Traveling Thoughts

It has been eons since I've been on an airplane at night.  Last night, as I flew home from California, I got to watch the sky outside my window grow darker as we headed east.  I saw snow stream by in the lights as we headed into Denver.  On the way from Denver to OKC, I saw the full moon above us, and saw it shine on the wing and the clouds below.  As we got below the clouds before landing, I saw the lights spread out below like jewels, rare and beautiful and sparkling in the dark.
Our world is indeed a beautiful and magical place.

Moon through an aircraft window.

The ocean has such mystery and power.  Even when we see it on a mundane day, when people are out enjoying it, and it is relatively calm, there is a sense of the vastness, the potential, the eternal nature of the sea.

Moonlight on the ocean

 

 

Waves at night.

Surfers waiting on waves.

It's been a long time since I've been near the ocean.  I missed listening to it.  Missed the smell of the salt spray (and the hint of petroleum in the air). Missed the cry of gulls over the waves, and the way the sea seems to mute every other sound.

The waves whisper of faraway places, long ago times, adventures, losses, dreams.
No matter how big the ship, the sea is always stronger than it seems.
Though the land seems solid and unchanging, the sea knows
That this isn't so.
For over the years,
The sea ever so slowly
Moves and subtly changes
The face of the shore.
Also the storm winds and waves come,
And change the shore a lot. Suddenly.
The sea has moods.
Friday evening the sea
Was loud and crashing and rattling
The pier as we walked in the dim lights.
Sunday afternoon
It was playful
 Calmer
But not tame.
The sea is never tame.
Especially not the so-called Pacific
Which is cold, and drops off the California coast to sudden depths, and has evil fast rip tides that draw swimmers too far out before they know what's happened.


To feel the power of the waves hitting the pier, to see how excited my grandniece got feeling the waves shake the pier, and seeing and hearing the water below us, was sweet and beautiful to me.
 Yes, it has been far too long since I spent time with the ocean.

You Can't Go "Home" Again. Because "Home" Is Not A Place

This is a very disorganized ramble through some thoughts I've had kicking around in my head for the last few days. If it doesn't make sense to you, feel free to quit reading.  

I recently returned to the area of Southern California very near where I grew up and spent some of my leisure time.  Nothing much was recognizable.  It's been 27 years since I left California for Germany.  Matt and I spent 4 years there, and then the Air Force sent us here to Oklahoma.

I didn't go to any of my old haunts.  I was there for my Mom's burial service at Rose Hills, which has grown SO much since last we were there in 1986 to bury my Pop.  Mom is next to him now, and there are BIG trees all around now, whereas before there were none.  The spectacular view is no longer easily available from that site.  Still, it is a beautiful spot, on a hillside, near the top of a hill. 

The service was really less a service than a remembrance.  We sat in a circle and told Mom stories.  The pastor asked us to consider where Mom is now, where do we think she is?  (I maintain she's with Pop again, because that would be her idea of Heaven.  And perhaps Ollie and Bobo kitties are with them, and maybe Kasey will show up to wait with them for me.  Skippy and Misty and O.D. (dogs) are probably hanging around as well, and I hope Dougal, Taz, Mr. Bear, and Skye show up to say hi and that they'll be waiting for me and Matt.  
The rest of the people Mom loved who have gone before will be there, I'm sure, and they'll all be waiting for us.  That's what Heaven is to me, to know all the ones I have cherished will be together again at last.  There is no detailed description, no guarantee about what Heaven is, but I believe it is the ultimate sense of being "home".  A place and a sense of being surrounded by love that makes us feel at peace and secure.

 I discovered long ago that home isn't a place, it's a sense of belonging, a relationship.  Usually between you and the people you belong to, but also a relationship to a place. 
I found that my internal compass works better in Southern California, perhaps because that is where it was originally programmed.  I could tell almost always which direction we were going, even if I didn't recognize much in the way of highways or buildings.  I get turned around out here, very easily.  Oklahoma is not where my compass was programmed to navigate.  I have had to teach myself to pay attention to where I am here.  In Southern California, I had a pretty good idea where I was, even if I hadn't been there before. (Because chances are I HAD been there before, just in the 1970s or earlier!)

