Living in one small room with Cathie to begin with was not easy. She opened her suitcase, grabbed an armful of clothes and stuffed them in a drawer. I made neat little stacks.  She pulled her hair up into a ponytail on top of her head at night while I twisted my around the good old brush rollers.  A brush was all she needed the next morning while I brushed, backcombed and sprayed as that was the fashion of the day. 

I had to learn a new vocabulary - Peeps were parents and a BBH was the boyfriend back home.   I discovered you needed both a black and a red pen to use on your checkbook.  Black to use when you had money in the bank, red for when you were over drawn until our Peeps  called saying they deposited more funds. If I was mad at her about something and quit talking to her she would wake me up in the middle of the night jumping  on the bed with her three foot tall teddy bear named Jex and tell me to open my mouth and talk to her. That resulted in laughter and dawn coming with no sleep.

Cathie and Woodie missing the BBH's

Somehow my hair returned to blonde the second week I was on campus.  Hose and heels were required for dinner in the dining hall every evening.  Cathie had this knack of putting on hose and knotting them above her knees while I had to deal with the hose before the days of pantie hose. Pajamas and trench coats were our attire for the required 8:00 Saturday morning class.  Hitchhiking was our mode of transportation except when we rented a motorcycle and stashed it in a guy's garage.  

With the University of Missouri a few blocks away there was no shortage of  boys, fraternity parties, dances or football games. Cathie and I both found BOC's (boyfriends on campus) that we stayed friends with through the years.
Of the eight of us who all lived on one end of the dorm, Pam, Sally, Woodie, Erin, two Marys, Cathie and I, four of us kept in touch because Cathie could never end a friendship.  She would be glad to know that after fifty years Pam and I reconnected with Sally a few months ago.

Pam, Sally, Woodie, Me, Cathie and Marty Mo

Pam was the only one who returned to Stephens for another year.  I guess we all had some reason not to go back.  Mother was not too pleased with me even though I somehow managed to have great grades.  Guess I didn't come home the proper lady she thought I would be.  Cathie transferred to Texas Tech, got a Masters degree in Education in Math of all things.  She married a great guy, Terry, who was an accountant. I always wondered if she always kept two colors of pens for her check book. She taught for several years but that just wasn't Cathie.

                                                           Cathie and Terry

She came to see me in Dallas the first time in the early seventies on her way to protest poor pigs that lived in cages. There were other visits, totally unannounced but always welcomed.  My oldest son. Wes, was only about five when he stated he was going to marry Aunt Cathie when he grew up. After several years Cathie and Terry divorced.  He wanted children, Cathie didn't.
They stayed friends, of course, and when Terry remarried Cathie and the new wife were great friends.  Cathie was even Godmother to their children.

Late seventies found her living in a commune in south Texas.  She and a girlfriend came to Kansas City on their way to St.Louis to march in a women's lib parade in their white dresses. The "then" husband was out of town so we fed the boys banana splits for dinner and drank a bottle of Amaretto  after they went to bed.  That was a swell hangover the next morning.

She moved to Austin soon after that and had an interesting array of jobs.  She taught math a couple of years.  Then she had a pet sitting service called Aardvark's to Zebra's and was really successful at selling oil field equipment.
The oil field equipment had to be good as I think she could have sold bikinis to Eskimos.  

I moved to New Jersey and she took off to live in India for eight months.  To get home she backpacked by herself through Sri Lanka, Malaysia and Thailand into Hong Kong. I guess her Peeps had to get her a plane ticket home and she spent a week in Hong Kong living in a dollar a night hostel while touring the area by day.  I was always amazed at how she never had any problems or was left for dead in some jungle.  She had this uncanny ability to go thru life as no one else could.

Home from India she moved into the Himalaya Institute in Honesdale, Pa.  There she studied hatha yoga, meditation, yoga philosophy and ayurveda.
Actually she went to work for them and stayed several years.  Not far from me, she was a regular visitor.  At this time, Wes, was eleven or twelve and she would pick him up at school and whisk him off to a soda fountain for cherry cokes and M&M's.  Needless to say, he was the envy of all of his friends. He would just explain that she was his Aunt Cathie. 

She moved back to Austin and I moved to Michigan.  Once again she taught school but found it too confining so she taught weight loss in a hospital, yoga and an enterprise called Funny Business where she taught adults all stressed out from their jobs how to play like children. This was about the time she met Steve who was a lawyer turned sculpture turned vegan baker. 

When I finally moved to Norman, Oklahoma with my youngest son, Wally, she had taken up Feng Shui. She arrived one day, walked in my house and totally rearranged everything to make my life better. It worked.  I took off for a week and went to Austen for a workshop, ate vegan food and got indoctrinated into the world of Feng Shui. I stole her sign off her front door that said "Take off your shoes and bring your big beautiful feet in here".  Both of us taught classes in that for several years. 

