legacy writing – Page 33 – beckycochrane.com

Legacy Writing 365:103

That’s a friend from college, Rhonda G, packing my car when we were heading out for a weekend retreat. I’ve been planning a post about cars for a while, but I’m a bit under the weather and not up for a lot of writing. So for now, I’m just sharing this photo of the first car I ever bought BRAND NEW, all my own–with my mother’s assistance, but I repaid her, so I still say it was MINE ALL MINE. It was a 1987 Civic Wagon, and I loved it every minute I had it. When it was nearing 100,000 miles and we were having to start doing repairs, plus it was time for Tom to replace his little Civic hatchback, we decided to trade both cars in. I cried my eyes out when I drove off the lot because I loved that car so much. It didn’t help that I never liked the Civic sedan that replaced it, so when I traded that one in early to get my CR-V, I never even waved goodbye to it.

If Honda ever makes this little wagon again, I will find a way to own one–because they have priced the CR-V out of range for a writer’s meager wage.

I didn’t cry when I got rid of that hot pink luggage (the one on the end; the red stuff was Rhonda’s), even though that five-piece set had traveled with me since high school graduation, and now it’s considered “vintage” and “cool.”

Legacy Writing 365:102

Y’all know that old saying, “A good friend will come bail you out of jail, but a true friend will be sitting next to you saying, ‘Damn, that was fun!'”

Kathy L (well, she was Kathy L when I met her; she’s Kathy M now, but she’ll always be Kathy L to me) is that true friend. We met in summer school before our senior year at Alabama. We were taking an American lit class with an unnamed professor who we may or may not later have stalked (if you define “stalk” in a kinder, gentler sense of the word). I was a boring old married lady of some half a year, and Kathy was…not. I love to recall a story told to me by Husband No. 1. He and David K were in the car going somewhere, and they happened to pull up next to Kathy in her car. I was in her passenger seat. David said, “I’m not sure Kathy is a good influence on Becky.” At that moment, the light turned green and Kathy burned rubber taking off. David quietly said, “Let that punctuate my remark.”

I’m not going to provide a list of all the crazy things we’ve done through our decades of friendship. I’m simply going to say that during many of the most heartbroken moments of my life, Kathy was there to provide perspective, make me laugh, let me cry, and say the right thing. She is brilliant with words–in that class I referred to, sometimes when staid old Becky was doing the reading, Kathy was out having fun. On one occasion, she came to class and said, “Aren’t we having a test? Tell me what I’m supposed to have read.” I quickly gave her the Becky Version of Cliff’s Notes, the test began, Kathy wrote like mad, and the next class she got her test back with a big red “A” on it.

If I recall correctly, Kathy was a Mass Communications major. She took a class once in which she had to come up with an ad campaign for an existing product. I don’t know if she picked Sprite or if it was given to her, but I believe I still remember her slogan: “Spriten Up Your Life.” Here’s a newer addition to my Bottle Caps and Friends series of paintings:

Kathy L Will Spriten Up Your Life, 2012: Mixed media on 8x10-inch stretched canvas

Thank you, Kathy, for all the ways you spriten up my life. I’m glad we never ended up in jail.

Y’all can see the other nineteen paintings on my art site, if you’re interested. If you feel like your name is missing, please know that this is an ongoing series. I’ve got lots of paint, lots of canvases, lots of bottle caps, and so, so fortunately, lots of friends.

Legacy Writing 365:101

What? It’s Siblings Day? I just happen to have a couple.

This photo was taken in Germany. I don’t know if I was born yet. My parents told me that when he found out they were expecting another baby, David worried that they wouldn’t understand me. He thought I’d arrive speaking German. Debby looks as if she might have been considering that, too, and is teaching herself sign language.

I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned that whenever we traveled by car, I was mentally filing away directions from our house to our destination. I’d memorize street signs, highway numbers, and town names. Frankly, that was kind of exhausting for a little kid. But somehow I was given the idea that when we traveled, if I got out at a gas station to use the restroom, or if I lingered too long in a restroom or inside a country store, I’d be left behind. I don’t know who might have given me that idea, DAVID AND DEBBY, but for once, I thought it was pointless to be The Snitch. After all, it was my parents who were in charge, so clearly they were the ones who’d leave me behind. As I got older, I even secretly scribbled down directions on scrap pieces of paper and receipts.

No, really, I don’t hold grudges, so happy Siblings Day, David and Debby!

And remember, if you’re a step, an only, a foster, or an adoptee, I believe family isn’t always about birth. It’s about love. Hold whoever you think of as a sister or brother close in your heart today. And if they’re younger, don’t let them learn about Google Maps, MapQuest, or GPS. It takes all the fun out of sibling terrorism.

