yesterday - 7 years - hardly seemed possible when it happened - still painful when thought about - dwelled on - she was born in artesia california - 1929 - when i think about her - i think what she must have been like then - in the land of make believe - and palm trees - i have a photo of her with nannie - her mother - who was just a child herself - unsure steps -

i know the woman momma became - the one who taught us to play games of hide-n-seek when the electric company came and turned off the lights - games of make believe when the old television didn't work and games of 'when i grow up' when daddy stayed out drinking too late - she liked pretty things - and strong men - she loved children and good friends - i remember many things about her and miss her terribly - but one thing that sticks in my mind and i am not sure when i noticed this about her - but, when the food was scarce, she would suddenly be the one who wasn't very hungry - letting us kids eat first - i remember crying one time because she wouldn't eat and her sitting with me and sharing my plate of macaroni and cheese and how honored i felt -

when daddy died - rod and i lived in dallas - after the funeral we came back to dallas and i spent the next few days working on a tribute to him - i wrote a poem, created a shadow box with things that reminded me of him and a collage of photos - long story short - when momma died - i expected i would do the same for her - i just couldn't and still can't - that's a room i can't enter - right now.

i remember a conversation she and i had one afternoon over the phone - after we had to place her in the nursing home - when conversation would turn to her dying, she would say she was going to die and i would say no you aren't. and she would say - one day - and i would say - one day is a long way off. she paused and said toe - the way she did when she wanted me to listen or do something for her - i hoped she would say toe - i saw a pretty doll in the gift shop downstairs today - instead, she said that she knew i didn't want her to die and that she knew i loved her but when the time came - she said she wanted me to accept it. i will. i said - my throat choked up - she said she would still be around and whenever i needed to talk to her - to just close my eyes and know that she was in my heart and she was listening - somehow i croaked out - how - my roses - you'll smell my roses -

i am smellin the roses today, momma -
i love you.

emma jean moulder rash - momma - jan 6, 1929 - april 24, 2001

daddy would be 79 today - i never heard or knew where he was born - at least i don't remember - i suppose he was born right here in the town he grew up in - he took joy in being born on april fools day and loved playing practical jokes on you - especially if you were a kid - he loved to hear kids laugh -

i know he was what i have come to know as Texas - through and through - gentle and strong at the same time - compassionate when he needed to be and stern when deserved. i miss him more than i imagined i would as a child - those times when a boy feels his father would rather have someone else as a son - do all boys feel this - i never knew - conversations with his friends i overheard - he would often refer to bubba as his son and me as 'jeans boy' - it hurt at the time - hurt a lot -

when he died - it seemed so unreal - no one that close had ever died before - i felt totally unprepared - somewhat abandoned - we had just had 'the talk' - the talk i knew i would one day have in order to feel my life as complete - he cried - i cried -there was understanding - he said he and momma had always known - he laughed when i
asked why didn't he tell me - he hugged me - harder, longer than i ever remember him hugging me before -

i see him in my brothers and sisters - his eyes in one - his nose in another - his actions and reactions in us all - as if we all have an internal mechanism that asks 'what would daddy do - say'.

momma said she thought he knew - knew he was going - the tone of his voice - the talk of forgiveness - the preparations he made with meticulous precision - late in his life, he always wore overalls - he ironed them a few days before he died - something he had never done - but he put a crease in them so sharp it would cut ya' -he enjoyed ironing - ironing men things - jeans and shirts - i remember he would iron bubbas jeans and his own - when he wore them - when we buried daddy, we buried him in those overalls he had starched and ironed not 2 days before.

so you will know ...
he was a kind, gentle and honest man.
he had no time for those with mean or evil thoughts.
he was a just man, with a temper that was capable of engulfing the world he built.
but, when he showed his heart, as he often did, he charmed us all.
he was a man, who even though in need himself, would reach to help others.
he was a man who loved children and the hope they stood for.
he was a man who enjoyed fishing and companionship.
he spoke his love to us all with deeds not words, as words did not come easy for him.
on those occasions when he did speak his love, his words would engulf him and the tears would flow from his eyes - then you would feel the love within this man's heart.
as you read these words i write with so much love and pain, know that you have met then lost the man i called "daddy", some called "billy" and so many simply called "poppa" and that he would have loved you.

