Spring Fever!

Spring time in my town brings lots more than wishing flowers. Let's see....lightning bugs, love bugs, cool evenings that are perfect for playing kickball, strawberries, ice cream, and cowboys.

My town has a rodeo. This is a competition where men do a bunch of different activities with livestock. Such as ropin' calves, wrestlin' steers, and ridin' bulls.

It was held near the bus barn. No, we don't store our school buses in an actual barn. That's just what we call the big parking lot where all the buses go to sleep at night.

At this point in my life I don't much care for cowboys. I care for the bright lights of the carnival.

This is not a competition, but an obstacle course of sorts. The game was to ride as many rides as possible before your parents decide they are tired and need to go home.

I start with the carousel, then move on to the sack slides. There was the train, and the mini-roller coaster. And a whirly gig kind of thing that turns you upside down. The only break I took was to sit down and watch the pig races.

I save the ferris wheel for last -- always.

Usually, I win this game because let me tell you -- I am fast.

The only feat I never succeeded in was getting cotton candy. My parents were dead set against me enjoying the spun sugar treat. Guess I didn't need any more fuel than my normal rarin' to go attitude.

I consoled myself with more than one ride on the ferris wheel.

"Please Come Over and Stop My Husband." -- Mrs. Huxtable

"Drummond?" my mother calls.

"Yo!" he answers back.

"The dishwasher is broken. I'm going to call the repairman."

My father comes shooting into the kitchen. "Don't do that. I'll fix it right now."

I look up from my coloring books spread over the kitchen table and watch the exchange.

My mother looks a little pale. My lips twitch as I try to hold in a giggle.

"Well, do you think you have time?" she asks. "I thought you were supposed to go meet Noah for golf."

"Probably gonna rain," he explains.

As he walks into the garage to get his tools, her shoulders slump, and she sighs. I understand that sigh. God bless the man, he always has to fix things on his own. If it doesn't go smoothly, cuss words will fly out of his mouth quicker than ice melts in July.

Mama comes and falls into a chair at the table, probably mentally preparing herself for what's about to happen. She looks at us girls as we all carefully color pictures of Winnie the Pooh or Minnie Mouse.

Dad comes back in and sets his tool box down. The banging commences. We're only a few minutes into the fixing when the cussing begins. I feel bad for my dad, but sometimes, his irritation is really quite funny. Just picture Yosemite Sam, and you'll understand.

Granter of Wishes

It takes some time for Dandelions to turn into Wishing Flowers. I know. Because I checked everyday.

When they hadn't changed, I wasn't sad. Seeing the yellow dotting the field made me just as happy. You might be surprised to know that I didn't pick them. I let them live.

My extreme patience surprised even me. It was, of course, further proof to my mother and everyone else that I could control my impulses. Therefore, talking during instruction and standing still in line were possible for me.

Geez...I was dumb to show adults that side of myself. But...the flowers lived longer, swaying in the breeze, and pushing their happiness up through the ground.

Then the day came when there were Wishing Flowers as far as the eye could see. As Maria tells it, I declared, "These flowers go all the way to Hazard County!" (Not Harris. Hazard. Fans of the General should know to which county I refer.)

I run into the lot, ready to make as many wishes as possible. I do pick a couple. I close my eyes and make my wish, raising my head to the Heavens. After I used the most beautiful words, I open my eyes and blow at the white, fluffy seeds. Watching the wind catch them, I smile in glee to see my wish carried away. Hopefully to the place where wishes are granted.

Eventually, though, I get a better idea. I certainly can't pick every flower. There are hundreds of flowers waiting to be wished on.

Instead, I close my eyes and make all my wishes at once. Then, with lightning speed, I dash through the flowers, my legs and arms kicking up the soft seeds, sending them flying and spinning into the air. Thousands of wishes swirl around me as I run through the lot.

I stop and look around, my smile splitting my face. I lift my arms and glory in the sight of those white, fluffy seeds flying. All my wishes, shooting through the Heavens....

And the best part was I knew those seeds would hit the ground and grow new flowers. I was sending Wishing Flowers to others. It was a good feeling.

Wildflower

I stretch. I yawn. I scratch my head and then jump out of bed. It's Saturday.