Legacy Writing 365:100

I didn’t have anything in particular I wanted to reminisce about today so I did a random pull–of a photo album from among many–and flipped to a random page. And… it’s not a time in my life I enjoy remembering much. But here we go.

This picture is from about ten months after my father died. My mother and I were living in an apartment together in Montgomery. I was working there and commuting to Tuscaloosa to teach and take classes. I was in and out of a bad relationship–I think the man in question was still living there, though he would be moving. We’d all be moving eventually, but that year everyone and everything seemed stalled.

We’re dressed for an evening out. Terri treated Daniel, Mother, and me to a night at a dinner theatre. We saw Carousel. I don’t remember a thing about it, except I’m sure I was happy to be spending time with them. Now whenever I hear or see the words “dinner theatre,” I can think of nothing except Death of a Salesman in Soapdish, one of my favorite movies, and it makes me giggle (DOAS being such a hilarious play, and all!).

On the same page in that album is this photo:

I think it must be Cinderella’s Golden Carousel at Disney World, and I tucked it there to go along with the theme of the musical. I’m glad I went to Disney World once, but like so much of that time in my life, the memory is tainted by association with that ex-boyfriend. Too bad I didn’t go there with Terri, Mother, and Daniel; we’d have had fun.

The best thing about bad memories is realizing I don’t ever have to be there again.

Legacy Writing 365:99

Here are a few more from when we lived in Colorado–these were selected to celebrate today’s holiday.

Apparently somebody thinks he’s too old for the Easter Bunny. Meanwhile, my focus is exactly where it should be–CANDY!–and my sister’s being pretty stoic for a girl who has a telephone pole growing out of her head.

“Wait a minute,” Little Me says, “I don’t have to share with these kids, do I?”

“Tell them to get their eyes OFF my Easter basket.”

If you’ve been reading me for a while, you may remember this story about the last time my mother surprised me on Easter. I still have the bunny.

Happy Easter, y’all!

Legacy Writing 365:98

I’m still struggling to find the right way to work on these old photos. Tom found a Mac-friendly version of the software that came with the old scanner that I can purchase. The company offered a free trial version, which I downloaded so I could experiment with it again. Only it won’t save high quality versions of the photos I edit–I guess they only allow that if I pay for it? Which seems counter-intuitive. If I were a new user, shouldn’t I be so dazzled by everything the software can do that at the end of fourteen days I won’t be able to live without it?

Whatever. The photo above is a rare one. As I’ve said before, my mother gave David and Debby the albums she created using most of her photos of them. So I have limited pictures of my siblings. This is Debby and her first husband, the father of her three children. It was taken in April of the year they married (in June). It occurred me at some point that many of Mother’s photos from that period were taken to send to my father, who was deployed in Korea. That was confirmed when I found this photo of a wall from his headquarters:

He was the Sergeant Major, and in this case, I feel certain he didn’t paint those signs. I know his work well, and these are not up to his standards of lettering perfection.

It’s possible that photo of Debby and her fiancé was one my mother sent Daddy to say: Here’s what your future son-in-law looks like. This is the man who’s STEALING YOUR BABY!

Maybe that’s why Daddy sent this one back to Mother:

I kid! My father and his son-in-law got along fine. Even if some of our spouses later became “outlaws,” giving my parents the grandbabies they adored meant we all stayed family.

Legacy Writing 365:97

Houdini peeping out of an empty toilet paper roll.

This is another of the photos I’m grateful to have found in my mother’s collection.

She was living in an apartment on the outskirts of Tuscaloosa (I think that entire complex might have been destroyed in the tornados of 2011). Tom was still at Alabama, and I was living and working outside Huntsville. So I’d drive to spend weekends with her and get to see Tom, too. In this photo, I’m still in my pajamas and clearly have not brushed my hair–so Tom must have showed up early in the morning. We’re playing with my hamster, Houdini, who I usually called Dini.

For such a small animal, he was loaded with personality. I was living alone, and he was the best company. I’d walk in the door from work and start talking to him and he’d run like crazy on his hamster wheel. For some reason, I wasn’t using my antique bed then–maybe I didn’t have a double mattress and boxsprings–so my bed was two bunk beds pushed together to make a queen-sized bed (Terri will remember them; they were hand-me-downs from her stepsons). I’ve never liked being alone in a place when I sleep, so I’d put Dini’s cage on the other bunk bed and fall asleep to the sound of him running on his wheel, shifting his bedding around, or playing with his toys. If I couldn’t sleep, I’d lie on my side and tell him stories, and I swear he understood every word I was saying. I never dreamed I’d have a friend from the rodent family, but he was incredible.

