Joy at a memorial service

Years ago a colleague said to me, “I don’t do funerals,” when a designer we had worked closely with died. I was indignant, because sometimes you do funerals out of respect for the one who’s gone on and for family and friends. But in a lot of cases, I don’t do funerals either. Today I attended one because I really wanted to. It turned out to be the most uplifting and faith affirming memorial service that I think I’ve ever been to. Faith is a very personal thing, and I usually don’t write about it, but here I go.

The service was for Leah Flowers, a longtime major lay figure at University Christian Church and wife of a minister who taught for years in the Department of Religion at TCU. I saw his fine hand in the scripture readings—all affirming God’s love for us, all looking forward, never backward. The homily was given by Associate Minister Cyndy Twedell, and she had us thoughtful one minute, a bit teary-eyed another (the vision of Leah learning to break dance with a young son was touching) and laughing the next. It was a wonderful tribute to a woman who loved her husband, her family, and her church, and was always ready to welcome newcomers with a smile and a handshake or a hug.

Leah loved to sing in the choir and the choir sang today in her memory—“When I Survey That Wondrous Cross” and “How Lovely Are Thy Dwellings.” The first one had my friend Betty in tears—she had directed the choir as they sang that all across Europe and she was close to Leah.

I’m struck by the impact the service had on me. I came away uplifted, so grateful for my faith that sustains me, so grateful for the loving church community of which I am a part. What a blessing Leah was to the world, and what a gift the service was to me. Praise be to God.

RIP and the military way

A good friend left us early last week. For a bit, when someone asked about the memorial service I was going to today I said, "The husband of a friend of mine." But I realized that was so wrong--Rick Allen was a friend of mine too, someone I liked a lot and cared deeply about. In the twenty years since he's been with Kathie, I've come to know and treasure this gentle man who always had a hug and a warm smile. He was, in the true sense of the word, a gentleman. There was lots I didn't know about him and learned from his obituary--beyond military service, a meeting with Henry Kissinger at the White House because he was an expert on Laotian troop movements, an expert also at poker though I doubt he and Kissinger got into that. Oh, I knew about the fishing and the baseball, integral parts of his life in the years I knew him. He visited all the standing old classic baseball fields, and he caught award-winning Northern Pike in Canada. For a farm boy from Iowa, as he always described himself, he'd come a long way and seen and done a lot of things. They had a Power Point display of pictures at the reception, and one picture of him and Kathie on camels made me wondere who would have expected an Iowa farm boy to have all these experiences. I remember one time recently when I was leading a discussion of memoir at the local Alzheimer's center, and Rick said, "I can smell the barnyard to this day." He never lost track of his Iowa farm-boy roots. I'm sure in Rick's past there are things I am glad I didn't know, but I loved the man I knew in recent years.
The ceremony today was at the National Military Cemetery in Grand Prairie, only the second time I've been there--and too soon upon the heels of the first. Kathie lost her father last May and the service for him was my first introduction to almost  anything military . Kathie grew up with it; it's foreign to me. The rigid ceremony of folding the flag given to the widow is impressive beyond belief, as is the firearms salute and the playing of taps--which always makes me cry becuse it always made my mom cry. The setting is impressive, and the cemetery beautiful, if you can call rows and rows of headstones beautiful. But it's Texas rolling prairie, dotted with trees, and the services are held in tasteful stone lodges. The cemetery runs so many of these ceremonies a day that there are tight time schedules--if you're late, forget it--and the service is brief. But visitors look at a tree-covered hill as they hear the gun salute and taps. Today a minister gave a brief but moving eulogy, and I'd like to hug her and say, "Well done, my friend." She offered comforting words from the Bible, and she suggested, even more important, that we should all bear Rick's legacy of being kind to people, expecting the best of them, waiting for tomorrow to bring out something better. I had to wipe tears from my eyes more than once.
The reception was at the local AA facility, something Rick had been deeply involved in. He was 35 proud years sober, and it was a perfect place for the reception. There were of course many more people that I didn't know than the few good friends I saw, and I soon tired of standing--though I loved the Power Point program a close mutual friend had put together. Still, I was glad to come home, have a glass of wine, and take a deep nap.
RIP Richard Charles Allen. You truly were one of the good guys, and I will miss you. But I will do what I can to look after your Kathie.

