Autumn Leaves

Autumn has always been my favorite season.  There is a very good possibility I feel this way because my birthday falls during this chilly season, but that’s only a piece of it.  There was a drive I used to take with my family in the fall.  I’m not even sure what it is called or if it even exists anymore.  We lived in Colorado so really anywhere you went you could see the autumn leaves changing color from their characteristic green to their new attire of blazing orange and ruby red.  All I had to do was look outside my window and I could enjoy this phenomenon.  However, the drive was extra special.  The trees extended and hugged each other creating a canopy of fire.  When the wind blew, tiny sparks of leaves would fall to the ground that would leave me mesmerized.   It was my most favorite thing, and if I close my eyes I can still see it. 

One fall we went for our annual drive, but due to hectic schedules, we had to take it a little later in the season than we usually did.  Most of the leaves had already fallen, and were brown by the time we took our journey.  I was so upset at the sight of the bare trees.  They looked dead to me, and I couldn’t understand that these were the same beautiful trees that I engraved in my memory. 

            Sometimes in life, I feel very much like the bare, vulnerable trees after all my color has been blown off by life’s cold and harsh winds.  Although the fall is my favorite season to watch out my window, it is not the season in life I enjoy the most.   Everything just feels wrong.  Piles upon piles of things seem to go wrong, and it is never ending.  Just when I feel a life start to blossom something else happens, and it’s gone before it has even had a chance to grow.  I feel sad, and helpless.  I feel alone and vulnerable because there is nothing I can do during this time.  The only thing I can do is wait it out and trust in spring.  I have to trust that although the sun isn’t shining, and the warmth is limited, its still there.  And it will get stronger and stronger.  My leaves will return again.  The harsh winds of fall will slow down, and eventually fade.  A new season will begin, bringing with it a new beginning.

            Fall is still my favorite season.  And just like the beautiful drive we once took, there is something amazing in every season of our life.  We just have to look a little harder to notice it.  Because every season has a purpose and so much beauty. 

~Esmer

On the Road

By Susan 

There is nothing like traveling to show us our true characters.  It brings out the best and the worst in people.  My family and I took a small vacation to West Texas last week.  My sixteen year old son had done all the research and had planned a wonderful four day tour of Alpine, Marfa, Big Bend and Fort Davis.  We set out, trusting the weather reports that promised the temperatures were rising and the rains were stopping.  We shouldn’t have.  We hit the first snag when three hours out of Austin and on Highway 29, the roads became icy.  When we saw a guy putting chains on his tires, we realized maybe we should turn around.  At this point we all realized that there is hardly any cell phone coverage outside of cities in that part of the world.  That means no Google maps or Internet searches.  My husband who never travels without a paper map realized that he had left our Texas map on the dining room table at home!  Someone had a map downloaded on a phone, so we found another road to take us to I-10.  But I-10 was slowed down to a crawl as rain and sleet continued.  We made it to Alpine two hours behind schedule, checked into our hotel and went to find something to eat.  At close to 9:00 p.m. most of the restaurants in this little town were closed.  A brand new establishment near the train station looked open.  When our party of seven walked in, the young man who was acting as the host looked panicked.  He seated us in a tight corner of the restaurant and said: “We are a little lost right now but someone should be with you shortly!”  No one knew what to make of that.  Maybe it was the fact that the bathrooms were out and one by one we went across the street to the Holland Hotel to use the services.  I guess they found themselves pretty quickly, because we were served a delicious dinner not too long after that. 

The freezing rain continued during the night and we woke up to a beautiful but impassable landscape. 

