Hey, Jim(my)...

Paul McCartney, "On the Run"; Nov. 14, 2012, Minute Maid Park, Houston TX

So this year I turned 35; my Daddy turned 60; my Umpy Dene (Uncle Gene) turned 65; and cousin Sean turned 23 (he kinda messed up the pattern, but we still keep him around.  He's cool.)  We celebrated these milestones this week at Minute Maid Park, singing along with the Cute Beatle himself.  This was my fourth time to see him, and the third time I've been able to share it with Daddy.  We actually celebrated the same way ten years ago, for my 25th, Dad's 50th, and Gene's 55th. (Sean, being in middle school, missed that one.)  This was the best show I've seen him do yet- all my favorites and some new ones.  Never heard "A Day in the Life" live until this show, and got a repeat of "Helter Skelter" as an encore. That, my friends, is one bad ass rock song- raucous, loud, rough around the edges- I love it.  It's my favorite Beatles song, followed by "Paperback Writer" (which he also jammed on.)  "Golden Slumbers Medley" was also a new one, and probably my favorite from the Abbey Road album.  Then there were the Wings tunes, "Let Me Roll It" is at the top my list for that band... and some solo stuff, and some Fireman stuff... over 30 numbers in all, plus two three-songs-each encores.  I hope I am still rocking like that when I am 70 (can you believe Sir Paul is 70?!)  Anyway, I digress... easy to do when I am on a music roll.

What made this show special, in addition to the performer, was that I got to share it again with Daddy. I'm a huge music fan, and it's because of him.  He's played the guitar for 45+ years, and you name it, he can play it.  (He's modest- he's a very good musician.  He sings, too.)  Rock (mean Stairway"), country (anything Willie...), blues, folk, praise... it was all around growing up.  Uncle Gene plays too, and some of my fondest memories are of listening to them jam... their version of Santo and Johnny's "Sleepwalk" is awesome.  He exposed me to all kinds of music, and taught me to appreciate them all.  Anything guitar-based, especially, draws me- The Beatles, Clapton, The Who (Townshend's windmilling is really epic live), Springsteen, Rush, Led Zep, SRV, Hendrix... I'm digressing again, aren't I?  Warned you.

Dad and I have also seen Clapton together twice, once with Robert Cray (talk about a blues JAM) and once with Steve Winwood.  Two more very special memories.  I am so blessed that this man is MY dad and we can do this together.  He has influenced me so much (way more than just musically) and we almost didn't get to do anything after Oct. 11, 1992 (see this post for an explanation.) So each time we get to do this makes it that much more special.

Anyhoo... Daddy.  Gene. Sean. Paul.  Magical night.  I hope we get to do it again in another ten years.

Hey, Jim..
You're a great Dad
You're always there to
Make bad days better...
You've always been a part of my  heart
And I could not
Have asked for better.
(Sung to "Hey, Jude- and now that's totally stuck in your head, isn't it?  You're welcome- could be worse.)

Dia de Los Muertos

Click on the photo for full-size.

Greenwood Cemetery, and Marshall Hebrew Cemetery, Marshall, TX

Since today is the Day of the Dead, it seems appropriate to post some of the shots I took last time I was in East Texas.  I had long wanted to photograph two of the oldest cemeteries in town, with their lovely markers and sculptures.  I find cemeteries fascinating and beautiful, and not the least bit scary.  They are generally peaceful places, and to me the older, the better.  I love the beautiful grave markers (you don't see them like this anymore) and the gorgeous, intricate wrought iron fences around family plots.  So much history is there, just waiting to be found- and remembered.  City founders, movers, shakers, names you've always heard... all here.  And in a small town like Marshall, it's much more intimate and familiar- my Mom was with me that day, and we found the resting spot of my great-great-step-grandfather.  (Died when she was young, well before I was born.)  But it was a chance to share her memories of him, and of some of the other families she knew in the cemeteries.  (Not many, since these are very OLD cemeteries- Greenwood was founded in 1840, after all.) But still- here was the grave of the namesake of the hospital I was born in.  Over there was the family that ran the historic old hotel by the depot.  And down there, is Rimpson Teet, the sweetest man who ever taught a four-year-old Marty to roll her own...

iFeliz Dia de Los Muertos!

