A few months ago I sat in a keynote speech and listened to Bob Goff say these words over and over and over.
Be Not Afraid.
Three very simple words, so much weight.
This past weekend brought deep and profound loss to my hometown, to my friends and their families. The horrific wreck that took one life, and has several more hanging in the balance has just polarized our town and by extension all of us. Yesterday brought more loss, a long time teacher in the school system. My mom worked with her. I personally never had her but still. And now this morning, waking to new news of another child gone.
It is numbing.
This morning I am reminded of these words. I am reminded that through those moments when you cannot imagine anyone caring what Matt Lauer has to say, or caring if the dog is eating the cat poop, or caring if you haven’t shampooed your hair in a week…life moves forward. The world turns.
Be Not Afraid.
As we all cling together in our Facebook chats, and groups and text messages, as we share our disbelief and agony and empathy for those directly in the line of this loss, I struggle with the idea that light will return, that laughter will come back and the deep seeded weight will at some point, lift from all who are burdened by it…Yet I know it will return. I know it continues.
If any of you knew me when I was doing shows in college, or touring, or just doing shows locally, you will remember that as soon as the curtain went down and the show would close…I would get sick. My body had just gone as fast as it could, taking in all of the time and the stress and the deadlines and the emotions and then it would dig in and come to a screeching halt.
I think the past few weeks have been extraordinary. Work has ramped up with the cookie sale, family obligations and deaths among us have seen stress and emotion and travel, the Listen To Your Mother auditions came and we cast our show, all kinds of things on the home front as well as a new puppy.
I forced my way through this thick week, inch by inch, deadline by deadline, racing to get caught up from being out of the office the previous week, appointments and CST meetings after work, vet visits, grocery shopping that wasn’t done the previous week, board meetings…all of it. And yesterday I waved the white flag.
Just worn out.
We have chicken soup in this house, we have provisions for all of the animals. I had great hopes of joining in on the Norman Mardi Gras festivities tonight but with the rapidly dropping temps and the general wet cold that is the outside, again I wave the white flag of surrender.
Mark has done laundry all day, we have clean sheets on the bed. I started watching True Detective between naps today and that just may well be it for me this weekend.
I hope your weekend is full of surrender, whether you are surrendering to rest or surrendering to wild fun, I hope you surrender and enjoy.
Our 2014 OKC cast for Listen To Your Mother has been officially announced!
SQUEEEEEEE!!!
I am so so excited for this adventure. Everyone (well, Melisa said) “the second year is so much easier! You’ll love it!)
I knew that the logistics of this beast would be easier. We have the venue and know the whereabouts of what we want to do better, do easier, not do, from our experience last year. We have formed our schedule to accommodate more “bonding time” for the cast and crew. We have a few returning sponsors and know better how to pitch for new ones.
And now we have a cast.
The 2014 Cast of LTYM:OKC
These ladies are beautiful storytellers. I’m so honored that they gave us their story, and that they have accepted our offer and jumped on this adventure with us.
Julie, Heather and I are so grateful for this. We work together as if by magic. Every now and again we will look at each other and say, “shouldn’t this be harder?”
We are seamless as a team, and because of that we have the brain space to attend to the excitement and energy that is Listen To Your Mother. I have said it repeatedly, this is a profoundly moving, and for some, a life changing experience. The audience feels it. The cast feel it. We are in the thick of it, and couldn’t be more proud!
Go over and check out our cast. If you know a reader, give them a personal shout out. Many are way outside their comfort zone and are taking a great leap. Let them know that we will all be here to watch them stick the landing!
(Tickets will be on sale soon. Keep watching and listening for those details!)
Back to the office, gathering up the bits I have from working at home and settling back into my routine. It’s as if last week was just a black hole.
A black hole of casserole and memory and puppies and tears and laughter and connection.
