legacy writing – Page 21 – beckycochrane.com

Legacy Writing 365:223

In this photo from 2006, Aaron’s sitting on the couch in Mother’s apartment beneath a painting that she moved around with her for several years.

I can’t remember if she bought it during one of her Houston residencies or from a friend in Salt Lake City, but she said the reason she loved it was because the two little girls reminded her of Debby and me. When Mother died, Debby gave the painting a new home.

Whenever I see the photo below of Debby and me:

I wonder if that’s the image Mother had in her mind. I don’t remember the day it was shot or where we were, but I like having the photo set. I can see them so much better after I can scan and view them at larger sizes. Otherwise, I’d never be able to tell this isn’t just a group of strangers, but that the boy in front is David:

The photos make the water look all murky, but I think it was probably pretty clear.

That day was spent with Uncle Gerald and Aunt Lola and their kids–our combined families were aged like stair-steps: Terri, David, Bruce, Debby, Gordon, Becky.

Mother with Gordon. That may be Gerald and Terri in the background. When I got older and we went to visit their family in Mississippi, Gordon already had his driver’s license. On summer nights, he’d drive the two of us around their small town, and that’s when I realized how I loved being able to see people inside their houses, just reading the paper, watching TV, or sitting around the table. I made up stories in my head all the time about the people I saw on those night drives.

Debby, Bruce, Gordon, and Lola. It was Cousin Bruce and his wife April who gave me my first camera when I graduated from high school.

Lola, Gordon, Gerald, and Terri. Debby thinks that Aaron looked like Uncle Gerald, and I could definitely see his resemblance to Mother’s side of the family. I think Terri was the first of the six of us to get married–I sort of remember her getting married, but what I mostly remember is her clothes from the time of her marriage. She had a green satiny jump suit and a red leather outfit. I need to re-create those designs on dolls–very much of their period.

Debby, Bruce, and David–making sandcastles, or just a big mess?

It makes sense that this was the family from my mother’s side we were closest to, not just because of our similar ages, but because Uncle Gerald was Mother’s best friend as well as her brother.

Legacy Writing 365:222

In the very beginning of A Coventry Wedding, two strangers are brought together when they both try to help an abandoned dog. She’s described later by the local vet as a mix of bulldog, boxer, and American Staffordshire terrier, and her new human companion names her Sue because of the black ring around one of her eyes (like a Black-eyed Susan flower). In the acknowledgments, I thanked Jess and Laura for lending me their dog Sue as the model for my fictional Sue.

Jess and Laura got their Sue, an American bulldog, as a puppy.

She grew.

And grew.

Then she grew some more.

I always loved dogsitting Sue and her brother Seig because it was understood: When Aunt Becky’s around, you may get crated when she’s gone for a while, but you always get to sleep in the bed with her at night. This was a novelty for Sue, who sometimes had a little trouble hefting herself onto the bed (but I taught her a trick or two to make it easier). I loved her big, slobbery smile.

When Sue knew she was in trouble, she’d always give you a wide berth and the side eye, as if to say, “I have NO idea what you’re talking about, and you’re very, very mean to scold me.”

But mostly, she just liked to relax in the middle of chaos, knowing her favorite people and dog buddies were all around her.

Everyone at The Compound is very sad for Jess, Laura, and Lila that Sue has gone to join Seig at the Rainbow Bridge. It’s always painful to lose a beloved dog; their family has lost two within two months. We will miss you, Sue, and we send you on your way with lots of love and gratitude for good times we had with you.

Legacy Writing 365:221

Does anything say summer like the humble lawn chair?

Ode to a Lawn Chair

reach into that jumble
of toys, balls, rain coats and chairs
wander over the field
pick your spot
yes – out on the edge
of the soccer field
nice spot
further out the town houses
ring it all around
single family homes next
and mini van roads
suburbs – yes,
but this is your spot
your place
of your lawn chair retreat.

