Category: Nostalgia

A Celebration of Life

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

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I felt a bit emotional on my birthday this year. Perhaps it was because it came at the end of a week which began with a gathering of dear ones who were all saying goodbye to our very good friend, Bill. I found myself savoring each moment of my special day with a great deal more intensity than usual. I genuinely appreciated the Facebook greetings and the visits from loved ones. The thoughtfulness that abounded was moving, but mostly it was a sign to me of how genuinely wonderful people are. I was reminded by the events of the week that when all is said and done it is in the memories that we share with all of the folks that we encounter along the way that our greatest joys unfold.

My departed friend Bill had done well in this world. He used the gifts of his intellect to build a life of purpose that provided him and his family with comfort, but mostly it was his love and generosity of spirit that marked him as a great man. The stories about him that abounded all told of an adventurous soul who never forgot to be thoughtful and kind. He was a man of almost unflinching routine who nonetheless set aside time in every single day to keep his friendships alive, many of which extended all the way back into his boyhood. He took nothing with him at the end, but the riches of honor, respect and genuine love that were poured out in the stories people told of him were greater than all of the gold and jewels stowed away with King Tut. I suppose that as I listened to the recounting of his impact I sensed that we each have reasons for existing that may seem small and insignificant until the moment when we put the sum total of our efforts together. In the case of Bill, the final tally was as remarkable as anyone might ever hope to accomplish.

I pondered such ideas all last week and my thoughts culminated on Saturday, the beginning of my sixty ninth year. It was a gloriously beautiful day albeit a bit warmer than the one on which I was born. My mother always spoke of how bitterly cold it had been as she gathered pecans in the yard in front of the garage apartment that she and my father were renting in the Heights neighborhood of Houston on November 18, 1948. The war had ended and the world was in a state of rebuilding. Mama and Daddy were like millions of young folk who were starting families and hoping that they we would never again witness the violence that had brought so much pain. Mama wore my father’s wool army coat because she had grown so great with child that her own would no longer button. She had at first thought that the backache that she was feeling was the result of all of the bending that she had been doing as she filled a paper grocery bag with nuts that she intended to use to bake goodies for Thanksgiving and Christmas. When her water broke she knew that my arrival was imminent.

I thought of my mother and my father a great deal this past weekend. They would have been quite proud of the beautiful brood that resulted from their love. Almost all of their offspring gathered during the day and the evening to wish me well.

The celebrating began with lunch with my father-in-law and his beautiful second wife. He is our patriarch and his delightful sense of humor never fails to fill our home with laughter. I wanted to tarry at the table with him so that I might freeze the special time we were having into the memory bank of my mind. It was great fun as we listened to stories of the army cook who created meals for his regiment during the Korean War. Papa hid the pain of war in the humorous tales of the guys who fought with him. We felt so joyful and fortunate to still have him with us.

Later in the day my brothers and their children and grandchildren also came to wish me well. I shared the birthday celebration with my little niece Lorelai who is a bright and sweet as an angel. I delighted at the innocence of her beautiful face lit up as much by her goodness as by the lights of the candles that we blew out together. She is ten and filled with expectation and curiosity. The world lies ahead of her and will no doubt embrace her because she is such a special child. I found myself thinking of my own childhood and how fun it had been.

I tried to take in the wonder of my family that has become ever more lovely with each new person who enters our fold. We are boisterous and filled with genuine feelings for one another. We don’t always get to see each other as much as we would like, but when we do get together an explosion of unadulterated joy erupts. My sisters-in-law are the sisters that I always dreamed of having. My sons-in-law are the young men who provide my daughters and me with rock solid love. My grandchildren and nieces and nephews marvel in one another’s company and I find myself just watching them as they play together. In fact, I felt a bit like an observant fly on the wall all day long as I realized my many blessings that all come packaged in the most wonderful people who are part of my life.

The birthday posts on my Facebook wall poured in all weekend. They came from some whom I had known my entire life, some from my school days, some from coworkers, others from students, still others from neighbors. I had to admit my good fortune as I thought of each of them and I prayed that they all know how much they have meant to me.

