The Journalist

Alright, here's a picture of James when he was editor of the East Texan at East Texas State University...way back in the early 80s. He still loves to get his hands on newsprint. Reading The Dallas Morning News is an event. Look at those wonderful glasses! And what about the fro?!? Oh, he is beautiful. I love to look at him. Without the shirt is even better. Hmmm.

Ezekiel Justice Hubbard

Look at this beautiful boy! He's like a little monkey. He reaches out with his arms and legs when you pick him up. I can't get enough of his precious hugs.

My sister and brother-in-law know how to make some lovely children!

In the blink of an eye

My girls’ day out ended with a bang this weekend. Holly and I road-tripped to Dallas in her brand new gleaming black Cadillac sedan. With our café-au-lait in matching chrome mugs-to-go and our lips freshly glossed, we settled in for the ride to a trendy salon for Holly’s hair appointment. Any pampering is just more fun when it’s done with a girlfriend.

In the two hour drive, we paused only once in conversation to take a potty break in Melissa. It set us back about five minutes once we hit 75 South in McKinney. We thought we’d make up the time with a heavier foot, but a wrong turn after we exited took us 15 minutes out of the way. We knew we’d made a mistake when the quaint shopping district turned into rows of aqua, hot pink and ochre buildings -- mostly washeterias, liquor stores and Mom-n-Pop shops. A quick call to the salon and a perky chat with Daphne?, Courtney? Whitney? put us back on track.

We finally parked, but walked circles in the building until we found the elevator. Twenty-five minutes late, we walked into Studio One Ten.

Greeted with true Texas charm, we were ushered quickly to Holly’s consultation where a platinum-haired cheerleader promptly told her everything she wanted to hear. “Your hair is gorgeous,” she purred. Her head tilted to the right, she ran her fingers through Holly’s hair about 50 times while still keeping an eye on herself in the massive mirror that lined the walls.

“Hmm. Hmm. Yes, yes. Something classic. Not too much off. We’ll go back in and do some layers around the face and add some texture. No bangs. No, you can’t do bangs,” she rattled.

“Oh, let’s give you some dimension. Some caramel highlights and a bit of your natural color to cover up…” She paused and whispered, “your gray.”

Now, Holly is stunningly beautiful. I mean stop-in-your-tracks-and-bow beautiful. Thick, shiny dark hair. Gorgeous skin that glows sans makeup. A nose (all hers) that would finance your plastic surgeon’s two-month vacation to Bora Bora. And these huge, sparkling sometimes blue, sometimes green eyes. She’s all sexy curves, manicured nails and sumptuous clothing.

So, I was not expecting some major transformation. There’s not much you can do with perfection. I thought this would be a quick effort.

I slid into the chair next to her and played the part of adoring fan. With all the hairdryers blowing and gossip flying, we could barely hear each other so we settled into occasional how-ya-doing glances. A bag of salted peanuts, three magazines, five cell calls, two bottles of water and seven trips to the bathroom later, Lindsey (or was it Lin-Z ?) put the finishing flip on Holly’s mane.

Magnificent as expected! What bounce, what life…in her hair and her step. There is something rejuvenating about getting your hair done! It gives you hope that you are still a sight to behold.

Her zero bank account balance couldn’t cast a shadow on her brilliance. We skipped back to the car, ready to grab a bite at Tom-Tom’s Noodle House in the West Village.

“Why don’t you drive to the restaurant,” Holly said. “And then I’ll drive home from there.”

“Alright!” This was my mini-makeover. Peppy, affordable Honda CRV to sleek and eye-catching Cadillac. I swirled through the parking lot and swept out the exit in TV-commercial style. Five minutes later, we pulled into the West Village parking garage and slowly moved up the ramp. Perfect – a spot not far from the entrance. I stilled for the exiting traffic. A quick arc in and BAM!

“Shannon,” Holly’s panicked voice was muffled by my own outburst.

“Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no. I’m going to be sick.” I couldn’t land on any particular thought. My mind took roll call of the possibilities. Estimates. Insurance. The hassle for Holly. Money, money, money. The other car.

