Free Advice Friday

Tonight's Free Advice:

If your cousins invite you to go camping for the weekend because you've become a hermit, go. And if, as you're caravaning your way along the highway, you receive a text from your cousins who are a few miles ahead of you telling you to watch for the gator, wild pigs and sniper on the side of the road up ahead, just know, you're somewhere between Florida and Georgia. Obviously. 

Happy Birthday, Hannah Kelly Hansen

 Well, as of today, we have another fourteen year old granddaughter. This one is my sister Kelly's namesake, sort of. She's her middle namesake, anyway. Hannah Kelly Hansen was quite the big thrill for Kelly. Of course, Kel thought Hannah's name should have been Kelly Kelly Kelly. Actually, she thought all my grandchildren should have had her triple moniker but since I'm not George Foreman, I wasn't going to push that idea. For those of you who have been sadly shielded from the joys of the boxing world, George Foreman named all five of his sons George Edward Foreman. You're welcome.

One other thing my sister Kelly and my granddaughter Kelly Kelly Kelly aka Hannah had in common was their love for baking. In truth, Hannah's cakes remind me of my sister and her baked goods. Honestly, I wish more than anything, Kelly was here today so she could enjoy the comparison. 

Hannah Kelly Hansen, happy fourteenth birthday! I love you so very, very much and I'm happy you aren't named Kelly Kelly Kelly. Although, I think your sister Gracie could live up to that name but that's another story. Hannah, you are a wonderful person. Sharp as a tack, as the old folks say. I think it means you're smart. You're also beautiful and kind and loving. You might have your Aunt Kelly's name and baking skills but you got the rest from me. I'm claiming it anyway. I love you, Hannah. Happy Birthday!!

Yep, bakes just like her Aunt Kelly.

Happy Cinco de Mayo!

So, today Bob and I decided to leave work early and head out for a late lunch. Since it was Cinco de Mayo, we went to our favorite authentic Mexican restaurant. We love this spot and went at least several times a month before the world went mad last year. It's a small place, decorated quite authentically with a giant, hand painted mural on one wall of Vicente Fernandez, Frida Kahlo and luchadors. (Think Nacho Libre) All the kids working there are hispanic, many with thick accents, which makes me miss my parents. They would have been inviting everyone to our house for a BBQ or backyard wedding. No joke. Anyway, it's such a great place with Mexican music playing in the background and Novellas playing on the tv hanging over the bar. That's how I remembered it the last time we were there a year ago. But today? Madre de Dios!!!

I knew we had probably picked the wrong day to make our grand screw-you-Covid comeback appearance as soon as we pulled in the parking lot and felt the bass booming through our truck windows and into our senior citizen heads. Since it was Cinco de Mayo, the restaurant had hired a DJ who was set up outside for the party that was happening inside and out on the patio. Now listen, normally, I would have jumped from the truck and done the merengue all the way to my table. Three shots for $5? Bring it on and Viva la Raza! Normally. But I haven't been normal since last year when fear drove me deeper into farm life isolation with a side of broken ankle. So when I gingerly stepped from the truck, I hung onto Bob for dear life, afraid of getting knocked down by the latin beat that was sending shock waves my way.

Once inside, I was amazed and stressed by the number of people everywhere. Drinking people. Drinking, partying people. Even though these are usually my kind of people, the noise level was really overwhelming to me today. I absolutely realized clearly during lunch, I may be deserving of an official hermit card. I don't think I like that one bit. Anyway, to get in the spirit of the day, I ordered my usual coconut margarita and decided to relax and enjoy the moment. Lunch was served, it was as good as we remembered and a big tip was earned because of the great, as usual, service. Sounds good, right? Wrong.