I know there are real issues that must be addressed, cleaning out MeMe’s house, the “things” the leftover “things” the actual property…But the siblings have a plan for that I think and will work through it in due time. The Cousins have all departed, taking what they can. Plants, bathroom clocks, rolling pins. The biggest relief is that MeMe’s cat, Mary Jane (who is slightly cross-eyed) got re-homed. Cousin Autumn drove her back to Denton, Texas and has a friend who will give her the best home.
Our family is big on love and even bigger on loving our animals. So we were all broken at the thought of poor MJ losing her mama, then being relegated to the garage because her home was invaded by dogs and people, but to think of her just being lost…blergh. None of us could stand it. So kudos to Autumn. She saved MJ’s life!
The cousins stayed with us this weekend before they flew out. Jerome here on Saturday night and left about 4 am Sunday. Patrick and Toni came in yesterday afternoon and left early this morning. Everyone is getting back to life.
We are so thankful that we can say, “see you in a few months!”
It’s quite a phenomenal thing, this death experience being what it actually is. We’ve spent the night juggling people. Humans. We’ve done the dodge and weave and pivot in that kitchen, waving people back who came to help, waving people in to asked for help. waving everybody and said NOT YET. We’ve got it. Thank you. It’s okay.
Because for eleventy million years we’ve cooked in this kitchen. We have milled around the butcher block in the center that looked super cool in the 70’s but now is just a pain in our ever lovin asses. Lord. Around the butcher block we go. Yet here we are, we three, four, five ,six women stumbling out from the visitation, and stumbling into Meme’s house WITH GUESTS. FULL OF GUESTS.
We made some magical mystery delicious in the kitchen. We had roast chicken, roast ham, enchiladas, we had roasted kale and potato green salad, roasted asparagaus. We had chopped up fruit salad, and we had the best damn queso ever to never see a Christmas Eve.
There were a few moments tonight. Where the memories came flooding back. Flooding back from a time when we-none of us- had any comprehension of the marriage bullshit that was brewing. We didn’t see the cracks in the facade, we didn’t see the pinched faces disguised as tired. All we ever wanted was more time in the lake with our cousins, one more ski across the lake, one bowl of homemade ice cream, a couple of floats to lay upon and giant tea glasses or empty RC Cola cans so that we would administer soothing body treatments with sand and oil and dead crab and pieces of firtch floating in the flotsam and jetsam of our distribution system. We sat in the shallow lake water and would play and laugh and talk for hours and at the end of the day…
Keri Lotion would cure it all.
Being around these people tonight, the ones that for so so many of our years we were tied to closely…it hit home that now…They…become Us.
We look at the women who came before us. These women who stood in the kitchen for years, their kitchen, camp kitchens, didn’t matter. After they stood at work all day, they raised children and they in turn raised us.
They were indeed formidable.
They were strong and courageous and confidant and defiant. Lord they were defiant.
And in that kitchen tonight there we were. Confident, and creative and working together…pulling out bits of this and pieces of that and timing the entrees to come out right at the time the queso was finished…I think the women who came before us would’ve been proud.
I work for an agency that specializes in building strong, steadfast, courageous and formidable women, and I’m here to tell you, Lois Mae Pryor was a formidable woman.
She was born into a family that saw her birth mother die early, and the woman who raised her, our beloved Grandma Hargrove, went on to bare four more children. The stubborn streak must’ve been passed down by Grandpa Hargrove because every single person in that family got an extra helping.
Formidable is a polite word for stubborn.
Needless to say, Lois Mae grew up knowing how to handle disruptions of life. She grew up learning the lessons of survival, first hand.
She and James Pryor were married for many many years. 63 plus years to be exact. They had three children. Jackie Ray, Carla Donise and Tracy Lee.
As the first born of the first born, I reaped the most winning moments from this tribe. Not to say that the other 6 grandchildren didn’t have winning moments, but I just happened to come first. And that was that. I mean, she let me eat Cool Whip straight out of the tub for crying out loud. This woman was AMAZING!
