Long Hollow

The VIP

February 21, 2013

Belle waited just outside the French doors, hopeful I'd appear and be reminded of our morning walk. I stepped out, surprised at the balmy temperatures and blue skies. I had expected a chilly, drizzly morning.

With no worries about rain, I grabbed my camera and we headed down the dirt road to one of Max's swimming holes. Birds sang softly around us and dew glistened on the grass in the sunshine.

Thoroughly soaked, Max clambered back up the hill to me and Belle, and we headed home. That's when I noticed the black clouds in the western sky where mere minutes before it had been cloudless. And they were moving fast. Faster than any storm I'd ever seen.

It was a half mile back to the house. Before we'd gone a quarter of a mile, the clouds had caught us, swirling above me, then beyond, swallowing the sun and the light, like a thick wool blanket pulled over the Hollow.

No rain. Not yet. But it grew cold. The wind whipped my hair as we trotted the last steps down to the safety of the porch, breathing a sigh of relief and amazed that we made it before the rain fell and ruined my camera.

But by the time I had the puppies' breakfast ready and stepped onto the back porch, blue sky was already breaking above the tree line. Those black clouds had been nothing but bluff and blunder.

I heard it before I saw it, a tap dance on the metal roof. It came with a rush, falling hard and fast and blowing sideways in the wind. Rain, the VIP at the end of its imposing black cloud escort. I had a great seat, right at the edge of the parade. It even reached out and touched me, a gentle spray carried by the wind up onto the porch.

Then it was gone, as fast as it appeared. Now there's nothing but blue skies, wisps of white clouds and sunshine framed by my window…and trees that still dance, celebrating the brief encounter, perhaps calling "Come back!"

(If you're having trouble reading this blog, if it's displayed weird or anything, please let me know. One of my longtime readers is having trouble and I'm trying to figure out what's wrong. Thank you!)
Divulging My (not-so-secret fitness and health) Secrets

February 19, 2013

"I think in terms of the day's resolutions, not the year's." ~Henry Moore

I recently came across a photo of myself taken on one of my girls' weekends in Port Aransas several years ago. I was standing by the rail of the ferry crossing to the island, flanked by two friends.

But at first glance, I didn't even recognize myself in the photo. Soon after it was taken, I started on a journey to get healthy. Not to lose weight, because I felt I'd already tried everything I could, diet- and exercise-wise, to lose those last fifteen pounds, but no luck. I was resigned to my weight. It wasn't that much, after all. I just wanted to be healthy and fit inside as I headed toward my fiftieth birthday.

I never expected that those changes I made in my life would melt the pounds away and make me feel healthier and more energetic than I'd ever, ever felt before. Seeing that photo made me realize what a huge difference our every day choices can make.

And it all started with a Lenten Promise.

I've never been one to go the "giving up" route during Lent. I know me too well. Why set myself up for failure?

Instead, I preferred to add beneficial things that I could continue beyond Lent, like saying the Rosary every morning when I walk the dogs or doing something nice for someone every day.

But that year I got it in my head to give up sugar as the first step of my journey to better health.

I quit adding it to my coffee and vowed not to eat any store-bought sweets…except for dark chocolate. I didn't like dark chocolate at the time, but I had heard it was sort of healthy, so if the Smarties leftover from Halloween or the Chips Ahoy cookies I knew were in the pantry starting calling my name, I allowed myself a piece of dark chocolate to pacify my sweet tooth.

I also allowed myself homemade treats of any kind when they were offered – in moderation, of course. (They're made with love, so it's probably a sin to turn them down, right?)

But it surprised me how hard it was to pass that candy bowl without grabbing something. It had become a habit. I started praying for the strength to stick with my Lenten promise, and that's when I finally "got" the giving-up thing: it's about realizing your own limitations and weaknesses, and learning to rely on God's strength instead of your own.

By the end of Lent, the candy bowl no longer tempted me and I could easily pass up store-bought goodies. My taste buds had come back to life and my sweet tooth was satisfied by a handful of grapes or strawberries.

(Alas, along the way I developed a love for dark chocolate. Now I look forward to two pieces in the evening.)

