't a complete loss as I had the BEST sushi I've ever eaten while I was there. And that is saying something. My co-worker and I went a little overboard on the ordering and there were literally more plates of food than could fit on our table. Our BOOTH table. But it was so worth the misery of being sushi-stuffed. If you're ever in Tampa head over to Ybor City and eat at Samurai Blue. Delish! (But maybe 6 specialty rolls for two people is a wee bit too much, so scale accordingly.)
Yeah. Not so much. (And I even wrote it on Easter).
So it’s been another couple of weeks of work completely consuming my life. Uh, didn’t I trade in working around the clock for something resembling a LIFE when I left Intel?
Anywho, I spent the week in Tampa at a GIS tradeshow (yes, it is a glamorous life, but someone has to do it). The show was a dismal reflection on how the economy is affecting things and it was the slowest show I've ever attended.
But the week wasn't a complete loss as I had the BEST sushi I've ever eaten while I was there. And that is saying something. My co-worker and I went a little overboard on the ordering and there were literally more plates of food than could fit on our table. Our BOOTH table. But it was so worth the misery of being sushi-stuffed. If you're ever in Tampa head over to Ybor City and eat at Samurai Blue. Delish! (But maybe 6 specialty rolls for two people is a wee bit too much, so scale accordingly.)
I was pleasantly surprised that the pins in my toes didn't even phase the airport metal detector. But they did get me that nifty blue pre-boarding pass. That's a golden ticket on SWA!
On my way home today I realized that I'm a little bit addicted to airport people watching right now. I'll have to do a whole post on this when I get a few minutes. I'm mostly intrigued by the attire people choose. Not so much about the fashion/style, but rather the crazy range of options. I would love to know what some of these folks were telling themselves when they made their wardrobe selections this morning.
After I landed in Austin this afternoon I drove over to Huntsville (it was a rather convoluted travel day). I'll get to see my oldest friend in the world (in duration, not age) tomorrow and then am spending the weekend with the family for my favorite nephew's 4th birthday.
I've got two words for you: Birthday. Cake.
I'm pretty sure that's what's finally going to make all this craziness fade a way for a bit. Well, OK, it probably won't really be the cake. But the two incredibly cute kiddos who will inevitably end up with frosting in their hair are certain to do the trick.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Getting to the Root of It
The image of "roots" is something that has long intrigued me. It's probably because of its Biblical significance--the vine and the branches, being rooted in Christ, etc. It's a common metaphor. So I'm drawn to photographs of trees with lots of groovy roots and even spend time looking at the roots of weeds when I pull them. (OK...a) yes, I'm a dork and b) yes, from the looks of my flowerbeds it would appear that I think flowers, shrubs and weeds should all coexist and the truth is that I don't weed them very often). Nonetheless, I think roots are cool.
All of that said, my long holiday weekend was a bit interrupted by another, much less groovy kind of root. In my tooth. Up close and personal in the form of a root canal. Ouch. So lest you think that I just ignore my dental hygiene, there's a back story to this one.
When I was around 11 my parents had the grand idea to buy a new game for the family to enjoy. I don't recall the official name of the game, but it involved placing two stakes in the ground (akin to horseshoes, a time tested family favorite of ours) and then tossing these disk thingies and trying to "ring" the disk on the stake. The disks are round with a hole in the center, but with these triangular pieces that also have holes in them--tough to describe, but you basically get points based on where you "ring" the disk.
So there we are, playing away and, as with all games that involved my brother and me in those days, the tide turned, tempers flared and before you know it (completely unprovoked, I'm sure) J decides to sling that sucker right at me. He told the story recently and swears that he was aiming at my shins or knees and remembers just watching it slowly rise as it sailed towards me before hitting me square in the mouth.
We're not going to talk about the pitiful lack of instincts that prevented me from moving out of the way. I'm sure there's a reason that I just can't recall at the moment. Really. There must have been a reason.
The disk hit me right in the gums above my top right tooth. So...yes...not only did I not move, but apparently stood still with my mouth wide open. Another point I'd like us to just gloss over. Except I can't because this is where it all comes back around. So the disk sliced open my gums and, as I wouldn't come to realize for many years, actually damaged the root and ultimately killed that tooth.
So 25-ish years after the incident, the tooth has been starting to discolor and the dental professionals decided that it was time to clean it out, hence the root canal that is impeding on my nice, long weekend.
[OK...gross alert...don't read this unless you like crazy medical details.]
The endodontist (Dr. Staci Ianiro--fabulous and I highly recommend her if you need someone to inflict pain in the name of dental healing) gets into the tooth and lets me know that it's "really cool". So, while I really dig Dr. Ianiro and she's a hip young doc, we have very different ideas of what qualifies as "really cool". She then tells me that the tissue inside my tooth and up through the root has mummified. That's right. Mummified. I won't give you any further details, but you can feel free to call me King Tut. Well...I'd prefer Cleopatra.
