We all had those people in classes other than ours that we knew or knew from afar which was pretty cool to know upperclassmen.

Because of the split up my SR year it is always nice to be with RRHS folks, which my class has been doing ever since having one night with them our 10 year reunion.  every year since it is now a combined Warrior Dragon event, as it should be when you go to school with people most of the middle school and high school years.

And like my 20 year reunion my long time friend Maureen came in from DC and we roomed together which is awesome because then you have someone other than a spouse or significant other who A. didn’t go to your school most likely, B. doesn’t know a lot of the people and C. therefore doesn’t care nearly as much about who used to date who and is now cozied up in a corner because their spouses/significants are not present.  Maureen and I were able to debate the various events, circumstances, and we both know the people or at least could help each other remember someone that we were having trouble with the name and or face.   Both of our spouses are quite a bit older than we are and only too happy to not make the traveling squad having had their share of reunions.  Mine when he heard hers wasn’t coming had his perfect out.

With the magic of Facebook though, coming to the reunion was a bit easier as you got to see what they look like now and because Maureen is forever a brilliant organizer, she asked that in honor of the reunion a few weeks prior, that people post a pic from high school.  Which not only was great fun but was also reallllllyyyy helpful in getting a read on who someone is now.

Also Facebook is great because it is like an electronic Christmas card everyday.  You get to see the kids pictures, here how it is going, about the family’s vacations, the surgeries, the jobs and job changes right there.  By the time the reunion came around you could cut the crappy “so how you doing, what’s new, where are you” exchange and instead say “how’s your mama and ‘em after the the bad weather/surgery/trip” etc.  You get the picture.  And you knew who you really wanted to talk to more about their exciting new adventure, or see how they were after a bad break up because you knew something in more real time.  Facebook has allowed me to “reunite” or just get to know all over again or even better than high school people who weren’t in my circle possibly but I did think were cool.  Or I didn’t have a clue how cool they really were.  Or maybe they weren’t at all but they turned out to be just about the most cool person I know.  It is too much fun really and Facebook is the reunion everyday.

But nothing takes the place of being there in person.  The story you pass around to your friends who are going to have or have been to reunions is true.   Girls usually don’t look their very best at the 10 year reunions, by the 20 though, birthing babies is over in a lot of cases and they have pulled it back together and are just more interesting in so many ways.  The guys usually still look pretty good at the 10 and in many cases finally matured and look even better than they possibly could in high school.  the late bloomers, we all know ‘em.  But at the 20 and beyond, many of the guys have lots of years of sitting, losing hair etc. and they start to look like it has been 20+ years.

I have found though that at the 20year and the ones beyond it, it becomes this time of just damn happy to see anyone really.  We have lost people along the way as happens in all areas of life but somehow when it is your classmates it feels extra sharp because we were YOUNG together.  Their passing is often tragic after 28 years like this most reunion for me.  Feels sadder somehow even if you didn’t know them at all.  You walked the same halls, parked in the same lots, had the same teachers, went to football games, basketball games, Homecoming dances.  It just doesn’t seem right somehow that they are not at the reunion.  Mortality is a screaming bitch at that moment.

What is even better than the traditional Friday casual evening, Saturday family picnic, and Saturday night bit dressier event, are the after parties and pre-parties that we went to which were blasts in so many ways.  One friend couldn’t make the weekend so we got to meet up with her Thursday night and several folks, again through FB magic, turned up for this good time.

Maureen and I will tell you that we basically ran the school at the 9th grade center.  And we are serious when we say this.  We also have a memorable long school night where we made the class favorite banners with the standard high school sashes, stencils, glue and glitter.  Glitter that we would find in so many different places for what seemed like months after.  Maureen made a banner for Most Dependable and it wasn’t quite straight lettering and she said she felt bad for the person who got it, which of course ended up being her.  This is also the year that we became Monica and Polly to Mr. Hughes the principal who could never get our name right and since we did run the school were in admin office all the time.  So we called him Mr.  Huggess.

You all have these memories that are uniquely yours.  31 years later we still call each other Monica and Polly.

Maureen and the delightful JC (who I am not going to name because he might not want that and Maureen, well she knows me so she will have to forgive me if didn’t want her name in my blog!), put together a great DVD of photos from way back and that was a pretty big highlight of the weekend and hope to get my copy soon so I can review the fun memories again.