I particularly enjoyed a group of photos from a dear teacher friend who has become like family. We had shared a beautiful wedding trip to Cancun back in June with our mutual friends Tim and Dickie. Somehow her camera had captured the exhileration that we were all experiencing on that day and it was quite beautiful. Our unfiltered emotions filled the panorama with the bliss that we were all feeling, and in viewing the images I experienced our pleasure once again.

Another teacher friend posted a greeting that I’m going to use as my mantra during the coming year.

Oops, although this a belated prayer, my prayer remains the same.

 1 Good Health for you and family

2 Financial Blessings

3 Continued Travel Blessings 

4 The Peace that Surpasses all Understanding

I think that I will have an extraordinary time indeed if I were to enjoy the fruition of all of the good wishes that were made for me. I would only add that I hope to have the pleasure of being with my friends and family as often as possible, because they are always the source of my greatest happiness. I simply have no way of being able to thank them for all that they have given me. I only hope that they truly realize how important they are to me.

The Road Ahead

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

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Tomorrow is my birthday and I will be sixty nine years old. That number sounds ancient to me. It is a place in time that I have never really imagined being. Time is relative when it comes to me because I still feel as though I am little more than middle aged. Surely I will be thirty nine tomorrow, going on forty next year. Where did I lose the thirty years that I don’t remember passing by so quickly? One day I was still young and the next I became a member of AARP and qualified for Medicare. It’s enough to boggle the mind.

I’m still able to perform complex mathematics problems and show youngsters how to do them as well. I write almost everyday and read constantly, but not without glasses. My vision went south some time back along with my ability to recall small things like where I have left one of the dozens of pairs of glasses that I keep on hand. I tried wearing one of those chains around my neck that keep glasses handy but they just didn’t work for me. They got in the way mostly of my vanity.

I can’t run well anymore. My knees yell at me if I even try. I’ve shrunk about three inches because I have developed osteoporosis like my grandmother and several of my aunts. Heredity can be a real bitch sometimes. I used to be a tall girl, but now I am rather short. It makes me wonder if my grandma was always a small person or if her own troubles with brittle bones made her much tinier than she once was.

Mostly I’m rather healthy. People predict that barring some unforeseen accident or a disease that sneaks up on me I will live long like my grandfather who made it to one hundred eight. If that’s the case I have almost forty more years to go. I’ll need to figure out what to do with all of that time. I hope I am able to use it as well as Grandpa did. He was an avid reader who devoured books like chocolate bonbons, and then proceeded to discuss every detail in them when someone came to visit. His mind was as clear as a sparkling lake up until the very last weeks of his life, but he had grown weary by then. He often spoke of being ready to end his marathon time here on earth and start a new run in heaven. He had lost all of his friends and most of his relatives including all three of his children. Somehow he managed to stay optimistic in spite of the fact that he had spent all of money and lived from one Social Security check to the next. He had planned well for retirement, but nobody expects for a life to last as long as his did,

There is still so much of the world that I hope to experience. I love the idea of continuously learning and traveling. It is a habit that I have followed and it provides me with great pleasure. I like to stay abreast of changes and I truly hope that I never become a dotty old fuddy-duddy, a dotard if you will. One reason that I enjoy working with children is that they keep me young. I get a kick out their antics and I find that on the whole they are quite polite and wonderful. The idea that today’s kids are spoiled and badly behaved is a myth perpetuated by grouchy individuals who abhor change. The truth is that our future is in good hands from what I have seen. The world will surely keep on moving along and things will get better regardless of who is living at the White House.

Somehow getting older makes me far happier and more content than I have ever been. I view life with a great deal more appreciation. All of my competitive inclinations have fallen by the wayside. I realize how very lucky I have been from the cold November day when I was born to the present. I may not have accumulated much wealth, but I can say without reservation that I have always been loved. There is absolutely nothing better than that, and I now realize that more so than ever before.

I still harbor hopes and dreams, but now they are more for my grandchildren than myself. I want to watch them finding ways to use their talents and build their own lives. If they are half as fortunate as I have been then the world will be very good to them. I pray that their inevitable trials will be few and that they will possess all of the skills needed to deal with them. I myself had so much support any time that I was struggling. There always seemed to be a relative, neighbor, teacher, coworker or friend to help me overcome even the most horrific situations. I treasure all of the people who have encouraged me, some of whom never knew how much they actually meant to me.

