Happy Birthday!

It's my friend, the Boss's, birthday today! So you should go by her blog and wish her a happy birthday!
I refuse to tell you her age, but if you are clever enough to figure out complitcated formulas, you might figure it out from this riddle:
It has a three near (the first number) the beginning of her two-digit birthday number and a 0 somewhere (the last number) of the two-digit birthday number. Only a realy smarty could figure this out, so good luck!
I can't tease her for much longer, because that same number is looming in my very near future!
Anyway, Boss, HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!




*ps, for those who might be upset that I didn't remember their birthdays - Boss and I talked a couple or so weeks ago and said how we never remembered anyone's birthdays, but how we might remember birthday months, then told each other our birthdays, so I wrote it down right then and there. Which is what I ought to do with everyone's birthdays!

The veggies you gave me were great, Mom . . .

. . . but the brownie you gave me was much better!

I Want to Have More Kids

Nothing mysterious about that. I do. I want more kids. A few more, possibly. But it seems that a lot of people think that is not a good idea to have more kids. In my world, people have two kids. That's it. Two. Maybe three, and usually the third is an oops. But then the tubes get tied, the hubby gets fixed, whatever. And that's fine. If you want a family of four, I don't judge you. I personally don't care how many children you want to have, or don't want to have for that matter. But for some reason people seem very interested in the number of kids that I want to have.

I usually cringe when I even feel the beginning of the question, "So . . . "

This is a "So . . . " that has been building after a conversation about my children and about how I feel being the mom of three young kids. Tired, exhausted, frustrated, joyful, angry, unsure, etc., etc. (but please show me a mom who has never felt those things . . . even if they have only one child).

"So . . . do you think this is it? Do you want any more?"

And then when I say yes, the person with whom I'm conversing will usually say, "Girl, you're crazy!" or, "Oh, girl, that is not for me!" And like I said, that's fine. But it is for me, and sometimes I get more (what I think are) judgmental comments.

A friend asked me just a couple of days ago, after asking the, "So . . . " question, "Why?!"

I told her that I like the thought of a big family, of all the kids and grandkids coming home for holidays, the house full and bursting at the seams. I still cling to some of my ideals, and a big family is one of them. My friend said, "Well, just because you want that doesn't mean it is going to turn out that way," and went on to tell me stories of siblings not getting along.

I'm sure that my friend cares about me and just wanted me to enter reality for a moment. I didn't say to my friend that I live in reality. I know already that it's hard to be the mom of kids and that it never gets easier. And just because sometimes siblings don't get along, who's to say that BW and I can't cultivate the kind of family in which siblings do love each other and get along? I always got along with my brothers (well, past the beating-up, kid stage). My dad and all seven of his siblings get along, and always have been agreeable and had fun together. Those are the examples that I have to go on. Why couldn't my family be the same?

Do I have a vision of perfection? No. I know that perfection isn't possible. But I know that within a family there can exist peace even in conflict. We can teach our kids kindness and forgiveness toward one another as my husband and I model it to each other. We can grow our children in the Word of God, a fool-proof for any situation. Why couldn't my family of several children be just as fulfilling and happy as a family with fewer children?

Some people grow concerned when I mention having more kids, because they know that it is expensive to have children these days. That's true. We think of the expense. I think you've got to have your ducks in a row, too. And BW and I are trying. But we've also known that when times have been tough, we've never gone without anything that we've needed. And I think we've got more, so much more, than we need. So I never doubt that if the Lord guides you into something, He will provide for it. And, yes, I feel that it is God's plan for our family that more children come along. I want to delight myself in the Lord that He may grant the desires of my heart.

I sometimes feel that people would look down on me if I were to get pregnant very soon. Part of me wants to wait for quite awhile just to let the kids get bigger so that we wouldn't be judged for having kids in such quick succession. But then, I think, this is our family and no one else's. (Not that we are planning to be pregnant for awhile yet!)