Even though I had no previous ties to Oklahoma, it is now truly "HOME"to me.  I have been through so much here, grown so much, learned so much, and come to love so many people here, that is is definitely home.  I have made friends that I love as much as family, found a church that challenges me, comforts me, and appreciates me, found work that is of value to my community, and that lets me support my passion for reading and sharing my love of reading with others.  Besides, home is really wherever Matthew is for me.  For almost 32 years, Matt has been my love, my support, my partner in adventure.  As long as I have him, I have a really good sense of "home".

The "home" I found in Southern California on this visit had more to do with the people around me than the place itself.  Family is family, wherever you are. Even if you have your issues with each other, you still belong to each other, and yes, you love each other.  I had the great privilege of getting to spend time with my niece Amy, whom I had not seen since 1988 or 89.  She has grown into a lovely young woman, and has a wonderful husband and an adorable two and a half year old daughter.  I was 16 the year Amy was born.  Same distance between she and I that exists between me and my oldest brother.  I remember well when she was born. She was SO wanted, so loved, even before she got here.  She was my folks' first grandchild.  My first niece.  My sister's first child. 
She took very good care of her silly old auntie while I was visiting.  Found a great hotel for me, took me out to eat, took me to see the ocean again, and most of all, let me meet my grandniece.  We had a chance to catch up and learn about each other on an adult level, and it was very nice indeed. 

 I also got to spend some time with my nephew, whom I hadn't seen since he was little.  He has little boys of his own now, and they are adorable.  His wife is really sweet, and the boys are a bit shy around weird old aunties that they've never met, but they were polite.  It means a lot that they cared enough to come and meet us at the beach and share some time with me while I was there. 

My oldest brother, so family legend has it, once went away to camp as a child (long before I was on the scene), and wrote a letter home the first week asking Mom and Pop to come get him.  Pop contended he was just homesick, and he'd get over it.  Butch said "No, I'm not homesick, I'm PEOPLE sick."  He missed his family, not his house. (Knowing Butch, he could also have been weary of the company of the other children, but that's another issue...)
The people who are your family are the people who "gotta love ya" as the saying goes.  They may not always LIKE you very much, but they do love you.  We are part of each other in a family, like it or not. 

My family is not terribly demonstrative, not "huggy" people.  I tend to be, I have an affectionate nature for being such an introvert, but if I love someone, I want them to know, I want to hold them close, even if only for a second.  We humans are such separate creatures, so unable to really see or know what goes on inside one another.  Oh, we can learn to be observant and make pretty good guesses, but we never know for sure.  Hugs are one of the few ways we can express that sense of "We are part of each other" .  I have friends I hug, because I love them.  (They also happen to be huggy people, so that works out...)

My siblings all left home by the time I was nine.  I had Mom and Pop all to myself from then until I was 24 and got married and moved out myself.  I was spoiled as a child, but just as much by my siblings as by my parents.  My parents finally got used to the idea that I was a grown up, but I don't think the same has sunk in to all my siblings.  My parents knew for sure I was a real adult when I stayed by myself in that house in DOWNTOWN San Bernardino while Matt was TDY.  Well, I was married, and that house was our home.  I had work of my own to do, and I had to be home to do it.  Besides, running back to Mom and Pop never even occurred to me.  (Where Matthew comes back to is home, even when that was a small apartment on a farm in Germany during the first Gulf War.)

Mom and Pop had a parting ritual.  Every time Pop left for work, he kissed Mom and said they said "I love you." Pop used to say "Love you most." Or Mom would, whoever got to it first.  They were affectionate, and when I was a little kid, they were affectionate with me, too.  Even when I was a grown up, they'd hug me goodbye when they came to visit, or if I did.  I know my siblings were more affectionate when they were younger. I don't know why time seems to have put a stiffness around us.  Oh, they will break down and hug on the rare occasions we are together, but it always has an awkward  feel to it.  My friends are much more natural about it.  Heck, a couple of the kids who come in the library are more relaxed about it, and they don't know me THAT well, even if I have known them since they were tiny.

So, yes, home can mean many things, but mostly it is a place where you feel loved, and where you feel you belong.  "Home is where the heart is" , "Home is where they have to let you in when you go there." "You can't go home again."  So many sayings about home.  For me, as I said, home is where Matthew is.  Sometimes it takes awhile for a place to feel like home, but you put down roots, and you grow, and you come to love and be loved by the people and the place. 