I think back to my many birthdays. My mom always worked hard to make my day as special as possible, and did so until the very day that she died. Her family had been so poor that their only gift each year had been a single nickel. She and her siblings continued the tradition of sending each other nickels, and I thought it a beautiful gesture of love. My mom never missed brining me a cake and a very carefully chosen gift which always reminded me of how important I was to her. I find myself missing her bit more each year. She was with me from the very beginning, forging that special bond that only a mother is capable of doing.

Much of my family is coming to my house to help me celebrate my birthday tomorrow. Family has been the best gift that I have ever enjoyed. I honestly don’t know what I would do without all of them. We are a loud and crazy bunch that sometimes confounds and annoys other people. I don’t think those who shy away from us can tell if we are yelling at each other or just being a bit too overjoyed to be together. I know that some folks can’t handle our antics, but I can’t imagine being any other way than we just naturally are. Our exuberance is simply the outward manifestation of our unending love.

So this old woman plans to savor every minute that I have. At this point there is no telling whether my days are numbered or I have a long way to go. I’ve learned to take one day at a time and to roll with whatever happens. I may not hear as well as I once did but I am a survivor and I am far tougher than I appear to be. It’s been a great ride thus far. It’s going to be fun to see where the rest of my life takes me. I’m more than ready for the adventures that lie along the road ahead.

Save a Place at the Table

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

19399646_10214121200690836_1603070636057683650_nI have been fortunate in sharing friendships with some incredible individuals in my lifetime. Among them is Bill Weimer. Bill was born and raised in Detroit and lived there during the city’s glory days. His boyhood was spent in a dynamic atmosphere when his hometown seemed unstoppable. He reveled in the history of his neck of the woods and was a kind of Renaissance man with a sharp mind that eventually led him to the University of Michigan where he earned a degree in engineering. He became one of the young lions who pioneered advances in computing and ultimately was tapped to join the team of the world’s brightest minds at NASA in Houston.

Bill loved to travel and had an adventurous spirit that helped him to accept the challenge of leaving Detroit to travel south to face the unknown in a place about which he knew little. He packed his things into his car and drove the miles alone, learning a bit about all of the places through which he drove and filing away stories that would delight his listeners for years to come. He found a group of single young men wanting to save money by sharing expenses and moved into an apartment with the crew. They would become lifelong friends who walked together through good times and bad over the ensuing years, including going out together for weekend entertainment. On one of their ventures Bill met Patricia, a nurse and the woman that he would eventually marry.

Bill and Pat were a great couple. He was somewhat quiet and she was outgoing, but he always had a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. He charmed her with his intellect and his gentlemanly wisdom. He was a storyteller who always seemed to have an interesting tale to tell. Pat who was outstanding in her own right knew that she had found the man with whom she would enjoy the realization of all of her hopes and dreams. Together they settled down in Houston where they purchased a lovely home and began to build a family. Theirs was a wonderful life with a bright little boy and a beautiful daughter who shared the family intelligence. They opened their home to everyone and never seemed to forget a friend. Wherever they were was a happy place to be.

I met Bill Weimer through his wife Pat. It wasn’t long before my own husband Mike and I were spending long evenings with the two of them laughing and making pronouncements on the workings of the world. Bill had a profound way of approaching any subject and I often joked that he should host a talk show. It definitely would have been a cut above anything that has ever been seen, and I suspect that it would have been quite popular as well. He and Mike soon became great pals, enjoying each other’s company in every possible way.

I always looked forward to the times when Pat and Bill came to our home or we went to theirs. For a time we even had a tradition of spending New Years Eve together and those years became the best in all of my memories. We watched our children grow and shared milestone after milestone. We traveled to New Braunfels and New Orleans and felt as comfortable with each other as we might have been with siblings. Somehow we were the perfect fit together and I imagined how much fun we would have once we were all retired and able to do anything we wished with our time.

