The Torch Be Yours To Hold It High

Just a gentle reminder from Grams ... before you fire up the barbecue pit or head out to the beach or the lake today, take a moment to remember that freedom is is not free. Thanks to all those who gave so we could be free. To those who gave some and to those who gave all ... a heartfelt thank you. Grams will never forget!

As a child, I remember that we wore little paper poppies on our lapels on Memorial Day and this is why.  After World War I the poppies grew in profusion over the battlefields and cemeteries in Flanders, thus the poppies became a symbol of remembrance.   

Below is one of those poems that Grams had to memorize as an elementary school student in the 1960's.  I don't think they make kids memorize and recite any more and it's kind of a shame.  I can't recite it all any more, but it's message is so powerful that it has stayed with me all these years.  

In Flanders Fields by John McCrae

In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row

That mark our place; and in the sky

The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead.  Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

Loved and were loved, and now we lie

In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe;

To you from failing hands we throw

The torch; be yours to hold it high.

If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

In Flanders fields.

The Spill and the Spin Both Make Me Mad!

Grams is obsessed with the oil spilling into the Gulf of Mexico from the Deepwater Horizon.  Seriously, every time I sit down at my computer I pull up the video feed to see if anything looks different.  But I'm more than just obsessed, I'm mad.  I'm mad because I hate to be lied to and every time I hear someone from BP talking, I know I'm being lied to.   

Let me start by saying that I'm not an environmental activist of any sort.  I try to be responsible in small ways ... we use green bags for shopping ... we recycle ... we use refillable water bottles ... nothing crazy or hard, just responsible. 

We live in Corpus Christi. Texas which, while on the Gulf of Mexico, is well south of the area that is expected to feel any immediate impact of this spill.  We're not beach enthusiasts.  In fact, we haven't been to the beach in years.  It's a good 45 minute drive from where we live to Padre Island.  But I grew up here and as a teenager, we went to the beach often.  It was a favorite hangout and campsite for my friends and me.  The fact that my grandchildren may never enjoy the same kind of day at the same beach makes me mad.

The video of oil and gas gushing from the BP well just makes me feel sick.  I can't help but think that the millions of barrels gushing from that well are killing the Gulf of Mexico.  Even before I saw the first pictures of birds covered in oil, I thought about them.  I remember the videos from Alaska in the wake of the Exxon Valdez spill.  I vaguely remember news reports that the impact of that spill lasted more than a decade. This is already more than twice as bad and that makes me mad. 

I think about the beautiful sea birds that will be covered in oil,  about the fish that will die, about the fishermen who have lost their livelihood, the tourism industry that will dry up, the marshlands where turtles and other sea animals won't spawn.  I have visions of coastlines lined with dead fish, birds, turtles and other sea life and it makes me mad.   

I'm also very afraid of what will happen when a hurricane moves into the Gulf of Mexico this summer.  It's inevitable that it will happen.  I don't have any expertise in either offshore drilling or hurricanes, but I keep thinking that the combination of oil in the water and a hurricane sounds bad to me.  I know that when a hurricane moves into the Gulf of Mexico we get flooding tides on Padre Island and into Corpus Christi Bay.  I can't see any way that oil in the water would be a good thing.  I actually heard someone on television who said that a hurricane would be a "good thing" because it would disperse the oil over a wider area.  Personally, I think that's crazy. 

I got this sick feeling in the pit of my stomach when I first heard the news about the explosion.  I've seen an offshore platform up close.  I had the opportunity to tour the Shenzi platform that was being built nearby in Ingleside shortly before it was deployed.  I know that when something explodes on a platform in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico there's no place to go except into the water.  I knew that lives had been lost long before the news reported those losses.

When BP initially reported that only a few thousand barrels per day were leaking, I knew it was spin.  When they said they would be able to control and contain the oil before it got to the shoreline, again, I knew it was spin.  I know it's their job to show BP in the best possible light.  It's what they get paid to do.  They're telling us what they think we want to hear and they're trying to put the best possible face on a bad situation.  There is no way in hell BP did not know how much oil was spilling from that well. In this case, they're not just spinning, they're lying. 

I've worked in situations that called for spin and I've watched some of the best "spin doctors" do their work.  I worked for our local United Way when their national president was convicted of embezzling and misappropriating donated funds.  And when our local United Way admitted Planned Parenthood for funding and the local Catholic diocese called for a boycott I watched the spin doctors do their jobs.  I even worked for a media spokesperson for a while.  I recognize spin when I see it and in the case of BP, this is definitely spin. 