Before heading home, we decided to stop in Lowes to buy a few hanging plants for our patio. I mean, we we're doing almost normal again, right, with lunch in our favorite place. So, why not stroll the garden center next store. Bad, bad decision. Halfway through the store my stomach informed me, it did not appreciate mexican food and margaritas at three in the afternoon, when I had not had one drop of water all day. I'm pretty sure, as I limped my way to the restroom, I heard my stomach call me some unkind names. My sheet white, sweaty face verified what my stomach was saying. It was brutal. 

Anyway, we made it home. I drank a lot of water as penance and my stomach and face forgave me. I ate a bowl of cereal for dinner and called it a night. Until my daughter Rachel sent me this text.

Homemade Strawberry Margarita. See my granddaughters faces? Yeah, that's me right now.  

Happy Mexican Army's victory over the French Empire at the Battle of Puebla, Day!

Party Like It's 1999

So, we have two spare rooms in our little hippie house. One is named Sisi's room because it has all of her furniture and Cayucos/Walter family things in it. The other is called Grandpa's room because it has my dad's furniture and Casas family things in it. Yes, I understand I have made my two spare rooms into shrines for dead people. Yes, I understand some people might see this as creepy. No, I don't care. 

Anyway, I was in Grandpa's room tonight, trying to unload all my kitchen stuff that we schlepped there back into the kitchen now that the painting and tiling is finally finished. Of course, I got sidetracked for a few minutes, ok, an hour, when the boxes of photos caught my attention. I know, squirrel! So, I started going through photos and then was distracted by the monument on the wall in front of me. And it made me realize something. Having parents like mine, that make everything in life a party for everyone including the garbage man, is a burden after they die.

Yes, a burden. A heavy load to carry. Because when they died everything stopped and the everything they created was massive. It involved everyone they knew. And all that being gone for all of us left behind, all the parties and adventures and crazy shenanigans, is unbelievably heavy for an empty box. But sometimes, that's exactly how it feels living without the Casas Chaos. Like carrying the heaviest emptiness imaginable.

I suppose this is the price of being loved by a hard-headed Swiss and a hard-to-handle Spaniard.

This Place Looks Like A Tornado Went Through It

Today is the 22nd anniversary of when the May 3rd, 1999 tornado hit our farm. I wrote this eleven years ago and thought I'd share it tonight. It's good to look back now and then and see how far we've come. It's also really good to see bad things can happen and it's possible to not only survive but to move forward. Thank you, God. Again and again and again.

May 3rd, 1999 started out just like any other ordinary day. My husband Bob, our children and I had risen early to prepare for school and work. There were breakfasts and lunches to make, backpacks to fill and faces to kiss goodbye. Once everyone was safely out the door I began my work day on our farm. We had two steers and six hogs going to market that morning so I headed out to the barn to prepare things and to feed our horses and goats. As I walked towards the barn I looked up at the sky noticing it had that eerie green shade so common during spring storms. I continued towards the barn not giving the weather another thought. 

 As I entered the barn, I did what I had done since the day we purchased the farm. I thanked God for giving me my dream. How I loved that barn. It was almost 100 years old and boasted almost 4000 square feet to its two story wood frame. Every time I entered it, I felt my entire body relax with the sights, sounds and smells of the past and present sweetly coming together. 

 The morning went by with the market animals picked up on time and the chores done quickly and easily. I settled in my favorite chair in our comfortable living room for a relaxing cup of coffee. As I sat there sipping my coffee, I looked around the room thinking about how much I loved the farm. It was truly the place I had dreamed of all my life. Some of my happiest moments since moving from California five years earlier to Oklahoma had been spent on this farm. 

 Suddenly, my calm was shaken by the blaring of our weather radio. Since weather warnings were not an uncommon thing for the Oklahoma plains, I went into the bedroom fully expecting it to be the typical wind or storm warning. This time was different. There was something ominous in these warnings. I switched the radio off and went to the television knowing our local news would be giving the needed details. Yes, there were chances of multiple tornados but nothing solid yet. I shut the television off and called my husband. He assured me everything was fine and so we both continued our day as though it was. 

