Finding Me

Facebook is a clever tool. I've been finding college friends, teachers, old co-workers and others. Each time I see their pictures, the memories flood back to me. It's like looking through a time capsule of each person I've known. Sometimes the person they are today is exactly as I expected, sometimes it's a total shock.

This one person that I found falls into the category of shock for me. In college, she was the life of the party, had a fantastic sense of humor and had that intangible something extra special that some call "it." Not that she still doesn't have these qualities...I'm sure she does. She has just taken a 180 degree turn in the direction of her life. Again, not bad, just very different.

Somehow, she saw something in me as a music student that she was able to mold. I was 12 years old when I first met her. I was in awe of her, wishing I could be exactly like her. She was talented, great with people, funny and admired by countless other music students. And, I was her student. I didn't have much confidence in myself then and she helped me to discover that I was good at something. I felt that we were the antithesis of each other.

When I competed for musical awards, everyone of stature knew I was her student. When they heard me play, I remember to this day the way they looked at me. The next thing I knew, I was a 12 year old sitting in a college level class for music. With each achievement, my confidence grew. It formed my identity. When I wasn't supposed to hear, I would overhear judges and other teachers whisper, There goes her student.

Those experiences are a huge part of who I am today, even though I'm not a practicing musician any longer. Those childhood experiences with music helped me have the courage to audition at Juilliard in New York, play for operas, musicals, symphonies, marching and pop bands. I had a wondrous and complete education in music, life and myself.

Juilliard's late, great Saul Goodman with his crank tympani invention that I actually auditioned on that fateful day of March 3, 1980. Incidentally, Gene Krupa was his student.

I have been wanting to thank this person for many years. I was unable to locate a mailing address or email address until I saw her on Facebook. I finally thanked her. It may not seem like a big deal to some people, but she is clearly owed a thank you from me and perhaps more. And, I gave it.

One teacher I had signed my yearbook with these sage words:

I hope you got something out of your musical education besides the music itself.

I did.

More Musings Later-

Matza, Challah, Black and Whites and Noodle Pudding

The title above references a hodge-podge of Jewish cuisine. Had someone rattled off that menu to me years ago, this Southern Texas girl wouldn't have known what to make of it.

However, I have a Jewish spouse who regularly laments about the lack of "Jew Food" in Nashville, TN. In the land of Fried foods, starchy vegetables ladeled with a multitude of gravies and cornbread o'plenty, my poor spouse often recounts the days when her father would visit the hometown deli and order tongue sandwiches, Challah, sour pickles and other Boarhead meats always placed on rye bread.

Here? How about chicken fried chicken on a lilly white piece of bread with Hellman's mayo? don't forget the cream gravy!

One of the few times I saw my partner swoon over food is when I brought her to "Noshville Deli." She ordered tongue sandwich, knish, sour pickles and a cream soda. Then, for dessert; Black and white cookies. I think I even saw a tear in her eye.

NOW: I totally get it liking the food you were raised on. And, I like alot of Jewish food. Matza is pretty good with tuna fish or chicken salad, y'all. Sour pickles are good with sandwiches, Challah and Black and Whites are really tasty as well. But let's get real: NOODLE PUDDING?

Noodle Pudding is the following: Noodles which are boiled in water, drained, put into a baking dish and combined with beaten eggs. No salt...no pepper, no cheese, no gravy....nothing. Then you bake it until the noodles on top are crunchy. My partner eats this like it is the most delicious thing she ever tasted. I've tried it, it tastes like crunchy noodles without salt or pepper.

I like unusual food, but to me, some Jewish food is only good if you had a little southern trinity. The southern trinity: Cheese, onions, cream and bacon fat.

To each his own, and if you ask me; Give me Chicken Fried Steak, mashed potatoes and gravy, mac and cheese, okra with buscuits slathered in butter, honey and iced tea. It will always be my "Jew food."

Shalom and Bless your heart,

More Musings Later-

You can take the girl out of Texas, but the Texas memories still linger...

It's true...funny, but when I lived in Texas (for entirely too long) I felt every inch the misfit. In Texas, the earth, moon and sun revolves around one thing and one thing only; High School Football. I kid you not. Sort of like College football in Tennessee. I'm still scratching my head over that one.

Are you getting a feel for why poor Janis Joplin didn't quite fit in Port Arthur, Texas in the 50s and 60s? She was decades ahead of her time, bless her heart. I never met her, as she was already a star and living in San Francisco by the time I was old enough to meet her. It seems strange though, to have gone to the same college she did (Lamar University) and hear some of the stories about her. Believe me, they were very unkind. In fact, I remember one of my professors in the Music Bldg told some of the most hurtful stories about her and relished the telling and retelling of his sordid tale. I let him know that I didn't care for his "story." He simply grinned and gave his eyebrows a shrug. He was a very handsome man with a slew of college girls swooning at his every move. I found his reliance on his looks to be sophomoric and extremely troubling behavior for a 30ish year old professor. I guess I felt a kinship with Janis and didn't even really know why at the time.

