Terri’s Journey

I remember the big, boxy, console TV that sat in our livingroom. It was a black and white. Received four channels but we were only able to see three. And it had an antenna that was called rabbit ears. A flag of foil on that antenna helped get the channels we were able to receive. .  We watched our Saturday morning cartoons on that TV...and we watched as Captain Kirk and Will Robinson flew off into the dark depths of space in their ships. Disney was on Sunday nights and Old Yeller, Pollyanna, and Bed Knobs and Broomsticks entertained us all. And yes, we heard the first strains of the theme to Sesame Street.  I remember watching the ‘68 Olympics. I balanced on our livingroom’s tile lines as Cathy Rigby did her routine across the balance beam. And held my breath and cheered for the power of the Soviet men’s gymnast, Viktor Klimenko. And I did watch the award ceremonies as Tommie Smith and John Carlos, each raised a black-gloved fist during the playing of the US national anthem. I had no i

I have found if you want to laugh, just listen to kid’s conversations. They do say some amazing things.  So in honor of all the kids who have been set free for the summer, here’s  some of my favorites.  Exclamations from one of my Special Needs Students: “Quick! Take a picture! We’re twins!” She sticks out her little hand and waits for me to take the picture.  Conversation between two kindergartners: Boy 1. “I had communion at church yesterday.  Boy 2. “Did you drink any blood?” Boy 1. “Yep!” Boy 2. “What did it tast like?” Boy 1. “Grape Juice. Ms Terri, am I a vampire now?” Correction by one of my kids with Autism. Me: “Agggh!” Boy: “Are you mad Ms Terri?” Me: “No. Just frustrated.” Boy: “You know frustrated is just another way to say angry.” Sigh. He’s right.  Conversation between three sixth grade boys.  Arguing from first row.  Boy 1: “I have the best locker.” Boy 2: “Mine is cleaner that yours!” Boy 3: “You both are crazy. I clean mine out every day!” Boy 1: “No you don’t! I dust

As a five year old in 1968, I was my momma’s little helper.  When she hung clothes up on the clothesline outside, I handed her the clothespins.   When she was folding clothes, I got to fold the washcloths.  But my favorite chore...drying the plastic dishes as she washed them.  I would pull up a chair to the counter and momma would hand me one of her white dish towels. She would fill the sink with water, and suds would bubble up with the help of Joy Dishwashing soap. As she washed and rinsed, I would impatiently wait for the plastic stuff and the small pans. She put all of her glassware on the kitchen towel to her right.  One day as I stood waiting for the next dish, Ipeered out the window that had looked out over our large backyard. And then my gaze looked over the cinder block fence surrounding our land to the mountains beyond.  In the distance, I could see Van Horn Mountain. It had the giant, rock “V” on it that our high school freshman would paint every year. Next to it and behind w

My mom says I used to eat dirt. I know my cousin and my brother both used to. They would take a spoon to a corner of our grandmother’s house and dig at the adobe bricks.  Yes. Adobe. As in bricks made from mud and straw and then sun baked.  If you wanted to see my grandmother annoyed, definitely smiling at her with dirt on your teeth would do it.  But never me. Nope.  I liked the feel of cold dirt between my toes or with my hands making fists in mud. Until I didn’t. Then I was either running for the water hose or the bathroom sink.  If you wanted to see my mom annoyed, just track mud inside on her newly mopped floors. I was usually the culprit because mud pies were my specialty. And somehow the mud would get everywhere. Including mom’s floors.  There’s few things that will take me back to being a kid like digging in dirt. The feel of it. The look of it. The wonderful, rich loamy smell of it. Maybe it’s why I enjoy gardening.  So why dirt? Because sometimes I have days that are hard and

