Evita

The new Argentina, the voice of the people...to a strip tease beat... pretty good. I can see why Madonna wanted to do the part. I haven't seen the movie, but I'm currently listening to the music of Evita. Along with Evita, I'm listening to Phantom of the Opera, and Jesus Christ Superstar. I think I'm beginning to feel pumped. Maybe it's the coffee, but singing at the top of my lungs out the back door, words of wisdom, is pumping. The neighbors are getting an education. My friend gave me three CD's featuring Andrew Lloyd Weber's work. Barry is miserable.

Last night we watched two independent film makers' films. They were both very good. One made me re-think what the purpose of life is, is life an end in itself or a means to an end? I wonder sometimes if it is an end in itself. The other one was depressing. It was about "The Weather Men," underground radical progressives in the late 60's and 70's who set off bombs in reponse to U.S. actions such as war in Vietnam and the killing of Black Panther members. It was over at midnight and I couldn't go to sleep right away. I felt doom and gloom, and I still do. Maybe it's because I just turned off the music and I'm now listening to the BBC news. Gloomy.... hundreds of machette welding teenagers in southern Thailand gunned down by the government. I'm going to listen to this.

FriedaBiscus

The Hybiscus is blooming beautiful bright orange flowers today. It brings me such joy to look out the window and see them and also to drive into the driveway and see them from the street. I will always think of Mother when I look at that bush for three reasons. One, when she was temporarily in Gulf Care Nursing Home one year ago, we were visiting outside near a hybiscus, and we couldn't remember the name of the bush. We finally remembered and proceeded to come up with a way to always remember...We pretended to be greeting the bush by saying, "HI Biscus!" Two, we were waiting outside of the radiation therapy room at MD Anderson when a volunteer offered Mom a free bag to hold her "stuff" in. Mom carefully examined all of the bags and picked the brightest orange one because of its durability. Three, she loved beauty and color. I miss her so much. The bush was given to the family at the time of her death by my friends at NOVA Chemical. I named it FriedaBiscus.

The Place Where They Grow Wine

Tonight Ronnie's family and Barry and I went to the "winery" in Santa Fe. I taste tested four wines and bought one $4.00 glass of white sweet wine. Everyone sipped a bit and made faces. We listened to a speaker from Johnson Space Center, then we took the tour. Afterwards, we joined the Star Party and looked at Jupiter, Saturn, and the Orion Nebula before they were covered by clouds. Tiffany, Josh and I walked through the vineyard and Tiff pointed out the little bitty grapes to me. I couldn't find them on my own . . . . . . just kill me now.

Phi Kappa Phi

Friday night, after first arriving at the wrong country club, then through panic stickened turns of right and left accompanied by explitives sounding out why would an honor student leave the address and directions at home, we found the correct country club where Barry and I attended the induction ceremony of the Phi Kappa Phi Honor Society. We dined amoung many well-educated and interesting people. I felt like a fish out of water with chipped teeth and straight bodyless hair. A delicious meal of chicken, lasagna, fresh vegtables, rolls, salad, carrot cake and coffee was served buffet style. In trying to keep the conversation flowing, I asked the people at our table if they had ever visited the place in Santa Fe where they grow wine. Some honor student, huh? An inspiring speech was given by Shelly (used to be Rodriquez (her deceased husband was a news personality), but I've forgotten her new last name, and I absent-mindedly left my program there upon leaving). I was presented with a large white envelope upon having my name read aloud, walking a mile to the president, and shaking his hand. There were many others being honored as well. We all felt very honored, go figure. In the envelope was my certificate and my honor cord to be worn over my graduation gown. On the drive home, Barry and I enjoyed discussing Shelly's speech and marveled at her speaking abilities and all the things she is accomplishing as a newly elected Houston City Council member as well as a medical doctor. Needless to say, I didn't feel like I belonged. I don't belong anywhere.

Henry Elmore Peters, My Grandpa

Barry and I went to the memorial service on April 16 in memory of the Texas City Explosion that happened fifty-seven years ago in 1947. Over 600 people died that day including the entire fire department. As a memorial to the firefighters, Chief Gerald Grimm of the Texas City Fire Department read each of their names followed by the ringing of a bell. The speaker was Mrs. Ernestine Moreno, a survivor. After listening to her sad story, I wondered if she had known my grandfather whom I never had the privledge of meeting. He used to preach at the Spanish Mission near her home. So when the ceremony was over, I asked her if she knew him. She immediately smiled and began telling me how much she adored him. He taught her spanish in high school. She said he spoke beautiful spanish. He asked her why she was not taking notes and she told him because he was blocking the words with his body. So he started writing with his other hand so she could see the board. When she finished talking about him, she gave me a big unexpected hug and reiterated how much my grandpa meant to her. I wanted to grab all the other old people there and ask them all if they remembered Grandpa Peters. When I got home, I looked at myself in the upstairs mirror and noticed I was wearing Mom's shirt. I wanted to tell her all about my experience at the memorial service, and how I found yet another person who loved her father. I began to weep at the realization of my loss.

