We've always had cats

When my daughter Alannah was little girl we volunteered at the Wildlife Prairie Center. She found this little Lynx kitten after a release. She really wanted it. She honestly believed the baby had been abandoned. She wanted to take care of it. Of course, we returned it to the Wildlife Center to be re-released into the wild. 

Afterwards, I did end up getting her a kitten with stripes like the Lynx. She named it Tiggie. She was already declawed. The only things we had to do was to take it to the vet, get its shots and eventually, get it fixed. She loved that little thing. Several years passed. She got out of the house and was hit by a vehicle. Alannah was heartbroken.

We waited a little while. We got her another kitten. I specifically looked for already declawed, striped, adoptable, young cats. It took me a little while; but, I found one. It had a siblings. It was bonded to a little black litter mate. I remember we went to play with them.

We knew we wanted the striped one. There was an assortment of various colored kittens. The striped one was very attached to this one little black kitten. My daughters knew. They held on to it. 

When it was time to go, Alannah picked up the little striped kitten. I told Arleenah to pick out a second kitten. She looked at me. She looked at Alannah. They both looked at me and said "you mean we're not taking them all?" 

It was just the most sincere and innocent question. I nearly said yes. There weren't that many kittens; but I said no. They picked the black kitten and named it Angel - originally. Angel liked to pick on Tiggie, in a playful but annoying way. Angel had a name change. Our second cat was dubbed Nemesis, as in "Tiggie's Nemesis". My children have a sense of humor. 

We've always had cats in our lives except that time I was in the hospital for an extended stay. Recently, within the last several years we started adopting cats again. This time my youngest daughter Alyssah wanted to adopt FIV senior cats. She wanted to make a difference. 

She wanted a cat nobody else wanted. She wanted to give it a home. She wanted to make sure it knew it was loved for the short time it had to live. My children have always had such big hearts. I'll always be so very proud of them.

I suppose I'm fortunate

I'm the oldest of five. However, I suppose more like the oldest two. There's an eight year gap between my brother and I and our three sisters. The nice thing about having that large age gap is that we really didn't have any arguments. We really didn't have anything in common. 

I remember my mom telling me the story about her and her sisters. My mom is the oldest of three. They also have an adopted sister. This made her the oldest of four. They're close in age.

She told me after she went to college she got her haircut. She was never allowed to cut her hair. She always had long waist length hair. My grandfather absolutely forbade her to cut her hair; but, when she went to college, she cut it short in this cute little bob. But, before she did, she braided it, tied a bow just at where she wanted it cut, and had the stylist cut it well above the length that she wanted. 

She reattached the the hair neatly with that cute and clever bow every time she visited home. It still appeared as if she had long hair. This worked out for her for a really long time until this one visit. My Aunt Tabbie found out my mom cut her hair. At dinner my mom was setting the table. My Aunt got behind her and pulled her neatly, braided pony tail off. My grandfather was Furious.

My mom said she and my aunt didn't talk for a really long time after. She and her sisters are fairly close in age. I can't imagine having that kind of an argument for that duration of time with my siblings. I suppose fortunate that way.

Accepting someone for who they are is priceless

I remember the first time my dad took me fishing. My grandmother was not pleased. I was the only girl on the entire trip. I was in grade school. My brother was really young. I'm fairly certain we were five and three.

We just moved to Illinois. I hadn't yet started school. It was our first trip. My mom allowed it because we had been living in Indiana. That's where my dad's family is from. We moved to Illinois because of her job. 

It was kind of Dad's thing to take my brother and I fishing during breaks and in the summers. One of the things that he really enjoyed doing was inviting his new friends from his new job in Illinois as an accountant. I know this just killed my dad. Accounting was not his first love. But he did love numbers and he was really good at it. He made a lot of really good friends at that job. But I'm on a tangent. 

First trip. My brother was there. My cousin was there. A bunch of kids were there. None of us had really been fishing before. My dad and the other dads were showing us how to bait our hooks. I remember everyone being very eager to just grab a worm or grab a cricket and put it on the line to start fishing. Until of course, they tried it. That was just not fun for a lot of the guys. 

Me? I was a tomboy and I was invincible and fearless for the longest time. It didn't bother me to bait my own hook. It didn't bother me to fish. It didn't bother me to fish in the rain. I liked fishing in the rain. It was the best time to catch fish because they all came to the surface just as the rain stopped. It didn't bother me to reel in my own fish, take them off my line, put them on the stringer, rebait my hook, and reset my line. 