That first step led to others, taken one at a time. Along the way I continually educated myself on health and fitness so that perimenopause was pretty much a breeze for me (and those around me!)

I've decided to share my journey with others. Perhaps the steps I took aren't the right ones for everyone, but on the other hand, they might be; at the very least, I hope to inspire others to know they're never too old to make positive changes in their health and their life.

But there's too much to include in one blog post. Maybe I'll create a series…or even an e-book. I'll keep you posted.

Meanwhile, what changes have you made in your life that resulted in more than you hoped for?

(The spam folder is still swallowing comments, so don't worry if yours seems to just disappear. I'll retrieve it as soon as possible. Thanks!)
Signs of Spring, and other Sweet!s

February 17, 2013

Like the Munchkins when Dorothy first arrives in the (movie) land of Oz, yellow flowers are popping up and peeking out at the world, one by one, to see if the coast is clear and the rumor is true..that the wicked old winter is gone.

(Not that our winters here around Austin, Texas are actually wicked, but I had to go with the theme.)

And last week I spotted a few American Robins up in the trees, another sure sign that Spring is headed our way, despite the lack of buds on the trees.

(Obviously, the trees have grown cynical.)

Spring shows what God can do with a drab and dirty world. ~Virgil A. Kraft

Here are a few more sweet!s that popped up in front of me this past week…

Saturday: watching old episodes of Dark Shadows with your son

Sunday: Mass with your son; celebrating friends' birthdays with margaritas and Mexican food, laughter and hugs; a long walk with your son and puppies; watching the Grammys for the first time in years

Monday: rain falling on the hills; working in a school library

Tuesday: drizzly mornings and mist on your face; homemade chocolate and peanut butter covered strawberries; wood-fire-oven-roasted veggies; crab cakes; a call from your oldest son; new running shoes

Wednesday: watching the sun rise on your morning walk; meeting interesting people; joining with your church family to celebrate traditions of your faith

Thursday: a Mexican Jay escort on your morning walk; getting paid to watch a video on Fitness and Nutrition; a text from a friend letting you know about a job opening; finishing a project; Valentine's Day dinner with the love of your life

Friday: first graders, even when they stretch your patience; silence in a church filled with people praying; dancing the Cotton-Eyed Joe and the Schottische; waltzing; stars dusting the hilltops

Saturday: fresh pizza when you're famished; the giggle of leaves playing in the wind on a stone terrace; making a dent in your laundry and email after a week when you've barely been home

Sunday: a deep breath and a cup of coffee on the back deck before returning to the fast track; making surly customers happy; news that your son and his love completed the Livestrong Half Marathon with their personal best times; sitting on the back deck after work, sipping a glass of wine and pouring the characters and stories buzzing around in your head onto paper until it's too dark to see

Here's to another Sunday and another week full of sweet! moments waiting to pop up and surprise us! Keep your eyes open!

Share some of your own sweet!s from the past week in the comments. I love to hear them!

(Typepad's new spam-blocking system is still dumping 95% of comments, including my replies (!), into the spam folder. So don't worry if your comment seems to disappear! I'll retrieve it as soon as possible. Thank you!)
Five Things (A Day Late)

February 16, 2013

I intended to post this last night. You know, "Five Things on Friday" – that catchy alliteration thing.

Instead, I went dancing.

So here are my "Five Things on Friday, on Saturday":

1. Did you watch the Grammies? I did this year for the first time in ages. So I was even more jealous that my kids got to see the grammy-winning band "Fun." in Austin two nights later! (Is it okay to be jealous of your kids?)

2. I was raised Baptist, but converted to Catholicism more than 15 years ago after about 15 years of contemplation about it. Pope Benedict XVI's decision to resign earlier this week came as a huge surprise. However, I respect him for stepping down if he feels he isn't physically able to do the job anymore. It's unusual, as far as tradition goes, but I'm not worried about the Church and don't anticipate huge changes.

3. I received another "sorry, you aren't our choice for this job" email. It was for an administrative assistant position that didn't pay much. I replied with my thanks for letting me know, and asked if they could tell me why I wasn't chosen, in case it was something I could change and increase my odds with the next application. I was told the "chosen one" has a bachelor's degree and more years of clerical, accounts payable, and customer service experience… which tells me they must be at least as old as I am, but they're still scrambling to find a job and are forced to resort to low-paying positions, despite years of experience and a bachelor's degree. Which means I'm screwed in the job department, if that's my competition. (No, I'm not giving up. Just whining.)