Gone to the dogs

Today was dog day at my house. About nine, I took Sophie to the grooming parlor, Glamour Paws. Asked for a shampoo, trim around the eys and bottom, nails cut, and agreed to tooth brushing for another $10. I sure can't brush her teeth!
Next Scooby went to the vet. His bark has gotten hoarse lately and he has a bit of a cough, plus he isn't eating well and I was sure he had lost weight. Wrong--he gained ten lbs. in the last year!The vet talked about all the possibilities behind the hoarseness but I choose to think it's kennel cough--and so does she. So Scooby is getting antibiotics and cough medicine. Physical examination showed him to be in very good condition for his eleven years--no apparent structural problems causing the occasional collapse of his back legs and he was nimble getting in and out of the car--no small trick for a good-sized dog in the back seat of a VW bug. The vet said the leg problem could be neurological--another thing, I'd prefer not to think about. She called this evening with results of blood work--outstanding for his age. Neither diabetes nor hypothyroidism can be blamed for his weight gain (I  know just how he feels!)  So I have a geraitric Australian shepherd with a cough, a hoarse bark and a tendency for his back legs to give out.
Sophie is another story. They called to report there would be an extra $20 charge because she was matted--I could have told them that. But when I went to pick her up, I nearly laughed. I took one dog and got back another. Here are before and after pictures:

They trimmed her face like a poodle! Okay, I know she's part poodle, but I like the au naturel--just wanted the hair right around her eyes trimmed back. And she's so fluffy and huge--we always joked that the before Sophie was mostly hair and probably really skinny soaking wet. Now's she's twice the size and so fluffy, her coat, once coarse, is soft beyond belief. It won't stay that way. I learned one thing: we can attribute her smelly coat to the trrait that's supposed to make her desirable. If she doesn't shed, she smells. Apparently the day at the beauty parlor exhuasted her. She's tapped out at my feet.
When Jordan came by, she showed me pictures from the weekend memorial service for her father. He lived on beautiful land, and though many of the pictures showed a world so different from my world,  it made him happy and for that I'm glad. All of my children felt the weekend was a moving experience and were so glad they went, especially because they went together. And they were glad to see their Califiornia sister again. I think they came home enriched and probably a bit changed.

Tongue-tied before an audience

Jungle Red Writers, one of my favorite blogs, had a segment today on the various members experiences on TV and radio--most had funny stories to tell of disasters. I've had my share of those too. In a small town in Missouri in the early '60s I used to host a program called, I think, "The People's Health." I'd interview doctors about various health problems: "Tell me, doctor, if I have a pain inmy side is it apprendicitis?" Generally it went fairly well, and I was comfortable. But that was radio.
I've been interviewed on local TV and done a few interview programs myself--30 minutes talking with an author. When someone interviewed me, I was fairly comfortable with it. But when I was doing the interviewing and they'd flash that "15 minutes" card, I'd think, "Omigosh, I"m only halfway through." Somehow I always muddled along the rest of the way, and it went fine, but I don't leap at TV opportunities.
My children, on the other hand, were seasoned TV personalities at an early age. They appeared, twice I think, on a program called "Hobab," which somehow means helper. Once they all sat in a row, and the hostess asked them what they did to help their mother. The older three jumped in--they made their beds, the cleaned their rooms, they helped with dishes. I mean, they were really angels. Jordan, who couldn't have been more than four, looked at them all as if she'd never seen them before. When it was her turn, she said, "The maid does all that." Later, the hostess asked if they knew policemen were their friends. Again, the older ones gave the pat answers, but Jordan said, "And if you don't have a Cadillac or a Mercedes,they will help you get one." Honest! The days of maids, Cadillacs and Mercedes disappeared quite soon after when I became a single parent, but I've always loved remembering that show.
In truth, my son-in-law Christian is the pro in the famiily, having been a child model and appeared in various TV series--Christian, so sorry I can't remember the names of them but you were charming. Besides, I knowo he doesn't like talking about it a lot now.
Lord knows I've done a ton of public speaking in my time but to this day it makes me nervous. I am quite comfortable with a book club or other small group, and I love doing q&a but I get bored listening to myself talk for 20-30 minutes. I get part way through and think, "How far is it to the end/" A good friend of mine always protests, "You do such a good job, I don't know why you're so reluctant." For a while, I just turned down speaking engagements, but now, with Skeleton in a Dead Space, to promote, I'm getting out at it again. Tomorrow night I will speak to an expected audience of 75 women at University Baptist Church, but it will be an interview format, and the interviewer is a good friend who does a great job at that. She has interviewed me for programs before, and we always have a good time. So I'm dipping my toe in the water.
But today I spoke in an entirely different setting. A good friend died on Thursday and her daughter asked me to speak at the service. At first I waffled, but my youngest daughter and my brother both said, "Of course you will." Jordan pointed out that Connie was so precious to me I had to speak in her memory. And I knew it was an honor to be asked. So with nerves on edge, I spoke--briefly--which I think is appropriate in that situation. I only stumbled once--by somehow starting to substitute the name of the protagonist in my current novel for Connie's name--but Jordan said I recovered quickly and nicely. I was glad to be able to honor Connie with my memories of times with her--good times, mostly lunches that we both enjoyed. But the relationship goes way back and involves another story--not for here.
I have two additons to this post: one is that I am relieved beyond measure by the verdict in the Amanda Knox case. I wish her godspeed back to her old life which, of course, she'll never be able to recover. But I hope she can move on to a new and fulfilling life. Someone said they see a book deal in the future--I sincerely hope publishers don't start hounding her right away and that her family continues to be her advocate and protection.