So, this is the desire of my heart. More kids. I want a family that serves the Lord, that loves each other and loves and serves others. I want kids to cuddle and tickle and a family to bond with and have fun with. I want to be surrounded by little people who will grow into wonderful big people. I want to be with all of them and love them through the thick and the thin, the good stuff and the hard stuff. There will always be some of both. It's funny that people would judge BW and I for wanting several kids. But then, I guess there are people who will judge you for just about anything.

Saturday Mornings are Fun and Relaxing

Here's what Banana and Noodle did while I cleaned up the house and while BW and Chicken Nugget went to their soccer game. It's nice to take some time out of being a busy toddler to relax on the couch, watching some cartoons, and to run around with only a diaper on while playing and laughing.

The Little Gift I Give Myself

I don't know why I thought the world would want to know this (OK, that may be a lofty thought, as though everyone on the planet is reading my blog). But, in the realm of pampering myself, this is as good as it gets. I may not shower every day, don't have a stylish hairdo, shave my legs when necessary, polish my toes only when I realize it's been two or three months, keep my fingernails clipped short, period. BUT - I brush my teeth. Two or three times a day. I brush and brush and brush until I feel that every nook and cranny has been touched. I use mouthwash. For everything else I may not have, I've got some fresh breath. I figure that at some point, everything else can be repaired. But this is the only set of teeth I'll ever get (unless I buy myself a new pair like my mom did), and though I can run down to the barber shop (yes, I said it) and get an $8 haircut, I'm pretty sure that veneers are going for a bit more than that these days. So this is one thing that I will not compromise on. I will have clean teeth. Three times a day if necessary. So, it's not a gift of pampering or glamour, but I do give myself the gift of clean teeth. It's also the one thing during the day that I can do for myself without spending lots of time on it!

Anthony

Today is my brother's, Anthony's, birthday. He would have been 39 today. He died just about a month after his 32nd birthday in a tragic vehicle accident.

There are several things that I want to share, so hang with me. I only wish I had pictures. I have snapshots of Anthony, but don't have a scanner. So my memories, and yours if you had the pleasure to meet Anthony, will have to suffice.

Anthony was nine years old when I was born. His nature wasn't as laid-back as my brother's, Matt's, but we got along anyway. Anthony was boistrous, generous, loved by everyone, and my protector. He loved to laugh and to make other people laugh. He was certainly the life of the party no matter where he went. When he was about 21 or 22, he joined the US Navy and truly did travel the world.

Anthony was generous to a fault. So many memories of him are full of him giving or doing for others. He would give everyone in the family grand and impractical gifts. The second to last time that I saw him, he had come with my parents to visit me at college. We were poor college kids, and he bought us groceries, telling me, "Get what you need." When I saw the total at checkout, I was uncertain, but Anthony paid without blinking an eye. Then he asked me what kind of furniture I wanted, took me and my (then) husband to the furniture store, and helped us pick it out. He later took my parents on a wonderful vacation to Washington, D.C.

At the visitation just before the funeral, I was standing with a group of Anthony's friends that had come from very far away to Benton, Arkansas, to bury their friend. I was complaining (I never did like visitations) that I didn't want people to remember Anthony this way. He didn't look like himself. I was upset. One of Anthony's ship-mates said, "When I remember Anthony, I will remember him laughing and I will remember his generosity." and his friends began to tell stories of Anthony's giving nature.

My family and I have often gotten a kick out of looking through Anthony's pictures. Especially those of his Halloween costumes. My favorites include the picture of him dressed as a woman and dressed as a Christmas tree. He did make an attractive woman, but said he got hit on by some drunk men anyway. In the Christmas tree picture, Anthony is standing on a table, trying to look as Christmas-tree like as possible, dressed in a green shirt and pants, green wig, and with lights strung around his whole body.