As mentioned earlier, Westwood is the home of the Warriors and Round Rock is the home of the Dragons.  I was a Dragon longer than a Warrior, especially if you include the RR Middle School Lizards, that grow into Dragons apparently.  As I was maroon and white Dragon girl for some time, I was sporting an all the current rage Silly Bandz dragon bracelet from my daughter’s collection.  I brought another for Maureen which she proudly wore throughout the weekend.

All funny and fun stuff aside, the reunion reminded me of how much I love these people I slogged through algebra and biology with, journalism and yearbook, english classes, Friday night football games and weekends at Lake Travis.  I heard once that who you are as a person is formed early and I have been basically convinced that who you are late middle school and beyond is who you are now, in my case 28 years later.  I am still goofy, I smile a lot and act silly and have a nutty sense of humor.  I still love my long time friends with the same sense of loyalty and become loyal to the new ones too.  I am up for the good time when that includes lots of laughing, talking and music and don’t require a whole evening of alcohol to have fun.  The friends from school and some now on FB from that time remind me of the best parts of me.  Sometimes the not so nice of me that I wish I could fix if I find I hurt someone’s feelings back then.  But for the most part it is positive.  Sorry when I hear it is not for people because I got lucky I am sure.

Facebook is a great re-uniter of friends.  I am now connected with my friends that I didn’t know if I would ever even know where they were from before and during elementary school in a small WTX town to the first girl I knew when we moved to Austin when I was in 5th grade, to the friend of middle school in RR schools, to people we share the common school experience and maybe just knew each other in the halls.  Reunion weekends make me glad that people with that common experience are still around and still like getting together, reminiscing of course but also getting to know about you now as pretty much growed up.  And FB will keep us in touch too so we may not have to wonder where or why old so and so didn’t make it to the reunion as off with kids or even grandkids etc.

I had a blast, stayed up too late all the nights as did Maureen and like small children were exhausted and weepy due to the tired hanging out by Sunday.  Hugging my friend as I dropped her back to the hotel before I embarked on my 6 hour drive home, we just bawled.  We had already discussed the plans of moving back to the area before too old to enjoy it.  We will be running that nursing home eventually, even with walkers.  And it all started years ago as friends in middle school.

You all have them, the memories, the friendships, the shared experiences with a set of people, even if not all of the experiences were good but you have them.  And I hope when you do have a chance at a reunion you will go, to at least one.  Because you never know who will reunite with, like two of our friends who didn’t date in high school and got to visiting at the 10 year and are now married, and there are more stories of happy occurrences (and not all are the hook-up dirty kind of stories, get your mind out of the gutter) along the way.

Monica and Polly rule!

I have long hair envy. I will raise my hand as if in a support group and say “Hi I am Molly and I wish I had long hair to wear in a ponytail”.  I am however blessed with my mother’s straight, fine hair.  Which the longer it gets becomes more fine and then just seems like less hair than I actually have.  Trust me I have tried to have long hair.  I have battled my hairdressers over the years to work with the hair grow-out fun phases.  Ironically, my wishes for long hair coincide with my friends who have ever seen it short telling me just cut it because I can wear it short and it looks good.

So I am back to short and this is where the fun comes in with the general public who apparently just don’t know what they are saying when they open their mouths.

“Wow, your hair is so short.”  (duh) “You really have the face for short hair” (huh?) “Wish I was brave enough to go that short” (but I’m clearly a chicken in most things) “I could never do that, but on you it looks so good!” (I am prettier than you no matter  hair because I don’t say this crap to strangers)  ”Does your husband/boyfriend/spouse really like it like that?”  (maybe he just lies to me I dunno)

If I could wear long hair I so would.  I would be a lazy long hair person and put it in a ponytail and ball cap as often as possible.  So I am lucky that I can wear it short and I do get compliments, lots of them actually, and some not even backhanded.  My spouse met me with short hair so I guess he liked it enough to ask me out again and marry me.  I get “striking” a lot which is pretty cool. And I think I could take that in several ways but going to go with the positive.

Most men I have ever come across have a preference for long hair on woman.  I am not sure why this is exactly but I am going to guess it has something to do with insecurity in their masculinity.  I mean it could be they truly prefer long hair but I have often thought it has to do with something inside them that is afraid it will mean they like boys?  I don’t know if that is really true of course but some men truly seem to have a strong aversion to short hair and I have to go with it is threatening in some bizarre inexplicable way.  But the men who like women with short hair are big on my list of really cool guys.  They have their s*&t together in my book.

