Thursday, May 24, 2007


On respecting her elders: "Miss Aunt Hava! Miss Mama!"

On proper nouns:
J: Was there anyone else in the story?
E: Yes, dare was a little giwrl.
J: And what was her name?
E: Mama, I told you A...LITTLE...GIRWL.

On being specific:
D: Do you want a little more juice?
E: No.
D: Okay, what do you want?
E: A lotta more juice.

Wednesday, May 16, 2007

The woman behind the man

I'm not sure if I told everyone, but I have a new job. I started it at the beginning of May. I am the support staff for the entire facilities department at A&m Athletics.

I won't lie, I was VERY upset at first. I felt like nobody wanted me and they were depriving me of this great opportunity to learn from a real business man etc etc. But I LOVE it down here.My new true love is Mr. Pickard.

Mr. Pickard is Aggie Athletics. He's one of the original Junction Boys, and at 73 years old, I think he might eat nails for breakfast. He's as much an institution here as Kyle Field.

And he's a complete kitten.

Mr. Pickard is so incredibly stubborn and does not like to count on anyone but himself. He also checks once a week to make sure I am happy and comfortable and have enough office supplies. Do you know what an honor it is to work for a man like that? This is the most amazing opportunity I've had yet at A&M Athletics. I'm so incredibly happy here.

Thursday, May 10, 2007


Dear You,I thought about you the other week. Can you believe it was more than a year ago? I don't miss you, so don't get the wrong idea. I do, however, think of you. I don't know if you realize how much I needed you when you happened along. That's why there was never really a chance for us and also why we happened in the first place. Wouldn't we have been an odd match. Does it make you sort of wrinkle your nose and laugh at the absurdity? Does it seem surreal when you look back? Do you even look back? I forget whether you really ever indulged in that sort of reflection. So why do I write to you today? I suppose that I have that uncomfortable feeling of something having been left undone. You know how I flit from place to place and then suddenly stop and wonder what it is I'm forgetting. For a while I thought perhaps I was forgetting to worry about what you were really thinking when I spoke my mind or complained or acted rather unladylike. That's not it though. We all know I like to worry, but being relieved of that particular weight has left nothing resembling a void. It's probably more the way we fade in and out of each others lives. There's never a good bye. I usually like the fade out, the lack of a definitive end. I prefer to suddenly look up and realize that something hasn't been there and wonder how long it hasn't been there. But your fade to black is different. Isn't it fun when I ramble? Perhaps I should make a point. It all comes down to wanting to thank you. You grabbed my heart when you took me by the hand and led me through that crowd. I probably iterated more than necessary how long it had been since my hand had been held. Did I ever mention how long it had been since I was led instead of pushed or pulled? You made me feel important and somehow precious. More importantly, you made me feel wanted. In the long run, you weren't what I needed. But then, in those months of turmoil, I needed to get what I wanted and I wanted you. It made me better-ish. I learned a lot about impulse and about me and about no regrets. There are still no regrets. Now, I have someone who doesn't lead me. THAT is what I need. He holds me by the hand and then lets me run while he keeps up. Sometimes he runs places I never imagined and I get to try to keep up. It's fun. Didn't you always tell me it was supposed to be fun? You were right. It's way better like this. So we were wrong but you were right. I'm better for it. Thank you so much for fading away into "not a regret." I won't be signing things addressed to you with "all my love" or "yours truly," but I can sign them this way:With thanks,the girl on whose heart you left fingerprints

Friday, May 4, 2007


On dessert:
E: My baby wants chock-o-lot ice scream, but I want pink.
J: Well how 'bout we get you pink ice cream with chocolate sprinkles.
E: *gasp* Yes! I want pink ice cream with spock-o-lots!

On culture: "Da woff ate da duck!"

On medical help and sympathy: "Mama, did you burn your hand on da i-run?...Kin I see? It looks like da skin is melted off...Maybe I will kiss it an make it fweel better later because DAT is gwross."