“There’s no place like home.”

It seems that many of my blogs have dealt with death. I have no fascination with writing about that topic, but when someone I love passes from this life to the next, it causes me to put all of my every day, mundane life issues into a greater perspective. Facing the idea of death challenges me to re-prioritize.

On September 18th my beloved mother-in-law, Dorothy Bowyer, left this earth. I should have been ready, or at least not surprised—but I wasn’t. Many emotions have welled up within me in the past few days, but probably the strongest one has been a simple sadness.

Dorothy (I called her Mom) loved me from the first moment she laid eyes on me. We drove to Houston one Spring Break to “meet the parents” and announce our engagement, arriving around midnight and waking them from a sound sleep. They had known we were arriving late, but they were not aware that the dynamic of their family was about to change. I still remember walking into their home, half asleep myself, and meeting them for the first time. We all sat in the living room and talked for a while, and they were so loving and welcoming to me. We have all heard horror stories about in-laws (and many have lived those stories first-hand!), but I could not have asked for sweeter people to welcome me into their family.

From that day forward, Dorothy treated me as her very own. I came to think of her as my mother, and through the years we have shared many warm conversations, moments of laughter, intimate disclosures from our own hearts, and fears and insecurities that nipped at our heels. We have read one another’s books, shared spiritual insights, encouraged and challenged each other. There have been moments filled with both laughter and tears. She endured the deaths of many she loved, including her husband, only daughter, a grandson, her mother, and a brother during the years I have been in the family, and I shared in her grief.

Dorothy was a fun, generous, loving grandmother to our two children. They have precious memories of her and they, too, will miss her deeply.

There is more than one kind of death. The death of a marriage brings consequences to everyone involved. One of the very painful parts of the end of my marriage to Dorothy’s son was the consequence to his family. Mom still loved me, always accepted me, and continued to keep in touch with me. I am eternally grateful for her gracious willingness to keep me in her heart, even if I was not technically in her family. Although our divorce caused her immense pain and sadness, she continued to call me daughter.

I am blessed with forty-four years of memories—valuable jewels that I treasure. With instant recollection, I can picture: the times we came to visit and how she worked to create little homey touches to the guest bedroom to make our stay more pleasant . . . how she watched and listened to learn about things I liked so she could surprise me with a much-wanted gift at Christmas . . . the delighted lift of her voice when I called on the phone . . . the long, newsy letters she wrote. I remember when she drove with us to Austin one cold, rainy January and spent the day helping me find an apartment on short notice while Gerry started his new job. Or the time she came after Nicole was born to help take care of all of us until I got on my feet. She was on hand when our children graduated from college, she welcomed their future spouses when we gathered for Thanksgiving, and she arrived to give her blessing when they married. For all the important life events, she was there, lending support and loving us as good mothers do. 

We will all miss her terribly. But Dorothy, like the other Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz, understood that “there’s no place like home.” For Dorothy, this is only the beginning, not the end, because guess what—we have a big family reunion scheduled with her some sweet day! And it won’t be in Kansas. I'm booking my flight to be there, and inviting everyone who loved Dorothy to be there too.

Dorothy is the second to the left, next to my dad. This was our family photo taken at Nicole and Max's wedding.

A Cat Named George

DISCLAIMER:

This is NOT a photo of George; the cat in the picture

is Oscar,  another cat who remained part of the family

for a more extended time than George did!

        
         A litter of kittens recently appeared in my backyard. The first time I saw them, they were already about 5 weeks old, and scattered quickly at the sound of my footsteps. When they continued to hide under the house every time I approached them, I suddenly remembered another long ago cat that hid in our backyard.

         When I was about 4 years old, I desperately wanted a pet. There were stray cats around, but none that belonged to me. So when I discovered a cat living under an old building behind our house, I claimed him as mine (even though he was too wild to make much of a pet.) But I peered persistently under the shack in hopes of getting a glimpse of him, and promptly named him George. In my mind, George belonged to me, although he never agreed to the arrangement.

         Much to my delight, I discovered one day that there were kittens under the shack with him, and I felt as proud as if I had birthed them myself. I was bursting to tell someone, and saw our neighbor, Floyd, sitting in his backyard. I ran across the street and breathlessly rushed up to where he sat on an old school bus seat pushed up against the garage.

         “Floyd, George just had kittens!” I exclaimed. Floyd burst into laughter. “Come see!” I persisted, and he allowed me to take his hand and pull him across the street to observe the tiny furr-balls under the shack. He tried his best not to laugh, but the effort almost caused him to swallow his cigar.

         Later, when I recounted my story at the supper table, my big sister once again took the wind out of my sails, which is what big sisters do best. “Silly; boy cats don’t have kittens!” she informed me. Boy, did I feel dumb. How was I to know?

         I think I tried to come up with a girl’s name for George in order to save face, but by then Miss George had packed up her family and moved on. Maybe that was a good “first” lesson in checking things out before you blurt out your ignorance. It’s still a good thing to remember.