I envy long hair, I said that already.  But I don’t hate the women who can wear it and look great.  I am prone to compliment them, too in a truly genuine sincere way.  There are woman who really should cut their hair.  I mean really should cut it OFF.  they might have beautiful faces but how would you know?

Women with short hair that can really own it are sassy.  Some are incredibly sexy and alluring.  Maybe that is why men are threatened, because of the confidence it takes to go short and own it.  You can much better see the fine features of a woman’s face with short hair.  In my case, long hair seemed to pull down my face and I am getting older not younger so I don’t need that kind of help, thanks so much.

So I will probably continue with some variation of short for a long time.  Consider Halle Berry, Annette Bening, Sharon Stone (I wish she would go back to the short already).  Beautiful sexy women with short hair rocking.  I know there are more but they come immediately to mind.  And Annette got Warren Beatty who was a serious player.  she did it with short hair and they have four kids now.

But if you see me please save your self the trouble and don’t say “Oh I would never be brave enough to do that”.  Because you are right, you aren’t if you are going to say something like that.

I am totally cool with crosses as wall decor.  a friend has an entry hall wall with many crosses, all different styles and it is lovely.  But a shirt that you can throw into the hamper?  Or that will sit in your closet and then you will go through it later , sorting through clothes you don’t wear anymore and come across that cross shirt that was last year’s fashion.  doesn’t seem right to me.  Not reverent enough I guess.

this all occurred to me while waiting at the airport on a flight.  A rather large woman in a long skirt had on flip flops that had a cross in large clear looking “stones” or fake jewels.  And lots of bejeweled other stuff on, way to much bling, what is she covering for or needing to scream out and call attention to?  Really, a flip flop with a cross on the top of the foot.  That was a new one for me.  Again I don’t get it.  I am not a particularly religious person.  spiritual yes but not religious so I am not Polly Pious going all Jesus freaky on this.

I have this same sense of something is “not right” when i go into a church that is one of these multi-use buildings that the boom of mega non-denominational churches brought into the world.  I like pews that are rooted to the floor.  I don’t like a church service in a room that we can move out the chairs or push them into the wall and play basketball ten minutes later.  Somehow I don’t think God would be cool with basketball in the house or the living room. My mom didn’t let us bounce a ball in the house and she is not a holy man.  She is pretty religious though.   God and Jesus for me seem to require a much larger respect, reverence than multi-purpose rooms and silk screened shirts and flip-flops.  Even if i was not a believer and I am not sure I believe in a lot of things but choose to respect others’ rights to believe and to be respectful in the honoring of a religious symbol or deity. If I believed that the flip flop wearing woman was devout somehow it might make it better. Might.  and she may be quite the church lady but I am just not seeing it with cross adorned feet.

I have a lovely red rosary.  I am not Catholic.  The owner of this rosary was and he was a friend who died much too early in my opinion and those that loved him.  At an estate sale at his home after his death, there were several rosary beads there for sale.  As red is my color I had to have this religious artifact that belonged to this person I loved.  I have it in a place where I see it almost everyday and I can think of him and smile.  I know that the cross on it meant something to him.  Like when a nun or priest have their rosaries, it is not for fashion.  I could wear this rosary or carry it but it would not be a fashion statement or accessory.  It would be pregnant with meaning.  I don’t believe Jesus or a cross or God should be taken on and off.  They are with you or they are not.  That doesn’t mean you or I follow the letter of God’s law everyday perfectly but it does mean you know what the cross MEANS.

I wear a simple silver cross from James Avery and a small silver disc that is a mandarin symbol of long life that I got at the Metropolitan Museum of Art gift shop in NYC.  I wear them together on a silver chain and rarely take them off.  I don’t wear it for fashion or to accessorize an outfit.  it is not a statement.  it is personal. Jesus, Buddha, God, Allah whatever the belief and I can respect whatever it is for anyone else but please do not silkscreen it on a tote bag or wear on your shoes because I am just not going to believe that it is anything more than a fashion flavor of the day.  And sometime you are going to put it in a garage sale or give to a charity clothing bin where yesterdays “fashion” for crosses will be on random people who just needed a shirt.

