Extra parts

I used to drive a Ford Falcon, I cannot remember the year but suffice it to say it was not current even at the time I drove it from 1972 to 1975.  My father, a mechanic by nature and trade, kept it in good repair. 
Once, my car was running a little ragged and I told my father that I thought it needed a tune up.  My father, as usual, said he would take care of it.  Since I rarely drove my car it was not important that he get on it immediately.  One day when I came home from school my father was home from work and told me to go look under the hood of my car, so I did.  I nearly stroked when I lifted the hood and all I saw was the cement of the driveway below.  Where in the heck was my engine?  Daaaaaaaddddd!  Laughing, he told me he decided to rebuild my engine while he was at it.  I have to admit it made me nervous to start with but frequently when I would come home from school a little more of my engine had returned. 
Eventually one day my father said he was done and had me take the car on a test drive, it drove better than it ever had.  I loved how well it drove!  Once I returned home from my test drive and began thanking and complimenting my father until he showed my all of the "left over" parts.  There was a pile of nuts, bolts and parts that "weren't necessary" according to him and it was quite a pile.  I was rather concerned but I trusted my dad and that car drove perfectly with no problems, it was later sold because I would not need it at college since I would be living on campus. 

Ted Bundy, serial killer

I attended Brigham Young University straight out of High School.  I bagan in June directly after having graduating high school in May.  I chose to have a double major; Interior design and Architecture.  I chose these majors because I knew whatever course my life may take I would be able to support myself from the comforts of my home.  These tow majors took many "tools", most of which were available at the campus bookstore.  There were a few items that had to be purchased off campus.  I did not have my car in Utah.  While I attended school I had a ten speen bike, I rode a bus or walked where I needed to go. 
This particular day I had to purchase some large tools off campus.  I originally walked to the little strip mall where the store was located.  It turned out that the walk was a lot farther than I originally thought.  I did my shopping and bought my "required" item and of course bought a skirt and some shoes because they were cute.  The package numbers and size made me give concern for the extremely long walk back to my dorm room;  I chose to wait for the bus.  Not knowing the bus schedule I decided to sit on the bus  bench and just wait.  The mall area was rather deserted and I began to worry that the last bus may have already run.  After waiting a long period of time a little yellow Volkswagon beetle pulled up in front of me.  There was a fairly nice looking fellow at the wheel with a cast on one arm.  The fellow smiled and told me he was from around that area and knew that it would be a few more hours before the last bus came.  He said if I lived fairly locally he would take me home. 
My father always taught us to trust no one no matter how nice they appeared to be, so I politely declined his offer.  He talked a little longer and renewed his offer a few more times but after a few more times of politely and firmly declining his offer he went along his way.  I was not exactly friendly but pointedly polite.  A few hours later the bus did indeed come and I wrestled my packages onto the bus for the ride back to my part of town.  Mission accomplished.
An odd incident a few months later upset me.  At the time I was dating a tall slender fellow who was a returned missionary.  Tom wore his old missionary trench coat at night when it was cold.  Late one night when Tom and I returned from a date and stepped into my apartment to say goodnight the police energetically knocked on my door.  When I answered a breathless officer asked Tom who he was and why he was there.  Tom told him and I vouched for him.  After the police spoke to Tom a little longer he left and told us to lock our door behind him.  The officer told Tom to stay for another hour before leaving for my home, which he did.  We both found the situation oddly unsettling but complied.
Years later there was a special on a mass murderer named Ted Bundy; I was going to be up late waiting for Rob to come home from school so I watched the program.  As I watched the confessed murderous spree Mr. Bundy had perpetrated, I noticed the fellow looked familiar.  It turns out that he had been in Provo Utah in 1975 trying to pick up a victim.  He was driving a yellow Volkswagon beetle and had a fake cast on his arm.  He said the cast tended to make women feel safer.  He picked up a BYU co-ed from the very strip mall I was waiting for the bus.  He said he spoke to a few women before he got one to accept a ride.  It occurred to me that he have targeted me but as I did not go with him he found another young lady that did go with him and he killed her in an horrific manner. 
It also turned out that it had been him the police were searching for in my neighborhood the night the police stopped Tom and I.  Ted Bundy had been running  through my neighborhood wearing a dark trench coat just like Toms.  He was built similarly to Tom as well and had the same hair color.
I researched his murderous trail and realized I ended up having two VERY close encounter with Ted Bundy not knowing at the time who he was or that he was a serial killer.  True story!  How thankful I am that my father taught me to never accept rides from strangers and to be firm but polite about it.  I think it may have saved my life!  

The Spaghetti Bowl

Guess where I learned to drive?  Yes, Houston Texas, in the "spaghetti bowl" as it was called.  I was a sophomore at J Frank Dobie High School and was required to attend driver's education classes so that my car insurance would be less costly.  They showed us all types of gory films and slides of real accidents.  I believe they were trying to frighten us out of wanting to drive.  That kind of thing was never going to work with teenagers, we are invincible!  The one film I remember to this day was in 1971-ish, seat belts and car seats were not required.
The officer that was working the scene was crying.  He had investigated the car accident directly after it had happened and found a tiny human eyeball.  He said he knew then that a baby had been involved in the accident so he set about looking for the child.  He later found the baby many feet away from the car.  Next the camera had the officer holding the infant up to his shoulder dead, the officer crying.  The impact of the accident had caused the eyes of this child to exit before the child had been thrown through the windshield.  Of course the baby was instantly dead.  The officer stated he was crying because he had an infant about that age at home.  That film nearly got me, but... being a teenager I managed to convince myself I would never have an accident.
When it was time for "behind the wheel" we had to choose partners for driving.  My boyfriend at the time, Gary Brown, was in my class and immediately signed me up to partner with him.   I thought that would be fun but that did not turn out to be a great choice, for me at least.  I was a very careful driver (imagine that).  The diving coach complemented me frequently on my ability.  I think because I was afraid of the power involved in an accident I was very, very careful.  Gary on the other hand, who was one of the most level headed careful people I had ever known, was scatter brained when it came to driving.  That boy would make a left hand turn in front of a car five feet away from him.  He always seemed to be surprised that coach and I were screaming for our lives.  He never seemed to notice stop signs, red lights, you name it.  It got so bad that the poor boy was booted out and had to re-take the course.  I was never so happy to be rid of a driving partner in my life.  I passed the class with flying colors, Gary..., well lets' just say for the next year of our dating relationship.. I ALWAYS drove! 

Rain, rain, flood away.

While living in Houston Texas there was this horrible rain storm.  The storm was long and severe, the rain heavy.  It didn't take long for the rain to overwhelm the drainage system and begin to back up into the streets.  My parents became concerned as the water began to rise at a rapid rate.  My father put our family car up the driveway into the garage.  Dad had a van home from work.  It was one of the cars he used in his undercover work, it was a Volkswagon bus, white with a side panel doors, there were no seats in the back of the van.  Dad moved this vehicle further up the driveway behind our personal car. 
The rain continued to pour and the water continued to rise and before we knew it the water was literally lapping at the  front door of our house.  My other brought a broom to the door and swept the water out of the house as fast as it came in. 
I don't remember why but my father came up with the memory that Volkswagons actually float.  My dad decided to take the van for a "boat ride."  He attached a pipe to the tail pipe as this would be required to allow the car to "breathe."  After doing that he let me and a couple of others ride in the back as he drove down the street.  We went a good ways down the road and it actually worked.  We laughed and laughed at our success.  You have to know that VW vans did not have side windows at that time just all side door panels.  Since we couldn't all see out the front window we asked the fellow in the passenger seat to check to see where the water line was on the side of the van.  After being assured that the water level was below the sliding door we all made the decision to open the sliding door.  We did okay for a minute or so then a "wave" came and sent, what seemed, the smallest ripple of water into the van... and we promptly sank.  It was such a shock we all screamed although there was no possibility of anyone drowning.  When the tires his the pavement beneath us the engine cut out, never to be revived.  We had to walk/swim/wade back to our house laughing and being ribbed by anyone who saw us or knew what happened.  It was a fun experience while it lasted and the water took a long time to recede.  It was truly a flood.  

