Lazy W Marie

Carpeing all the diems in semi-rural Oklahoma...xoxo

You are here: Home / Archives for memories

Twenty Nine Years Ago Yesterday: Genevieve

   When I was not quite nine years old, Mom was El Preggo with the third of my four younger siblings. It had been a cold, happy winter of family gatherings and more than the normal amount of living room furniture rearranging. A person could reasonably attribute most of this to Mom’s strong nesting instincts.
   As I recall, Mom had been displaying signs of labor for most of the Christmas season, and by this week in January 1983 the family’s excitement level was not low. We were on happy little pins and needles. I was almost nine, so my sister Angela would have been four and a half and our little brother Joey not quite two. Philip would be born in another three years.

   For some wonderful reason my parents decided to invite me to be part of the birth when it finally happened. Grandma Stubbs, who lived nearby, was all set to watch over the little ones and my parents’ friend Debbie and I were to be included in the hospital business. I was extremely happy about this plan, you guys. Anything to make me feel like one of the adults, you know?

   I was asleep when Dad came in to rouse me, whispering excitedly, “Reezie, let’s go. Wake up. Your Mom’s having the baby.”
   
   I could barely hear my Mom’s voice across the bare wood hallway and was listening acutely to my young parents shuffle quietly through the upstairs, not wanting to wake the little ones. I think Grandma had already made it to the house. I remember smelling her perfume when we walked downstairs. 
   Debbie was already there, too. She was a mid wife, but we were still headed to the hospital. We all found the bags that had been packed for a while. Dad helped Mom into the back seat of our cute little white Subaru wagon. She is petite and so she fit perfectly on the narrow bench seat. I sat on Debbie’s lap in the front passenger seat. Dad drove. Dad drove like I had never seen him drive before, nor have I since.
   Now, listen. I know I am not the only person in the world
whose Dad is rarely nervous or emotional. but allow me to interject here 
that this particular January night was one of the few times in life 
when I have ever seen this man quite like this. Okay? Okay.
   We lived no more than ten minutes from Baptist hospital in Oklahoma City, and with the absence of traffic in the wee hours of the morning, one might think it would be a breeze to get there in time.

   One might think.

   We drove north west on the Expressway, zooming through nonexistent traffic and slicing the dark with our happy little emergency. I sat on Debbie’s lap and did not say a word. In my mind I can remember her smell, too, and feel her long braid against my shoulder. Her lavender vinyl backpack was at our feet. Back then I thought Debbie was a wizened creature of the universe, older than I would ever be, but in truth she was just out of high school, not yet off to college in Vermont. She was wise then but very young. Perspective is a funny thing.
   We all sat stiffly in our seats because of the cold and trembled from the adrenaline. I remember giggling with Debbie and feeling so grown up and special to be allowed this chance to welcome our new family member into the world. Seeing a sibling born is something that just cannot be duplicated.
   “Joe, it’s time! It’s really, really time!” Mom was nearly shrieking. Now, in Dad’s defense, there had already been a few false starts that holiday season. Hard contractions were a fact of daily life since Christmas, so he knew it could be another false alarm. And besides, we lived minutes away from the hospital and he was already driving like a Duke boy.

   Now, in Mom’s defense, she had already given birth naturally three times in her young life. She knew what she was talking about. From my front seat perspective that night, my money was on Mom. 
   “I know, we’re almost there! Hang on!” Dad was focused on the traffic lights, the stick shift, and his wife in the back seat. I cannot tell you with certainty that he was breathing.
   “No, I’m not kidding! It’s really time, NOW!!!”
  “Almost there, honey!”
   “Joe, NOW! RIGHT NOW!! I mean it!”
   Dad pulled off to the center median just shy of north May avenue and hurriedly parked the Subaru. He raced around the front of the car and to the passenger side and pulled open the back door. He arrived just in time to catch his baby as Mom pushed. 
   Just in time.

   I will never for as long as I live forget the moment that Mom’s guttural yelling changed over to laughter. Have you ever heard this split second syllable before? Whatever pain and panic she was feeling as we drove was instantly and permanently forgotten, as labor pain often is. Her voice was suddenly all joy and love and peace, elation and celebration in the cold cargo light of the Subaru back seat!
   Then we all started laughing, and Debbie and I hugged in the front seat. I remember staring at my beautiful Momma while twisted around, white chenille blanket slightly bloodied, tiny, messy screaming bundle on her hips. She was curling up to find her baby’s face and offered the most beautiful, most consuming smile I had ever seen.

   “It’s a girl!!!” Dad said shakily.

   Then I got a glimpse of the gross umbilical cord and turned back to face front.