Billy Joyce 'BJ' Rash
April 1, 1929 - May 18, 1992

i got one of those 'getting to know you' emails recently and it got me to thinking about how things have turned out for me - i will soon be 50 and there are days i don't feel older than 25 going on 14 - memories of my childhood are as fresh as if they had happened yesterday - yet, i have a hard time with what i actually did yesterday - i don't know what that says about growing old - it doesn't really concern me - it seems to concern those around me more than it does me - sometimes its the way i choose to remember - i'll remember the good times - forget the bad - i'll remember how loving momma and daddy were to one another - not how they fought or why - i'll remember how close bubba and i were - not how it was when he was mean - and i'll remember how much love there was when we got together as a big 'family' and had these week-end long gatherings and bar-b-ques with everyone we ever knew in attendance and all the kids sleeping here and there - spread out on folding beds all over the big front porch of the house on the hill - and not the parade of 'uncles' who took advantage of free liquor and loving children.
i'll remember - i was a little boy with little boy dreams - dreams of sunshine - dreams of stardust - dream of cornfields and dreams of safety ...

400+ acres in the middle of waco - the most beautiful setting - acres upon acres of trees reaching for the sky - cliffs and overhangs - white rock - jagged and thrilling - at one time, and maybe it still is, it was the largest natural municipal park in the southwest - it was dedicated as a park in may of 1910 - donated to the city by the cameron family - william cameron - its the type of setting that may have been designed or envisioned by frederick law olmsted - the same guy who designed central park in new york -
they even have a lovers leap - with a legend - about young native americans leaping to their death in the name of love.
we used to hold family reunions there - in a club house - high on a hill - surrounded by trees and laughter -
when i was about 9 or 10 - bubba and i - and a cousin - ventured away from the families and crowd - scouting - back when you let your kids explore without fear for their safety - there was a beautiful timber staircase with intricate timber railings leading down the side of the hill to the paved parking lot below - the stairs were short and winding - bubba took a turn and under the railings he skipped - i followed - cuz was already half way down - having long ago abandoned the staircase of trees laid into the side of the hill - bubba and i were about a quarter of the way down when we were attacked by ground hornets - i don't remember knowing what it was that was biting me so viciously - just that it hurt like the dickens and all i could think to do was drop and roll - i didn't know where the stings were coming from, i just knew they were hurting bad - and someone was crying - loud - and people were screaming - and leaves were sticking to my face - and i had to get out of my clothes - i was running and rolling and running at the same time - then i was in the middle of the parking lot - screaming and crying - the pain was intense - strangers were running up to me - comforting me - but i wanted my momma and daddy - the rest of it is all a blur - i remember the doctor saying i was lucky - and i remember thinking - he was out of his mind - i was in more pain than i could ever remember and every 'little' part on my little body was swollen and puffy - my eyes were almost swollen shut - my who-ha was swollen - bubba and i had stings over 70% of our bodies.
that's one of those stories that people who tell, begin it by saying - remember that time -
still it's a beautiful park. if you are ever driving through waco - stop and take a look - i would just be more likely to lock my doors today.

at the top of the hall closet - was a small overnight suitcase - paperboard - striped pattern - inside, were all the scraps of paper from daddys life. when he died - my sisters - the youngest and oldest - disagreed over the sacredness of that suitcase - we all knew it existed - no one had ever dared to peek inside - it held untold pieces of his life - our lives - we whispered - as brothers and sisters often do - it held the adoption papers of whichever one of us seemed less at the time - later, when we packed momma up and moved her from their home to a new home for herself - all her own - momma gave me daddys suitcase - i had it for a week before i opened it - and then it was by accident - it had become so old and worn that at some point daddy had tied a strip of t-shirt fabric around it to help hold it shut - so i sat down in the middle of my bedroom floor and - dealt.

there were no adoption papers - there were newspaper articles on distant cousins - images of people who looked like someone i should know - but sadly didn't - wedding announcements - birth announcements - paycheck stubs - union cards - various wallets - cigarette lighters with his name and initials scratched into the sides - a permanent forever signature - as i rubbed my finger tips across those scratches - my mind wandered ..

what matters most... when all is said and done .. it's not the things you hang onto or have that make you who you are - i don't think - i spend a good part of my day sorting through treasures, trinkets and junk people leave behind - things they thought they couldn't do without - pieces of lives that in some way helped define a who or a where - the stories i encounter would depress many - lives torn apart and discarded - it's hard sometimes to make the decision to toss something, something someone thought enough to place behind lock and key, away from danger and harm - mostly cards from grandmothers, letters from sons and daughters barred from society, photos of forgotten children, a toy, an odd brooch or two.