Trust

When I was a senior in high school my father had been on a "stake out."  Remember that my father worked for the U.S. Customs service in the drug enforcement area.  He did a great amount of undercover work.  This particular time he had confiscated a pickup truck load of marijuana.  When the confiscated drugs back in 1974 they would destroy them by burning them.
As a side note, one that is funny to me, they used to burn them at their facility in Nogales, Arizona.  There is only a fence that separated the United States from Mexico.  Half the city is in the U.S. and the other half is Nogales, Mexico.  There was a hill that rose up just across the border in Mexico; it lay across from the "customs house", it was a relatively small hill and uninhabited.  Whenever customs would burn any contraband the hill would fill with Mexicans, usually men.  They would sit sniffing the air.  I would watch occasionally when I happen to be in Nogales with my dad on a burn day.  The wind tended to blow in Mexico's direction as a general rule.  It was funny to me, as a youth and even today as I envision the men sitting on that hill breathing in the smoke from the burning drugs getting high.
Back to my original story, my father had brought the pick up truck home from work that had held the marijuana; inside the truck bed was a great deal of the dried weed and seed.  Dad asked me to sweep up the remains and put it into a trash bag.  When finished I brought the bag in to my dad and he locked it up in the cab of the truck.
It happened at the time that I knew of a young man whose father was in the same unit as my father at customs and I knew that the young man was quite the drug dealer.  My father knew of this situation as well because I told him about it.  I think my father really validated his trust in me by asking me to do this and not asking me if I "got it all in the bag."  He knew I would do it and that he needn't worry.  His trust was not misplaced.  I still think it's funny to this day that he asked me to do it and that I just went out and casually did it without a second thought. 

Great Great Great Grandfather

Currently their are riots happening in Baltimore, Maryland in the name of "protesting" the death of a black man by the hands of police (most likely white, I haven't heard).  While I think it is tragic when and if any person is wrongfully killed by a police officer or anyone else I do not think it is ok to display violence in this manner. 
My husband and I visited Baltimore last summer looking for my third great grandfathers grave.  He was buried in a Jewish graveyard there.  The day we came into the city we ran behind time due to tremendous traffic and confusing roads.  The directions we had received to the Jewish museum were inadequate but we managed to finally make it to our destination very late in the day.  At the museum we discovered that my third great grandfather was in fact buried in Baltimore, we were given his exact location so we could visit the grave.  We also discovered that my third great grandfather had actually attended the Synagogue two doors down from the museum.  I was thrilled and amazed to know he had actually walked where I was and attended church just two doors down.  Unfortunately because we arrived so late the Synagogue was already closed for the day.  Our schedule did not allow me to stay an extra day to tour it the next day so I had to plan to return as soon as time and budget allows. 
Currently there are riots happening in Baltimore, Maryland in the name of "protesting" the death of a black man by the hands of police (most likely white, I haven't heard).  While I think it is tragic when and if any person is wrongfully killed by a police officer or anyone else I do not think it is ok to display violence in this manner.  I hope the Synagogue and my third great grandfathers' grave survives the rampage of ignorance going on at this time.  These people are not protesting anything, they are proudly acting out their need for violence.  They are destroying the lives and livelihood of black and white alike, of their own neighbors!  The rioters do not deserve to be heard, they deserve to be prosecuted.  To call this a protest is a gross inaccuracy and an excuse.   

SNOT KING!

I can hardly think of this incident much less write it down.  I will do my best to write it but know that as I type I gag.  While I attended Princess Anne Academy and was in the third grade I believe I had the MOST horrific incident.
We always had a glass of milk for lunch, there were no other options.  I hated sitting by this one boy for lunch, he was always a snotty kid, always snorting up his snot.  I had never known anyone to be so full of snot like this boy.  Since I gag easily I could never stand to be near this boy.
We sat on bench seats at our lunchroom tables.  This day he sat down next to me pretty much as usual.  He was sniffing as usual, grossing me out, when all of a sudden he sneezed.  Snot... more that I have ever seen in my entire life, went straight into his glass of milk, FILLING it up with his perpetually green snot in the white milk.  It literally made the milk spill out.  The snot was all over him and the table as well.  I gagged and heaved so much I had to be dismissed. It was a horrible day.  I was never able to sit near that kid again and I never drank milk again until I was 25 years old!  Now my grandchildren will understand why I gag every time they snort up their snot.  Shiver, shiver.  They may notice too that if they have super snotty noses I do NOT drink milk.  Yeesh!

Mmmm Brownies

My Nanny, my paternal grandmother, and Miss Juanita were my Brownie Girl Scout leaders.  We had such a great deal of fun.  My troop met in an empty clapboard, antique school house at first.  The place was so cool and amazing.  Later we began to meet at Miss Juanita's house.  She raised geese and ducks, had woods at the back of her yard and tons of craft products.  Nanny and Juanita were best friends and great scout leaders.  It was a fun and exciting experience for a little girl.  I learned so much while having so much fun.
Through the years I earned my way all the way up through Cadets.  I sang, camped, sold cookies, hiked and did many other things over those years with multiple leaders and troops.  The first "girl scout" song I learned was at Brownies and it goes like this:

There is something in my pocket,

It belongs across my face,

I keep it very close at hand,

In a most convenient place,

I'm sure you couldn't guess it,

If you guessed a long, long, while,

I'll take it out and put it on,

It's a great big Brownie (girl scout) smile. 

Head on!

I was a young girl but I do remember that my father worked for Smith, Corona, Marchant or SCM; it was a typewriter and adding machine company which was very popular at the time.  Dad often had to go aboard ships docked at the naval bases in Norfolk, Virginia in order to do repairs on their typewriters while in port.  The above photograph shows my bather aboard ship repairing an adding machine. 

The particular day I remember my father had been aboard ship doing repairs while my sister Vickie and I had remained in the back seat of our car waiting for him to finish.  Vickie and I were drawing, writing in notebooks and talking as we waited.  When my father returned to the car and stowed his tools we started to return home.

We were on Little Creek road just outside the naval gate when a man heading in the opposice direction apparently fell asleep at the wheel he crossed the median and hit our car head on.  My father tried to dodge the car coming at him but it all happened too quickly.  My sister was writing something when the car struck us and the pencil she was using ended up jabbed into her knee.  I was thrown forward into the back of the seat in front of me and sll my front teeth, top and bottom, were knocked loose. 

My father slammed into the steering wheel and was knocked unconscious.  When my father woke up he checked my sister and me before he checked on the person in the car that had run into us.  The man in the other car was in bad shape. Somehow I mostly remember crying and being very afraid.

Bickie had to have the pencil removed and stitches put into her knee, I had to wear some thing they put in my mouth to keep my teeth from falling out and my gums were bruised.  Dad suffered seizures for years after that from the head trauma he received.

This was the first accident I was in ad for me it was a very traumatic experience. 