People thought I was weird. Even that didn't bother me at the time. My Dad encouraged me. He taught me how to fish, shoot, camp, whittle. I fit in, away from the rest of the world. 

I suppose what stuck with me after all these years is hearing that I wasn't normal from other adults I respected and that unshakable wave of emotions that went along with it. I remember overhearing I wasn't a real girl. Real girls don't behave the way I did. It was hurtful. I can forgive the person. I can forget the precise wording. I can't seem to shake the feeling and that look of disappointment and disapproval. Its been decades.

It always made me proud when my children pushed their boundaries. It's not that I didn't. It's that I hurt inside when I did. My children have a strength I never had. I smile when my granddaughter asks for toy cars or my grandson wants a doll or a princess crown. I love that they aren't forced into gender roles. Gender roles are damage over time. They'll eat away at your sense of self worth and your self confidence. Oftentimes in irrecoverable ways. 

My Dad and I didn't always see eye to eye. However, when I was a child, he always encouraged me to be myself. He always gave me the freedom to try. He told me it was alright as long as I liked doing it. It didn't matter what anyone else thought. He punctuated his point with several videos and photos of himself in costume when he was younger. My Dad was a dancer. 

After all this time, I've finally stopped looking for your approval. There are somethings you should never chase. You'll never receive it. When I learned to believe in myself for who I am, I realized I don't need to change for people to like me or for someone to love me. I just have to let people in.

I knew - That made all the difference in the world

I must have been around 10 years old the first time I wore real adult makeup without anybody's help, out of the house. My mom asked me about it, not because she noticed. She saw it in my purse or rather, my brother ratted me out. 

It wasn't really much. I had on very light foundation, a little bit of powder and a little bit of lip gloss. I'm fairly certain that was all. That wasn't the point. The point was, it made me feel significant. I rarely felt noteworthy.

That day was special. I don't even really remember why. I just know that for some reason, I had to be dressed up. Wearing just that little bit of makeup made me feel put together. Even though you really couldn't tell I was wearing any. I knew I was wearing it. That was the important thing. 

I think the point of anything we do isn't that anyone knows that we're doing it, wearing it or have it. It's that we know. That's all it takes to make a real difference. 

If you feel beautiful, you are beautiful

I was like every other teenager. When given advice, I rolled my eyes hard. My Auntie Rose and Uncle Tito were kind enough to give me a job every summer. I worked in their office in the billing department. My Aunt liked to give me advice. 

One of the things that she always liked to say was, if you feel beautiful, you are beautiful. It always made me laugh because I never felt beautiful. People always told me I was pretty, but I never felt pretty. Not ever. Not once. Nowadays, I'm over 50, and I realize I have that unique look that some people find attractive. 

When I was younger, anytime someone told me I was pretty, or beautiful, or cute. I always assumed they were being sarcastic. My aunt told me not to be so skeptical. She told me that I needed to feel beautiful before I could accept compliments. I tried. She used to take me to mall. She loved shopping. That was her thing. We would try on makeup and perfume. Get our nails done. I'm not really sure why she liked to dote on me so much. She had children of her own. I was her husband's brother's child who happened to work in her office. She seemed to enjoy my company. 

It's taken me really, really long time, several decades, in fact, to understand what she meant by, you have to feel beautiful to look beautiful. I think what you really meant to say was, you have to care about yourself before you can understand why others see you the way they do. Or before you can see through the eyes of other people, before you can see what others see. That I can get on board with, that I understand. 

So, here I am early in the morning doing my nails in my attempt to feel just a little more beautiful than I did yesterday. Thanks Auntie Rose.

It's easy to fear what you don't understand

When I was small, I remember my cousins had a fondness for scary movies. One night, after a scary movie marathon, we heard noises. It sounded like someone walking around above us in the attic. We were terrified. The adults thought it was just a lot of over-active imaginations at work after watching one too many scream fests on television. They remained unconvinced until my Uncle heard it. My Uncle thought it might be a squirrel or possum. They called a friend who deals with such things. He went into the attic and brought down a pregnant raccoon. It looked sad. We cried. It was just cold. We didn't want anyone to hurt it. It was cute and fluffy. Luckily the guy was of the catch and release type of trapper. He brought it all the way out to the lake and let it go. The point to my tale is everyone was afraid of the noises that sounded like footsteps made by something or someone unknown. Life is like this. You fear what you don't understand. Bring it into the light. It isn't frightening if you comprehend what's going on. In our case, we were afraid for it not of it.