It was after the move to Norman, single with just Wally at home, that I realized that Cathie had rubbed off on me through the years.  There had always been that "be what someone else wanted you to be" thing with me when others were around. When alone I could be as wacky and crazy as Cathie.  Suddenly I could just be myself all the time. Guess Marshell, the "now" husband, liked it as I did the Charleston on the sidewalk in front of a 7-11 on one of our very first dates.

Marshell and I went to Austin in the late nineties to see another friend and I called Cathie.  She was having a white shoe party that evening and we got invited to come.  If anyone remembers the old rule about not wearing white shoes before Easter or after Labor day - that was the theme of the party.  Since it was after Easter we had to wear white shoes. We had no white shoes and spent the afternoon looking through thrift stores to no avail.  Finally we resorted to painting shoes on with shoe polish.  Mine were some pretty neat Mary Janes and Marshell had sneakers. That part of the party was on the deck of her new "old" house since shoes were not allowed in the house except for ours. Of course we won the contest!

Cathie died in 2004 from metastatic breast cancer.  I knew she had both breasts removed a few years before but no idea she had become sick again.  Typical of her not to tell people so as not to have them worry about her.  I had moved again and Pam called to tell me. Cathie wrote her own touching obituary which I still can't bring myself to read again.  Her memorial service was for all of her friends to gather at the dog park across the street from the darling house she was so proud of.  She spent a lot of time a the dog park with friends and her beautiful collie dogs, Daisy and Woofie Bubbles.

I will always long for her to pull up in the driveway in some silly car filled with camping gear and most of her belongings. I miss her pulling a brown paper bag out of the trunk and putting on a dress and sandals to wear to dinner looking like a million dollars.  I miss her long letters in the mailbox and all the nights we stayed up talking and laughing. I miss all the nutty things we did whenever we got together.  But She will always be a part of me because of all she taught me and the forty year friendship we had.

  

I have often wondered if I filled my mind with too many memories that most people just toss aside.  Do most forget the bad and only remember the good?  Or do we need the combination of good and bad to learn and grow?

Anyone would remember the day the college acceptance letters came.  There are so many insecure moments in a teenage life that the neatly typed letter with the college seal can suddenly make all the difference in the world. It is the validation that says you really are okay.  It suddenly does not matter if you were popular, handsome, pretty, smarter or could run faster than anyone else because someone somewhere thought you had value.

There were letters that arrived in my mailbox that told me I was okay from every place I applied to. Naturally my parents were pleased but I knew it would not be my choice as to which college was chosen. The choice of Stephens College in Columbia, Missouri was my Mother's pick but the final acceptance was determined by a visit from a College representative. 

One would have thought the President of the United States was coming to visit.  For the three weeks preceding The Visit the already immaculate house was thoroughly cleaned several times.  Shopping trips for just the right items of clothing were frequent. Since my hair had become very blonde my Mother had it dyed back to some supposedly "natural" shade of brown.  The reasoning was that I needed to look more wholesome.  When the final date approached I learned that it was the same night of my Senior Lifesaving Class final test.  It was necessary for me to pass the test in order to get the job I was offered for the summer.   I dashed in the door late in a wet bathing suit, wet hair and clutching all my school clothes and books. 

The gentlemen from Stephens was chatting with my very distraught Mother and smiling Father when I arrived.   What the conversation was about does not stick in my mind since all I could think about was the dress Mother had picked out still hanging in my room.  He smiled and laughed a lot probably thinking about my wet bathing suit making a huge water spot on the upholstered chair.  At the end of the interview he did announce that he was pleased to let us know I would be an incoming freshman at Stephens College. Much later I learned that from the home interviews he matched up roommates.

As I spent the summer delivering newspaper at dawn and basking in the sun all day as the only lifeguard at the public country club swimming pool Mother was gleaning over the school handbook, With The Ivy.  It was filled with all the rules and regulations she applauded.   I only liked the pictures of the huge ivy covered buildings on the tree covered campus. She shopped for dorm room decorations and clothes for me.  I tried to match the clothes she bought to my stacks of Seventeen magazines and wondered  what style book she was looking at.

Finally the departure day arrived.  Stephens had made plane reservations for all the incoming freshmen.  I was to fly from Tulsa to Kansas City to meet up with all the girls from the western part of the country.  On the same day planes landed in St.Louis with all the girls from the east.  Chartered buses met us and we were off to Columbia.  I had never flown before, I was going off to college, I had luggage for the first time in my life all of which should have been exciting.  I was only terrified.  Landing in Kansas City I was put into a huge group of girls giggling and laughing.   It seemed like they were all dressed in the Seventeen magazine outfits with blonde hair.  

Standing in the vast airport terminal in a horrible brown dress the same color as the tan I acquired and the dyed to match hair I wanted to hide in some corner and have a good cry.  Too bad the zombie movies were not popular at the time.  I would have instantly been cast for a part on the spot. The worst was not over yet.

