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.

I don't have Bad Hair Days, I have had a Bad Hair Life!

T here is no way to explain it other than I was born with horrible hair. Naturally I never told my Mother it was her fault. Have a feeling it may have been Dad's fault too but I never could tell since he was forty-six when I was born.  He had long since turned from a blond to having thinning gray hair.  The bad hair gene must have worked overtime in me.

Thousands of hairstylists, barbers and quacks have all remarked at what baby fine, silky hair I have.  I guess they had to say something nice when they were actually thinking, "Oh My God, what am I going to do with this?"  One person with scissors in hand told me that it actually takes five or six haircuts before a stylist could know how to cut your hair according to how it grows and lays.  Swell - a haircut a month for six months and I might be able to go out in public.

As a small child I wanted to look like Annie Oakley in the Saturday morning TV westerns or Princess Summer Fall Winter Spring in Howdy Dowdy with beautiful thick braids.  My Mother had other ideas........

It Would Happen Again And Again

     Once upon a time in a nice town there was a little girl.  She lived in a small but very neat house thanks to her Mother, known as Mrs. Clean, and her Father the Dapper Pharmacist. She had one older brother and one younger brother but no pets.
     There had been a collie dog named Lassie, of course, but she must have been too much trouble for Mrs. Clean. Children are usually not very good at taking care of pets so Lassie went to live on a farm where she could have lots of room to run and make huge messes of some kind or another. It was not much fun for the little girl after Lassie left.
     One day while walking home from first grade a cat started following her. It was a pretty cat, sort of  gray with a white face and white feet. Of course a few pats on the head got the cat to follow her all the way home. There was no way to hide a cat so she had to face her Mother who was less than enthusiastic about the cat. Somehow the cat, named Mittens got to stay. 

     Whoa, wait a minute.  That sounds like a fairy tale and all lived happily ever after.  That is not the way that life usually goes.  The little girl went out one morning a few weeks after the arrival of Mittens to find that she had died.  To a six year old that was the end of the world. Mother was consoling but probably relieved. Dad was so concerned about his only little girl that a few days later he had a man drop off another cat for her. (There was no way he would have ever allowed a cat in his car.) So started my lifetime of living with cats. 

     Boots was the new arrival, a female naturally, and over the course of the next couple of years there were litters of kittens. Homes were found for the new arrivals except for one, my brother's cat, Champ.  They stayed around until we moved.  Since cats were not allowed in the house they disappeared the day we moved them.

     Throughout the course of my first twenty year marriage there were many cats and a few dogs. Cats became elevated to living in my house although they all came and went as they pleased. In people language, all cat were free range. Every cat had it's own personality and there are some very funny stories.

     When Wes, my first son, was born we had a Siamese that participated in the care of the new baby.  Cherokee slept in the baby bed with Wes and was always right next to him when he was up.  If I did not jump out of bed in the middle of the night when Wes cried, Cherokee was in my face making sure I got up. Don't believe those stories about cats smothering babies. That cat took care of Wes.

     Cherokee passed away and his replacement was a cat we named Woody. At that time we were out of town a lot on weekends and we would put food out on the porch for Woody.  When we came home he was always sitting on the porch waiting for us.  The move from Texas to Kansas City was hectic getting the moving van loaded.  When it left we left at just about the same time.  I think we got about thirty-five miles from the old house when the boys asked "Where's Woody?"  No need to answer that.  Just turn the car around and head back.  There he was, sitting on the porch. Someone was not to happy about the extra seventy miles to fetch the cat and it wasn't me.

