All It Takes Is A Little Love

My grandparents always seemed quite ancient to me. Maybe that’s because they were indeed a good sixty years or more older than I was. They were always wrinkled and grey from the time of my first memories of them. When my grandfather died at the age of one hundred eight I was only thirty nine years old. When my own first grandson was born I was still in my forties, working full time with nary a gray hair on my head. I was known at work and home for my boundless energy and so it was only natural that my relationship with my him would be more playful and active than the one I had with my own grandparents. I enjoyed getting down on the floor with him, laughing and being silly with him. 

I was one very excited grandmother. Even though Andrew was far away my daughter kept us apprised of his milestones with photographs and anecdotes that convinced me of his brilliance and good nature. I travelled to see him as often as possible and then cried on the plane or in the car all the way home. I often wondered if the passengers near me on my flights wondered why I was quietly shedding tears, but I was unable to control my emotions and my sorrow at leaving him. I knew that it would be months before seeing him again. 

Catherine had by this time become ever more in love with the young man with whom she had begun a relationship at the Texas A&M muster. I somehow always had a feeling that my father had sent Jeremy to her. It would have been like him to play matchmaker just as he had done earlier with his best friend and my mother’s sister. Somehow Catherine and Jeremy seemed to be a perfect match. He was serious and steady, a bookend to her impish nature. Together they seemed perfect. 

One Christmas we all converged on Indiana to visit with Maryellen, Scott and Andrew. It was a joyous time when we experienced an exceptionally cold winter in the midwest, a wonder that we rarely saw down south. We played with Andrew and visited the sights, including enjoying a day trip to Chicago. At the time it never occurred to me that Catherine might one day end up in the Windy City, but that is a story for another day. 

While we were all busy living Catherine continued with her studies and graduation from Texas A&M with a degree in Rangeland Ecology Management. Essentially she had the training to care for the land on our planet. She would forevermore be an advocate for treating our good earth with loving care. Her first job would be with an environmental firm in Dallas so we were soon helping her move her things from College Station to an apartment in Arlington, a suburb better known for being the home of the Texas Rangers baseball team. 

She was on her own but only five hours away so we were able to visit her often. A little sheltie dog named Maggie kept her company as did Jeremy who had an internship with Lockheed Martin. Soon the two of them were engaged and planning for a wedding after Jeremy’s graduation. To both my surprise and delight Catherine had decided to move back home and without my knowledge she had interviewed for a job as a science teacher at the school where I was working and had landed the job. 

Catherine and Maggie brought so much life and joy to our home. It was fun having them both there. Our old dog. Red, became like a mother the Catherine’s little pup. I was able to guide Catherine in the daily responsibilities of a teacher. We had fun talking about our mutual experiences and often spent evenings comparing stories. 

Catherine ended up on a sixth grade team with teachers who had taught her when she was a student at the school years before. They took her under their wings and made sure that she would have a successful first year of teaching. A woman named Deller Thompson was especially helpful. Deller had been Catherine’s sixth grade reading teacher and she was as strict as any educator comes, but also incredibly fair. She had challenged Catherine to push herself as a student and now that she was a teacher, Deller pushed her even more. The result was that Catherine proved to be exceedingly talented in conveying science concepts to her students. She used her skills as an artist and her creativity in thinking to plan lessons that made science come alive. 

Meanwhile Maryellen joyfully announced one day that she and Scott and Andrew would soon be moving back to Beaumont. Ninety miles away sounded so much better than a thousand. I knew that it would only take an hour and a half to be with her so I was super excited and so were Mike and Catherine. Life continued to look quite sunny for all of us, especially this first time young Gammy.

I suppose that the nineteen nineties were in many ways one of the best decades of my lifetime. My husband, Mike, and I were doing well in our careers while our daughters were becoming the incredible women we had hoped they would be. I was enjoying my friendships and great times with the extended families of my brothers and cousins. Mike and I were traveling and feeling quite content with our lives and the world around us. While my mother’s mental illness was chronic, my brothers and I had learned how to help her to mostly keep the symptoms under control. I was a happy middle aged woman who was confident that I was living my best life. I also understood the fragility of existence and remained ever ready to shift course when occasions called for change. 