4. THE WEDDING is coming up fast! I need to find a good mother-son song for the reception. Any suggestions?

5. I came across a fortune cookie fortune in my purse. I have no idea where it came from, but I love what it says: "In the providence of the mind, what one believes to be true either is true or becomes true." Do you agree or disagree?

I hope you've had a wonderful Saturday!

Five Mexican Jays, keeping an eye on the Hollow

P.S. Typepad seems to be acting up again. Please send me an email and let me know if you have trouble leaving comments or viewing this post in any way. barbarashallue (at) yahoo (dot) com

Thank you!
What is (Real) Love?

February 14, 2013

Love talked about can be easily turned aside, but love demonstrated is irresistible.~

W. Stanley Mooneyham
American minister and speaker, 20th century

I was bemoaning the fact that, despite hundreds of miles run, lunges lunged and squats thrusted, and losing enough weight that I could buy my bras in "training" sizes, I still have my grandmother's saddle-bag thighs.

"But you don't have any cellulite anymore," Tom told me.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Really."

The next day I looked for myself. Sigh. Just as dimpled as ever. I knew Tom hadn't been lying or merely trying to make me feel better; he just can't see worth crap anymore.

But he also just doesn't care. He doesn't care that my hair is thinning. Heck, he wouldn't care if I went bald. He has never been able to tell when I'm wearing makeup or not (I've tested him)…so I'm sure my deepening wrinkles go unnoticed. He pays attention to me, he sees me…but it's the me on the inside…the me that he met and fell in love with despite himself almost 31 years ago. He looks past the "me" on the outside just as I look past the 55-year-old "him" on the outside and see the "him" who asked me for a dance at Diamondback so many years ago.

That's love.

With my son's wedding on the horizon, I've been thinking about married love and what makes it last – or not. Here are a few more…

…Love is the sound of drums coming from my house…fulfilling a wish I had tossed aside, believing it couldn't come true because there wasn't a spot for them in our new house. Tom surprised me with a set (thank you, Craig's List) on our anniversary a few years ago. It proved to me he pays attention. At least sometimes.

(Love is throwing him not one, but two surprise birthday parties…plus a huge family reunion/50th birthday party that lasted two weeks and involved having people sleeping on every square inch of the house, including on a mattress in the downstairs shower stall. Poor Kirby)

…Love is coming in the house from a long weekend, relieved to discover your coffee grounds from four days before have (thank the Lord!) been dumped and all the pieces are clean and dry, ready to go…despite the fact that your spouse doesn't drink coffee. (If he hadn't cleaned it for me…ooh, gross!)

(Love is picking up empty Dr. Pepper cans from all over the house…and outside…and biting my tongue. Pretty much.)

…Love is finding the coupon section of the Sunday newspaper separated for me, without asking.

(Love is gathering up the Sunday newspaper, at times from different rooms in the house, and putting it in the wicker basket where it goes.)

…Love is not minding that I plant myself in front of the computer every evening after dinner to write…and biting his tongue when he sees I'm on Facebook instead.

(Love is not minding that some nights he just crawls in bed and flips channels, instead of working on whatever project is in progress at the time, because he's physically and mentally worn out. He leaves the house at 5:30 am, for goodness sake!)

…Love is not being jealous about phone calls from old boyfriends, or emails from old boyfriends, or birthday lunches with old boyfriends.

(Love is not being jealous about his women friends and co-workers…even when he pinches Lisa's rear-end.)

…Love is always dancing the Cotton-Eyed Joe and the Schottische even though his hips and ankles still hurt from that accident in 1998.

(Love is sitting by his side in the hospital for a week, afraid to leave him…holding the urinal in place for an hour because he thinks he can go on his own…feeding him ice chips, sleeping on a fold-out chair, grateful for the sound of his snoring because it means he's alive.)

…Love is piecing together sections of workshop floor matting for me to lie on when I do sit-ups, so my tailbone doesn't get bruised anymore.

