It was a Daddy Daughter Dance. Unfortunately for my son, he had to work out of town. Fortunately for me, I was the second-string back up for Grace, who is 6 years old, and in first grade.
The school dance was for elementary girls, grades one through six, at our local university Grand Ballroom. My only concern was that it was from 6 to 9 PM. Having two left feet and the coordination of a one-legged giraffe, how in the world could I fake dancing that long?! In the end, it didn’t matter.
What did matter was that my granddaughter had a good time. She was dressed in a light blue dress covered with tulle. (For the ladies, aren’t you impressed I know what “tulle” is, and for us guys, it’s said “tool”, but not spelled that way, so it’s not a skirt covered in crescent wrenches like I thought.)
Continue reading A Graceful Dance
Walking my oldest daughter down her wedding aisle was excruciating!
Never mind the other 23,982 steps my Fitbit recorded that day. Most of the energy was used in the 25 to 30 steps walking down the aisle!
It’s a travesty, really.
I mean, who came up with the rule that the dad has to walk his bride-to-be daughter down the aisle anyway?
It’s not fair. It’s void of all decency of a civilized society! Continue reading The Longest Wedding Aisle, Ever
Someone posted our high school class picture from 40 years ago!
Forty. Years. Ago!
That’s how long Moses and the Israelites wandered in the wilderness!
A little over 300 of us, all in purple gowns, grabbed a diploma, walked across the stage, and waltzed into life.
When we graduated 40 years ago — Ronald Reagan was fresh on the job, the space shuttle had just made its maiden voyage, a new disease called AIDS would be announced two weeks after graduation, and two months after that, IBM would introduce something called a “personal computer”.
With the unbridled power of technology and social media, it’s been fun to “reconnect” with some I haven’t seen since graduation day.
Continue reading Forty Years Ago
She was out of place at the convenience store Subway. I saw her sit down at a tall bar stool table inside.
She wasn’t eating, but had a small Styrofoam cup of coffee that she wasn’t drinking.
Her silver blue hair was perfect, in every way, and she was wearing her Sunday best dress complete with a little pearl necklace and old fashioned black, block heel dress shoes.
She was tall and slender, and her glasses seemed to be part of her face, like they’d been there for years. Continue reading Déjà Vu
There is something beautiful about clocks, but they seem to move so fast.
It’s true time speeds up with age, or maybe, we just speed up busyness and slow down awareness. I don’t know.
An early childhood memory is sitting still watching a wall clock and realizing that if you stare straight, stare straight and concentrate, you can see the minute hand move each second in the tiniest of tiny movements.
Not intentionally, I sit now staring at a clock deep in thought. Slowly an awareness of time dawns. Continue reading Swinging Pendulum
Sometimes it’s impossible to see past today. Sometimes, not.
During a little boy’s one year birthday party at a gymnasium, his kind-hearted, gracious, 76 year great-grandmother was chasing the toddler as he carried a basketball. He would throw it; she would retrieve it, just so he could throw again.
After a few minutes, he tired of the game and toddled off to something else on the other end where all the activity was.
Alone on the end of the basketball court, she picked up the basketball again and I assumed was about to put away. Instead, she bounced it several times while walking in her black dress pants, blouse and square heel black dress shoes. On the third bounce, the ball hit her shoe and rolled along the court toward the basketball goal.
As she walked toward the ball, something seemed very familiar in the way she reached down to pick it up. Continue reading Black and White Color
Somewhere in the forest of the mind, echoing between growth rings of the trees, laughter is held captive.
Over time it dies, or at least settles in the hard wood, and many don’t really remember laughter at all. We remember moments, the freedom, the feeling, not the laugh itself.
Laughter bubbles up from fresh water wells that runs deep in the soul. It spills over, runs across the ground, even the stony parts of the heart. If there is enough joy, the water rises soaking even the high, arid places of the heart allowing lush green fields of Spring grass to once again grow.
In its sincerest form, laughter is kind and gentle. It happens when the heart is full, safe, secure.
It’s the kind of laughter children have when wrestling the family pet, and to their delight, the dog plays back. It’s baby laughter when they first become old enough to respond to silly faces that cause hysterical laughter. It’s a toddler’s uncontrollable belly laugh in a fullness and purity that we adults often crave to experience again. Continue reading Laughter in the Mind
It’s official! The old 96 GMC pickup has been driven solo by all eight of my kids!
My Dad would be proud! Or maybe, just maybe, the floors of heaven opened up for just a minute so he could see Jessica, the last of my Mohicans, drive the truck he bought new before he died. In that case, it’s safe to say he IS proud!
It’s a wonder the ole white beast truck has survived at all! Clocking in at just under 200,000 miles, it has seen better days, but it’s still a solid truck. It’s just good to have solid metal surrounding a teenage driver, ya know? Even with no radio, air conditioning, fan blower and a tailgate that won’t open without a pair of pliers, the old fellow just putts along. And besides, who needs air conditioning in Texas anyway??
Continue reading The Old White Truck