The fabric of my life’s memories are woven by the thread of this woman.
She owned her own business. In the 1960’s she alone was a small business owner. She bought French’s Department Store on Main Street, Granite Oklahoma from Mr. French himself and ran Pryor’s Department Store with the iron fist that Thatcher would’ve envied. She carried everything from dress patterns by McCall’s and Butterick’s to work boots to brassieres that came in severe cardboard boxes. The wood floors of the shop were wonky, worn down with time, and there was a schloop as you walked back from the dressing rooms and into the main check out counter area.
My job was to make the bows. I made bows on a machine that I have to this day. Cranking and cranking and voila there was a beautiful, perfect bow to go on custom wrapped gifts.
I got most of my training in the Summer months. I would stay with MeMe and PaPa, ostensibly for one week that would turn into a month, and I would “help” at the store. I would walk the aisles, look at the wedding dresses in the new McCall’s pattern book, walk next door to Juanita’s Flower Shop where they would let me “create”, walk down to the grocery store where the butcher would ply me with cold, pink, wieners to much on. I would walk across the street from the store to the pharmacy where the soda fountain had yet to become a novelty. The ladies that worked there knew when I hit the door I was after a salty dog. (Just salt, and grapefruit juice, and ice, no Vodka… yet) or a fresh squeezed cherry limeade. I would traipse down to the swimming pool where the lifeguards would watch over me, call MeMe and tell her I got there ok, would help me spend my money at the concession stand and reapply Desitin Butt Paste to my nose so I wouldn’t burn.
My true working experience came during the Christmas Season. I would crank out those bows like no child had ever done before. I was intent. I was fierce and dedicated until…OH HEY THAT’S SANTA!
See, Santa and Mrs. Clause would come down Main Street every Christmas Eve and hand out sacks of apples and oranges and caramels and nuts to all the kids. I always thought it was so cool that Santa came to MeMe’s house to see me specially every year. Just a perk of being the firstborn grandkid of Lois Mae Pryor.
Looking back now, as a working woman I see that the Christmas Season was likely the best of times and the worst of times for her. Long hours on her feet, selling every kid a Granite Panthers tshirt for under their tree at home, dealing with customers by the dozen and serving them all with a smile. She would come home to a house that was busting wide open with kids and grandkids. I always thought that our Christmas Eve tradition of eating nachos was the best ever, when in fact it was likely just something cheap and easy. She always had spiced tea in the kettle and homemade candies to nibble on. No one ever went hungry in that house.
watermelon gooooood
The woman loved to talk. She never met a stranger. She was never happier than when she was talking to someone. Anyone really. In fact, that’s exactly how she died. After having traveled from Granite to Louisiana for her sister’s funeral, she sat at the visitation and was surrounded by family. Faces that she had not seen in a long time. She hugged each one, laughed and cried with each one and as the last conversation dwindled, she said, “I’m tired too.”
And she closed her eyes.
MeMe taught us all by example. She taught us about the importance of work and setting goals. She taught us about giving back to the community by being an active member in her church and serving as youth leaders along side my PaPa for years. But most of all, she taught us about family by giving us these memories. Giant Christmas holidays filled with the sound of laughter and the smell of spice and clove. Homemade peach ice cream and watermelon on a sweltering summer night at the family reunion. Homemade apricot syrup on pancakes in the morning. She worked hard. She loved harder.
These are the pieces of her legacy that I take as my own. Because if you have service and fellowship, if you make moments special with the simplest of things and if you are generous with your heart…
After Mark and I had been together…mmmm…maybe a few months, maybe more because time became one giant blur back then, he said one night “Someday we will get a dog.”
I’ve always known that I wanted another dog. It’s been years since Shelby Kate, and he lost his Sidney about a month before he and I met. So that wasn’t a surprise, we both knew it was an inevitable thing.
