New York City II

Soon after we arrived in NYC, we ate at a little corner eatery (note wok light fixtures) about the size of my living room and watched people walking by. 

Everyone seemed to be in such a hurry. Van told me if I needed to stop for something, to move off to the side or I'd get run over by pedestrians. 

We walked around to all the familiar sites. This is a picture of us not skating at Rockefeller Plaza. It didn't seem as big of an area as I thought it would be, but I think the tall buildings in NYC skewed our perspective of size. 

We saw the Christmas tree at Rockefeller Plaza. This year it was decorated with a scaffolding theme. 

 We walked over to Wall Street to see the NY Stock Exchange.

Van said it was a bear market that day.

That was the part of NYC that felt most like what I imagined NYC would be. The streets were dark and narrow where towering buildings took up most every square foot of space and crowded out the sun. 

The buildings framed the beautiful old Gothic style church at the end of the street.

Wish we'd had time to look at the old headstones in the cemetery. Ness told me they saw some very familiar names on the markers. 

Look how thin some of the markers were. It's a wonder they're still standing.

The stories they could tell…

We walked around to see some very recognizable sites: One World Trade Center,

the United Nations where Van has worked most every September except when he was stationed overseas, and the hundreds of flags representing the different countries.

And I'm not sure what this beautiful old building was near the NY Stock Exchange building, but it had a statue of George Washington out front.

I caught this fellow working hard in the garment district.

We packed a lot into the two and a half days we were there. I have no idea how many miles we walked, but it put blisters on the bottoms of my feet, and I wore comfortable shoes the whole time. It'd be nice to go back and take it a little slower… stopping to read the headstones… finding out what George Washington was greeting everyone for… eating a hotdog from a street vendor. 

But what we were able to experience in that short time was great. 

We took a bite...

...out of the big apple!

After Van came to Texas for an Aggie game, I flew back to Washington D.C. with him. He took the next few days off to take me to New York City, a place I'd never been. We rode Amtrak, and I really enjoyed it. And I was surprised to learn that this Amtrak train ran on electricity. We caught the train at the beautiful Union Station in DC, and we carried our luggage onto the train with us. The train is much roomier than the airliner-- the aisle, the seats, the leg room, and they even offered free WiFi so I was able to do some work on the three hour trip. 

Van right after we boarded the train.

Van took this picture at Grand Central Station in NYC

We visited Grand Central Station in NYC, even though our train arrived at Penn Station.

That's me in my most becoming photo of the trip riding the ferry to Liberty and Ellis Islands. An advantage to going in cold November is that the crowds were a lot smaller. I enjoyed listening to all of the different languages of the people visiting Lady Liberty that day. We probably heard English spoken the least. People from around the world visit our symbol of freedom. We may take it for granted, but others don't. 

Seeing the Statue of Liberty had never been on my bucket list because I'd seen it so many times on television and in pictures, but it's so awe-inspiring in person. She's much taller than I realized. Do you see the tiny line of dots at the top of the pedestal just below the statue's hem? Those are people's heads on the observation deck. Van and I walked up 192 steps to that viewing area, and I survived! 

This is Ellis Island; I snapped a quick photo, and didn't notice the two photo bombers in the middle of the picture until I loaded it up on the computer. : ) Love it!

The museum on Ellis Island

Can you imagine leaving everything you ever knew to come to a new country with all your hopes and dreams for a new future? I'm glad my ancestors had the courage to come in order to build a better life for their children and grandchildren and on down the line. My family has so much to be thankful for, and I'm so grateful my ancestors chose the United States of America to immigrate to. 

The view of the New York City skyline from Ellis Island; One World Trade Center towers over it.

I'm so glad we went. 

Keep Calm and Carry On

Really missing Mom today... and yesterday... and last week... and last month... It's still hard to believe she's not here with us anymore. I couldn't imagine life without her, and I still can't. The reality hits me like a punch in the gut several times a day and a quiet wail starts in my stomach and forces itself out of my mouth. Then I get busy again until the next time the truth pinches me awake.