Good for the Soul

Fall color isn't something we see much of in this part of Texas; it doesn't cool off slowly enough for the leaves to turn the brilliant reds and yellows.  Leaves here are green one day and on the ground the next!  This is just outside the Gaylord Opryland resort in Nashville, TN; I spent a few days there last week at the annual National Academic Advising Association conference (NACADA).

I don't get to travel much for work, but this conference I try to go to every year.  In addition to getting to go new places, I am always amazed at how many people choose this career. There were 2,900+ advisors in one place for four days and it was awesome.  Advising as a profession is growing, and more institutions are recognizing how important advisors are to the success of students.  It takes a certain type to be an advisor, though; this job ain't everyone's cuppa tea.  I believe it certainly is mine, though.  I love being around the students, who are so full of energy, of hope, of life.   It's easy to get burned out and be cynical about the demands of students and parents and faculty and administration... and I will admit there are days when I just want to go home and crash and not come back.  Thankfully, those days are few and far between.

Little things make a difference, and they also let me know I have made a difference.  One sweet student brought me cookies today; I also have a student who drops by about once a week just to chat and get a hug.  Those little things make my day and remind me why I do this job, why I answer emails from panicked students at midnight, why I care... Advising, for me, isn't just a profession, it's a passion.  NACADA allows me to be around others who feel the same, even if it's just for a few short days.  (Not that there aren't other advisors on my campus who feel the same- there are many of them, it's just we are all so busy we rarely have time to see each other!)  I come back rejuvenated and rededicated to the profession every year, and my passion grows.  NACADA waters my little advisor soul.

Dome, Sweet Dome

The Louisiana Superdome, New Orleans, LA
I refuse to call it the Mercedes-Benz Superdome.  To any Saints fan, it's just the 'Dome, where our beloved boys in black and gold battle it out on Sundays (and some Mondays and Thursdays too.)  WHO DAT!

Thomas and I just spent a long weekend in New Orleans, which is one of my absolute favorite cities in the world.  Of all the places we've travelled, this city has captured my heart and soul and I find myself returning to it time and time again.  (Generally during football season, but I'm always up for a road trip.)  New Orleans is so culturally unique, and it's like no place else I've ever visited.  The laid back approach to life, the value the locals place on family, friends, food, hospitality... it is hard for me to articulate the love I have for this city.  So many problems face it, but there is such a spirit there, an undying hope, and a "you can't keep us down!" determination to survive despite so many things stacked against it.  It really bothers me that so many people only experience a very small slice of the French Quarter and never get off of Bourbon Street.  The city has so much more to offer than that loud, boozy, barfy strip... but most never see it.  City Park's beautiful old oaks, the stately mansions in the Garden District, the funky vibe of Magazine Street, the quietly dignified cemeteries.  All speak to me, to my  heart.

My dear husband grew up on the West Bank, and he's a life-long, die-hard Saints fan.  Even when they were the Ain'ts... but he doesn't see the city as I do.  We discovered that we most likely crossed paths there as children, at the '84 World's Fair.  I fell head over heels for the city then; it took a little longer to meet him.

Anyway... I feel like the city loves me back, in a way.  It's always there, ready for a great time, ready to show me a new secret or reveal a new idea.  As a historian, just the history of the city is fascinating, so unique- only New Orleans could have been shaped and molded by the different factions that have controlled it throughout it's life.  Anywhere else and it wouldn't have been the same.  New Orleans, too, is so welcoming to outsiders- stay there more than a week and you're a local.  People there say come on in, sit down, relax... stay a while, listen to some music, here have a bowl of gumbo.  Tell me about yourself, what brings you here?  And I could sit and listed to a New Orleans accent all day long.

I'd move there permanently if I could... I'm one lottery ticket away!  I could advise at Tulane, or Loyola, or UNO...

I guess what I am trying to say is... New Orleans is my happy place.