Annother Compilation Of Odd Places My Mind Goes...

I wonder if modern, mostly city dwelling kids realize that owls are real, and not just a part  of the Harry Potter universe?

We go along every day taking SO MANY people for granted.  Then someone dies, either someone close to us, or someone famous, and we realize, if we love somebody, love their work, their style, the fact that they exist, we should tell them RIGHT NOW.  Tomorrow it may be too late.

For once I can let someone I love go with very little regret.  Mom was leaving very slowly over the last several years, but at least she knew she was VERY loved.  I told her every time I talked to her, and so did all the other kids.  She's got all her marbles back again, and she's with Pop and most of her own family again, so it's hard to be sad.  Except that I'll miss her.  Even though I was kind of missing her already.

Not everybody on Social Media is out to self-promote or be a phony.  I've found some real friends there.  Some of them I've even met in person. Not phony.  Down to earth, caring, and good people. Don't be too cynical.  A little bit is ok, but don't overdo it.  Not EVERYBODY is a fraud.

The odds that the keys are in the very bottom of your handbag are directly proportional to how big of a hurry you are in to find them, and how big the handbag is.


I cannot be trusted around any store, online or otherwise that sells lingerie.  Not if I have a credit card.

I REALLY cannot be trusted in any store, online or otherwise, that sells books. If I have a credit card, cash, or both, I will spend more than I should on books.  ALWAYS.

If it's not one thing, it's your mother.  For your whole life. Even after she's gone.

After 10 years of private piano instruction, and a college general music theory class, why I am now having trouble remembering the step number of each note in a scale when called upon to do so?  Tell you the note's name, probably not a problem if I know where I started, but number it, or give it the correct do re mi designation?  Nope.  Brain is having a hard time twisting itself around this one.

When my feelings are near the surface, when I am in need of special care, I tend to be more caring for others.  I must be a grown up at last.  Found myself going out of my way for my customers today, walking them back to IS with their questions, taking them to the shelf if I knew where to find what they wanted, generally being glad these people are my neighbors and customers.

Quiet words from a friend can be more healing than anything else when you need them.  God bless those of you who reach out in love.  Even when you are far away, I feel hugged, and cared for, and loved.  Thank you.

Few things are as satisfyingly good as pizza and beer.  They just go together so well...

Has anybody else in BATB fandom realized that all the Tunnel dwellers seem to have shoulder pads in their clothes?  Ah, the 80s.  Priceless, weren't they?


Even though I like the idea of travel, the actual practice annoys the crap out of me.  I dislike having to deal with airports, crowds, and the anxiety that it will all go horrendously wrong somehow...

Doughnuts are a real vice of mine.  I only have them about three times a year, because otherwise, I'd weigh 300 pounds.  Or I'd never do anything but eat doughnuts and exercise like crazy.
That said, few things are as truly wonderful on a relaxing weekend morning than fresh doughnuts and coffee.... ah.  Simple pleasures.

The problem with my food record app is that there's no way to record "Shameful ice cream binge", or "WAAAY too many doughnuts".

What's with the "Forever 21" thing?  I know it's a store, but I can't help but think, I wouldn't WANT to be forever 21.  It was the 80s, and I was a self- involved little shit then.  (With weird hair and shoulder pads.)

When I do my nails, it always takes longer than I think it will.

Sometimes, you just have to watch a really funny movie to give yourself permission to laugh.

All things must come to an end.  I suppose this list is no exception.

In Memory Of My Mother

Mom holding me.

Last Friday my Mom finally left us.  She's been on her way away from us for the last several years, really, and we knew, once our Aunt Margaret passed, that it was only a matter of time before Mom followed her.  They were closer than any sisters I have ever known.  Even when they lived thousands of miles apart, they wrote and called regularly.  Once Mom  retired, she moved back to Alabama to live next door to Aunt Margaret, and for quite a few years, they had a good time going and doing things together with the church group, or on car trips with my older sister when she'd go to visit.  I was in Germany when Mom moved back to Alabama, and though I used to call her every day when we were still in California, at that time, long distance from Germany was VERY expensive, so I only called once in a while.