No one told me that upon arrival in Columbia on the bus we would be greeted by what seemed to be hundreds of boys.  The University of Missouri was only a few blocks from Stephens.  It was an annual tradition for them boys to meet the buses to check out the new crop of Stephens Suzy's, as we were called.

As I shuffled, yes shuffled because by this time my feet would not bend in those shoes.  I could only slide them along the pavement or pick them up and put them down flat much like a horse tromping down the street, I wondered if the horrors of the day were over. No such luck.  Getting to my dorm room on the fourth floor I had to pass through more giggling girls finding out where each other was from. I heard New York City, Los Angeles, Hawaii and on an on. How could I tell anyone I was from Muskogee, Oklahoma of all places?  The real bright spot of the day, as I look back, was that stupid song about my hometown was yet to be recorded.

The dorm room was stacked with boxes shipped ahead of time. Girls from next door and across the hall popped in an out.  Introductions with names and hometowns whirled around me a in constant blur. It seemed like hours passed as I sort of hid in that room wondering what to do.  Where could my roommate be?  She had to have arrived in Columbia the same time I did or maybe she wasn't coming.  Maybe I could just hide in that room all by myself.

All of a sudden this girl walks in the room with the biggest blue eyes I have ever seen and beautiful blonde hair. She said "Hi, I'm Cathie. You have to be my roomie!"

  For the next forty years she would constantly remind me that my mouth flew open when I saw her.  Every insecurity I ever had cut thru me like a knife that moment I met her.  She filled a room with her presence, she never met a stranger, she was always late for everything, there was not rule she wouldn't break.

Needless to say it was a very rocky start for me to even like her.  But laughter slowly begin to fill the entire dorm. Our room was always filled with girls and our days filled with crazy antics.  Over the course of the next forty years she would pop up on my doorstep, fill my mailbox with crazy letters and slowly taught me to be my own person.

My Mother Really Didn't Like Me

Wow! That is some statement and not one I could really admit to for most of my life. After last weeks story of me appearing to be the happiest person in the world I should perhaps explain that it was not a life without disappointment and conflicts.  Somehow I learned some pretty good coping skills and a great sense of humor about life in general.  It took me a long time to realize that you can't make someone like or love you no matter how hard you try. 

I could write a book about my Mother and Father.  When my brother Paul, two years older than I and my brother Kenny, two years younger than me were little we had a pretty wonderful childhood by any standard.  I remember great birthday parties and Mom was always involved in school activities like PTA, Boy Scouts and Girl Scouts. Perhaps a bit like a "June Clever" in that until I was about eight or nine she was a stay at home Mom.  The house was always immaculate and there were wonderful things coming out of the oven.

When she went to work, even in the summer, there were no baby sitters. If Dad was at work we were not allowed to go out the front door but we could play in the backyard.  All three of us had chores to do, books to read and games to play with. We knew if we did anything wrong the little bird outside would tell her and we'd be in trouble. We learned to be self-reliant, how to entertain ourselves and how to protect each other in the event we did goof-up and do something wrong. Trust me, the house was still always immaculate and I learned to cook so nothing changed with her working.

There were piano lessons for Kenny and I, Boy Scout and Girl Scout camps in the summer and dancing lessons for me. Dad loved holidays so Christmas, Valentines Day, Easter and the Fourth of July were big events.  He often came home with beautifully wrapped presents for Mother for no special occasion. I always assumed they were just because he liked to shop for her.  In years to come the question as to why all the presents came to mind many times.  I never asked why.

The neighborhood we lived in was a terrific place to grow up in.  Every house had children so there was never a lack of things to do or kids to play with. When Mom or Dad were home we could race up and down the street on our bikes in the summer or sleds in the winter.  Nothing was better than playing cowboys or army, climbing trees or daring each other to jump off of a roof. Not many girls close by so I learned to hold my own with the boys. 

Their were lots of dolls in my room and a closet full of dresses with bows and frills.  Much to my Mother's dismay the dresses always had hems torn out or dirt ground in that wouldn't come out.  Baseball at school recess resulted in skinned knees for years.  Growing up with two brothers was great fun for me but Mother did not like the tom-boy daughter. Being a good student in school ended up being my only salvation.

My teenage years were a real challenge. It all really started when I was elected cheerleader the summer before the ninth grade.  Now there are not too many girls, even tom-boys, who do not want to be a cheerleader. Seem to remember her telling me that under no circumstances did she want me to try out and how stupid she thought it all was.  Since it was, at that time, the most important thing in the world I sort of disobeyed.  Knowing how upset she was going to be it took me days to tell her.  Yes, it was as bad as I expected. Dad came to my rescue and I got to go to cheerleader camp, practice like crazy all summer and make it to all the games. Not without a price.  She never spoke to me about being a cheerleader and never came to a game.

