Piano Recital

I am still taking piano.

Hopefully, you are surprised. Hopefully, you are wondering why in the world I haven't been able to worm my way out of it. Hopefully, you are NOT assuming that I somehow managed to start liking it.

Well, there are more ways than one to skin that sucker. And, what I figured out was I could fake practicing. Yeah, that's what I did. I could play a bunch of chords, and my mom would come in and tell me how great I was doing.

I had discovered a new talent. And I embraced it like an Aggie embraces the word "Howdy" into their vocabulary.

This lovely solution cut my practice time to 15 minutes! Was I smart or what? YEEHAW!

It was all going so well. Until......

"Kara, we're putting a piano recital together. You're going to play in front of a bunch of people! On stage!"

I look at her excited face and think, "Oh, #@!?"

The Day After

I remember the sky the most the day after we sat in the hallway and sang our hearts out.

It was red....but the air wasn't hot. The sun was as bright as I've ever seen it, but it didn't hurt to look at it. I couldn't understand why that could be, but I didn't question it because so much had happened while we had fun inside.

The land was littered with branches, pine needles, wood, glass, and various other elements of debris. The trees had been picked clean. Some had fallen and were lying across our street. Some people didn't have roofs. Some families had water in their house.

We were one of those families. When you walked along the carpet, wetness squished between your toes, and your footprints were left behind. It made this sloshing sound that, if you stepped correctly, could tap out rhythm to your favorite song.

We had to pull our carpet up, which left us with cement flooring and carpet tack. We had to be careful around those strips of wood for they had tiny nails sticking up.

It was a new world. A sudden devastation I didn't understand. And it had a name. I thought that was odd, but at least when grown-ups spoke about the event, I knew what they were talking about.

Hurricane Alicia.

She came without consideration for us. She came without mercy. She came without slowing.

And she taught me a very valuable lesson....

Your life is not always in your control. Bad things do happen, and they can happen to you. And sometimes, the world needs a cleansing to remind us of that.

After that event, I told God I understood. That life was fleeting. That all that mattered was loving your fellow man. And I hoped he would never send another Alicia again.

Rowin' A Boat (In The Hallway)

I wasn't allowed to go outside one particular summer day in August of 1983. I about had a heart attack.

But my mother consoled me by inviting every neighborhood kid over to our house. Imagine my elation at having a big party instead of having to play school with Maria and Wendy.

Don't mistake me, I adore my sisters, but sometimes they picked the stupidest things to play.

Anyway, my mother organized us in the hallway for some strange reason, but I didn't argue because it was a funny thing to do, and my friends didn't seem to mind.

We have this really long hallway. No windows, carpeted. I imagine there was about 20 of us sitting side by side. We were stretched all the way down. I thought this was the coolest, oddest, best concession for not being allowed outside.

My mother decided we should sing songs. The one I remember singing was "Row, Row, Row Your Boat". We sang it loud. We sang it soft. We sang it fast. We sang it slow. We sang it in cannon formation.

This was enjoyable even though I didn't understand the point. Usually, if I don't understand the point of doing something, I have a difficult time following through. Since I am an "almost third grader", I usually didn't do tasks I found irrelevant. (Like Math.)

But that day, I didn't question her, or fight her, or be generally stubborn.

I'm sure she was thankful.

Because the next day, when I was finally allowed oustide, I discovered why I rowed that boat....

Kickball

After Hide-And-Seek, kickball became my favorite game to play.

We didn't have enough people to make two teams, but who cares about that? Kirk and Scotty would play regardless. Maria would only play when it wasn't hot.

UGH!!! So frustrating....

However, it forced me to find my favorite time of day....

Texas burns hot. It can singe your flesh and make you sweat in seconds. I didn't mind it. Maria did.

She frequently told me, "I don't sweat, I glisten."

I hated that statement. Abhorred it like any normal person abhors cooked spinach. (Maria also liked spinach.)

Thankfully, when the sun disappeared behind the pine trees the air grew cooler, the light was enough, and the lightning bugs didn't bite. This time of day was acceptable for kickball and passed Maria's test. Scotty and Kirk were always ready to play, so after supper we'd meet in my front yard.

We used the area in front of my parents' bedroom window as home, the spot where the corner of our sidewalk met the yard as first, the edge of our yard as second, and a newly planted Sweetgum tree as third. There were no outs (not yet), no winners, no losers. Just kickball.