I tell myself, "This is life. Everyone loses their mother at some point." But that doesn't lessen the pain. It does give me hope when I see other people surviving the death of someone close to them, and living normal lives eventually. And yes, I know I'll see her again, and I'm sooooo grateful for that, but until then, I miss her presence and her friendship and her sense of humor and her smile and the way her hands felt when I held them as I painted her nails. They were smaller, and her fingers tapered to a feminine point, unlike mine. I have my father's fingers that are the same width on the tips as they are where they're attached to the palm. I sniff her manicure kit every so often-- it smells like her.

She was always such a safe place for me and my siblings. Not over-protective. Not intrusive. Not demanding at all. But we knew she loved us unconditionally. We knew she was in our corner even if everybody else was not. And if she disagreed with us, that never changed how she treated us or felt about us.

When Mom's hairdresser hugged me at the memorial service, she said, "I know... Mom's aren't supposed to die." She had lost her mother earlier this year.

Mom's aren't supposed to die. The thought of Mom being gone is still inconceivable. And yet life plows on like a harrower, breaking up clods, removing weeds, and smoothing the soil, getting it ready for the next seeds of life lessons and experiences.

Yesterday I looked at photo after photo of white rooms. Usually vintage-looking white rooms. They calm my soul. They give me a sense of peace and joy. I'm not sure why. Someday I hope to paint the inside of my house white. And much of the furniture. But if I don't get around to it in this life, I kinda think heaven may look a lot like a white room.


As I walked around the football field track this morning, the students in the homecoming court arrived to practice for this evening. It's been forty years since I did that same thing. How did that happen? I see them; I know what they're doing. But they don't see me. My time has past.


Today I decided to pause in trying to make a living from home and just read a book. I even walked over to the library without makeup or my hair brushed! Poor desk clerk. She probably thought Halloween was starting early.

But even if I take a rain check on reality for a day, life still moves on. My body still ages. The hair on my legs and upper lip keep growing, darn it, along with the grass outside. Life is maintenance, and it demands my attention. Keep calm and carry on, a popular catch-phrase today comes to mind. I discovered that Winston Churchill didn't actually come up with that slogan, although he is usually given credit for it. Some bookstore owners discovered an un-used war poster in a box of old books 50 years after the war. After they framed it, the slogan took on a life of its own. Reading about how hard life was throughout history is enough to make me straighten up and get on with life.  

And for everyone else's sake, Donna, "Keep your makeup on while you carry on."

Re-Purposed Rocking Chair

My daughter painted this little rocking chair years ago and was planning on getting rid of it. I couldn't stand the thought, so it's been in my garage for a while. The legs kept falling off, but I found a way to use it without the legs.

My custom bed is four feet off the floor, so I don't have a convenient place for journals, alarm clock, remote, etc. But now I do! All I need is a small reading lamp, and it'll be perfect.

The following is another picture a little further away where you can see what's under my bed. My dad built the bed and also mounted the rocking chair securely on the wall. And he's always helped with all  of my crazy projects requiring some kind of engineering skill and power tools. Best. Dad. Ever.

I haven't fallen off the bed yet! I love it, and it's really added storage space to my small bedroom/ working space.

Traffic Stop Protocol

My late father-in-law was a Texas Ranger. My nephew works for the Texas Department of Public Safety. My son is a special agent in federal law enforcement and also worked as a deputy in East Austin back in 2001. I appreciate their willingness to serve in these difficult and often dangerous fields, and our communities are the safer for it. I know many other honorable folks in other law enforcement agencies, and I appreciate their service to our state and communities. I've also encountered a few that should never have been issued a badge and gun. They're the ones carrying a big chip on their shoulders (probably acquired in their teenage years), and everybody's getting a little bit of their payback. But I'm not writing about them. I see something that's damaging law enforcement's public relations unnecessarily, and it happens daily with traffic stops. 

I just saw a news report about an officer in Austin who stopped a vehicle, and when the person got out of his car  and started reaching for his wallet, the officer unholstered his pistol and fired off a shot-- thinking the person was going for a weapon. The man ended up going to the hospital for a panic attack. I probably would react the same way. What law enforcement doesn't seem to realize is that the man was doing exactly what he thought he was supposed to do during a traffic stop.

The protocol for traffic stops has obviously changed in law enforcement over the years, but many of the older drivers aren't aware of it. This must be a baby boomer thing, but we were taught that if you get pulled over by law enforcement, you get out of your car and respectfully greet the officer, and then show him or her your driver's license and proof of insurance. That was the normal and acceptable practice for many years. 