Shop Till You Drop

A typical Woolworth diner in the 1950's ~ the kind where we ate in downtown Lubbock after a morning of shopping.

         This time of year always makes me think of the elaborate preparations we made each August in anticipation of a new school year. There were clothes to buy, maybe a new lunchbox or school bag (I don't think we had backpacks then!), and all the required school supplies. We had never heard the term “Shop Till You Drop” when I was a kid. But that’s exactly what we did each August before school started.

We often shopped at Hagood’s Dry Goods store on Petersburg’s Main Street, but for things not available on the home front, we made a day-long trip to Lubbock with a long shopping list.

            At the risk of “dating” myself, this was long before the mall opened in Lubbock and even pre-dated the shopping centers that later sprang up along 34^th Street.

An early start was essential in order to reach Lubbock by the time the stores opened. Mama and my sister Mary Beth and I made the trip, often accompanied by Mary Beth’s sidekick, Vondell. We would drive straight to Broadway Street in Lubbock and leave our car in either a parking garage downtown or at a parking meter. Then we would hit the stores lining either side of Broadway.

            J.C. Penney was one of my favorite places to go because of the elevator. We would proudly step inside the cage when the doors opened and tell the elevator attendant what floor we wanted. I remember she sat on a stool in the corner, dressed up in a straight skirt and high heel shoes with white gloves, and would very professionally turn the crank to close the door and get us to the requested floor. I dreamed of having such a glamorous job as hers!

The Levine’s store on the opposite side of the street, however, didn’t have such a first-class elevator. It had an open-cage design where you watched the dark brick walls race past as it took you to the 2^nd floor. (I later learned that after the Great Plains Life Building opened in 1955, Mary Beth and her friends found it adventurous to ride the elevator all 20 floors to the top. But she never quite got over her elephobia ~ that’s a fear of elevators, not elephants! She was always frightened by the elevator in Levine’s and claims to this day that her elephobia began there!)

            The original Hemphill Wells store was also fascinating because it was the first store in Lubbock to install an escalator. We rode up and down, elegantly gliding our way from one floor to the next.

Some of the department stores used carriers like you see at drive-in banks to whisk your money up to the business office in order to make change. I would stare in fascination, hear the WHOOSH, then watch the carrier travel like magic up the tube to the office. I guess we were just easily entertained in those days!

The Jones Roberts shoe store was another place I liked because there was a large Red Goose figurine on the counter, and I remember when Mama bought me a pair of shoes, the Red Goose laid an egg that had a prize inside for me to take home. I always hoped they would let me examine my feet in the X-Ray machine; what we didn’t know was that those routine X-Rays were actually probably hazardous to our health!

            The typical shopping strategy was to purchase my clothes and shoes first, since I was inclined to get tired and cranky and it was in everyone’s best interest to get me outfitted before that happened.  Once we accomplished that daunting task, we would set out for Woolworth’s and perch on stools at the counter and order our lunch. Being a child who liked consistency, I always ordered a chicken salad sandwich.

            Besides eating lunch, we were entertained by the Dumb Waiter that brought our food from some mysterious place, and later disappeared with our dirty dishes. Once lunch was over, I was usually allowed to choose one or two comic books and then we would set out for the next phase of our shopping trip. Hemphill Wells had a Ladies Lounge on the mezzanine between the first and second floors—a large sitting room with couches and chairs, opening into the adjoining women’s restroom. My mother would park me in the Ladies Lounge with my comic books while she and my sister and Vondell went to finish their own shopping. Leaving children alone like that today would never be acceptable; Mama would probably have been accused of child abuse. But it was a safer time and place then, and I was perfectly content to rest there while they finished without me. They were usually in the same store, or one nearby, and would pop in to check on me often.

            Sometimes, at the end of the day (if I had behaved myself for the most part and not caused too much trouble), I would be allowed to go back to “Woolie’s” or Kress’s Five and Dime store and pick out a toy or a book to take home as my reward. They weren’t expensive toys, just things like a Golden Book or a water pistol, or maybe a book of paper dolls. My sister remembers that there was a small bookstore located on the Hemphill Wells Mezzanine and, although I am certain she was not as well-behaved as I was, she would often be allowed to purchase a Nancy Drew book.

            Once the shopping ordeal was complete, we would load everything into our un-air-conditioned car and head for home, sometimes stopping at the Hidy-Ho Drive-In for a coke on the way.

We usually got home about the time Daddy came home from work, and Mother would have to fix supper after we carried in all our purchases. I’m sure by then she was exhausted from dragging the three of us all over downtown Lubbock in the heat, with me whining and complaining and with two teenage girls giggling and making jokes about everything we did. Just the logistics of getting us there and trying to help everyone make sensible purchases without spending either a fortune or an inordinate amount of time must have taxed her patience. But that was how it was, shopping for school clothes in the 50’s.

One of our favorite places to shop in Lubbock, Texas

The kind of petticoat girls wore under our "full skirts" in the 50's,sometimes layered to form really BIG skirts!