When my daughter, Maryellen, announced that she and her husband were moving from Beaumont to Indiana I adjusted even as I felt a sadness that she would be so far away from home. I had the ability to visit her a couple of times a year and she in turn would come back to Texas on holidays. She and husband, Scott, found good jobs in Lafayette, the home of Purdue University. They were doing well enough financially to invest in a beautiful house located in a neighborhood surrounded by corn fields and good people. I felt that she was building her new life and her independence in a wonderful way. 

I enjoyed visiting Maryellen and Scott and did so as often as possible. Sometimes Mike and I drove there and other times I flew on my own. I delighted in the sights and people of Indiana who seemed to be treating my girl so well. I also enjoyed the adventures that we took whenever I visited. I learned that Indiana is much more interesting than I might have otherwise thought. 

I attended my first state fair there, sampling pies and pickles and viewing livestock. I enjoyed a nearby town that hosted an apple festival each fall and boasted a restaurant that served hearty soups and homemade breads that were delicately crunchy on the outside and soft in the middle. I visited Indianapolis and saw the 500 race track for the first time. I enjoyed the incredible variety of a daylily farm and even laughed at a town that had built a replica of the Alamo in honor of the famous Texas battle. I got to see the place where the movie Hoosiers was filmed and walked through the campus of the University of Notre Dame where I smiled at the sight of “Touchdown Jesus.” I also learned that Chicago was only two hours away and found myself literally falling in love with that amazing city each time we took a day trip there.

I always felt a bit sad whenever I had to leave Maryellen but I knew that I would find a way to return soon. I was proud that she was forging her own way in the world and wanted her to feel free to develop herself according to her own desires. Soon, however, I would find myself wishing that she lived a little closer to my home when she announced that she was expecting a baby, my first grandchild. 

The summer before he was born she and I painted the bedroom that would be the nursery. We created a border of whimsical trains along the ceiling and set up the crib and other furniture. Maryellen made a visit to Houston for a baby shower lovingly hosted by my dear friend Linda who went all out with her always amazing food and hospitality. Everyone important in our lives came and the atmosphere was so joyful and generous. Maryellen left with a car filled with every possible baby item that she might ever need. 

As September came we held our breaths in anticipation of the birth. I kept busy with my work at school. It was early in the academic year so there was much to do that distracted me. Finally Scott called to tell us that Maryellen was in labor. On September 26, a healthy baby boy that they named Andrew entered the world for the first time. He was born “over Texas soil” because Scott had asked us to bring some dirt from our yard in a sealed tin can on our most recent visit to Indiana. We obligingly purchased a container emblazoned with a scene from Texas on its lid then placed a shovel full of good old coastal Texas gumbo inside. Scott was able to convince the doctor to place the container under the bed where Maryellen lay as the birth took place. To this day we tell Andrew that he was born in Indiana but he came to life on Texas ground. 

Of course Mike and I both took off time to rush to Indiana to see the beautiful baby boy and to help Maryellen with chores around the house. It was one of the most wonderful times ever. Andrew was a cuddly baby who was inclined to spend hours sleeping on someone’s chest. Every once in awhile he would squint with one open eye making us laugh with delight. We noted that when he gave us that little glance he resembled “the dread pirate Roberts” from the movie The Princess Bride. He was indeed the center of our family’s joy, our cute little dread pirate who made all of our hearts flutter with unadulterated love.  

Life has a way of moving faster than I can even imagine. One day I’m a little girl and the next my own little girl, Maryellen is graduating from college, engaged to a nice young man, launching her career, and planning a wedding. Such is the way it felt in nineteen ninety-two. I’d been so busy living life that I had hardly noticed the passing of time. I was only forty four years old but I had lived through a lifetime of events. Somehow I felt older and wiser than ever but also amazed that I was already in my so called middle ages. 

