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Don’t we look like we were good friends?

Yet I no longer remember her name.

I do remember she’s the only person in my entire lifetime that I ever got into a physical fight with. I don’t remember why.

I also don’t know who won, but I remember coming away from it with a hand full of blonde hair.

Sorry, Nameless Girl. I wonder if our fight had something to do with someone stealing my bear (which I recovered) and my doll (which I never found)? Theft and destruction of my property were reasons I told my mother from the time I was about three, “I don’t like to play with children.”

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A rare picture of Aunt Lola, Uncle Gerald’s wife. I don’t remember their kitchen at all, probably because when we visited, there were plenty of women and older girls around to help her get meals together and clean up afterward.

I’m sure there are still places and occasions when all the women gather in the kitchen and the men are elsewhere, though it’s not that way at The Compound. I can’t complain about the “old days” in the kitchen, because that’s where you could hear a lot of the good stuff. And by good stuff I mean family scandals, checkered histories, and medical tales about “female troubles” and bizarre home remedies.

I remember there were times when Aunt Lola stayed in the kitchen while the rest of us were eating in the dining room. I don’t know why she did it, but I know on some occasions when my mother’s house was full of people that she wished she had a door on the kitchen just to get some peace and quiet. Maybe that’s what Lola was doing, and I wouldn’t blame her.

The electric percolator she’s holding here: Lynne still uses one like it. She says it makes better coffee, and she may be right. I remember when my parents used metal percolators on the stove. Lynne still has a couple of those, too, and Debbie and I had one when we were in college. I didn’t like using it, because my coffee always ended up full of grounds.

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Something that’s been interesting to me during this year of compiling legacy writing posts is that it forced me to go through all my mother’s photos. After her death in 2008, I found that whenever I opened the trunk where I’d stored them, I could look at a few pictures, then I would start feeling out of breath, and I’d have to put it all away. These are the kinds of things we do when we’re ready, and if we can’t predict when that will be, we have to remember that no one else can, either. After years of listening to and trying to comfort people through losses, I’ve repeated so many times, “Grief has no timetable and no expiration date. Every loss is different, and every individual has a unique coping and healing process.”

Somehow it’s harder to say that to oneself, but fortunately, there are others who will remind me from time to time. I’ve found since April, I can’t look at any of Aaron’s baby pictures without feeling that same out-of-breath sensation, so I don’t push myself.

Many years ago, Lynne made a little outfit for a bunny for me from some fabric we both liked. I asked if she could make bears from that fabric, too. There was only enough fabric for one bear, so we dubbed him “Share Bear,” and said that sometimes he’d stay at my house, and sometimes at her house. Funny thing is, I think I’ve had him ever since! She’s probably forgotten about him.

Here, you see the Bunny and Share Bear posed in front of some flowers that Debby brought to The Compound and arranged (I’m sorry that they appear to be growing out of Share Bear’s head; they’re actually in a beautiful vase our friend Sarena gave me a long time ago).

I was reminded of Share Bear and the Bunny when I was putting some old photos away. I saw the envelope with Aaron’s name, and I randomly reached in and pulled out a photo without looking through them. Here’s the one I picked.

I don’t know who might have made Aaron’s bear, but it looks similar in pattern and fabric to Share Bear. I didn’t know Aaron when he was a baby. We lived so far apart that he was already eight when I met him in November of 2001. I’ll probably share that story and some photos from the occasion next month.

Little steps…

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October 10 is Tom’s mother’s birthday. I’ve said it before: I really lucked out in the in-law department. I try to maintain online privacy for Tom and his family, but I can’t let such a special day go by without recognition. Not only did she give me Tom, but she’s given me a constant flow of love and support through the years since I first met her.

Mary has boundless compassion, generosity, and love and respect for nature. She’s deeply spiritual. She’s creative as a painter, a poet, a memoirist, and a needlewoman. Her children (five) and grandchildren (five) are fortunate to have her as an example, a teacher, a parent, a grandparent, and a friend.

Through the years, she’s encouraged and read my writing and been kind about my art. My brothers-in-law (married to Tom’s sisters) and I are loved as unconditionally as her children–and she loves all her granddogs, too (not to mention the occasional rabbit, hamster, toad, fish, and turtle).

I’m sure this photo was taken by Tom’s father on one of their many adventures. They still travel the world together and come back to the wonderful home they’ve created–and to their dog Sparkle.

Happy birthday, Mary!

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Today (Tuesday) is John Lennon’s birthday. I’ve told several John Lennon stories, including those associated with my late friend Riley, on my blog before. This time, I’m going to share someone else’s memories.

On Monday, Tom, Debby, and I went to Galveston. They’ve rebuilt the Pleasure Pier, a site with a long and rich hurricane-impacted history. Though none of us wanted to go on the rides, I did want to shoot photos. So Debby and Tom left me to it and walked along the beach looking for shells and enjoying a stunning day on a calm Gulf.


Disclaimer: Tom is not a smart phone person, so though it may look as if he’s staring at a phone as many of us Phone Zombies do, he’s probably examining a shell he picked up.

There was a live band playing on the Pleasure Pier. Most of what I heard sounded pretty good, though they did commit the nearly unpardonable crime of playing “Sweet Home Alabama.” You’d think, with my heritage, I’d love hearing that song, especially when I live several states from my homeland. But honestly, I heard enough of it in my youth to make me cringe whenever I hear those first guitar licks. So other than that, they sounded fine.

