Wonderful Day, Wonderful Daughter

Gratitude Today

If the only prayer I ever say is thank you...

that is enough.

I am thankful for Dan...we ride side-by-side through life, lately from Houston to Austin.
I am thankful for Delana...who wants to live her dreams.
I am thankful for Claire...who has the sensibility to live and experience life, exactly as she wants it.

I am thankful for my parents...always a support phone call away.
I am thankful for Mark...my daily connection to family.
I am thankful for David...you inspire me.
I am thankful for Gina...my sister
I am thankful for Kay...my other sister.
I am thankful for Evie...the biscuit of love.
I am thankful for Dodgie...we've never experienced a boy with a truck, and it is so fun.

I am thankful for my PCs...can't wait until Las Vegas and L O V E.
I am thankful for my students...you give me life and love each day.

KIPP Academy MS 150 Training Ride #1: Sealy, Texas

(Writer’s Note: Twelve 8th graders are training for the annual MS 150, a charity bike ride from Houston to Austin. Several teachers including Ms. Williams and Mr. Acosta lead our team courageously. Our latest motto is “No Obstacles.” This is a recap of our first 10-mile training ride.)


Sometimes, life comes to an abrupt halt.

This time, it was a screeching halt on Kirkwood Street, just south of I-10. I was driving three eighth graders to their first MS 150 training ride. We have our gear ready to go—gently used helmets, water bottles, shorts, and nervous excitement.

Before today, we rode circles in the KIPP parking lot; but this was our first real bike ride. We are traveling to Sealy, Texas, for a 10-mile event. In my car, just like before a soccer game, we are getting pumped up. Jennifer is in charge of the music; she has the radio blaring for her two comrades in the back seat. Saida breaks off a piece of my chocolate brownie energy bar. “What exactly is in a Cliff bar?”

Bam. We hit a bump in the road. Bam.

The girls scream at the exact same time.

In one second, our day went from perfect...to near disaster.

Three precious bikes strapped to the back of my car...as sudden as a gust of wind...broke free from the bike rack and skidded down the Kirkwood Street asphalt.

I slam on the brakes, then quickly turn into the next parking lot. One girl gets on the cell phone and called our teammates in the caravan. We need help. Please come quick.

We park the car and run beside the busy street, watching a Good Samaritan pick up our mangled bikes, moving them to the sidewalk and away from traffic. We upright the bikes and try to roll them, yet the wheels won’t turn; the brakes are bent; and the handlebars are twisted backwards. I feel our spirit being crushed as we carry the bikes back to my car.

Moments later, Mr. Acosta arrives with his band of rambunctious boys, boys that are part of our team. They bounce out of the truck, surveying our disaster like Sherlock Holmes. We stand in a perfect circle and examining the broken, bent wheels before us. Can the bikes be fixed? Can we still ride?

A whizzing yellow blur goes by, interrupting our. We double take—there are ten Lance Armstrong’s, one-by-one, cycling into our parking lot. They wear bright yellow biking jerseys, all matching—we can tell by their look that they are serious bikers—they are a team riding, training together. Just like us, they stop in the parking lot of the Shell Station waiting for their team to catch up, waiting to cross I-10 together.

I signal our mismatched bandits. See those bikers? That’s us. That’s going to be what we look like when we ride to Austin.

I called to the bikers. We’re going to ride the MS 150! The bikers yell back: Good luck! You’ll do great. They line up in front of us to cross the street—sleek, beautiful bikes gleaming in the morning sun.

That’s us, I repeat, as I look down at the mangled heap we call bikes.

But can we ride today? Three broken bikes? Twelve broken spirits?

With quiet demeanor, I hear Mr. Acosta’s calm voice. I think I can get us up and running. It will take time, but I think I can.

Zoom ahead an hour, 35 miles down the highway to Seale, Texas. We arrive at our ride, one hour late. It was just us—our MS 150 team—ready to start our first training ride—alone. The race begun long ago; all the riders are long gone down the empty road.

One broken bike is fixed, but two are irreparable due to our accident. We are now down to 10 riders. Two teammates have to stay back to cheer us on—no bike for this ride. Off we go without two—our spirit returning with each circle of the pedal.

