What? ……. Where’s my Brain?

With three teenagers at home and I the only taxi before and after school often created a very hectic schedule. Katy called from gymnastics, “Mom,” In a whisper of embarrassment I heard her dramatic voice, “Where are you? All of the other kids are gone, and I’m still here.”

“I can’t find the keys. I came in with the groceries and turned around to run back out the door and pick you up but I can’t find my keys.” My voice rose in frustration with each syllable I uttered. Without cell phones we depended on landlines, time limits, and neighbors.  “Call me back in five minutes, and I’ll see if I can find someone to pick you up.” Promptly hanging up, I turned to rummage through the groceries on the counter one more time.  Quietly, a gentle hand touched my shoulder. I swished to turn toward the touch only to face our youngest son, Matthew, who dangled a set of car keys in his hand.

In a monotone voice he spoke, “Is this what you are looking for?”

“Yes,” I screaked like a breathless actress trying out for a role, “Where did you find them?”

Soberly his large eyes looked at me with concern, “In the refrigerator.”

I paused for a moment to think! “Thank you.” I cried, then grabbed the keys and tore out for the door, “Oh, Matthew, please tell Katy when she calls that I’m on the way to pick her up.” I left him standing alone in that tiny kitchen, and felt like the worst mother in the world for abandoning our nine year old son, who had saved me once again.

So when I feel my age playing tricks on me, I remember how forgetful and chaotic life felt in my thirties…and forties.

The other day, I turned on the computer to finish a blog about a woman who sculpts ceramic hands, but I walked away to do something and forgot to go back to the computer.

This afternoon I came into to my playful room to color and draw and noticed my computer set up to work:  my notes about the lady sculptress were spread out over the Word 2013 Level 1 book showing my class assignment. Then my brain kicked on. I not only forgot to write the blog, I never did finish my class assignment from the day before. Now I was faced with three choices: draw, write, or study the technical reading step-by-step and finish the one class assignment.

I love my brain.  We (my brain and I) sat down without chaos and  doodled, colored, and piddled until at last the brain waves floated like clouds and I could think.

“Now let’s have some fun.” Whispered my brain.  So I put the lease on the peacefully sleeping dog and out the door we trotted. 

Guess I only have my brain to blame, or the disease CRS!

Oh, I’ve got to remember to buy cheese….

When they Were Young

Wouldn't it have been fun 
to have known our mothers

Father and daughter at Turner Falls 1915

when they were young?

I'm fascinated with the lives of my family because they seemed so adventurous and willing to take huge risk, until the crash of the stock market.  As a child of a parent who lived through the depression I know how sadly those times impacted their young lives.  

I see my mother around the age of three with her father visiting Turner Falls, a view I've returned to many a times in my travels.  I go to enjoy the vistas, the spring flowers, the cactus, the water falls, but mostly I think I go there to stand where my mother might have stood as a child, and wondered.  What did she see?  What did she feel?

Helen, ...., brother Tom

I imagine she held tight to her daddy's hand.  She was his first born and they were a team.  She worshipped him, and rightly so.  How proud he must have been standing there on the edge of the old mountains or walking in the waters down below.  He loved his little Helen and missed her greatly when he was out working the oil fields making a living. He prospered greatly in the Ardmore area, then moved his oil exploration company to Wichita where he and Pearl raised three children through the depression years. The stock market crash sent his investments tumbling. He recovered enough to raise his family.  Times were tough and they closed off parts of their three story home to create apartments. Mother rarely talked about those years, and the reality is that I don't know much about her life from 1930--1940.  

My mother, Helen, and her brother and sister, attended Sunnyside school and East High School in Wichita.  One time when we visited grandmother Pearl in the home on Oakland, mother walked me through the neighborhood and told me names of all of the children who used to live in those homes on Chautauqua street, English st., and Waterman. She shared stories of playing with friends in the College Hill Park area, of going to movies, and to Dockam's Drug Store. She became an accomplished ice skater during her childhood and often drove her daddy's car up and down Douglas Avenue.  

Helen's father

Perhaps her most cherished memories grew in the garden where her dad raised the vegetables.  She'd sit on the steps out back while we played and tell about the times she would help her daddy in the garden; digging, planting, and pulling weeds, then picking the fresh vegetables.  

I think her heart was searching for her dad who died, a year before his first grandchild, Letty Stapp,  was born. Maybe, just maybe, I know more about how she felt on those trips to her old home in Wichita because today and for so many days since 1989 I search for my mother.

*This year on Mother's Day I spent the afternoon with my

daughter, Katy, laughing and creating memories of mother and daughter times.  During the afternoon while the two of us painted, my mother found me through our open hearts, and I smiled but tears flowed gently down my cheeks.   I love you Mother today and everyday.

My wish and my prayer for all of you who read this story, is that you find the love you are searching for.

Seven Eleven

Forty-three years ago this morning a precious baby girl entered our world and I was happy. Kathryn Alexis Rains, with a head full of dark hair and rosy cheeks, roared into the world at St. John's Hospital, Joplin, Missouri, arriving at 7:11am on a Tuesday morning, before grandparents could even be called.  For them, no waiting! What a delightful surprise for all of us. I had the luxury of a grand insurance plan from BF Goodrich, which allowed me six full days of hospital care.  

I quickly learned what so many of the "old wives' meant when they said, "sleep when you can, your pleasant nights of rest are over."  So began the cycles of life for both of us and a connectedness between mother and daughter that runs deeper than the ocean's bottom, with highs that surely crest the Alps, and blues that churn the rolling seas.  Her cholicky days and nights must have rivaled mine, as my father heard her cries and immediately was

Gramps and his kitten, Katy.

transported to the months following my birth when I, too, would scream and cry, keeping the whole world awake and weary.  As my mother, the sage, would say when she pursed her lips and made a slight kissing sound, "This too shall pass, Letty."

