Tag: memories

Button Sunday


This button was designed to celebrate the entrepreneurial spirit of Gary Hoover. Who’s Gary Hoover? Google would help you discover that Hoover, in 1982, founded BOOKSTOP, Inc., in Austin, Texas, with $350,000 in capital raised from 35 private investors. He and his management team built BOOKSTOP, the nation’s first book superstore chain (large selection, low prices), into the fourth-largest book retailer. In 1989 Barnes & Noble purchased the company for $41.5 million cash, and it became a cornerstone of Barnes & Noble Superstores.

It was a sad day for devoted Bookstop booksellers when the board fired Hoover and sold out to Barnes & Noble. In my less than three years with Bookstop, I developed relationships that changed my life, and I still have friendships that began there more than twenty years ago.

This was the last Houston Bookstop where Barnes & Noble kept the name; it closed in September 2009. Sometimes I think people forget that even the “superstores” can become their own little communities made up of booksellers, book buyers, and the books themselves.

Button Sunday


I’m not sure where I got any of these buttons. A couple seem to have been around forever. I might have picked one up at the Austin Record Convention sometime during the 1990s.

Doors lead singer, musician, poet, artist, filmmaker, and bad boy Jim Morrison died on this date in 1971. It was my brother who got me interested in The Doors. But it was Riley who used to sing “Love Street” to and about me, which sealed their place in my heart. He would draw pictures of me on “Love Street.” This song is part of my repertoire to sing when I’m riding in my car. Alone.

I still have my vinyl of Waiting for the Sun. It’s probably unplayable, but I’ll never get rid of it for nostalgia reasons. I can see Riley and me lying on the floor of my parents’ living room listening to it and talking about poetry, mysticism, and rock and roll.

30 Days of Creativity 2011, Day 30

This is it–my last post for 2011’s 30 Days of Creativity. I hope you’ve enjoyed some of the things I’ve created. I feel like I did a lot more this year than last year. Once again, I spent several days away from home during the month (last year I was in Arkansas; this year, Houston’s suburbs, which sometimes seem equally as far away), presenting a bit of a creative challenge. Unlike last year, I took a ton of stuff out to Green Acres with me and set up a creativity sweatshop, since it was just me and dogs in the house. Thanks, Lynne, for providing the space. Thanks Sue, Seig, Minute, and Paco for protecting me and keeping me company.

Thanks everyone for all the comments and emails and interest and sometimes assistance. It makes it more fun when people react to whatever crazy thing I create on any given day. Thank you, 30 Days of Creativity, for providing this activity and a place to show our work. I’ve found a lot of new creative people thanks to you!

I have a vivid memory of a road in the small town where my father grew up. It seemed endless to me as a child, that road from my grandfather’s house to the hospital where he spent the last days of his life. I was under the age of permitted visitors, but my mother insisted the rules be broken and I be allowed in to see Papa. My parents knew he didn’t have long to live; he was ninety-six, and his heart was finally wearing out. I was the last grandchild, and I adored him, and my parents always helped me remember stories about how he loved me.

Papa had been mostly non-responsive for a couple of days, but the first evening we made that long drive and went inside his room, my father told him that he and my mother were there. My grandfather stirred; it was as if he’d been waiting for this, his youngest and much loved son to arrive. Then my mother said, “Papa, Becky’s here.” My grandfather turned his head, opened his eyes, and seemed to stare at me. I smiled and waved at him. I don’t know if he could see me, but I’d like to think he did.

One thing I remember about that road in my father’s hometown was the 3M plant. It’s such a small town that any industry was significant–the lifeblood of the community. Decades later, though I’m sure many 3M plants have shut down or relocated, that one is still there. Whenever I see a 3M product, I think of that little town so rich in memories for my family and me. Needless to say, when 3M was generous enough to send some of the 30 Days participants a package full of Scotch products, and I was one of those lucky enough to be on the list, I was thrilled. Scotch asked only that the recipient try to find a way to use the products for the “Plaid”-themed day, which was June 23. Unfortunately, my package didn’t arrive in time.

So I decided to end this month with a reminder that even internationally known companies can mean all the difference in the world to the economy of little towns, and to offer my gratitude to 3M not only as a 30 Days creator, but as the little girl who once noticed the lights of your buildings on a long, dark road.