Personality Fault

Poor self esteem. I do not feel comfortable "selling" myself to potential employers. I have very negative feelings towards this game. Whoever sells the best, wins the prize. In my unhealthy thought processes, it will most likely not be the best canidate who wins. I believe the best candidate is sometimes the worst "seller" of himself and vice versa. I now understand why my father, with an above average IQ, was a truck driver. I suppose whatever was wrong with him was instilled in me, not that I am of above IQ, but truck driving sounds appealing to me. Big Sigh.......

The Hot Biscuit, Rep. Nick Lampson, and Wal-Mart

All in one day. Looking like crap, no make-up, hair in pony-tail, holely blue jean shorts, tacky green t-shirt, white, white legs, and dirty tennis shoes with no socks, who do I see and talk with at the Hot Biscuit? Representative Nick Lampson! There he was looking all shiny and sparkely in his pressed dockers and dress shirt. I thought he was someone from Huntsman Chemical, but Barry recognized him for who he was and reminded him of our time together at a Habitat for Humanity appreciation dinner. I took what I thought to be not much of a chance of running into someone I know since we are in the country; I knew I'd fit in with all the other country bumkins around here, and I did, except for him. Who would of figured? Anyway, it nice to see him and his smile. And thanks to Barry's old business flare of smiling and shaking hands we rekindled a memory.

After eating a wonderful breakfast, we drove by where the Wal-Mart Protestors were picketing to cheer them on. They gave us an informational hand-out regarding the outsourcing of jobs. One of the signs read, "Sam Walton said No to China." We wished them well and drove off in our "Toyota."

On the Road Again...

Here I am in the country again. It always feels so good to travel here and to be here, even though it smells like mold. B is sleeping in his recliner, Sammy is eating, and Rue is sleeping under the house. I don't know where or what the cat is doing, sneaky thang. Oh, I just heard Sammy's little feet getting scatch on the kitchen floor, the cat is in the kitchen. :) We ate What-a-bugers on the way here, and they were SO good. It is always hit and miss with them. We saw some new skid marks on the dangerous road to our place as well as some new ruts on the side of the road. We ran off a few times ourselves while we were trying to eat, drink, and drive.

We are thinking about going to Louisiana for Put's crawfish boil instead of having one of our own. I hope my boys come...

We received some distressing news on our answering machine when we got here. B's brother-in-law's brother commited suicide. The message was old. We believe it must have happen on Monday or before. No one called us at the Texas City number. No one is home at there place today.

Fishsticks, My Legacy

Low and behold my little nephew, Duncan, asked me is I gave up fishsticks for lent. I laughed so hard. I had no idea that my love for fishsticks was that well known. It was bad enough when Bekah, Jacob, and Nathan enjoyed a shared moment of laughter over my feeding them fishsticks as children, but Duncan? I'm not even Catholic, and neither is he. That's the kind of thing, right out of the blue, that life is all about. The next day Barry brought home a box of cheap fishsticks and we went to town on em.

Yesterday a gloomy feeling came over me after class. My teacher handed me my mid-term exam and said I did nauseatingly well as usual. ummm. Why don't I feel like "A" material?" My friend was in a yucky mood and left before I got my test back (we usually walk to our cars together). We had just seen the movie, "House of the Spirits," in which were some abuse scenes that made her very uncomfortable. On my drive home I began wondering why I felt gloomy. Other than feeling unworthy of "A" status, I suppose it had something to do with wondering about my strange friend's mysterious past. I gather from her words and actions that she must have been abused in her past. I wonder what it would be like to have a normal friend. I don't mind abby normal friends, but just wondering. I'm sure my friends wonder the same.

I am now a member of Phi Kappa Phi. I never thought I would be a member of an honor society. It's too bad that my degree is not marketable. I am looking forward to reentering the working world, but I am a bit nervous. Not only because I am 40 something, but because I have lost my marketable skills. I feel stupid now that I have a BA in Humanities, but can't operate the current software programs used by businesses. I feel like I need to go back to school! Isn't that ironic; don't cha think; it's like raeeeain on your wedding day; it's like finding ten thousand spoons, when all you need is a knife (Alanis).