Mrs. Naegelin
Posted: January 2, 2012 Filed under: Joined at the Heart, Writers Write | Tags: BJ Naegelin, debate world, flying lessons, high school kids, Lanny Naegelin, Speech and Debate, writers, writing 2 Comments »
Lanny and BJ Naegelin, October 1990
The high school kids I used to teach called her The BEEJ. Not to her face of course. Mrs. Naegelin wouldn’t have liked that any more than having one of her grandchildren call her grandma. Coiffed in an amazing honey-hued bouffant and spangled in gold-nugget and diamond jewels, she was BJ, a force of nature.
Twenty-five years ago, I was the new kid, who took a watermelon to a barbeque at a co-workers house. The hostess served each of us a garnish-sized sliver. Later, I knew I’d found a soul mate when I caught BJ, leaning over the sink slurping on a giant wedge. I hacked off a slab and slurped along with her.
I’d been hired to fill the shoes of an icon in the Speech and Debate world, her husband Lanny. I took the job without knowing about the betting pool wagered against me. BJ’s money was on me. She became my champion.
Once, she stomped into the principal’s office, calendar in hand, “On what night are you planning to see Liz’s play?” I was directing The Diviners. The boss him-hawed something about being busy. It was football season. In Texas. BJ held her ground, and he showed up on opening night. No one said no to Mrs. Naegelin.
BJ was a lady. A Texan. A person who pushed the top off of any box used to label her. I’m a better person because I knew her.
Like this:
Road to Happy
Posted: October 11, 2011 Filed under: Joined at the Heart, Mouths of Babes, Writers Write | Tags: Albert Brooks, Dancing With the Stars, family, Happiness, violin, writers, writing 1 Comment »
“What’s your happy road, Daddy?” Dancing With the Stars went to commercial, and my ten-year-old daughter hit mute on the remote.
“What?” Bacon’s head was in the latest Albert Brooks’ novel.
“Your happy road,” she said.
“What’s that? I asked.
“The thing that makes you happy.” She closed her decorated composition book. Coco makes notes on the couples’ performances and judges’ evaluations on DWTS. I figured the comment had something to do with movie theme night on the reality show.
“Did you think that up or hear it somewhere?”
“Made it up.” She looked at her dad again. “Mine’s the violin. If I’m sad, I play, and I feel better.”
Bacon said, “You, your sister, and your mom are my happy road. You make me laugh.”
Satisfied, she opened her book again. The commercial break was over.
Like this:
Extreme Home Makeover: Cherry’s Room Edition
Posted: June 20, 2011 Filed under: A Zany Life, Housekeeping, Joined at the Heart, Mouths of Babes, schnauzer follies, Writers Write | Tags: family, writers, writing Leave a comment »In the midst of pestilence and disease, I made over Cherry’s bedroom. New paint, curtains, light fixture. I pulled up the Berber and painted the concrete slab a glossy chocolate. The thing about painted concrete, besides the fact that it’s cheap and trendy, is it has to cure. Six days. You paint yourself out of the room and close the door. Or not. I couldn’t resist a peek. Or two.
Day four, I’m checking the sweaty surface. Will it ever dry? The seventy percent humidity isn’t helping. The phone rings. I turn my back for a millisecond. Talk. Hang up.
“Jasmine? Jazzy?” Where’s the puppy? ”Shit.Shit.Shit.Shit.Shit . . .”
She’s yaps from the middle of the shiny floor. “You can’t catch me I’m the Gingerbread Schnauzer.” Dance. Dance. Dance. Puppy paws on concrete.
Smack. Smack. Smack. “Shit.” The sound of black flip-flops on wet paint. “Jazzy, come. Jasmine, come.”
“Let’s dance, mom.”
“Damn it. Jazzy come.” She bounces. I stick. Her little feet float above the surface. Weighing less than three pounds is an advantage when walking on wet paint. She doesn’t dent the surface. My BMI leaves size seven footprints. ”Gotcha.” I grab the little rat and deposit my shoes in the trash.
On day four, the floor the gets another coat. Hence I live with the expression, watching paint dry.