The most encouraging thing I've heard about this spill was an anecdotal news story from FOX News about President Obama.  At a recent White House meeting he reportedly shouted "Just plug the damn hole!"  I'm happy to see that he's mad!  I agree with him.  It's time to get good and mad. 

I know that eventually they will find a way to stop this spill.  Unfortunately, it looks like it will be sometime in August after they drill a relief well.  By that time the damage will be so immense and so widespread that the impact will be felt way beyond the shores of Louisiana and for decades to come. 

I've lived in South Texas long enough to be well acquainted with the oil and gas industry.  I have several family members who work or have worked in the industry.  I've seen "gifts" change hands at every level of that industry.  So many things are done to "grease the wheels" that it's easy to understand how regulations get bypassed and rules get bent.  I was already mad about all of that before this disaster.  Every time the price of gasoline goes up at the pump, I think about expensive cowboy boots that salesmen give to customers and about vendors who are coerced into supporting favorite charities if they want to do business with refineries, and it makes me mad.  Those are only a couple of small examples of which I have personal knowledge to illustrate how business is routinely done in the oil and gas industry. 

I could not find an accurate count of the number of active platforms and rigs in the Gulf of Mexico, but the map I've included here will tell you it's more than a few.  I believe offshore drilling is a necessary evil.  Although I miss the pristine beaches I enjoyed as a child, I understand the need for sacrifices.  I was glad to hear that President Obama has suspended exploratory drilling at depths 500 feet and deeper and formed a new White House Commission to study the safety of deep-water drilling.  I hope something good can come from this disaster.  I hope the results will be better regulation, better oversight, and better enforcement in the future.  And I don't think any more deep-water drilling should be allowed until technology is developed that will deal with the problems and challenges presented by deep-water drilling.  They should have known how to handle a deep-water spill before they had one.  They didn't and that makes me mad.

And, one more thing, to the spokespersons for BP.  The oil you are spilling from the Deepwater Horizon is NOT a "natural disaster."  Please stop calling it that.  There's nothing natural about it ... it's your disaster and you better own it.

Grams Made Mini-Honey Mustard Meatloaves with Roasted Potatoes

Let me start by saying that Grams is not a huge fan of meatloaf.  As far as I can remember my Mom didn't ever make meatloaf.  If she did it was probably so horrible that I've blocked it from my memory.  The only meatloaf I remember eating as a kid was that 1960's public-school cafeteria concoction of mystery meat and filler that was topped with a glob of cooked ketchup, which really grossed me out.

When Grams was a young bride, Grandad reported that he loved meatloaf and asked me to make some for him.  (This was before we reached the unspoken agreement that it was better for Grandad to cook than for Grams to keep producing horrible disasters in the kitchen.)  So I got out my trusty-dusty Betty Crocker Cookbook (circa 1970) and whipped up a batch of said meatloaf, as requested.

Needless to say, Grandad had an entirely different concept of meatloaf.  You see Grandad went to Catholic schools where meatloaf was not a mass-produced mystery meat.  In his mind meatloaf was a savory recipe which included a delicious brown gravy that was produced by "the Nuns."  So when I served up my version of meatloaf, Grandad had a temporary lapse of sanity and said something like "This is not the way 'the Nuns' made it."  As a matter of fact this may have been the very day Grams decided that cooking should be Grandad's realm. 

About a year ago we were at a funeral for one of our dear friends who was a priest and Grandad pointed to a very elderly Nun in the crowd and said, "That's one of 'the Nuns' who used to make the meatloaf."   I had to restrain myself during the funeral from jumping over a couple of pews and begging for the recipe.  Alas, I was unable to find her in the crowd afterward.  

Since I went back to cooking, I've experimented with a couple of meatloaf recipes.  What I've discovered is that if I make the meatloaf, it doesn't have that mysterious quality that I found so distasteful. 

Grams made this recipe for the first time last night for dinner.  It's been in my recipe file for quite a long time.  I'm not sure where I got it, but it's very tasty and I highly recommend it.  I made a couple of changes, the original recipe called for Panko instead of oatmeal and I use extra-lean ground beef instead of ground chuck.  Even Grandad approved and there was no mention of "the Nuns." 