We start together in a long line, one rider behind the other, down our first country road.

I am at the back of the pack. It is my job to make sure every rider on our team is in front of me. Jamie holds back, as she is unsure of herself; rightly so, as this her first long bike ride. Cars whizzing past us do not bother her as much as turning a corner on the loose gravel pavement. We practice gently turning, so she her tires do not slide. Each corner brings a new chance to practice; each corner gets easier and easier.

Our teammates pull way ahead. When we look up the road, it is empty of bikes. It’s just the two of us riding quietly. We keep a slow, steady pace. We ride for an hour—a team of two—under a canopy of shady trees and through a sudden rain shower. Just the two of us riding, just the two of us talking.

We are come to a pasture that reminds me of the book I just finished reading: Out of the Dust. I tell Jamie about Oklahoma and the Dust Bowl. How the dust was as high as the roof of a house. From the pasture, we hear a distinct, loud moo.

What is that, Jamie asks?

Jamie, see that cow in the pasture? She just moo’d at us—she is telling us to pedal faster.

I could hear the smile in her voice...I have never heard a cow moo before.

The day was back to being perfect.

What does thinking look like?

Mind Map

New view of ABC's, 123's, and other shiznit

Most of us recite the alphabet in song. Sing please: a, b, c, d, e, f, g, h, i, j, k, l-m-n-o-p.

I never thought much pronouncing each letter until this summer. My experience teaching ESL has been rewarding in more ways to count--but the first reward is appreciating the nuances of pronunciation.

When you hear an individual letter--"d"--you see the pronunciation as D-E-E.

The alphabet goes on and on.

D-E-E
E-E-E
F-F-H
G-E-E
H-C-H
E-Y-E
J-A-A

Not to mention what is elementary simple to you and me--1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10.

But for me to recite numbers in Espanol--uno, dos, tres, cuatro, cinco, siete, ocho, nueve, diez--I have one problem. Unless I am using my fingers to remember my numbers, I forget six--seises--just like my Ana has trouble with eight and ten.

"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eighty, nine, eleven."

"No Ana, say it rapido--one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, EIGHT, nine, TEN."

She repeats over and over until she masters numbers without flaws.

We left the alphabet and numbers for clothing.

Pants, trousers, and blue jeans...raincoats, overalls, and sweat pants...boxers and briefs...bikinis and swim trunks....bras, panties, and thongs...

Only Jesus Maria had a little trouble with shirt.

Native Spanish speakers either roll their r's (making the English word sound like a Spanish word) or usually leave the "r" all together (for fear of rolling their r's, a no-no in English).

"What is this?"

"Camisa"

"Si, en Espanol. Camisa. En Ingles. SH-IR-T."

"Shit."

"No, no, no. Shirt."

"Shit."

"No, no, no. Mierde--en Espanol--is shit in English. Shirt is shirt... with an IRRR in the middle. This is a shirrrt, shirrrrt."

"Shit. Shit."

"No, shirrrrrrt. Shirrrrrrt."

"Shit."

I'll leave it with that. Shit.

Biscuit Love

I admit, I was the teary one at the airport yesterday.

Sending Biscuit home was tough--a great compliment to her parents. She is one saucy Biscuit--always with an opinion, making good decisions, soaking up every word her sisters say.

I should start a blog called "Out of the Mouth of the Biscuit."

While swimming, she said, "Aunt Laura, you can still pull off cleavage."

At dinner, the waiter asked if she was celebrating a birthday also. The Biscuit replied, "I am celebrating second birthday," gently giving her big sister the spotlight.

Sitting on my lap in the airport, she reflected on her two weeks in Houston. "I'm really going to miss my sisters. I have gotten attached to them this vacation."

21st Birthday

Last night, we celebrated at The Oceanaire, our new favorite restaurant!!! The lobster risotto was to die for...not to mention the salmon and lobster. Delana had a wonderful time--drinking a shot with her mommy and opening presents.

Ahhhh. The child is legal. Good-bye, Emily Cooper Edwards from Des Moines, Iowa. RIP.