Repurposed photos, magazine cuttings, gift wrap, and Scotch product packaging in my Paper Doll Homage to Plaid collage.

(Click here to view larger version on black background.)

Free stuff: Amazing!

Shoe Shine Girl

When we lived in South Carolina (the home where my push puppet lion disappeared!), we had both a living room, with the new brown sofa and chair, and a den/dining room, with the old brown sofa and chair. My mother was definitely always about the earth tones (coppertone kitchen appliances, remember). In the mornings, I would take my bowl of Cocoa Puffs and creep into the dark den to sit on the arm of the old brown chair and stare at the wall. I liked silence and dark when I awoke. In a previous existence, I may have been a mole.

The particular den wall I stared at, in the light from the kitchen, was my mother’s Wall of Your Father Is Pretty Damn Amazing. His most recent military award certificates or commendations were framed and hung there, along with a painting or two (of his), and this.

Someone did this caricature of my father giving a second lieutenant hell for his unshined combat boots. If you know anything about military rank, you know that the second lieutenant is an officer who outranked my father, an enlisted man. But a second lieutenant is the lowest of the low; I can still remember the saying that the most dangerous thing in the Army is a second lieutenant with a map and a compass. In any case, rank isn’t everything, and my father’s age and experience as a (at that time) first sergeant would have meant the inexperienced second lieutenant would do well to take the scolding. And to polish those boots.

Though my father’s hair was never this bright a red in my memory, the caricaturist for sure got one thing right. His uniform was always inspection-ready. One of my “chores” as a little girl was to put my father’s boots on a chair one at a time, put both my hands down inside the boot, and hold it still with all my strength while he buffed a flawless shine on it using one of my mother’s discarded stockings. There were things we did together that were more fun–he taught me how to cast with a rod and reel, how to drive, how to make cole slaw, for example–but the smell of shoe polish still makes me happy as I remember this particular father/daughter activity.

Button Sunday

I launched Button Sundays in September 2006 after getting an e-mail full of button photos from Denece. I don’t know if I’ve missed a Sunday since. I’m not about to go back through the archives to check, since I recently did that to replace or delete a lot of broken links, as well as LJ user names and other LJ-specific code that didn’t migrate to the new blog. Since the button launch almost five years ago, I’ve been given buttons from many of you (thanks!), searched the Internet for buttons to go with themes, events, or dates, and sometimes created buttons because I couldn’t find what I wanted.

My future plan for Button Sundays is to photograph and share buttons from my personal collection, which began when Lynne and I started collecting them as ‘tweens. If I can remember where I got the buttons, or from whom, I may include the details. Sometimes my memory will no doubt be inaccurate; we’ll call that “memoir,” which is closely related to “fiction.”

Buttons have been around since the late 1800s, when they were used mostly for political campaigns. I’ll begin with some of my political buttons related to the state of Alabama. Keep in mind, now and in the future, that ownership of a campaign or promotional button does not indicate my endorsement of a person or product. =)


The two little buttons in the bottom right corner were my parents’. They campaigned across the state in 1978 with Jamie “Red” Etheridge when he was running for Lieutenant Governor of Alabama. My father probably met him through work they did together on a regional planning council. I don’t think Etheridge won that election. The most recent information I could find on him indicates he’s a trustee at Jacksonville State University in Jacksonville, Alabama.

Jere Beasley was Alabama’s Lieutenant Governor when Governor George Wallace suffered an assassination attempt in his presidential race of 1972. Beasley became acting governor when Wallace had to be out of state for an extended period because of his surgery and recovery. This button comes from his unsuccessful 1978 gubernatorial campaign. The Beasley Belle buttons were given to campaign volunteers. My mother was active in his campaign and made sure I got one of these after I made phone calls on his behalf.

Emory Folmar was a mayor of Montgomery, Alabama, and an unsuccessful gubernatorial candidate (losing to George Wallace in Wallace’s fourth term in 1982). Various controversies surrounded Folmar (including the banning of rock and roll concerts in Montgomery!). Lt. Governor George McMillan lost to Wallace in the Democratic primary during that same election season.

