Throwback Thursday #65: The Meat Wagon and the Texas Tornadoes

I spent a lot of time in an old probably 1970's model Chevy suburban during my teen years.  Usually with a steno notebook in my hands and manure on my boots.  Our 4-H judging team rolled in style.

The suburban was lovingly referred to as the "meat wagon."  Legend has it that before it was used to haul kids around to judging contests, it was an ambulance.  Whatever the reason, the name stuck.  We traveled lots of miles.  Sometimes, she did good.  Sometimes, she died before we even made it out of Texas and we had to trade her in for a navy blue 18 passenger van that made us look like a swat team every time we stopped and got out (possibly because someone insisted on yelling "go, go, go each time the doors opened).

No matter the vehicle, the same cassette tape was always blaring over the speakers.  The Texas Tornadoes.  I'm willing to bet you to this day any of us could easily tell you every word to songs like "Hey baby, que paso" or "Who were you thinking of."  You know, the classics.

We traveled all over the country from Louisville, Kentucky to Kansas City, Missouri to Madison, Wisconsin.  We won several state championships.  We had a lot of fun together.  In some ways it seems like yesterday.  In others, like a lifetime ago.

I feel like we sort of came of age in that meat wagon singing those songs.  We learned about life and EPDs and love and travel and the difference between a Jersey and a Guernsey and what to do when someone has a mild panic attack while stuck in traffic on a bridge over the Mississippi River, that they don't have Dr. Pepper north of the Mason Dixon Line or green chile east of the Missisippi, how to read reigning patterns, and how to spot a Furr's Cafeteria from miles away.

And I've got to say, I'm not convinced there is a better way to grow up than that right there.  In a world today filled with iPhones and video games and people hardly talking to each other, I sure hope that somewhere, another suburban load of 4-H kids are learning about life one Texas Tornadoes song at a time.

Throwback Thursday #64: OSU Mock Trial Team

My senior year of college, I was on the mock trial team.  We weren't very good, but man alive did we have fun.  And made some great friendships with people who I otherwise might never have known at OSU!  After getting to see one of my teammates last week for the first time in about 8 years, I realized I had to share some pictures of our major mock trial trip!  We went to a tournament in Dallas in the spring of 2006.  We won a round or maybe two.  College Roomie won an award for being one of the best witnesses in the competition.  And I kick myself for not having a blog then to remember all of the funny stories.  It was a great experience with even better people!

The team at Regionals

We may not have been Olympic material...

Team Dinner

Little bit of a flat tire adventure.

We may have been better here than in the courtroom.

College Roomie and I

Girls and the skyline

College Roomie, Trey and I
 

Skating at the Galleria

 



So....what do we say kids?  Team reunion??

 




Throwback Thursday #63: Homecoming in Stillwater

"Stillwater has a population of thousands, but is home to millions." 

Hallelujah, kids, it's Homecoming in Stillwater!  SO excited to be headed northbound 35 to meet up with 50,000 orange-clad faithful to celebrate our love for Oklahoma State.  In honor of this big event (which will also be The Boy from Texas' first time to attend the festivities!), I wanted to share a few photos of homecomings past.

I swear I don't know how he was ever that little!

Famous NY, NY kickline

 

 

Happy Homecoming and Go Pokes!! 

Throwback Thursday #62: Images of Roma

"Traveling is almost like talking with men of other centuries." ~René Descartes

I'm a self-confessed church junkie.  Whether it was skipping class and a party to watch the vigil kept outside Pope John Paul II's death bed when I was in college, or taking pictures of every church (and every cow...I'm an ag girl you know!) in Europe on my last trip, or my desire to invite Cardinal Dolan to a dinner party, it's safe to say I'm a nerd about this stuff.  So watching the Papal Conclave was something I really enjoyed.  (I'm not talking about the fact that I was in court and missed the white smoke, announcement, and introductory speech.....)

The fact that just a few years ago, I was there, my very own feet from the middle of nowhere New Mexico stood in all of these fancy, historic, important places, makes watching even cooler.  I ate gelato in the streets and lasagna in the restaurants where the journalists, reporters, pilgrims and Cardinals are spending their time.  I've taken pictures of the churches in which the Cardinals say mass.  I've stood in St. Peter's Square, where Pope Francis I addressed the people.  I've sat in the Sistine Chapel, where the Cardinals sat and from which that white smoke rose yesterday.  This gives a fun perspective on this event for me.

In honor of that, I thought I'd share a few of my favorite photos from my trip to Rome back in 2009.

The Coliseum

Beautiful side street in Rome

Pizza del Popolo

St. Peter's Bascilica

Drawing of Pope John Paul II called "The People's Pope"

St. Paul statue - Basilica of St. Paul Outside the Walls

St. Peter

St. Peter's Basilica surrounded by the Saints

Cousin Whitney and me entering the Bascilica

Angel statue on bridge leading to Vatican City

Me in Piazza del Popolo

Street near the Spanish Steps

Sun setting on my last night in Rome

Throwback Thursday #61: Homecoming

"Cheer up, Sleepy Jean.  Oh, what can it mean?  To a daydream believer, and a homecoming queen?"  ~The Monkees

[I know it's Wednesday, but I have another blog for Thursday.  So it's Throwback Thursday today.  Go with it.]

Oh, y'all.  I'm old.