I loved it.

My Bo Duke

I have returned from the Armpit, well-read, well-fed, and appropriately attired. I am also assured that should I fall into the lake, I will not drown for Mrs. Rife's swimming lessons were superb.

I spend the rest of my summer at Roxi's house or Alex's house. We sing, we dance, we fight. We talk, and talk, and talk. Those are good days.

Another family comes into the mix. I'm pretty sure they were already there, but this is my first memory of them.

We are sitting on a shag-carpeted floor, playing Monoply. The boy to my left is younger than me, and he is a lot of fun. The boy to my right is one year older, but we're in the same grade. He's blonde-headed and blue-eyed.

He is very cute. And reminds me of Bo Duke.

This should give you an indication of just how cute he is. Because, really....Bo Duke? He was a dream!

My heart is now engaged. Even more so when it becomes clear that he doesn't mind when I try to play dodgeball with him.

He's pretty much perfect.

So, he will be Bo. Simply because he is worthy of the comparison.

An Answered Prayer Of An Almost Third Grader

My mom arrived in the Armpit after we'd been there one week. Which meant I didn't get out of taking naps anymore.

It also meant I had to eat spinach whenever my grandmother chose to cook it.

And shopping. We went shopping at Valley View Mall. Clothes shopping.

This was fun for Grandmother and Mom. They chatted, they got drinks, they pulled ridiculous looking cloths off racks and held them up to my chest. They chatted, they got drinks, they pulled hideous pink monstrosities off racks and bought them.

"Mom!" I cry. "Jeans and t-shirts. Jeans and t-shirts. Please....jeans and t-shirts!"

She shakes her head. "You will dress nicely, Kara Denise. Jeans and t-shirts are not appropriate school attire."

I groan. I moan. I beg and plead. It does no good.

So, here I am....in the Armpit, taking naps, eating spinach, and wearing pink slacks. I pray for a respite. I beg the Lord for a bright, shining moment where something will go my way.

After church, we head over to my great-grandmother's. She has a table set with various types of toasted bread. We run in and hug her. Before I tell you what she says to us, I simply must tell you that it is 9:30 a.m.

Great-grandmother, my namesake, says, "Did you have your ice cream?"

I smile. "Not yet, G.G."

"Go get your ice cream."

I dash off for the drug store, not worried at all that my mother will call me back and dispute G.G.

I laugh in glee and wicked excitement. God has helped me thwart my mother. Oh, happy day! Praying really does work!

Moors y Cristianos

She was born in 1892 in a valley in Spain. Her mother died when she was six. She left Spain when she was in her twenties and lived in Argentina and Cuba. She married her childhood sweetheart in 1919. She lived the remainder of her days in the Armpit. Which was a long time. She was 101 when she died -- May 24th -- three days before I graduated from high school.

Dionisia. My great-grandmother.

I am named after her -- Kara Denise.

She was a plump woman with a ready laugh, a shy quiet nature, and an overwhelming need to feed you. Her constant question, "Are you hungry?" was the first thing out of her mouth when she saw you.

Which worked out great for me because I was ALWAYS hungry.

One of my favorite stories about her centers around food. Beans and rice to be specific.

Beans and rice is a staple of the Catholic family during Lent. We don't eat meat on Fridays, so beans is our substitute. My great-grandmother made fantastic beans and rice, or "Moors y Cristianos" as she called it.

Into a bowl would go the rice -- or Cristianos. Then the beans -- or Moors. Separate cultures, a defined people -- which isn't what God intended -- who fought each other relentlessly.

Then she'd mix the beans into the rice -- just like the Moors mixed with the Cristianos. She would hand you the bowl and say, "See? Now you 'no can tell the deeference."

I loved her. Though she came to America and probably missed her home, never once did she expect you to embrace her culture in order for her to feel like she could practice it. She didn't scream her identity or force you to acknowledge the world she loved. She just was. She was an immigrant who had a great deal of respect for structure and opportunity in America. She became American. And loved her country. But...she was Spanish. And respected the people who came before her.

I was astounded by her. Truly impressed with how she risked changing her whole world for future happiness. She lived independently in Argentina, working and going to the opera, waiting for my great-grandfather to establish his business. Her strength humbled and inspired me. Her wisdom was unparalleled.

And there was one more reason to adore her --

My mother couldn't argue with her....