I know, all of you who live beyond the mildness of Central Texas smirk and roll your eyes when we talk about how
The big coat AND the pashmina, which I didn’t realize I needed until I got one (and went to New York one October).
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2002–sitting on the FDR, waiting for the July 4 fireworks to begiin
The first time JoAnne and I went to New York, I got up early for weeks before the trip. I walked seven blocks from my house (uphill) and then back the seven blocks (now downhill).
“I’m walking every morning,” I said to JoAnne. “I’m parking the car at the far edges of the parking spaces when I run errands, so I’ll have to walk farther. And I’m making a conscious effort to walk around stores faster, instead of sauntering. I’ll be ready for New York!”
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A couple of Wednesdays ago, I went back to West Avenue Elementary School to start Reading Club again. 
I have two of the girls from last year, but the third girl is going to a different school (say the other two girls). The school people said that I could choose the book for us to read this year, and showed me, in their library, all the books that they have “classroom sets” of. (In other words, multiple copies of the same book, so that students in an entire class can have their own copy to read.) I selected several books for the girls to choose from.
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I was at Wal-Mart last week, and I did something that would have shamed me in front of, maybe my mother, and most certainly my grandmothers, my great-grandmothers, and all the rest of the women and many of the men in my ancestry.
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I remember the first time I saw the movie Fiddler on the Roof. First, the oldest daughter goes to her father and says, no, she does not want to marry the butcher, which is an arranged marriage, as is the custom, the tradition. She would like his permission to marry the tailor, instead. Her father rants and raves, and at first refuses, reminding her about the tradition of marriages arranged by matchmakers and approved by parents. No, no she cannot. But, he thinks about how much the young couple love each other and how maybe it would be all right, and he relents, going against the long-standing customs and traditions of their Jewish community.
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All my growing up years, there was a cedar chest at the end of Mother and Daddy’s bed. I would show you a photo from those years, but astonishingly, there isn’t one. I’ve looked at all the pictures in my album, in my parents’ album, and I’ve asked JoAnne. It’s hard to imagine that a piece of furniture that was in our lives for about sixty-nine years doesn’t show up anywhere, but I can’t find it. Not a corner, not the top, a side, nothing.
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Quite a few years ago, in articles in self-help magazines and books about changing your life and being more organized and getting things done, one recurring piece of advice about establishing new habits said that your could entrench new habits by doing the new habit activity for 21 days in a row.
If you do the things you want to institute as a habit (walking on the treadmill, eating a good breakfast every morning, going to bed at an appropriate hour to ensure you’ll get a good night’s sleep, etc.) for 21 days in a row, then you will have established a wonderful new habit in your life! That’s what the magazine articles said.
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Summer 1964-when we were in town (a Wikipedia photo)
My sister and I remember traveling, on a summer trip to my dad’s childhood home in Wauseon, Ohio, and going through St. Louis, where the famous Arch was under construction. Actually, we recall the visit for a more compelling reason. Our car was broken into.
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When Kevin was a senior at TCU, he needed one more literature credit. He and a friend, Thomas, both chose a Science Fiction class to take. Their professor was interesting and likable. Thomas, who was from California, came home with Kevin for Thanksgiving that year. On the way from Fort Worth to Waco, they read aloud to each other from a book that was assigned for the class.
They kept on reading at our house, and I asked whatever WAS it that they were reading. Kevin showed me the book: Zombies of the Gene Pool. Really.
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As many adult children do, my own sons have personal belongings stored at my house. I found it impossible to refuse, because my own mother stored stuff for me, way into my adulthood. Actually, there’s a barrel in my garage right now, of scrapbooks I made, growing up, along with a similar barrel filled with JoAnne’s scrapbooks.
Many years ago, Daddy created extra storage above the garage doors. That’s where the boys’ boxes are. It’s mostly Star Wars stuff. Jeremy also had a number of projects from the many art classes he had to take on the way to a Graphic Design degree. After we’d been in this house for a year or so, Jeremy came. He pulled down all the boxes that were labelled “Jeremy” and went through them. He organized things, like his school yearbooks, and enjoyed spending some time with his old friends Luke Skywalker, Han Solo, et al. As he was replacing items and organizing and evaluating, he suddenly looked around and said, “Where are my LEGOs? Are my LEGOs here? In the house?”
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