By now I had noticed that no one, including myself was complaining.  Everyone from my mother, to my brother to my three children ages 16, 18 and 22 was just going with the flow, which impressed me.  We hung around the hotel that morning and watched as snowplows went up and down the highway.  By late afternoon, it looked like we could get out and go to Marfa as planned. Kent’s meticulous plan was for us to eat dinner in Marfa and stay to watch the famous Marfa lights on the way back to Alpine.  But because the temperatures were falling again and it was still raining on and off, we decided to head back before dark.  That night we decided to try a little metal box diner for dinner.  The place was packed, which is usually a sign of good food.  But the one guy who was doing all the cooking in slow motion and the one very skinny waitress who was doing her best to take orders, wash dishes and serve, could not keep up. I don’t know why we waited an hour and a half for the forgettable food. Maybe it was the cold outside or lack of too many more options. At one point the waitress confided in us that she also worked at a Mexican restaurant that we should be sure to try!

The next morning we woke up to a beautiful sunny day, dry roads and temperatures above freezing.  According to our plan we were headed to Big Bend.  My older son however, was not feeling well and decided to stay behind and rest.  One of the consequences of the storm had been downed power lines.  That meant no gas at the gas stations in Alpine.  So we drove to the next town, Marathon to fill up on our way to Big Bend National Park.  It turned out there was no power in the entire 50 mile radius.  We had to return to Alpine and forgo the much anticipated hike.  That was a big disappointment.  I worried how Kent was feeling.  He had spent so much time planning this trip for us and hardly anything was going right.  But he reassured me that he was fine.  Back in Alpine there were long lines at gas stations, where there was still no power and in some cases no gas.  

Just as we were contemplating cutting the trip short and heading back that afternoon instead of the next day, the power came back on and we were able to fill up and at least head to Fort Davis to the McDonald observatory and their star party.  We called Safaa back at the hotel to see if he was feeling better and could join us.  He was feeling worse, feverish and with chills.  I decided to take him to the hospital while the rest went on to Fort Davis.  The Big Bend Medical Center was having a busy day.  The storm had caused all kinds of problems for people.  There was an elderly gentleman who had slipped on ice and broke his head, an elegant lady in a fur coat with an oxygen tank on the back of her wheelchair, and a young woman with her suitcase, obviously suffering from the flu while traveling.  And they all knew each other.  After a four hour wait at the clinic, Safaa was diagnosed with the flu and prescribed some Tamiflu but were told that there were no pharmacies open in Alpine past 11:30 a.m. on Saturdays.  We would have to drive to Fort Stockton on Sunday to fill his prescription.  They did give him one dose of the medicine, which helped greatly.  I have to say, everyone was so nice and apologetic for the long wait and the bizarre pharmaceutical situation. Heading back to the hotel, we could see that the power was restored in town. Until we got to our hotel and saw it in pitch black.  It looked like the work crews had not made it out there yet.  An almost deserted hotel in the dark is pretty spooky.  Safaa and I just sat in one room and looked out the window at the full moon, waiting for the power to come back on.The rest of the family had a blast at the observatory, found a lovely place for dinner and even went back to see the Marfa lights.  They did bring us some delicious macaroni and cheese, parmesan crusted chicken and mashed potatoes.

The power never came back to the hotel that night or the next morning.  We were headed home anyway.  The trip back was uneventful.  Safaa was feeling better, the roads were dry, the sun was out.  We kept looking back at how almost nothing had gone the way we had planned it, but that still we had thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.   I know for me the best part was seeing my family at ease, enjoying the moment, laughing with each other and bending in whichever way was necessary. 

Years ago, when Ben and I were just getting to know each other, we were on a trip with a group of friends where nothing went according to plan.  Actually it was I who had planned that weekend and I was feeling pretty frustrated.  Ben, as calm at 23 as he is now, pointed out that if things always go they way you plan it, how would you know God has a hand in your life?  Over the past 32 years together, I have come to appreciate the wisdom of those words over and over again. 

The Burden of the Blessing by Carolyn

The Burden of the Blessing

A few weeks ago, I used the last paper towel on the roll. My dogs love to chew on paper and cardboard, so I made a gift of the empty paper towel roll to Beara, one of my Yorkie-Poos. (It probably isn't good for them to chew on cardboard, but it felt like the benevolent-mom thing to do.) Anyway, Beara was thrilled with her unexpected gift and immediately clamped down her jaws on the precious cardboard treat. She is a fairly small dog, so the ends of the paper towel roll stuck out about five inches on each side of her mouth. I expected that she would quickly find a private spot (so she could evade her doggie siblings) and begin chewing on the roll, her usual M.O. when she gets a treat. She did not.