Hiking lessons

Yesterday I hiked in a state park with my oldest son and his family and two other families who are friends with my son.  There were eleven children age eleven and under plus six adults.  The trail we hiked surrounds the lake in the park.  Because we had so many small children we chose a path of only three hours walking and a little wider than the others there.  Our group ended up spread out over 1/4 or 1/2 mile apart, the two oldest children far ahead on the trail.  The oldest boy in the group hikes often with his family and though only eleven did not feel the need to stay too close to the main group.  My oldest granddaughter trusts this young boy completely, as though he was more knowledge than average.  Being of a little age I was unable to keep up with the lead group and fell somewhat behind with the younger group.
As the trail continued I noticed this young boy would stray off the trail into the sparse woods.  He would take a cut down a hill or such whenever the mood struck him.  Alabama has rattle snakes and water moccasins that come out this time of year so to go off the safe path actually, literally puts your life at risk.
The parents of the young boy were closest to that group of children and in my opinion should have requested they stick to the trail or at the very least warn the boy and my granddaughter of the possible dangers of being off the path but they did neither.  You must understand too that Alabama has a lot of poison Ivy and other types of plants similar in nature.
The boy and my granddaughter continued to hike off the trail in random places.  The thought entered my mind how my granddaughter had misplaced her trust and by doing so actually exposed herself to deadly danger in ignorance.  She happily followed her friend in blind faith because he acted confidently.  His confidence, however misplaced, gave her the courage to follow unfettered by concern.
Soon, the two children kept themselves far enough ahead that no adult could see them.  A shrill scream rang out and it nearly frightened me to death.  I was afraid the children had met with one of the aforementioned snakes.  The parents in the lead group, the boys parents, quickened their pace slightly to check out what it was about, not seeing the children they assumed all was well which, thankfully, it was.
Later in the hike I noticed they boy begin to take his metal walking stick and beat on trees hard enough to knock bark off and to expose the bright insides of the tree, not a healthy prospect for the trees.  Again the parents said nothing, no explanation of how he could hurt or damage the trees.  Eventually he had beaten enough trees hard enough that his metal stick bent into a hook shape.  As he stopped to beat more trees my group caught up with them and my granddaughter.  Again the older two ran ahead, this time the boy saw a small tree whose trunk was not very large and whose height may have been about eight feet.  He began to beat the small tree with his hooked stick, he encouraged my granddaughter to join in which she eventually did.  They cut down the little tree with their blows.  I rounded the corner just in time to see the tree fall, a sad sight to see.  The only response from the boys father was, "I guess I'll have to pay a ticket."  The boy received NO reprimand, not even a comment.
My son, his wife and the littlest children were perhaps 1/2 mile behind and never saw the behavior.  I was not near enough to stop it although I called out.  Again I found the experience aggravating.
My granddaughter placed her trust in someone who was unworthy of it.  He put her in harms way because of his false confidence then he grew bolder and hurt other of Gods creations.  He grew bolder in his actions with no respect for the Fathers' creations and not only destroyed one but encouraged my granddaughters help in doing so.  In his ignorance and in the name of fun the tree was destroyed.  The boys guiding light or his parents did not stop him.  My voice from far away was not heard.  In fact that final act was not even acknowledged by his parents as wrong. 
The moral I took from my day at the park was, stay true to the path of righteousness.  It is tempting to investigate areas not on the path but we need to stay true.  Don't encourage others to stray and whatever you do take responsibility for yourself and for those that may follow your example.  Only encourage good choices, spare pain, suffering and destruction to others as you can.  Live by the Law of God.  Yes, even a hike can teach you life lessons.

Field of flowers

After a couple of hours of hiking in the state park we came across this field of flowers.  The older girls picked bouquets of wild flowers.  My beautiful big girls.  I love to watch them run and laugh and pick flowers.  I love to watch them grow.  Of course before the day was over I received a huge bouquet of wildflowers from this very field.   

Teeny tiny bloom.

This tiny little flower was given to me yesterday when I met up with my oldest sons family for a day of hiking.  My granddaughters always pick flowers for me when I see them.  It makes them happy and it makes me feel special.  When we got to the park the first thing we did was have a picnic in a sort of muddy field next to the lake.  I guess because of all the recent rain and because the field was so muddy there were not many flowers, in fact the tiny little flower was the only kind growing in that area.  My dear pixie girl wanted to be sure I had my flowers however and she picked what she could find, this tiny little flower.  She brought it to me with all the love and pride as though it were a bouquet of rare stems. 

I love that she thought of me even in the evidence of so few flowers.  I had to photograph it because it would not last too long.  I love her for her precious gift.  I have the most wonderful grandchildren in the world, each and every one!

Christmas.

I was thinking about my childhood Christmases and how wonderful they were.  My parents were always the kind that made sure that we had amazing Christmases.  I have so many happy memories from Christmases past.
One of the yearly activities we did when we lived in Virginia was to go as a family to find a Christmas tree.  We bought our trees from the local tree lots.  We would all hop into the car and go as a family to search for the perfect tree that all of us agreed on.  Sometimes we would have to search a number of tree lots to get to the perfect tree.  Our favorite tree was the Blue Spruce, I can smell the fragrance of that wonderful tree as I type. 
After we purchased our tree and we headed back home where my mother would ALWAYS make us hot chocolate and serve Krispy Kreme donuts.  Dad would bring in the tree and spend the needed time to get it set up properly as we all watched the process.  We would be so happy watching and sipping our hot chocolate.  It was dads responsibility to put the lights on the tree.  Back when I was young it was the large HOT lights that were put on the tree.  Once the lights were on the tree it would be lit up and we would sing carols and just enjoy our family time.  When I was young mom decorated the tree while we slept.  She draped tinsel piece by piece on each of the tree limbs.  I loved the tinsel, it swayed in the breeze as you walked near the tree. 
I can remember laying at the base of the tree looking up through the branches at the lights and lightly blowing my breathe up into the tree to make the tinsel dance and shimmer.  It was certainly magical to me as a child.  Christmas has always meant family and I love it.

Let me sew that right up.

I grew up in a time when sewing clothes was a special skill.  Many people chose to make their own clothes for various reasons.  You could make your clothes fit your body properly for one.  I was extremely skinny and tall so making things fit me was an excellent reason.  I loved choosing my favorite colors and patterns in fabrics as well.  I have always loved bold colors and making my own clothes allowed me to put my favorite bold colors into current fashions and have them fit perfectly. 
When I first learned to sew my parents made a deal with me.  They told me that if I made all my own clothes they would buy me any amount of fabric I wished.  They had no limit as to how much I could buy  or spend as long as I was making the clothes.  We girls had a clothes budget we were given to purchase our clothes with, so this new deal was really amazing.  I could have as many clothes as I wished, what a deal for a teenage girl.  Needless to say I took them up on this offer for many years.  I was always dressed very well.
Even while I was in college the deal stood.  I took my sewing machine and basket with me to college and would call my parents to put extra money in my bank account for a fabric run.  I made everything I wore including my formal apparel. 
My older sister wished to have the same deal but couldn't sew a straight line to save her soul.  She wanted to have "tailored" clothes too so she asked me to sew for her.  I have to tell you that I did make some of her clothes but I charged her for the fabric and my work.  She never minded as I was an excellent seamstress and she loved having her clothes fit her so perfectly.
When I had my children, even the boys, I can tell you they wore a great many home sewn clothes.  I made their winter coats, jean jackets, skirts, dresses, shorts, pants, shirts, pajamas, even dolls, doll clothes and toys.  Later when our bills got tight I took up sewing for other people who liked to have tailored clothing.  I made fairly good money doing this but really didn't like sewing for others that weren't family, so as soon as the bill was paid off I quit and went back to sewing for my family. 
 