You know, sometimes I feel whiny and whimpy. I mean there are just those days that are tough. And then there are the phenomenal days where I get stuff done. The little projects I want to accomplish...getting out with my husband...laughing with friends. The good news is that the good days are more often than the bad ones now. I’m so glad. So here’s what’s going on. I ended up in the ER on Wednesday morning. Went to my primary care physician...he checked me over and sent me to the ER. The suspicion was appendix problems. The good news is my appendix is just fine. The colon it’s in isn’t and that’s what was causing pain. Evidently the colon wall is thickening due to portal hypertension. The solution...pain management clinic. I haven’t made an appointment yet. I just don’t want to go there yet. Yesterday I had an appointment with Interventional Radiology. My transplant team has decided that it would be better for me to have the tumor treated than to go through a full transplant. So on

Can I let you in on a secret. Some of you know. For those who don’t... I dislike shopping.  I really do. Something inside me rises up and all of a sudden I feel jittery and want to run. Almost a panic attack. My breathing gets stuck and I’m looking for the door.  I will shop when necessary. I will go and buy clothes...but reluctantly. Even online I sweat it out and sometimes close an app quickly.  But to intentionally shop for fun. No way. Unless it’s Hobby Lobby or HomeGoods Store. But even then. When I’m ready to go, I’m moving fast whether there’s stuff in the basket or not. Doug has learned that when I get that look in my eye, it’s better to send me to the car and he will finish checking out. He knows me.  So that’s where this story begins. In a shopping mall. In fact, a very large mall in Frankenmuth Michigan. The last place I ever wanted to be.  We had just spent five wonderful days at a state retreat and were on our way home. Mel, a friend of ours, caught a ride with us as we he

It’s amazing the number of people you can meet if you listen to the music.  Take Pastor Abraham. I met him one afternoon at our churches’ district office. He was dropping off resumes and I was there looking at resumes.  (This is obviously before internet...just saying.) He was humming a favorite hymn. I decided to humm along with him in harmony. We looked at each other, grinned, and sang the first verse together.  We started talking and I listened as he told his story, his testimony actually, of growing up in a small village in west Africa and the missionaries who had made a difference in his life. Now he was here and was hoping to reach some of his people in the city as a mission Pastor.  As we realized the time, I asked if I could pray for him. And I did.  ‘Amen` was said, hugs and handshakes exchanged, and we realized with sadness that today was a chance meeting. A moment in time of blessing.  I said, “I sing Alto. What part is your favorite?” He replied, “Tenor.” I said, “good. Whe

Dear Daughter,   From the very first moment I knew I was pregnant with you…till the moment I finally got to meet you face to face, you have had my heart.   Time has moved by too quickly.   I’m left with a montage of memories. Brief moments that show off your strength. Your absolute drive. Your will to thrive. Your fearlessness.   There’s the day we forgot to put you in the car. You were two. You waited patiently on the sidewalk. Arms crossed. Lips pouting and eyebrows drawn. With one foot propped up on a rock. Waiting.   I’m glad I always counted faces before we drove off.   Then there’s the first day of kindergarten. All the other kids were a full head taller than you. You were so tiny. And so bold. You walked up to the line of kids with your enormous backpack on. Dad and I stood and waited for you to go inside. And as the line started forward with us right behind you, you turned around, you put your little hand up and said these words. “I can do this M

This morning as I looked out my window, I heard the cheerful, uplifting notes of a song bird.  Outside, it is that moment of the morning when it’s neither dark or light...just shadowed. A stillness permeates my yard as the world around me wakes up. Even in the midst of the large city I live in, no outside sounds invade my sense of the profound peace of this morning view.  A fog drifts lazily over my back yard and I’m taken back by a memory so strong it makes me long for a mountain cabin I stayed in as a kid.  I remember my Mom dropping me off at Mrs. Russell’s home. My sleeping bag, small bag with my clothes, and a box with the requested items were quickly loaded into her station wagon. The other twelve girls showed up, hugs were given to waiting family and kisses thrown...and we all piled into the over crowded cars.   I called shotgun and took my place. A smug look of contentment on my face.  I watched out the windows as we made our way south down Hwy 90 from Van Horn. The sun was jus