Strangely, she began to wander around the room in circles, still holding the tube in her mouth. She made no move to settle in anywhere, or to try to hide her treat from Finn and Rennie. Several times she came up to me, her precious burden still clamped tightly in her teeth, staring into my eyes with an expression I could only interpret as anxiety. I tried a couple of times to take the empty paper towel tube from her, in case that was what she wanted me to do to solve her problem, but she resisted. This odd unsettled behavior continued on for several minutes; Beara still was unable to roost anywhere to enjoy her treat.

It suddenly occurred to me that the roll of cardboard was so large that Beara did not know how to handle it, literally and figuratively. My perception of Beara's thinking was this: "This is too much of a good thing. I can't handle this much. But I can't put it down because someone else might steal it, even though I am not enjoying it. This blessing feels like a burden."

Once I had figured this out, I had to take action to help her. I knew she would not let me take the paper towel tube out of her mouth - she was not about to loosen her grip on the oversized treat - so I grabbed a pair of scissors and snipped the cardboard on either side of her muzzle. Now there were three cardboard treats, one for each dog. The hunk of the tube Beara still carried in her mouth was apparently now just the right size. She hurried off to a nice, comfortable spot on the rug and began chewing, totally happy with her treat. I gave each of the other dogs their share of the cardboard tube, and they quickly followed suit. They all chewed contentedly within a few inches of each other, not in the least concerned about what the others had, which doesn't happen often. It seemed as if sharing her blessing had enabled Beara to finally enjoy it, and, coincidentally provided a blessing for others, too.

I began to wonder what parallel there might be in our human behavior. Was it possible that what we first perceive as blessings, like the treat I gave Beara, might end up as burdens to us? Are we sometimes uncomfortable with blessings when we know that others do not have as much? Or maybe we become overwhelmed with the responsibility that often comes with blessings? That reminds me of the passage from the Bible that says, "For everyone to whom much is given, from him much will be required." (Luke 12:48a)

I had to talk this over with the other three writers in my group, of course. (We often get quite philosophical during our meetings.) Andrea pointed out that there might be a lesson as well in the idea that Beara did not make any progress with her dilemma until she asked for help. She wisely came to the one other being in the house who was perfectly equipped to help her - the human with the scissors. If she had asked for help from the other two dogs, the results would not have been at all satisfactory! Is there a moral for us in this, too? Maybe when we are faced with something overwhelming (even a huge blessing), we should think carefully about seeking help, and choose exactly the right one to help us enjoy the blessing - or burden? - we have been given. Or maybe it isn't a person at all, but a higher being we should consult?

Then, too, I think there may be a correlation for us to ponder in the notion that Beara did not, could not, enjoy her blessing until she had shared it with others. Maybe I am giving too much credit to Beara's doggie brain when I ascribe thoughtful benevolence to her actions, but it did seem as if she only gained enjoyment from her blessing when she had given up part of it to Finn and Rennie. Wouldn't it be great if all of us humans were to think that way - that blessings are not enjoyable until we share them with others?  I know some people do have that mindset, but I know it is difficult for many of us (myself included) to give up any part of our blessings to others. If we did, maybe we, too, could finally settle down and enjoy what we have been given. Surely the world would be a much better place if we all shared the burden of our blessings with others.