     When the boys were small if a cat disappeared and could not be found they started begging for a new one. I can remember driving fifty miles to a pet store one time to get a new kitten and going to a pound one other time to locate one.  That time the boys picked out the kitten that was hanging by all four paws from the top of the cage.  That was Sylvester who was one of our more legendary cats.  There was French Fry who was the great hunter of squirrels and chipmunks.  Never step out the door without looking or you might step on the latest trophy placed there by the cat. Stimpy arrived stuffed in Wes's sweatshirt.  It was my birthday and he had no money to buy me a present.  What luck they were giving away free kittens at the Wal-Mart. There were sick kittens both Wes and Wally found and brought home to Mom to take care of.  Over the course of sixty years there were many cats but in thinking back I remember everyone of of them.  Scary.

     Along came Marshell who was not used to animals in the house much less sleeping on the bed. Two cats, two dogs and I came as a packaged deal. Our move into the gas station in Irving complicated matters.  There are always lots of homeless cats in a downtown.  I am afraid to count how many I fed and how many litters of kittens I gave away.  They all stayed outside since they were basically wild but I still had a couple of cats inside.

     One day a van pulled up in the drive and dumped a little tiny gray kitten in the parking lot. It just stood in one spot and howled. I attempted to put it out with the stray cats but within a week, Fuzzy, had moved into the building. He spent all thirteen years of his life being the king of cats.  He loved sleeping outside on the pavement so he could greet passing skunks and possums that roam downtown at night. They would touch noises, sniff some and then move on.  He also liked to go out and roll in the middle of the street and make the traffic stop. Every time a new cat or dog became a member of the family Fuzzy would give a sigh and a bored stare as if to say "not another one". He passed away in my arms on the way to the vet about a month ago. Everyone downtown misses him and I made the decision not to acquire any more cats.

      I still have three.  Buddy was a starving tiny kitten when she followed our black dog home seven years ago.  Marshell built her a house out of wood so she could live on the porch. Winter came - she moved in.  Five years ago I was feeding cats behind the diner and a kitten got her leg and tail chopped off in a car motor.  She had to be rescued and after several trips to the vet became Little Cat who refuses to go outside. Two years ago a little yellow and white kitten was under a car across the street howling. I actually tried to feed him but he ran away.  Great!  Well....not so fast. The next morning it was on the porch eyes almost matted shut and a respiratory infection.  It took me two weeks to get him to let me pet him.  Big mistake as he then had to be taken to the vet and nursed back to health. Spencer has more hair than Dolly Parton which he places all over the house and he weighs about fifteen pounds. He also refuses to go outside for fear I will not open the door to let him back in.
Enough cats!

     Here I guess I have to make another confession. Perhaps it should be omitted so I do not sound like a complete nut case.  There is a house up the hill about a block away.  The owner has moved to New Mexico and only comes home a couple times a year. Three years ago I saw the mother of my Little Cat carrying kittens up there. Do I need to finish the story or can you guess what happened. 

    No cat should die on an empty stomach. That cat, Belle, let me tame the kittens and find homes for them. She even let me take her to the vet to be spayed and returned to the yard to live out her life. Other cats have moved in and twice a day, rain, sleet or snow they have food and water. I have stopped naming them and none are tame enough to pet.  They are not my cats - I have enough cats!

     Famous last words. One night about two weeks ago a cat was crying across the street.  It was a little kitten about twelve weeks old. It did not want to come to me but - mistake number one - I put food out for it.  No stray cat should die on an empty stomach.  The next morning it was sitting by the door ready for more food and for attention.  It had one eye that was in really bad shape and it was sneezing.  Over the weekend it was on the porch whenever we went out.  This was NOT my cat  I explained to the Vet on Monday.  She said she would not take it, I said I was not going to spend money on it. Did she actually think I could just dump it somewhere?  The standoff ensued.  Finally my resolve melted and we came up with a reasonable cost. The cat came home with medicine.

     We left on Thursday for six days.  The best friend anyone could ever have came everyday to feed the cats.  I figured the cat would move on while we were gone and I would have done my best.  Wrong. The cat, now named Muffin, was sitting on the porch. Muffin now has a plastic storage box for a home on the porch and eats a combination of dry cat food and boiled chicken. Now what cat would go look for another home?