Meanwhile my younger daughter. Catherine, was about to begin her own journey to adulthood by entering her freshman year of college. She had been admitted to Texas A&M University but was not quite ready to leave home, choosing instead to spend her first year at the University of Houston while she decided what exactly she wanted to declare as her major. She reminded me so much of myself at the same age, capable of doing just about anything, but unsure of what direction to take. 

I hoped that I had done enough to prepare my two daughters for the surprises that interrupt virtually everyone’s life. I wanted them to be resilient because I knew what kind of things might actually divert their plans. We just never know when the unexpected will enter our lives. All we can do is hope that we will have the fortitude to face whatever challenges come our way. 

The women in our family had all faced daunting setbacks and navigated well through the worst of times. I often used their stories to inspire my girls. It was difficult for them to imagine my two grandmothers whom they had never had the pleasure of knowing. Whenever I of spoke of those two wonderful ladies I’m not so sure that they fully understood the magnitude of their strength. After all, neither of them were able to read or write. They seemed so anachronistic to my thoroughly modern daughters. It fell to my mother and mother-in-law to provide models of the kind of people I hoped Maryellen and Catherine would be. 

I suppose that every mother who has ever lived has had dreams for their children even while understanding that ultimately their offspring must create their own goals. I have always believed that a good parent allows children to be independent in their thinking and to deviate from what has always been viewed as the norm whenever they so choose. I appreciated that one of my daughters had chosen a career in business and the other was leaning toward science. They were also far more progressive in their thinking than I had ever been even though my friends thought of me as a liberal hippy. I suppose that my determination not to overly influence the critical thinking of my daughters led them to feel free to be themselves. 

Eventually Maryellen married her beau, Scott, in a lovely wedding that combined his religion and hers. They moved away to Beaumont where Scott had his first job as an environmental engineer. It was a town about ninety miles away from Houston, so they were able to spread their wings of independence while we were able to easily visit them from time to time. 

It was difficult for Maryellen to find a job in Finance in such a small place so she returned to school to earn a second degree in Accounting, a field that seems to offer job prospects everywhere. Catherine in the meantime had transferred to Texas A&M University and changed her major multiple times just as I had. Eventually she specialized in rangeland ecology, even learning how to drive a tractor and do surveys. Along the way she attended an annual tradition at Texas A&M called Muster. Her intent was to honor my father, the most devoted Aggie of all time, with the ceremony designed to remember former students who had died. 

While she was there she noticed a young man giving her the eye from across the crowd. It was apparent to her that he was flirting. She remembered meeting him previously at a party. He had asked her out for a date and she had turned him down. Suddenly he looked more interesting that he had before. She hoped that he would call her again, but when he did not she took the initiative and called him. The rest would be the blooming of a relationship that would ultimately lead to love, but first both of them had serious business to complete. They wanted their college degrees so they began “dating” by mostly studying together and talking about their futures. 

Meanwhile back at our empty nest I threw myself into my own career with even more abandon than ever. My masters degree was complete and I assumed a leadership role at my school. It was an interesting job that involved working exclusively with the teachers as a facilitator for their needs. My principal had originated the idea and it proved to be so successful that eventually all of the schools in the district created similar positions. It was fun to be a trailblazer, but more importantly to assist my fellow teachers with the many demands continually being placed on them. I was enjoying my work more than ever and would soon be planning to be a fairly young grandmother. 

On the final day of our grand journey we packed up early and walked down to Brennan’s where we had a breakfast that literally satisfied us until dinner time after we had returned home. I stuck with the traditional brunch that I have eaten there since my honeymoon…a salad, eggs Benedict and bananas Foster. As usual nothing disappointed me. It’s always a sure bet to get a wonderful meal and outstanding service at Brennan’s. 

I remembered our many visits there as I enjoyed my food. I was so young and inexperienced on my honeymoon that I almost felt overwhelmed. I had never been in such a luxurious place before. I did not even recognize the names of the food but I quickly understood what a remarkable place it was. We would later take our daughters and our grandchildren there and they would quickly adapt their palates to world class cuisine. Of course, bananas Foster would always be their favorite dish. Surely the flaming presentation helped to make its appeal. 