A few months ago I was driving my father's pickup, and I was pulled over. I knew I wasn't speeding, but then I noticed the license sticker on the windshield was out of date. I knew to stay in the vehicle because I'd been a passenger in a vehicle that was pulled over in years past, and when the driver started to get out of the car, the officer yelled at him to stay in the car . The officer acted like we were about to commit a worse offense, and it was frightening and humiliating. 

So I didn't get out of the truck, and the officer came over to my window and we talked a while. The conversation was very polite and friendly. I told him that the truck had been parked in the garage and hadn't been driven for a while, but I was sure Dad had received his license renewal, and that he probably just forgot to put it on the windshield. When the officer went back to his car to call in the license number, I opened the car pocket and sure enough, there was the license sticker in plain sight. I pulled it out and opened the pickup door to show him that I'd found it.

The officer screamed at me to get back in the truck-- like in the sixty seconds since we were chatting like old friends, I had somehow become a dangerous threat by opening the pickup door. That shook me up pretty good. And I'd have to say that the screaming reaction on his part didn't make for a good impression of him on my part. I wonder if he would've fired a shot in the air if I'd taken several more steps. We were in a parking lot, so he wasn't yelling at me because of a safety issue. 

Why does getting out of the car on a traffic stop make law enforcement officials so paranoid? Does the Academy teach nightmare scenarios of rare situations when something bad happened when people got out of their car? I would think the most dangerous position for the officer in a traffic stop is when he walks up to a vehicle where he can't see the driver's or passenger's hands, which might be holding a weapon. If the driver gets out, the officer knows what he's facing. And  I'm not talking about the danger of people getting out of their vehicles on the side of a busy road. I understand that.

If law enforcement continues to teach this protocol of people staying in their cars, part of the lesson should include not automatically assuming that everyone that gets out of their vehicle is fixing to shoot them. Many older drivers think they are doing exactly what they're supposed  to do when they get out of their vehicle for a traffic stop. 

If you want to change people's behavior during a traffic stop, then re-educate us in a nice, friendly way. Don't scream at us or fire warning shots. Most of us will respond to a normal tone of voice because we already respect the law. 

Don't give us reasons not to.

On the other side of the coin: Parents, model and teach your children how to respond respectfully to law enforcement officers as well as anyone in authority. Law enforcement officers have seen more bad behavior outside of war than anyone else in the country, and their job isn't easy dealing with the people who have no respect for life or property or common decency. We don't see what they see most every day.

And just in case you aren't familiar with current traffic stop protocol: 

1. stay in your vehicle unless the officer says otherwise
2. if it's at night, turn on the inside light
3. keep your hands on the steering wheel
4. speak respectfully
5. wait until the officer asks for your driver's license & proof of insurance
6. don't argue if you are issued a ticket; if you disagree, you can appeal it
7. if you're only issued a warning citation, thank the officer 
8. remember to not peel out when driving away : ) 

If you have a handgun, you definitely need to look up the protocol for informing the officer that you are armed and licensed. 

Drive safe. All of you. 

Generational Partners

Finn & PawPaw Casey in his workshop

This photo above is one of my favorite pictures hanging on our wall-- my Dad and his great-grandson Finn tinkering with "important things" in his workshop. Finn looks to be about four years old here, but he has always been drawn to Dad, even as a baby. Dad's deep voice sometimes scares babies, but never Finn. 

I remember us sitting around the table eating supper, and Finn was around two years old sitting next to PawPaw. When anyone said something during that particular dinner conversation, Finn would turn to PawPaw and repeat the last word or two, like PawPaw probably didn't hear. Our favorite line was when someone mentioned something about the green beans, and Finn looked at Dad and said, "Geen beans, PawPaw, geen beans!"

Finn & PawPaw doing the navigating during our stay on the Riverwalk in San Antonio a couple of years ago

I love knowing that my grandkids love to come over here to visit. They've always been comfortable with Mom and Dad. Dad built some simple wooden toys and put all of his board scraps in a container for the kids to play with. There's rarely a visit that they don't drag them out, along with ropes, bungee ties, and all kinds of interesting stuff of PawPaw's they find in the garage to build stores or forts or cities. 