Nonetheless, Texas wasn't an easy place to live amid the rednecks, refinery workers and cowboys. But, I do have fond memories of the local landmarks such as Lubys Cafeteria, Port Neches Park, Jefferson City Mall, The Sea Wall, Nearby Sabine Pass, Satin's Restaurant (demolished by Katrina) and Gulfway Drive ("The Drag" for teenagers to drive up and down on the weekends). And, those crazy friends we had courtesy of parties, CB Radio and more.

One of my fondest memories is when a large group of us would pile into a couple of cars (where we communicated with each car by CB) and drive to Port Neches on a Saturday night around 11:30pm to "Sara Jane Road." The road was known to the locals and no one else. If a tourist came through this area, then they were lost.

The following is a brief synopsis of "The Legend of Sarah Jane Road":

A young mother driving a horse-drawn carriage down the roadway at midnight, many years ago.She had her baby daughter, named Sarah Jane, in a basket beside her. Heavy fog had descended and when she crossed the middle of the bridge the horse spooked and the carriage overturned — throwing the baby into the water. Sara Jane was never found. The tale goes on to say on Halloween night when it’s dark and foggy you can hear the mother calling, “Sara Jane, Sara Jane”, looking for her baby.

Of course, the guys would be extremely quiet as we creeped along the bridge listening for the haunted voice where one guy in the other car would hide in the woods and do his best creepy moan for Sarah Jane. It scared the crap out of us, which always erupted in screams and laughter. Little did I know that one day, they would even have a My Space page dedicated to this legend! See for yourself.

http://www.myspace.com/sarajanesbaby

The Legend of Swamp Witch
In Acadian tradition, and on their usual visit to the swamplands, they stumble upon the fabled Swamp Witch. No one had actually seen the Swamp Witch before, she was not only insane, but she was violent as well. No one dared to cross her path for fear of what would happen.

We also visited "Swampwitch" where she lived near the Louisiana border of Texas. Again, we traipsed to this location trying to see her. The driver of our car whispered to us to be quiet as he was going outside the car to investigate. All of the sudden, he grabbed a figure that had a billowy robe on in the night sky and threw her on the hood of the car pretending to fight. Relief, laughter and plenty of beer was consumed during our rides to these outlandish places. We knew they were legends, but it was fun just the same.

The Beach
Years ago when I was in high school; I was friends with a few young men that were gay. Of course, I was clueless about myself, but I did enjoy my friends! Flying down the freeway until we heard that wonderful, unmistakable ebb and tide of the ocean. It was beautiful...the moonlight danced on the top of the ocean like diamonds sparkling in the sun. As we sat in the car listening to the ocean, one friend turns to me and says, "Let's skinny dip!" I am horrified and shout back, "Are you crazy? NO!" He turns back to me and says, "C'mon! we'll have a story to tell our grandchildren!"

Although I knew the only grandchildren he would be having would be poodles, I reconsidered. We ran toward the ocean, stripping clothing as we went. My 2 best friends and me.

Running into the ocean was exhilarating and exciting. It was a rebirth of sorts. One where I felt so comfortable being ME. Doing something daring and spur of the moment.

It was the moment that I was really...living. That's what it's all about, isn't it?

When the Crap Rains Down, It's Nice to Know there's a Roof over your Head...

• 
  

• Lately, I've had the feeling that crap has been raining down on me with the force of a Texas thunderstorm. And, if you've ever visited Texas during a thunderstorm, it can be summed up in 1 phrase, courtesy of Moby, a DJ of Houston's yesteryear: "It's raining just like a cow peeing on a flat rock."
• So, you get the gist of my comparison. Why did I feel this way? Lord, let me count the ways:

Crappy Economy which directly affects my and my partner's income

• Income problems leads to arguing with mate


• Lack of income requires us to sell everything that isn't nailed down.


• Insurance is running out in December for us...we are the Pre-existing poster children



• Insurance is expensive...which full circles back to lack of income


• See arguing with mate


• More health crap - more pills, more steroids, more blood tests.


• Paying notes to hospital already for Dec 08 hospitalization, should be paid off in 2 years.


• Lack of income making it difficult


• There's that full circle shit again.


• Steroids are causing severe depression...cry at the drop of a hat, very grumpy.


• Apathy sets in which is a scary place to be.


• Then placed on more medication...gotten to where I don't much care about money or lack of it anymore.



• Slowly climbing my way out of Apathyville


• Starting to feel like me again, although still feel sick.


• I begin to set personal goals for myself. First time in a long time. Apathy is losing it's grip.


• I got news that my sister is CANCER FREE. I cry with joy.