Drive in movies

This is two of my grands with Pop Pop and I at the drive in movie.  We went to watch "Home."  Both children sat in my lap the whole time in the front seat to watch the movie, eat popcorn and drink fruity drinks. 

Going to the drive in brings back very fun memories of my childhood.  My family frequently went to the drive in.  We loaded everyone into the station wagon and took off to watch the movie.  We almost always wore our pajamas, brought pillows and blankets.  You didn't listen to the movie over the radio as you do now, you had a metal speaker that was attached by a cord to a post.  You had to hang the speaker on the inside of your window. 

We girls would pile in the back of the station wagon which my father had backed up toward the movie screen.  We all four would lay down in the back with the pillows and watch the movie.  My parents brought lawn chairs and sat outside the car in front of us to watch the movie.  Since in my day we did not have seat belts in the car, if we happen to fall asleep in the back of the station wagon my parents just left us there until we got home and then dad would carry us to our beds. 

They used to sell these green swirled strips that sat on a little tiny pedestal in an aluminum tray.  You had to light the end of the strip and it would slowly burn and keep the mosquitoes away.  It did not smell very good and smoked a lot, but you did not get bitten. 

Occasionally we would go to a drive in that would have a play ground up front below the screen.  When we were lucky to go to that one we played on the swings and such while watching the movie.  Just like our movie experience of last week we would have popcorn, fruity drinks and very often chocolate.  Drive in movies are so classic and amazing.  I love going, I am not a fan of mosquitoes but now a days a little spray takes care of that.  Happy movie going!

Legos builds

 

Little man found all the old instructions for our Lego kits in a shoebox I had tucked away.  He got so excited when he saw all the instructions, he begged me to make the builds you see in the photo.  It took me ten hours to build all these.  No I am not slow, every piece had to be searched out one by one in a tote of tens of thousands of Legos.  He was so thrilled at the result, I was just plain tired of sitting in the floor searching for pieces.  While I love to play with Legos at my age I am pretty sure I am done for a couple of weeks.  I may have to hide the remaining instructions.   

I did WHAT!

My high school in Texas, J. Frank Dobie, had the most rules of any school I have ever attended.  No gum, no candy, boys had to have short hair and could never wear shorts, girls had to wear dresses to their knees no shorter, no longer, never shorts only dress slacks.  No PDA (public display of affection) no hand holding, kissing or putting your arm around anyone.
Dobie not only had many rules but some fairly stiff penalties.  There was before school or after school detention.  You had to report to the cafeteria for your detention.  You were required to bring work to do, you sat at a table alone, silently, without any unnecessary movement and did your work for an hour, with a teacher watching you as if they would eat you if you moved.  Now let me tell you how I know this:
Gary Brown and I had been dating for the entire school year.  He was part of the schools' track team and had to stay after school frequently for practices.  I occasionally stayed after school for my speech class, this was one of those days.  This day Gary met me at my locker AFTER SCHOOL to let me know he would see me a little later than usual as he had other school responsibilities.  I continued to grab my books from my locker as he spoke and as I responded.  After finishing gathering my things I reached up to close my locker and Gary leaned in and kissed my right CHEEK, of course I responded with a smile and a "twinkle."  I turned to walk away and I heard a teacher yell "STOP!" at Gary and I.  It was after school and neither Gary or I had this teacher for any class so we were both curious as to what she wanted.  She angrily took our arms; one of us on each side of her and stomped us down to the principals office then plopped us into the chairs outside his office.  We were still curious as to what had happened.  The teacher was in the office for only a few minutes when she exited and we were ushered in.
Upon entering the principal told us we had been seen kissing in the hallway.  I was confused at first and then taken back, there was no kissing, there was only a peck on my cheek.  He gave us each a chance to "tell our side of the story," which was exactly the same from both of us although we had to rehearse it to the principal separately, like we were criminals.  I was afterschool, I was at my locker, Gary kissed me on the CHEEK, my lips were NOT involved.  We were both excellent students who never got in trouble, it just wasn't who we were.
The principal reminded us that there was a "no kissing rule".  Well I told him it was after school, we were the only students in the hallway and Gary kissed ME on the CHEEK and I had nothing to do with it technically.  The principals response?  "It takes two to tango."  We were each given a WEEK of after school detention.  I was so mad.  The principal gave us our detention sheets to be signed by our parents.  This ought to be fun to explain. 
I was so upset, how was I going to explain this to my mother?  A weeks detention for a kiss on the cheek.  When I got home from school the principal had already called my house and told my mother that I had the weeks detention for "making out" on school property!
I WHAT?  I NEVER!
I explained what happened to my mother, she neither believe me or defended me to the school.  I was kind of crushed that she didn't defend my "honor."  I served my week as did Gary for a kiss on the cheek I didn't really participate in that was labeled "making out."  That was what became part of my permanent school record thanks to J. Frank Dobie High School.  Although Gary and I continued to date and, yes, even kiss, he NEVER came within an arms length of me at school again. 

Rules to dress by!

I started high school in Houston, Texas at J. Frank Dobie.  Dobie had some very strict dress codes.  For girls you were not allowed to wear pants unless you wore matching pant suits which meant the top and bottom came as a set and matched exactly in color and fabric.  If you chose to wear a dress, which they encouraged, it could be no longer or shorter than two inches above the crack at the back of your knee.  You must understand that in the 1970's the midi and maxi lengths were very popular.  The midi length came between the knee and ankle, the maxi came to the ankle.  Now you would think that a school so concerned with modesty would jump at the opportunity to have dresses mid calf or ankle length especially since it was a two story school with stairs, but the school thought these styles were extreme and therefore, although modest, were not acceptable.
For the boys, again remember in the 1970's fashionable hair length for boys was longer.  Dobie did not allow any facial hair of any degree and the hair on the boys head could not touch the collar, the ears or the eye brows.  The hair could not be too short either, again because it was "extreme."  Boys were to wear dress slacks and button down shirts to school.
I began my Junior year at Dobie and that was the year they relaxed the dress code.  The girls could now wear dress slacks and the boys could wear polo shirts.  That was it, the big change.  We were grateful however. 

Back Yard Explosion

My father went through a time when he really loved antique guns.  He bought this old flint lock rifle that took gun powder, wads, balls & etc to fire.  Dad kept it a while but did not fire it often.  Dad eventually decided to get rid of the gun and so he sold it.  He was left with old gun powder which he decided to dispose of.  His chosen method of disposal of old gun powder was to set fire to it.  He took his powder "horn" full of gun powder and poured a large circle in the sand in the back yard.

I was practicing cheerleading in the back yard at the time of this disposal.  I was a fair distance away from what he was doing but was aware and therefore watched as I continued to practice.  We had this dumb dog named Puddin', I have to tell you he was the dumbest most loveable dog in the world.  Puddin' was in his shade enjoying his laziness while I practiced and while dad made his powder circle.  As dad struck the match to light the gun powder the dog decided to become curious at that moment and took off running for the match my father had thrown down onto the powder.  My father had quickly retreated "just in case."  Even though the gunpowder was old and "dead" one must always use caution when working with a dangerous substance.