Anthony got to spend some time with his oldest nephew, Matt's son, Trevor. Trevor was about 15 months old when he met his Uncle Anthony. We've got pictures of tall Anthony and short, pudgy Trevor, walking through my mom and dad's yard, hand-in-hand. Anthony wanted to take Trevor out to play and my mom asked if he wanted any help. He turned to her and said, "It's ok, Mom; I got this." He loved children and was a great friend to many of his friends' kids. I was very sad that he never got to see Chicken Nugget. He was going to come home in Feb. of 2000 to celebrate Mom's and Trevor's birthday and to get to meet CN. She was six months old when he died. My dad said to me, the week of the funeral, "I think he has seen her." I don't know about how life beyond the veil of this earth works; God is God and can do as He wishes. I'd like to think Anthony has been able to rejoice as another neice and nephew have been born. It's one of my greatest sorrows that he never got to spend time with them.

My family recieved crates and crates of Anthony's things after he died. One day, my mom told me that Daddy found a small pad of paper that was Anthony's when he was a child. Tears welled up in my dad's eyes as he showed it to my mom; it said, "When I grow up, I am going to go all over the world and see the world." There's a man who lived his dream. He was living in Italy when he died. I have kept every post card I have ever gotten from him - Paris, Japan, Canada . . . to name just a few.

I would like to share some of two letters he wrote to me. Anthony wrote me often and always sent birthday cards and gifts.

"18 MAR 98
"Hear you are doing well in school, that is great keep up the good work. I went to Yokosuka, Japan. I visited a Canadian friend of mine who teaches English there. She allowed me the privelage of teaching an English class to a Japanese jr. high school. It was interesting because of my accent. We also went to a house party for a Japanese couple she knows. There were people from seven different countries there. It was a great cultural event. It also snowed 6" while I was there. I went to Tokyo Disneyland. Pretty much like the one in the States. We are on our way to Thailand. I have never been there before . . . Well, have fun this summer. Don't spoil your new nephew too much. See you in the fall."

His last letter to me, postmarked Sept. 17, 1999, just before his 32nd birthday:
"Hope you guys and crumb-grabber are doing well. I just left Toulon and am on my way to Agosta Bay on the island of Sicily. . . We (my ship) were in Toulon, France for two weeks working on another US ship that was in dry dock. It was very hard for some people, but not for my shop. Well I guess school is back in full swing. Hope you are doing well in that also. I start Italian II when we get back to La Maddalena on the 9th of Sept. I probably will not come home for the holidays and wait to come home in February for a month. That way I can be home form mom's birthday and Trevor's. Well not much else so I'll say Ci Vediano; which means until
later . . . take care of the crumb grabber (CN). Oh ya, Amy have you caught back up with your school work? I know that was a nightmare. . . write me."

As sad an event, Anthony's funeral and the events surrounding it still hold good memories. So many friends of ours and Anthony's came from all over. One of his shipmates even traveled from Italy, as well as his captain. So many people that had never heard the word of God got to hear it that week; my dad even gave the Navy Captain a Bible and encouraged him to read the book of Romans.

After the funeral, Captain Imholt had this to say in a correspondence and e-mail he sent to many people:

dated Nov. 15, 1999:
"Ladies and Gentlemen,
"I am not an eloquent writer nor am I a professor of moral truths and nationalism. But I wanted to share a recent experience I had.
"I recently had the distinct (albeit sad), honor of escorting a fallen shipmate's remains to his family and home. During the mission I had a lot of time to reflect on my career in the Navy and the time I have spent working with him and other shipmates like him in the past. I struggled with many emotional issues stemming from this duty. I composed and discarded several different things I thought I would say to the family of my shipmate when we arrived. In the end I simply spoke from my heart, and expressed the profound sadness his passing had left us feeling.
"It was during my stay in his hometown and with his family that I cam to realize that there is more to America that my own family and my hometown. You see, I had become myopic in my view of why and who we are serving in the military. This beautiful small American town and his wonderful family and friends have become an indelible part of my life experience. I have returned with a renewed sense of pride in service to our nation. When I presneted Petty Officer Magby's mother with the flag, that had moments before draped her son's casket, the symbolism of that event overwhelmed me. How many of us salute our country's national ensign, because we are told or reminded to do so. The cost to our nation for the right to raise this symbol is immeasurable.
"Families like the Magbys and towns like Benton and Bauxite Arkansas are why I am here. The American way and all the hometowns and families, the big cities and wide open spaces, the right to pursue happiness. This is what we are preserving. If that means some corrupt politicians and criminals get a free ride and happy hunting grounds, so be it. We can work on that another day. For today I am thankful that my family and friends, the Magbys and millions of other Americans know we are out here for them.
"The family of our fallen shipmate thanked me and the Navy for all we have done, I could only reply, 'it was an honor.' "