Who's Your Daddy?

Well, if you look at these two photos, there's no denying who's MY daddy.  That would be him a few years ago, at Big State Baseball Camp at the University of Dallas.  Yesterday, Sept. 10, 2012, my beloved Daddy turned 60.  He has now outlived his daddy, and for that I am so thankful- because he almost didn't.

Oct. 10, 1992- one moth to the day after his 40th birthday.  TKG played football in Dallas that night, and as a freshman cheerleader (no, you can't see THAT photo!) I went along.  We arrived back in Tyler about midnight, and as I was 15 and not yet driving, I did what I always did after an away game.  I called Dad to come pick me up.  We lived about a mile from the school, so he was there quickly.  We went home, and I headed to the kitchen for a snack; he went to the back of the house to the bedroom.  A few minutes later, my mom came into the kitchen and said Daddy wasn't feeling well, was having some chest pains.  She was going to take him to the emergency room, and would I please stay awake until she called me to let me know what was going on.  My two younger sisters were asleep in their rooms, and she didn't want to wake them- at this point, we all thought it was heartburn.  We never thought it would be a heart attack.

Because he was awake and waiting for my call; because mom was awake and recognized the need for action; and because he had some fantastic, quick-thinking doctors who knew a heart attack when they saw one, Daddy is here today.  They were actually able to stop the heart attack in progress, to get his heart beating normally again, and to save his life- and, who am I kidding, our family's life.  Daddy is the heart and soul of the Roberts family.  The worst day of my almost-35 years was the next day, when we were allowed to see him.  It profoundly shook me to see my Daddy, my hero, my Superman, hooked up to all those machines and looking so weak.  This was the man who had taught me to throw a baseball, to ride a bike, who had given me his red hair and impish grin, and wicked sense of humor.  He taught me so much, and we came so close to losing him.

So as we celebrate his 60th, I am profoundly grateful for the extra 20 years we've had together; that he was there when I graduated from college, that he was there to walk me down the aisle, that he was there when my world crumbled; that he has been there every time I ever needed him.  I am such a Daddy's girl, and I am so proud to say that! 

I love you, Daddy!

Heart

We visited the historic Novodevichy Cemetery in Moscow, just next to the Novodevichy Monastery. This is one of the most prestigious cemeteries in the city, and contains the final resting places of Dmitri Shostakovich, Nikita Khruschev, Anton Checkov, Sergei Prokofiev, Boris Yeltsin, and Raisa Gorbacheva.  There are many, many fabulous sculptures and grave markers, and the cemetery is very park-like, withe beautiful trees and lovely places to sit and reflect, enjoying the peace and quiet (when there aren't hordes of tourists, anyway.)

This sculpture is my favorite.  It marks the grave of Aleksandr Bakulev, one of the pioneers of heart surgery in the Soviet Union.  He was the first to perform open  heart surgery, hence the ruby representation of a heart in his hands; he also was the first to perform several other thoracic surgery techniques.  This literal representation of "holding my life in your hands" speaks to me, as my dad is a heart attack survivor and he wouldn't be here today without life-saving cardiac care.  Just goes to show, that no matter how far apart we are, we really aren't all that different.  At one point, we were sitting in Red Square, and I said to Thomas, "We're in mothereffing MOSCOW, dude!"  It is amazing that we had the chance to visit this place that once seemed so remote, so dangerous, so evil, so OTHER.  And when we were there, it couldn't have been more amazing, and the people were so wonderful.  Not different, and certainly not evil!

Throw Away the Key

This lock was on a beautiful pedestrian bridge over the Moscow River, near the Christ Our Savior Russian Orthodox Cathedral.  I'm guessing the date is referring to a wedding or honeymoon.  I hope so!  We saw several couples either having portraits made or actually getting married during our visit, and all the dresses!  Big, poofy, 80's-style dresses are apparently big in Russia.  I like this smaller symbol better, though- it will last far longer than the dress and the party, and will be a lasting reminder of their hopes, dreams, love; that they were together on that day in that location.  It will mark them.