1 Tablespoon olive oil
Nonstick cooking spray
2 Tablespoons honey mustard
2 Tablespoons ketchup
1 pound extra-lean ground beef
1 large egg, lightly beaten
½ cup oatmeal (processed finely in food processer)
1 cup shredded white cheddar (about 4 ounces)
Coarse salt and ground pepper
1 pound red new potatoes, scrubbed and quartered

Preheat oven to 450 degrees, with racks in upper and lower thirds. Spray a rimmed baking sheet with nonstick cooking spray. In a small bowl, mix together 2 tablespoons mustard and ketchup.

In a medium bowl, combine beef, egg, panko, ½ cup cheddar, ½ teaspoon salt, and teaspoon pepper. Form into four 2-by-4-inch loaves; place on baking sheet. Pour mustard mixture over meatloaves. On another rimmed baking sheet, toss potatoes with 1 tablespoon oil; season with salt and pepper.

Start with meatloaves on upper rack of oven and potatoes on lower rack. Bake 15 minutes, top the meatloaves with the remaining cheese, then switch the positions of the pans and bake another 10-15 minutes.  Remove meatloaves from oven and test potatoes.  If they're not done to your liking, you may need to bake the potatoes a few minutes longer.  

The Women On My Walk #2 - My Neighbors

Near the top of the list among the women Grams draws strength from are my neighbors.  Some of them are not just neighbors, they're good friends.  There are quite a few of them with whom I have a casual acquaintance, but two of them have become really close friends.

Mary Lou is my closest neighbor.  We've lived next door to each other for more than twenty years now.  She's the neighbor I can always go to if I need to borrow something or need help with almost anything.  She and her husband, Ron, are exceptionally good neighbors to everyone in the neighborhood.  They have almost everyone's spare keys; block parties are generally held in their driveway; and if you want to catch up on what's going on in the neighborhood, you can just pull up a lawn chair in their driveway.  Eventually everyone stops there to chat.

Mary Lou is the mother and grandmother I want to be.  I have always admired the relationship she has with all four of her adult children.  They are all successful and productive adults who love to come home and visit. They talk on the phone regularly and although some of them live several hundred miles away, she is involved in their lives in a positive way.  As often as is physically possible, she attends ballgames, performances and other things that her grandchildren are involved in. 

Diane lives about five houses down on the other side of the street.  She is the mother of one teenage girl.  Diane and I relate mostly about the "joys" of raising girls.  She often listened to my tales of woe when my kids were teenagers and I've been able to do the same for her.  Mostly we're just able to laugh at each others' stories.  I think the fact that my kids turned out okay gives her hope that her's will too.  Diane and her husband Clayton are the owners of a big SUV, that usually makes them the designated drivers when we all go out together.

The three of us have shared laughter, tears, and more than a few cocktails.  We've supported each other through raising kids, sick parents, husbands with health problems, home improvement projects gone horribly wrong, budget squeezes, and the deaths of our parents and grandparents.  We've oohed and aahed over each others kids dressed in prom clothes and wedding gowns. We've been to bridal showers, baby showers and parties together.  And, we've gained and lost many pounds together. 

The three of us have done all those things women do for each other.  We've cooked for each other, played games, shared recipes, complained to each other, and, most Friday evenings, we all go out to dinner together.  They're part of what I call the Friday Night Dinner Club.  We all pile into Diane's big SUV and just choose a restaurant and all go out to dinner.  More about this group in a later post. 

I think part of what makes our friendship special is that we're at three different stages of our lives.  We're about ten years apart in our ages, one in her sixties, one in her fifties, and one in her forties.  Each of us knows that the others have been where we are or will be there soon.  There is a lot of comfort in knowing that someone else has gone through the same thing we have and has survived to tell the tale.  These are two of the women who make my walk a littler easier and a lot more fun.  I'm glad we're neighbors and I'm glad we're friends.

School's Out ... Let Freedom Ring!

Today is the last day of school for our local district, at least for the students who passed their core courses and their TAKS test.  It was also an early release day.  They got out of school at noon instead of 4 o'clock.  I remembered when I was leaving my neighborhood at about 12:30 and was behind a school bus that was dropping kids off near their homes.

The first thing I thought of was that old Alice Cooper song "School's Out for Summer."

No more pencils
No more books
No more teacher's dirty looks

Out for summer
Out till fall
We might not go back at all

School's out forever
School's out for summer.

My second thought was a line from very sweet poem by Mary Dow Brine "Somebody's Mother" that I've loved since I was a child.  One line of that poem particularly stuck with me:

Down the street with laughter and shout,
Glad in the freedom of school let out...