Pat and Bill eventually decided to move from the home that had been the scene of so much of their married life. They bought a new place in Pearland and urged us to follow suit. It wasn’t long before we were enticed to relocate and it was great fun to be only about five minutes away from them. By then we were quite comfortable with dropping in on each other without an invitation or an announcement. We had the best of times doing next to nothing other than being together.

Sadly Pat had a relapse of cancer and died not long after we had moved near them. Bill was devastated and lonely and sad. He often came to our house just to sit and talk. We never knew when the doorbell would ring and he would be standing there. At first he brought books and magazines for Mike as though he needed an excuse, but soon enough he understood that we loved his visits and he dropped all pretenses. He simply came and we welcomed him enthusiastically. After all he was not just a great friend who seemed like family, he was one of the best storytellers ever and conversations with him were always enchanting.

One day Bill showed up with a great big RV. His pride was apparent as he demonstrated every feature and boasted about the journeys that surely lay ahead. In the early days he invited us to tag along and I truly enjoyed our trips to Texas state parks. Mostly though it was good to see him feeling happy again and to detect that sly grin and mischievousness that was one of his most endearing traits. After a time he was going all over the country by himself save for the company of his cat, Miss Kitty. With each return he came to see us to report on the mishaps and fun that he had experienced. He made it all sound so wonderful that we eventually purchased a trailer of our own.

Mike and Bill exchanged stories and jokes via email and we also saw Bill at his daughter’s home when she invited us to birthday parties, Christmas celebrations and football afternoons. He was always a welcome sight whenever we saw him and as always he had so much to say. He’d tell us about a book he had read or a program he had watched and offer insights that were interesting. He was that strange combination of optimism and cynicism that made him a bit of an enigma but one certain thing is that he was always a very good man of integrity and honor. He was of the noble age when character was more important than money or possessions, and he was brimming with all of the right stuff.

During the big Houston area floods Bill and Mike kept in constant contact. We worried needlessly about each other because both of us did well, but it was still good to know that Bill was nearby if either of us had an emergency. Over the years he and Mike had often helped one another with this problem or that. They shared a mutual admiration for one another because in many ways they were so similar, both very bright men with hearts of gold. They both enjoyed a good joke and rolled their eyes at the state of politics.

Bill quietly did so many wonderful things. He worked for years at the convent at Villa de Matal helping the nuns to upgrade their information systems and histories on the computer. He traveled there once a week to provide them with his expertise and took great pride in being able to help them even though he was not a Catholic. He constantly checked on friends who were sick and took the time to visit them as often as possible. He kept himself busy with a routine that brought him new acquaintances and a sense of orderliness in his life. He had a standing breakfast order at McDonalds and walked each day at the local recreation center. He was a weekly visitor to the library and explored every side road in the area finding shortcuts to virtually any place. He loved his children and was rightfully proud of them.

Bill had grown a bit weary of late. He was plagued by a number of medical problems and many of his friends were either very sick or had died. He was facing the prospect of having to constrict his traveling days and maybe even give up his beloved RV. There was a resignation in him that we had not seen before. He often remarked that he had lived longer than anyone in his family ever had, something that seemed to both worry him and make him proud. Nonetheless he had seemed to be in fairly good shape and I imagined having many more fun filled years with him. Sadly and shockingly that was not to be. Bill Weimer died and joined his wife and many of his friends in heaven, leaving so many behind to mourn the loss of a truly great man.

There really are no words adequate to describe Bill Weimer. He was a tall lanky guy who was brilliant and funny and loving. He bettered the lives of every single person that he encountered. He had a way of making people feel special and he was always ready to stop whatever he might have been doing to sit down and just enjoy a few minutes together. His absence will indeed be felt most dearly.

Last spring Bill and his grandson Sean traveled to Michigan together. None of us thought that it would be his last hurrah but the signs were there. He became ill during the trip and had to go to an emergency room. Sean who is only a sixth grader had to speak for him and take on a role far beyond his years. He did not mind at all because he and his grandfather had bonded in a way as beautiful as the story in the movie A Trip to Bountiful. That adventure has left Sean with treasured memories that no doubt will sustain him for a lifetime. Like the rest of us he knows that his grandfather was an extraordinary man and a role model for the ages.