Naturally I loved school.  Could not wait to get there everyday and developed a real dislike for summer. Rules were strict when I started dating.  If I went to a seven o'clock movie I should be home by nine-fifteen.  No reason to go to the local hangout for a coke when you can have one at the movie.  If something happened and I was going to be late all I needed to do was to call. I tried that once and was in more trouble so I was just always late. Punishment was she did not speak to me for a day or a week just depending on how mad she was. It was pretty quiet around our house as she usually wasn't speaking to me, my big brother or my Dad.

Since I was not allowed to go to slumber parties or just go hang out at another girl's house I did not have many really close girl friends. Our house became a haven for every hot rod in town since both brothers hid in the garage working on cars all the time. I found it fun to learn about pistons, rods and slicks plus I learned how to be friends with boys.  Needless to say it was a definite no when I wanted to learn to play the drums, drive in the powder puff derby at the stock car races or get a motorcycle. I did get a car since neither parent ever allowed us to drive theirs. A bright red 1954 Chevy convertible appeared in the driveway on my sixteenth birthday. I had a newspaper route to pay for gas but the car stuck out like a sore thumb so Mom always knew where I was.

Actually I was a pretty good kid.  I tried hard to stay out of trouble, dated really nice boys, did not drink or smoke and had really good grades in school. Loved speech and debate and got a singing dancing part in the school musical.  Very much into folk music and reasonable at playing the guitar. She didn't come to anything. I learned what my boundaries were and tried  to fend off the "silent treatment".

When it came time to apply for college I wanted to go where everyone else was going.  I applied to Oklahoma University, Oklahoma State University and Arkansas.  Mother made me apply to Smith, Vassar and Stephens Colleges. When I was accepted at all six places I think I knew I was not going to have a choice.  The Mother chose Stephens College in Columbia, Missouri.  It was an all girls college with pretty strict rules even in those days and closer than the ones on the east coast. Dad tried to bribe me to not go with a corvette or a '53 MGTD but at that point away from home was all I wanted, the further the better, even if it meant I would be stuck with girls that I knew I had nothing in common with.

You are going to have to check out the story next week on how a roomate and a bunch of other girls set me on a path, though a lengthy one, that changed my life.

Having Lots Of Birthdays Could Be So Much Fun

Having lots of birthdays does and should not mean you are getting old.  The term "old"  does not have a place in my vocabulary.  Once you add that word into your conversations or into your thought process then you are indeed old.

For most people turning thirty is a big deal.  On my thirtieth birthday a dear friend who was in her seventies took me to lunch and told me I would have more fun in my thirties than at any other time in my life.  I did have a great time chasing around with two active little boys, going back to college, running a small home based business and campaigning a race car with my "then" husband. Throw in a move to Kansas City, then a move to New Jersey with the opportunity to meet new people and see new places made age thirty a lot of fun.

My fortieth birthday came and although I wasn't supposed to have as much fun....I did.  There was a move to Detroit which was a fabulous place to live. Still chasing two active boys around, taking them on great adventures and watching them grow into great little human beings.  There were school activities, rock and roll bands that blasted through the house till all hours of the night and seeing them go through all the beginnings of noticing girls. There was a divorce with a new found freedom and a high school reunion with all my childhood friends who had not changed a bit. Friends said I would be lost when the boys left home. No, not exactly.  I think I told the youngest that I was going to saw his room off the house.  The older boy was drag racing and I went into the racing uniform business and spent my weekends at drag strips around the country.

Fifty was more awesome.  That is when Marshell, the "now" husband popped into my life and a move to Dallas.  We had too much stuff to fit in a house so we leased an old gas station and renovated to into our house.  Lots of room for my design business, all the furniture and cars.  For my fifty-sixth birthday I got a set of vintage Ludwig drums and for my fifty-seventh birthday I got a fifty-seven pink Cadillac.  Both boys found wives that are pretty close to perfect. Marshell retired and we found an old bank in Oklahoma that with eight years of work has turned into a comfortable place to live.

In my sixties and pretty well everyday is fun.  Banjo lessons, roller skating, some travelling, working on the car collection and just having fun with Marshell keeps me young. There are not enough hours in the day or days in the week.  I can honestly say that there is nothing I could do at twenty that I can't do now......well......maybe not the having babies bit.

Get rid of the idea that age has anything to do with not living a great life.  Take the word "old" out of your vocabulary!  You are not "over the hill" at forty instead you are on top of the hill ready to spread your wings and fly.
Throw out all the catch phrases like geezer and old-fart syndrome.  Using them puts you in that category.  Growing up and coming of age in the era of great rock and roll, cool vintage cars, dancing all night and then looking for the next adventure I intend to make all the rest of my decades a heck of a lot of fun.