Friends seem concerned about me, well, I am grateful for their concern, and I am sure I will have my weepy moments over the next weeks, but I've been having those for a few years  now.  The Mom we knew has been gone awhile.  The lady who could giggle at herself and at situations, the one who told me I was the smartest girl in the world, and the prettiest, the one who asked me for good mystery author recommendations, who asked about the library and my writing, that woman's been gone a long time.  She was still my Mom, and still funny, but she'd tell the same stories five or six times every time you talked to her.  The same stories every time you called.  She forgot a lot of things, but she never forgot that she loved me.  She always told me so.  She also never forgot my Pop, and how much she loved him.  The stories she told over and over were usually about Pop. How he called her "Sweet."  Never called her "Beautiful", like Matt calls me, but "Sweet". ( I told her it's because she was so sweet, and I'm not always. She giggled.)

I am glad to say that I got the chance to make sure she knew I loved her, too.  I told her so every time I talked to her.  More than anyone else, Mom made an impact on  my life, on my personality and my outlook on things.  I have a lot of my own opinions, and certainly my own style, but Mom influenced me more than she did the other kids.  They never had as much of her undivided attention as I did.  I was very glad that my sister started calling her every day, and going to see her twice a year, being involved with Mom as an adult.  I had a few years of that, even though I was still living at home for part of it.   It was basically me and Mom and Pop from the time I was 9 until I was married at 24.  They realized I was a grown up, finally, when I married Matt and STAYED all by myself in that house in DOWNTOWN San Bernardino the first time he went TDY.  Hey, it was my house, too.  I cleaned it, worked in the yard, re-arranged the furniture.  I lived there, too.  My folks knew what a big chicken I can be, and they were sure I'd never stay there alone.  They were wrong.  Like I said.  My house.  I wasn't going to let anything happen to it.  

What can I tell you about my Mom?  Well, she had a great sense of humor, and she loved to read until very recently, that is.  She's the one who used to walk with me to the little branch library on Compton Blvd. near our house, and insist I not check out more books than I could carry home myself, because she was going to check out some books for herself, and couldn't carry mine, too.  She discovered I could read when I started sounding out the Campbell's soup labels at the grocery store when I was about 3.  She knew I was reading for two reasons.  One:  Campbell's soup cans in those days had no pictures on the labels, and Two:  I asked her what mine-strone soup was.  I was trying to sound out minestrone, and using my Phonics like a good girl, I got the pronunciation wrong.  She told me the right way to say it, and explained that it was a sort of Italian vegetable soup.  (You see, my older sister used to play flashcard games with me.  She liked to show me off to her friends.  "See how smart my little sister is?"  Or so Mom told me, I don't remember anything except playing with the flashcards. Sometimes feels to me like I could always read.)

Me reading, about age 4 or 5 (In a dress Mom made, by the way.)

Mom and I had a lot of years together, basically just the two of us all day.  Until I started school, that is.  The other kids were in junior high and high school, and Mom and I got to do fun stuff together.  She let me lick the bowl when she made cookies, or fudge, or frosting.  When I was old enough, she taught me how to read a recipe, and how to measure, then she bought me my own Boys and Girls Cookbook, and turned me loose.  I learned to make a lot of things, and to this day I make chili based on the way she taught me.  She made a lot of my clothes, and I usually got to pick out patterns and fabric.  I never did get the knack of sewing like she did, though.  I have no patience for it.  Though she did like the way I cut patterns out, and through my college years would have me lay out and cut out her patterns for her when she made clothes.

Pop and me and Mom on my wedding day.

Mom and Pop both told me that I was the one who started calling her Mommy-Mo.  I don't remember, but I know Pop called her that sometimes, especially when he and I were ready to leave for somewhere, and she was lagging behind.  "Mommy-Mo!  Are you ready to go?!"  he'd holler, and she'd always answer "I'm right here, just a minute!"

 Mother and daughter selfie, about a year and a half ago.

