For a time, it was as if we were living parallel lives. She had all our old friends and places, and I had to move on to new friends and places. All the things we’d once have experienced together in school–working on the newspaper, homecoming parades and games, class elections, tests, proms–were done separately–and of course, those days were long before the Internet and cell phones existed to help us feel connected. I’m sure she sometimes felt abandoned. I sometimes felt replaced. But adapting is part of growing up.

We were both in our school’s plays during our senior year. This is a black-and-white from Lynne’s school’s production of M.A.S.H.

Our friend Susie as Captain Bridget McCarthy and Lynne as Major Margaret “Hop Lips” Houlihan.

I still have the program from their play (some identifying information has been removed, since no one ever asked to have their past splashed across my blog).

Which is funny, because I don’t have a program from my school’s play (though if any of my HS friends do and want to scan and email me a copy, that would be great!).

I do still have my worn copy of the play’s script. All my lines are marked, and I even made some changes. As a writer and editor, it cracks me up that I did this–both that I altered someone else’s work, and that I just knew I could make it better. Our play’s sponsor, Mrs. Bryan, must have okayed it. And by the way, Mrs. Bryan played a vital role herself, not on stage, but in my life. She was a key influence on my decision to stop rebelling against the school transfer because she challenged my intellect in our English classes, gave me endless encouragement in what I read and how I wrote, and is the reason I ultimately majored in English in college. She was a brilliant teacher who made me feel smart, valued, and talented. I thanked her every time I took a test or wrote a paper in college, and I thank her still when I write–and place apostrophes correctly.

Mrs. Bryan is on the far left of our cast photo, and they cut half of her off, which is too bad. Amazingly, I can remember all but six names of my fellow cast mates, and I might have been able to remember their names, too, if they hadn’t been juniors and therefore less familiar to me.

You might spot me somewhere in this photo dressed as librarian Charlotte Wolf. I’ll even make it a little easier on you. You can view a larger version of the cast photo here.

I found this Martha Stewart sweater at the pet store the other day for less than five dollars and figured we’d give it a try. Margot’s not sure it’s a good thing.

My family is always a good time, whatever the season. Here are a few images that I don’t think I’ve shared before, but if they’re repeats, so be it. Laissez les bons temps rouler!

Since James moved to Maine, I can’t tell you how often when he’s visited me in Houston that he and I have ended up, once again, in the same colors–red, blue, brown, black, come to mind–and he always wears them better than I do, dammit.

When James was here recently, he and I went to Agora–he for tea, me for coffee. This is the place where Tim occasionally takes Hanley for “coffee dates”–she has juice, of course. While James and I were there, Tim and Hanley dropped in to visit with us. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Hanley so animated and talkative. No shyness with James at all. I don’t know if this is just Hanley turning three or the usual effect James has on people.

Tim, Hanley, and James

I wasn’t wearing red that day, but gray.

Also, if Puterbaugh should happen by this post, I’m including a photo of a mural inside the women’s restroom at Agora. I don’t know if he’s a fan of young Marlon Brando, but there’s a tradition of fabulous restroom photos among some of my friends. This one’s for you, David.

Uh-oh, looks like a few have busted out. Pesky presidents. BRB!

Sculptures of the presidents by David Adickes.

The Monster High model I chose is Operetta. As the daughter of the Phantom of the Opera, she’s perfect for this challenge. The first piece I designed for her is a bodice of navy blue silk.

I then made a red full skirt with an oversized paisley pattern that’s easily visible from the audience.

The final look includes a second skirt of blue lace with a silver-flowered pattern worn as an underskirt, and a shiny red shrug.

I created a necklace of pearls with ebony, ruby, and citrine beads and pearl earrings.

And finished the look with red boots.

Operetta is ready to strut her stuff on Broadway!

We’ll see you next time on the runway!

Fabric for paisley skirt from Kathy S. Pearls for earrings from Mary. Red shrug fabric from Lynne. Boots from Lindsey and Rhonda.

This season’s previous looks:
Week 6: Fashion Faceoff
Week 5: Clothes Off Your Back
Week 4: Good Taste Tastes Good
Week 3: Patterning for Piggy
Week 2: A Night at the Opera
Week 1: Unconventional Challenge

“Open Range”

Prairie goes to the mountain,
Mountain goes to the sky.
The sky sweeps across to the distant hills
And here, in the middle,
Am I.

Hills crowd down to the river,
River runs by the tree.
Tree throws its shadows on sunburnt grass
And here, in the shadow,
Is me.

Shadows creep up the mountain,
Mountain goes black on the sky.
The sky bursts out with a million stars,
And here, by the campfire,
Am I.

My father with his parents, probably sometime in the early 1920s.

Again, such stern faces, yet they were parents who outfitted their son to play cowboy and even posed for a photo with him looking badass in that attire. There must have been some childhood fun and spoiling. Whatever life dealt him as he grew into a man and faced grief, deprivation, and war, he never lost his sense of play, and his grandchildren delighted him. One of his favorite stories that made him laugh every time he told it:

Daddy: Well, hello there. Are you a great Indian Chief?
Daniel: No. I’m Daniel Cochrane with a feather on his head.

The back of the 1920s photo is stamped “Lollar’s, B’HAM, ALA.” From the Internet: Lollar’s Cameras was a photography retailer, repair service, equipment rental and photo finisher founded in Birmingham in 1910. The company’s main office and warehouse were located at 2331 7th Avenue South in Birmingham.

I don’t talk about my dog Hamlet much. He was with me during some of the most tumultuous years of my life. When I got him, he was pitched as a “dachshund.” I even saw his mother, who was indeed a dachshund. But Mama clearly fooled around with some sort of terrier or terrier mix, because Hamlet ended up looking a lot like a wirehaired dachshund but was basically a mutt.

It’s not Hamlet’s fault that he was along during the years I made most of my worst decisions and bad mistakes in judgment. In the long run, he was a better friend to me than I was to him, but I did love him very much. I managed to grow up in spite of myself, and the things he taught me have benefitted every dog who’s come into my life since.

It wasn’t all sad and bad times. Hamlet was sweet and a lot of fun. He earned nicknames from everyone who knew him: Hambone, Hamhock, Omelet, Giblet, Gimlet, among others. Here’s one of my favorite photos of him. Lynne is holding her friend Doug’s dog Chris, who looked like a giant version of Hamlet. I always loved seeing them together.

I can never go back and fix my stupid choices from the worst years of my life. I’m glad Hamlet was with me, and naming Keelie’s hamster Hamlet in A Coventry Christmas was my thank-you to a loyal companion.

Josh (sings): Take it to the lippet, take it to the lippet, take it to the lippet one more time.

Becky: Limit.

Josh: What?

Becky: Take it to the limit one more time.

Josh: Lippet.

Becky: Okay. What’s a lippet?

Josh (counters): What’s a limit?

Becky: It’s the farthest point of something.

Josh: . . .

Becky: Like when you drive. You can’t go over the speed limit. You can’t drive faster than sixty miles an hour.

Josh: I don’t drive.

Becky: You’ve got a point.

Josh: Take it to the lippet, take it to the lippet, take it to the lippet one more time.