     I cannot say Muffin is a pretty cat.  I think she may be blind in one eye but she is one source of constant laughter.  She loves to attack Lucky the dog, chase bits of paper blowing in the wind and anything else that moves.  She follows Marshell around outside and gets in between his feet so it is hard to walk. Unlike the other cats who chose different places in the gravel parking lot at the side of the building for a sandbox Muffin uses one spot. That spot becomes a "poop mountain". At least business people parking their cars can easily avoid stepping in it.  She may disappear tomorrow or stay forever.

     What started when I was six years old hasn't stopped. There were times when I was told I couldn't have any more cats but one has always appeared that needed help or just a home. Marshell has thought many times we should just put the Vet on a monthly retainer. May as well just give up and keep enjoying each one of them. Perhaps all the cats are living happily ever after.

     

     

     

The Renovation of a CBank Building Into A Home Should Be Interesting

Well, I can honestly say that the renovation was interesting to say the least.  It was also fun, exciting and very rewarding.

The actual "working " time to complete the downstairs was three years but it probably could have been done in a year or so with less interruptions and other activities.  The important thing in doing a project of this scale is to take your time and do the very best job you can do.  Work at a pace where you continue to love what you are doing.

So, now for the pictures of the finished downstairs starting with a couple I have from the previous owners.  They purchased the building for $33,000 in 1996.  Notice that the windows had all been replaced with cinder blocks, walls covered in dry wall and a dropped ceiling was probably added during the time the bank had it.  They replaced the windows and repaired the leaky roof. It was evident from the amount owed on the building that they borrowed renovation costs to fund the work.

Our demolition took it back to the original walls and floor plan.  The powder room was reconstruction in the same location only twice as large and the kitchen was counter was placed in a similar location to the original bank teller counter.

The stove is a 1932 Chambers and was for sale in the building when we bought it.  Since I had one in another house years before, we got them to put it in the contract.  They are the best stoves ever built with a deep well (slow cooker) and grill plus they cook on retained heat.  The gold refrigerator is a late 1950's G.E. that hangs on the wall as an upper cabinet in a conventional kitchen. The island in front of the refrigerator is a solid maple butcher block table that once served as a workbench.  The holes are still there in case we ever needed to reattach the vise. The purple refrigerator is a 1952 Kelvinator  that was given to us. Someone had painted it with a green fake rock paint so I figured why not repaint it.  Why not purple?

Pictured below is the original vault with 24 inch thick walls that was turned into our pantry plus pots and pans storage.  What fun is it not to have to dig in the cupboards for pots and pans.  The vault can also be used as a safe room in case of a tornado. 

I looking at the pictures you may notice that there is nothing new in our home.  We have had great fun in repainting, recovering or refinishing old pieces to live with. Each piece has its funny stories and lots of work put into it which makes them all special. I do a lot of catering out of this kitchen, even with the old appliances, have had as many as fifty people here for a buffet dinner and there are always people that stop by thinking we are a restaurant.

Can't close the story of the building without a picture of the garage. Even though we lease it from the local Mason's we have fixed it up to fit us.  It has been a godsend with a laundry room, wood shop, workroom (with cable TV) and a place for three cars.

This renovation is something anyone can do and I hope some of you will get inspired to help save some of the old wonderful buildings that are vacant and need a lot of TLC.  We didn't start this project with all the skills it took to finish it but learned them along the way.  

We purchased the building for $85,000.  Comparable prices in the Dallas/Ft.Worth/Denton area started at $400,000 with many more permits and fees. With all the work done on the building and by doing all of it ourselves we have put $35,000 to $40,000 into it. That includes the leveling, two new heat and air units, two bathrooms and a kitchen. We have ended up with a home we love to live in with lots of space to work and play.

Hope you have enjoyed the story as much as I have enjoyed letting you see our home.  We are always open for tours if you are driving down I-35 or good old Hwy 77.