I get dressed and brush my teeth as fast as I can. I do NOT brush my hair. Who has time for that?

After I scarf down my cereal, I rush outside, my heart pounding in anticipation.

I race down the front walk as fast as Speedy Gonzalez, but come to a grinding halt at the end of my driveway. I stare straight ahead of me, my eyes wide, my mouth wreathed in a cheek-breaking smile. Even though I knew it would be there, I'm still amazed.

A field of yellow flowers waves in the morning wind before me. The lot across from my house has turned into Heaven as Spring has sprung.

They are Dandelions. Otherwise known as Wishing Flowers. Isn't that fabulous? I live right across from a field of Wishing Flowers. God must REALLY love me.

I sit down at the end of my driveway and take in their beauty. And my good fortune.

I sit for more than hour, soaking up as much of their happiness as I can.

But...I am also waiting...

Future Stars

The band.......Kara, Maria, Roxi, Wendy, Lela

The back-up singers.....Jack, Georgie, and Philip. (Sometimes.)

The song.......Nobody

The stage......the front porch.

The front porch???????

Oh, right. If memory serves me correctly, we thought if other people heard us, we might get discovered. (I think that was the only reason the boys sang with us.)

The words:

Sittin' in a restaurant
She walked by
I seemed to recall
That certain look in your eye
I said, who's that
You said, with a smile
Aah, it's nobody
Aah, nobody

Maybe that explains the last two week
You called me up, dead on your feet
Working late again
I asked who with
You said, nobody
Aah, nobody

Well your nobody called today
She hung up when I asked her name
Well, I wonder
Does she think she's being clever
(Clever, ooh, ooh)
You say, nobody's after you
The fact is what you say is true
But I can love you like nobody can
Even better


And this was sung over and over and over again. (This is another the reason the boys sang it. They knew all the words because they heard it everyday of their lives during the fall of 1982.)

One Good Thing About Second Grade

As I walk down the white-tiled hallway with cinder block white walls, I think, "Why does the inside of the school have to look like the inside of a hospital?"

Maybe we're all crazy. Maybe we're in an insane asylum, and we don't know it. They're filling our heads with gibberish and nonsense, forcing us to be the people they think we should be.

That would explain the way they talk, in that sing-songy, cloyingly sweet way. It also explains why they keep us inside for most of the day, and why they stress the importance of math.

My God! Should I do something? Who do I tell? Would anyone believe me? Maybe not. My parents went to school. They were probably brainwashed, too. I bet they'd been taught what to say if one of their children caught on to what school really was.

My heart pumping with worry and questions, I put my backpack and lunch away. As I sit down, I take a look around the room, searching for cameras and other security devices.

"Class," my teacher begins, her happy tone like nails on a chalkboard, "we have a new student. Her name is Jennifer."

I turn, look, and pause. The new girl appears scared. And worried.

How horrid...being new. But even more frightening is being new...and being redheaded.

Jennifer had red hair.

That day, at recess, I found a best friend. A kindred spirit.

Concerning the insane asylum....I'll figure that out later.

Start Your Engines!

There was nothing quite so wonderful, quite so freeing, or quite so exciting as the Big Wheel.

An intelligent piece of plastic. Its colors and streamers, easy to reach pedals, and of course, its big front wheel made it so addictive.

My grandpa kept us well-stocked. There was a Big Wheel for everyone. And with the cement driveway that wrapped around his entire garage -- which doubled as his small engine repair shop -- we had our own version of the Indy 500 right there in Arcadia, Texas.

While I was careening around corners and screaming, "Yeehaw!", my sister and our cousin putt-putted along in the fire engine.

My grandpa also had a small, two-seater, toy fire engine. It went about five miles per hour. As you have predicted, it wasn't my choice of transportation.

As you have also predicted, Maria and our cousin, Dawn, never won the Arcadia 500. But, they probably didn't care and probably never consciously competed. I didn't need their permission to race against them.

Whenever I came abreast of them, I'd shout, "Gentlemen, start your engines!", and I would take off like a shot. They'd eat my dust as not only did I leave them way behind, but lapped them several times over in my ultra-fast Big Wheel. The pedals would set on fire as I rounded corners and shot down straightaways.

Maria and Dawn didn't stand a chance. Even if they'd tried.