   I remember very little after that except arriving at the emergency room drive up doors. Dad escorted Mom with the baby and nurses into the cavernous mouth of the hospital, and Debbie and I were on our own for a while.   I was only nine, after all, and very sleepy.
   Being one of the first people to see my beautiful little sister Genevieve Michelle sort of gave me the idea that she was partly mine. Helping to cuddle, change diapers, and entertain tiny siblings is one thing; witnessing that first moment of air-sucking emergence into the world is quite another. It doesn’t hurt that she is perfectly adorable and loving in every way.

When I eventually returned to school 
to share the good news, 
I could not pronounce her name correctly.
So for a while my friends and teachers thought
she was named Guinevere.
Here’s Guinevere a few years later
on our back yard play set. 
For many years the whole family 
called her Viva Michelle, and Mom still does.
Here’s Viva Michelle holding my first born, 
Jocelyn Marie, circa 1996.
I’ve always thought they look a lot alike, especially as babies.
They are chatting with our great grandfather Papa Joe,
who was among other things a beekeeper.
His wife was a writer.
I should tell you their story sometime.
Gen this Christmas, all grown up and beautiful.
She is a Derby Doll in Los Angeles,
so how perfect that Mom & Dad gave her this fishnet leg lamp!!
The whole room was laughing so hard!!
   Yesterday was Viva Guinevere’s first twenty-ninth birthday, and as fate would have it her lifelong best girlfriend Erin delivered a healthy little baby girl right on time, though not in the back seat of a car. What a birthday gift! What a lovely full circle life draws sometimes. Erin & Darryl, we wish you many healthy, happy years with your daughter! Gen, I love you. I always have and I always will.
   I believe deeply in the power of silent wishes and prayers, in specific blessings being honored because we speak them and ask them of the Right Source. Will you please join me in showering my little baby sister in whatever wonderful, specific little blessing you would like to see manifest in her life this year?

Sisters are Cute.
Umbilical Cords are Grody.
Happy Birthday Gen!!
xoxoxoxo

   

Happy First Anniversary, Book Club!!!

 In January of 2011, almost exactly a year ago as I write this, my friend Tina and I decided to start a book club. We each invited one woman to join us, making a group of four. I invited my cousin Emily, and Tina invited her coworker Desiree. It was awesome. Our initial goals were threefold: to get thinky more often, to expose ourselves to a greater variety of literature, and YES to socialize. Because we’re girls. We really had no idea how things would go. I mean, January is famous for quickly abandoned though brilliant ideas, right?
   BOY HOWDY that is not how things went down
for our little Oklahoma Book Club.
   Since last January, our group of four has grown to twenty-two.  22. TWENTY-TWO. Veinte y dos. That is a 450% growth rate, you guys. And we didn’t advertise or anything; it’s all been just by word of mouth. In fact, in late October we made the rather uncomfortable decision to close enrollment due to a potentially unmanageable crowd. Seating and feeding people is one thing; but more importantly, in gigantic crowds we lose the intimacy needed for really satisfying book discussions.

  In our first year we devoured eight novels as a group and have shared many hours of great conversation with each other, exploring and debating the content of these selections. We’ve laughed, we’ve cried, we’ve made each other blush. We’ve challenged our belief systems. Thanks to a Los Angeles book industry hook up we have with one of our members (her name rhymes with Frulia) , we even conducted a telephone interview with Aimee Bender, the author of one of our books! DO YOU KNOW COOL THAT IS?? So cool it’s almost awkward.

   As suggested by our club name, Dinner Club With a Reading Problem, we also eat.  We eat really well.  It goes without saying that every one of our gatherings has been a passionately convivial affair, sometimes themed to the book and other times a wild pot luck free-for-all. Even the self-proclaimed kitchen-challenged among us have participated happily, and we’ve traded fun recipes along the way. Again, because we’re girls.

   Reading has never been so much fun.  We always set attainable deadlines depending on the time of year and most members’ life groove at the time, so that no one seees book club as a burden or work.  We keep in touch with each other throughout the reading weeks. And we have grown to know each other in deeper ways than you normally do in a casual acquaintance.  Hearing a woman’s thoughts on a hefty read can reveal incredible things about her life and heart.

   So anyway… If you do not yet have a book club, I double dog dare you to start one.  It will not cost you much time or money, and what it DOES cost you will return to you tenfold in a rich life experience.

********************

   Curious about who we are or what we’ve read?  
Here are some vital stats:
The average age of our 22 members is 35.78 years. (Our most junior member turned 21 the same day as our most recent dinner, and our most seasoned lady is 55, though you would never guess it to look at her.)

Among the group we have 13 children and 4 grandchildren, ranging from infant to college aged.

Roughly one third of our members is married, one of them being half of a Derby Union. More on that another time.

