Spider & Ted's Excellent Adventure

Just the good old boys
Never meanin' no harm
Beats all you ever saw
Been in trouble with the law
Since the day they was born

Straghtenin' the curves
Flattenin' the hills
Someday the mountains might get 'em
But the law never will

Makin' their way
The only way they know how
That's just a little bit more
Than the law will allow

"Theme from the Dukes of Hazzard" - Waylon Jennings

Today I took my parents to see my daddy's brother. Nothing remarkable about that on the surface. My father has two siblings who are still alive and well - my Aunt Pat & Uncle Billy who we all refer to lovingly as Uncle Spider. Uncle Spider has been under the weather and we thought it was high time to go for a visit. Recently, I realized that my husband can spend 30 minutes alone with my father and hear stories I've never heard before. Hubby has a kind heart and a gentle soul and he dotes on every word my father says, garnering these results. I decided to stop talking so much and start listening more. Today, I secretly recorded a three minute conversation between these two brothers. It was sweet, hilarious, and brought me to tears. I want you all to read it. This is transcribed VERBATIM with no changes, including grammar and what I call "country folk talk." Enjoy this little ditty about life in Bristol, TX pre-WWII.

Uncle Spider: This old cow we had down there, she was a gentle old cow. She come around and she picked me up on her horns and carried me plumb down to that creek. Boy, I had me a good cow.

Daddy: Boy, I don’t remember that.

Uncle Spider: Yeah, I was up there just a ridin’ along. Course old JB (their father), he was just waitin’ on another bill from the doctor. I broke both of these arms and he had to go get 'em set.

Daddy: Yeah, now that I do remember.

Uncle Spider: I don’t know where Daddy got the money, cause there wasn’t no money.

Daddy: I remember Jack was layin’ down & Spider would get on his feet and Jack would shove him and he’d go way up in the air, you know, and come down. But, one time he come down and broke his arm.

Uncle Spider: Well, I broke the other one, too, when I was down at Uncle Bob’s playin’ rubber guns, you know, up in the barn. Somebody shot me and I fell off and broke my arm. JB had to carry me to Ennis to Dr  Thomas (?) You remember him? Who knows where he got the money. He didn’t have any money. But, that was way back there in 1942.

Daddy: Oh, lordy, times have changed.

Uncle Spider: Man, I miss old JB.

Daddy: Oh yes.

Uncle Spider: Well, momma too, you know. I don’t believe you could find a more perfect momma and daddy in the world than them, do you? I just don’t know if any other couple would make a better mother and father than what we had.

Daddy: That’s right. That’s right. They were good (smiles). They had problems, too, back when he was playin’ the fiddle. And, he brought this old record home, “Seven Years with the Wrong Woman.” Well, momma listened to that til she finally said that was it and she took that record up and (breaks it over his knee). Broke that thing into 99 pieces. And, that was all of the song, “Seven Years with the Wrong Woman.”

Uncle Spider: (Talking to me) My dad was – the government made him, in Bristol – Bristol’s on a high hill on a direct line to Houston. So, they made JB the Air Raid Warden, but he was drunk all the time so I got to do it. I was 12! 12 years old. I’d get up on that old phone, you know. That old ringer phone. And, Maude Manry would answer. Well, when I said “Red Flag” everybody got cut off (he explained it was a party line).  And, it went right direct to Love Field. Then, I’d tell em I was in Bristol. See, they had a huge map up there & a bunch of military people. And I’d call in – they had this program all the way to Houston – so I’d call in from Bristol. You know I’d say “I just saw an airplane come over. 4 engines.” Stuff like that. But, I guarantee you I did it for 2 years. Air Raid Warden and I’s 12 years old. That was back when WWII was startin’. 

Daddy will soon be 90 years old. Uncle Spider is 87. There are so many more stories to hear. How my great grandfather had a cabin on the banks of the Trinity River and my Granny was scared to let young Ted go alone for fear of the alligators that were so prevalent. How my Gramp became a barber because there just wasn't a future in sharecropping. How Gramp was quite the honky tonk fiddle player back in the day. How Granny wasted all the fresh eggs one day because the boys wouldn't stop fighting so she PUMMELED them with eggs. Those Stilwells. They sure are good stock! I implore you to do less talking and more listening, too. The world needs more good stories. 

Eight Christmases

Please take down the mistletoe
'Cause I don't wanna think about that right now
'Cause everything I want is miles away
Snow covered little town
My momma's in the kitchen, worrying about me
Season's greetings, hope you're well
Well I'm doing alright
If you were wondering
Lately I can never tell

I know this shouldn't be a lonely time
But there were Christmases when you were mine

"Christmases When You Were Mine" - Taylor Swift

This isn't going to be a sad post. It may be a bit melancholy, but hang in there just a bit. It will not be sad. I've been there. I have a Phd in sad. I'm so over sad. Melancholy, though, is a whole different monster. Contemplative is a beast. Introspective is a freaking scary movie. Resignation is a house of horrors. But not sad. Never, ever again. Mark my words.

As a child growing up in a very rural suburb of Dallas, had you asked me where I'd be today, I'm not sure what response you'd have received. If you could read my Dr. Suess "All About Me" book, you'd know that 6 year old DD wanted to be an airline stewardess with a mini-skirt uniform, a Marlo Thomas "That Girl" bouffant flip, knee high white shiny boots, and an ascot of some sort. Middle school me was convinced I would be an amazing actress - maybe the next Kristi McNichol or Tatum O'Neal? High School moi was determined to be a news anchor. Heck, I should be on Good Morning America by now. I knew one thing. I was going to be somebody important. Oh, but those best laid plans of mice, men, & naive children. 49 years later, I can tell you one thing. It's been an adventurous life. I worked in a bank. I worked for an ex-husband. I worked in a library. I worked in pharmaceuticals. I worked in sales. I worked in management at a distribution warehouse. I worked for a veterinarian. I worked as a national traveling sales trainer. Which job did I like the best? Easy peasy. The one I hope to hold for another 49 years. I worked as a mom. There were 4 beautiful children. All so different. All so perfect. All so me. Some are here. One is gone. Three were birthed. One was inherited, like that even matters. I have diapered. I have nursed. I have taught. I have cried. I have prayed. I have bargained with God above. I have worried. I have sacrificed. I have won. I have lost. I have been an abysmal failure. I have been the absolute best.  This is one job I have never, ever quit.

When you lose a child, you lose a tether - a tether to other people, a tether to yourself, a tether to reality. It's a bit like being in a hot air balloon, I would imagine. Very scary. Totally unpredictable. Yet, as you're free floating through the sky, IF you can calm your heart, & IF you can take deep breaths, & IF you can keep from vomiting, you'll notice the sky. You'll see the ground. You'll realize you have a vantage point to witness such miraculous things. Things you never noticed before. Things like how beautiful people's skin tones are - no two are alike. Things like rain & clouds - Instagram only wishes they had those filters. Things like the majestic sound of thunder. Things like the smell of freshly mowed grass or the smell of coffee. Things like someone you love saying your name.

It has been eight Christmases since she was here. I remember everything. Every mole. Every fingernail. The smell of her head. The sound of her voice. The clomp of her feet in the morning. Her laugh. I remember these things because God answered my prayer. He told me to always love her. He told me melancholy was fine but sad was no bueno. He told me to see her in every newborn puppy and every blade of grass and every raindrop. He said I could find her in the eyes of each kind person I would ever meet. He told me that she would be snuggled up next to me in the wee hours of every single morning. He said, if I tried really really hard, I could feel her hugs when I needed them most. He said I was somebody important, after all. That's why he shared her with me.

Be important.

Merry Christmas.