 I went about my housework feeling a growing uneasiness. The weather seemed more brooding outside and the air in the house felt thicker by the moment. Within hours Bob called to say all schools were closing and he was leaving work to go get the kids and head home. Even though there were no sightings in our area, the schools were taking the necessary precautions. I felt sick but Bob assured me he and the children would be home soon. 

 My oldest daughter Rachel and her husband Joel had purchased a new home just a few miles east of us. Today was to be their moving day. I decided to help pass the time, I would drive over and see if I could help them unpack. I called Bob to let him know where I would be and asked him to call me as soon as he and the kids got home. He assured me he would. 

 At my daughters I busied myself with the things associated with moving. She and I cleaned and unpacked boxes while Joel transported their belongings from the old house to the new one. Soon we received a phone call from Bob. He and the children had started the nine mile journey home when a tornado touched down in town. They quickly took shelter at the first house they came to. This would happen twice more before they were able to make it home safely. The kindness of strangers would prove to be immeasurable throughout that day and the days to follow. 

 We decided it was best for me to stay where I was until we knew for sure it was safe to travel home. As I felt the knots in my stomach getting larger and harder, I cleaned and unpacked with a vengeance. Shortly after the last phone call from Bob, the power went out. The cell phones would no longer work. The tornado sirens in town began to wail. I yelled for my daughter to get into the bathtub and cover herself with blankets as I ran to the sliding glass door in the dining room. As I stood there peering out into what should have been the blue sky of early dusk, I lost my breath. All I could see was the blackest, thickest, widest tornado even my own vivid imagination could not have dared to dream. I ran to the bathroom and told Rae, “I think we’re in trouble honey.” We both ran to the hall closet and closed ourselves in while praying that this would be the safest place. My chest began to hurt from the pressure of the tornado passing. We continued to pray. 

 After what seemed like hours the sirens stopped. Rae and I left the closet upon hearing a knock at the front door. A neighbor had come to see if we were okay. As we talked Joel drove up. Jumping from the truck he came running into the house crying. He had been on his way back to us with another load of belongings when a tornado had stopped him. He had taken shelter in the home of strangers. His greatest fear was that of losing his wife as he saw the huge monster heading our way. 

 Suddenly it occurred to me that I had not heard from Bob. The phones were not working and all I could think of was getting home. Joel wouldn’t let me go alone so the three of us got into his truck and headed west to the farm. We had only gone two blocks when the siren began its horrible wail once again. The police flagged us into a safe house refusing to allow us to continue on. As we took shelter with strangers I prayed for the safety of my husband and children. 

 Hours would pass before we were allowed to continue our journey back home. Joel refused to take the dirt back roads that would quickly lead us to our farm. He felt it best to stay on the paved roads as much as possible. I was frustrated with that decision. Later I would learn of two more tornados passing through those back roads at the very moments we would have been on them. 

 When we finally came to our road I saw the first images of the destruction. It was now after 10 pm. The sky was black and the lights that normally dotted the county roads were all gone, destroyed by the tornadoes. There were police and fire trucks everywhere. The eerie lights from those vehicles along with our truck headlights illuminated more than I wanted to see. We would have to drive one mile down the dirt road before getting to our house but I already knew. I could see pieces of our barn and home along the road. I began to hyperventilate. 

 Pulling in front of what was once our home, now crawling with emergency workers and neighbors; I jumped from the truck and ran to the edge of the front lawn. Even in the darkness I could see the barn was gone. The house looked like something from a Halloween horror movie. It was battered beyond recognition with doors and windows gone and lace curtains blowing from the inside to the outside. The wind howled through the empty shell. I looked across the driveway to see my husband’s car crumpled and destroyed. I dropped to the grass screaming thinking I would never see Bob or our children again. As neighbors tried to comfort me, I sank deeper into darkness, my mind swirling with the sight before me. Just when I thought I couldn’t take another breath, a familiar pair of arms enveloped me. Bob held me close as I sobbed with relief. One by one our children joined him by wrapping themselves into the family embrace. They had arrived home minutes before the tornado hit giving them just enough time to take shelter in our basement. 

