Thursday, September 9, 2010


The banty rooster has clucked his last cluck.

Maybe 3 to 1 wasn’t so bad, but now…there’s four of them in the house.


Imagine…always being in charge of your hen house…being able to cluck and flap all you want…and those hens had to take notice.

And then, without warning, the rooster cock-a-doodle-dos and…no one pays attention.
In fact, the hens appear to not even hear the rooster.

Did he crow? Who knows?

There are things to do, feathers to groom, topics to be discussed. Who has time for the macho rooster? What does he do for us anyway? Protect us from the fox?

The hens can scream their way out of any tight fix!

And so…the banty rooster pouts. And pouts some more.

But no one pays attention to his comforts any longer. He must evolve.

So, the macho rooster, in order to be heard by his hens, must his raise his wing to speak…and wait patiently to be noticed.

Sunday, September 5, 2010

December 2, 1979

I am now four and Maria is three. We live in a small Texas town on the San Jacinto River in a house with stairs, a galley kitchen, and four bedrooms, plus a TV/game room.

There is only one reason why a family of four needs a bigger house…


We’re going to call her Wendy. Not because she looked like Wendy, but because that’s the nick name I gave her. (It rhymed with her real name. Well, if you put a “y” at the end of her real name. For some reason I always put a “y” at the end of people’s names.)

I remember going to the hospital to see her. She was very small.

She had black hair and blue eyes, and could cry like nobody’s business! That girl had it all figured out in no time. Cry, and you get what you want. Smile, and people adore you. Giggle, and people give you things.

Her blue eyes and her smile melted hearts right and left.

Maria and I were quite excited to have another sister. We were very proud and told everyone about her. It was like we were the ones who’d endured 30 hours of labor, plus fierce kicks during contractions. And if you know Wendy, you know how fierce she can be!

But…I was worried.

Maria and I were so much more talented than she was! I mean, we could walk, and talk, and we could certainly feed ourselves. Why was it taking Wendy so long to learn all that? I mean, certainly, one should be able to walk before one is six months old!

At four, I didn’t understand that growing up takes time. Time…and patience.

And while she learned to walk and talk (boy howdy can she talk!), I always worried about her. She was having to follow in our footsteps, and if she didn’t achieve what we had…

Oh, how it hurt my heart to think of her sadness!

But…I needn’t have worried so much.

Her star burned brighter than our’s ever did. And it was a glorious light.