If you truly listen

Our Grandmother valued the arts. She loved music that you couldn't find anywhere but could play on the piano. My cousin Odie used to play for her. A lot of the time there was no sheet music. Odie taught most of us how to play the piano. I'm going to have to say he did it so he wouldn't be the only one who could play for our Grandmother. While he did teach us how to play the good old fashioned traditional way. He also taught most of us how to play by ear. As I mentioned previously, a lot of the songs had no sheet music. We learned to listen. At the time, I thought he was teaching us how to play the piano. I never realized he imparted an even more valuable skill, just being able to listen and hear what you can't see. I've found it particularly useful when learning new things, in my different careers, and in life in general. You can't always see it. However, if you take the time to listen, you'll always hear it. He always told me of all the arts, he loved music the most. It was because your eyes and other senses can lie to you but if you truly listen, you'll hear it. He didn't necessarily mean with your ears. He wasn't wrong when he said, "if you're really listening, you can never be lied to". I believe many people really listen. They just elect to lie to themselves.

He once told me, "real songs have no sheet music just like life has no script." I think I finally understand. I just wish he was still around for me to tell him.

Sometimes newer isn't better

My brother Jay, my cousin Rovin, and me stayed with our Auntie a lot when we were young. I have a lot of memories. I almost didn't know where to begin. I thought a good place is an early memory of an old popcorn popper. We used to watch a lot of late night or early morning television. Our Auntie would pop popcorn for us. I remember just sitting there watching it pop. The house always smelled of buttered popcorn. It's a happy place for me. Back then, there were cartoons or children's programs early every morning. My brother, cousin, and me would always watch. One year there was a wedding. I don't recall whose wedding. However, I do recall there was a menu choice, fish or steak. I chose fish. My brother and cousin chose steak. Most of the people who chose steak got food poisoning. My cousin got sick but has an iron stomach. My brother ended up in the hospital. My cousin and me got up at six in the morning every morning to call my brother so we could watch his favorite cartoon on the phone together. It was Starblazers. I looked it up somewhat recently. Someone remade it. In all honesty, it's probably better than the original with regard to graphics, storyline, and characters. However, there's a part of me that really wants to be that child watching that particular cartoon, eating buttered popcorn on our Auntie's living room floor. 

Sometimes newer isn't really better. It's shinier. It's prettier. It's cleaner. However, if the heart of the child who lives within me doesn't feel the need to rise at six in the morning so I can excitedly share a moment with my brother and cousin over buttered popcorn, then it's not better.

Early memories

I remember both my Mom and my Auntie were nursing students. At some point they took different paths. My Auntie started working for an insurance company. I remember her boss had a private box at the horse races he allowed our family to use. My Mom started working in the lab at Saint Mary of the Woods. I remember her friends but not their names which is rare for me. Most of them were Nuns. One was a published author. She wrote a book where the main characters were my brother and me. It was an underwater story. I'm certain my Mom still has it somewhere. One baked me a birthday cake in the shape of a lamb. The fur was coconut. It had chocolate chip eyes. I had multiple birthday parties. I was really spoiled. I do recall none of the children, including myself wanting to cut into the little lamb cake. My Mom and Auntie took it into the kitchen and basically disassembled it; so, we would eat it. It was German chocolate. I only remember because we liked the nuts, cream, chocolate and coconut. I can't imagine it being anything else. One had this Golden Retriever/Labrador that had puppies. My first dog was the runt of that litter. Yes. I chose the runt of the litter. He was a good dog. He was my first love. He was the source of my first heartbreak when we lost him. 

The lady that gave me the puppy said she'd do her best to keep him healthy. However, he was the runt of the litter. That meant he's the smallest and may not be the healthiest. She told me most people don't want the runt of the litter because they're small and sickly. It made me sad. My brother was small and sickly when he was young. We wanted that puppy. I've never told anyone why we always chose the runt of the litter.