I wish I was more the that parent, who looks up and it is here, instead of being painfully aware that it was a blink they had the first day of kindergarten, then finished elementary school and headed into middle school.  This year saw the most change physically in my son, already 6′ 5″ at 14!  He leaned up, his face is thinned out, broken out, eyebrows fuller, hair on his legs more visible.  he is a GUY not a boy. and I swear it happened between September and now this past school year.

My daughter started to look older somewhat the previous year but still she has grown an inch we discovered in about a year and if the doctor is right she will have a  bit more growing to do.  She hopes so for sure for her basketball goals, no pun intended.

This trip to CA though had its first teen “WOW”moment at the airport, boarding the plane for the first let of the trip.  I got on, the kids were in a later boarding group.  My daughter flies more often with me so we are used to this drill, I get on, get us seats and she finds me.  This time I saved a row of three on SWA and then on they came.  My daughter got in the row to take the window but my son said he was going on to the back of the plane, not sitting with us because, as he stated, he was going to fly independent.

again, wow, and a kind of punch. I will admit to my feelings being a bit hurt.  My daughter just rolled her eyes at him and figured he was just being typical pain in the butt brother.  But for me I knew.  I knew it was that stretching that kids do as they transition to the next level.  That level independence they seek, even on the same plane, just that little exercising of a sense of being capable of taking care of themselves in a setting.

I still get the hugs at night and the “I love yous” from both my children. I have been extremely clear that as THE MOM in this house, I have the prerogative to get hugs on demand and say and receive back I love you in the most public of places.  I reserve the right to yell, “Make good choices!” “You can be the best!” in any school lot no matter who is around.  And yell I love you in same setting.  I get those and they get to get over it because I am the MOM.

I get that there will be more and more of these moments, big and small of asserting independence, individuality, testing the water, even it is just sitting at the back of the plane.  But does it make it any easier?   no, not easier but I recognize the moments for what they are, and I recognize that they are necessary and normal.  And the reality is that I have been doing my job correctly as a parent, that my children develop and transition as they are supposed to do.

My son did want to sit toward the back again on the next leg but as I had to wait for him to get off on the first stop until the very end. I told him not this segment of the trip as we were going to get to our final destination and needed to get on to baggage etc.  He sat with us and did just fine of course.  And I know that we have ways to go before we reach the final destination on this transition path.  But like all trips there will be adjustments, uncomfortable moments, hurt feelings and misunderstandings.  As with all good trips though, it is all about the journey isn’t it? Not just the destination.

Going to keep my travel bag handy, prepared for the journey.

Nothing as dramatic as a Christian and a Jew etc.  More a churchgoer vs a non-goer.  Mom the churchy one, Dad, um, not so much.  you can read more about my  mom aka Pollyanna in other blogs on my site.

My mother settled into the First Christian Church of Pecos TX in 1962 as a newlywed.  My father had grown up in First Methodist but as a less than regular attendee she did what she want and how she was raised in the Christian Chuch, Disciples of Christ,  This always presented a bit of confusion in explanation for me as a kid when someone asked “what are you” churchwise.  you know, baptist, methodist, presbyterian, catholic etc.  I would answer Christian and would get well yea me too, no what church group.  Not Church of Christ people.  The Christian Church.  So the answer would always be some flimsy, “you know the Christian church, like First Christian downtown”.

Anyway, my dad does not go.  We were that Norman Rockwell picture of the prim mother with hat and glove and children dressed just so following behind like ducklings passing behind dad in his chair and pajamas with the newspapers.  that would be the Collie house on Sunday.  I am not sure they had much of a discussion.  She said she was going he said he wasn’t and that was that.  We would be going regardless.

This goes to the problem of a not unified parental front on an issue.  When we got older it was like well why do we have to go if Daddy doesn’t?  there is no good answer and your mother will just be irritated by the question because for her he should be going.  Instead she is doing her best to pray for his mortal soul that is sitting at home reading the paper.

My dad’s reasons for not going have root in that his mother was the daughter of a Methodist minister and she didn’t miss church.  Ever.  The doors are open the preacher’s family is there. Period.  When she grew up and married my grandfather I think they went to the Methodist church but apparently my grandfather was the only electrician for all of West Texas, like the nation of.  To El Paso and all points in between.  So he did work on Sundays some.  There came a point that my grandmother chose not to go, but my dad, she took him up to the church and dropped him off.  He had to she didn’t and guess what?  he resented it and did the same damn thing when he got old enough to make a choice.