Sisters

Sisters. They have a common language, a common voice, a common solidarity when it comes to arguing with the 'rents. The oldest leads, the second follows, the third--a shadow, always by their side.

Sisters. Beautiful love and devotion. Sharing clothes, figuring out problems, text messaging.

Sisters. What a wonderful vacation, watching them in action.

Meet Stockton and Miss Lilly!!

Pig in a Bag

Little Pig. Found, once again, hiding in a grocery sack...

Lilly and the Bug

Dear Stockton,

Happy 4th of July! I am having a great time watching the man of the house make bbq ribs. It's funny--all three kitties are in the kitchen watching him, too. I think everyone must be hungry this rainy holiday morning. There is a shortage of cat food at the hotel Za Za. SSShhh. Don't tell anyone I have been stealing little nips and bits throughout the day...

Yesterday, I had an encounter with a huge bug. I was outside in the backyard, near that huge bathtub. I started stalking a water bug. Now the lady of the hotel says that the bug is really a roach. But I figure we were near the water, so I'll call it a water bug. I think water bug is more PC than roach, anyway. (that comment is for your bro...I hope he is lol).

I was stalking the water bug and all of a sudden, it jumped at me. I jumped a mile high and ran..that bug scared me so bad. Then I realized that I am 5,000 times bigger than the bug...I guess I am just a scaredy cat...



I also checked out the bathtub at the hotel Za Za. You see, my favorite white plastic ball rolled into the water. I hesitated, but then stepped in. I had to retreive my ball! Suddenly, I walked to far and went under. Whew. I gulped down some water, but managed to find the step again. Alas, I was on firm ground yet all wet. It was fun! Now, each time when I go outside, I look at that step and am tempted to jump right in...Maybe you can go swimming with me when you're back home???

Speaking of home, you have been gone a long time. I am ready for you to come home. The lady at the hotel says she is going to give me a bath Saturday morning. I'll be smelling sweet when I get back to my Alabama house. I just can't wait!!! Hurry home. Hurry home!

Send everyone a hello and HAPPY 4th of JULY!

Miss Lilly

Next Summer...

I am going to be Delana...I am going to buy a backpack for me and for the man in a white shirt...We're going to send the youngest child to camp in Costa Rica.

Then we're going to meet up as a family...with our backpacks. Next July...

Panama? South America? It doesn't matter where, but I'm not traveling with a suitcase...And I'm going to happily blog along the way.

Lilly Versus the Felines

Dear Stockton,

I'm at it again...I'm-a-huntin'-a-cat! This morning, bright and early, me and the lady at the Hotel Za-Za are having coffee. Out of the shadows, comes my prey. She is big, she is fat, she is ready to be chased! One lunge toward her, and that white hair flew up on her back, a loud warning hissssssssss came out of her mouth...I stop in my tracks. I know I can't win this battle. Big Boots is too much competition. I am moving on to more intellectual prey. I have decided to have a "stare down" with Pickles. She is sitting in the kitchen, while the lady continues to drink her coffee. I am sitting here as still as I can be, our eyes locked. Only this cat, Pickles, is much smarter than the rest of the prey. She waits me out--she stares right back, daring me to cross the line of her territory...To tell you the truth, I think I'll stay on my own side of the line this morning. It's kind of scary looking at that cat...on to other news.

Last night's sleep was the best!!! I am so refreshed. I slept (once again) on that big, white, fluffy bed. Only this time, the bed had me, the lady, her man, and two cats!!! I was in heaven; I counted 16 legs, all in one bed! Stockton, you do the math on that one!!! The lady and the man were talking that they had reached a new level of "pet-bed-issues" as they really didn't have much room to sleep--there were too many animals on that big fluffy bed!!! I am in heaven, Stockton. Please talk to our mom and ask her if I can sleep on her bed with I get back home to Alabama!