The holiday sibling photograph and other traditions

Every year for as long as I can remember, my parents took an annual sibling photograph. This ordinarily occurred at Thanksgiving or Christmas. At first, it was just my brother and me. Eventually, there were three of us. Today, I'm the oldest of five children. It's never been an issue. Whoever is present for the sibling photograph must be in the sibling photograph. Last year, my brother had a miniature breakdown. He didn't want to take our sibling photo because we were only three of five. It was 2022. Our Dad passed away in 2012. Two of our sisters moved to Washington shortly afterward. It was my turn to have a mini breakdown. I reminded my brother just how long it had been - just the three of us. He reluctantly took the photograph. We used to see oneanother nearly every weekend. Now, I have a nephew I've never met. Our Dad was the glue that kept our traditions alive. I never want to lose our traditions. It's like losing the last remaining pieces we have left of our Dad. 

Random thoughts of a different time

When I was young, our extended family would caravan across the United States during the summer. My Dad always marked the route on a map for us to revisit later. We always wanted to stop at every Stuckey's we saw along the way. Pit stops are fun for children. Back then, there was no seat belt law. Everyone just piled in where they fit. My Dad drove a station wagon. I always sat in the very back. I've been to forty nine of fifty states. I'm only missing Alaska. I hope to see the northern lights one day. 

A frequent stop for us was Niagara Falls. One of my most vivid memories is running beneath the falls with my brother and Dad. I remember Bedrock (Flintstones theme Park) in South Dakota. We have some cool photographs. Every time I have chocolate, I remember Hershey Pennsylvania. We've been to all the major tourist attractions. I remember my brother and I having strong "no" feelings about that elevator in the Empire State Building. Dad bribed us as usual. Funny thing, we didn't like elevators but would run stairs and didn't have a problem with heights. If it was a theme park, we've been there. If it was unusual, we've definitely been there. When we visited the painted desert and Grand Canyon, we heard about and visited this really cool underground cave with ufo cave paintings. 

I have strong memories of visiting relatives in California. I remember walking along the boardwalk. I have this vivid recollection of my Dad laughing maniacally because we drove down Lombard Street in a van. There was a sign that clearly said, "no vans". We mentioned it as we passed it. He said, "Oh well. Too late now." Sometimes, I still dream of the beach. Our family stayed at Venice Beach often. I can still smell the air sometimes. 

I remember the Parthenon in Nashville. I remember Beagle Street in Memphis. I remember Louisiana. I remember the World's Fair in Tennessee. Some of my favorite locations (off the top of my head) are still the Mirage in Vegas, Colorado in general, Universal Studios, and Cape Canaveral. I could keep going; but, we'd be here a long time. We still travel, just not as far or for as long. I can honestly say I miss it. It's nice to just get away.

Strawberries

There was an elderly couple that lived across the street from my parent's first home. They noticed my brother and me playing in the yard. They invited us to pick strawberries. When we visited their home, they had no backyard as you'd think of a backyard. Their entire backyard was one big strawberry patch. They were kind. They invited us to pick berries every season. My Mom made strawberry smoothies and ice cream. It's one of my earliest happy memories of my hometown. I suppose it's why I crave berry smoothies when I feel sad. It's my connection to a happier time.

Priorities

I was talking to a friend about security challenge questions. One of them was, "best friend in first grade". She said, "what the heck! How am I supposed to remember that? Do you remember yours?" I chuckled and told her to pick a name she liked and would remember, an imaginary friend. It's safer that way. Thankfully, she laughed it off. If I'm being honest, I do remember.

I didn't attend kindergarten. I tested out and skipped it.

First grade: Dawn

Second grade: I was out ill most of the year but probably Pete

Third grade: Francis

Fourth and Fifth grade: Michelle 

Sixth grade: Jane

Seventh grade: Rebecca 

Eighth grade: Sean

Ninth Grade: Glenda

Tenth Grade: Tammy

Eleventh grade: Todd

Twelth grade: Matt

In college I had a very small circle of friends. My best friend through college, if you don't include my brother was Alf.

First Job out of college was college professor. My best friend was an intern who's still one of my best friends today: Chris.

Next career change, The Franklin but hired by AIG. Best friend at work was Mikki.

Next career change, The Federal Reserve Bank. Best friend at work... Okay, you got me. It's very strongly Jeff. However, it could be Marge, Joe, John,... This was my home.

Next career change, I'm not certain how to label it so bear with me. Best friend, I'm going to say Jodi. I have a lot of friends. However, Jodi and I talk extensively about non work related things.

Best friend as an adult: if you don't take into account my family members of which there are many, I can name several but don't want to leave anyone out. If I had to name one or a few, I'd go with Stacey, Franky, and Chris.

It's not that you can't remember. It's that you unconsciously prioritize what you remember. That's why if you ask me the day and date, it might take me a minute.