My favorite visit to Brennans was after hurricane Katrina when the city was still limping along and hoping to recover the glory of days before the storm. We were there with two of our grandchildren on the first morning when the restaurant had managed to book every table for the entire day. It had been two years since that had happened and the staff was overjoyed. When our waitress asked us where we lived, she became rapturous upon learning that we were from Houston. She spoke of how our city had been so kind to so many people in the terrible aftermath of the destruction of New Orleans. She literally began to cry as she thanked us and the people of our city. I cried as well. 

I always want to linger a bit longer in New Orleans but it was time to go. I had math classes scheduled for the following day and my father-in-law was eager to return to our home once again. We bid adieu to the French Quarter and drove around the city before finally heading west on our final leg.

The drive home down Interstate 10 was messy in spots but no worse than usual. At one point a billboard suggested that we tune our radio to a local Cajun station and the programming we found there was a hoot. The DJ spoke Louisiana French and the music was all sung in the local language. We got a kick out of hearing it and immersing ourselves in local culture one last time. Our last stop for gasoline led to meeting a wonderful woman with a heavy and lilting Cajun accent. She was adorable and instantly became one more memorable moment of the trip. 

After fourteen days away from home I had made many observations about our wonderful country. While we may at times appear to be bitterly and politically divided the truth is that there were incredibly good and welcoming people wherever we went. When we just accept people as they are, not as we want them to be, life is so much more pleasant. I suspect that we are all just passing through this life wanting to enjoy the best versions of existence. In the United States there are so many opportunities to lead comfortable and rewarding lives. 

Our country looks to me to be doing way better than most people are apt to believe. Life appeared to be mostly very good in state after state. If the trucks on the road were any indication our economy is buzzing. The same thinking goes for crowds in restaurants and stores and hotels. There is a vibrance all around and most people seemed to be genuinely happy in spite the struggles that we humans always have to endure. 

There were even migrant workers staying at one of our hotels. They got up early each morning and rushed off to work. At night they left their dusty boots outside their doors. They were quiet and obviously determined to work hard to have good lives. There was so much work to be done everywhere and signs of prosperity and rebuilding were quite encouraging. Virtually every single highway was being repaired or expanded. The infrastructures of the nation were enjoying major upgrades. So too were houses and buildings being erected. What I witnessed was a vibrant effort to move forward after the trials of the pandemic. We are adjusting and working toward a more normal way of living after a rare and tragic event. It takes time to overcome the hard times that affected the entire world, but here in the United States our progress is evident in spite of the great losses we have shared with the rest of the world. 

I know that not everyone is benefitting from the recovery equally. We still have those who are struggling mightily with addictions, mental and physical illnesses and the grinding hardships of poverty. I saw those things as well. I only wish that instead of allowing politicians to enrage us by blaming their opponents for everything that is bad, we would finally understand the importance of working together to make progress in eliminating the ills that seem to always be with us regardless of who is in charge. 

We still have much to do and we have the human and material resources to do remarkable things as long as we are willing to be inventive and patient. It’s up to us to include the ideas and enthusiasm of the young in our quest. We must demonstrate a growth mindset with the understanding that we will have both success and failures. It takes time and effort to accomplish great things. Our focus should be on building a better future, not carping about our differences. This country and our world is truly worth compromising and sacrificing to save. I hope we are up to the task. 

Now and again I have one of those days that seems to be perfect from start to finish. Sometimes it’s just twenty four hours of homebound bliss when I’m feeling on top of the world just enjoying the ordinary. Others times it is an occasion that is so special that it seems to be one of those once in a lifetime moments. My second day in New Orleans on our recent trip was a kind of homage to the city and the joy that it has brought Mike and me again and again since our honeymoon back when I were a young couple filled with hopes and dreams that have mostly come true. 