It paints such a vivid picture of how good it feels to be finished with another school year.  

Watching those kids jump joyfully from the school bus and run down the sidewalk reminded me of that feeling of absolute freedom that I used to feel on the last day of school every year. The thought of three months of hot, luxurious freedom stretched before me ... sleeping late in the mornings ... visiting my Granny ... playing outdoors until dusk ... taking afternoon naps ... chasing fireflies ... counting the stars ... reading books I wanted to read instead of something assigned ... no homework ... afternoons at the pool ... soaking up the sun ... Friday night fish fries ... picnics on the beach ... summer camp ... days and days of nothing particular to do.  I was a child in the 1960's when children were not over-scheduled.  Parents didn't rush from practice to games to lessons with their children.  We had time to be children and summers were magical.

Even though it's been 38 years since I last attended public schools, that feeling is still fresh in my mind.  Nothing has ever matched the feeling of absolute and total freedom that I used to feel on the last day of school every year.  I hope kids still feel that way "Glad in the freedom of school let out" and I hope teachers feel it at least a little bit.

The Women On My Walk #1 - My Daughter

There are so many wonderful women who make up Grams' support system that deciding where to start has been more of a challenge than I expected.  So maybe it's a little obvious, but I've decided to start with the person who has been the number one most influential woman in my life for 30 years now, my daughter, Katy. 

Where to start and what can I say?  I'll start by saying that Katy is the most supportive person I know, bar none.  And she doesn't support and encourage only me, it is innate in her personality.  She's encouraging, upbeat, and uplifting to everyone, family, friends and coworkers.  Friends and family members have often commented to me about how just spending time with her raises their spirits. She's beautiful inside and out.

It was clear to me very early that her vision is different from mine.  And I mean that literally.  She has an artist's eye and she was born with it.  When I look at something, I see the thing.  When she looks at the same thing, she sees what it is made of ... the lines, the textures, the curves, and the shadows. And she has the talent and skill to translate what she sees into something beautiful and artistic. 

When I need it, she's not shy about giving me a good healthy dose of reality.  When I was investigating gastric bypass surgery in a desperate effort to regain control of my weight and my health, she went with me to visit the surgeon.  She listened to what he had to say and asked lots of questions.  She was straightforward and honest about her expectations.  She turned to me and said, "Mom, I'm willing to support you in this, but you have to do what the doctor says.  You can't do this for a while and then stop.  This will be for the rest of your life."  So there it was, not said out loud but powerful even though unspoken.  Without being unkind or mean-spirited, she'd just made her point.  What she didn't say is "Mom, you've been on every kind of diet there is, but you've never stuck to any of them long term."  But her point was made and it's stuck with me.  Every time I get discouraged or think I can't do it any more, I remember the commitment she asked of me and that I made to her, simply this, that I will do what the doctor says.  And the few times I've strayed off plan, she doesn't hesitate to remind me of my commitment. 

The morning my Mom died, I called Katy and she immediately offered to come home.  We already knew that the funeral would not be here in Corpus Christi, but 500 miles away in Northeast Texas.  We also knew that Grandad would be having major surgery within the next few days so I told her just to wait until the arrangements were made and then we would decide in a day or so who would go to the funeral and who would come home for the surgery.  But as the day passed and I faced the reality of coming home alone to an empty house, around five o'clock I realized that I didn't want to be alone.  I called her and she was here within three hours.  It was such a comfort not to have to face that night alone.

When I wanted to climb Enchanted Rock, she was the very first to volunteer to go with me.  When I struggled that day, both physically and emotionally, she stayed right by my side encouraging me and truly understanding why this was an emotional thing for me. 

We have a very strong mother-daughter connection that I did not have with my own Mom.  But, it's more than that.  There's even a psychic connection.  Both of us just know when the other is in need.  Simply put, she's my best friend.  Rarely does a day go by that we don't talk on the phone.  When I need advice, she's the one I can always turn to.  She's level-headed and truly wise beyond her years.  She makes good decisions about her own life.  She lives her life consciously.  She's environmentally and politically responsible.  And I am proud of the woman she is.

Our relationship has not always been sunshine and roses.  After all, she was a teenage girl for six or seven years.  And don't even get me started on some of the young men she chose to date.  But when it came to choosing a life partner, she chose wisely.  She has a wonderful husband and they are building a great life together.  We still don't always see eye-to-eye on everything, but we love and respect each other.  Over the years we have successfully redefined our relationship to keep it suitable to our ages and where we are in our lives.  And, she's the mother of Our Little Princess.  What more could I ask for?