(Love is subscribing to Men's World e-newsletters and forwarding the good ones to him to keep him healthy.)

…Love is not nagging each other because the bathroom he/she is in charge of cleaning is a borderline health problem.

…Love is hanging on to and supporting each other through the illness and death of a parent, financial worries, and the never-ending ups and downs of having children.

…Love is saying to hell with everything that needs to be done around here to play ping-pong…or go for long walks along the creek…or travel virtually to Ireland or Istanbul or Italy with Rick Steves…

…Love is still joking around, still having fun, still laughing at each other and at ourselves after almost 32 years…and hoping we have at least another 32 together.

The proof of love is in the works. Where love exists, it works great things. But when it ceases to act, it ceases to exist.

~Pope St. Gregory the Great

What do you think "Love is…"?

Share with me!

(If your comment doesn't show up right away, don't worry. Typepad's new anti-spam system is dumping them all into my spam folder. But I'll find them. Thank you!)

This is re-post from 2010 that I spiffied up in honor of Valentine's Day and the 1st Annual Valentine's Day Boost-My-Blog Party hosted by a Rural Journal and Two Bears Farm. Follow the links to check out other participants.
Another Random Analogy, Kids!

February 13, 2013

Do you iron?

I don't. I mean, I can, but I haven't in a long, long time.

My husband will vouch for that. He stopped buying shirts with wrinkle-inclined collars and button panels when it became clear he'd have to iron them himself.

"I buried a lot of my ironing in the back yard." ~ Phyllis Diller

But yesterday I had no choice. We go through a lot of white napkins at the winery bistro where I work and they come out of the dryer a mess of wrinkles.

I knew I couldn't just bury them, so there I stood beside the board, elbow up high, working that hot iron back and forth across a white cloth napkin. I pressed and pushed and pressed and pushed, but no luck. The wrinkles would not go away.

Then a faint memory stirred. Ah, yes. Steam. I found the magic button, and poof! the wrinkles vanished with just a fraction of my previous effort.

I fell into a rhythm, back and forth, back and forth, thumb on steam button. One napkin after another wrinkle-free, folded, and ready for tables. My mind wandered. I had forgotten about that part of ironing, too, how it's so conducive to thinking about any- and everything.

And this is what my thoughts brought back to me from their journey abroad…

The napkins are like us, starting out all neat and tidy and folded just right. Then we head out into the world. We can't help but be affected, usually ending up used and dirty. We make changes, clean ourselves up, only to realize that, if we take a hard look at ourselves, our hearts are still all wrinkled. We can work and work and work, but our own effort just isn't enough. We need help.

We need steam, and I believe it comes in the form of the Holy Spirit. We just have to ask for help and it swoops in and smooths things out. The trick is we have to acknowledge the wrinkles and want to get rid of them.

Today is the first day of Lent and that's what it's all about, taking a good honest look at your heart, your soul, your life, seeing the wrinkles, recognizing we need help with the toughest ones, and depending on the Holy Spirit to help us.

Yes, that's how my brain works sometimes. Do you see now why my kids hate my analogies? I'm way out of practice now. You should have heard the ones I came up with when they were teenagers.

But for those of you who read all the way through this, I have something to lighten things up: "How to Survive Lent 2013 or What We Gave Up". I may be Catholic, but I still have a sense of humor.

So…are you giving anything up for Lent? If not, here's my back-up question…do you iron?

"My second favorite household chore is ironing. My first being hitting my head on the top bunk bed until I faint."

~ Erma Bombeck

We don't iron these colored ones. I hope you can't tell. I don't want to have to start, even if ironing is conducive to random analogical thinking.

(P.S. Update on the comment problem: I apologize if you've tried to leave a comment, but didn't see it. Typepad has a new, obviously over-agressive, spam blocker system, and all comments are being dumped into my spam folder. I even discovered some of my recent replies in there! I've notified Typepad and hope it's resolved soon. In the meantime, thank you for commenting. They're there – you just don't see them! And since I'm not getting email notifications, you're not receiving my replies.)
It Started with Peter…

February 11, 2013

It was Peter Noone's voice I first fell in love with. My six-year-old heart broke for him when he sang to Mrs. Brown about her lovely daughter.