 Me, Mom, Dad & Finn (3) right before our first Christmas in our new home in Taylor in 2008

I didn't know my grandparents well enough to feel comfortable around them when I was a child, and even up through college. Finn and Audrie and August have nine living grand and great-grandparents, and they have good relationships with all of them. I think that's so important for children to have multi-generational relationships. And I believe one of the positive consequences of tough economic times is several generations living together, which used to be a common thing among families. Our house regularly sees four generations hanging out and playing together. I love that.

Activity Board for a Busy Boy

My daughter had been talking about an activity board for several months. Our precious August, one-year-old and too smart for his own good, gets into everything. When he walks into a room, even when he's carried into a room, he's casing the joint. His eyes miss nothing. So a couple of days before his birthday party, Dad and I decided to make him an activity center. Nothing like starting a time-consuming project with an immediate deadline. It's the way we roll. 

Vanessa's concerned about this strong baby boy pulling things over on himself, too, so I thought I found the solution by buying a low, sturdy desk from IKEA ($17.99) as the base. We had 1/8" plywood on hand that we cut a little larger than the side openings of the desk. 

 I also bought a six pocket thing-a-mahickey to put across the long end. 

We were planning to attach two activity boards to the two narrow sides, but my daughter told me she just wanted the activity boards to hang on the wall so they wouldn't take up floor space. For these pictures, I just propped them on a 2x4 board against the outside of the desk to give you an idea of our original intent, but we would've attached them on the the inside of the desk which would've looked much nicer. We spray-painted the activity boards, mostly with paint we had on hand.

The first activity board is like an interior of a truck. My daughter found a little wheel at WalMart that we used for the steering wheel. I cut a plastic Cool Whip lid a little more than half-way across for the speedometer and used a Sharpie to write in the numbers. If we could've found a moveable arrow to attach to the speedometer, that would've been even better. I used a rectangle plastic lid for the radio, along with two ceramic knobs (IKEA - $2.99 for a pkg. of 6). If we were really on the ball, we would've added a painted scenery including a highway disappearing into the distance. We also talked about using canvas panels with different that could be attached to the windshield and interchangeable with Velcro tabs. But we ran out of time and energy.

We painted red and flourescent-green stripes on the second activity board and included a turnable doorknob, a battery powered plastic lightbulb with pull-string, a blue door with a picture behind it, a loud switch, a magnetic board, and my daughter is going to add a chain lock, hopefully before August goes to college.

I also made a 24 page booklet made up of photos of family for August. I printed out pictures on card stock and covered them with do-it-yourself laminating sheets, which should give it some longevity. Punch holes in a corner and attach with a ring. I really wanted a light switch on it, too, but the switch guts would've stuck out too far in the back. We attached everything with nuts and bolts with no sharp or long ends on the back.

The activity board still has room for other things, it's just finding the time and gumption to add them. 

August and brother Finn (7 years old) had a shared birthday party at a park, and the older kids loved messing with the activity board just as much as August did. That surprised me. I wondered if we should do something of the sort for Finn, but with more challenging activities on the board... : )

Here are the birthday boys- August, 1 year old, & Finn, 7 years old

I still like the idea of a free-standing activity board using the desk. It would even make a great frame for a house or little office, or even the cab of a pickup or airplane cockpit with the wheel attached inside to the board going across the middle of the back of the desk. The dashboard could span the opening below it, and it would have much more room to add a lot more neat stuff to mess with.

The only limitation is your imagination... and time... and tools... and get-up-and-go.

Seeing Through a Glass Darkly

It's been one month since Mom passed, and I'm still trying to grasp this reality called death. I've seen it played out thousands of times on movies and television-- real and fiction, and I've read about it in books, and I've even written about it, but I still don't understand it.

Everywhere I look around the house I see evidence of Mom's every day life, and yet she isn't here. If I stay busy enough, I can keep that new reality at bay, until something-- a clothing item I missed taking to the clothes closet, one of her handwritten recipes, the unopened yogurt in the refrigerator I bought for her, the empty wheelchair, her comb, mail still arriving with her name on it, her eyeglasses, or a hundred other things-- pulls me back to remembering she's gone. But I can't let myself live in perpetual sadness. She wouldn't want that.