I'm happy to report that the pain has now mostly subsided, and due to Dr. I's handiwork the tooth has already changed back to it's proper color (yay!). My brother is completely unfazed despite my attempts to make him feel very guilty about all of this. I'm determined to plot a little friendly revenge but haven't yet decided what it will be.
I guess I should just be glad we weren't playing horseshoes.
All of that said, my long holiday weekend was a bit interrupted by another, much less groovy kind of root. In my tooth. Up close and personal in the form of a root canal. Ouch. So lest you think that I just ignore my dental hygiene, there's a back story to this one.
When I was around 11 my parents had the grand idea to buy a new game for the family to enjoy. I don't recall the official name of the game, but it involved placing two stakes in the ground (akin to horseshoes, a time tested family favorite of ours) and then tossing these disk thingies and trying to "ring" the disk on the stake. The disks are round with a hole in the center, but with these triangular pieces that also have holes in them--tough to describe, but you basically get points based on where you "ring" the disk.
So there we are, playing away and, as with all games that involved my brother and me in those days, the tide turned, tempers flared and before you know it (completely unprovoked, I'm sure) J decides to sling that sucker right at me. He told the story recently and swears that he was aiming at my shins or knees and remembers just watching it slowly rise as it sailed towards me before hitting me square in the mouth.
We're not going to talk about the pitiful lack of instincts that prevented me from moving out of the way. I'm sure there's a reason that I just can't recall at the moment. Really. There must have been a reason.
The disk hit me right in the gums above my top right tooth. So...yes...not only did I not move, but apparently stood still with my mouth wide open. Another point I'd like us to just gloss over. Except I can't because this is where it all comes back around. So the disk sliced open my gums and, as I wouldn't come to realize for many years, actually damaged the root and ultimately killed that tooth.
So 25-ish years after the incident, the tooth has been starting to discolor and the dental professionals decided that it was time to clean it out, hence the root canal that is impeding on my nice, long weekend.
[OK...gross alert...don't read this unless you like crazy medical details.]
The endodontist (Dr. Staci Ianiro--fabulous and I highly recommend her if you need someone to inflict pain in the name of dental healing) gets into the tooth and lets me know that it's "really cool". So, while I really dig Dr. Ianiro and she's a hip young doc, we have very different ideas of what qualifies as "really cool". She then tells me that the tissue inside my tooth and up through the root has mummified. That's right. Mummified. I won't give you any further details, but you can feel free to call me King Tut. Well...I'd prefer Cleopatra.
I'm happy to report that the pain has now mostly subsided, and due to Dr. I's handiwork the tooth has already changed back to it's proper color (yay!). My brother is completely unfazed despite my attempts to make him feel very guilty about all of this. I'm determined to plot a little friendly revenge but haven't yet decided what it will be.
I guess I should just be glad we weren't playing horseshoes.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Life as a Moose
I guess this is the proverbial "about me" first post as I dive into the blogosphere, so it makes sense to start with the whole Moose business. First and foremost, I hope that when you meet me you'll be surprised that this is my nickname. I mean really, how many women hope that they personify such a moniker? Yeah. Exactly.
But I've been Moose for as long as I can remember thanks to a very persistent (and loud) older brother. The back story is long and not all that interesting, but the gist is that when I was about 11 my older brother started calling me Moose and it stuck. High school friends call me Moose. Sorority sisters call me Moose. And there was no way I was getting out of "Aunt Moose". There's even a very obnoxious "moose call" involved--though I'm happy to say that doesn't get unleashed too often. It's the kind of stuck that really doesn't get un-stuck.
And so you embrace it.
As I start of this I'm 8 days shy of my 36th birthday. I won't even begin to go there right now. That is most certainly it's own little rant, er, post. I'm footloose and fancy free (read: single, no kiddos), with a great job and an even better circle of friends. I have a big ole (Southern) extended family that I'm sure will provide a lot of material to write about and I love them a lot.
So that's the story. I'm diving in...jump in with me and let's have some fun!
But I've been Moose for as long as I can remember thanks to a very persistent (and loud) older brother. The back story is long and not all that interesting, but the gist is that when I was about 11 my older brother started calling me Moose and it stuck. High school friends call me Moose. Sorority sisters call me Moose. And there was no way I was getting out of "Aunt Moose". There's even a very obnoxious "moose call" involved--though I'm happy to say that doesn't get unleashed too often. It's the kind of stuck that really doesn't get un-stuck.
And so you embrace it.
As I start of this I'm 8 days shy of my 36th birthday. I won't even begin to go there right now. That is most certainly it's own little rant, er, post. I'm footloose and fancy free (read: single, no kiddos), with a great job and an even better circle of friends. I have a big ole (Southern) extended family that I'm sure will provide a lot of material to write about and I love them a lot.
So that's the story. I'm diving in...jump in with me and let's have some fun!
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