I do not know what has happened to Andrew A. Imholt. I am humbled by the impact that the event of my brother's passing, and the example he saw in my family, our friends, and our hometown had on him.

Dean E. Lake, a coworker of Anthony's, wrote to us with this to say:
"His ability to work with others and his enthusiasm were key to molding our workcenter into one.
"Petty Officer Magby was assigned as an electrical planner. Planners are assigned because they are leading technicians in their field. Petty Officer Magby's sonar and electricl troubleshooting skill was second to none. He knew submarines like the back of his hand and was respected by all for his technical knowledge. His job was to control maintenance in his firle providing technical guidance or to conduct technical research when required. This job requires the use of many computer software programs and coordination and communication with various shipyards in the United States. Often you are molding young sailors into leaders of the future. He was in training to take my posision as the Leading Electrician . . . He completed all his qualifications well ahead of his peers.
"Petty Officer Magby was also busy outside working hours. He was studying and using Italian so he could maximize the opportunity being stationed here in La Maddalena. He was also actively pursuing his Enlisted Surface Warfare Specialist insignia so he could train others and lead by example.
"I spent some liberty time with Anthony. . . He never had trouble finding somebody to accompany him on liberty. He had many friends . . . because he had so many interests and just liked company. He was generous and polite and just great fun."

Because I collect seashells, Anthony and a friend gathered some from the seashore of Italy for me. His friend brought them to me at the funeral.

There are so many reasons to be proud of Anthony and to miss him. But there's no reason for regrets. We always said, "I love you," and always laughed and had wonderful experiences around Anthony. I'm so grateful for that. I tell his neices and nephews about him often.

photos above: USS Emory S Land on the left and USS Asheville on the right. The Asheville was Anthony's first submarine, where he worked as a sonar tech. The Emory S Land was a sub tender on which Anthony worked. Another one of Anthony's achievements was his becoming a certified Navy diver; this allowed him to tend to the outside of the submarine, etc.

Cooking and stuff

I really do like to cook and bake. I have not had much time for it for quite awhile, but I like to do it. Especially if I have enough ingredients on hand. It always bugs me when I find a great recipe that I really think I could make, only to discover that one or two ingredients are missing from my cupboards. So over the weekend I made a list of recipes for two weeks and when I bought groceries, made sure I had absolutely everything I would need for those recipes. I can't wait to get with it in the kitchen. So often I feel like my family deserves so much more than I give them - especially when I make something like a nice, hot, steaming bowl of . . . spaghettios. Know what I mean? I can do this. It just takes a little organization. And though I'm not predisposed to act in any kind of an organized way, I can discipline myself into it. I actually kind of enjoyed flipping through recipes and making a list of all the things I'd need. And I know I'll feel good about actually getting going in the kitchen. I like the process of cooking, although I am abstract-random in my approach. I am slow, un-methodical, messy, often befuddled and discombobulated, but I get the thing done. And I feel so good about the thing I have created, and feel that double-satisfaction when my family gobbles it all up. I'll let you know how it goes this week!