Katy was a child, now a woman, who cannot be contained by walls.  Her energy, her curiosity, her head strong stubbornness all woven together has created a life full of good and bad choices, love and heartache, and learning from experiences more than from books.  She steadfastly learned how to ride a two-wheeled bicycle down the gravely streets of Greensburg, Ks before she turned four.  Blood, sweat, and tears were a daily part of our lives.  We have been guided by a loving patient higher-power and been held by the hands of angels in this journey.  Though my mother died twenty-five years ago, she has held me daily as Katy and I continue our journey of life.  A mother's touch reaches beyond the world we wake up to, and can be felt when the breezes brush our cheeks, when the sun radiates across our faces, or when the ocean waves lap at our feet.  

One noonday lunch break on a September 28 when I was teaching at Wilson Elementary a light touch whispered in my ear, and I realized that I was 46 and Katy had just turned 23. For one half of my life, she had been the child I wanted and held so closely that day in 1971. Today she is 43 and I' m 66, and the numbers keep rising, aren't we lucky.   

We have so few traditions, the two of us, possibly because of divorce, that ugly word that causes rivers of tears, or because of moves, but one tradition we hold strong to takes place every year on her birthday at 7:11 in the morning.  No matter where she is I wake her with a gentle touch or a phone call at 7:11 on September 28 and wish her happy birthday and sing in my mother's voice "Happy Birthday to You."  

Today, Katy is on the beach at the Gulf of Mexico refreshing her soul with the ocean waters, sitting in the sun, or holding a fishing pole casting for the biggest catch of the day, as always looking for adventure.  I love you Katy and am blessed to be a part of your life.  

Sound (wo)man on the OU sidelines.

Magic Jeanne

John, Jack, Jeanne, Jerry, Jim Watt

Jeanne is the fifth in a line of four brothers, Jim, Jerry, Jack, and John.  She and her husband Steve are the parents of five children, with Nate being the last and a brother to four sisters; Melissa, Jessica, Elizabeth, and Jennifer Joy. That alone is enough to make her my hero for Mother's Day and any other day.

I nicknamed her Magic Jeanne this winter when she volunteered to help us paint walls and halls in our new home in Norman.   The energy, drive, and many talents this woman possesses is why I named her Magic.  

After we signed on our new home on Feb. 28, 2014 we immediately drove to Lowe's to buy the first of many gallons of paint. The next morning Jeanne, who had driven down from Laramie, Wyoming to spend the week with her mom, knocked on the door of new home.  "Hi Guys," she smiled and waved a paint brush in her hand, "I've come to help paint.  Let me just change clothes then tell me where you need me."  Now that was before I could say welcome.  "Don't worry guys, I always travel with my paint clothes, and this brush because it works on trim so well."  I guess the mother of five would be thinking ahead with each trip to visit her grown kids.    Jack and I didn't even think to bring painting clothes, but we did move in with a bed for the guest room, a dinning room table with chairs and a small television.

Painting the master bedroom took patience because we used paint that said primer and color.  Two walls were complete before I studied our handy work. "It's not working.  The mustard color shows through," I quietly muttered. Jeanne stepped back, "I agree.  I agree guys." With our three heads together we realized this paint job would take primer first then color. So began our trips to Lowes.   Back on task I painted the middle to lower wall portions, Jeanne with her personal paint brush meticulously painted all of the trim while Jack stood on the ladder and painted the top portions.  At any one time someone was on a ladder, squatting, or nearly lying on the floor painting trim.  We were a team for four days in a row.  Throughout the painting period we made treks to Lowe's, Subway, Walmart, Lowe's, Subway, Walmart, until we were able to laugh.  Then one evening a fiery sunset glowed through our west windows, and we proudly beamed with delight at the changes in our home. We couldn't have done it without Jeanne's motherly attitude and mantra, "We can do this guys.  We can do this."

Magic Jeanne keeping her hands busy. 

At week's end we drove back to Kansas and Jeanne drove home to Laramie via Omaha where three of her girls live.  One month later we were back in Norman with all of our furniture.  The next week Jeanne arrived to help her mom, and that's when more magic poured from her hands.  She stayed in our guest room, now called Jeanne's room, until a crisis arose and she moved back in with her mom.  

One day we were discussing and measuring where we could move some large pieces of furniture.  We were in the thinking stage. Jeanne arrived needing some down time so Jack said, "Jeanne stay her, watch TV, sit outside, whatever and relax.  We'll take care of mom this afternoon." 

"Ok, guys.  Bye, see you later,"  always smiling laughing Jeanne waved good-bye.  A few hours later we came home to find the large bookcase moved from one end of the house to the other.  "How did that happen," I asked somewhat incredulously.  "Oh, well guys, I couldn't just sit here so I moved the bookcase back to the guest room.  I hope you like it.  It looks really good." Her voice showed only enthusiasm, no exhaustion like mine might have.  "You truly are magical Jeanne," I replied, "And thank you but truly you can relax here sometimes."  

Jeanne and her mom, Alleen.

In the few weeks that she stayed in Norman, she helped us finish all of the unpacking and arranging, made meals for her mom, then went on to help paint in brother John's bathroom and kitchen. 

"Have Paint Brush Will Travel" became Jeanne's new card.   If it's Kilz you need or Primer you want that woman can tackle the job and elevate the laughter at the painting party.    

Her mom, Alleen Watt, is 90 and living proof that raising children only makes you stronger.   With ten children between them, they've learned what's important and what's not.  Happy Mother's Day.