Holly was perfectly calm after her initial yelp. We surveyed the damage together. Nothing to the car I hit. But her black beauty had the scars. Dented fender, marred paint. Cha-ching. Cha-ching. Cha-ching.

“I’m so sorry,” I repeated softly as we inspected the injured fender.

“Come on,” she said. “I’m hungry, let’s go eat.” She moved expertly in her three-inch heels down the ramp, her hair swaying and bouncing around her shoulders.

I silently followed her, so very thankful for her response. I wasn’t surprised. Grateful.

After an entertaining lunch with my brother Seth, a self-described slacker entrepreneur known for his sharp tongue and honesty, and his photographer friend, Matt, we strolled to the bakery to stock up on coconut macaroons and coffee for the trip home.

Back at work Monday, I was still moaning over my fender bender. I thought about calling my insurance agent to check on the coverage on driving someone else’s car. Before I had a chance to look up the number, Holly called.

“Don’t you know Cynthia Rainey?”

“Yeah,” I answered. “I was just about to call her about my insurance.”

“She died at about 12:30 today, Shannon,” she said. “They took her to Dallas this morning. She died hours later.”

I thought about the instant of my ‘crash’ and how sick, how anxious it made me. It’s nothing. Something to be taken care of, but nothing Holly or I will hold on to…

But for Cynthia – everything has changed in the blink of an eye. For her husband, for her two children, for her family, for her friends.

There’s no cover up, no quick fix, no way to erase the marks.

With life so real, so stinging most of the time, why do we need reminders of true perspective, relativity?

Danaus plexippus

A lovely sunset-bathed butterfly landed in my mailbox yesterday. A Danaus plexippus. Written gingerly across the inside span of its wings was this poetic message:

Any path is only a path, and there is no affront, to oneself or to others, in dropping it if that is what your heart tells you…

Look at every path closely and deliberately. Try it as many times as you think necessary. Then ask yourself, and yourself alone, one question…

Does this path have a heart? If it does, the path is good; if it doesn’t, it is of no use.

Carlos Castaneda has spoken (The Teachings of Don Juan). Of course, he had a little help in the form of autumn earth goddess -- Vendella the Wise.

Is it so apparent to all the world that I’m forever seeking answers…that there is always a question?

Peter Jennings

I'm not much of a news watcher, but I've gotten used to it since Rob watches ABC World News every night.

I became accustomed to seeing Peter Jennings every night for half an hour and always thought he was such a class act. I watched him for hours on end during the 9/11 horrors, watched him looking lumpy-eyed and unshaven as he went for hours on the air giving us the news. I appreciated his professionalism and the peek at his human frailty.

I got used to him, but didn't realize it. Didn't realize it until he wasn't there.

Last night I was watching a segment about him on ABC and found it amazing that there could be people who watched him for 22 years every night -- people like my dad who are real news hounds and never miss their nightly fix. How strange must that be when it's possible to have spent more time with Peter Jennings than your brothers and sisters or, say, your best friends from college. (Ahem.)

little wonders

A little girl has entered my life, my new niece, although it has been over a year now since her arrival, she recently has discovered her grandmother's swimming pool. Floating around in a specially designed baby floater, she is surrounded by her family offering her floaty seals and funny faces but she only wants the floating thermometer with a duck on top. After we give it to her, she naturally tosses it away. And expects it back.

She makes everyone do tricks, fetching the duck thermometer or blowing bubbles. She makes me blow bubbles as I try to teach her to swim. She sticks her lips together as if she was holding her breath and looks at me expectantly. How can I not blow bubbles in the water for her? It makes her laugh.

I also saw her discover popcorn. Very wary at first as she picked up the first one, looked at it spuriously and then put it in her mouth. It took a few seconds but then she lit up as the buttery tastiness that is popcorn hit her tastebuds and quickly she dove in for more. She was not too fond of the popcorn that fell on the pool deck, in a pool of water, which she then put in her mouth. We warned her.

It's life reaffirming to experience such wonders.