In each of us, two realities live congruently with each other, but most of us don't recognize it until something shakes them apart-- sometimes it's just a momentary awareness, but what most flagrantly separates the two is death. The physical reality-- the seen remains, but the invisible reality-- the unseen-- the soul and the spirit-- the eternal part that enables thought and reason and movement in these tangible bodies-- leaves. That recognizable body instantly becomes a lifeless shell, confirmed by touch. As soon as my mother's last breath was breathed, she wasn't there anymore. What remained was what we recognized by sight, but what left the body, the room, and the house was what we truly knew-- not by sight, but the soul and spirit relationship we had with Mom. We're left with the love and memories of that relationship, thank heavens, but it's severed for now, and that hurts.

I'm sitting here looking at my computer through physical eyes, but it's my soul and spirit that are doing the seeing and thinking and reasoning. It's hard to let that awareness truly sink in. It's like I've possessed this particular body and I'm controlling it to do my bidding-- typing these letters on the keyboard, breathing in and out, taking a drink of my tea, shedding tears, leaning back in my chair when the words refuse to come. This body does what I tell it to do... until something interferes with that. Like disease.

Mom had a disease that gradually took away her control over her own body. Her soul (mind, will, and emotion) and spirit were fully functioning, trapped in a physical body that mostly refused to do her bidding. But the essence of who she was still there; it just wasn't as easily accessible.

I was so shocked to see the last pictures of my mother at my nephew's wedding ten days before she passed. She looked so ill and frail. But I don't remember her that way at all. I remember her beautiful and strong and so brave. I think that up until the end, I was seeing the essence of who she was-- her soul and spirit, which were quite different from the physical reality of her body. And that is what I want to remember about her. And I will.

I wonder what we'll look like in heaven? I don't believe this ol' body comes close to what I'll look like there. I believe our spiritual eyes will be completely opened in heaven, and we'll be able to see all of the unseen, the essence of who we are. I believe we get glimpses of that occasionally. I have to confess that the best part of me in this life is Christ, whose spirit lives in me because I asked him to. Otherwise, I'm nothing but an occupied shell-- still moving and breathing and physically alive with an eternal soul, but existing only for myself-- my wants, my needs, and my stuff.

And life is meant to be so much more than that.

For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then, face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.  I Corinthians 13:12 KJV

Major Life Shift

Mom, in the mid-1960s

I'm still trying to work through the reality of my mother's death. I watched her take her last breath when her life and spirit left her body. Her face relaxed; I could see no wrinkles; her skin looked so young. We agonized at the thought of losing her, but at the same time we were so thankful she wasn't suffering anymore.

I remember Mom telling me that since her mother had moved in with them during her last years, it was harder when she lost her because she'd gotten so used to being with her all the time again. I understand that completely now. This house I love so much seems like such an empty shell without her. But I know things will get better in time. People all around me have survived losing their mother, and I will, too.

My sister and I cleaned out Momma' closet on Sunday. I'd been dreading that, but it helped to not have to do it alone. I shed more tears as I remembered her wearing certain favorite items of clothing. But it also made me think about clothes hangers. Mom and I had different opinions about clothes hangers after we moved in together. I thought I was helping my parents out by gradually getting rid of the old wire hangers and replacing them with the plastic ones when she stopped me one day. She told me she preferred the wire hangers over the plastic ones because she could get more clothes in the closet with the wire ones. That surprised me at the time, and it makes me smile as I write this. I thought I knew just about everything about Momma, but I didn't know that one.

Then yesterday I hugged and bawled on every stack of her clothes I took to the minivan, and then over to a local clothes closet ministry. I know moments like that will continue to come, sometimes when I least expect it, but I don't block the grief. I know that's part of the healing process. And it is a cathartic experience for me to write things down through blogs, journals, and even emails and letters to friends and family.

Mom was in relatively good health all of her life until a low heart rate meant having a pacemaker wired to her heart about twelve years ago. She told the grandkids the doctor installed a Sears Die Hard battery in her. Some years after that before ALS came calling, Momma told me that if something were to ever happen to her, and I think she figured it would be heart-related, that she wanted us to know she'd had a good and happy life, and that she had no regrets. She told me that what she was most proud of was her family, and she loved being a mother to us kids and a wife to Daddy.

