There must have been some
kind of bug in the air this past weekend. All my kids were in costumes. The top
picture is youngest daughter Jordan and her husband, Christian, who reverted to
the ‘80s—or was that the ‘70s?—complete with wigs. They report they had a blast
at the annual Lily B. Clayton PTA Auction, which raises money for extras at the
school, such as a laptop lab.
And below are my other three, two with spouses, one member of the extended family and my oldest
grandchild. Aren’t teenagers wonderful? The look on her face clearly says, “I
don’t know these people, don’t know why I’m with them, don’t know why I’m
dressed like them.” It was probably about 6:30 a.m. Sunday at Fair Park in
Dallas, and the temperature, so they tell me, was 38 and the wind at 45 mph.
The Rock ‘n Roll half marathon began at seven, and they all finished it, though
I’ve had no word on times. Megan, my oldest daughter who was responsible for the
matching pajamas, ran with my granddaughter, Maddie, and says they mostly ran
but walked a little—due to Megan’s knee and Maddie’s ankle. Maddie is a superb
athlete and star basketball player—lives and breathes the game, though she’s no
slouch on the soccer field either. I remember not too many years ago going to
either a basketball or volleyball game when most of the girls stood and watched
the ball without moving. She’s grown up in a lot of ways, and I am so proud of
her. And love her sense of humor—you can see the smile in her eyes in this
picture.
Meantime I was snug in my bed—well,
sort of. There was this six-year-old who kept kicking me. A clap of loud thunder
followed by lightning about eleven Saturday night sent him running to tell me it was time for me to go to
bed and he was sleeping in my bed, not his. I regaled him with stories about
how much I loved storms on Lake Michigan when I was his age, and his astounded
reply was “Why?”
Texas has taught me to be
respectful of storms, but as a kid I did love them. We had a summer cottage at the
foot of Lake Michigan, high on a dune two long staircases above the beach, and
we could watch storms roll down the lake from the north, with dark clouds,
roaring winds, whitecaps crashing on the beach, and torrential rains. Snug in
the cottage, I thought it was thrilling. I’d still like storms if someone could
assure me there would be no tornado and no serious damage, but I’ve seen too
many pictures of wind damage in Texas. Jacob and I discussed where to go if
there was a tornado, and I asked, “You would remember the dog, wouldn’t you?”
Sophie, the Bordoodle, was
unfazed by the storm, though I have had dogs who were terrified. Scooby, the
Aussie I lost last summer, was so frightened when I first got him that I tried
giving him tranquilizers. Trouble was by the time I realized a storm was coming
and gave him the pill, it was too late. It took hours for the pill to kick in,
and the storm had passed but the dog was a zombie by then.
I remember my mom telling me
that thunder was the gods rolling bowling balls around in heaven. Mom was a
good Christian, but she mixed a little Greek mythology in and had many gods up
there bowling. I found the idea comforting. I’ll try it on Jacob, though I know
he’d correct me and tell me there is only one God.
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