Back a few weeks ago he said something about it again, and that’s when I hit send on the corgi rescue application I’d been sitting on. I just wanted to make sure that when our dog came along, we would already have been vetted, have gone through the process and wouldn’t have to wait.
This past Tuesday the woman from the rescue sent me an email with an attached Craigslist ad that said:
Free Corgi.
I swooped down on that like it was a plate of nachos from Cousin’s Bar and Grill at the end of a long day.
I began texting with the woman who owned the dog and got photos and found out some basic facts.
Appears to be a full blood Pembroke Welsh Corgi.
Female; about 14 or 15 months old; spayed; house broken; gentle spirit; up to date shots.
Loves the outside, walks and running.
The lady got her from an elderly couple. (I would surmise they got her from a breeder and then realized that a corgi isn’t a low energy animal and passed her on to our woman) Our lady lived in an apartment, cramped space, she works long hours and has a small child who was often overpowered by the corgi energetic spirit.
She sent me photos and I sent them to Mark and we made a plan to meet her in Stillwater today.
Then my aunt passed away yesterday morning. I spent several hours working with other family members on how to get my 80someoddyearold grandmother to her sisters funeral in Louisiana. I wanted to go. I wanted to see my cousins. I wanted to help. I looked at flights, and at drive time and at my work schedule next week. At about 11 am today I had to throw in the towel. Just couldn’t get it all done and get to Louisiana by visitation tomorrow night. My uncle (who is a saint) took over the reigns.
This whole past week was chock full of crazy. Long 14 hour days at work, stresses on every level and more than once I turned to Mark and said, “be honest with me about how you feel about this. Are we making a mistake? Should I cancel?”
He’s the one, on Thursday night when I was at my most stressed and tearful, that said, “Let’s go meet the dog.”
As we pulled up today, we saw her. We saw the lady and the corgi and we said hello and then the corgi smiled the biggest smile and gave me the biggest kiss and then turned to Mark and kissed him all over too. We asked a few more questions, and at one point not long into the meet & greet I looked at Mark and he just nodded his head.
I promised our lady that we would give her a good home and she handed us the pink leash and we turned towards our car.
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he said.
Our car ride was just fine. She is a great traveling dog, she’s a good size, bright eyed and good attitude.
Winifred “Winnie” McClellan has had a few run in’s with the cats. The are of the mindset that this garish nightmare must surely be over soon because this is some shit up with which they will not put.
We’ve got some adjusting to do.
She’s a delight.
And the best Valentine’s Day present I’ve ever had.
Yesterday was another day full of accomplishments combined with passive aggressive acts by others and acts of coddling and cajoling and supporting by me. It was a mostly good day, doing good work to support and cheer on volunteers, that was fueled by an underlying feeling of dark. At the end of the day, I just could not sooth one more special snowflake hurt soul. I wanted to just tell every single person, put on your big boy/girl panties and get over it, shall we? I was short on soothing and long on…bitchy.
It was two years yesterday that we lost Chris.
I remember the text from Cindy, the calls to Talaura and to Amy. The drive to KC. I remember tears.
It’s so easy for my trigger to get pulled. I work so hard to make things better for the people I work with and for, every day cleaning up a mess that was made long ago, working to move the program foward and serve the people in a more efficient and trustworthy way. I internalize that stress and it chews it’s way out in the craziest of places. Gnawing from the inside out, it will latch on to whatever passes.
All the while, navigting life and obligations and family and events and duites.
I look back at those days following, and I miss that family that was together.
I look back at those days previous, and I miss that family that gathered for dinner on a weekly basis, gathered in my yard when home from out of state.
I miss it with as much ferver as I loved it when it was happening.
I mourn not only the loss of this man, but this family that we pieced together with memory and hope. In spite of the beautiful good, the fresh moments full of love that have come my way, I miss this so much.
Logic tells me that yes, things change.
Things change.
Things, people, relationships move in different directions.
Knowing that doesn’t make it more of a surprise when it actually happens.