• Feeling crappy has made me more emotional. That's not all bad.


• I realize that contrary to my popular belief, I'm NOT all that easy to live with . Particularly when I'm on steroids.


• Come to find out, I suddenly realize my partner has been and is being patient with me. In her own, gruff, adorable way.

I don't know what tomorrow will bring, but I realize how lucky I am that I have a roof over my head right now. I'm grateful to have objectivity about myself. It stings sometimes, but other times it's healing. I'm looking forward to having Earl Grey Tea when it becomes cold at night.


Goodbye, Apathy.

More Musings Later-

"Daddy" is Retiring

No, Charles Gibson is not my daddy. After watching him for years on GMA and now the ABC Evening News, I have always wished he was.

Why? The answer for me is easy. My own father was noticeably absent from my life growing up and so when I see doting fathers, I sometimes feel a twinge of longing. I remember one time when I was watching GMA and Diane Sawyer and Charlie (he was Charlie in the morning and Charles in the evening...go figure) were outside Times Square with the crowd. Diane asked the cameraman to get a long shot of Charley and his daughter in the crowd. It seems that she had just gotten her first important network gig and the smile and warm embrace from her Daddy spoke volumes.

Another time, Charley was at the news desk giving facts and figures regarding the Afghanistan war, Vladimir Putin's views of the latest U.N. Treaty, and Congress's continual battles on the hill. He paused and glanced down at his notes and considered his news tone by stating:

"On the local front, I am proud to announce that my daughter has given birth to our first grandchild. Or, I should say, grandson. And, that's the news at this hour." He never broke the news tone or demeanor, but once he delivered the news, the cameraman put the camera on Charlie instead of Diane and Robin. He caught an uncharacteristically ecstatic Charlie Gibson grinning from ear to ear as they showed a picture of his grandson from just hours ago.

That was it...I dubbed him 'My Daddy'. When the nightly news appears on my screen each evening, my friends, partner and I exclaim with excitement, "Daddeeeeeeee!"

You also have to love a guy that professed his love for Julia Child on national television. Together they laughed, giggled and traded barbs as Julia cooked her French specialties on morning television. And as usual, they both would yodel the familiar "Soup de Jour!" upon completion. He wasn't afraid of acting silly...it seemed natural and fun.

And now Daddy is retiring. You'll never guess why. His daughter moved to Seattle and of course has that grandson with her. You can't separate Daddy from his beloved daughter and grandchild now can you?

I'll miss you, Daddy.

More Musings Later-

The People You Meet when You Pay Attention

Yesterday afternoon I hung up after speaking with a Social Security rep who informed me that the paperwork that I hand delivered to my local SSA office was missing. I was livid. Because it was the end of my world? No, I realize that it is just that: a minor inconvenience, however it doesn't quite feel like it when I tell my stiff, painful joints and unsteady gait that I must make another painful trip downtown. I take a deep breath and tell myself to stop being such a pansy-ass about it and get over it. For God's sake, so many others have it so much worse than I, who am I to bitch and complain?

The Nectar of the Gods

The next morning I wake up and am painfully aware that I didn't sleep well the night before. I grump and begin shuffling to the fridge with swollen feet the size of Bozo shoes to fetch my YooHoo-esque protein drink that helps the immune system stay strong and a Diet Coke to swallow all my flippin' medication for the day. As I grunt and groan and move about like an arthritic 75 year old, I flop in my chair and begin swallowing protein drink, pills and Diet Coke. Once those 2 cans are empty, I wait as if a lightening bolt is going to strike me with the power and agility of a gymnast. It doesn't but at least I know I have the meds down my throat, now off to the Social Security Office to hand deliver a form for the second time.

I hobble into the local office, touch a screen and rip a number from the machine and sit down. I casually survey the scads of people sitting around me. I find that even though there are plenty of younger people here along with the elderly, everyone's eyes are transfixed on nothing. Some look as though they haven't had a meal in a few days, some are lost in thought that tells me that the memory or situation is painful. People are talking in low tones and shushing their children. I look over at the Social Security Reps and see the protective hardness in their eyes as they explain for the one millionth time to their customers that they didn't receive the form or don't qualify for benefits.

I notice a woman sitting next to me who has her head resting on her cane and finally looks up to see who is staring at her. Her temper is short and physical pain is tender to the touch. When the SSA Rep announces the next number over the loudspeaker, the continuing conversations among those waiting and the impatience of children fill the room with audible life. The woman frowns and furrows her brow and shouts a bit too loudly; I can't hear the number! What was the number they called? The crowd's conversations were evacuated and ushered out immediately for a more appropriate time to be determined by a more friendly stranger.

The cross woman was oblivious to her rudeness and continued to stand, walk, sit and change position in order to find a more comfortable position. Her number was called and I watched her hobble to the window. Her irritation was apparent and the SSA rep's defenses were held firmly in place as a shield for protection against customers such as these. After her business was complete, she shuffled her feet toward the door and eased herself into the car for the trip home.