Oh another thing, Stockton. I went on a long walk last night with the lady. I pretended I was an Iditarod sled dog, pulling and pulling. The lady was patient, but boy did I pull that sled down Plantation street! Then I became a fierce hunter...every bird I saw, I wanted to chase and capture! Finally, I became Miss Lillie the Show Dog. I pranced and pranced, showing off for each passing inferior breed! Overall, walks are good (or should I say "sledding" is good!)

Not much else to report. I'm going to sneak in and have a small nip of cat food! I hope your trip is going well.

Cheers,

Miss Lilly

Brother Memory #1--Breakfast with LaRue

Why? In keeping with my personal obligation to myself to remember my childhood (for me and my brothers)

Growing up, my brothers and I would frequently spent the night with Grandmommy and Granddaddy (aka LaRue and Ray). We would always sleep in the "green room," and when you closed the blinds it was pitch dark.

There were few toys--only a Space Ghost coloring book and colors underneath the oven. We spent most of our time riding Big Wheels on the black top driveway. That driveway was a huge circle driveway that had a curved, downhill turn that was primo for Big Wheelin'. We would get going real fast on the downhill, turn sharply to the right, then spin out near the CB Radio tower.

Mornings on Lancet Lane are filled with one sweet memory. We would wake up early, lounging in the tv room in our pj's. Granddaddy Ray already had his coffee--white and sugary. He had probably given us a "skin-snoo-ski" as we waited for breakfast to cook. In that room were two lazy boy chairs...all leather. Between the chairs was a round table that had a working crossword puzzle, today's newspaper, and a jelly bean jar. Across the room was a huge salt water aquarium. We would sit for hours watching the fish swim in and out of the coral.

Down the long marble hall, we hear Grandmommy call us for breakfast. The meal was always the same. She ladled the thick, hot, bubbly cream of wheat—then piled a heaping tablespoon of brown sugar—a big pat of butter—and finally—the best for last—the icing on the cake—she poured real cream from the refrigerator—slowly, slowly she poured. It was pure heaven.

Looking back with my motherly eyes and wisdom, I know that making cold Captain Crunch or buttered toast would have been the easier menu…

Pickles the Maine Coon

It all began one day in Rabin County, Georgia.

In the middle of the isolated woods, there was a lost Maine Coon cat looking for food and water. He is a beautiful, strong cat with darker markings of black and brown. Maine Coon cats favor raccoons, with strips on their face and tail. This cat was nosing around, trying to find a morsel of food.

Amongst the garbage and trash, there was a medium size pickle jar was laying down on it’s side. Being a curious cat, the Maine Coon stuck his head into the jar. Unfortunately, the jar was a little tight. The cat started backing up, twisting his head, trying to ungrip the hold on his head. It was of no avail. The jar was stuck.

If you were to come upon this cat in the woods, you would think he looks like a crazy astronaut cat—with a glass bubble on his head. Someone sees the cat and calls the Humane Society. They come out and try to catch him, but he runs away.

Two more weeks go by. No food, no water. Only a pickle jar helmet. The Humane Society arrives and try (once again) to catch the cat. He is hiding on top of a washer and drier. The Humane Society worker tries to corner him, but he jumps down. Crash. The glass breaks and the cat is free. The worker is still concerned, because the rim of the broken pickle jar is around his neck, sort of like a collar.

The Humane Society carefully catches the cat, remove the broken rim, and free him from a life in a pickle jar.

Today, people always ask about my cat’s funny name. I smile and say, “Do you have a minute? I have a great Pickle Jar Story.”

Delana with a sweetie pie!

Lilly the Bird Hunter

Dear Stockton,

Hello from Houston! How is your vacation? I hope you are having fun. Make sure you are being extra nice to your big brother.

My vacation is going great. You would not believe the cats at this hotel. One is named Pickles. One time, I crept around the corner and scared the livin' day lights out of him! His fur puffed up like a porcupine! Then he tried to jump from one counter top to the other, but fell half way. He plopped down on the floor and ran off. It was so funny.

Then there is Pig, this weird orange cat that goes inside and outside without a leash? I can't believe they let that cat out the door? Where does she go? Anyway, Pig is not very friendly. She puts her nose in the air and starts to hisssss when I walk into the room. Lately, Pig has been hiding. I think she is on top of the washing machine, but I can't see that far up. I am too short.