what i know - hold what is here and now. reach out and say

i love you-

i miss you

and

i am sorry if i hurt you.

and in doing this, i think we become who we were meant to be.

my grandmother - mother to my father - sina dimple crockett - most everyone called her 'dimple' - some would add an 's' at the end of that. we kids called her 'Gran'.

my earliest memory of her - honestly, is being spanked by her - or as we used to say, 'whooped'.

her father - who we called 'poppa' - insisted she spank me after i 'threw a fit' - or he would do it for her - so she spanked me - sent me outside to pull a switch from the tree in the front yard - then she grabbed one hand and she and i danced around the trunk of that tree for what seemed like an eternity.

i remember being more shocked that she would whip me, than anything that had ever happened in my young life. i remember thinking that i would tell my daddy on her - i remember crying. and i remember marching back into the house - poppas house - and picking up each of the raisins i had thrown on the floor when i was given them instead of the candy i requested.

i am not sure when the photo was taken, but that is Gran before she was Gran - when she was just Sina Dimple Crockett... to me, she says Texas.

sisters - middle sis and baby sis - east texas - april 1965 -
i have always been a little jealous of the bond i witness between sisters - sisters here and sisters there. sisters through thick and thin. sister woman. sister friend. emotions to the surface and raw.

tried, but never felt that bond with my brothers - guess it was because i always felt 'different'. older brother and i - were so very close when we were younger - he fell and i bruised - i cried and he shed the tears - and then our roads divided - he went down one path and i went down another. in the eyes of an outsider - one good and one bad. which was which. i miss him.

baby brother and i - so far apart in ages that i often feel more parent than brother - so i measure what i say and how. i see my father in him and wonder does he see the same in me - hows work - the family and i like your new car -

i am not good at - comforting without emotion - solving without involvement - being a 'man' - a good little soldier - i work on it - but still feel i fall short -

i think i have sister blood in me -

it snowed here this morning - here in central texas - just a light dusting of powder, on anything that faced ft. worth - brought back a flood of memories - i don't think it snowed that much when we were growing up - but i do remember two occasions -one involved snow ice cream - daddy sent us into the side yard to gather enough snow - i remember thinking it was a joke he was pulling on us - he was good at pulling jokes and tricks on ya' - still i was intrigued - making such a sweet treat from snow - so there we went - out into the side yard - the one less traveled - eagerly, with the BIG brown and gold colonial pattern pyrex bowl in hand - scooping up
freshly fallen snow with our arsenal of serving spoons and batman jelly glasses - stopping to throw a hastily assembled snow ball at one another and hurrying back inside - gathering around the chrome kitchen table - little ones, knees first on the matching chairs - watching as he mixed the cream and the sugar and the vanilla - waiting - listening for that moment when he would say "Ta Da!" or "Presto Change-O" - him telling us every step he took - the reason behind every turn of the big wooden spoon in the bowl - waiting for him to tap that spoon on the side of the bowl - like a dinner bell signal - didn't that mean it was done - ready - quickly we took our places in line - youngest to oldest - sometimes - sometimes ladies first - he liked to change it up like that - we, patiently waiting for our scoop of creamy sweet snow ice cream - such a sweet treat - and it was free - "didn't cost us a dime", as daddy would say and then as we sat indian style in the middle of the living room floor - we kids would discuss who had the biggest hand in helping create what we were enjoying - mostly, we would agree, it was God.

(the pic - my grandmother - sina dimple crockett rash - with her father - my great grandfather - thomas absolum 'abb' crockett)

i voted yesterday - not that it was the first time i have ever voted - but there was something - special - about what took place yesterday.
there was a sense of history being made. i marked the spot in my mind - so 20 years from now - i can point to it and say, that is where i voted and made my choice - her or him. that is where the newness originated - for me.

i remember growing up, votes and voting seemed like a 'secret' process. i don't remember daddy or momma ever discussing with anyone who they voted for. maybe they did, i just don't remember.

i do remember him saying, if you don't stand up - you can't be counted.

i believe he would be happy with the way things are going -

(the pic - my daddy on the right and a buddy of his - sometime during the korean war)