One thing I miss from the Pre-Covid world we lived in is hugs.  Yes...Hugs.  Friends who know me say I have the best hugs.  They say I have “Momma hugs.” The all encompassing, comfort and safety of knowing you are loved.  Let me tell you about a special one.  I used to volunteer for a ministry that worked with the homeless and street kids in a certain part of Houston. The work was started by a wonderful couple and a man with a heart of gold. Martin and Kim, and Pastor Joe are truly one of a kind.  Rain or shine, they can be found on Wednesday nights setting up to feed starving bodies and starving souls. Souls that people didn’t know needed nourishment.  Every year on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, the ministry provides a full Thanksgiving meal with ALL the fixings. And I do mean ALL. Churches from all over the area come together to make sure that blessings overflow.  One year, I met Pat. I’ll call him Pat. Pat came in at the very end of the feeding time. He was wearing a large, bul

Road up to McDonald Observatory  Spring 1964 Looking back, I’ve always had a fascination with rocks. I’m not good with remembering the names of them, but I do enjoy looking at them, touching them, sniffing them...and yes even listening to them as I thump them with another hard object.  And on occasion, I have been known to lick a rock or two.  Psychologist say that the formative years, those first five years of a child life, sets a life foundation for a child. I guess growing up in the West Texas Desert set me up for seeing beauty where people see bareness.  Daddy and Me at McDonald Observatory  Spring 1964 I can remember many a trip with my Mom and Dad and cousins to the Rock Pile near the Davis Mountains. Easters were spent looking for brightly colored boiled eggs amongst the white rocks of the terrain.  No green grass for us.  Rock Pile near Ft Davis Easter 1964 And even as we got older and more cousins were added, most Easters you could find us there. Climbing rocks and chasing eac

I wrote this almost 11 years ago. It’s still one of my favorite memories.  ************************************************************ I remember fishing as a kid.  My brother and I would go get our bait - either worms from the garden, minnows from the pond, grasshoppers from the field, or cheese from mom's fridge. We would get our rods and reels ready, make sure our little tackle boxes were ready to go, and then pack a snack and a jar of water.   We would then walk across the field to the pond behind our house we lived in. I was in second grade and my brother was in first. The getting ready was only half the fun.  Laying the line out just perfect in the middle of the pond and hoping that the last storm hadn’t moved the underwater log.  The leisure of sitting in the shade on the side of a pond just waiting for a fish to take an interest in my hook.  Watching every bob of the bobber, playing the line ever so carefully to invite nibbles that lead to bites. Patiently waiting for the

I remember the first time I walked in the door. I stepped out of the hot Texas sun with my sunglasses still on into a window unit cooled interior. Even after putting my glasses on top of my head, the dark room with low ceilings didn’t impress me.  On the walls were framed autographed pictures. I spotted a couple of sports stars, a picture of George Strait with the owner, and several other pictures. The register was tucked in behind candy and fund raiser jars.  I held up my hands.  Table for seven.  The front dining room had three tables. One obviously used to wrap silverware. The dining room on the left had been added later and held six tables.  Quickly two tables were moved together and I sat down to wait. The table wobbled back and forth and the chair I was sitting in had one leg too short. Every time I moved it rocked.  I was on the hunt for REAL Mexican food and this place had been recommended. I hoped the food was better than the decor.  My friends came in and we all looked at the

Dad came home one day and said, “Pack your bag. Make sure you pack your boots.” Mom and Dad had met some people in town. Actually a mutual friend pointed them out and they got to talking.  Ms Ruby and John, who she took care of, were living on a ranch north of Van Horn. They wanted help from a young girl who could help them for a month or so.  I got the job.  I packed my Mom’s old suitcase with summer clothes, blue jeans, and all the other things I knew I would need.  Pretty soon, my brothers ran to the livingroom window when a Jeep pulled into our driveway. Out hopped a lady.  Ruby was shorter than my mom. She was also older.   She wore a bandanna wrapped around her ponytail and her  hair was a burnt red...that color you can see the red in it but it’s mixed in with brown. It was slightly wind blown and escapees wreathed her face like a halo. Her eyes were a dark green and you could see the fine lines around them that time had etched.  She had a ready grin and her lips were surrounded