Some of these photos are repeats, but it’s all to celebrate the lawn chair: who leaves patterns on our legs and moments on our hearts, holds multiple children or one parent, frays and buckles as it ages, and tucks itself in to any pile of refuse or floats listlessly down any stream, abandoned, forgotten, yet dense with the histories of our lives.

In the shade of a tree: Uncles Grover and Boots, Don, Daddy, unknown, at Mother’s family reunion, 1981.

Blowing bubbles at Tom’s parents’ house.

As a wee child, Lynne apparently prefers her little red wagon to her lawn chair.

Tom’s Grandma waving the flag on July 4, 2001.

Waiting out Hurricane Rita in good company, 2005.

Tom and his skinned knees hanging out with his father and little brother.

Legacy Writing 365:220

Today Alex turns sixteen. I’m sure this has been a rough summer for him after losing his brother. Just glancing at his Facebook wall, I’m reminded of how many people love him and how many friends he has. I hope this is the beginning of a great year for him. I’ll probably wait a couple of months to talk about the first time I met Alex, so I decided to reminisce about the first time Debby did. She came for a visit in 2003, then she and I drove to Austin to see the boys. Just as they did with Tom and me, they immediately acted like they’d known her forever.

During our visit, we went with Lisa and the boys to a pizza place they liked because there were games and rides. We had so much fun with them. Here’s a grainy shot I got of Alex in action. I don’t know who that kid on the left is, but he’d better watch out!

Looking at the boys in bumper cars reminded me of going to Six Flags with Lynne as youngsters. I was a bit older–twenty-two–when she got this photo of me.

Today, Timmy tweeted that he can still do a cartwheel. I never was able to do one–Lynne could!–but I think it’s good for us to find ways to recapture the exuberance of youth.

Happy birthday, Alex, from the people and dogs of The Compound. Celebrate every minute of your day!

Legacy Writing 365:219

Our last Houston house we rented before we bought The Compound was just down the street from Lynne’s home in the suburbs. Like our previous house, the view from the front made it look deceptively small. We stepped through the front door into a large great room/dining room with cathedral ceilings. To the far left was a set of stairs that led to a landing that overlooked the living area. Off that landing were two large bedrooms joined by a bathroom.

Downstairs, the dining room was separated from the large kitchen by a bar. Turning to the right, we walked through a vanity area with a bathroom on the left. Passing through that, we were in the huge master bedroom with a giant walk-in closet. I LOVED that closet, because it held all our clothes and a a ton of other stuff, so the upstairs closets were relatively empty. I think I did eventually move my clothes to a walk-in closet upstairs because I used that bathroom so Tom and I could get ready for work in the mornings without getting in each other’s way.

A door led from the dining room into the garage, where our washer and dryer were. I don’t know how long we lived there–a long time–before we realized that the automatic garage door with its two remote controls actually DID work. It just needed to be plugged in. That was an exciting day after months and months of hefting that stupid door up to take the cars in or out.

Some more things I remember about living there:

The backyard backed up to a bayou, so there was nothing directly behind us except wildlife. However, from our upstairs windows, we could see into the backyards of three neighbors. On one side of us, we never saw our neighbors. But next to their yard, we could see the potbellied pig who lived back there. That thing was HUGE. But it never caused any trouble. Our neighbors on the other side, however… They had two kids, and they’d toss them in their backyard, where the decibel levels would rise to alarming heights. The bedroom I used as my office overlooked that yard, and one day when I was writing, the kids’ screams got so loud that I began to wonder if something was wrong–like maybe there was a snake in their yard or something. Just as I got up to look out the window, their father came out of the house without a stitch of clothes on to yell at them and threaten to whip them. My eyes, my EYES! There are some things I can never unsee no matter how much I wish I could.