There isn’t an option with my mother.  If you can’t go to church that day you can’t do anything else that day.  Lucky for us she didn’t push Sunday nights and Wednesdays at church, too.  (Listen to me, lucky for us she wasn’t pushing more church, now really isn’t that sad in some way? maybe could have used more churching….naa)

When we moved to Austin in 1974 when I was in the middle of 5th grade, first order of business was visiting churches all over Austin to find the right one.  We started with Christian churches, but Austin in the 70s was definitely a hotbed of non-denominational churches, the precursors to the mega churches we all enjoy today.  My personal favorite was the one that until they had a permanent building used the imported luxury car showroom of a dealership.  Yes, Mercedes were the reflected stain glass of this particular church which is now Grace Covenant and does have a building these years later, for those Austinites reading.  Always thought it was quite an interesting juxtaposition of preaching among luxury cars.

After many unsatisfactory attempts by mother to find THE church home for our continued quest in eternal salvation, she settled on another non-denominational church, also without a permanent home.  However, this location’s weekly use was a child care center called Rabbit Hill.  I don’t think I have to say this but my dad didn’t do the visiting with us to find THE church.

I have always called this church with my brothers, “The Color Cat Church”.  In the large room used for a sanctuary and main church services, there are these color cats.  cut out cats to teach children colors.  There is a yellow cat and a blue cat with a green one in the middle.  Get it?  yellow and blue make green.  these were all over.  Welcome to my-colored-cat-stained-wall-instead-of-glass church world.

I’m sorry but there is something about church that is supposed to be stained glass and pew for me.  I’m sure it has to do with the fact that my first church was just that.  Baptismal font for the dunking up behind the preacher sort of a mysterious tall tank (we are dunkers, not sprinklers in Disciples of Christ, and furthermore we are debts and debtors in the Lord’s Prayer, none of this trespasses/trespassers business which always sounds like we are letting them off the hook too easily).

My brothers were baptized in the swimming pool behind the center where they teach little kids to swim.  I am sorry this just isn’t right.  Although I am pretty sure my dad showed up for that.

Daddy did show up sometimes under duress and christian threat of death for holiday services or if we were doing something, like the baptism.

The only time I remember getting out of church in Austin was when my dad made the executive decision to take the boat to Lake Travis that day.  Thankfully my mother deferred and wasn’t an ironclad churchgoer so we got a reprieve.

So here is a question, what is the best way to impart a sense of religion to children.  My brothers and I take our families to varying degrees of church life and membership.  We all have or do have what we consider church homes, whether we are involved or only on holidays attendees.  Which I guess is more than my dad was with us, we all do it as families.  So I guess my mother got something she wanted out of it for us.  My dad has gone more for my mother on occasion.  there was a flurry of attending activity on his part after I nearly died drowning in the shower (another story for another time).  Not sure if it was one of those hastily promises to God we make in a crisis like if I was ok he would show up for awhile or just an impulsive maybe there is a “God” kind of moment for him.

I do know that unlike religious wars all over the world the religious divide with my parents never led to harsh words or yelling.  (There was muttering under breaths of my brothers and I walking out the door sometimes) No swords drawn, no bloody skirmishes, death count still stands at 0.

They agreed to disagree on his attendance.  She didn’t like it I am sure but tolerated it.  I am sure he would have liked to do something on nights when she has choir practice.  They live in the same house or share the same plot of land but do so in some kind of religious tolerance and harmony.  She has grave concerns for Mormons (it is a cult) and various other groups.  Strong opinions of where they might end up. But she has yet to use suicide bombers to get her point across.  My dad would like to just be left alone on this.  Suicide bombers, mormons on bicycles, etc are not going to make a point with him.

The religious zealots of all sides could take a lesson from my childhood home.  These are pick your battles kind of issues.  My biggest “religious” wish for anyone is that each of us have a faith to anchor us.  We did get that.  We will pray for you and go on our way, and hope you do the same.

As first born to be of Charolette and Bill Collie in Pecos TX, I was originally supposed to arrive on March 1, 1964.  My mother now likes to say that Dr. Hay, really the only GP in town and who did it all back then, had the dates wrong and I was really due on my actual arrival of March 31.  My dad supposedly wanted to have 6 children.  He is abou 11 years older than his younger brother and felt like an only child. His father died before my parents even met.  His mother lived in town as did his paternal grandparents, and maternal grandmother, so this pregnancy was quite heralded.

