Happy Labor Day everyone!
Today Sheila and I will go to a new (to us) class at the nearby Y, Nia!
Evidently named and styled after “non impact aerobics” – this sounds like a great alternative for the both of us, and maybe an intro to an eventual lessening of summer here in Texas and the beginning of some rare autumn weather.
Well, it is Labor Day, so I figure I can hope, lol!
I’ll update on the class tomorrow!
Wish us well! 😊
Apparently my anxiety re meeting with extended family and ex-family (but are ex’s ever really ex-family 😊) was unfounded. We had a fabulous brunch of nine at Casa Garcia’s nearby and ate and laughed and talked and told stories.
Since two of the grown (nearly grown?) granddaughters, one starting college, the other two years from finishing HS, and their mom (my oldest girl) and her husband and mom (my ex) were all there, I told stories of when I had them alone for awhile before I met Sheila and her little girl (my youngest now ❤️).
One of the stories was how (before there were digital cameras) I spent a late-60s early 70’s fortune on film and bulbs to use with a Brownie camera (or something like that, lol!) taking shots of the now oldest girl.
Then how family (must have been my dad and mom, uncles and aunts), teased me unmercifully I was wasting money and making too much of the baby. So when the 2nd child came along, a boy, I hardly took any pictures at all!
And then, when I’d explained all that to my now grown son (who was off w/his wife on a trip) – as to why there weren’t as many pictures of him when he was young as we had of his older sister, he hadn’t taken it completely well 😊
But he’d understood. It just hurt some.
I can understand.
It’s one of the few times I remember caving into family qualms about something I really cared about that really never should have been a problem. But, times were different then in terms of money. The 70s were, among many things, feeling the results of overspending on wars that couldn’t go on. Jobs were shrinking. Fears were growing.
But still, it was funny – now.
Telling the nearly dozen people of all ages at the table about why so few pictures of the second child existed.
It helped only four of us were from those times. The whole story (minus about the coming crush of the 70s recession) fell on digital ears and they laughed good heartedly with love at the fortune-cookie-picture my son inherited. They know him well. As brother, uncle, dad – and he’s known for his big smiles, and generous heart. They know he weathered it better than I’d feared.
So I told them how, when it was just me and him and his older sister, before I met Sheila and her little girl, while the two were still in elementary school, for two summers, I took a job at the now Hurricane Ike blown-away amphitheater on the west end of Galveston Island.
The shows were at night. Work (rehearsals) started around ten, at night, when it’d cooled enough, and ran til 3 or 4 am. We slept late mornings to say the least 😊
And there was this one scene, the beginning of the second act (the play was about the battle for Texas Independence) where I’d carry him from behind a burm facing toward the Gulf side of the island, and, with the sea breeze to my back, I carried him over it onto the nearly bare stage. The stage fit covered wagons and horses and cannons and faced 1800+ tourists and locals. The stage was empty ‘cept for the wagons and cannons. And I’d carry him to the lip of the stage apron. Face out to the crowd and look up to the sky. And scream.
Sometimes my son would open one eye and look at me.
It was a good Labor Day gathering ♥️
My Related Blog Posts
- “Galveston in the 21st Century, in Three Parts” – original poetry, art, photography
- ”Galveston Island Nights” – original poetry
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