As you can see from Stevie posing here, our backyard was pretty big. Certainly big enough for two dachshunds to run and play. This was the house we lived in when I took Stevie out late one night so she could have a final potty break before bed, and as we stood there, this ENORMOUS thing flapped past me, swooping toward Stevie. I had no idea that the wing span of an owl was that vast. Fortunately, the owl decided Stevie was a little too big to be prey, or else my crazy arm waving and hyperventilating startled it, because it went back up without bothering the dog. Stevie never even knew it happened.

There was also a nice patio just outside the sliding glass doors of the kitchen. We sat out there a lot when weather allowed. This is our grand-nephew Dave being held by his mother when they stayed with us while driving through Houston once.

We used to travel more at Christmas, though I’ve always loved being home for the holidays. We must have planned to be away the Christmas of this photo–probably 1993–so we didn’t put up a big tree, just the tiny one that I use for my Mr. and Mrs. Santa Claus display. I loved the hearth and the fireplace in this house, and that’s where Tom’s sitting with all the presents and Stevie and Pete in his arms.

I wish I had a photo of the room I used for my office, because that’s where we had the daybed that Lynne made all the pillows and bedding for. But I do have a photo of the guest room.

When we moved there, we still had Steve R’s cats that we inherited after he died. They had the run of the upstairs, and we put a child gate at the top of the stairs so the dogs couldn’t bother them. This is Emily lying on one of the guest room beds. Maggie died while we were living in that house, and we buried her in the woods nearer Lynne’s house in the dead of night, with Lynne, Jess, Tom, and me to mourn her. She had a good long life–I think she was nineteen when she went to the Rainbow Bridge. Both cats would lie on the landing and watch whatever we were doing in the living room. This was their cats’ eye view:

That was Christmas of 94, and though we had a tree, it was just a small one that we put on a table to keep dogs and cats away from it.

Amy lived with us for a while, and she shared the guest room with the cats. Debby visited there a couple of times, once with her (now deceased) husband Len. It was an easy place to have visitors because of the way the layout gave everyone privacy.

This is also the place where I was determined that I would no longer wage the War of the Roaches without help. We contracted an exterminator to come regularly, and that’s the company we still use eighteen years later. I was recently out in that area and drove by their offices, realizing for the first time after all these years that I’d never had any idea where they were located or what their building looked like. They always came to us. The first time their tech did an inspection of the house, I sent him upstairs to have a look around. When he came back down, he had an amused expression on his face. I figured he’d been visiting with the cats. It was only later when I went upstairs that I realized I’d jokingly arranged all my Ken dolls in a nude chorus line across the guest room dresser.

We were living in that house when I awoke one morning feeling like the weight of the world was on me. I called in sick to work because everything just felt off. I turned on CNN and was doing something in the kitchen when the news broke about the Oklahoma City bombing–a terrible day. All I could do was sit on the couch with a dachshund on either side of me and stare at the TV for hours, grateful that I felt safe at home but hurting for the families whose lives changed forever that day. A couple of weeks later, Jeff died. Two months later, we closed on our house.

I wrote this post hours ago, but it didn’t feel finished. And I don’t know why, but when I found this poem by the late Michael Shepherd, it seemed to nudge me and say, I should end your post. Who doesn’t obey poetry when it speaks?

Housefly

Now that this housefly
has finished wringing its hands
over the past – what?

Legacy Writing 365:218

I just love this photo of Jim and Tim I took while Jim was here. They amuse each other so much.

Jim was teaching us a new card game that he learned from his grandmother while growing up, “Spite and Malice.” Sounds like the perfect family pastime, right?!? We did have fun, and Tom, Tim, and I have vowed to continue playing so next time Jim visits, he can focus on beating us instead of teaching us.

Now that kids have so much technology to entertain them, I wonder if they still sit down to play cards? Or if they get to experience, as I did, the pleasure of having a patient father and competitive siblings to help them learn, lose, and get better at card games? I can still remember my father teaching me rummy and gin. I wonder how many games he had to lose to me before I got decent at playing? Meanwhile, my mother’s game was Scrabble, and the whole family was good at that one because we all loved words and constantly tried to learn new ones. I think David and Debby also played Monopoly, but that was never my thing. I do remember that they’d play Candy Land with me–they must have been bored out of their minds.