Today Chicken Nugget and I made some out-of-this world brownies. She loves to crack eggs and dump ingredients and stir stuff up. I like that it is something productive we can do together, and that it teaches her basic cooking and baking principles. I got to let her taste some bakers' chocolate today. She said she liked it, but I didn't believe her! I also let her taste some plain powdered sugar. I taught her what it meant to use "packed brown sugar," and how to make your own home-made glaze or icing. I was never interested in cooking when I was that age, so it amazes me how much she wants to do it herself.

At church tonight, I was teaching Mission Friends with my friend from Sunday School class. We were talking about food, etc., and I told her about the brownies. I said that I made them from scratch, and not from a box! My friend's eyes got wide with amazement, and she said, "How do you do that?!" She wanted to know what ingredients go into real-live, made-from-scratch brownies. I guess that baking from scratch, like letter-writing, is becoming a lost art.

By the way, D/S McNary, if you happen to be reading this, please e-mail Di's amazing Tarimisu recipe. Yum, yum.

I think I am going to try my hand at baking bread next. I've never, ever done that. Not the real, live yeast starter, knead and let rise, real-deal kind of breat. Any pointers from from-scratch veterans out there?

Steam

This life
It is
A vapor

A wisp
Carried away
By the wind

This life
Is filled
With pain

I watched today
Helpless to stop it
As an ideal
Crumbled to the ground

I watched today
In stunned, helpless silence
Unable to keep
A precious one
From hurt
From disappointment
From anger
From rejection

We don't know why
But we wish it didn't have to be
We will never know why
But we must keep going
Fight the good fight
Hold on by our fingernails
And pray

Just pray
just pray
just pray

Maybe we'll find some relief
In the morning

It's a Small World After All

My husband's worlds keep colliding.
Born and raised in Iowa, he spent a wonderful summer several years ago at a place called Bear Trap Ranch in Colorado. He also went to a Bible college in Seattle, Washington. After those adventures (which would be a blog post in itself) and a few more, he wound up in Winterset, Iowa, which is where I met him. And, of course, the rest is history. But it seems that history lives on!

When we moved to Albert City, Iowa, just after we got married, BW and I became aware of a new pastor and his wife that had also just moved to Albert City from Chicago. BW had gone to Bible college in Seattle with the husband of the pair! Small world, huh? Our friends, G&L, were from Washington and California, respectively, and had ended up in Albert City after a few years in Chicago so that G could go to school! Who would have thought? Albert City is a town of 800 residents, in the middle of nowhere - literally. It is a place that, as I like to say, you really have to be wanting to get there in order to get there! So that was a fun coincidence, and we had a great time spending time with G&L, who, by the mysterious ways of God, had landed in AC just like we did. They are still there at the church and L is teaching elementary school.

We moved to Texas in 2004. It just so happens that some very dear friends of BW's from Bear Trap Ranch live here! The Barlowe girls! And their mom and dad. We've seen the mom and dad, S & J, once, but have spent some good time with the girls (but not enough good time), especially R, the oldest. BW is so fond of this family and was so excited (and amazed) that we were moving to their hometown!

Now it seems that just today there has been another collision! BW called me about lunchtime to tell me about a girl in his class that moved here from Iowa. I was already aware that this girl came from Iowa - BW had told me excitedly the day she'd started classes. (He goes crazy every time he meets and Iowan.) He learned today that this young lady knows our next-door neighbor from Albert City! This is pretty strange, because Miss Iowa Student comes from Ottumwa, Iowa, which is pretty Southern Iowa. In Albert City, we were only about three hours South of Minneapolis, so the two cities aren't exactly next-door neighbors. It just so happens that Miss Iowa Student's mom dated Miss Teenage Next Door Neighbor's boyfriend's father. I know. It's all so, well, too weird to be true.

I wonder what dot BW will connect next.