Since Mom lost her ability to speak verbally, she had to write to communicate. Coming across even the smallest scraps of paper with her handwriting on it moves me to tears. I found a note written to a co-worker at the hospital where she volunteered long after her ALS diagnosis that said, "I'm going to have to quit working soon; it tires me out too much." I found other ones reminding Dad to "Trim the crepe myrtles next" and "Read the to-do list by the back door." Or asking how someone was doing or telling us what clothes she wanted to wear to the doctor appointment or telling Dad where something was or saying "That baby has been such a blessing to us" or "I'm glad you came-- I always enjoy visiting even though I don't talk" or "You take care" or "I think he needs the hair cut around his butt" (referring to our dog) or "Tell the girls hello-- I miss them" (to Donna, the beautician who came to our house every Friday after Mom couldn't visit the beauty shop) or "You stay out of trouble, but have fun" or "Yogurt"(when asked what she'd like to eat) or "You ought to plant green beans, okra & squash today,"or "Go close the desk," or dozens of other notes written over a two and a half year period. Most of them she threw away over time, but I treasure every one of them I find now.

Mom's mind was fully functioning up until two days before her death, but I think some people assumed the opposite since she couldn't speak and her body gradually quit working. We didn't talk at all about what would happen after she was gone-- it hurt too much, but looking back, she was gradually preparing us. Toward the end of last year, Mom started showing Dad how to do all the financial stuff-- things she had always done for them. Dad and I had to write everything down to remember it and post signs on the kitchen door, but Mom always remembered appointments, birthdays, and her complicated medicine schedule. We've found notes with all the insurance and banking information, and even her wishes for her celebration service.

I really thought we had another year with her, but part of me is grateful that she never lost the ability to communicate with us, which so many ALS patients go through when everything is paralyzed except the blinking of the eyes. I don't want to forget anything, but I know time will fade the memories, so I'm determined to write down as many of them as possible.

I know death is a part of life. I know we're all going to experience it through the death of our loved ones as well as our own. I know my Mother is with the Lord, and I know some agnostic friends and family can't wrap their logic around that. I don't know how they deal with their belief that this brief life is all there is, and then we turn into dust. Maybe they just stay busy enough to not have to think about it. Without Christ, life has little meaning for me, and losing my mother or any of my friends and loved ones would be absolutely unbearable with the thought that I would never see them again. Everyone will experience eternal life, but when it comes to being with the Lord, there's a caveat, and that requires a relationship with Christ.

If it were up to me, I'd probably set  up the scales of good outweighing the bad to get you into heaven, thinking that would force people to live a decent life here on earth. And most people with little knowledge of God's grace through Christ actually think that's what determines if they're going to be in heaven after death. But God didn't set it up that way, and since He's God and Creator, I believe He can design this plan called life and beyond however He sees fit. How arrogant of us pots telling the Potter how things ought to be. We can blame God for the tragedies in our lives, or we can face them with His grace and strength. No one is immune to hardships in life. We can let them destroy us, or we can learn from them and let them make us stronger.

And when it comes to putting my faith in something that will determine my eternal destination, my choices are:

1. no belief and turn to dust; [grab all the gusto in life because this is all there is]
2. no belief and hope for the best in the afterlife; [stay busy enough to avoid thinking or doing anything about it]
3. a limited belief and try to be good enough to earn one's way to heaven [tip God occasionally or do a lot of feel-good works, which negates Christ's sacrifice for us], or
4. faith in God through His Son Jesus. [It gives life meaning & makes beautiful sense when you take the time to look into it; start with the Book of John in the New Testament]

I'm going with number 4. This faith is based on an unfathomable love for us, not hate; on a free will choice, not death threats or shame or coercion; on a relationship, not a religion.

Looking back, I see where God began preparing us for this journey with Mom, and I have to say these past four and a half years have been good ones, in spite of the illness. And God was the biggest reason for that. Life has shifted in a major way for us, and we'll miss her for the rest of this brief life, but we are okay.