Then, as I’ve mentioned before, I learned to play Boggle and Yahtzee with Lynne and her sister. In turn, I remember when Lynne’s son Jess was finally old enough to join his parents, Tom, and me at the table to learn and play progressive rummy. But I also remember plenty of games with him like Scattergories, Outburst, and one of Jess’s favorites when he was really young, Guess Who.

Here’s a photo taken on the porch of the wonderful rock house of me, Terri’s little sister Jerri, and Suzanne, a friend from church, playing rummy on a summer afternoon.

I suppose it doesn’t matter that the games have all moved to monitors now, if families are still playing them together. Although I suspect these days, it’s more often the kids who have to be patient as they teach their parents how to play.

Legacy Writing 365:217

Tom and I were just trying to remember our introduction to Barnaby’s cafe. I doubt either of us ate there before we moved into Montrose, because I don’t remember going there with Steve R/ Jeff/John/Tim R. So our most likely first time there was 1997. I know we were already regulars by the time I met Rhonda online late that year, because it was one of those things we bonded over in our chat room. Just about all the locals love Barnaby’s. I’m betting it was James who took me there first. In those days, there was only one location, the original on Fairview. Next door in the same building is Baby Barnaby’s which absolutely can’t be beat if you wake up early enough to have breakfast there. James, Steve V, and I used to go there frequently.

In time, the River Oaks Barnaby’s opened, then the one on West Gray. There’s another in Houston, but it’s outside the ‘hood, so I’ve never been there. Barnaby’s is our go-to place for takeout for us and visiting family and friends, and it’s also the place I go with my suburban friends and out-of-town guests. Which location we choose depends on how many of us there are, time of day, etc., because the restaurants’ sizes vary. But one thing has always been true. Whether I’ve been there with straight friends or gay, male or female, off-beat or buttoned-down, with or without kids, we’ve always been treated with the same courtesy. I like keeping my dollars local, and I like knowing my friends will be respected not only as patrons but as people.

Jim treated Tom and me to lunch there on Wednesday. Tim wasn’t able to go, because he was battling a virus and allergies off and on during the week–and really, with the amount of intolerant and hurtful comments he had to see online last week, I think chicken was the last thing he wanted. Jim, on the other hand, had a grilled chicken sandwich because he knew it came without sides of indifference or malice (neither of those is as tasty as Barnaby’s fries!).

This should make Puterbaugh feel a little nostalgic.

Legacy Writing 365:216

Aunt Geraldine and Uncle Dwight: Christmas when I was three.

According to Cousin Alan, when his father–Uncle Dwight–was a young man, he performed for a while on the vaudeville circuit. Since I realize how family stories tend to mutate over time, I have no idea how accurate that is. For all I know, he could have performed once in his club’s amateur talent show waving a straw hat, or he could have soft-shoed his way across stages all over the Southeast. What I do know is by the time I came along, he was already old–at least to a child–and retired from the conventional career that came after the days of his carefree youth.

He and Aunt Geraldine had a big console organ in their living room, and with only minimal persuading, Uncle Dwight would put down his pipe, sit at the organ, and play songs for us. My siblings may have a better memory of what he played. What I remember is that he’d play a verse, pause to tell us a really corny joke with a bright twinkle in his eyes, then continue playing. It was a big time for a little kid, and as I got older and learned who Jimmy Durante was, I always expected Uncle Dwight to end each of his jokes or songs with a “ha-cha-cha.”

Jim can be one of the most serious people I know if you want to have an in-depth talk about world events, human behavior, politics, and social issues. But he also has a repertoire of bad jokes–many of them the same ones my father and Uncle Dwight told–and Tim usually follows Jim’s delivery with a “wah wah wah” sound. We all pretend not to be amused by him, but we secretly know that our lives are a little more fun with an Uncle Dwight around.