I wish that I was a baby

Poor little Banana has been so sick. So he's been up a lot at night. Which means that BW and I have been up a lot at night. And though I don't want to be sick, at least if I was a baby and not a grown-up, I'd have someone to feed me and lull me to sleep (as if at this point I'd need lulling - any flat surface will do). I don't want to get philosophical about being a baby, as in "if I had to be a baby then I'd have to do my life all over again, " yadda yadda. Nope. When I just now put Banana in his bed and thought, "That little monkey gets to lay down and relax and
sleep . . . " I really wanted to trade places with him. Because as exhausted as I am, I've got to keep on keeping on and NOT take a nap! So, at this little moment, I sure would like to be a baby like little Banana and lay in a comfy bed covered up with comfy blankets and sleep till I'm good and finished sleeping, and then have someone come in and pick me up and take care of my every whim . . . hmmm . . . that assisted living place I see advertised on tv isn't looking too bad. Here's to retirement!

I Remember

Everyone does.

I had been in California about a month. I was settled in a routine and was making friends. That morning, I was running late. As I hurried my daughter and myself out the door and down to my car, I was annoyed when a neighbor stopped me.

"Did you see the news?" he yelled down to me from the top of the hill where he stood.

I said that I didn't (my tv stayed in my closet at that time. I never watched tv).

"There's been a coordinated attack of terrorism on the United States," he said, "The World Trade Center has been hit."

I don't remember my exact response to him, but it was one of disbelief. I went on toward my day confused and wanting to know more about what had happened, to understand.

That day moved along in slow motion. My professors didn't do much lecturing. The chapel was open all day for prayer. Classes were cancelled. I went to work, but no one was much into buying shoes that day. As I walked down the sidewalk toward the shoe store, I saw sign after sign in the windows of businesses. They were closed and empty.

I walked into the shoe store and saw Billy Mac sitting on a fitting stool, stooped down and listening to the radio that we kept on the floor. Peter, the owner, greeted me. Terry waved me to him from the back. Terry, the former NFL football player, the very definition of "a big black guy," waved me over and caught me up in his arms.
"I just need a hug, Arkansas," he said, "I just need a hug. It's terrible."

A few people straggled in that day, but not many. The ones that did weren't there to buy anything. Rather, they needed to get away from their televisions. They needed to touch humanity. Peter closed the store early. As we watched from the Dutch door at the front of the store that day, we noticed that the freeway traffic was subdued. The normal rush never came.

I returned to campus and sat on a couch in the womens' dorm and watched TV. The images came over and over and I couldn't believe it. The twin towers - the Pentagon - the plane that thwarted the plan, their sacrifice. I sat with my friends in silence. Later, at home, I called my loved ones. I hugged my daughter. The thought that came into my brain over and over: as I lay sleeping, unaware of what was happening on the other side of the continent, I was warm and snuggling with my sweet little daughter. Unaware, safe, while others were dying so tragically. It was unfair. It did not make sense.

It does not make sense.

The next day, at a special chapel service on campus, we students got in groups in prayed. I prayed to try to know how to forgive.

I watched as my friends went on mission trips to New York to help in any way that they could. I listened intently to their stories as they returned. Still, how to make sense of it? I didn't know then, and I don't know now. But I do know that we are not lost, and that God is indeed grieved, even as we sit and look to the sky and say, "How long, O Lord? Will You not avenge Your name?"

No pearls of wisdom today, as if I could dig deep enough to find any. Just saying, as we all are today, that I remember. May everyone find comfort, from those who lost family and friends on that terrible and tragic day, to those lost in a world of hurt and confusion and evil.

Unrealized

There were lots of them this morning -
Shuffling or bobbing,
Sleepy or excited,
A jumbled mass
entering the building -
Dressed in solid colored tops
And khakis or blue jeans . . .

But I only saw one of them.

She was walking along,
Her head bent
And her hair bouncing,
She clutched a lunch bag
And seemed to be thinking of something
Very serious -
It seems she always is.

I told her she was looking
Very monochrome this morning.
She had chosen all black
And said, "I know -
Black is my lucky color,"
Before she told me
Of letting her teacher win
A game of Connect Four.