I’ve cried ugly tears and grieved for days now, not just for my loss but mostly for his children and grandchildren who really hoped to have more time with him. I know that there is now an emptiness that will be so hard for any of us to fill. It’s always that way with someone as wonderful as Bill Weimer. I can only hope that I will be able to comfort his family and that he is now celebrating a life well lived in heaven. He earned a saintly crown for certain and taught all of us how to grab for all the best that life has to offer. May he now rest in eternal peace and know that we truly and deeply loved him as the finest friend we might ever have hoped to have. Good night, Bill. You and Pat have lots of fun and save a place for us at thetable until we meet again.

We Believed

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

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I sometimes wonder why anyone from some place else would choose to move to Houston, Texas. My father-in-law came to my hometown accidentally. He and a buddy were supposed to meet up at “U of H.” He forget to ask what the “H” stood for and a search of universities led him to believe that he needed to enroll at the University of Houston. After he had traveled here he went looking for his friend only to eventually find out at his pal was at the University of Hawaii. Things worked out well for him when he met my mother-in-law in the Cougar Den and they fell in love. He’s been here ever since.

My maternal grandfather came over as an immigrant from Austria-Hungary just before the outbreak of World War I. Houston was advertising all over Europe back then in an effort to entice workers who were needed for the growing community. Sometimes the flyers that they posted stretched the truth just a bit with photographs of beautiful mountains in the background that may have caught the interest of those thinking about relocating. Unfortunately they would soon enough learn that Houston was as flat as a pancake, but there were indeed jobs here which was probably more important to my grandfather than lovely landscapes. He too set down permanent roots. Eight of his children would be born in Houston and grow up on the east side of town. None of them ever left other than to fight a war. They purchased homes and raised families and grew old, always feeling great pride in a town that is not always understood by the rest of the world.

I first met Houston, Texas on the day of my birth in November, 1948. Not long after that my parents purchased a brand new home in the southeast part of town. My little world revolved around my town that did not yet have a population of even a million people. As I grew, so did the city and about the time that I was entering my teen years a professional baseball team that would play in the the National League came to town calling themselves the Colt .45s. They played in an outdoor stadium that attracted mosquitoes and tropical heat. None of that deterred those of us who were fans of baseball from buying cheap seats in the outfield for great entertainment on summer evenings. I suppose that it was way back then when I developed my love of the hometown boys of summer. Those were halcyon days that made us believe that we had our own field of dreams.

Eventually a local promoter named Judge Roy Hoffeinz came up with the seemingly ridiculous idea of building an indoor stadium that would keep us cool on even the hottest days with air conditioning and cushy seats. In the meantime as with most things related to guns the name of the team became controversial to some and in the end a compromise was made to change the name of the team to the Houston Astros. It seemed an apt title given that Houston was the center of the space exploration universe at about that time, and we had grown and grown as a city.

At first the big domed stadium that Hoffeinz built appeared to have been a boondoggle because the grass would not grow in the insulated environment. Not to be discouraged by a little problem, efforts were made to create an artificial turf that would become known as Astroturf. It worked and yet again Houston rose above it’s doubters, a trend that seems to be part of the city’s DNA.

Another major hiccup occurred when the glare of the sun on the roof made it almost impossible for the players to catch fly balls. They would look up and be blinded, a situation that was untenable in baseball. The laughing began anew but would not last for long as creative minds engineered ideas that eventually solved the problem. The Astrodome became known as the Eighth Wonder of the World, but the team itself was not quite as lauded. Still we loved our Houston Astros and attending a game was always a great treat. We watched the uniforms and the roster change as the owners and managers did their best to bring the city a winning season. We got close now and again, but much like the city itself there always seemed to be a bump in the road that brought us back to the reality that nobody in the world loved Houston and our Astros as much as those of us who lived here did.