I shook my head and told myself, I hope I never get like that. But, at the same time, I remember when my grandmother would be in such pain from her ailments and became uncharacteristically irritated and even at times, angry without provocation. At the time, I remember watching store clerks become visibly upset or taken aback at her behavior not knowing why she was behaving as harshly as she was. My thoughts brought me back to present day and I watched the woman pull away from SSA in her car and saw her face rumpled in pain.

Pain can be an ugly creature to contend with and to watch others suffer from.

Somehow, I came to meet and know my grandmother in a totally different way by observing that woman. So, I guess if you pay attention, you can understand others a bit better.

By the way, 'that woman' was me.

More Musings Later-

J.R. Simpson

I don't think I've ever written about my grandfather before, which is odd to me. I do believe he is the only man in my life that hasn't disappointed or hurt me. And, that is really saying something.

My grandfather was never known as my "grandfather." That's far too formal a title for him. He was simply known as "Papaw" to the grandkids. I know I have idealized and perfect memories of him, but that is what grandchildren do if the relationship is a good one. Ours wasn't good...it was incredible, much to my good fortune.

In a nutshell, I believe it is from him that I get my 'no-nonsense' attitude, outspoken and fiery temper from. He was every man's man and every woman's protector without smothering the hell out of them in the process. If I step into my grandmother's shoes, I know his temper was difficult to deal with. But, I never saw that side of him except for 3 times. But, that is for other stories in the future.

His memory sometimes wraps around my brain and reminds me of the extraordinary childhood and partial teenage hood I shared with him. He was a sublime storyteller, fisherman, Mr Fix it whether dealing with his hands or his heart and a superb grandparent. Not to slight my grandmother...she was as well. This corporate sounding grandfather gave me many memories including some very tall tales that I sometimes didn't figure out until days, months or even years later.

For example: He was a close friend of Harry Houdini. Did you know that? He had a way of telling a story that made me believe this until long after he passed away. I'm sure he was delighted to see my realization years later!

He was a Renaissance man that never ceased to amaze me. He created inventions but never patented them. He made these tools to ease his work, not necessarily to become a rich man.

The memories I remember to this day are many, but a few that I will share with you are:

First and foremost, he was a fisherman. He often caught Bass, Catfish, Brim and Perch. He cleaned the fish as skillfully as any surgeon performed surgery. He was poetry in motion.

He was a sailor in the Navy. It was during those times at port when he and some of his Naval buddies got a tattoo. Who knew that years later, a granddaughter would gaze at his left arm with the elaborate staff and snake tattoo for hours and wonder about his adventures on the sea.

He always wanted to travel to the Amazon and then to Australia.

The Amazon River

He used a brush with shaving soap a big mug for shaving, and wore Old Spice aftershave.

He knew how badly I hated school as a kid and would sometimes pick me up during the middle of day and take me to Jefferson City, an outdoor strip mall in Port Arthur, Texas where we ate at Luby's Cafeteria and browse records at the record store. Sometimes we went to the hardware store. It didn't matter to me, I wasn't in school and we never told my mother. He always delivered me a few blocks from home so I could walk home at the same time I did every day. No suspicion and he would drive on to my house and act as if he hadn't seen me all day. My mother didn't find this out until I was well into my 30's.

He was a fabulous dancer and particularly Cajun dancing. His partner of choice was my older sister. They danced, kicked their legs, did the Cajun holler (Ahhhh-Yeeeeeee!) and glided across the floor as if they were dancing on glass. I could watch them for hours.

He was a heavy smoker which required him to switch to pipe smoking via order from his doctors. His uniform after the Navy became tan, short sleeved shirts (regardless of weather) with a chest pocket that held his hard case glasses. He also wore before it was popular, denim painter's pants. Why? there was a pocket for everything.

He rarely bought anything for himself, but he bought a beautiful table that had a picture of a parrot under the glass made with butterfly wings. There was also a small lamp that went with it and it stood in his living room for as long as I can remember. I remember looking at that table and thinking it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. He also bought a porcupine quill box and kept his pictures of his travels in there. It even included photos from the Philippines as well as pictures from the war. He never told us why, but he instructed us to never open that box. One look from J.R. and you did exactly as he said. He noticed me one day admiring the table and told me that it was mine when he and my grandmother passed. I was thrilled.

My Treasured "Butterfly Table"

And so, to avoid the family squabbling, years before my grandmother's death, she gave me the prized table and I was elated. Is it worth much? In dollars and cents, I have no idea. In memories and enjoyment? It's priceless.

The day neither began nor ended unless Fishing preceded both.

Sometimes when I pass by a lake...if I squint really hard, I can see him casting his line.

More Musings Later-