 Sixty-six tornadoes would pass through Oklahoma on May 3rd, 1999 killing forty-eight people. It would be recorded as the most prolific tornado outbreak in Oklahoma history.

Marry Your Best Friend

Tonight, after a full day of working plus trying to piece the house back together, Bob and I finally collapsed on the couch to eat a crappy dinner and watch some even crappier tv. As usual, we ended up laughing about things as we discussed the day and some upcoming future plans. That's when I asked this question;

"Bob, did you ever think that after almost 48 years together, we'd be this happy and laughing so much?"

And his answer?

"Yes, I did."

How did I ever get so lucky?

Fat Not Phat

My mother was obsessed with feeding people. If you showed up at my parents house, there was going to be a massive amount of food put out for you, hungry or not. It didn't matter if you had just eaten, my mother was going to feed you again. It was how she loved people. She fed them.

The other crazy thing was how she fed everyone. You could look through the refrigerator and pantry and not find anything to eat as a kid. But, the minute people showed up, my mom started loading the table with incredible delicacies. It was like The Great Hall at Hogwarts. Food just seemed to magically appear and it was always pretty spectacular. I could never figure out how she did it when I was young but I was always so happy when it happened. And it happened a lot because our house was always full of people.

No matter how unhappy my mom might be, the minute she had people to cook for, she was absolutely joyful. I loved watching her chop, slice and dice, moving from stove to sink to fridge and back to the cutting board. It was this beautiful dance she did all alone in a world she would never allow us to enter. All preparation, cooking, baking and serving was done by my mother in our house. I don't think she trusted any of us to do it right because, as she always said, she had a special way of doing everything. She wasn't wrong.

Just a little Christmas Buffet Bernice threw together. Oy!

Years later, once I had a family of my own, I somehow found the same magic. I was able to fill our table with more than decent meals morning, noon and night. The kids would complain there was nothing to eat and before they knew it, the pots were bubbling on the stove and something wonderful was in the oven. I love cooking but more importantly, I love feeding people. Something happens to make me really happy when I serve food to those gathered around our table. I don't know that I understand what it is at its core but I know it's the same magic my mother possessed. 

There's some weird connection however to the struggle my mother had for decades with her weight. None of my sisters have weight issues but they all feed people just like our mother did. I, however, have struggled with being fat for most of my adult life. I hate it and yet, I can't seem to change it. Not so far anyway. 

Food is more than sustenance to me. It represents love and comfort and a feeling of peace, even if only for the moment. That's what makes it so dangerous to me. It's what I turn to when I'm sad, or lonely or feeling broken. I feel those things more than I like to admit. Then the shame follows. Looking in mirrors is torture because I am reminded of my constant and ongoing failure as a person. I worry about embarrassing my children or friends, so I avoid people more than I should. That's just the truth.

I have been called out and shamed by family and friends, more than you would believe. It has not been helpful or necessary as I carry enough guilt already. Most people would never know this has been a burden for me because I have always used my sense of humor to cover the real feelings behind my weight. Ultimately, I blame no one but myself for my life. I get the credit for what I've done right. I get the blame for all that is effed up. That's also the truth.

So, I won't stop feeding people or cooking. It's a big part of who I am and I like that part of me. But, I will be seeking therapy to get to the bottom of this nightmare. It has affected my life for too long and I'm tired. This isn't about losing weight anymore. I've done that. Over and over and over. It's about something much deeper. I'm also not doing this for anyone but myself. I spent most of my life trying to please other people so they would love me or like me or include me. That's exhausting and stupid. 

I struggled with sharing this part of my life but I've felt compelled for awhile now to share the truth with whoever reads this. Maybe someone else is struggling with their own demons and can't seem to find the way out. There is a way and it's ok to ask for help finding the exit door. Do it for you because you matter more than you know.