I grew older and Houston grew bigger, while the Astrodome became a shadow of its former glorious self. We needed a new stadium to reflect the grandeur of our city and so we built a park on the site of the old train station where so many had first encountered Houston in their quest for a better life. Somehow it seemed a fitting place, especially to me because in the long ago my grandfather had lived in a rented room not far from where the stadium now stands. The team itself would flux and flow, sometimes seeming to be in reach of glory and at other times playing to near empty crowds while losing more games than any other team. Nonetheless there were those who kept the faith even in the leanest of times. It’s what we tend to do in Houston, a city built on impossibilities that somehow always became possible. After all, who would have thought that an inland city would one day boast one of the busiest ports in the country?

My mother led our clan in cheering the Astros through one season after another. She eventually became too old and weary to navigate the ramps and stairs at the ballpark but she never missed a game on the radio. Lying in the dark she let her imagination take her out to the ballgame. and her love for the Astros remained loyal and unabated. She knew every player’s name and stats. She offered armchair advice, and she taught us to be as true to our team as she was, something that was not always easy as we watched our shining moments come and go.

The colors of the uniforms changed as often as the roster of players. We went to the American League and had to become accustomed to a whole new group of opponents. We sometimes sat in the magnificent park with so my empty seats that I wondered how the owners were going to be able to pay to keep the lights operating. History plodded onward and we remembered our favorite players of old like Jose Cruz, Nolan Ryan and those wonderful “Killer Bs” who took us all the way to the World Series only to go down in flames in four games. Still, nothing could deter us from loving our Astros.

This season our beloved team showed sparks of brilliance again and again. We dared not hope that maybe, just maybe this would be Houston’s year as they took one victory after another. By August it was clear that they had a shot at history, but then a hurricane came to town leaving many of our citizens devastated by floodwaters. For a moment our attention was diverted from baseball and concentrated on saving and helping our neighbors. We wondered how we would ever move beyond the destruction and what would become of our city. We were as low as we have ever collectively been, but in the spirit of who we are we came together just as we always do. We demonstrated to the world what Houston is about. It became clear as we saw everyone pitching in to help why we truly want to live here.

Once we had gone back to school and work and the tasks of solving the problems made apparent by the storms, we looked up and noticed that the Astros were still on a trajectory to success. We watched as they moved forward and became the living symbol of all of our own hopes and dreams and beliefs about our town and its people. They drew us together just as the floods had done, only this time we felt happy. We loved them even more deeply for giving us this wonderful gift at the very time when we most needed it. Our city became intoxicated with Astros fever. We knew that we had all earned this moment in time. It somehow seemed inevitable that our team would win it all, and of course they did.

I’ve thought all the way back to those early days when everyone thought that the very idea of Houston was ridiculous. Nobody ever imagined that it would become the fourth largest metropolitan area in the country. Nobody believed that the baseball team in the crazy rainbow uniforms would ever amount to much. Nobody thought that we would be able to recover from the utter devastation that befell us only weeks ago. Most of the experts thought that once the Astros met with a team of the Dodgers’ caliber they would fold. Those of us who love Houston believed and believed and believed again and again and this time our team understood what they had to do. They won the World Series stunning those who just don’t understand how we Houstonians are. For those of us who live here, there was no mystery at all. Houston just might be the greatest place to live on planet earth and it has nothing to do with beauty or lack of problems and everything to do with its people. Thank you Astros for demonstrating the spirit of this grand city. We will never forget how wonderful you made us feel.

#earnhistory

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

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My mom was from the generation that grew up listening to the radio. Back in the day people tuned in to hear programs filled with illusions built from sounds and words. The listening experience was glorious with pictures painted in the mind’s eye by announcers and actors with versatile and mellow voices. Since news stories did not include photos or films the reporters had to describe the scene and the best of them created gloriously graphic images that allowed listeners to feel as though they were on the scene. The best sportscasters managed to outlined each play in a game in such vivid detail that those who followed the broadcast might just as well have been sitting on the fifty yard line or behind home plate. It was a glorious era when ordinary folk got up close and personal with the happenings in the world from the comfort of their living rooms.

Mama especially loved Sundays because those were the days when her family honored the sabbath with visits to church, a special family meal and time to listen to favorite programs on the radio. They would gather around and be swept away into worlds of adventure, information and sports. Afterwards her father would hold family meetings in which he iterated character lessons for his brood of eight children. He insisted on honesty, hard work, frugality, ethical behavior and love of country and family. My mother would always refer to the beliefs that he had instilled in her and to those glorious Sundays when they paused from the labors of the work week to indulge in entertainment and sporting fantasies.

