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Wednesday, August 19, 2009


"Doug is just like Poppa. He even has Poppa's sweet little smile..." That's what I thought to myself early this morning. I thought about the most important men in my life and they have shared some really startling qualities, given that they're all from parts rural - either in Texas or Iowa. Poppa grew up in Paris, Texas on a farm growing cotton and sorghum. That sorghum was used to make syrup (and TJ Blackburn syrup is still made in Jefferson, Texas; that was one of his cousins, I believe). Daddy grew up in Temple, Texas and my grandaddy coached football and was a school teacher. Both my poppa and my daddy read poetry. My poppa was an artist and a poet himself. He had a beautiful singing voice and sang on the radio in Dallas with his brother and two other men in a quartet. My father could quote all the great poets and knew all of Shakespeare's sonnets. He sang beautifully and loved opera. How do men who grow up in Paris and Temple love these things? We never listened to country music in my home growing up in San Antonio. We listened to classical music and opera. We listened to Perry Como. But we never listened to country music. I don't remember either of my parents ever reading a trash novel. The book I can picture in our bookcase at home is Jude the Obscure.
Doug grew up on a farm in southwest Iowa. He loved poetry and playwrights and is gentle and sweet like my poppa. Doug is the first person in his family to go to college, and then he went on to graduate school, where I met him. I don't know why it never occurred to me before, how much like my poppa he is, his sweetness and his gentleness. I am sure I went looking for that. Children react to Doug just exactly like they did to my poppa - like moths to flame.

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

why is everyone a whisperer?

Is it just me or is there too much whispering going on? Why is it just because you say you whisper to a horse, dog, ghost, child, mentally disturbed person somehow you are the great communicator? I have always been more of a yeller myself.