Ghost Busters We're Not

 

“You put us in a hotel that is HAUNTED?”

Thirty minutes after booking the room for our overnighter in Sedalia, I discovered that the hotel of my choice, the glorious Hotel Bothwell in downtown Sedalia, had been featured on one of those hauntedhotel shows. Kelly and I decided not to tell the girls, but I wondered if maybe that’s why a small suite at the Bothwell cost no more than a standard room at the Best Western.

 

They found out when their cheerleader friends at the fairgrounds asked where they were sleeping that night. “We can’t stay there, we can’t stay there, we're hungry, we can't stay there” they shouted all the way across town. “Look,” I said in my best now-girls-let’s-be-reasonable voice, “all the so-called paranormal activity only happens on the third floor. There are seven floors, so the chances of us getting a room on the third floor are slim.”

 

Kelly and the girls checked in while I got the rest of our luggage, and I heard familiar screams and nervous laughter as I walked in. Kelly held up our room key, clearly marked 320. “We’re doomed,” one of the girls moaned.

It was a tense ride up the elevator. The girls didn’t notice the fabulous lobby, with the crystal chandelier, the brilliant polished wood and the gleaming brass, the lovely fabrics on the chairs and walls. It was stunning.

 

They jumped at every step, every shadowy doorway, every corner. They balked entering the room, holding each other and screeching. They went to the bathroom with the door open.

It took hours for them to settle down as their imaginations took hold of them. Of course, Kelly and I didn’t help, scratching on their door, turning out lights, making sudden “what’s that” sounds and “buwawhahaaaa” laughs.

 

It was actually a lot of fun, for at least two of us. Apparently the ghosts are accused of stealing small trinkets during the night, so Kelly and I tempted them with her cheer pin. It was still there when we awoke, so perhaps the spirits had the weekend off.

 

Haunted or not, I love these old grand hotels with their aging luxury. They are like scenes from movies, romantic old movies. They are packed with history, and the Bothwell, built in 1927, is no exception. Like all these old places, famous people visited often, including Harry Truman and Scott Joplin. And now, our girls.

 

We are going back again, but next time, sans children. The ghosts will have to decide for themselves. The girls won't be there to scare them off....

Turns Out Cheer Season And Duck Season Aren't As Similar As One Might Think

 

Libby is in the thick of cheer season, with basketball games at school and regional competitions with her competitive squad nearly every weekend.

You would not believe the people who go to these things. They are all, um, enthusiastic, and involved, and LOUD and there are a LOT of them. They participate, man, and cheer for their cheerleaders.

 

My views on cheerleaders at sporting events are pretty well known, at least among the half dozen people who read this blog, but I’m all for these competitive teams. The girls – mostly girls, there are some boys – are in pretty good shape and do some impressive stunts.

 

For example, look at how high these flyers are. The ugly backdrop makes it hard to see them, but they are way up there.

 

Libby is very good and getting better. I’m proud of her. She doesn’t know it, but with her hair done up for cheer, with the big bows, I think she looks like Julie Newmar.

 

Competitions are long and exhausting for parents, but rewarding. The music is awful. And loud.

 

As Kelly says, “the bigger the cheer bow, the better the cheer mom.”

Is Kelly Lucky Or What (Especially At Christmas)

We were married on New Year’s Day, a Monday, a new beginning in many ways. Since then, I’ve described myself as the luckiest man on earth, and that remains true.

 

I am lucky to have Kelly, but here’s a modest reminder of how lucky she is to have me, a man who likes having someone to do things for.

 

 

One night, after a long day of shopping the flea markets, she set up this lovely display of her plates on our bedroom wall. She was unhappy to leave “a hole” where one more plate should go, but she was nearly falling over for want of sleep. I’ve lived with her long enough to know that once she gets to that point, she is useless for anything but sleep. As I tucked her in, she whispered, “If you loved me you would put up one more plate….” And then she was out.

I figured it couldn’t be that hard. Kelly had put up 11 plates already, and only broke two, so I could probably manage. But she was out of plates, and out of the wire racks to hang one with. So I did the next best thing, what any man in love would do to prove his devotion. I went downstairs to the cupboard and found the exactly right shaped and patterned paper plate to fill in for the time being, until we could make another trip to the thrift stores.

 

When Kelly awoke the next morning, she noticed the plate first thing, and showered me with affection. She was so excited, so pleased, that she took photos to share with her friends in Blogland. She is still so happy with my act of kindness, these many months later, that she refuses my offer to put up a real plate in place of the paper one. She's sentimental that way.

 

While installing Christmas decorations a few weeks ago, we found a small pink tree that our daughter Carrie left behind. With her permission, I set it up for Kelly in our sitting room, because I know she loves pink Christmas trees and I know how much she loves the twinkle lights. Few things bring Kelly as much joy as sock monkeys, so I thought “what better for this little tree than her favorite sock monkey,” this pink little guy with the big smile. Kelly came in and saw the tree, then saw the toy on top, and she squealed with delight. More kisses came my way, I’ll tell you that.