"Wait for me, Peter," I told the radio, "I'll never break your heart like that."

I still can't resist a British accent.

Imagine my excitement the next year when my aunt invited my sister and me to see his adorably-boyish face and tousled sandy-blonde hair in person! Herman's Hermits were coming to the Houston Coliseum! It would be my very first concert.

My memory about the actual concert is pretty sketchy. I know I wore pink, all the way down to my Keds. My mother had taken me shopping for a special outfit. And it seems we sat pretty close to the stage, close enough to see Peter's precious face, but that might just be wishful thinking playing with my memory.

The Animals were the back up group. They became one of my favorite bands, too. Now that I think about it, I bet my attraction to bad boys can be traced to watching Eric Burdon sing "Little Red Riding Hood" up on that stage.

Young love is fickle, though. Bobby Sherman, David Cassidy, Davy Jones, Peter Tork, Paul McCartney, Dennis Wilson, that kid on H.R. Pufnstuf (Jack Wild – British accent again!)…they all made my heart go pitter-patter.

But it was another adorably-boyish face topped with tousled sandy-blonde hair that finally caught my heart for good. He wasn't a celebrity and he didn't have a British accent, but he was born in England.

Close enough.

Did/do you have your own Celebrity Crush?

This post is part of a Generation Fabulous bloghop. In honor of Valentine's Day, the February theme is My Celebrity Crush.

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Validation (and other sweet!s)

February 9, 2013

I stood in the empty bathroom staring at myself in the mirror, repeating the same sentence over and over and over, forcing myself to look me in the eyes as I spouted my pitch.

Practice, practice, practice. Breathe, breathe, breathe.

There were two of them, one right after the other. They each sat at the end of a long table on the far side of a small room. I didn't come away with an agent begging me for my whole manuscript, but I did walk away from the two critique sessions at today's writing conference with validation and hope and encouragement.

Each of them, the experienced author and the agent, gave me suggestions on how to improve my children's book, but overall, they liked it. In fact, the author said she loved my main character. It made me feel the same way I did when a teacher praised one of my children.

Sweet!

(Everyone says they aren't looking for validation at these things, but it sure feels good when you get enough to make you feel your work hasn't been a total waste of time, and you feel motivated to keep working on it rather than tossing the file in your virtual trashcan.)

Here are a few other sweet! moments from my week…

Sunday: watching the Super Bowl with your parents; being able to check your email on your phone

Monday: plumbers who come out right away to fix your parents' broken faucet; helping your mom get to her doctor's appointment; the crunch of gravel on your caliche road signaling you're home

Tuesday: running for the first time in days; a slow day at the winery so you have time to take photos; recognizing one of your son's friends at the grocery store, despite all the whiskers on his now-grown-up face; Girl Scouts and Girl Scout cookies

Wednesday: a busy day at the winery, with great customers, so the time passes fast; the contrast of storm clouds and bright sunshine

Thursday: the smell of crayons; the creativity of elementary school kids; an afternoon walk with your puppies; an oasis in the woods; a virtual trip to Prague, courtesy of a friend's photographs and Facebook posts

Friday: Great White Pyrenees and shaggy black labs you meet in the vet's office; a catch-up talk with a friend; shopping with your daughter; paychecks in the mailbox; a son who bothers to remove a piece of dust from a tiny spider's leg

Saturday: your son waking early to wish you good luck in pitching your book at your writing conference; writing conferences; new blossoms on a redbud tree

I hope the coming week is full of validation and sweet! moments for you!
The Artist

February 7, 2013

I stand mesmerized, watching him consider the next space before choosing a rock from a collection he's gathered over, not just months, but years. That's how long the vision has been in his mind.

To me, the rock he chooses looks like a perfect fit, but his eyes see more than mine can. He oh-so-gently taps and chips at it until it truly is a perfect match. I can see that now. No mortar or concrete will be required to hold it in place. Only sand. And it will last forever.

Before laying it in place, though, he carefully prepares its space with a small shovel and rake, using two levels to get it just the right angle and depth with the surrounding stones. Finally, he fills the gap between the new and old with sand.

