Goodbye Open Fields

The live oaks are amazing

Well, I'm kind of depressed today. First, we're still trying to come to terms on the sale of our house. Additionally, my stepmother has sold her ranch in the Texas Hill Country.

They've been married about three years and the ranch has been a great place for the two families to get acquainted and form bonds. The open fields, stock tank, warm home and great Texas barbecue have provided a soothing salve after my mother's passing of Lou Gehrig's, cancer treatment and various other routine pressures. And of course, it's where we saw the totally awesome TCU Horned Frogs win the Rose Bowl!

Enchanted Rock

It's amazing to me in this day of technology how being disconnected from the Internet, big cities and daily grind can help families reconnect. Even the kids really don't miss the Internet. OK, I admit it, there's basic cable TV, but it's kind of funny to see my kids try to TIVO or rent pay-per-view. They look at us like they've been blasted back to 1995 except that was before they were born. So, we all play board games, swim, fish, put together puzzles and climb trees. It brings back memories of being a child in the 1970s.

The cows and our boy

So, here are a few photos of the ranch. For people who think Texas isn't pretty, well, all I have to say is you haven't seen all of Texas. The Texas Hill Country, Big Bend, the Panhandle, East Texas, the Coast, and of course, weird Austin, are all places that should be seen and experienced. 

Wondering if any other state is as diverse as Texas. Good talking to ya'll.

Austin stone is beautiful.

Early driving lesson on the mule.

Tree climbing 101.

I Think It's Sold

Well, I think (for real this time) our house has sold. The buyers have three boys under the age of 7 and mortgaging their life away. But, that's not our problem!

Anyway, we will be closing on June 17 and moving down to Rockport, Texas. Initially, we're thinking of renting a beach house for a month or so until we find the perfect home. I'd better load up on the SPF.

So, which was harder? Selling this house or going through cancer treatment? Hands down, selling this house! You wouldn't believe the people out there and demands they try to make. Sure, no problem, would you like for us to put your first child through college too?

What's so funny is my online purchased pot rack both buyers wanted. What? Do they not make pot racks anymore? It's funny what people want. Maybe I could leave our French Britney Spaniel dog behind. Maybe they won't notice that. Finders, keepers.

So, the search starts for a new home. I've given the real estate agent down there my list of "musts." My husband doesn't think bathrooms are important as long as the garage is big. I'm starting to feel sorry for Agent Shirley. She has no idea what kind of summer she's in for!

Wondering why men and women differ so much on what the "perfect" home is.

The Wondering Texan

Harley, You Have Me Smitten

I had a great Mother's Day weekend. I hope everyone else did too. Over the weekend, I did something completely forbidden as a child by my parents. Dad, if you're reading this, stop. I rode on the back of a Harley Davidson motorcycle.

Cool riders and the monkeys

As a kid, the dad of one of my best friends was an orthopedic surgeon. He constantly told us, "all I do is put people back together after a motorcycle accident." And as a strange twist of irony, his son lost his arm years later in a motorcycle accident.

But, there I was riding on the back of the bike with a neighbor through the open pastures of Westlake on a gorgeous spring evening. It was magical. For one of the few times in my life, I felt cool -- figuratively.

This neighbor showed up on his Harley to visit with us and then offered me a ride. At first, I was nervous. My first thought was that I should have worn my steel-toed boots from my previous railroad work. And the boots would have looked cooler than my sneakers. Not that we looked like "real" bikers. More like characters from the movie Wild Hogs.

But the sound, the power, and the wind was so cool. Other bikers waved to us.  It was thrilling.

When we got back to the house, Mike asked me if I was nervous. "No, once I got the feel of it. It was great." My husband on the other hand interjected, "I was nervous."

So, I can now officially check off another item on my bucket list. Only about a thousand more things to do.

Wondering if a person can rent a Harley and cruise down the Pacific Highway in California? I'm sure I can talk my husband into that.

The Wondering Texan

Living the Vida Loca

OK, my husband said something really upsetting to me the other day. He told me that "you always do the right thing." When I asked him what that meant, he said, "well, people can always count on you. You always get things done. You are always responsible."

Not me. But pretty funny.