 

Kelly’s new favorite place to sit is right under this tree, with the monkey man watching. While there has been talk of having to take down all the trees and decorations in the rest of the house here in a couple of days, she has not mentioned taking down the pink tree. It just means too much to her. She's sentimental that way.

 

On the porch, we have a white tree, another flea market find, which Kelly says she has always wanted. The ornaments are all pretty, but they are plastic, because they are exposed to the sun and wind and rain. The topper on this tree, a colorful keepsake from one of our many trips to Wendy’s, a family favorite, has become a tradition for us, and a reminder of what really matters.

 

This disposable display is highlighted by a used paper cup. The neighbors might call it trash, but to us it represents the true meaning of holiday celebrations. Ultimately, everything we have is disposable, and all the gifts and foods and trappings of Christmas mean little. Some people may have a perfect Martha Stewart magazine-cover Christmas, but neglect each other. What matters, what really lasts, is our family, each person, each individual. The love and kindness that we share, the bonds we form that will never be broken, that is what Christmas really means, and the humble little tree on our humble little porch helps us to never forget.

 

Here, Aubrey shows that she has learned the lesson, too. Awwww….

 

So I ask you. Is Kelly lucky or what?

A Labor Day Of Love

 

Our holiday weekend started with a trip to Mimi and Papa’s house for a Skype visit from Lucy. We got to spend 15 minutes with her and it was wonderful. She was so happy to see each of us. As we moved the laptop camera around to each person, she would squeal with delight and call out their names.

 

Unlike our unlucky friends who had to go boating or fishing or picnicking or to a baseball game or something dreadful like that, we got to spend 78 hours at the mall on Monday. Oh boy! It might have been less, but it seemed to make the long holiday weekend seem much, much longer.

 

One of the girls has a school dance coming up, and she has spent the past couple of weeks worrying about a dress and about who would ask her to go. She turned down one loser who asked by text message.

 

At the end of the night, she had her invitation – a balloon inside a balloon, tied to our front door. Interestingly, the boy put the surprise on a neighbor’s house by mistake, but luckily the neighbor knew her name and moved the invitation to our door. We didn’t settle on a dress, but at last, she had her prize.

 

And the other met up with an old friend….

Van Gogh Has Nothing On Us

Aubrey and Libby are the Self Portrait Queens, as is clear from their Facebook pages. However, looking for photos to support and illustrate this theory, I found plenty of evidence that they are not alone. It appears the skill or the need is in their genes….

Lydia and Sadie

Jessica and Sadie

Me and Uncle Dan

That's baby Lucy, long, long ago....

Daughters And Otters And A Little Thai Food On The Side

Two of the girls were here today, one soon off to high school, one soon off to college. Another is off to Gulf Shores, then high school. Missing them made me nostalgic.

Riding bikes with the youngest when she was 8, she asked how often I eat at a local Thai restaurant. I had shoes older than this girl, and there she was, somehow, asking about favorite foods at exotic eateries. She proceeded to tell me all her favorites. It was strange to watch her enthusiasm, and how easily she pronounced the unusual names.

She is our eighth child, but it still amazes me how much they change as they grow, how much they improve as they develop, how smart they get.

They're not like, say, an otter. Otters seem to have a pretty cushy life – frolicking in and out of the water, roughhousing with their otter buddies, watching out for angry elephants. But otters never change, mature, improve. They pretty much never accomplish anything, leaving nothing behind to mark their time on the planet. Even auditors do that.

I wanted to say “even politicians do that,” but I like the alliteration, and I’m not sure it is true of most legislators.

Our Town, Our Turn, Our Daughters

I was in heaven. Two beautiful daughters on stage for the college production of Our Town, and everyone wearing costumes carefully created by my beautiful wife, Kelly. It was wonderful, and, as I suppose art is supposed to do, it made me think.

I laugh at lines others do not seem to get, but I also cry freely when emotions are high, and there is plenty of emotion in Thornton Wilder's work. It drags at times, and is too preachy too often, but it makes well the point that life is short and that we better tend to our relationships while we can because even the best ones don't last long.

For example, when Libby Lu is on the ladder with her play brother, having a typical, meaningless brother/sister exchange, I wonder how many of us are reminded of our own siblings, of opportunities lost now that we are all older. After Gracie dies, and she goes back to her 12th birthday and talks with her mother, my heart aches because too often we just don't see the treasure right in front of us, or that used to be right in front of us.

Her line wounds me each time I recall it: "Oh, earth, you're too wonderful for anybody to realize you. Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it - every, every minute?" Like Jim Rohn says, most of us spend all of our time just getting through the day, rather than getting from the day.

Kelly and I are blessed. Our grandparents are gone, but our parents are here, and we both have brothers. We have children, some at home, others on their own. We have grandchildren. We have friends, we have some level of influence. We have each other. We have time, we have opportunity. Like most of us, we have a life too wonderful.

We realize that. If only we could schedule in a few hours to enjoy it....