Houdini was the reason I gave Keelie a hamster in A Coventry Christmas, naming her hamster after my late dog Hamlet. I didn’t know until my friend Lynn B told me that writer Janet Evanovich had already beat me to the hamster pal idea by giving her character Stephanie Plum a hamster named Rex. I considered changing Hamlet to a different animal, but my loyalty to Houdini stopped me. Instead, as a nod to Rex and his creator, I let Keelie stumble on one of Evanovich’s Stephanie Plum books and tell Hamlet about him.

Legacy Writing 365:96

Sometimes a girl’s just gotta cry when the wind blows up her dress because she knows she’ll never look like Marilyn Monroe.

I have a Canon scanner hooked to my PC, and with that scanner came some good photo editing software that was extremely user friendly. When we got the Mac, that scanner and software worked on it. When the Mac died a few months after purchase and Apple had to install a new operating system, it was no longer compatible with the scanner and software. Maybe I could have upgraded the software or something, but I’d long been using a paid version of Picnik photo editing through Flickr, so I didn’t care, even when I bought another, more Mac-friendly, Canon scanner (gift cards are wonderful!). Then Flickr announced that Picnik was closing on April 19. Only they jumped the gun. It was closed when I wanted to work on this photo, and Flickr offered me their new photo editing software, Aviary.

Problem is, Aviary doesn’t really do what I need. My photo editing needs are few and relatively simple, but they are also specific. Photoshop and other good editing software programs are far more technical than I want. I don’t do a lot of post-processing of my photos, but most of my old photos, like the one above, need some work.

Maybe I’ll see if I can install and upgrade my old scanner software.

Or maybe I’ll just cry about it.

My mother once asked to hear my earliest memory. I told her I was reaching for a rotary beater on the kitchen counter and could remember her saying, “No!” She asked what color the cabinets were, and when I told her, she said I was probably around two, and we lived in Colorado. I’m pretty sure that’s where this photo was taken.

I still don’t much like being told no. Not even by Flickr.

Legacy Writing 365:95

By our first Christmas in Houston, my mother had moved to Salt Lake City. She flew down to spend the holidays with us, and when she was going through airport security–long before our post-9/11 world–she was told she’d have to take a photo with her Kodak Instant camera to prove it was really a camera and not some sort of explosive device. She told me that she refused to waste a photo and had someone–whether an airline employee or whoever drove her to the airport–shoot the picture of her.

I found this one and other pictures from that Christmas among her things. I’m not sure I have any photos of that Christmas, but I remember it quite well. While she was visiting, we had a severe freeze, causing pipes to burst in our apartment complex. This meant we spent a lot of time at Lynne’s, and Pete, not thrilled with time alone, turned into a Very Bad Dog.

Or maybe he was just mad because he had to wear a sweater. In any case, we came home one evening to find that he’d pulled a collectible record from all the vinyl he could have chosen and chewed it into dozens of pieces, along with the picture sleeve it was in. He also pulled an ornament from the tree that had been on Tom’s very first birthday cake (remember, Tom was born on Christmas Day). It was a little chewed but salvageable. Why do dogs always go for the things that have real or sentimental value when they decide to act up?

We tried to tough it out at our place, but ultimately, we spent nights at Lynne’s when repairs couldn’t be made in a timely fashion. (Pete went with us.) There was only one guest room with a double bed, and Mother insisted that Tom and I take it and she would take the couch. Martyr! But it was so unusually cold that we kept a fire going almost constantly in the living room, where she was sleeping. She coughed and hacked and swore we were trying to kill her with the wood smoke. Couldn’t have had anything to do with the number of cigarettes she smoked, I’m sure.

Despite all the mishaps, I still remember it as a good Christmas and was happy to find her photos from that year.

Lynne and Jess at our apartment; the couch Mother slept on was much larger than this love seat, I promise. I’m totally digging Lynne’s acid washed jeans.

I might add that the lessons we learned from that Christmas served us well when we rode out Hurricane Rita at Green Acres many years later. That time, we made Mother take the guest room. Lynne and Craig set up a portable bed with an air mattress in their dining room for Tom and me, and Tim used Jess’s room because Jess had married and moved out by then.

Legacy Writing 365:94

Debby or David would have to confirm the dog’s identity, because I don’t remember him. But I do know this photo was taken when we lived in Colorado, which should make this Scotty, our Sheltie. Mother said that Scotty was super-protective of me and when I was outside, liked to herd me into his dog house so he could be sure I was safe. Apparently I thought this was hilarious, especially when he would follow me into the dog house and block the door so my mother couldn’t get to me.

On one occasion, she talked Scotty out, and as I was coming out after him, I caught my finger in some chicken-wire that was on his dog house. I began to scream, as children do, and she was bent over, trying to get my finger loose. Scotty was not amused at the idea that she was injuring me, came up behind her, and bit her on the butt. She said her frontier pants were so skin tight that he couldn’t get his teeth into her, though, and I was freed without any damage, either, so I guess it’s another story with a happy ending.