My dad I think was hoping or thinking of a boy.  My mother kept telling him she just knew it was a girl.  He is quite obstinate when he wishes and really flat refused to come up with girl’s names.  My mother was becoming quite pregnancy hormone challenged and this was upsetting.  (Apparently she and another pregnant friend consoled one another over banana splits almost daily at the Rexall drug soda fountain counter and I swear this is why I can’t tolerate bananas to this day).

A week or so before I was born my mother was insistent they come up with a girl’s name.  My dad relented with the comment that maybe I would be a girl as only a girl would be this (a month) late.  My dad knew one little girl and her name was Molly.  By this point I think my mother would have settled on “Williamena” after my dad just to have one.  She was fine with Molly and came up with Alline as my middle name, which is the name of one of her dad’s sisters (thank heavens I didn’t get Thira the other sister)  and somehow they didn’t say them all together, or if so Molly Alline Collie which throws the rhyme off.

When I was born, which is the sweetest story that my dad says and gets all misty-eyed, the doctor came out and asked him “how does a girl suit you?” and I was Molly Collie.  And it took other people saying Molly Collie with glee.  And my dad really thought it was genius.  Frankly, no one forgets Molly Collie.

Precedent was set because my dad got all the first names to follow with my brothers and my mom got family names for the middles.  Morris Watson (Daddy’s grandfather and Mother’s maiden) Lance Cole (Daddy liked the name and Mother’s mother’s maiden name).

Mother got her wish for NOT 6 children because after 2 my dad said he was done.  (But I love that there are 3 of us because my mother told my dad she wanted another baby, he said 2 was fine and she said too late!)

So thanks Daddy for the last minute moniker decision and Mother for surviving the pregnancy without birthing banana splits, having me at the Rexall drug soda counter, or killing my father during it all.

My parents have been married 47 years as of my last birthday when I was 45. their anniversary is 7 days before my birthday and I love to harass my mother that they got hitched just in time to make me legitimate.  This does not amuse her as the church-going-choir-singing-non-cussing-non-drinking-Pollyana of our lives.  They actually were married two years and that week before I was born but again my harassing version is funnier at least to me and pretty sure my dad thinks so too.

My dad is from Pecos, my mother Odessa.  Those of you readers not familiar with these garden spots of west Texas, they are separated by 72 miles of the ugliest barren landscape that you will ever hope to hurtle through at hopefully a speed so fast it will be but a brown flat blur. Pecos is the west point and is the home of the world’s first rodeo I will have you know, and I was born there so limit your boos and hisses due to those key points of interest alone.

In Jan/Feb of 1962 my mother was 22 and my father was 25.  This is old for haven’t been married yet in 1962.  Seriously, their friends were hitched up in many cases with babies on the hips.  One of my dad’s closest friends though was a quite eligible bachelor that my mother knew of somehow through, what else, a church camp friend.  He had asked my mother on a date and my dad wanted her to find him one, too.  Again, the eligible fair maidens of Odessa was slim and Charolette couldn’t turn anyone up.  A reasonable person would have gone about their business but not my dad.  Nope he went on their date with them.  Danced with my mother even, stepped on her feet, and apparently tried to get cozy with her, a kiss I think.  Seriously! the gall! she is on a date with his friend!  This was not done and certainly not in my mom’s world.  She really thought he was an ass but she wouldn’t use that word.  Important to know that he wasn’t raised to be like this in social settings, wasn’t raised in a barn. Important to picture that my dad was about 6’10″ at the time and my mother is 5’5″ which really kind of adds to the whole this really isn’t a match thing.

One would think that would be the end of it.  My mother lived at home in Odessa, worked for Shell Oil in Midland, paid rent to her parents, had a nice car, was quite the self-sufficient, and I will say beautiful woman who didn’t have to put up with Bill Collie’s uncivilized behavior.  I am not sure how long after their delightful first meeting, I am going to say about a month later, my dad called my mother presumably wanting to get together to apologize.  He told my mother he was on his way to China (!) didn’t have much time but wanted to see her.  She said she had the flu and have a nice trip.  A short while later he called again.  She remarked that she thought he was in China, he said no and he still wanted to see her and asked her out.  For some wacky or fevered reason she said yes.

