Gonzales, TX

I spent this last weekend in Gonzales, TX. My Mother and Grandparents live on the Gulf Coast of Texas so when the evacuation orders came in to flee hurricane Ike, the first place to go is Gonzales. For many of us in the family, it’s ‘Home Sweet Home’. I decided to seize the moment and flip it into a family get-together. It worked out all right and we seemed to have a good time, though the visit just wasn’t long enough. Obviously, at short notice there were no hotels available so I decided to try my luck with Bed and Breakfasts and Inns. After a few phone calls, I was able to reserve a couple of nights at the John Fauth Cottage on St. Peter Street. All of the old homes and mansions in Gonzales are named after the original owners. The homes carry on their legacies long after they’re gone. It adds so much life to this town and the stories are really quite endearing. Gonzales is a quaint town, much like Andy Griffith’s Mayberry, only it is so much richer in history and my family’s roots. Five generations, to be exact. There is something so magical and enchanting about this place. For some at first glance, it probably just looks like a small town with nothing going on; Population 7,000 and a downtown square that is in desperate need of revitalization. But I spent a few summers and Thanksgivings here as a child and it made a lasting impression on me. And this past weekend, as I sat on the porch in the evenings with my mother at the John Fauth house, I recalled the butterflies, the horned frogs, hummingbirds, fragrant floral smells, fresh picked dewberries, sandy soil beneath my feet and rock dirt roads, climbing trees and making mud pies. My life in Gonzales as a child was a long list of make believe and magical moments. Plunkett’s was the icehouse just down the road where we’d walk and buy a cold Coke in the glass bottle; My Great Grandmother’s greenhouse was my hide-away and my sister and I climbed the pecan trees and sprawling oaks. It was an enchanting retreat for me to when I was a child and here it is again, 29 years later, the place I still love to call home.

The Art of Good Communication: Honesty

No doubt we all meet people throughout our lives that we have great conversation with. Conversations so engaging that we can't wait for the opportunity to talk to them again. People with whom we call immediately when our world goes sideways and those we can always count on to make us feel better, even if it's just to offer a listening ear. For me, these people are the ones who are the most transparent, the most honest in sharing who they really are. I don't have time, or the patience, for meaningless, surface conversation. I would rather talk to a stranger in the grocery store for an ounce of honesty, at the very least, than to maintain a conversation with someone who can't even delve deeper than the weather. It's just who I am. My parents are both communicators; so naturally, I seek out the same kind of people for which to spend my time with.
Sometimes communication is difficult for people. And I have determined that the art of good communication lies in honesty and even vulnerability. Having the ability to "put it all out there" creates an environment for you to communicate openly and effectively. When there are no boundaries, no walls, no insecurities (what will they think, how will they react, etc.) the flow of good, honest communication takes place naturally. I think we all need a reminder from time to time regarding the importance of proper communication. And when we can determine that we aren't communicating effectively with someone, don't be so quick to assume the problem lies in WHAT WE ARE saying, but rather, in what we AREN'T saying.

A friend passes...

(Friday, June 27th, 2008)

One of my best friends died Wednesday night, just two days after his birthday. I hadn't spoken to him in a month but I knew we needed to talk before it was too late. When I got the news of his terminal illness a few months ago, I avoided him as much as I could because I thought it would make letting go a little easier. I explained to him during our last phone call that I wasn't avoiding him because I didn't care; I simply didn't know how to cope. So, it was at that time we officially said our good-byes. But after a month of silence, I decided to call and wish him a happy birthday. He always appreciated little gestures like that. He didn't have many friends, so a call from anyone always made his day brighter. It rang twice and went to voice mail. At that point, I knew something must be wrong. I sent him an email and when I got no response, I decided to email his daughter. She promptly emailed me back and informed me he had passed away peacefully at 7 PM, Wednesday night.

I envision his humble, though oftentimes disarrayed, apartment where he spent the latter years of his life. I imagine his family, rummaging through his things, wondering what to do with it all. He didn't have much. And even though I know he won't answer, I have called several times, just to listen to the previously recorded voice of his life before it went to shit.

Maybe a part of me looks for answers to the question that can't be answered; and observing the contrast of what used to be and what is now is the only tangible thing I have left to try to make sense of it all. You find yourself reading and re-reading old e-mails; which offer little comfort, as there just aren't enough of them. And for what? Is it to savor the leftovers of the communication that will no longer exist? Regret? Denial? I'm still turning it all over in my head. I'm sure it will all be turning for a while, too.
"Have a nice day". That was his usual closing statement. I'm sure that's what he'd want.

Writing, a faithful friend

I’m so thankful that I was born with the ability to create. Although I have never acknowledged writing as my greatest creative strength, I will say with absolute sincerity that it has helped me overcome many difficult times throughout my life. I first began writing in journals at the age of 11 and I don’t think I ever stopped. In everything that I experienced and endured, writing was like a faithful friend that never walked away from me. The pages of my journals were like a confessional booth without cumbersome words of forgiveness and one hundred Hail Mary’s. Like rain pouring over a dirty street, washing it clean and making all things new again, I always felt better after I had acknowledged my thoughts, dreams and fears.

The same is still true for me today. No matter what I am going through in my life, I choose to walk through every door, feel every emotion and observe all that is around me. It is all mine. And all of these experiences and responses belong to my life and to me in this present moment.

There are no "mistakes"

Your past and the choices you’ve made aren’t "mistakes"


Your past is an exquisite place filled with your footprints, your history, your stories; challenges that you overcame, memories you made, choices that have shaped who you are today. A beautiful person you are and a woman (or man) full of wisdom is what you will become. Don’t ever say that your past is full of mistakes and wrong. Revel in all of it because without any of it, your life would be dull, motionless.
We all have our paths to walk down and sometimes we have to march through fire to transcend to a beautiful place that becomes our amazing self, our amazing life. Don’t live life protecting your heart, live it fully. Feel all of the love, joy and compassion that you are given. This is YOUR life--all of it.
The sad moments, the happy moments and your perspective--it all belongs to you.

Give love, kindness, compassion and the world will all look different, I promise you. Thank the universe for your life, those who love you and the gifts you were born with. Continue on your path gracefully, joyfully, without fear or regret. Don’t allow life's challenges to make you feel any kind of regret or rejection. People will come in and out of your life until the day you die. The people we meet are here for a reason, a season or a lifetime. If they go, never take it personally. They came into your life for a purpose, they fulfilled that purpose and you can be better because of them and the experience.