Oh and if you require someone to hate on about those obnoxious security questions, I used to help write those. 

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It's never too late

I was married once. It didn't end well. However, we've always maintained friendly terms with his family. I still think fondly of them. One of the things I remember well is talking with his father. He once told me he was proud of me for graduating high school with honors. I was college bound. I didn't think anything about it at the time. Later, he explained he never graduated high school. He told me he and his wife eloped in a different state when she became pregnant. She lost the child; but, he stayed. I found that admirable. He worked until he was old enough to join the military. He served overseas. They were stationed in Germany. Upon returning, he had tradeskills that allowed him to become a lineman for the telephone company. He worked his way up from there. Along the line, they had their only living child, their son. He was pensive. A while later, he informed me he was attending night school for his high school diploma. After all those years, he really wanted his diploma. He did it. He graduated. It was my turn to say I was proud of him. It's never too late to attain the things you really want in life.

Gato

When we were young, we used to live with our grandmother. I remember my cousin Jojo asking all the little children if we wanted to meet his pet. He told us he had a kitten. That was a silly question. Of course, we wanted to meet his kitten. It was small and black with blue eyes and fluffy fur. We asked him what he named it. He said, "Gato". My cousin Gene snort-laughed but covered it with a coughing fit. Apparently no one noticed except me. I raised an eyebrow at him.

Later, I asked Gene if he laughed because Jojo named his baby kitty, "cat". Gene raised his eyebrow at me and asked who taught me Spanish. I shrugged my shoulders. I said, "I don't speak Spanish". Gene nodded then explained that Gato meant Cat in Spanish. Yes, he did find it funny. He said Jojo was so weird. He could've at least come up with a more creative name. I thought about it for a moment then replied, like Noire, Salem, or Midnight? Gene laughed. He said, let me guess. You don't speak French? I replied, like fries? He said, no like the language but that answers my question. 

He asked me why I chose Noire. I said it's because of the color of the kitty. He said right, in French. I just stared at him. He said, "okay then". Then he explained Noire meant black in French. I nodded my head. He guessed I picked Salem because of a certain television cat and Midnight because it's dark outside like the kitty's fur. I responded he was half right. Salem and Midnight were both black television cats. 

Over several weeks, all the little children grew fond of playing with Gato. I was always examining that poor little kitten closely. My cousin Odie noticed and asked me why. I explained the kitty's eye color, size, beans, ear shape, and fur texture keep changing. I told him, I didn't think it was the same kitty. It was an innocent observation. I was by nature very curious. Odie, Gene, and Lando went out to investigate. Apparently, the garage where we kept the boat was filled with cats and kittens as was a barn in the field behind my Grandmother's home. They were all named "Gato" because he couldn't tell them apart.

The interesting thing was they were all black cats except for a basically black siamese cat. It was shy and didn't come near people often. Out of the blue, it started hanging out with the other cats and people. It made its home in the garage. It became a family favorite friend. Then it disappeared. My Dad and Uncles looked for it. They found it beneath the boat cover. My Dad speculated that it knew it was dying and not having long to live, it no longer wanted to be alone. I suppose people are a lot like cats in this way.

The Lettermen

Five letter girls said, "we love you" Baby, Dell, Vangie, Boots, and Rocel too. And the three Lettermen who we love and adore, they always give us back our love and more!

This is a song my Auntie and cousins made up and sang while they got ready for Lettermen concerts. I remember they recorded and sent it before a concert in Evansville. I may have saved a copy of this recording. I enjoyed being the little tag-a-long. 

I was just a child. However, I loved hotel amenities. This is likely where my children get this characteristic. I also, loved music and concerts. I have an old lockbox someplace. One of my most prized possessions is a card that appears to be handmade. I was having brunch with my Auntie before a concert. One of the band members, Tony hand delivered my birthday card really early. It was my birthmonth but my birthday was at the end of it. 

What made it memorable was that I didn't even think they noticed I was there. For a member of their band to hand deliver a birthday card to a small child is something I can't put into words. It goes beyond being kind. For me, it embodies what it means to truly be seen as someone special. That's why I keep the card.