The Women On My Walk

For several months now, Grams has been considering writing a series of entries about the women who are or have been part of my life.  Yesterday while making plans with a friend to go and see the upcoming movie "Sex and the City 2" I thought again about how important other women have been in my life.  I've been acutely aware of their importance for the past few years, since I've been dealing with Grandad's ill health and the loss of both of my parents. 

Several years ago I received an email with the subject line "Don't Forget Your Girlfriends."  I liked it a lot and saved it.  I have re-read it a number of times over the years and passed it on to my daughter when she got married.  I don't know it's origin, but here it is. 

I sat on a summer day, drinking iced tea and visiting with my mother.

"Don't forget your girlfriends," Mother advised, clinking the ice cubes in her glass. “No matter how much you love your husband, you are still going to need girlfriends. Remember to go places with them now and then; and do things with them, even when you don't necessarily want to. And remember that girlfriends are not only friends, but sisters, daughters, mothers, grandmothers and other relatives too. Women supporting and relating to other women is our responsibility and our gift.”

"What a funny piece of advice," I thought. "Hadn't I just gotten married? Hadn't I just joined the couple-world? I was now a married woman, for goodness sake, not some young girl who needed friends!"

But I listened to my Mom. I kept in contact with my girlfriends and even found some new ones along the way. As the years tumbled by, one after another, I gradually came to understand that Mom really knew what she was talking about!

Here is what I know: Girl friends bring casseroles and scrub your bathroom when you need help; Girlfriends keep your children and your secrets. Girlfriends give advice when you ask … sometimes you take it and some-times you don't. Girlfriends don't always tell you you're right, but they usually tell the truth. Girlfriends still love you, even when they disagree with your choices. Girlfriends laugh with you and don't need canned jokes to start the laughter. Girlfriends pull you out of jams. Girlfriends don't keep a calendar of who hosted the others last big party.

Girlfriends will celebrate for your son or daughter when they get married or have a baby, in whichever order that happens. Girlfriends are there for you in an instant, and when the hard times come. Girlfriends will drive through blizzards, rainstorms, hail, heat, and gloom of night to get to you when your hour of need is desperate.

Girlfriends listen when you lose a job or a friend. Girlfriends listen when your children break your heart. Girlfriends listen when your parents' minds and bodies fail. Girlfriends cry with you when someone you loved dies. Girlfriends support you when the men in your life let you down. Girlfriends help you pick up the pieces when men pack up and go.  Girlfriends rejoice at what makes you happy, and are ready to go out and kill what makes you unhappy.

Times passes. Life happens. Distance separates. Children grow up. Marriages fail. Love waxes and wanes. Hearts break. Careers end. Jobs come and go. Parents die. Colleagues forget favors. Men don't call when they say they will. But girlfriends are there, no matter how much time and how many miles are between you. A girlfriend is never farther away than needing her can reach.

When you have to walk that lonesome valley, and you have to walk it for yourself, your girlfriends will be on the valley's rim, cheering you on, praying for you, pulling for you, intervening on your behalf, and waiting with open arms at the valley's end. Sometimes, they will even break the rules and walk beside you. Or come in and carry you out.

My daughters, sisters-in-law, mother-in-law, nieces, cousins, extended family, and friends bless my life. The world wouldn't be the same without them, and neither would I.

When we began this adventure called womanhood, we had no idea of the incredible joys or sorrows that lay ahead, nor did we know how much we would need each other. Every day, we need each other still.

Over the next few months, I'm planning to do a short series of blog entries about the women who have become my support system.  I'm not sure yet exactly how many entries there will be.  Some will feature individual women and some will feature groups.  But I'm looking forward to telling you about some of the remarkable women who have made my walk both easier and more worthwhile.  Some of them are relatives and some of them are friends.  Each of them is accomplished, amazing and special.  These women have laughed with me, played with me, cried with me, eaten with me, fed me, encouraged me, prayed for me, advised me, inspired me, drank with me, celebrated with me, given me a shot of reality when I needed it, and one or two of them helped me "bury the bodies."

So when you see an ad for "Sex and the City 2" think about your girlfriends and all the amazing women on your walk.  Think about how they have been there for you and you've been there for them.  Women are amazing and wonderful creatures!