And finaly, this picture. Kindergarten homework sure wears a guy out--and his grandmother.

Memorial service for a fine man--and a visit with some of my family

The memorial service for my friend Charles was today, some six weeks after his death, which to me made it almost anticimactic. But Colin drove up from Houston and Jamie came from Frisco, both dressed to the nines in suits at a service where some people were very casual. Jacob had spent the night with me and was oh so excited about his uncles and his mommy coming at noon. "It's taking a long time," he said to me at least ten times this morning. They arrived and the boys went to a taqueria to eat, while Jordan and I ate tuna and hummus and hearts of palm--see who the healthy ones are in this family?The picture above shows the only three adults I know who will get the giggles while waiting in line to sign the guest book at a memorial service (unless their sister Megan had been there and she would have joined in). Jacob got drawn into the foolishness, but he really behaved perfectly for the first hour of  what turned out to be a long service. Then Jordan had to take him to the lobby to let loose steam.
Charles died July 3, so I've begun to get used to his absence in my life,though I will always miss him. I was drawn into the service first becuse they had a bagpiper playing "Amazing Grace"--I love the pipes but have a hard time picking out the melody, and Jacob looked puzzled and put his hands over his ears.But Charles was a good Scot. One of Charles' sons, Clint, showed a slide show retrospective of Charles' life that had some wonderful pictures, including one of Charles, Reva, and their four kids in one of their cars went they went in for race touring (that may not be the right phrase). Reva was beautiful, but I recognized the older beautiful woman I loved so much and cooked with a lot. And then there were pictures more familiar to me--the ranch, Charles running, the parts of his life I knew him for, and I've probably known him for thirty years. The saddest moment for me was the postlude--a beautiful cello piece--with a picture of Charles on a huge screen. I realized he was gone from my life, and I will always miss him.
Charles was an extraordinary man, probably one of the most intellectual men I've ever met, with a wide range of interests and none of them frivolous--which always made me wonder that he tolerated me and my frivolous interests. He had the most inquiring mind I've ever known, generally a happy and gentle disposition (I only know of one person he really disliked), an acute and sharp wit, and a great love of life. Not many of us are privileged to know someone like him, and I am grateful for the time I spent with him. One of the last times he and I went out together--when he was still able to get about without a wheelchair--we went to a favorite restaurant where they serve mussels. He had loved finding mussels on the beach as a kid and was anxious to eat them again--the first time he went to the restaurant, they asked him if he wanted white, red, or green sauce. Puzzled, he said, "They didn't come in colors when I was a kid." But this night, not too long ago, he ordered mussels and red wine and then a crab cake and then, if I remember correctly, we shared chocolate mousse. He enjoyed the evening immensely, and I enjoyed it just watching him eat so happily. Thanks,, Charles, for a lot of good memories--and some bits of good advice.
I spent the morning getting everything ready so I could fix a birthday dinner for Christian after we got home. We had salad, bifsteak hache au poivre (ground sirloin with cracked black pepper and a sauce of red wine, brandy, shallots, and beef broth), and Christian's green beans--cooked with bacon and vinegar. Pretty good if I do say so. But tonight I admit I'm tired. Long day well put behind me.