-Carolyn

Traditions, Treasures, and a Tree

I love traditions.  There is something about them that brings such joy to my heart.  The Christmas season is filled with them.  Making sugar cookies in an assortment of shapes and sizes, and then decorating them with the most candy possible, driving around and looking at the lights while drinking hot chocolate, and the Elf on the shelf that loves to get into mischief are just a few of the many traditions we have grown to love as our family as grown.   One tradition in particular I have grown to love more and more every year, is putting up our Christmas tree.  Sure lugging it out of the attic takes some work, and putting it together inspires sounds that are less than cheery coming from my mouth.  But once it is down and put together, and the branches are fluffed, then the magic begins to happen.  I open the first box full of treasures that we have collected throughout the years, and the emotions and events that are tied to each ornament come flooding back.  My children magically stop whatever activity they are doing, and join me at the bare tree.  I start with the first ornament, and begin to tell the memory of the delicately made glass or plastic object.  Lots of first are on our tree.  My son and daughter’s first Christmas bears.  And an elegant bride dances gracefully on one of the top branches with her tulle veil.  My children have heard these stories over and over again, but every December it’s as if they are hearing it for the first time.

            The tradition of collecting these life events through ornaments began when my aunt gave me and my then fiancée a Precious Moment ornament of a couple under the mistletoe.  Ever since then I have realized how powerful an object can be at triggering a memory and the feelings that are tied to it.  Good, bad, painful, or happy.  It doesn’t matter.  It is all a part of life.  All of those peaks and valleys hung on little branches. 

Every year, I would pick out a new ornament that reminded me of some special event that happened in the past year.  Now that my children are older, they each pick out their own ornament and add it to the tree.  We have some repeats.  My daughter can’t have enough ballet shoes on the tree, and the colorful spheres we used to place on the tree have transformed into soccer balls.  But it’s our tree.   It is not a tree that would be chosen to star in a catalog for nothing about it matches.  Handmade ornaments share the stage with more expensive ones.  The lights are mismatched, and the branches are needing a little more oomph.  But what it holds is so beautiful.  Years and years of blessings and memories gently and strategically placed.  I love to sit and reminisce on the beautiful life I had and I get excited about the treasures that are yet to be added to our tree.    

~Esmeralda

The Demise of College Football by Carolyn

Let me begin by saying I am a die-hard Aggie football fan, as well as a former student (we don't have "ex-students" at TAMU, just "former students"). My experience with college football has been limited to what I have seen played by the "noble men of Kyle", what I have watched on TV, and participating in discussions about it with my very knowledgeable younger son. So I am sure my vision of what college football used to be (or should be) is an unrealistic one, colored by my own desires and limited experiences. That said, I do have some opinions about the changes I have noticed in recent years:

I used to see college football as a sport played by fine, upstanding young men who were driven by a life-long desire to play for "their" school, a school they had dreamed of attending since they were little boys playing flag football in the neighborhood park. College football, to me, was all about the team, the experience of being part of a close-knit group of guys who worked and struggled and bled together to ensure that their college was proud of their fighting spirit, if not their win-loss record. College football was about packing up the babies and grabbing the old ladies, and everyone going to the game together to cheer and cuss (and hump it, Ags), and be caught up in the spirit of the game. If only it were still true.

I am sad to report that college football is dying a slow and painful death. As much as it hurts, we have to face the fact that college football as we knew it will soon cease to exist.

Here are the underlying causes and their effects, in my opinion:

Because college football players can place themselves in the professional draft at such an early age, they may not feel a deep sense of commitment to their college team. The investment of their time, energy, and ability may be more for what it will gain them in the NFL rather than in what their college team needs. It is becoming all about the individual's stats, the numbers, the records, and what dollar amount those will earn when the time comes to move on. As a player, how can I make myself look good so I can get out of here and start earning the really big bucks as soon as possible? What's best for my team and my teammates? Who cares? This is a huge departure from the spirit of Aggieland. We have always been a family, a brotherhood, a community. I'm very afraid that will disappear in this every-man-for-himself era.