Writing on Frosted Glass

When I think of my cousin Gene, I'm filled with memories. However, the first thing that comes to mind is writing on a frosted glass window in the winter. The window in question was at our Grandmother's home. It had an enclosed terrace where she kept hanging plants year-round. In the winter, the windows would frost over. As children we'd draw and write on them. I vividly recall my cousin Gene writing the word Generosa. I was very young. He asked me if I could read it. I said "yes" and read it to him. He asked me if I knew who that was and I shook my head no. He smiled. He picked me up. He said "it's me!" When you're a child, there's a big difference between Gene and Generosa. Of course, I laughed and didn't believe him.

The cousins were easily grouped by age. Gene and Odie were older cousins. Joey and I were younger cousins. Essentially the older cousins looked after the younger ones. I remember one year Joey was being bullied at school, badly. Our Auntie used to keep a little sword shaped letter opener on her desk. One day, Gene took it to scare the bully. It worked a little too well. He showed up at the house with his dad demanding to see the parent or guardian of "the boy that pulled a knife on his son". Our Auntie was furious at first. She yelled for Gene. We weren't going to let him go out there alone. He was smiling and didn't care. The bully's father was pointing his finger and yelling at him. Gene very quietly replied in detail that he only wanted to scare him because of what he'd been doing to Joey - and he listed the infractions. The red faced man said it was no reason to pull a knife on his son. Gene smiled and replied, "you mean this?" and produced the letter opener. The bully started screaming "that's it! That's the knife!" not realizing it wasn't a knife at all. My Auntie grabbed it by the blade and said "how many times have I told you not to take my things without asking?" She apologized to the bully and his dad with a shrug and said "it's just a letter opener." The bully's dad dragged him away by his collar. We all went back inside. Gene got in trouble but not for the reasons you'd think. Our Auntie was proud of him for taking care of Joey. 

Gene was proactive. He got a black belt in karate. He taught pretty much everyone self defense. He always told us it was never good to start a fight. However, if you found yourself in a situation, it was better to know how to fight than to be on the losing end of a battle. I've never forgotten those words.

Gene had a difficult time growing up. He'll hate me for saying it. However, one might say, "he ran away to the marine corps." I remember how angry his parents were at the time. I remember my Dad telling my Uncle Navaro, "we really have no room to talk." My Uncle knew this but every parent wants their children to have things better than they did. I remember Gene's first call home. He called my Auntie's house. My cousins and I are menaces. I answered. I heard, "collect call from Generosa DeGala will you accept the charges?" Of course me being me, yelled "hey! Do we know a Generosa DeGala?" My cousins being my cousins, all went with variations of "hmm Generosa Generosa can't place it". Our Auntie screamed, "don't hang up! Accept the charges! It's Gene!" Except for that whole tour in Lebanon thing... the Marine Corps was good for him. He stayed with our Auntie after he got out. He took a job surveying roads. We loved it when he'd bring home random things from roadside stands and farms. I remember some particularly delicious watermelon but that's a tale for another day.

I saw him at our cousin Odie's funeral. He looked at me and said, "are you okay? You were close right?" It made me a little sad. Yes, Gene. Odie and I were close. So were you and I. We were all close at one point in time. I suppose I'm a little sad that he doesn't seem to remember.

My Grandmother taught me to

This is something we used to laugh about when it was a thing to ask about your family life in school. My cousins used to shudder. The struggle was real. The question was, "what did your Grandmother teach you? or what did you learn from your Grandmother?" Typical responses were things like knitting, crochet, sewing, cross stitch, baking cookies or biscuits. I know my cousins came up with something that wouldn't get a parent or guardian called to the school. However, their candid responses were, "how to play blackjack, poker, and keno". We travel with our Grandmother (Mama, My Dad's Mom). We learned etiquette and how to behave at high social functions. We learned appropriate behavior at horse and car races. We had a somewhat different upbringing from typical children. 

These days I tell people my Grandmother taught me the difference between living and existing.

When I feel like dancing

You'll get tired of reading it. Art, music and dance was important on my Dad's side of the family. Academics, mathematics and science were important on my Mom's side of the family. Yes. We were all formerly educated. Sometimes it just doesn't feel like enough. I remember asking my cousin Odie for help with dance. I really should've waited until he was through with competition season. He gets in this zone. It's difficult to explain. I do recall him finding my focus lacking. He thought since I just wasn't in his words "becoming the music", perhaps it'd help me to have an external focal point. 

The first time we tried this "find your focus" experiment. He was teaching me to spin the rifle. He tossed it a little high. He punctured the ceiling. We hid it for months until he could fix it. On another occasion, he thought it might help if I saw old photographs and film reels of my Dad. My Dad and Auntie Nilda were national dance champions in their youth. He was in my Auntie's attic under the ruse of finding Christmas decorations when he fell through the ceiling in the living room. The funny thing was our Grandmother had the photographs and reels. 