Jim holding photos of the man he channels: Dwight Cochrane.

Over the years, all the punch lines of Jim’s bad jokes have been woven together to make one long conversation–or sometimes, just a single word from one of the jokes can set us all to giggling. Long may you entertain us, Jim. Ha-cha-cha.

Legacy Writing 365:215

Moving along from my last post, the TJB writers were together again in New York in October of 2001. We were, of course, promoting the release of this:

I know I’ve talked about this trip on my blog before. Dickens said it best:

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us…

For all of us to be together with Tom and so many of our other friends in the city was indescribable. The book signings, the launch party, the first face-to-face with our Kensington editor, John. I’m sure most published authors could relay similar experiences, but it’s rare to be able to share it with three other people who were feeling all the same things I was.

Put that against the backdrop of national events and the surreal atmosphere of Manhattan at that time, and the experience becomes…something more intense than bittersweet. It was painful and beautiful. We had a lovely apartment on a high floor in a new part of the city for us–but every morning, I’d wake up to realize I was curled into a tight ball in the corner of my bed farthermost from the window; even in sleep, I couldn’t get the images of the month before out of my brain. We never had a wait in any restaurant, because the tourists just weren’t there. In fact, much of the space that would have been taken up by tourists was being used for displaced people from Lower Manhattan. We spent an evening in, cooking and relaxing and finally feeling a little better, and when Tim walked home that night he got mugged–his first such experience after a decade in the city. One morning we stepped inside a deli on the way to breakfast to get cigarettes, and the proprietor turned from his radio to say, “We just invaded Afghanistan.” We visited the World Trade Center site at rush hour: men in hard hats were leaving the search and recovery area as people in business suits exited their buildings, and the only real sound was that of faraway traffic. People didn’t talk. Cabs weren’t speeding by. Everything was hushed, feelings suppressed, expressions solemn. We were going about the acts of our daily lives, but everything was changed.

Unsettled. I think that’s the word that best describes that trip. It felt as if nothing good could come without a price. As if we were still holding our breath three weeks later. As if we were constantly dreading what might come next. As if some stories are so big that the only ones you can bear are the smaller ones that are your own.

Many moments I cling to are the ones where words weren’t necessary. The way Tom took my hand when I burst into tears as we walked into our terminal at the Houston airport and I saw National Guardsmen. The moments when one of us, in the middle of doing something fun, would sigh deeply and the others would understand. The shared looks of commiseration on the subway when we felt crowded and smothered. The strong wish shared by Steve C, Jim, and me to wrap Tim and Timmy in something that would buffer them from the hurt and the fear of all they’d seen and heard and absorbed since that horrible day.

All we could do was give them love:

lots of shared moments:

and a promise of better days ahead.

Legacy Writing 365:214

The first time all four of the Timothy James Beck writers met as a group in the same place was in Houston in the spring of 2001. Tim actually visited for a month during that time, and Timmy and Jim came for a week of it. Besides getting to sign books at Crossroads (now closed) and visiting our friend Steve V at Detering Books (now closed), we got a ton of work done. Restaurants visited included Baba Yega and Niko Nikos (both still open! It’s shocking.). (ETA in 2022: Baba Yega now closed.) We also got professional publicity shots taken (my hair was crap), and did our own photo sessions in several local spots.

One of these included the Bloch Cancer Survivors Plaza. This is one of those polarizing public art installations. Some people find it inspiring and uplifting, others think it’s just bad art. No judgment here. All I can say is that it brought out the whimsical side of the guys that day.

On Jim’s visit this year, we went to visit that other polarizing public art source, David Adickes’ Sculpturworx.

Standing next to President Obama, Jim makes the “Bill Clinton thumbs up sign.”

Tim, Jim, and Tom overlooked by President Clinton.