We had a leisurely start to our day relaxing in our enchanting room at the Hotel Monteleone. Just before ten we ambled down the street to The Court of Two Sisters for the jazz brunch where we were greeted with the sounds of music and many smiles. The place was already filled with happy folks celebrating special days and enjoying the ambiance. 

I was determined to taste a bit of everything because I had already purchased a cookbook featuring some of the favorite recipes from the restaurant. I wanted to know how each tasted and which might become my favorites. Since I had the opportunity to choose whatever I wanted at the buffet I took small portions of everything, returning again and again to the cornucopia of choices. 

I found everything to be exceptionally delightful and began to plan Thursday evening dinners with my grandson who enjoy the adventure of cooking. I reveled in the idea of the two of us attempting to reproduce the creamed spinach, jambalaya, sweet potatoes, and bread pudding. It was a most joyful experience that was punctuated by our friendly and knowledgeable young waitress, Jasmine. 

Following our scrumptious brunch we decided to visit the Cabildo where I had commented on the occasion of my honeymoon that I felt a sense of deja vu while there in spite of the fact that I was certain that I had never before been to the place. Several years later as I was looking through some of my mother’s old photographs I discovered a picture of myself sitting in a stroller inside the very building where I had experienced an eerie feeling that I had once before seen the place. 

We spent several hours enjoying the rich history of New Orleans on the three floors of the building that once housed the Spanish colonial city hall. The building itself is a wonder and the exhibitions point to the importance of the city throughout different eras and the many influences that have shaped the Crescent City on the Mississippi River. 

Next we visited the Presbytere which flanks the right side of side of St. Louis Cathedral matching the architecture of the Cabildo. It was originally the site of a residence for monks and later became used for commercial enterprises. Now it is known as the Louisiana State Museum where current displays show the history of Mardi Gras in the city and also present a moving account of hurricane Katrina. 

We spent much of the day in the two museums and then strolled for a time around the French Quarter until the heat of August became a bit too much to bear, so we headed back to the hotel to rest a bit until it was time for our main event, dinner at Antoine’s Restaurant, one of the oldest and most famous of all the eateries in New Orleans. 

We had decided to follow the older rules of dress for the occasion. During the days of our honeymoon men had to wear jackets and ties to enter the more formal restaurants, so Mike donned his suit. In the meantime I changed into a long summer dress. We were giddy with delight because I had often longed to try the storied restaurant and had never before been there even though our travels to New Orleans had been many over the years. 

We were a bit too early to claim our reservation so we once again went to the Carousel Bar in the hotel and found a window seat to enjoy the people watching while we sipped on our wine. it was almost as much fun as our tour of the two museums. 

Another short walk took us to the famed restaurant where we were feted as though we were among the many celebrities whose photos don the walls of the establishment. I imagined turning to see Earnest Hemingway making his way to a table or catching a glimpse of a movie star sharing the space with me. I felt like a star struck teenager just being there. 

The attentiveness of the waiters who catered to us was astonishing. They seemed to be mind readers who knew our every wish, arriving just as our glasses of water became a bit too low, noticing that we needed something. Making us literally feel as though we were the special guests for the evening.

We began our culinary journey with a trio of oyster dishes and ultimately decided that the charred oysters were our favorite. Then came our entree of Pontchartrain Pompano with onion rice, asparagus and creamed spinach. We ended with a divine bread pudding. Every bite was so divine that I felt that I needed an Antoine’s cookbook as well so I asked the waiter if one was available. He immediately went into the kitchen and returned with a copy that he carried like the crown jewels. Not long after the sous chef came out to autograph our new treasure, and treasure it is. It is not only filled with some of the best recipes but also tells the storied history of the restaurant and New Orleans. 

I was so excited that I hardly knew what to do. I don’t think that our day could possibly have been any better than it was. I should have been sad that we were leaving the next day but sometimes staying too long ruins the perfection, so I was resigned to making the final push to return home to resume my routines including once again teaching mathematics to a small group of students. Our vacation/rescue of our granddaughter had been more wonderful than I might have imagined. We had enjoyed a magical day. It was time to go back to reality.