O death, where is your sting? O grave, where is your victory? I Corinthians 15:55

Thank you, Clara Driscoll

My daughter and I recently attended a Society of Children's Book Writers & Illustrators Critiquenic (writing/illustrating critique and picnic) at the Austin Museum of Art's Laguna Gloria grounds on the shores of Lake Austin/Ladybird Lake. I primarily went to hang out with my illustrator daughter, but took one of my fables for the critique. I had cut 1,100 words the night before, trying to get it down to a picture book size writing, so it was pretty rough. I received some good tips for improving it, though, and I appreciated that.

Photo by Matthew Fuller

Afterwards, I wondered who had built this beautiful home and how did it end up a place to teach and study art. I learned that Clara Driscoll and her husband Henry Sevier had built it on land originally owned by Stephen F. Austin. Wow. The Savior of the Alamo, the founder of the Austin American [now Statesman], and the Father of Texas all had connections to this land and home.

Texas history has roots all over that place.

Mrs. Henry Sevier, Clara Driscoll

Stephen F. Austin owned the land seven years before the city of Austin was founded in 1839. He wanted to build a home there, but it never happened. The Seviers married in 1906 and bought the land to build an Italianate-style mansion in 1914, completing Laguna Gloria in 1916. The couple divorced in 1937, and Clara began using her maiden name again. In 1943 shortly before her death, Clara Driscoll deeded the villa and land to the Texas Fine Arts Association to be used as a city museum. In 1961, the site was converted to the Laguna Gloria Art Museum and soon after began offering art classes. In 1983 additional facilities were built to expand the growing art school. The mansion is also available for other events like weddings, too.

My daughter and granddaughter both have attended classes at Laguna Gloria, and on the day of the Critiquenic we enjoyed the beautiful outdoor setting as we talked about writing and illustrating children's books. I'm so grateful for people like Clara Driscoll who at such a young age had the foresight to save the Alamo and later generously donated Laguna Gloria, which eventually evolved to promote the visual arts in the Austin area. But I would venture to say that most folks who enjoy the beautiful property today have no idea of the fascinating history behind it.

I didn't either, but I appreciate it even more now that I do.

Insured, But Not Really

I've been insured all my life, but for years now it feels like I'm not. I pay almost $300 a month for a high deductible insurance policy, so unless I have surgery or have a catastrophic illness, I will have to pay over $9,000 that year before insurance kicks in outside of the wellness visit.

I just received my bill for a visit to the dermatologist. I didn't go for cosmetic reasons. I have a history of basal cell carcinoma skin cancer (the most common type) and have to get thoroughly checked each year. The doctor found three areas of concern, removing a suspicious mole, and scrapping off two other red spots. Only one had skin cancer cells, which meant scraping deeper on a second visit.

But the real tragedy happened today when I received my insurance statement. The doctor's office billed my insurance company almost $5,000 for those three simple procedures. My part is only $2,161.

Now I really feel sick.

I am presently unemployed living off of my savings, helping my father take care of my mother, who's in the advanced stages of ALS or Lou Gehrig's disease. I'm grateful that I can do this for her. I don't know how long she'll be with us, but I do know how long I'll be able to take care of her during the day, based on my savings. When it's gone, I'll have to get a job.

And although I'm paying money every month to be insured, I don't feel insured at all. What I will have to pay the skin doctor means 43 days lost of caregiver time with my mother. Last year a visit to the emergency room took away 20 more days.

As for the follow up visit with the dermatologist in six months, I don't plan to go.

When all else fails...

...start a new blog. I changed my host server for my Website, and my main blog refused to show up on the Web anymore. After trying all the trouble-shooting tips over the past couple of weeks, to no avail, I decided to just start anew.

I had dreams of re-designing my Web site with WordPress, which everyone who has any tech sense says is wonderful, but I couldn't get past the instructions to download it. That tells you something about my tech sense, doesn't it. So for now, I'll stay with what I know until someone rescues me and saves me from my ignorant tech self.

I did take the time to copy and save all 75 posts from the old Donna Van Cleve blog, and I'm going to try to do better about backing up my other blog posts. Someday when the well starts to hit sludge, and that may be sooner than later, I'll go back to writing a single blog and retire the other three.

So, this first post is about as exciting as cleaning the microwave. Sorry!