The “Brewer Full Time” button was a slam against Albert Brewer’s 1972 gubernatorial opponent George Wallace, who was often out of the state campaigning for president. Brewer was Lt. Governor under Lurleen B. Wallace, wife of George Wallace. During Wallace’s first term as governor, term limitations allowed a governor only one consecutive term. Wallace immediately began trying to change that, and when he hadn’t been successful nearing the end of his term, he persuaded his wife to run for the governor’s office. Her victory enabled him to continue to control the office while working to change the law. During part of Mrs. Wallace’s term, she was ill and out of the state for enough consecutive days for Brewer to become acting governor. Later, when she died, Brewer finished her term. In spite of his efforts to build a coalition between disenfranchised voters (blacks and poor whites), Brewer lost to Wallace, who had also won his battle to allow governors consecutive terms.

The Wallace buttons are from different campaigns, the one with his photo being the oldest. I found it in my mother’s sewing box. Even had they been living in the state during his early years in office, my parents’ views on civil rights would not allow them to support Wallace’s campaign promises of continued segregation (in later years, he recanted those views and apologized). In all, Wallace was governor of Alabama for four terms over three decades, and he ran for president four times.


Peyton Cochrane has been the Tax Collector of Tuscaloosa County for over twenty years. This button might have been from his first campaign. It’s possible from research his father or grandfather shared with my mother that we are very distantly related. Cochrane, especially with the final “e,” was not a common name in North Alabama.

Endorsed by the Alabama Tea Party Express, Lynn Greer is a current member of the State of Alabama House of Representatives, where he initially served as a Democrat, and later, a Republican. This button is probably from his 1980 campaign for Public Service Commissioner.

Photo Friday, No. 252

Current Photo Friday theme: Wilderness

I submit the above photo from the wilderness of the U.S. Southeast for this week’s challenge not because it has any photographic merit at all. It doesn’t. If you want to see stunning photographs taken from some of the most breathtaking locations worldwide by accomplished photographers, I advise you to click on the link above that will take you to the Photo Friday site. Nothing I have in digital format or in my photo archives can compare to their work.

Instead, what I’m showing you here is one of the earliest photos I ever shot, maybe with my mother’s old Brownie–some camera that she allowed me to take to a Bible camp where my parents sent me one summer.

It’s one of a group of really bad photos I have, but it doesn’t matter that they’re bad. They help me remember a week when I made a friend named Julie, with whom I corresponded for years after we left camp. She helped me understand how much fun it could be to write and receive letters in the mail, no matter how silly the conversations of ‘tweens might have been.

They help me remember that I got my first kiss–from a boy named Marshall–NO TONGUES!–one night next to the lake. He also gave me my first experience of a boy who’ll tell a girl a lie to impress her. (His was about his experience playing Oliver in the theater. I’m sure he played Oliver in some theater, but I suspect it wasn’t on Broadway, as I was led to believe.)

They help me remember lying on the ground at night, staring at a breathtaking sky so full of stars that I still expect to see it whenever I look up. Light pollution in the nation’s fourth largest city doesn’t allow that; still, the sight is locked in my brain.

They help me remember how mean kids can be to one another when they’re forced into bizarre situations like camp. If we are honest when we point fingers at other people’s bad behavior, we admit there’s a kernel of that in all of us–when we so desperately want to belong that someone has to be made an outsider. If we can’t admit and recognize this, we can’t correct our behavior.

So it’s not a great photo–but it’s a great picture.

30 Days of Creativity, Day 21

Okay, seriously, I have blogged about my push puppet lion that was lost or stolen from me when I was ten at least five times, beginning in 2005 and as recently as when I saw Toy Story 3. It’s silly to mourn a lost toy so much, I know, but there you have it. People get attached to things, and I loved Linus. I have long searched for one like him on eBay and other Internet stores, but they were all painted or just weren’t right. Then the other day in Michael’s, I found this for 99 cents:


Unpainted, a little less noble than my childhood lion, and with nothing near the mane my lion had, plus no tail tuft. Still, he had potential. And he was 99 cents!


This morning, I removed the inadequate mane and stained him with some extra stain I found in the garage.

Then I found some trim that Lynne once used on pillows my late friend Jeff commissioned her to sew. I took the trim apart, broke out the hot glue gun, tweezers, and toothpicks, and…


A new version of Linus! Linus II can never replace what I lost, but he doesn’t have to. He just has to be his own adorable self.

Who Linus was named after, even though I wasn’t born then and stuff: