Miss You, Love You

May you rest in peace, Molly Ann. You are loved.

Oh Happy Day, Part 2

Proud Aunt

All my hard work!

The Happy Couple

Thanks to my most excellent niece, Krista, for the extra photos. Love ya!

Oh Happy Day

Caleb & Felicia - July 18, 2009

The Festivities...

Bride-to-be

Grandma's Pixies and Sisters


By the Pond


The Wedding March


Trouble X 3


Pretty in Pink


Her Grand Entrance


All Smiles


The Hand-off


Vows





Kiss, kiss

Mr. & Mrs.

Big Brother and the Pixies

Love to Mom

And then my camera battery died...

The Last Birthday of Its Kind

I remember the day he was born like it was yesterday. The date was May 21, 1987, and I was almost 16 years old. His grandma and I waited impatiently in an empty hallway, outside labor and deliver. We stood in front of a set of big steel gray doors that blocked our sight, but not the sounds of life or its beginnings on the other side. It was almost like we were die-hard fans waiting backstage to catch a glimpse of our favorite superstar.

The wait seemed excruciating, especially for a teenager wanting instant gratification. At first, the only noise we could hear was the sound of our own anticipation. Then suddenly a faint cry from behind the doors became audible. And it grew louder and louder. I realized that these were the first sounds of a tiny little person coming into this world, a stranger that I loved instantly. My mother and I looked at each other and both grinned ear to ear.

Moments later his father emerged from behind the steel doors. "It's a boy," he declared. We cheered in celebration, jumping up and down with joy.

A boy. A nephew.

Now at this point in my life, I was not new to aunt-hood. After all, he was the fifth in what turned out to be a long line of grandchildren and also the second boy. This was, however, the first family birth in which I was present at the hospital, so it made the day extra special, not to mention the fact that this particular boy was a long time in coming.

Yes, he took his time making his debut into this world. A couple of extra weeks to be exact. So the excitement and anticipation of his arrival was palpable up and down the deserted halls of that hill country hospital.

There are a lot of changes and new things happening in my family right now. With my birthday coming up and once again feeling the excitement and anticipation of change, I've been reflecting on what used to be and what lies ahead, as anyone would naturally do. As I look back on that little boy who made his way into this world with his own fan club waiting in the wings, there are certain feelings and emotions that I can only reserve for him.

Back in those days when my sister and her family would depart after a visit to Grandma's house, my first thought or reflection would usually revolve around her first born, Seth, and what he had invariably gotten into during his time at Grandma's. Sometimes my thoughts could just as easily involve her third child, Joel, the easy-going one who played so well with his cousins, or son #4, Paul, the sweet, angel-faced boy with long silky eyelashes that any woman would envy (Paul will hate that I've said this).

My first thought, though, usually wasn't about her second child, that curly, tow-headed little boy with big beautiful blue eyes and loads of energy named Caleb. This wasn't because Caleb was any less loved or appreciated, or that I never thought of him. It was just that he was, well, so quiet, which if you come from a big family, you know this usually means less attention on the whole.

Regardless of his quiet nature, I will always fondly remember him as the little boy who loved to be rocked to sleep by his mommy. I can never forget how my sister would sit him in her lap in a rocking chair, and he would lean against her, pacifier in his mouth. Her long hair would be flowing down around her shoulders and his. As she rocked him, you could see his eyes getting heavier and heavier and the sucking on his pacifier slower and less regular.

It was usually at this point that Caleb would shyly and quietly reach up over his head toward his mother and grab a lock of her hair. Gently he would twist it round and round, over and over again, caressing it lovingly between his tiny little fingers. With his finger movements getting slower and slower, he would finally drift off to sleep, fingers and mouth still, but arm remaining above his head. It was almost like he was reaching out to her for that extra little reassurance only a mommy can give before he could take that last step into unknown dreamland.

Caleb is the strong, silent type. A constant in the family, always quiet, always unassuming. In many ways stoic, even at a tender young age. Yet, when you look into his eyes, you see a hope, a potential and a curiosity about life that makes you think "wow, this kid is something special."

Now that special little boy is all grown up and doesn't need his mommy (or daddy even) like that anymore. He's still a man of few words, but it's hard to tell right now. You see, he is starting the next phase of his adult life, and it is such an exciting one, he can't help but talk about it.

He has chosen a bride and will become the father of twins very soon. I could not be more thrilled for him and his beloved, Felicia. I wish for them all the love and happiness that this world provides. I hope that their lives are filled with more sweet than sorrow and that they experience the joy of finding beauty in everyday, especially with those precious little babies on the way. I pray that Caleb and Felicia find the perfect balance for their new family and have unforgettable decades of possibilities in the years to come.

This is an aunt's sincere desire for her nephew, his wife, and the next generation that they carry, even if she is not quite ready to think of herself as that old. (Honestly, who gave these kids permission to grow up?!?!)

So with all this said, I think I can "forgive" Caleb for making me a great aunt WAY BEFORE I'm 40. After all, there are worse things in life than being called great. I think I may just have to totally embrace the title and require everyone to refer to me as such. Because by the time my birthday rolls around next year, I will in fact, be great.

So I will celebrate the last birthday of its kind for me. A birthday where I'm just a plain ol' aunt, like I've always been, looking forward to a new year full of greats.

Band of Brothers: (l to r) Caleb, Seth, Paul and Joel

Easter 1992

Old Friends

Tragedy almost struck in the Williams household last week. Sweet, sweet Molly, my quiet and constant companion for almost 15 years, became deathly ill on Thursday.

Just as with Ginger in the past, I had my moment(s) of panic when the vet explained the meaning of her test results over the phone. My mind went instantly to the thought of not having her around every day. My Molly -- the furry alarm clock that pulls the sheets down from over my head and tries to entice me out of bed to feed her in the mornings -- not here anymore? Admittedly, the tears flowed.

I can only imagine the pain of such a loss. A loss my friends, Kara and Andre, are feeling right now with the news that their beloved dog, Zoee, is no more. A loss that is inevitable.

It is funny how these little furry creatures enter your life and grab hold of that tender place in your heart reserved for only the dearest souls. You find yourself doing things you never thought imaginable. Like sitting at the vet hospital for more than an hour on a Friday evening trying to get your kitty to eat...anything, please...just to keep up her strength because the vet says she does the best when you are there. Or giving up all your plans on a holiday weekend for Cat Watch 2009 after she comes home from the hospital. Well, of course, I have to. I want to. After all, we are old friends.

Molly is home and on the mend. We have skirted another feline catastrophe for now. And while we are not out of the woods just yet, we are very glad to be back at home recovering. That is, if you measure happiness by the volume of kitty purring.

At Last

Today marked a huge milestone in my life as a homeowner. Today, just three weeks shy of my fourth anniversary living in the burbs, I finally finished painting all the trim and doors in my house! Hooray for me! Applause, applause, applause.

After four gallons of white paint and primer and applying a bazillion coats to the stained wood in every room and on every door, I have transformed my 22-year-old house from a country-themed granny abode reflective of the former owner into a sleek and modern dwelling in which any urban professional can be proud.

All that remained was the wall behind my gargantuan computer armoire in the study. And as soon as my sprained wrist and hernia heal from moving that sucker away from the wall, everything will be back in its normal place.

Oh, I remember the days of hanging over the side of my cat walk, my head wedged between the railing spooks, applying layer after layer of primer and paint, while my three furry assistants inspected my work and offered their help even though they don't have opposable thumbs. Such sweet kitties! (Someday I'll have to share with you the story of when I got my head stuck in the railing. It's okay...you can laugh...it's funny NOW.)

I have to say that I really got into my work, getting paint all over my clothes, body and hair. So much so, that co-workers would point out strands of primer in my blonde hair the next day. Do you know how hard it is to get primer out of your hair? About as hard as it is to get it out of cat whiskers.

But now, all of that is behind me -- just a faint memory. Now I can enjoy the brightness of white trim throughout my house. Now I can admire the crispness of the sleek clean lines. Now I can tackle the 20 foot walls and vaulted ceilings in my dining room, which are the ONLY walls I have not repainted, yet.

I'll posted pictures of my body cast after I fall off the ladder. On second thought...dear nephews, I may need your help!

Where has the time gone?

So, I'm sailing along minding my own business with my nice little life. I go to sign into my blog. And what do I find? It has been a month since my last blog. A month! Where did the time go? It doesn't seem like that long since my last blog. Upon reflection of my comings and goings during those 30 days to see exactly how I've accounted for my time, I've made a few observations.

First, I am on the tail end (hopefully) of a very LONG lesson in patience. My friend, Heather, always says that God gives you the same lesson over and over again until you learn it. Well, for me that would be patience. (My mother would be the first to agree with this statement.) This whole year so far has been an exercise in exercising patience, but the last four weeks have been the most intense and excruciating. I think I get it, in fact I know I get it. Now I'm ready to move on to another area that needs improvement. Please. Thanks, God, for listening.

Speaking of improvements, I'm in the midst of a semi-major home improvement project. In fact, I've become the Picasso of room painting, transforming my guest bedroom and study. Secretly, I have an itching to redo my bedroom, but we won't go there just yet. It is kinda therapeutic to be in an empty room with a paint brush and your thoughts. It gives you time to reflect and adjust your attitude if your attitude needs adjusting. Although, I suggest that you use caution when moving furniture, as objects can be heavier than they appear and can thus cause injury to your otherwise perfectly working joints and limbs. I'm just saying...

And my final thought would be that you never really know what you have until you lose it or almost lose it. I can apply this to so many levels of my life, but my most recent experience occurred just 10 days ago when I came downstairs one night to find a trail of blood through my kitchen and living room. I was panic-stricken to find my baby girl, Ginger, bleeding and in pain. After a frantic run to the emergency vet clinic and a sleepless night of waiting for her to calm down long enough to give the doctor a urine sample (nine hours of high drama for the vet assistants to be exact), Ginger was diagnosed with a kidney infection.

Now some may say that Ginger is just a cat, but to me she is a member of the family, a 15-year member. She is older than many of my nieces and nephews and has been with me through college, law school, the bar exam, friend and family deaths, both Bush administrations, countless boyfriends, true love, and probably a dozen moves. I can tell her anything. She knows all my secrets and loves me unconditionally.

My head tells me that, at 15 years old, she won't live forever. But my heart can't imagine not finding her on my bed each morning purring. My eyes tear up even thinking about it. So I can't and I won't. All is good right now. We are on the mend, even feeling well enough play like a kitten again. So today is a good day for I am thankful for modern veterinary medicine and speedy recoveries. And will even forgive that hair ball left for me on my pillow.

Ginger on the mend