At the edge of the school,
I bent down for hugs and sugars
And asked her if she wanted me
To walk her to the door.
"No, I can do it," she said.
Normally I walk her all the way.
It was a small thing, but I felt a little pain
At her tiny taste of independence.

Not without faults, that little girl,
But still so special, so wonderful . . .
And I wondered as she walked into school,
Was I kind enough to her this morning?
Encouraging enough last night?
Interested enough
In her animated stories?
Did I help her feel
Important?

I fail her too often.

And I wonder
Why can't I see her
special and wonderful ways
As gifts,
Not burdens?

Her sweet clumsiness,
her thoughtful slowness,
her shy mumble . . .

But . . . I fail her.
When I should drink her in
Appreciate the wonder of who she is,
I take her for granted
I become frustrated
I abuse her precious heart
And I am ashamed

She was disappointed this week
Someone broke a promies to her
And as I told her
the news,
She didn't scoff or pout,
She didn't cry,
She didn't even protest.
She bent her head
crooked it to the side,
and her look was sad.
At last she looked up
she said,
"That's ok. I forgive them."

Not without faults
But also not without grace
I prayed for her
As she walked into school
this morning
And I prayed
for myself . . .

Looking Around

On Saturday, I went to visit a friend of mine who lives in the Heights district of Houston. There is so much of Houston that I have not yet seen. We have been downtown a few times, to go to different museums or shows and to the Downtown Aquarium. But my friend took me to areas of Houston that skirt around downtown; these were quaint and unique places as well as extravagently wealthy places.

The Heights is an old part of town. The houses are very old and had begun to be run-down. Now people are buying the old homes and renovating them to the grandeur they once displayed. The homes are pretty pricey these days, too. My friend, AH, told me that a small, one-story that she had looked at was in the $200,000 price range (the same home might cost $80-90,000 in my area). The homes in the heights had a lot of character. There are also fun places to eat, like Star Pizza, which is where AH and I ate on Saturday.

After lunch, AH drove me out to the exclusive River Oaks area of Houston, which is near Memorial Park. AH told me about a function in March called The Azalea Trail. She said that you can walk from home to home looking at gardens. If you click on the link, you can see that the homes and gardens are amazing. We parked the car after she drove me into the community, and we took a nice stroll down the shady sidewalks. I could not hold my mouth closed at the sight of these homes in River Oaks. I truly have never seen the likes, and though the area is just minutes from everything downtown, you feel as though you are very far away from everything, like you are in a peaceful secluded forest. AH said that it is difficult to purchase property in River Oaks, because it is "old money" that lives there, and the magnificent homes are passed down from generation to generation. The most impressive property was one that, as we peeked through the wrought-iron entrance gates, boasted what looked like an enchanted forest, a pond that was, as AH said, "better than the zoo," fountains coming from a stone wall, two houses (surely one was a guest house or pool house), and an amount of land that was gated and full of tress so that we couldn't see the rest of it all. The wrought-iron fence that separated it all from the rest of the world extended a good two city blocks. I would have loved to get in there and explore it all.

AH and I found a house that was deserted and under construction. It looked as though it hadn't been entered or built on in a month or more. We stopped the car and after much debate, decided to be wild women and take a peek. Even though it was a brick shell that was gutted with only two-by-fours to indicate where walls and rooms will one day be, we were duly impressed. We made up our own minds about what would go where. The giant kitchen that would overlook the yard and swimming pool was my favorite. It had vaulted ceilings that went all the way up to the second floor, as well as a fire place (which always cracks me up - every house in Houston has a fire place, even ours. WHY???).

Just goes to show, you shouldn't stay home. I never knew all those things were right by my house. Some of the homes I saw would have better fit in some kind of European kingdom. It's not a half-hour from me, and it took me two years to go look at it. I'm sure there are some interesting things everywhere you go, no matter where you live.

Tired of Eating