Professions: By coincidence, a different one third of our members is in number-crunching professions. Accountants, analysts, IT whizzes, auditors, etc. Also in the group is a paralegal, a credit union manager, a college student/part time employee/ Mom of two teens, a literary publicist, a hair design student, a computer nerd, a social worker supervisor, a receptionist, a project manager for a major investment house, an oil & gas accounting/ payroll manager, a verification associate, and a dorky farmish blogger. We are a motley crew, and I love it.

These are the books we’ve read as a group so far, though we always find time to discuss our additional private reads along the way:

  1.    The Manhattan Hunt Club by John Saul
  2.    The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake by Aimee Bender
  3.    Hunger Games by Susanne Collins
  4.    Catching Fire by Susanne Collins
  5.    Mockingjay by Susanne Collins
  6.    The Shack by William P. Young
  7.    The Help by Kathryn Stockett
  8.    Before I Go To Sleep by S. J. Watson

By the way, you can find my reviews for most of these books somewhere on this blog.

How Do We Choose Our Books? In the beginning we planned to take turns like nice, polite little ladies. I mean, there were four of us. It was easy. Then throughout the year, as membership grew, we started kind of stabbing in the dark, just sort of brainstorming over plates of food and deciding wildly what to read next.
   It was working out alright, but last week we decided to take a slightly more orderly approach in 2012 and draw names two months out, that person being the one to choose our next title. We meet every six weeks, more or less, and we recently started meeting at different places! All of our 2011 events were here at the farm, which I loved dearly, but I also love going to other people’s homes, and fortunately our group is overflowing with willing hostesses.

How Big of a Deal is This, Really? Well, it’s a really big deal. It just is, you guys. One member (her name rhymes with Flacie) expressed that of all the activities in her busy life, if she ever felt pressed to sacrifice something, the last thing she would sacrifice would be Book Club. That speaks VOLUMES. ha-ha-ha-ha…
   Another member (her name is definitely not Margaret) has been making six hour drives from Austin, Texas to join the fun. Still another member (her name rhymes with Blephanie) reluctantly picked up the burden joy of reading by joining the group for a book she had started three years prior but never finished. And guess what? She not only stuck with us; she hosted the next party!
   Personally, I am amazed to discover so much depth and stimulation at such an easy price. The events plan themselves, really, because we are all so eager to see each other and spill our guts about the books. We definitely have  found some kind of magic here, and I can see it lasting many years.

********************

   So Happy First Anniversary, Ladies!! You have each found a very special place in my heart because of this uncommon adventure. I have thoroughly enjoy getting to know everybody and stretching my reading muscles beyond what I would read on my own. Please stick around… 2012 is going to be incredible!

Much Love, 
xoxoxo
Marie

Raised Beds From Reclaimed Wood

   A blogging friend and I are thinking alike quite a bit these days. Heather posted this weekend about making the most of your kitchen’s leftover contents and coming up with fun, new recipes following a decadent, costly, and probably calorie-heavy holiday season. First of all, her recipe for yogurt banana bread looks as delicious as it seems to be healthy! 
   Secondly, I like her approach. So much. She suggests that we make the most of what we have. Take honest inventory of your resources and make the most of that stuff, right now.

“Do what you can,
with what you have,
where you are.”
~Theodore Roosevelt

  These words convey to me such a sense of calm and resourcefulness, such encouraging satisfaction! Do they to you too? In a culture where consumption is key and having is often more important than doing, it’s easy to get caught up in the various races we all know about. Today, let me echo Heather’s mantra and offer you some additional encouragement to make the most of what you have.
   But not in the kitchen, in the garden. My favorite room in the house.
   Handsome and I spent a good part of the long weekend building garden structures. We built three raised vegetable beds and one fantastic arbor over the center aisle, all from reclaimed materials! I’m not even kidding. Seriously, with the exception of going to Home Depot (where spending temptation knows no bounds) to buy one replacement blade for his reciprocating saw and a box of long screws, we made zero purchases for these major farm improvements. 
   This kind of thing gives me happy chills, you guys. We used old stockade fencing peeled from the rubble of the kids’ playhouse “fort” in the back field. It had been thrashed by the violent May 10 tornado almost two years ago, but I have not had the heart to let go of any of it. This doesn’t count as letting go; this is re-purposing and keeping near all over again.
   We used limbs and trunks from already-fallen trees in the nearby Pine forest. We even plucked rusty nails out of old planks of porch wood and used those again, both the planks and the rusty nails. After an hour or two of collecting raw materials for free, I stood back and was fairly stunned by how much we had at our disposal.
    The sight was definitely motivating! We built and built and schemed and sort of measured and worked together like a well oiled machine, not stopping for lunch until the whole thing was done.
   What’s fun about accomplishments like this, beyond the monetary savings, even beyond the intrinsic pleasure of having been resourceful citizens of the planet (she says as she snaps her suspenders), is that our new projects have been braided together with happy old memories.
   For the next several years, hopefully, I will be gardening within these lovingly constructed boxes. These boxes built from rough, painted wood that instantly brings to mind the sound of my children laughing and the smell of sunshine in their hair.
 I will be coaxing flowering vines up heavily barked tree trunks that remind me of the first walks my husband and I took together on this property, four and a half short but historic years ago.
My adorable, deeply loved nephew and my two precious, beautiful daughters.
This was taken in the spring of 2008, almost four years ago. 
I see the mud on their clothes and those easy smiles
and remember how much fun we all had, how much love flowed freely.
I hope they remember too.
  