College recruiting is now, more than ever, based on what they can offer players. Who has the best weight room, the fanciest clubhouse, the richest alumni (willing to give)? Have you seen the videos featuring the TAMU facilities lately? Incredible - or maybe incredibly wasteful. Can you say "conspicuous consumption"? Because the emphasis is now on recruiting the best for every position on the team (and several layers deep) wherever the players may be found, the boys who grew up dreaming of playing for the school their father and grandfather played for, the school whose colors have decorated their room since the age of five, the school whose jersey they would absolutely give anything to wear, may have no chance at all to even warm the bench. Instead, teams are made up of young men from who-knows-where who have no heartfelt connection to the school with the best offer, no family history there, no real desire to play on that team, except that that school was the highest bidder in the race to recruit. Increasingly, the teams seem to be populated with a rather large proportion of thugs who don't value their college or their school experience at all, except as a stepping stone to a multi-million-dollar deal in the pros. (And that's another story - don't even get me started!) Many of the players have no maroon (or burnt orange, or crimson, or purple and gold, or whatever) flowing through their veins, just the green of dollar bills. And while they are suffering through the couple of years they must spend on campus before they move on to the big leagues, they seem to be increasingly badly behaved. I am sick to death of hearing that one of my Aggies (or a member of any collegiate team) has been arrested for who-knows-what. The Aggie Code of Honor says, "Aggies don't lie, cheat, or steal, nor tolerate those who do." I'm sure many, many TAMU students adhere to the code, but according to news reports, lots of TAMU athletes don't. I believe the same may be true of athletes from other schools as well. Who do we want representing our schools?

The colleges' desire for the almighty dollar is a major contributor to the impending death of college football. They must dun alumni for more and more and more money in contributions in order to build a bigger stadium, a better clubhouse, a more impressive whatever. All this building-bigger-and-better-and-best business results in ticket prices that are out of reach for the average family. True-blue fans can no longer afford to go watch the games in person. Maybe once a year, to watch one of the "cupcake" games, when prices are lower, but probably not even that. Parents can no longer dream of taking their kids to watch games at their alma mater, grandparents can't plan to spend quality time introducing their grandchildren to an exciting game at the stadium they loved when they were students there. Too expensive. Furthermore, the crowds are incredible. Is it really necessary to have more than 100,000 people in a stadium? It is impossible to walk around campus anywhere near the stadium in any semblance of comfort when you are surrounded by 100,000 other fans. An Aggie t-shirt of a few years ago had the tagline, "Where 80,000 become one." I like that sentiment, but I'm not sure 100,000 can "become one". I like my football up close and personal. To fit 100,000 bodies in a stadium, a lot of the fans have to be far, far away from the action. It's a good thing we have mega-huge screens all over so we can tell what the little ants running around on the field are actually doing. And, besides the ticket costs and the crowds around the stadium, who wants to fight the traffic? When 100,000 people come to watch a game, they must enter campus; worse still, they must at some point leave campus. No matter how well-thought-out the traffic plan, it is impossible to get tens of thousands of vehicles into and out of the area without major traffic snarls and lots of time spent sitting and waiting, and waiting, and waiting. That can take the joy out of even the biggest win!

Well, there's my rant about college football. No apologies for my opinion;  nothing to be done about it. I just needed to mourn out loud. Thanks for listening.

-Carolyn

P.S. I still love my Aggies!

Finding Home

by Susan

De tanto despedirme se me secaron las raíces y debí generar otras que, a falta de un lugar geográfico donde afincarse, lo han hecho en la memoria; . . .

                                                -Isabel Allende

From saying good-bye so often my roots have dried up, and I have had to grow others, which, lacking a geography to sink into, have taken hold in my memory. 

                                                -Isabel Allende

Sometimes I envy those who have a place they call home, a city they are proud to call theirs. Growing up in Iran in the 60s and 70s, there was always the talk around my house of immigrating to the United States, which kept us from digging our roots deep.  There was always a hesitation to decorate too much, anchor things to the walls too permanently.  When you live in a two thousand year old monarchy, change seems improbable.  You read about kings and dynasties that have lasted for hundreds of years at a time. You never think that you may actually witness the fall of an empire.

But it happened and we did emigrate in 1978, months before the Islamic Revolution.   We went from living in a six-bedroom house where each of us had our own full bathroom to the spare bedroom of my cousin’s house in Houston, where we kept our clothes in paper grocery bags.  My mother thought she was just waiting it out.  Who would have thought that thirty-five years later she would still be waiting? 

