Tag: photos

Legacy Writing 365:54

February 23 is Debby’s birthday–or in her case, as we often call it, “brithday.” Family joke.

When she was here at Thanksgiving, I mentioned to her that I have zero memories of birthdays when we were growing up. I seriously can’t remember David, Debby, or me having birthday cakes and ice cream, blowing out candles, opening presents. I know we must have done those things; she assures me we did. But all I draw is a big birthday blank–except that I know if we were together now, I’d make her a coconut cake, because that’s what my mother would bake for her. Maybe knowing that means all the birthdays float somewhere in my subconscious.

I scanned in a few photos.

I planned to write about how glad I am that this face has been a part of my life for as long as my memory stretches back. I love her brown eyes, freckles scattered over her cute nose, and her big smile. Like any sisters forced to share a bedroom, we bickered and tormented each other: the tree-climbing tomboy and the doll-loving girly girl. But no matter what, I always knew she had my back, and vice versa.

However, instead of having the energy to write a decent post, I ended up taking a break from the Internet for most of Thursday. Sometimes I get so disheartened by online behavior.

Every day, when I wake up, I feel I have a choice. I can embrace what’s positive or get mired down in what’s negative. Over the years, I’ve used blogging for many different things. To connect with readers. To keep up with friends. To talk about whatever random thing caught my attention on any given day. To reminisce. To talk about stuff that’s important to me. To be silly and play. To share photos. To share moments in my life or my friends’ lives. To celebrate dogs and books and movies and pop culture.

When I did the Magnetic Poetry stuff last year, it was to engage with words again because I felt like my writing well had run dry. After a few months, when it felt too routine, I began either to find existing photos to match the randomly-drawn word poems, or shoot new photos and try to make those random words match them.

This year, I decided to let photos from my past help me access memories or share stories from my life. Once again, this effort is mostly about retraining myself to write consistently. As in: every day. I’m not sharing all the stories of my life, or my family members’ lives, or my friends’ lives. Beyond everyone’s right to privacy, including my own, it’s also a matter of choice, just like when I wake up in the morning. I choose to celebrate as much of the good stuff as I can. Everyone I know has not led a charmed existence of joy and joyness. Among the group of people who’ve populated my life, we’ve known all the hard shit, too: death, loss, abuse, divorce, miscarriage, betrayal, deceit, cancer, AIDS, Alzheimer’s, loss of faith, despair, dementia, cruelty, suicide, disease, adultery, abandonment, unemployment, hunger, poverty, abortion, disability, molestation, addiction, mental illness, broken bones, broken hearts, broken relationships, broken lives, broken marriages, broken families, broken friendships.

In other words, we’re human, with the entire range of human behaviors and experiences and flaws. As I said to Tim earlier today, nobody gets to be born and live and grow old without experiencing pain. But I have no interest in exploiting the pain in my life, or the pain in the lives of people I know, on a public blog. Instead, writing here is most often another attempt to focus on whatever I can that’s positive. That’s who I choose to be publicly, and anyone who wants something grittier can certainly find it in abundance in about one zillion places online.

And if what you need is a support system or therapy or assistance, I urge you to use the Internet to find the phone numbers of organizations and individuals who can actually help you–but also to understand that what passes as help on the Internet is often anything but helpful. You may not have my big sister, but you can always find someone who’ll have your back and not put a figurative knife in it.

As Sgt. Phil Esterhaus always said on Hill Street Blues: Let’s be careful out there.

Legacy Writing 365:53

One reason I wanted to look through Lynne’s photo albums is because, since she had a great camera, I knew she’d have more photographs of our high school years than I do. And she does, but the reality is not many of them include me or more pointedly, photos of the two of us. This is because, as I’ve mentioned before, my parents made me transfer schools my sophomore year, very much against my wishes. I understand why they did it, and in some ways their reasoning was good, but even many years later, those memories can still be painful. I’ve long outgrown my resentment and anger about it, but I hope to eventually put those vivid memories to use in fiction. In fact, it’s because of something I’m s-l-o-w-l-y developing now that I want to revisit adolescence through Lynne’s photos and my own. They help me remember what it was to be a teenage girl.

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.

She’s not sure


Recently, Margot has taken to periodic shivering. Since we haven’t really had much of a winter this year, I don’t think she’s cold. It doesn’t happen only when it storms. She just had her semi-annual checkup and everything appeared to be fine. I think she’s simply getting more neurotic as she ages. Or else this is her way to express rage that she can’t have cornbread three times a day, every day of the week.

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.

Legacy Writing 365:52

Since it’s Mardi Gras, I figured I’d look back a mere year, when my family had what we call “Accidental Mardi Gras.” It wasn’t actually Fat Tuesday, but we’d forgotten it was Carnival season, so it was a surprise when Tom, David, Geri, Debby, Aaron and I took a day trip to Galveston and stumbled into it. It’s a good thing that something was going on, since it was too foggy in the coastal city to do much except enjoy the crowds, the beads, the mini parades, and the funnel cakes.

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!

Legacy Writing 365:51


This is a shot from 1997 of our friend James and his car “Pixie.” (Tim’s dog Pixie is not named for James’s former car.) On this day, James called and said he and our friend Steve V were going to the Menil Collection if I wanted to meet them. When I arrived and we saw each other, we started laughing because we were both wearing jeans and white polo shirts.

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.

Runway Monday All Stars: Puttin’ On the Glitz

On the most recent episode of Lifetime’s Project Runway All Stars, the All Stars were challenged to design an outfit for a character in the Broadway musical Godspell. This character is described as a bitchy, wealthy woman who stops at nothing to obtain money, even stealing it. She wants everyone to know she’s rich. The final design had to consist of separates so the actress/character could be dressed on stage as part of the performance. Her clothes need to have a “thrift shop” quality, as if pieces have been found in resale shops or inside people’s closets, and put together to express her inner personality in a colorful, humorous, and slightly exaggerated way–but she still has to look great.


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

Legacy Writing 365:50

I love this poem from a vintage children’s book:

“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.

Legacy Writing 365:49


Friday, when I was sewing and needed some navy thread, I reached for this old wooden spool. It’s been with my sewing supplies for a long, long time. Note the creative chewing that’s been done on the spool. That was the work of this fellow:

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.

Legacy Writing 365:48


Nephew Josh, circa 1977

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.