There is another cat named Boots. If you will excuse my description...but she is just hu-mon-gous. She is the fattest cat I have ever seen. I don't mean a little fat--her stomach hangs down to the ground when she walks. It is disgusting, if I do say so. I can't believe a cat would let herself go like that? She needs to go to the cat spa and get a make-over! Anyway, I have see this huge, fat specimen of a cat only once...I think she took one look at me and hid. I bet she hasn't eaten (which might be a good thing). Maybe she is on the Lilly-Diet!!

The backyard at my vacation home is quite swanky. There is a huge water bowl full of water. Each time I go outside, I walk up and look in the water. I keep hoping to see a fish. I kind of want to go swimming, but I thought I would wait for you and see if you wanted to go with me! Just let me know.

In the backyard, I found the most awesome thing--a dead bird! I am not sure how long the bird has been dead, quite a while, I think. But I picked up that bird and pranced around the yard pretending I was the "Great Lilly Hunter" who had killed a bird. It felt AWESOME!

Something else I do is really a secret. I sneak upstairs and steal beanie babies from this basket. I bring them downstairs and hopes that no one notices. They are like my little babies...so far, I have four beanie babies downstairs (but shhhhhh, don't tell the lady at the hotel...) shhhhhh. It's a secret.

One final though about my great vacation. I get to sleep in this great big white fluffy bed. This bed is so huge, I can't jump up on it--but the nice people I am staying with lift me up. (You know that trick I do? Where I cry and cry and cry until I get what I want? Well, it works with these people too!) Anyway, this bed is most soft. I stretch out nice and long and sleep all through the night. Last night, Pickles and I had a sleep-over. Pickles drew a line down the center of the bed and then claimed one side; I got the other. But I didn't mind. That bed is much better than my old crate. I hope I get to sleep in the bed when I get back to my house...

Stockton, it is time for me to go eat some cat food. I am having a great time on vacation, but I really miss you and Marshall.

Love from Miss Lilly

Best Phone Call

There are many phases a parent longs to hear, but this one took me by surprise--"I'm coming home early, Mom."

I'll admit, I have spent a fortune on my skype credit just calling Africa. I just want to hear my daughter's voice--hear that she is safe and clean and fed. She has only the basic necessities (if that), but she still has a smile (most of the time). If I understand her situation correctly, she now appreciates the basic--bare basics--of life.


The sound of the water coming through the faucet when you first hear it spray...
The sound of a fan whirling in a room...
The sound of mom's voice on the other end of the phone...

"Oh Mom, I am so glad to hear your voice. Your call means the world to me." I have heard it over and over this summer. "Keep calling me, Mom. I need to hear your voice." No problem. Skype call on the way!

I just thought I would tell the world how happy I am that my daughter is coming home early from Africa.

Peace down the road.

Happiness Manifesto

1. Get physical. Exercise for half an hour three times a week.

2. Count your blessings. At the end of each day, reflect on at least five things you're grateful for.

3. Talk time. Have an hour-long uninterrupted conversation with your partner or closest friend each week.

4. Plant something. Even if it’s a window box or potted plant. Keep it alive!

5. Cut your TV viewing by half.

6. Smile at and/or say hello to a stranger. At least once each day.

7. Phone a friend. Make contact with at least one friend or relation you have not been in contact for a while and arrange to meet up.

7. Have a good laugh at least once a day.

8. Every day make sure you give yourself a treat. Take time to really enjoy this.

9. Daily kindness. Do an extra good turn for someone each day.

Argentina

Best Prayer

Be at peace. Do not look forward in fear to the changes of life; rather look to them with full hope, as they arise. God, whose very own you are, will deliver you from out of them. He has kept you hitherto, and He will lead you safely through all things, and when you cannot stand it, God will buy you in His arms. Do not fear what may happen tomorrow; the same everlasting father who cares for you today will take care of you then and everyday. He will either shield you from suffering, or will give you unfailing strength to bear it. Be at Peace and put aside all anxious thoughts and imaginations.

--St. Fancis de Sales
1567-1622