Later, I found out that while they were walking, Debby and Tom were also listening to the band, and when they played the Beatles’ “I Want to Hold Your Hand,” she reminisced to him about dancing to that song with her first boyfriend at her very first dance in the seventh grade. Or rather, as she called it, a “sock hop.” As she explained, the dances were held in the school gym, and so their shoes didn’t mess up the floor the basketball players used for their games, the kids danced in their sock (or stocking) feet.

Now really, who wouldn’t want to hold her hand?

Just before I left the pier to meet up with Debby and Tom, I grabbed this shot from the Rock and Roll ride.

The Beatles, collectively and individually, are part of the soundtrack of millions of lives. I wish we could have had all the music a few bullets denied us. John Lennon, you are still loved, remembered, and missed worldwide.

Peace.


Lennon Photo Archives, ©Yoko Ono

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Something I haven’t mentioned is that Lynne decided to sell Green Acres. It was a wonderful home with beautiful grounds where Jess grew from a toddler to a young man, but for a number of reasons, it became time for a change. One day I’m sure I’ll be sharing photos of her new place, and no matter what, I know it will have gorgeous grounds because gardening is one of Lynne’s passions. Meanwhile, some of her potted plants are on loan at The Compound, and since I am not exactly known for my green thumb, I’m hoping she plans to make regular visitations.

During the move, when Tom and Jess were putting items into storage, Jess apparently talked about some of the cats from Green Acres’ history. Coincidentally, I’d been planning to post a couple of my favorite cat photos today in honor of Jess’s birthday. Happy birthday, Jess!

Lynne once had a dog named Pepper, and when a new kitten came to Green Acres, Jess said he wanted another spice name. We went through a list, and he settled on Ginger. In one way it didn’t make sense, because the cat wasn’t red, but since I’m the person who encouraged Daniel to name his rocking horse Fido, I’m all in favor of defying standard name practices. Ginger he was. Except Craig either never remembered Ginger or didn’t like the name, because he always called Ginger “Bubba.” In time, the rest of us called him Bubba, too.

Bubba was an outside cat–he wouldn’t have had it any other way because Green Acres was surrounded by lots of undeveloped land ideal for feline stalking and exploring. Unfortunately, this lifestyle can leave long, flowing cat hair matted and tangled, and so it was that Bubba once needed a somewhat severe haircut.

I don’t think Bubba was amused, but I sure was. (Aside: Lynne recently found out the wooden toy box Bubba stands on in this photo was built by her father.)

Since I was so rude as to laugh hysterically during Bubba’s photo session, Jess was quick to comfort him. I especially like the tuft of hair at the end of Bubba’s tail.

Speaking of hairdos, during the time of this photo, Jess’s hair was mullet cut–buzzed in the front with some length in the back that ended in a rattail. I’ve read that the rattail is making a comeback. However, I’m not sure any cats will bring the Bubba cut back into vogue.

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Sometimes I find things I’ve forgotten I own. I was moving stuff around the other day, including an interesting wooden box on little wheels, and I wondered what might be inside it. Among other things, I found a bag of rune stones and the book that goes with them. Once I saw them, I remembered that I used to enjoy the stones, but they’ve long been out of sight, out of mind.

The stone I pulled out for this photo has the symbol for strength on it. The stone is called Uruz and suggests endings and beginnings. Sometimes there’s a period of darkness and loss before a new opportunity presents itself.

The reason I pulled it was because my late friend John wore that symbol on a necklace until he died. I think James kept the pendant afterward and wore it for a time, too, not only in memory of John, but to remind him that out of deep loss can come new perspective and strength. That can be a hard lesson, but it’s something positive we can take forward.

October 5 is John’s birthday. I still smile when I think of him–he was full of mischief and sometimes got me into trouble, almost like a bratty little brother. I miss him and feel so fortunate to have known him for the time I did.


John on his birthday in 1993. Maybe out of sight now–but never out of mind.

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Another Christmas, and a few thoughts come to mind with this photo.

I like the way Mother wrapped the coffee table like a Christmas present. I still miss that angel and wish she’d given it to me instead of throwing it away. The angel was a Christmas tradition for many years after this photo was taken, but I wonder if this might have been her first Christmas with us.

My sister has a sort of glazed look in her eyes that I know well. It’s a common malady among Cochranes and means, “Could I please just continue to read without all these interruptions?”

I’m displaying one of those LifeSavers books that holds several varieties of the candy. LifeSavers are a hundred years old this year, and that’s about how old this photo is, too. 😉 But I still remember getting that book of all those different flavors, and I probably still wouldn’t like the pineapple LifeSaver.


A tin I’ve had for several years. More than forty additional flavors have been created since Clarence Crane came up with his original Pep-O-Mint® candy.

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One December, Mother, Daniel, and I drove to Kentucky to spend a few days with Debby, her kids, and her roommate, Kathy. A couple of things I remember about that trip: My mother told me I never put enough mayonnaise in my tuna salad, potato salad, or pimento cheese. Now you’ve been warned if you ever ask me to make you stuff with mayo in it. I may use Hellmann’s, but NOT ENOUGH.

Also, that was the trip when I met Mandy.


Mandy was Kathy’s dog, and she had two unusual skills. She could blow out the flame on a Bic, and she could bark, “Go Big Blue!” Pretty impressive, right?

My dogs: gold-medalist nappers.