As I said, I'll have my weepy days, and I am glad my friends, family, and coworkers will understand.  She was a huge part of my life, and though she's been drifting away for a while, I'll still miss her.  She taught me so much, and I've always wanted to be as well loved as Mommy-Mo was.  Lots of little kids got to have her for a preschool teacher,  and they all loved her, she had an in-home daycare for several years, and those kids all loved her, and of course, all four of us loved her, too.
Oh, she and I had our differences, all mothers and daughters do, but we got along most of the time.  I was always afraid that I had hurt her feelings when I was little and would ask her not to sing. (She was ALWAYS under pitch, and while I don't have perfect pitch, I have pretty good relative pitch, and it used to annoy me.) She thought it was funny.  She said all four of us kids asked her please not to sing.  Well, I am proud of her that she sang anyway.  She took a music class when she got her preschool certification, and she passed that with flying colors, and the kids in her classes never complained.  I helped her with some of the songs she was learning, and if she LISTENED, she could stay more or less on pitch.  It is really all a matter of learning to listen, and in my case as I age, to PAY ATTENTION to what your voice is doing.

I'll end this with a poem I wrote for Mom in 1988.  I am glad that I gave it to her when I wrote it, so she knew how much she meant, how much she gave me, and that I knew the depth of that gift.

For Mommy-Mo
By C.K. Armistead
1988

My mornings were always filled with the music
Of you making our home what it was.
If I heard water running
Or the vacuum you were using,
Then I knew all was well with the world.

Your humming and laughter as you worked,
The hum of your Singer as it made dreams real,
The smell and sound of coffee as it perked,
These things still mean home to me.

The sun on my face, and the smell of a rose,
The many flowers you taught me the names of,
The feel of damp grass squeezed between my toes,
These are all things you taught me to love.

To keep my dress neat, and sit like a lady,
To keep my hands away from my face,
You taught me to be a proper young lady
Something I'll have with me always.

Through scoldings and battles when I was a teen,
Loving me wasn't easy, oh, Mommy, I know
But you kept right on loving,
Even though I was so mean,
Since you knew it was something I'd outgrow.

I am so happy that after all those years,
After all the battles did end
And because of the joys,
Yes, and the tears,
Now I can say Mommy-Mo is my friend.

Good night, Mommy-Mo.   Your baby girl loves you.  I always will.  Tell Pop I love him,too.

Vacation Observations

No matter how few actual plans I have for a day off, I will rarely complete everything I plan to complete.  Largely because I fall into a book or story, or sleep too late.

Bad weather really does depress me sometimes.  Especially if it keeps me in the house when I'd like to go out and walk.

I have gotten old in at least one way.  I am now afraid of falling.  Walking on wet sidewalks makes me nervous now..  Ever since I fell and damaged my hamstring this summer, I have been VERY circumspect about where and how fast I walk.

No matter how well paid you are for your work, if you, like me, are a poor financial planner, you will never have enough money when you think you should.

Cold weather makes sitting in one spot and reading all day even more attractive than hot weather makes it.

Cleaning the house always takes longer than I think it will because I always end up distracted by a job I didn't think of when I decided to clean.

Every year I expect New Year's Eve to be less of a drag, but it nearly always is a drag anyway.  (We just aren't the party sort.)

The sinus headache really doesn't care that it's your day off, or that it's a holiday.  It just shows up and makes you miserable no matter what.

Even with all the social media sites and news sites I follow, I STILL feel like I'm out of the loop on a lot of things...

It's odd that I can understand most Scottish people just fine, as long as they aren't actually speaking Gaelic or one of the far Northern dialects.  I only knew a couple of Scottish people from church growing up, and I have one Scottish friend now.  Other people need subtitles or something, and I just don't see why...

I have too many interests that I want to pursue,and no time to do more than dabble in any of them except singing.  (Lessons for that, so MUST work on it - I'm held accountable.) I have a  very nice bohdran, and I'd like to learn to play it, but no lessons.  I also have taken ten years of piano lessons in my mis-spent youth, and haven't practiced nearly enough EVER.  I need to get back to daily scales and chords and fingering drills.  (Gotta find the lesson books buried somewhere...)

I thought I had a few things saved up to add to this, but they have flown. 

My mind is like a steel trap.  One with a bad spring!

I have hope that perhaps the New Year can bring some positive changes, and a chance to pursue the things I need to pursue.

Joy, hope, peace and love to all of you in the year ahead!  Thanks so much for reading my blog!