My dad saw that Puddin' was headed straight for the circle and jumped to the circle to fling the dog away just in time to save the dog.  The "dead" gunpowder had exploded with enormous force.  When the smoke and dust cleared I did not see my father who had just been standing there, I thought he had been blown to bits.  My mother threw open the back door to see what had happened because the explosion had tried to implode the back door.  It was then that we heard my father moaning behind the garbage cans in the back yard.  The force had blown him back about twelve feet behind the garbage cans.  As my mother and I reached him we realized he had been burned pretty badly on his chest and arms and he was very dazed.  We helped him to his feet and into the house for my mother to inspect his wounds.  We girls gathered outside the bathroom and could hear a river of ugly words rolling off my father's tongue, which was not normal.  My mother, it seems, was trying to rinse the soot and stuff off the wounds to see how badly my father was burned.  Mom finally gave up and off they went to the hospital in Nogales which was 30 miles away.  My father drove extremely fast and kept the windows rolled down and took turns sticking his arms out the window to "cool them off".

When my parents arrived at the Catholic hospital they took them right in.  The nuns there worked as nurses, as my father first got there the nuns wrapped his burns with medicine and gauze.  The pain was terrific and the medicine was supposed to help.  When the doctor finally came in to check his wounds a nun (nurse) came with him, the bandages needed to be removed so the doctor could examine him.  The nun began unwrapping the gauze without hesitation or compassion.  As she rolled up the gauze she was rolling up flesh as it tore from his arms, he cried out in pain but the nun was not distracted from her work.  Dad said it took everything in him not to deck that nun.  He said had she not been a nun or a woman he doesn't know if he could have controlled himself.  The doctor checked his wounds now freshly opened, applied more medication, gave him some pain medication, rewrapped his arms put a tee shirt over his chest, told him to keep it all lean as the worst problem he would face would be the possible infection then he sent him home.  

 

 

I have include a few photographs of my father during his recovery.  My father could not bend his arms or his fingers so my mother was my fathers arms for the duration of his recovery.  Can you see in the photo just how happy he was.  It was awful!  He carried scars the rest of his life.

The dog, dumb dog, that dad saved had a few head shaking days directly after the incident but recovered fully, as did my father.

Amado Arizona

This photo appeared in a magazine with this caption below:  "Arizona byways:  The Zilly family of Illinois admire an abandoned business in Amado (above).

This giant skull was across the street from the outlet of our small neighborhood.  it was a restaurant at the time we lived there and apparently burned down at some point after we moved away.  Even when we lived there and it was a working restaurant it was a draw to travelers.  This restaurant and the post office and gas station on our side of the street were the only businesses in our little "town" of Amado.  It was literally a wide spot in the road.  There were only two streets at the time we lived there, each two blocks long.  Santa Maria, which was the first street we lived on and De la Canoa on which my parents build a home and we moved to.  The two connecting streets made the neighborhood a small rectangle. 
Although it has been over 40 years since I lived there when I Googled it I noticed the neighborhood is just not that much bigger.

A hairy situation

This photo was taken in my eleventh grade year in Arizona where I graduated high school.  Two things are immediately apparent in this picture, one: I did not wear make-up and two: my hair was strawberry blonde.  This was way back in the 1970's, you know when girls wore their hair long and straight and did not wear make up unless it was literally painted flowers and such. 

I posted this photo because I believe it's the one closest in time to the story I am going to tell.  I was sitting in my chair today thinking that it was about time for a hair cut when I thought back to when I was in college and I had my hair cut.  My hair was much longer than in the photo, you can probably add at least another eight inches or so.  My hair grows fast and always has.  My mother loved my long hair but I never realized just how much until I cut it. 

While I was away at college I decided to cut my hair into a little short haircut similar to how I wear my hair now.  I also plucked those horrendous eyebrows and began to wear make up but that's a story for another day.  I knew my hair meant a lot to my mother so before the girl cut the bulk of my hair off I braided it into one long braid and put rubber bands at both ends and had the girl cut the braid off.  She handed me the long braid which measured well over a foot and a half long and she proceeded to cut and style my hair.  My hair was adorable!  I loved it.  With all the weight of that long hair gone it had so much body and looked so good, both she and I were thrilled with the result. 

I decided to mail my braid home to my mother, I was going to school in Utah and she was living in Arizona so it took a few days to arrive.  I knew exactly when it arrived home!  Now remember we did not have caller ID in the 70's so you had to answer the phone to know who was calling so I did.  My mother said, "Hello, Marlena?"  I said, "Yes, hi mom!"  and the phone was silent.  I began to say, "hello, hello"  repeatedly, there was no answer.  I asked if anyone was there, I could hear breathing but I could not hear anyone talking.  I knew it was my mother she had spoken, was something wrong.  In a panic I start to yell, "hello, mom, are you ok?"  Still silence.  Finally my father comes on the line as tells me that my mother received my hair in the mail today and that she was very upset that I had cut my hair.  If fact she had called me long distance to give me the silent treatment.  What?  My mother had called to NOT talk to me?  I nearly died.  My father was obviously not happy with my mother calling to NOT talk but I understood that she was really mad at me.  I apologized for cutting my hair, I heard no respond or acknowledgement so I just got off the phone, then it hit me, my mother had actually called to NOT talk.  I rolled in the floor with laughter as did my roommate.  I don't think my mother ever found it to be funny but she literally NEVER spoke of it.

Sisters

 

Thought I would just do a nostalgic photo of my sisters and I, the top photo is of all four of us girlies in 1963 (you do the math).  The back row left to right is:  Sharon, Vickie and me.  Kathy is sitting on Vickie's lap.

 

 

Here we all are on Mother's Day in 2014.  The back row left to right is Sharon and Vickie, the front row left to right is me and Kathy.  We haven't changed a bit!  Go on and do the math but don't mention what you find!

 

Zip Zip

This photo is from February of 2012.  Yes, this is before I died my hair so you may not recognize me here.  Rob and I were in Pigeon Forge, Tennessee at Wahoo Zip lines and it was so much fun.  They have the longest and the highest Zip lines in the area; I think in the south east if I am not mistaken.  There were six lines and they were really high up.  On the first line you just had to get the courage to go, nothing fancy there.  On the second line they encouraged you to let go with your hands, which both Rob and I did.  With each line we did something a little more daring, the last two lines were tandum and a race with two lines side by side.  The hardest part about the entire experience was the hike between towers.  That old right leg of mine just didn't want to keep up with the rest of me, not to mention the blood pressure on the steep hills but everyone moved at their own pace so it was not a problem and we had so much fun I would do it a million times and never grow tired of it.  Yes, you do have to wear helmets, gloves and harnesses, Rob just cheated for the photo.  

Weeping Willows

Living on Norview Avenue we had these wonderful Weeping Willow trees that were in the back of our yard at the edge of the lake.  The trunk of the tree was at the very edge of the water so the branches hung over and down to the water.  You could climb the trunk in the Spring and Summer and out over onto the larger branches.  There were plenty to choose from as the trees were quite large.  I love Weeping Willow trees as their sweeping branches hang down loosely and sway with the breezes.  The branches kind of whisper as they sway .  I often climbed those trees with my artist book and pencil and sat among the branches over the lake for hours just listening to the whispers and drawing in the silence it made.  Sometimes I would sing or hum or just watch the wildlife in the lake, it was a beautiful place to be.  The sweeping branches were so thick one could barely see someone sitting in the tree so it was like a hide-a-way; your own personal little escape.   

My first dollhouse.