Ouch!!!! I don't want to be responsible or dependable or, at times, even likable anymore.That was the former me. Now, I want to be careless, reckless and never predictable. I want...I want a red corvette. Preferably a convertible. I told him this several months ago and he raised an eyebrow and said, "what? I never knew this about you." It's true. It's a secret I've held for at least two decades. So, as soon as we can, I'm getting a corvette. Why not? We can finally afford the insurance.

Then I told him, "you know what you need?" He looked at me fearful. "You need a big F150 truck." He almost started to stutter. "You had a truck when we married," I said. "Yes, a Toyota. You hated that truck." I hated it because it was a standard. When we were newlyweds, I tried to move it out of the driveway early one morning without waking him. It stalled in the middle of our street and wouldn't budge. So, I had no choice but to wake him to move his truck. He put on clothes, went to the driveway, then looked down the street where it was sitting. "What? How in the hell did my truck get in the middle of the street?"he asked.

So, after I told him of his need for a F150, he said, "I have a Toyota FJ Cruiser. You don't like it. You say it drives like a truck."

OK, maybe the truck wasn't the best idea. But I have many more. I don't know if it's coming in contact with a serious illness or middle-age craziness, or perhaps it's a combo deal, but I know I don't want to be the old dependable me.

I asked my survivor buddy Sara today if she's feeling the same way. She confirmed she is, but not as zany. We just don't give a rat anymore.

So, I don't care anymore how crazy the idea. The other night I told my husband that before we leave our golf course home, we should run naked in the middle of the night down the course. Today I told him, "do you know how many husbands would love to be presented with these opportunities!" He just laughed.

Wondering, if it's fun and doesn't harm anyone, why not?

The Wondering Texan

A Club Nobody Wants Membership Into

Over the course of the year, I have made many new friends through cancer. Funny what a serious illness will do. Aside from the usual shots, surgeries, doctor's appointments and medications, you also become a member of a not-so-exclusive club. Admission is cancer. You pay your dues in time, money and body. But, quite honestly, some of the members are joys to be around.

Today was my usual Thursday lunch with survivors Laura and Sara. However, Laura couldn't make it due to chemo yesterday and, the bigger issue, her in-laws are in town for a month. Yikes! So, Sara and I did what any good friends would do in this situation. We had a glass of wine in honor of Laura's patience. I met Laura through a mutual friend of ours - Amy. Amy has since bemoaned about Laura, Sara and I having weekly lunches and we never ask her to join us. "Well, Amy, nobody wants to be a member of our club," I laughed. But, it's really true. People ask how you're doing, they care, they sympathize. But they really don't understand. And, truthfully, they don't want to listen to too much of it. It's just too depressing and they really don't want to think of their own mortality over the lunch portion of seafood enchiladas.

But with survivors, no subject is off limits. Constipation, fear, dry skin, loss of appetite, doctors, etc. It's all on the table to be analyzed and discussed. Survivors make you feel normal. In your own home and close circle of friends, you may be the "sick" person. But with survivors, you're normal. And after months of tests and doctors, feeling normal is a huge booster.

So, each week I am so thankful for my Thursday lunch bunch and the many others who have helped to guide me over the year.  Thanks cancer for giving me a new set of friends.

Wondering if other afflictions bring so many people together.

The Wondering Texan

Mom, You're Such a Buzz Kill

This weekend, my son who is almost 10, shocked me. As I was trying to wash his face and get him to put on a clean shirt, he protested and said I was a buzz kill.

"Where did you hear that word?" I asked. "School," he said as he stomped away. This got me thinking about the differences between boys and girls. Once you have a son, you understand so much more about your husband and realize that all of the annoying little things grown men do isn't their fault. It's chromosomal.

My friends with girls only have to spend just one hour in the same room with my son before they ask, "How do you keep up with him?" My friends who have sons say, "Just wait until he's 16. He'll act the same but be only bigger."

For example, several years ago when my son was around 3 years old, I was helping him use the restroom. My husband came up behind us and said in horror, "What are you doing to him!?" I looked surprised and said, "Well, I'm blotting his little willy with toilet paper."  My husband nearly had a heart attack. "He's going to get beaten up before he enters first grade by doing that. Boys don't do that. We shake it."

Now, I understand why our bathrooms are in the state they are in.