I became a chameleon.  I learned the language and spoke it in a way that did not signal my foreignness too much.  I paid attention to the customs and the mannerisms, learned to get inside the head of the average American. I married, got a college degree, a job and then moved to Venezuela.  By some miracle, I learned Spanish as well and learned my way around yet another place.  I really thought that was for good.  I was willing to put down roots, have kids, raise them and totally embrace a culture that was neither my own nor one I had been exiled to.  But the world and its problems caught up with me again and after thirteen years I found myself back in Texas.  For the past decade or so I have lived in Austin.  For now, this is where I am calling home.  

Last week I was visiting my daughter in Cali, Colombia.  As we went around with friends who spoke lovingly of their town and its sights, I wondered where my home was.  For a minute, I felt sorry for myself.  But as I reflected, I realized that I am actually blessed in my ability to find a home wherever I live.  I may not belong to one place in particular, but I can feel myself being from any place.  I count myself lucky in that I see no one as a stranger and all people can be my people.  I rather live with the ambiguity of my ethnic identity than with the limitation of defining myself as one thing or another based on the accident of my birth or choices made by others.  My home is wherever I can make memories. 

Sometimes I envy those who have a place they call home, a city they are proud to call theirs. But then I remember they are my neighbors.

On Proverbs by Carolyn

Proverb:  "a simple and concrete saying popularly known and repeated that expresses a truth based on common sense or the practical experience of humanity."

So if proverbs purport to tell the truth, why are so many of them contradictory?

I provide the following evidence to support my claim:

There's no time like the present.     but       Good things come to those who wait.

Which is it? Should I wait for the good things to come to me, or should I jump up and go search for them?  If I search for them, will they not come? Will I scare the good things away?

If you want something done right, do it yourself.     but      Two heads are better than one.

So . . . should I do it myself (because then it will be right), or should I find someone else to contribute their brains to my project (because then it will be better)? What if I pick the wrong person to combine my brains with? Would it then be worse than if I had done it by myself?

Discretion is the better part of valor.     but     Fortune favors the bold.

Discreet or bold?  Discreet or bold?  Discreet or bold?   I can't decide! I read that proverbs are situationally based, so you choose the one that best fits your situation, but I can see this being a problem - what if you are bold when you should be discreet, and discreet when you should be bold? For instance, you discover that your boss is doing something shady. You decide to be bold. You confront your boss. Your boss fails to appreciate your boldness. Now you are jobless. Or possibly, you decide that discretion is the better part of valor. You keep mum about your boss's shady dealings. Unfortunately your boss's boss finds out about the nefarious deeds and that you knew about them. You are jobless again. Bummer.

Many hands make light work.     but     Too many cooks spoil the broth.

What is the right number? Where is the line that divides "many" from "too many"? I really need to know, because I absolutely do want light work, but definitely not spoiled broth. I wonder if the size of the kitchen has anything to do with how many cooks are just the right amount?

It's the thought that counts.    but     The road to hell is paved with good intentions.

Hmmm.  Perhaps you can only get away with good intentions for so long, then you are on the very slippery downhill slope leading to Hades. I hope I haven't worn out my good intentions allotment yet. By the way, people who are self-disciplined enough to regularly follow through with their good intentions really make the rest of us feel inadequate. You know who you are.


And now to totally confuse us, we have tag-team proverb wrestling. In this corner, we have the mighty team of proverbs that admonish us to lose no time in acting:

If you snooze, you lose.     and     He who hesitates is lost.     and     Strike while the iron is hot.

Pretty definitive, right? The advice is very clear - we should act RIGHT NOW!

But wait! In the other corner we have this formidable team that urges us to slow down and be cautious:

Haste makes waste.     and     Look before you leap.     and     Slow and steady wins the race.

Now I'm totally bumfuzzled. So that's it. I've decided that you can't trust a proverb to guide you. You just have to make your own decisions. After all, you shouldn't put all your eggs in one basket . . .