For Christmas in 1959 my parents hand built my sister Vickie and I a doll house.  Every piece was hand cut and hand built.  My father took regular house shingles and cut them down to scale to fit the little doll house.  Dad used balsa wood to make the moldings on the windows, and anywhere else small wood was needed.  He even wired the house for electricity.  There were these little tiny lights that actually turned on that my parents found and installed.  It even had a doorbell that worked.  My mother searched high and low for contact paper that looked like bricks for the outside of the house and tiles for the kitchen and bathroom floors inside the house.  My father built the stairs that went to the second floor, the doors, windows and furniture.  They even found plastic to put into the windows.  My mother sewed curtains and hung them up.

The living room and bedrooms had carpet in them that my parents made from carpet remnants.  My mother made some of the original furniture coverings such as the bed spread.  My parents were quite creative.  In the above photo I am kneeling down to play inside the house.  In the photo to the right you can barely see my grandmother Hazel to the left in the background and my aunt Jeanette to the right in the background.  You see the front of the dollhouse to the right in foreground of the photo and Vickie sitting on the left and me on the right.  Who knows what we were looking at, I am sure another gift we were opening.

Bang, Bang!

My father was trying to sell his Nichol plated .45 gun.  He had spread the word that he was selling it among those men he worked with.  Quite a few were interested in the gun and each time someone wanted to look at the gun my father would drop the clip and remove the bullet from the chamber.  Dad always kept his guns loaded because of the risky job he had.  (My sisters and I knew never to touch my fathers' guns.)  He always had a gun with him and this one most frequently.  Each time dad put the clip and bullet back in the gun he put the same bullet in the chamber and would carefully lower and hammer down onto the bullet not thinking about the long term effect of doing so, which was unusual for my father.
My father was on a stake out at the Houston airport a few days after showing his gun so frequently.  He and his partner had been literally laying low in a car parked near where a drug deal was going down; almost like you see on television, he and his partner were waiting until the correct time to have the evidence they needed to prosecute before showing themselves.  They were slowly getting out of the car to make their way closer to the drug deal before reveling themselves when my father reached over and took his gun off the seat of the car and "slapped" it against his side as he always did to slide it into his belt.  Because he had chambered the same bullet multiple times the bullets' back end had become worn and thin so the jarring from him slapping it in his belt caused the fun to fire.  My father had accidently shot himself in the abdomen.  Needless to say the drug deal broke up immediately and dad's partner got him to the hospital as quickly as possible.  I have to state here that this is the story my dad told us, who know if it was actually true as far is how the gunshot wound happened.  All I know for sure is that he was shot by a .45 caliber gun.
My father's wound was large, a small hole in the front of his body but a large hole in the back.  The shirt he was wearing was full of blood even though my father had tried to rinse it out some at the hospital so my mother would not be as upset (really?).  He somehow managed to miss all his vital organs by a hair, thankfully!  When he walked in the door at home and my mother saw the bloodied shirt with a large hole in it, she fainted.  When she came too she was just plain mad!  My father made a quick if somewhat uncomfortable recovery.  After a while it was a funny family story, but it did take a LONG while before it became funny!

Buggers and revenge

My daughter and I spent part of the day together today, she brought her daughter, my granddaughter, who is 18 months old and I already had my grandson over who is four years old.  They normally get along very well.  My granddaughter does not talk a lot, not because she can't but like her mother before her, she doesn't have to.  She has a very expressive face and a very accommodating father and brother.  A simple grunt with a general point will send either male to do her bidding.  She never has to ask for anything when her servants, I mean, male family members, are about.  She is so stinking adorable it is so hard to resist her charms believe me!  She half raises that left eyebrow and you want to do whatever it is she needs done.  I cave in myself when no one is looking.  This works on most male family except today, it seemed not on the grandson that was at my house today.  He played with her and bugged her and chattered at her and they had good fun together.  She smiled and played right along.  He has had some allergies and so had some allergy medication that made him kind of... annoying.  He bugged her more than he ever has before and apparently she took note.
At lunch time I decided to run to a fast food and do take out, I was not dressed to be "seen" in public and I was too lazy to make a real lunch.  As I drove Steph and I were talking right along in the front seat as the two little ones were happily jabbering in the back.  All of a sudden I hear my grandson screaming like a mad man and my granddaughter laughing like a crazy woman.  I cannot imagine what in the world is going on.  My grandson yells, "She's got a bugger!"  I glance over my shoulder to see my granddaughter, who is 18 months, reaching as far as she could from her car seat towards my grandson in his car seat with a bugger on her pointer finger laughing like a crazy woman at the reaction she was getting from him.  He is completely freaking out and the more he screams and freaks out the harder she belly laughs.  I cannot help but laugh and neither can my daughter.  We are trying to tell my granddaughter to stop but we can't because the terror on my grandson's face and the delight in hers is keeping us in stitches.  We know we are both exhibiting bad parenting but cannot do a thing about it, we are too busy trying to control ourselves.  At this minute I cannot remember what she said to him but it basically boiled down to "take that" which only served to make it worse for Steph and I.  I have to give her props for creativity and revenge.  Not everything works when defending yourself against a boy twice your size but she had gotten him and she knew it, she knew he was trapped and she used every second she had.  She kept him at bay for a good while and I have to tell you he watched his p's and q's when it came to picking at her for the rest of the visit.  I think he found a new respect for what he thought was a "baby" that turned out to be a clever little minx.  I really love every crazy moment with my grandbabies.   You never know what in the world they will think of! 

A Texas sand storm

While camping in the Texas panhandle my family went sight seeing.  There are a lot of wonderful things to see and do in the Texas panhandle area so we found a beautiful campsite, set up camp and stayed a few days do and see those things. 
Most people think of Texas as flat and barren, Texas is both and neither.  It is such a huge state that you can pretty much find any type of landscape you wish somewhere within its' border, beaches, mountains, barren cliffs, flat barren land, etc.  Texas has sand storms in certain parts of the state.  Now, if you have never been in a sand storm you may think that would be pretty awesome and actually it kind of is; if you happen to be in a house!
In the particular sand storm we experienced on our camping trip to the panhandle, it really wasn't so awesome.  We had just returned to our campsite from a site seeing trip and had begun to disperse around our campsite when we saw the sand storm approaching.  We quickly tried to cover or put away what we could because we did not want to have everything covered in sand.  We hadn't gotten too far in our efforts when the sand hit, driven by very high winds.  First off, sand driven by high winds feels like you are being sand blasted, IT HURTS.  Your skin gets raw pretty fast, especially since we were wearing shorts and short sleeve shirts.  We tried to hold everything down.  Kathy, my youngest sister, was in the six man tent which was being held down by tent stakes every two to three feet around the perimeter.  The storm howled and raged, all of a sudden the tent stakes were being pulled up at the front of the tent and the tent was beginning to try to fly away and Kathy was still in it.  The rest of the family all jumped on the tent, all our weight did not stop the tent from trying to fly away, we just impeded its progress.  That was some wild ride, the winds flipped the tent and us around like we weighed nothing.  We held onto that tent for dear life because our little sister was inside.  We saw other tents go flying by and hoped no one was inside any of them. 
Finally, after what seemed to be hours but I am sure was a much more abbreviated length of time the storm sped past and things settled down.  We started to look around and were shocked at the amount of sand and dirt that had been deposited on everything in that short length of time.  Pretty much everything was unrecognizable, just lumps of sandy dirt.  We got Kathy out of the tent immediately and started to check things out.  Nothing was actually broken and most of our equipment was still there thanks to the couple of minutes warning we had but our faces, THEY were amazing. 
We all looked like mud monsters.  Our ears were packed with sand and dirt so tight we could barely hear, we had to dig the sand out of our ear canals!  Our eyes had little mud packs in the corners that had to be dug out.  Our hair was so dull and stood up at all angles because the sand had scrubbed into our hair and scalp.  Every crease in our body had sand in it, even those covered by clothes.  Our skin stung because it had been scoured.  We turned into mud puddles as we cleaned up camp and sweated.  Literally everything had to be swept or washed.  Sand storms drive sand in every tiny spot there is.