So, people coming to my home don't even have to ask if there's a boy around. The evidence is everywhere. The top five leads are:

1. The bathrooms are a mess
2. The sound of slamming doors is constant
3. Legos are in the vacuum cleaner's canister
4. There is a mud puddle (or as my son says "a swamp habitat") in the backyard at all times
5. Trees have marks of being beaten with golf clubs, swords, hammers and other metal objects

So, last night at 9 p.m. as we were relaxing after having Easter dinner with my family, our son bolts in with his latest prize - a green lizard. He was so excited to show us, he tripped in the doorway letting loose of the lizard.  Not to be called a buzz kill again, I tried to remain calm. As of this writing, the lizard is still at large in the house.

Wondering how long is it possible for a renegade lizard to survive indoors?

The Wondering Texan

Good thing our boy is fenced in to protect the cows.

Let's Hair It For Great Dye Jobs

Well, yesterday was a big day for me. It got my first haircut in a year. I felt like a toddler sitting in the chair for the first time. I was nervous, excited and hoping I wouldn't leave with helmet hair. Or worse, with much less hair than I arrived.

I started chemo in April 2010 and finished in July. Six treatments, three weeks apart. I decided if I had to wear a wig, I was going to have some fun with it. So I purchased (or insurance purchased) a nice, handmade dark blond wig styled like Jennifer Aniston's luscious locks. And yes, blonds do get more attention!

So, I called my hairdresser Casey for an appointment and much to my shock, all I heard was the sound of a recording, "I'm sorry, but the number you dialed is no longer a working number." What? How could that be? I know my life changed in a year, but you mean life for others moved on too? So, I redialed. And redialed. And redialed. The recording gave me the same monotone response.

Next to my oncologist and GYN/OB,Casey was the third most important professional in my life. She's gotten me out of really bad self-dye jobs, evened-out sloppy home trimmings, and kept me from looking too much like a mom. Plus, she had good gossip. I could catch up on friends, acquaintances and their families from her leather chair.

So, I had to solve this problem. Can't trust just anyone with my baby soft hair with tiny ringlets. My husband suggested one of those shopping center chop places. Thanks for your opinion honey, but no. Obviously, I couldn't trust a man with this problem.

My neighbor Dawn came to the rescue. She just had her hair done with lovely blond highlights. So I called BJ at Duvalls in Bedford.

Since my husband flew in this week, he dropped me off and even ran to the Bedford library for pay for a book I borrowed and lost from a friend. I told him it would take probably about two hours. He looked at me, blinked and said, "Two hours? You don't have that much hair." Again, thanks for the opinion honey.

I walked in and was filled with memories of going with my mom to her salon when I was a kid. Lots of loud, funny and generally older women. They looked upon me as their pet project. I was ushered, bossed and led around just like when I was with mom.

I told BJ my sad little story and begged her not to chop too much off. Plus, put in some highlights. She asked, "Was your hair always this curly?" Never. But the doctor told me it usually goes away. "Not to contradict your doctor, but I've never seen the curl go away." This got me excited.

Next, I saw the hair washing lady whose name escapes. She was bantering back and forth with the towel lady. "I'm so sweet, people should call me 'chocolate," she told me. The towel lady snorted, said something I couldn't understand, and then, horror, they asked my opinion. As I said a while ago, my mom sent me to charm school for just this situation. I smiled, giggled and said, "Oh my."

Then 'Chocolate' said to me, "Miss D, scoot up and get your head back in the bowl." Without meaning to, I was sliding down in the chair with my head up, staring at an older lady sitting across from me getting her whole face and neck waxed. Is that my future?

I got my lowlights, highlights and texture cut. My hair smelled great and no grays! Plus, BJ told me that my hair will grow about 1/2- to 1-inch each month since my follicles have totally regenerated.

As I went to the front, my husband patiently was waiting in the lobby. He loved the results. Then he asked the question all men should know better than to do. "How much did they charge?" Quickly, thoughts raced through my mind. Should I lie? Should I distort the truth a little? Should I come clean? I opted for the truth. "Well, $100," I said. He couldn't believe it. I didn't tell him that it didn't include tips for BJ and Chocolate. It was more information than he needed to know.

As we walked out, he informed me the Bedford library had no record of my friend or the lost book I sent him to repay. "Are you sure?" he asked. Of course, I'm always right.

This morning, my honey came in and said he still liked my hair. Then, he looked at me and said, "By the way, the book is from the Burleson library, not the Bedford library."

He was so smug. Wondering how he got so smart.

First haircut in a year with highlights and lowlights.

The Wondering Texan