THE END OF EXILE, AND THAT "S" WORD, AGAIN

My time in Dallas is drawing to a close. After the first few days of trauma, things settled down into a routine and went fairly smoothly. I feel bad that Carolyn and Mom must now go into exile themselves, staying at someone else's house for two or three weeks. But not bad enough to stay.

And now, I'm afraid, I must use my favorite word, "synchronicity," once again. Remember when my travel story appeared in the Austin American Statesman in June? The photo that was featured showed some very distinctive rock formations in Thailand. A woman who was reading the paper, while visiting her father-in-law in Johnson City, saw that photo and thought it looked familiar. She and her family had lived in SE Asia before, and it looked like a place they had vacationed. She proceeded to read the story, and then it hit her. "Oh my gosh, I think I know these people!" After she returned to Houston the next week, she decided to visit the blog address that had been included in my bio. She left a comment under my entry about that particular story getting published. Unfortunately, I had written several more entries on the blog since then, and I don't usually check for new comments except on the most recent entries. A day or two later, for some unknown reason, I was scrolling quickly down through the blog, when something made me stop and stare at that entry. I found myself thinking "Wait a minute. Was that comment there before?" I decided to open it and check. Because I did, we ended up having a grand reunion brunch in Blanco a short time later, with Bob Weirich and his lovely wife Pat - John's boss during our first stay in Indonesia, 33 years ago! So, how's that for synchronicity?

BAAA-BAAA

One of the many reasons I am considered the black sheep in my family, involves shoes and purses. As in, I don't have enough. My mother and sister just can't forgive me for refusing to get with the program. I have maybe 4 or 5 purses, and 10 or 12 pairs of shoes. I change my purse with the season, rather than with each outfit. Mom wonders where she went wrong with me. When we were trying to close out my folk's home and move them in with my sister, Carolyn put me in charge of making Mom go through her closet and get rid of everything she didn't really need. Yeah, right! After hours of tears and angst, I finally convinced her to get rid of maybe 2 or 3 pairs, which still left her with at least 98.

Well, Mom is now 84, never leaves the house except for doctors appointments or an occasional trip to the beauty shop, and never bothers to dress except for those occasions. So, imagine my surprise this week when I realized that when Mom switched into a yellow nightgown, she had also put on yellow shoes and changed to a yellow purse, which she then proceeded to carry around the house on her walker all day. I must have been left on the doorstep by gypsies.

GET THE LEAD OUT, LADY!

The other morning back in Wimberley, I was out on the porch watching the sun come up, when a little hummingbird flew up to my feeder. I had meant to refill it the day before, but what with the funeral and houseguests arriving, it just slipped my mind. After trying each of the blossoms in vain, he finally spotted me. He flew over and stopped about five feet from my face, hovering and squeeking at me. He then moved forward a foot or so, hovered again, and sqawked angrily. He continued, moving forward a foot at a time, until he was dangerously close to my face, and making me very nervous. Finally I squealed "All right! All Right! I'll fill the damn feeder!", then ducked down below him and scurried inside.

THE HIGHEST HONOR

The funeral I had to attend, a couple of weeks ago in Fredericksburg, wasn't near as terrible as I had expected. My friend Jane was probably the sweetest, most generous person I have ever known, so you can just imagine the wonderful things that were said about her. Her choir robe was draped over her empty chair in the loft, and even though she and Garey had only lived in Fredericksburg for two years, she had already made her generosity felt. This was not one of those generic, anonymous services that are so common these days. This was a woman who would be sorely missed by many, and to me, that is the highest honor one can hope for.

The most amazing thing about Jane is that before moving to the Hill Country, she and Garey lived in Pearland, and Jane also sang in the church choir there. One of her fellow choir members was a young man who had undergone a liver transplant 20 years ago, and was now in desperate need of another. When Jane died, her family approached the doctors to see if there was any chance that her liver might go to this young man. They were told not to get their hopes up, for the odds were not in favor of it being a good match. Well guess what? Next time this young man steps up into the choir loft, Miss Jane will be right there with him!