   Okay, off we all go to the next great thing in life. Have a wonderful rest of the day or night, friends! Take a good look around and challenge yourself to make something new and beautiful out of what you already have, right now. Because you are blessed!

And please say a prayer for my girls and their cousin.
xoxoxo

Chilly Sunday Afternoon (Small Stone January 8th)

   The air is cooler today than it’s been in a while, crisper and drier too. The sky is slate gray with only patches of blue here and there, and where the afternoon sun manages to scrape through the clouds, its light is a dull silver instead of the usual gold. The evocative fragrance of a bonfire mixes with the smells of hay, leather, and chicken litter, so that closing my eyes takes me back to our beloved Buffalo Mountain. 
   Out of nowhere a breeze kicks up, scattering a thousand fragile oak leaves and slicing through  my long but thin cotton sleeves. I am reminded gently that we’re still in the middle of January, that the sublime springtime fantasy these past weeks was exactly that.

The Heart of a Hostess

   On New Year’s Day I visited my parents’ house in Oklahoma City, had a GREAT time all afternoon, and drove back to the farm with my heart full of love. It’s always fun to see everyone in our big ol’ family, and it turns out that I didn’t even leave that early, didn’t even miss that much of the party.
   Or so I thought.
   Later that evening I did some goofing around on Facebook and saw photos of lots of people on my parents’ front porch. People I did not recognize. Sitting in the same deep, reclining wooden bench where I have sat my whole life. Covered up in blankets in which I have been cuddling daughters and nieces for years. I crinkled my face and searched my memory. Not a scrap of a clue as to these crazy weirdo people’s identity. Nothing.
   “WHO THE HECK ARE THESE YAHOOS?!?!” I may or may not have shouted at my laptop. Then I typed a slightly more polite version of my question on Mom’s Facebook page. She never responded, and I can only imagine her shaking her head in disappointment, pursing her sweet mouth and blinking slowly.
   “Tsk. Tsk.”
   The issue has been on the back burner for a couple of days, but the heat has been on. My curiosity, nay, my sense of trespass, has been simmering.

********************

   So…  Today I went to see my Mom at her office, enjoyed some very sweet chit chat, and was introduced to several of her coworkers. Very nice people. Not strangers at all.
  Then the matter of Strangers on the Front Porch was raised. I took a deep breath because anything was possible in that moment. She could be telling me about siblings I never knew I had. Or that she and Dad had taken up Couch Surfing. Or that I was mistaken in my comment typing and that wasn’t her Facebook page at all, but rather a different Parents’ House Front Porch in an alternate reality or something like that.
   Nothing could be further for the truth.
   It turns out that Mom was just being Mom. I’d love to tell you what happened.
   A work crew installing fencing down the street had hit a high pressure gas line. This is a serious accident, of course, but fortunately nothing exploded and no one was hurt. The worst that happened is the temporary evacuation of all the people on that side of the street. Mom said that among the evacuees was a family that had just bought their house; they hadn’t even finished moving in yet.
   So what happened?
   Mom invited them to her house, where she was still entertaining extended family, may I remind you. They piled onto my childhood her front porch, feeling too cautious or too polite to immediately accept the invitation indoors.
   Mom said they all sat on the front porch for a while, sharing blankets and hot chocolate. Getting to know each other a little bit. And judging from the big smiles on these yahoos‘ Mom and Dad’s new neighbors’ faces, everyone was having a great time. Mom told me that later in the evening (it was an hours-long evacuation) they went inside and even ordered pizzas and played games.
   And that is the story of Strangers on the Front Porch.
********************
   Wow. And to think I almost ordered my sweet Momma a copy of the Reluctant Entertainer book for Christmas. She doesn’t credit herself in this way, but she is a natural hostess. Her heart is in exactly the condition that hostessing requires: open, warm, and sensitive to the needs of others. Ready to bless, not impress, as Sandy Coughlin teaches.
Reluctant Entertainer, The: Every Woman's Guide to Simple and Gracious Hospitality
   Okay, I am definitely ordering her the book anyway. She needs to know how natural she is. I love you Momma.
Stranger Danger, You Guys!!!!
But seriously, Open Your Hearts Before You Open Your Homes.
xoxoxoxo