In my earliest years as a child the radio was still the center of information and enjoyment in our home. I recall listening to The Lone Ranger and Texas A&M football games with my parents. Eventually my father brought home a television in a lovely mahogany cabinet that replaced the radio as the center of our entertainment needs, but somehow my mom never quite lost her love for the radio. Thus it was that she developed a lifelong taste for certain programming that she followed inside her car or her bedroom. Chief among her regular habits was listening to the Houston Astros baseball games, which she rarely missed season after season. She knew the stats of all of the players and served as an armchair coach offering advice to the air as though the team might actually hear her suggestions. She cheered and rejoiced in their victories, keeping the faith that they were the best team in the country. Even in the lean times she was never willing to give up on her boys of summer and she loved them as though they were members of her own family. She rarely had the money to purchase a ticket to see a game in person, but she had her radio and it was religiously tuned to the games.

You would have thought that Mama was a personal friend of Milo Hamilton, the voice of the Astros for decades. She thought that he was a gifted announcer and she sometimes quoted his pronouncements. She especially enjoyed discussing the games with her grandsons, Shawn and Ryan, and seemed particularly proud that Ryan was named for pitcher Nolan Ryan who thrilled her during his tenure as an Astros pitcher. She knew so many details about each competition that one might have thought that she had actually been present rather than merely a listener. She was entranced by the Astros. They were her team, the one group that she followed with the fanaticism of a true believer.

When she came to live with me in the last year of her life she insisted on having a radio in her bedroom, which my brother Pat provided for her. It was tuned the the Astros station and she knew their schedule by heart. Day or night she dropped whatever she had been doing to lie on the bed upstairs and listen to the games. Sometimes we would hear her cheers or her groans and always she would follow up with a blow by blow commentary peppered with optimism and sound advice for the players. She treasured no gift more than a ticket to one of the games, but by her final year on this earth it had become increasingly more difficult for her to navigate in the vastness of Minute Maid Park. She would grow tired quickly and so her radio allowed her to fully enjoy her most treasured pleasure without requiring her to expend her limited energy.

On the last day of her life my mother remembered that the Astros were playing. When my nephew Ryan came to the hospital to say his goodbyes she insisted that we turn on the television in the ICU. Of course she was unable to speak because there was a ventilating tube in her mouth. She simply motioned toward Ryan as though she was pitching a ball and we all understood what she wanted. It was a touching and very appropriate moment and watching her eyes light up with delight as she shared a final game with Ryan made her final hours as perfect as such a time might ever be.

I’ve thought of my mom all season long as the Houston Astros have proven to be a dominant force in the game of baseball. She would have been oh so proud of them. I can’t even imagine how frenetic her cheering would have been as they brought home the pennant with so much class and style. I’d like to think that she has a home plate seat in heaven and that she and Milo Hamilton have been celebrating the Astros’ victories together. If heaven is indeed  a place where everything is perfect then there has to be Astros baseball there for my mom. I suspect that she has told my dad all about the team that had not even existed when he died and converted him into a fan as avid as she always was. Mostly though I am quite happy that the Astros are truly the team that she always believed they would be.

We’ve had some very hard times here in Houston this year. Many of our friends and neighbors and relatives are still picking up the pieces of their broken lives after hurricane Harvey. Our city has been wounded, but we proved ourselves to be strong. We’ve had a quiet nervous breakdown together and our emotions are still very close to the surface. We cry easily as we think of all that we have endured. Somehow our Astros have been part of the community glue that has kept us focused on rebuilding an even better future. We became the bullpen for our glorious athletes who have brought us so much joy. Somehow it is fitting that the Astros would emerge as the symbol of who we Houstonians are. We celebrate their victories as our own. There is a new determination in Houston as we wish our Astros well as they meet the Los Angeles Dodgers. We are fighters and so are they. We are not willing to give up on our town or its teams. Now the world understands who we are.