La, la, laaaa.

I was in the Junior High School Choir.  I sang first soprano.  At the time I had a very lovely voice.  We sang as a whole choir, in Quartets, in Duets and Solos.  We had several concerts and competitions during the year and were required to wear black skirts and shoes with white blouses.  My mother would roll my hair before each concert and cut "whispy" bangs.  Whispy bangs are a few hairs hanging on your forehead, not enough to cover it just enough to confuse you and every one else. 
Our choir was eligible to compete at the state level, so we packed up our choir and off we went.  We did very well though we did not win the overall competition we took several ribbons and medals home. 
That year in choir was a joyful one for me.  I love to sing and always have.  Being with the choir gave me more confidence in my singing abilities.  A small note here:  I sang well and sang many solos all the way into college then contracted the worst case of strep throat ever.  The strep lasted a full year and changed my voice.  I've sung horribly since then although it has never dampened my joy for singing. 

Swimming on Christmas Day

Having moved to Texas from Virginia we were not very acquainted with true warm winters.  While living in Portland, Texas we learned that you could swim in the Gulf of Mexico year round if you chose.  The water was warm and the air acceptably warm.

One year for Christmas we girls all got new bathing suits, they were the new "baby doll" style that was so popular at the time.  After opening all our gifts, having our family time, answering all the long distance phone calls and enjoying our traditional Christmas lunch our family decided to head to the beach, just for the experience of swimming on Christmas day.  I believe this was the one and only time in my life that I swam on Christmas day.

 

In the picture included you will see Vickie in the foreground, the group, left to right, is Kathy, Nanny Siler, Me and Sharon.  

Abnormal Childhood

While attending Gregory Portland Junior High School, my first Texas school, there was one final act against me that forced my parents to move from our home in Portland.  It was a typical day at school, attending my classes, talking to very few people as my parents encouraged because of my fathers' line of work.  That was pretty easy for me since I am a fairly shy person by nature.  It seemed just a normal day.
When it came time for lunch I went to the cafeteria with my class as usual, bought my lunch, paid for it, then sat down to eat it.  I took up my fork to begin to eat when the principal yelled from the entryway, "Put your utensils down", as he ran through the door.  An odd request but all of the students obeyed.  He continued to run into the room and up to my table (much to my embarrassment) and knocked my tray onto the floor scattering my food and utensils in all directions.  I know I looked at him like he had lost his mind because I truly thought he had.
The principal grabbed my arm and led me out of the cafeteria door with every eye following our every movement amid whispers.  Towards his office we went.  Once we reached the office area I saw my mother running through the front entrance of the school headed straight for us.  We all three went into his office together where my mother revealed to me the reason for the cafeteria scene.
Apparently my father's cover had been blown somehow and a person called our house telling my mom that I was headed to lunch right then and that he had had someone poison the food on my tray to "get the pigs kid."  My mother kept her wits enough to hang up and call the principal as an emergency who then acted immediately to stop me from eating a bit of my food, thankfully his timing ended up being perfect.  I was safe but I was not so sure about my mom and the principal at first.  They both looked like they might have a heart attack or throw up at any minute. 
As always my father was unreachable as he was still undercover, but my mom withdrew me from school at that moment, then we went around and withdrew my sisters from their respective schools.  After my mother collected all of us children we went home and packed essentials.  My mother made some important phone calls to try to contact my father.
The phone rang finally and still it was not my father, it was, however, his boss letting us know we were to go to Houston, Texas, check into a certain hotel and wait there for my dad, and so we did.  This would be how we made the move from Portland, Texas to Houston, Texas.  Just that fast under just those circumstances.  Just an idea of how crazy our lives really were. 

I Won!

The local newspaper in Corpus Christi ran a drawing contest, the winning entry would win a sewing machine and have their entry run in the newspaper for a week.  I drew a pencil drawing of an old west girl outside of an old west store and submitted it to the newspaper.  After the few weeks of the contests duration my drawing appeared in the newspaper as the winner.  I was so excited.  After a few days of my drawing appearing I received a letter in the mail stating where I needed to go to pick up my sewing machine.
Mom and I went together to pick up the machine as I did not drive yet.  I was so thrilled, I wanted to learn to sew and this was the means of my learning as my mother did not like me to use her machine.  I was  honored too for having won the prize in the first place.  When we presented the letter to the store where we were to pick up the sewing machine, the salesman pointed out the machine I was to receive and prepared it for me.  The salesman of course being a salesman tried to sell my mother extra stuff for the machine.  I would have been surprised if he had not after all that is his job. 
My mother got offended that he would even try to sell her anything and consequently got into an argument with the man over his sales tactics and ended up refusing the machine all together, the FREE machine; the one sitting on the counter ready and waiting for her to carry out to the car with no strings attached.  When she "righteously" refused it I was crushed, it was my prize and my mothers' temper had caused her to unreasonably refuse it because she had lost patience with a man trying to make a living.  Her angry pride wouldn't even allow her to accept what was already mine, she demanded I follow her out of the store without touching the machine.  It was a hard pill for me to swallow, but I had won the contest and my drawing did run in the newspaper for a week, it was the first time I had my art validated publically and I was proud of my accomplishment.

Independence Day

Our first fourth of July while living in Portland Texas, my father took us down to the beach to set off fireworks.  We had spent many New Year's eves and Independence days on Virginia Beach celebrating so my Dad wanted to keep that tradition on the beaches of the Gulf of Mexico.
Dad had gone to a local fireworks dealer and loaded up on various, dangerous fireworks, all fireworks are technically dangerous after all.  Fireworks are miniature bombs made with real gunpowder.  Of course the usual yearly warnings from the local fire departments were on the television asking people to be careful and giving the statistics for emergency room visits every year. 
Dad had bought fire crackers, sparklers, bottle rockets, and roman candles among other fun merry makers.  We did the sparklers first, they are mildly entertaining at best; when you are three or four it is very entertaining but the thrill leaves as you grow older.  Dad, next, set off the bottle rockets,  my opinion of bottle rockets are that they are horrifically boring, so with the complaints he sustained between my sisters and me he moved on to the roman candles.
Roman candles are clearly marked with precautions on the side of their packaging.  You are not to hold them in your hand; you are not to point them toward anybody or anything.  Beware, beware and beware.  Poor Dad, he was typical male, "What warnings?  Oh, they are for people who don't know what they are doing."  Alrighty then.  Dad is left handed and so he held the roman candle with his left hand pointing away from him and us and lit them with his right hand.  Once he lit the roman candles he would stretch out his arm and aim the projectiles out over the gulf.  This went well for the first couple of roman candles; it was that magic third candle that was his waterloo.  Dad lit the candle, held it out as he had done with the previous ones and the first ball shot out, the second shot out, oops, the third did not shoot out,  instead the roman candle with its' remaining four projectiles exploded in his hand.  It was loud and stung so bad that my father at first thought he had lost his hand.  Looking down he discovered he did not lose it but it had been badly burned.  It was black.  The hand quickly went numb with pain, he hollered and we packed up and ran for the car.  No one with my father had a drivers' license and my mother had stayed home with the younger children.  Dad had to do the driving to the emergency room.  He drove all right, fast and with his left hand hanging out of the window catching the salty, fresh gulf air.  My Dad, intelligent man that he was, had become a statistic.
It took a couple of weeks for the normal feeling to my fathers' hand but guess what, he never held fireworks in his hand again!  Every year when the newscast would warn people of the accident statistics of fireworks we would look at my father and laugh, he laughed along with us.  We could laugh because although his had was badly burned, it was still there and perfectly fine in the end.  He was a lucky man!

