memories – Page 111 – beckycochrane.com

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.

Legacy Writing 365:213

Tuesday was a mellow day with Jim at The Compound. There was a lot of sitting around the table reminiscing and making one another laugh. It was also spaghetti day (Jim’s favorite). Tim and I polished the introduction (his) and the afterword (mine) to Foolish Hearts, and it’s officially been sent to the publisher. And yet with all that cooking and book finalizing stuff, I still managed to make time to watch Breaking Dawn: Part 1 with Jim and Tom. Jim pretended that he wasn’t crying over Bella’s travails, but I know inside he was.

For many years, we’ve kept a Compound guest book. It includes photos of and brief notes from all of the visitors here. Sometimes I forget to ~~force~~ ask people to sign it. Such was the case when Jim visited last year, so I dragged that thing out and helped him remember what we did on his 2011 visit. Actually the guest book has proved invaluable when we say, “What year was it Jim said Greg could eat the dog-gnawed roll?” or “When was that time all the TJB writers were here and had publicity shots done and Becky’s hair looked like crap?”

In April of 1999, Jim came to Houston from his mountain in California (yes, his very own mountain!) and Steve C came from San Diego. They happened to be here on April 28, which is my late friend Steve R’s birthday and the day I always bake and decorate a cake in his memory. That day, Jim and I were listening to country music while I was cooking and baking in the kitchen. Steve C borrowed my car and left to work out at a Houston branch of his gym. When he came back, I was in the dining room. Steve joined me.

“How was the gym?” I asked.

“It didn’t really work out like I planned,” he said. “But…I did pick someone up.”

My mouth dropped open. I mean, I want to be a great hostess and all, but I don’t remember that chapter in Miss Manners about what to do when a house guest brings home a stranger he picked up at the gym. So I finally managed something like, “Uhhhh…”

And then Tim followed him into the dining room. They’d been plotting all along for him to visit from New York and managed to keep it a secret. It was the first time Jim and Tim had ever met in person, as well as the first time Steve had met Tim in person–and he had to pick him up at the airport. Steve still swears I practically pushed him through the window to get to Tim and hug him. I don’t usually like surprises, but that one was thrilling.

Legacy Writing 365:212

Our friend and writing partner Jim is visiting The Compound. Each year when he comes, we make an agenda (this is his request because otherwise he knows we’d never leave the house), and on the agenda is “The List,” which is an ongoing list of movies we’ll all watch together one day (if not this visit, a future one). And of course, he knows he’ll get to catch up on the latest Twilight franchise release–so far, that hasn’t kept him away.

Monday I had a big pot of homemade beef and vegetable soup simmering most of the day (someone at The Compound is a little under the weather, and soup is good food, even when it’s hot outside*). After Jim arrived, we sat down to soup and the fixings for sandwiches. I gave Jim a special plate for his sandwich.

After we finished eating, he noticed that the knife he’d used to cut his sandwich had sliced between Robert Pattinson and Kristen Stewart. IT’S A SIGN!

The first time Jim came to Houston, in December of 1998, I assured him he could pack for mild weather, that it’s almost never cold in Houston through the Christmas season. Jim doesn’t like cold weather, so this suited him just fine. Of course, it was freaking freezing that year, and he’s never believed anything I’ve said about Houston weather since.

No problem keeping warm this visit–we’re giving him plenty of heat and humidity.

Here’s a shot of Jim with Sweet Li’l Amy Sue outside Baba Yega restaurant on that first visit. I’d say something about how adorable they are, but I’m distracted by Jet behind them. My car was only an eight-month-old then.

*Kudos to anyone who gets the “when it’s hot outside” reference after all these years.

Legacy Writing 365:211

This is one of the earliest photos we took of Margot after we adopted her in 2000. Anyone who’s seen pictures of her through the years or who’s ever met her will probably doubt she’s the same dog, because almost immediately her saddle turned from black to blonde.

This is the photo I sent out to our friends because I loved the look of utter mischief in her eyes. She came to us named Margo, but Timmy mistakenly referred to her as Margot in his emails. We adopted that spelling because we said the “T” stood alternately for “terrific” and “trouble.” Even at her age now, she can still romp hard, but what she mostly loves is food, and her expressions when she’s on the alert for possible handouts are priceless.

Also, as you can see, we knew from the beginning she was the dog for us because she was undertaking a bit of heavy reading.

Legacy Writing 365:209

Way back in March 2007, I was bold enough to share all my school photos from first through twelfth grades, and in the comments to that post, I also published this photo:

It can ONLY be the fumes from that Lilt perm making me grin like a fool, because WHYYYY did my mother give us home perms? So our hair could look like this?

Dopey looks a little noble with his head up like that, though it’s possible he’s trying to communicate to Debby: The young one: She is strangling me.

Meanwhile, David (holding Daffy cat) sports a smile that’s almost a grimace. I don’t know what he had to be distressed about. Oh, wait. We’re in our PJs and he’s looking all cool kid. Probably he was forced to pose for this photo with his little sisters as a condition of going on a date. Could have been worse. He could have had his scalp tortured with Lilt perm rods.