He came to Odessa.  When she answered the door, he remarked that he thought she was a blonde.  In my version of the story my mother gives him that squinty look she gives us when she is not amused as I can’t remember what she said in response.  But she had been to the beauty shop and her color was more red that day.  Then my grandmother -to -be came to the door, asked if he knew about air conditioners and dragged him through the house to look at theirs.  He did have a family electrical supply business so this wasn’t completely crazy, although with my grandmother, really, it could have been something he would have no knowledge about and she would have done same.

They went to see Pinocchio, the Disney animated film, I am sure in first run?  in Midland and then kissed in public and held hands (scandalous!) in Luigis in Mildand (which is still there btw).  And as my mother tells it that kiss sealed the deal.  STARS, the woman saw STARS.  just like in a Disney fairytale.

Daddy was apparently smitten before the kiss hence all his going to China cover story etc to try to get to Odessa to see her.

And they married TWO WEEKS LATER.  You read that right.  TWO WEEKS LATER these two crazy kids got married in Odessa TX and honeymooned in Fort Worth, then settled in Pecos.  I think it’s funny that people stared at my mother’s stomach for months to see if she was pregnant since they didn’t know Bill was even dating anyone.  And clearly he wasnt’ as he was meeting and marrying in short order.  Which is even funnier if you know my mother, she of the Christian Women’s Fellowship.  And she was quite glamorous in Pecos TX, believe me.  She was from Odessa after all and Pecos had 14,000 people to probably Odessa’s 30,000?  She worked had great clothes with matching handbags and shoes.  They did have to get rid of her sporty car as it leaned on the side my dad was in.

They had two pronouncements going in, Charolette was not going to buy beer and Bill was not going to buy Kotex.  She had to learn how to make enchiladas (which she did and I have great memories of those enchiladas in the metal “enchilada” plates that are actually steak plates with the wood bases to set in).  And she did tell me once that they both had to be flexible eventually on those first two conditions.

You don’t live together for 47 years and 3 children without a sense of humor and a sense of self because Bill Collie is literally larger than life.  Fortunately at 5’5″ Charolette Collie is no pushover.

And I will be forever blessed and lucky that my dad, the uncivilized uncouth jerk he was in early 1962 didn’t give up.  My mother definitely gave his reputation a boost.  I definitely got the sense of humor required for this life.  But I also got a lot of other really good stuff due to this combination that couldn’t have been predicted.

It apparently was written in the stars.

None of this is written to poke fun at her or embarass her, she just has always been my more quiet, sit back and observe child.  She does come up with some zingers sometimes that we all just look at her and die laughing but she doesn’t do physical comedy or have bumbling moments really.  She is a sponge though and absorbs it all and doesn’t forget much and in that she is much like her father.  He was the king of an outrageous out of the blue one line that would break up the group, but you had to really know him well before he was comfortable.  He was not attention seeking with that and neither is Kate.  She has something funny to add she will otherwise will not waste energy on it.

She has a great capacity for laughter especially laughing at her brother and is good humored.  Even as I write I am trying to come up with a funny story but as is the case with many twins much of their stories sometimes are intertwined with the other.  And she is often the straight man to his goofiness. 

I can say this with certainty she is my more selfless and generous child in terms of material possessions.  As babies I would try to color code who had what cup or items and Garrett always had a preference and Kate gladly handed it over.  This concerned me that he would be able to push her around but she truly didn’t care if she had the purple cup or the blue one.  She isn’t too particular about who gets what item and was always willing to trade seats, be content where she was and go with the flow.  Also like her father.  And therefore my son gets manic behavior from me clearly!

A recent example of  how Kate views things was when we went to Wicked back in June.  I had bought three tickets but they weren’t together.  One was on the 26th row or so, one was on the 5th row and one was about 15th row.  I told the kids i would take the 26th row, and they could decide who got the other two and they could switch at intermission.  Garrett immediately shouted for 5th row and Kate said she was fine with taking the 26th row.  Which I said no take 15th and you and Garrett switch at intermission.  So intermission comes, they find me in the lobby and Garrett says that Kate doesn’t want to switch and off her runs back to 5th.  She said her seat was fine and was happy to switch with me all while I wanted to snap my son back and have him at least offered to move with me!  not that I would have done that but the offer would have been nice!  Kate did offer again with the mention that I had paid so I should be able to sit where I wanted.  She was truly fine just being there.