Bobby Howell

Bobby Howell was a neighborhood boy who lived a few houses down from us when I was about 13 or 14.  He had many brothers and sisters.  His father was a doctor doing his residency in Corpus Christi.  Bobby was handsome and nice.  I liked him and he liked me just a little in return.  Occasionally I would go to his house and sometimes he would come over to mine, our parents were excellent friends so we often spent time together as families.
Two things I remember most associated with Bobby Howell:  The first occurred while I was visiting at his house and his parents were at my house.  There were so many children older and younger running around his house that our parents never worried that any of us children could possibly get into any real trouble, which was true.  No one was interested in getting into trouble. That day Bobby asked if I were thirsty and I replied, "sure".  He quickly brought me a glass of coke.  As I drank it I thought it had a bit of an unusual after taste, but not wanting to be rude and trusting him implicitly I did not mention it to him and drank the full glass over time.  When the glass was emptied I began to feel a bit odd.  I finally had to mention something to him because I wanted him to walk me home since I felt so bad.  Turns out instead of being walked home Bobby confessed he had put rum in my coke and he did not want to get into trouble so he walked me to the back porch instead, installed me in a lounge chair, told my younger sisters they had to play outside on the porch with his little sisters and left me to fall asleep which I did almost immediately.  Bobby could never apologize enough over time though he tried constantly.  I do not think either set of parents ever knew but I never drank so much as water or anything else at his house or anyone else's house unless some parent was there.   
The second memory associated with Bobby concerns his love of fishing.  Texas, at the time we lived there, had many hurricanes and tropical storms come ashore in and around Corpus Christi.  Every time a storm would come ashore you would see men and boys on the piers and docks fishing like mad as the storms would bring the fish near the shores.  Bobby loved to fish so he was out with all the other fishermen.  He had been fishing all day long after a particular storm and in the evening a knock sounded at our front door.  It was Bobby with a new trash can beside him, pointing to the can then opening the lid, he said he knew how much my family loved fish so he brought us "farty" fish.  My mother said, "What?"  He repeated that he had brought us "farty" fish.  After a moment of silence it donned on my mother that this country boy had brought "40" fish and not the smelly "farty" fish he seemed to be announcing.  After a chuckle she replied, "thank you for your gift."
Bobby was a good kid with a great Texas accent; we were good friends for a very long time.  Our parents were friends for years.

You want Pizza with that?

When Rob and I first married I tried to cook all his southern dishes.  I grew up eating healthy.  My mother cooked healthy and when she did choose to fry anything I honestly did not eat it.  I was never one to enjoy fried anything.  I ate fruits, veggies and cheese more than anything in the world.  Mmmm.  Cold food always appeals to me.  Rob on the other hand grew up eating EVERYTHING fried.  Even his vegetables had bacon grease in them.  It didn't matter what it was.  I had never fried anything in my life.  I cooked a lot over the years but never fried anything. 
Rob wanted me to make steak and gravy with mashed potatoes and green beans so I did.  I pan fried the steak and then made the gravy according to his directions.  The mashed potatoes I made like I normally would except Rob's mom always put mayonnaise in hers so I had to add that in, now the green beans had to have bacon grease in them and they had to be boiled to death.  I worked so hard and had the meal ready and on the table on time.
Rob came home from work and sat down to the table as I brought the food in.  First the meat was so tough we couldn't even cut it, the gravy was like jelly, thinking about it now makes me actually gag.  The mashed potatoes were actually good except we had put the "jelly" gravy on them.  The rubber green beans were horrific as well.  I sat quietly not really knowing what to do about the meal.  Rob finally got the courage to invite me to throw the dinner out and go out for pizza.  I assure you I enthusiastically agreed to the bargain!  That the heavens for Pizza!

Exploding teeth and other things

When I was 14 or 15 and living in Houston Texas I had a weird and uncommon experience with my adult teeth.  The top front four teeth decided to burst out of my mouth.  When I say burst that is exactly what I mean.  It was summer, thank goodness, and I recall two of my front teeth hurting badly; all of a sudden I felt my mouth fill with blood and sharp bits of hard something.  I spit the stuff into my hand and to my horror I discovered I had a hand full of blood and tooth shards.  Shortly afterwards the two other front teeth did the same.  I could not believe it, how did this happen?  I was spitting and crying thinking that I was going to be a toothless teen.  My mother, of course, called the dentist and we immediately went in to his office.  Luckily I found out that I did indeed have another set of adult teeth moving quickly into place.  In fact the pressure of the new set (the third set) of teeth coming in is what caused the normal second set of teeth to burst.  The dentist actually had to pull broken shards of tooth from my gums before I went home.  It was not pleasant but the new teeth came in within a short time.  I was glad that it was summer so that I could spend the time in my bedroom as it was rather embarrassing to be a teenager with four missing front teeth.
Now for the "other thing."  Today, being 5? years old, I went to the dentist to have my teeth cleaned and complained of a tooth being a little touchy.  It doesn't really hurt but is touchy at times.  It's been a problem for about 5 years now.  About 15 years ago I cracked the tooth and had to have it filled then I got a cavity under that filling and had to have it re-drilled and refilled.  I changed dentist because the tooth was bothering me so they drilled it out and I was given a crown.  The tooth continued to bother me although I couldn't decide if it was that one or the one in front of it so for three years the dentist really did nothing so once again I changed dentists.  The new dentist decided I needed a root canal which was complicated because the roots go up into the sinus cavity and hook; that was two years ago.  The tooth is still touchy.  The little girl that was going to clean my teeth today looked at the x-ray that was in my chart from the endocrinologist from the root canal and she immediately said, "Oh! There's a baby tooth between that tooth and the one in front of it, look!"  Sure enough, there it was.  It is not in a place where it can just be pulled out either, it would require surgery if it has to come out.  I am thinking that once I know if it has to come out then I will determine how I will handle it.  How weird is my body?  Are there any other extra teeth lurking in my mouth?  Good grief!  

Lego Maniac

One of the most fun memories I have with my boys is LEGOS!  Both of my son's are members of the Lego maniac club along with me.  Well not literally but we sure did spend thousands of hours building with them.  We created so many different cities, vehicles and creatures you cannot possibly imagine.  Both of the boys sat and built with Legos well into their teens, in fact both built with them into their adulthood.  One, who shall remain nameless (WBH) still builds with them in the name of his son.  Bahahaha.  I still build with them with the same excuse.  It is wonderful to have that excuse!  I love being creative, both of my boys have that creative mind and so we have that in common.  At this point I still have all the Legos I bought both boys when they grew up.  I have two huge totes and one small one filled to the brim with Legos.  One is filled with collectable ones that are Warren's but the other is filled with bricks of all sorts and the instructions to the many different sets are still there although you would need a good long time to sort out the needed pieces to actually build anything according to any directions.  I think we build the sets according to the directions maybe once or twice and then let our imagination take over and never looked back.
Warren's son, Grey has inherited the Lego gene and is extremely coordinated in connecting the tiny bricks and can build as creatively as any teenager although he has not mastered the art of following directions, he isn't is school yet so you can see how that would be true.  He is the third generation of Lego maniac.  Viva la Legos!