Today I keep these words in the forefront of my mind…because there’s really no way to know what someone else is working on, working through.
Going to sleep on Sunday is, for me, not a thing of solace, but an act full of looming. This week’s schedule is packed, I’ll be traveling to each county of my district, putting out fires, sending forth support, helping to organize and lead. My last thoughts are usually of those things I didn’t get finished, that need to be started, both here at home or at work.
My list for home consists of:
Listen To Your Mother work: we are still gathering submissions and issuing audition spots. I’ve bene working on finding hyper-local sponsorships so that we can fund this thing. So far I’ve had more no-thank-you’s than yes-we-would-love-to’s and that’s just part of it.
Blog work: I’m still waiting on the final pieces of info so that I can take over the running of my blog. I need my sign on info and a few other pieces and then I can move it, be self-sustainging and not indebted to a third party for it.
House: I swear that middle room mocks me. I need for it to be settled. Hopefully the weather will turn, will help us out and be conducive to some indoor/outdoor organizing. Hopefully. Soon.
Work: I’ve got to get into some afterschool programs in the Moore area to deliver programming. I’ve got phone calls in, and will follow up this week. I wish this had been in place about a month ago. . . The learning curve is steep. I’ll do better next time.
Like all the weeks, this one will zoom by in a flash. Hopefully with a little organization, I can look back on it as one that got it’s butt kicked by me.
Last night we hosted a family baby shower for Mark’s niece and nephew, Alli and Ryan, who are giving us a BABY in March! The entire family is a giggle and a goggle, frothing and glassy eyed at the prospect of a BABY IN THE FAMILY!!!
It’s a beautiful thing, to already be so loved and yet to see the light of day on this Earth.
I love this couple. I do, and not because they are family and it’s required, but because the minute you are in their presence, you are smiling and laughing and feel immediately as if you are among friends. They remind me much of my Patrick and Toni.
Last night’s shower was Rock & Roll themed, as Baby Ty’s room is decorated in framed record albums, a fresh style that is truly the combined efforts of his mom and dad. They have their turntable set up, and while I usually try to build baby’s first library when I throw showers, asking the guests to bring their favorite book…this time we did it a little differently.
Everyone brought some vinyl.
We had rock & roll themed decor courtesy of Party Gypsy, delicious cupcakes served on records courtesy of Connie and GiGi’s Cupcakes, hot and cheesy Mexican food courtesy of Tarahamara’s and while there was great gobs of loot feasted upon the Momma and Ty, my personal favorite was seeing everyone’s contribution to his first record collection.
We had classics (Hendrix, Aerosmith, Cash) had holiday, we had cheese-and it wasn’t ALL my contribution-Chrissy gave the Pina Coloda song!, we had legit (from John Fullbright-from us to JayZ courtesy of Ty’s uncle D) and we had what I think is the best part.
Records that were pulled from real collections. Lori, Connie, and Mark’s names written on the covers. These pieces of Ty’s family history, now his. Mema Nancy gave some Stevie Wonder that once was Lori’s (Ty’s Gramma) and Mark…my Mark…Uncle Mark…
Well kids.
He pulled his entire Beatles Capitol Record collection. The entire catalog that was purchased, paid for, listened to, coveted by Mark in his youth. These recoreds serve not only as a tangible piece of musical history, but of this family as well.
I’m not even going to lie and say I didn’t tear up when Momma Alli got to the stack of worn, scuffed, beautifully intact vinyl. The thought of these records spinning in the bedrooms of Ty’s Gramma Lori, Auntie Connie and Uncle Mark…Well it was just beautiful.
All night long, we all laughed and had this kind of incredulous tone when talking about our record store experiences, the walks down memory lane, the variations in styles and tastes. We as a family are on the lookout for two very specific albums for Ty’s collection and something that began on a note of whimsey for a family shower turned into yet another thread of connection weaving us together in preparation to welcome this fella into our lives.
Misti Ridiculous 