He wasn't wrong about dance being a feeling. Some people can be inspired to move with the melody. Others really just have to feel it first. When you watch a crowd or a performance, you can tell who's there to be there and who's there because they love it. He always loved what he did. That's why people gravitated towards him. That's why his enthusiasm was infectious. He didn't just teach me how to be a better dancer, he taught me life is short. He taught me it isn't worth doing if it makes me miserable. He taught me to pursue the things I enjoy and love. He also taught me that happiness is best shared.

Penny candy, skateboards, and guitars

When our Grandmother moved for the last time, the only ones left at the new house amid mountains of stacked boxes were my cousins Joey and Rovin and my bother Jay and me. The first recollection I have of that moment is playing hide and seek. I can hear Joey singing the lollipop song. He always sang the lollipop song when he was "it" instead of counting. On that particular day, he found a sombrero somewhere. He wore it when he went to find us. He looked ridiculous. I'm relatively certain he wore it to get us to laugh thus revealing our hiding place. 

Down the street from my Grandmother's new home was a family grocer and penny candy shop called, "My Store". We loved walking down to the shop to purchase our little bags of candy. Of course, they also sold milk, bread, eggs, and other items. However, to all of us children it was a special place where we could buy candy for a penny. 

My cousin Joey was the youngest of his siblings. He used to tell people I was his little sister. I honestly believe he really just didn't want to be the youngest child. He loved the band Kiss. He loved that I'd sit and listen with him. He and his older brother were eleven months apart. His Grandmother told me an old wives tale that they were twins. She said Joey wasn't ready to be born yet. That's why Lando was born first. I was just a child. I believed her. Years later I told him about it. We got a good laugh. He said, he always felt a few steps behind. Perhaps that's why he felt that way. 

Joey taught me how to play the bass guitar. He taught me how to skateboard. He taught me how to ride my first bike. He taught me how to swim and snorkle. He was there the first time I climbed a tree, road a horse, flew a kite, and paddled a canoe. He sounds like a big brother to me. I should probably mention that my first guitar, amp, and gear as well as my first skateboard and first bike were lightly used hand me downs from Joey. He didn't just teach me how to do things but also how to take care of what I owned. He taught me it was okay to try new things. He taught me to always take pride in what I do because only I do it the way I do it. I've never forgotten any of it.

He also taught me not to stress too much about what other people think about me. You're alright as long as your opinion of yourself is still good. Sometimes I forget this one. I'm always working on it. I remember giving him a hard time over this really young girl he dated. She was not very bright (and I'm really being generous here). Her voice was unusually high pitched. She had this cat named Chelsea. Weird that I remember that after all this time. She used to tie a big red bow around its neck. I really only remember the cat because his brother and I thought we were hallucinating during a visit. We noticed the cat casually walking up the wall. It wasn't until later that Joey laughingly told us the cat does this easily because the walls in his apartment are carpeted.

About that first time I road a horse, I was with Joey's family. I was on a horse that was trained to walk circles around this track. Someone had opened the gate. Many of the horses including mine had walked out. It was fun but also a little frightening. I remember knowing I was safe when Joey ran up alongside my horse, took the reins, asked if I was okay, and lead the horse back. Joey is only five years older than me. I can't explain why but I always felt safe just knowing he was nearby.

All you see is magic

The year was nineteen seventy eight. My Aunt from California on my Mom's side, Nessie came to visit. Her visit was extended due to an unexpected ice storm. It was bad. I remember when it started, our landlord stopped by to check on us. I was supposed to be asleep. My Dad told my Mom he wanted to make certain it was warm enough since there was no power. 

We have photographs. The trees look like glass. I recall attempting to walk though the mountains of snow with my visiting Aunt. We thought it was fun. All the schools were closed. The neighborhood children were all out and about. That was a natural disaster. It just hits differently when you're a child and all you see is magic.

Its been a while

I haven't written in this particular blog in sometime. This first entry will be short. I've been reconnecting with friends lately. We've been reminiscing. Everyone remembers my Dad. I'm glad. One of the things my I remember my Dad telling me is you're never truly gone until you're forgotten. That's why he always told us so many stories. He wanted those people to live on in our memories. That's a lot of what this blog was about for me. Remembering those who are or were close to me.