If there is money to be earned Garrett is on top of it and keeping track and Kate will have to ask a few times now what was that for or did I get it or whatever while Garrett knows to the penny.

They are just so funny, a minute apart but light years in so many other ways.

So no funny stories about Kate at this point.  When there is one going to right it down immediately for press.  What she is though is lovely, sweet, considerate and more beautiful in every way than I was at 13, or maybe for that matter ever will be.

Similar experience with learning to ride a bicycle.  My daughter was ready to jump on something and GO!  So when it came to learning to ride, about the age of 5 or so she was game.  Garrett was hesitant.  Kate after several tries in a park, not even on concrete sidewalk to start out, got it going.   Did she eventually fall as we all do, on a sidewalk or asphalt?  yes, but she cried, did Bactine and got back on it.  Garrett had several attempts and one last fall and that was it for him and the bike.  Done trying by the age of 6.

As the kids got older and we live in an older university neighborhood with parks and trees, ice cream shop, their elementary school six blocks away and their middle school one block away, many school friends, it stood to reason that bike riding would be great.  They could get around.  Lots of bike riding by kids and families. Still my son was having none of this.

One day my husband then came across a three wheel bike he had in a storeroom and brought it home.  You have seen this bike, older ladies and people with balance issues ride these bikes.  It has a basket between the rear wheels.  For lack of a better description I call it a granny bike for in fact my mother has one.  Garrett was all about it.  Now bless his heart, my son is not a small person.  Heading into 8th grade TOMORROW as I write this, he is 6’2 and 1/2″ and has been over 90% or higher on height since kindergarten. So here is this older-than-he-looks child on the three wheel bike.  (We eventually took it to my mother who then used it and it fell apart and got another one, the one she has now.)  He was not nearly as concerned about appearances as I was, but not just that but he couldn’t get anywhere very fast either.  As a family we like riding over to the ice cream shop in the summer but before the 3 wheeler and after it was gone this was impossible and even with it we were there and eating ice cream and on the way home before he got even close.  There were several times we tried to get him to try a standard bicycle but nothing doing.  We even left him at home because we wouldn’t drive to get it, thinking he would be sorry he missed out.  He was but wasn’t budging on learning.  that falling off injury of old was not letting him go.

As a parent I really wanted him to learn for multiple reasons, transportation, thinking college campus too, neighborhood, going to the tennis courts with his sister, exercise and really it was just getting exasperating that at 12 he didn’t know how to ride a bike.  Just not getting it and no amount of cajoling was going to do it.  I didn’t realize my motivational speeches and pleading and shaming were the wrong tactic.  It was going to take a gun.

At my parents house in Burnet County, the kids ride bikes, Garrett on the granny bike of course and the other grandkids on assorted others.  My parents also have over the years allowed BB guns and pop guns at their house.  targets set up in the back.  My dad and brothers hunt on occasion and we grew up with guns.  I am not keen on having them and didn’t buy my kids toy ones as children.  I knew that my son on his own would fashion a sock or stick or something into a gun because well, they just often do.  However I didn’t buy toy ones even though we had them growing up because guns are NOT toys and we were taught this very seriously.  There is a muddy pond area by their home that the kids walk or ride down too and shoot at cans and frogs with the BB guns.

One day last summer when the twins were 12 they were at my parents for one of their week long visits and I was coming in that weekend to pick them up.  When I got in, my daughter piped up immediately and told my husband and I that she taught Garrett to ride a bike.  Well this was big news as one can imagine after years of trying to get him to even TRY to learn how after the bike incident of 2001.  I asked her ” How did you do it Kate? how did you get Garrett to try again after all this time?”  She looked at me calmly and said “He wanted the BB gun, I had it and told him I wouldn’t give it to him unless he got on the bike and rode it.  So he did”.  We just were all dumbstruck.  Apparently the want of a BB gun overcomes falling off a bike that held him back for years.  He got on, was a bit wobbly but got it going and so she gave him the gun.  She did give him some instruction prior to getting on but he did and he is riding to this day.  And I am much relieved that he is no longer trying to ride a 3 wheel bike with knees up to his head.  And now they are off in the ‘Hood, riding to tennis, the ice cream shop, the coffee shop etc in our little neighborhood world.

True story, my son got on a bike and rode successfully because my daughter wouldn’t give him a BB gun until he did.  I really hope I don’t have to use a gun as a carrot for future attempts of basic childhood experiences.  That is just sad but really funny.