This weekend was Homecoming at my alma mater, Logan High School.  I didn't go (does anyone actually go to high school homecomings?) but seeing the posts about it on Facebook made me remissness about the olden days.  You know, dances in the gym, the big mums that are totally impractical and illogical but for some reason are deemed "cool", putting on a prom dress immediately after finishing playing a basketball game (read:  sweaty and gross), gluing balloons to arches, and crooked plastic crowns.

And there's nothing like a few decade old pictures to make you remember the good ol' days.  Shall we?

Just for the record, that dress cost me $25 (Blue Eyes' poor tie cost twice that) and I wore it to homecoming and two proms and two different younger girls wore it to their prom.  That, friends, is $5 bucks a wear.  Years later and that is what I remember about homecoming.....you can see just how cool I was!  Ha!

Throwback Thursday #60: Roadtrip with Gran

"What children need most are the essentials that grandparents provide in abundance.  They give unconditional love, kindness, patience, humor, comfort, lessons in life.  And, most importantly, cookies."  ~Rudolph Giuliani

In May 2003, I ventured out on a journey. A 6 hour drive from Logan to San Angelo, Texas for Cousin Whitney's high school graduation. With Gran along to ride shot gun. Not everyone gets to take a roadtrip like this....and one year later, Gran would pass away. I count this trip among my favorite memories.

Before we left the house she gave me this big lecture about how her bladder wasn't very good and she was going to have to stop to use the bathroom and if I wasn't going to stop when she needed to she wasn't going. I assured her I was not some driving Nazi and if she had to pee, we could stop!
 

And off we went. When we got to Levelland, Texas, we made our pit stop at Burger King. We headed to the bathroom....where Gran proceeds not to take care of her poor bladder.....but to light up a cigarette. I tell her that she can't smoke in there and shoo her out, cigarette in one hand dragging her walker along in the other.  She finished it on the curb before we hit the road.  (I should tell you that Gran thought she had kept her smoking habit secret for years by smoking on her porch and hiding the hand holding the cigarette whenever the kids went by the house. Unfortunately for her, she didn't have stupid grandchildren.)
 

Once we arrived in Texas, Gran's antics only continued. Cousin Whitney has another cousin (other side of her family) who is a bit (a LOT) OCD. She can't handle anyone touching her food or the dishes that she will use and is really particular about things. Now Gran was a lot of things.....but tolerant of people's crap was not one of them. After the OCD chick pitched some sort of fit in the kitchen, Gran kicked me under the table. I looked over at her and there she sat with the lid to OCD girl's water bottle and she was rubbing her grubby little hands all over it. When she finished, she set it back on the table and watched with pride and accomplishment as OCD girl screwed the lid back onto her bottle. You didn't want to get on Gran's bad side.
 

After the graduation everyone was sitting around at Cousin Whitney's house and we had a toast to her. Gran, ever the center of attention, stood up in the center of the room and announced that she had a toast to make. I was expecting something about the value of education or family or something really deep. I'll be darned if that little old lady didn't stand there in front of the room full of church friends and proudly say, "Here's to those who wish you well. Those who don't can go to hell." That, folks, was Gran-style.
 

If I had the trip to do over, I'd pay more attention. I'd remember everything we talked about for the whole 6 hours. I would have asked her so many more questions about life and love and making decisions. About friendship and travel and grief.  Because if there is any person in the world who I'd like to be like when I'm 80 (or any other age, for that matter), it's my Gran.

Throwback Thursday # 59: The House That Built Me

"Won't take nothing but a memory, from the house that built me..." ~Miranda Lambert, The House That Built Me

Last weekend while I was at Relay for Life, I spent the night in my childhood home.  A double-wide trailer that I lived in my entire life until I left for college.  I hadn't been back in this house for years.  It seemed smaller, somehow.  Maybe because it's packed full of memories.

There is a piece of paneling, on the wall next to he kitchen table. On it, are small hash marks and numbers in my Dad's handwriting. Each mark showing how much my brother and I had grown in the year before.

The hash marks might show you how much taller we got, but if you want to see how we grew, you don't need to look at the paneling. You just need to look at that old house and the memories that it holds.

The rock fireplace where we would practice FFA speeches, pull down our stockings on Christmas morning, blow dry frozen calves in front of the fire, and take family photos every Thanksgiving.

 The kitchen sink where my mom used to wash my hair, and where we ran water over my finger that I almost cut off before we  headed to the hospital for stitches.   The wall where all of our showing banners were hung with excitement each fall.  The picture windows that I was sure my parents would spy out of when I was being dropped off from a date, and out of which my brother used to shoot skunks in the front yard, and Gran used to peak her head in to see if we were awake before coming to the front door in the mornings. 

The living room floor where I had tea parties with my mom and my grandmas, read books with my dad, and watched Alf on tv. 

The bedroom where I got ready for kindergarten graduation and the proms and played camping with Cradle friend and talked about crushes with Teacher Friend. 

The ledge on the front porch where the swallows would build their nest every year and where the old kindling stand sat that my Gran would hide Cadberry eggs every Easter.  The nail holes in my bedroom wall where I had posters of the original Dream Team and George Strait.  The closet that held my mom's "Taos skirt" that my brother decided to take scissors to when he was 4 years old (and for which he proceeded to get a major spanking).

The kitchen table where we ate dinner every night as a family, where we did homework and 4-H record books and science fair projects, and blew out countless birthday candles.  

The spot next to the front door where dirty "barn shoes" were to be removed before manure was tracked through the house.  The phone on the wall where I got my first call from a boy and the corner where over 20 years of Christmas trees stood. 

It may be a trailer house.  And it may be small.  But the memories it holds are something you cannot measure.  It really was the house that built me.