Then he moves on to the next space and starts all over.

This is my husband's latest project, creating a beautiful oasis near a little pond that was tucked away so deep in juniper trees and undergrowth when we first stepped foot in Long Hollow that we didn't even know it was there. That's hard to imagine now.

It's my favorite place in the whole world, especially when the waterfalls are flowing.

He works on it every bit of spare time he has between his job and working on our old cars. If I worked on my books so diligently, I'd be on my tenth by now.

He's a true artist, getting a vision in his mind that gnaws at him until he sees it through. I admire his focus, his drive, his attention to detail.

Every creator painfully experiences the chasm between his inner vision and its ultimate expression.

~Isaac Bashevis Singer

a Celtic cross inlaid in the front walkway

cedar sprigs imprinted on our front doorstep

He never says "That's good enough." His perfectionism in general can drive me crazy, but when it's channeled into the right areas, it blows me away…and inspires me to raise my own neglected artist within to a higher standard.

Art is when you hear a knocking from your soul — and you answer.

~Terri Guillemets

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

Thank you, Hilary!
Love and Marriage, and everything in between

February 5, 2013

Love is patient, love is kind…

When I heard those words from First Corinthians at Mass Sunday, my mind drifted back to my wedding. Like so many other couples, we chose this as one of the readings in our ceremony, believing we would always be patient and kind with each other.

Well, we haven't. Not always.

It is not proud, it is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs…

Sigh.

Over the past thirty years I'm sure we've both committed each one of these sins. Marriage is tough. Pride is hard to swallow. Exhaustion and stress and differences of opinion on everything from kids and money to how to squeeze a tube of toothpaste just chip, chip, chip away at those bonds of love tying you together.

We've survived plenty of bumps. There have been times I didn't think we'd make it to the next week, much less the next anniversary, times I thought that bond had cracked right in two. But somehow each of us kept hanging on, and that bond would feel stronger than ever. For awhile.

I'm not taking a single day together for granted. Life is tricky.

It always protects, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.

I believe this is true, if you're determined and stubborn and want it to be true bad enough to fight for it, to swallow your pride, to keep an open mind that perhaps your way isn't the only way.

To believe in your love for each other. To believe in God's love for each of you, and to ask for his love when your love isn't enough, which can happen all too often. To hang on to each other, no matter what.

When I stepped into my parents' home Sunday evening, the sound of running water drew me down the hallway to the bathroom. Water was pouring out of the shower head, thanks to a broken valve.

I discovered, from Daddy, it had been that way for more than 24 hours. Yikes, the water bill!

So first thing Monday morning, I called the plumber. Within thirty minutes, the dispatcher called to let us know someone was on their way…

…which upset Daddy, because Mama wasn't awake yet. He didn't want her to be disturbed. He worried more about her getting enough rest than that upcoming water bill.

Or…perhaps he worried she'd be mad and grumpy and he didn't want to deal with it.

After more than sixty years, their marriage is a dance of irritation and protectiveness, of tender looks and looks that could kill. Time is flying by faster than ever for them and instead of being able to savor their time together, they're too busy with trips to the emergency room and doctor's appointments and their kids trying to tell them what to do.

They're worried about each other. Self-sacrificing. If there was ever a time their love wasn't unconditional, it's long gone.

But I can't forget those four years in the middle when they were divorced. No contact whatsoever. I still don't know the details leading up to the split, and I don't want to.

Lord knows there were enough of them. They had faced tons of obstacles, from problems with kids and money to in-law issues. You name it…it happened to them. So I'm guessing there was a lack of patience and kindness, and a surplus of pride, anger, and record-keeping. How could there not be?

And yet…somewhere inside of them hope survived. Love persevered. Love didn't fail.

I bet they wish they could go back in time and get those four years back. I bet they wish they could have just listened to each other and not wasted so much time apart.

In just a few short months my oldest will be getting married. I guess that's why my mind is reflecting on all of this. I wish I could tell them that it will be easy, but I think they already know that it won't.

I do believe that the wisdom in these verses will see them through the inevitable bumps; I just hope they do a better job remembering them than we have.

Watching my parents, I know it's worth it. So, no matter what, I'll keep believing in us.

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