Circle around…the tv

 

Circle the wagons. Crazy Bernice beckoned such advice on Designing Women.

I’ve been watching a lot of Designing Women and Golden Girls lately. It takes me back to another time. Television was medicine for me. It still is.

I’ve been thinking of that of late. I wouldn’t survive without my shows. I never could. I can still remember the Dallas theme song from the other room when I was in bed when Mom was still kicking.

When we were smaller, Big Daddy Rowe wouldn’t invest in a VCR. Rather, we were human remotes and I was busy mowing the baseball dorm at Grand and National and the big mound of lawn at our house at age 8. No lie.

So, I missed the shower scene in  which Bobby Ewing returned to life. I was busy mowing. I was devastated.

Ann Rozell came to the rescue. She got us Swensen’s one day and brought us to HER VCR and we got to watch Bobby’s resurrection. I’ll never forget it.

Life is a juxtaposition: the good and the bad. The Facts of Life taught us that. I’m grateful it’s not either one or the other. I’m grateful I’ve a remote, 6 streaming services, a mountain of books, and the freedom to consume it all.

Circle the wagons! We can always regroup. Many thanks to the help of Hollywood. My name is Nancy, and I’m an addict.

John Goodman

 

I’m so pleased to see that John Goodman has honored MSU.

When my brother and I were in college, as Juanita K was being built, we got to take him around campus. In normal Nance fashion, I parked too close to the next car at one place. I said, “oh sir, I apologize! Can I re-park?” As a true gentleman, he slinked out of that Cadillac like a champ. I was mortified.

Years later, Big Daddy Rowe took us to see the fam in LA, to see “Murphy Brown,” (my nirvana), and to see Mr. Goodman at a taping of “Roseanne.” First of all, the episode was about masturbation. I sat next to my parents and watched this business. Imagine my horror. Secondly, that horrible Tom Arnold offered a signed script between scenes if someone would perform. My father nudged me and said, “you can do something!” Never one to disappoint Pops, or to back down from a challenge, the next thing I knew, I was before a theatre audience, belting “God Bless America” like Ethel Merman.

That happened. I got the script.

Afterward, we got to see Mr. Goodman backstage. He said, “that was you?” He was the best.

My life has been full of things you can’t make up. These are a few hot nuggets.

 Hard things

I’ve been thinking about the things that are hard. Adulting is a monster. 

Not hard? Watching the Golden Girls every day.

Hard? Raising the children.

Not hard? Takeout.

Hard? Cooking.

Choose your life. I’m a big fan of raising great kiddos. I’m also a fan of not being in a wreck of a marriage and finding true love with a man named Jim.

Also, Nanny rocked.

Pawpaw

 

October 19, 2022

My Pawpaw Rowe died on this day in 1979. Mom had died that January, my great grandmother, Nanny Great, had died in the interim. I had a hideous bowl cut, and thought, “who is next?” How many more funeral dinners are up?

But my Dad’s father was a tough nut. He had an 8th grade education, and ran a farm. My Pops knew he wanted to not run a farm, but PawPaw never got to see what Poppo did. Dad grew up so poor. I think of what PawPaw would think of things now. He was born in 1901.

Today, I know my Dad has a lump in his throat. He has outlived William Loy Rowe Senior by 3 years now. The takeaway, is that it is good to remember.

It’s also good to remember extra crispy chicken for Baptist funeral dinners. Just saying.

Heart Bend

 I’ve been thinking of heartbreak.

Tony Campolo once said that, if you’re a Christian, your heart will break at the things that will break the heart of Jesus. I think that’s true. I think Jesus would be most broken-hearted by discrimination, prejudice, cancer, murder, pain, abuse…the list goes on and on.

What heartbreak looks like to earthlings is more acute, I believe. Lately, it has seemed a tad too acute.

My friend, Art Hains, is fighting for his life. You can’t find a better man. I hugged his wife last week and just told her how we love them. You don’t have to be blood to be family.

Today I went to my pastor’s wife’s visitation. Her daughter in law told me, “She didn’t just teach us how to live, she taught us how to die.” Betty was a force in my life, and in the lives of many. Because I am a Christian, I believe she is in a better place. As we drove home, I told my squeeze, Jim, that I don’t weep that she is gone. I weep for all she meant to me. You don’t have to be blood to be family.

Before I was seven, I’d been to more funerals than birthday parties. I know grief. But last week at school I had a conversation with my students about trauma. What some of them have endured is beyond measure.

I’m thinking of making it “heart bend” instead of break. I keep bouncing back; my kiddos at school bounce back. The bend just hurts so very much. But we still have our hearts, and are all the better for the people we love.

Trish

 

Today I attended the funeral of the legendary Parkview principal’s secretary, Trish Chrisman. 

When you teach and work with people for any length of time, you form relationships with them that is difficult to describe. I saw many of these folks today. My heart grew wide in the wake of this reunion.

Trish was a formidable character. She reflected the personality of the principal she protected. As a baby teacher, she taught me a lot about how to behave. As I grew into my own, she became a friend to me. She would call my classroom and say, “Nancy, TRISH.” She always made me feel respected but I also feared her, as any good teacher reveres a principal’s secretary.

Today I stood among former colleagues and listened to Parkview’s bugle and drum corp, the Lassies, play in tribute to our beloved Trish. I wept many tears for my memories of being a Viking, and for Trish.

My Pops stopped by after I got home (as he does), and I recounted to him the experience of the funeral. Pops is a big funeral-goer: not just because he is of the age when he is losing pals, but because he shows up. He always has. He has taught me—by example—to show up. As I described the events of the day, he said, “you know me. I just melt.”

So my takeaway from this day, and my delivery to whomever visits my silly blog is this: show up. And cry if you need to. And never forget the people who were there when you were duking it out in the trenches. I remembered today. And I remembered Trish.

Seasons

 August 8, 2022

I was invited to the Parkview class of 2012 reunion this past weekend. It was a little time for the teachers to roll in and see all. It was a delight.

A great part of the delight was seeing those with whom I taught. There is no finer group of educators. I know every work environment has its culture and challenges. When you teach school, it’s another ballgame. Dr. Dale Allee at (then) SMS warned me when getting my degree in education that it’s challenging in ways you don’t understand until you’re eating lunch in 20 minutes, peeing in 2, and seeing other adults only in the halls, have you strength to venture out between classes. He was correct. But the reward speeds past the difficulty.

I hugged former colleagues and students on Saturday and slowly and in solitary fashion worked my way back to my former classroom. I’ve been gone 8 years now. It was the right choice to leave when I did, but as I climbed the steps to 237, as I saw the trophies from the days of mine in those special halls, as I could hear the laughter we shared together, felt the exhaustion, listened to the great argumentation and performance, I burst into tears. 

Before the first tournament each year, I would stand on a chair before my Parkview kids. See, I followed the amazing Bob Bilyeu and Brett Miller. Tradition was my ally. I told the kids who were about to march into an arena of competitive art with others equipped with more money, more coaches, more of much, that they were from Parkview, and that when the other competitors heard it, they would wet themselves a little.

It was true. It was a legacy of excellence, and the Parkview Vikings I carted hither and yon fought adversity and remained champions. I always said I was along for the ride: they amazed me. I could never really believe I was there.

I told my wonderful Nydia today that as I drove home from the reunion, my tears dried. Life has seasons. Mine now includes much baseball, some teaching, love, the dog. 

I’m especially grateful that I was once (and always) a Viking. I am grateful for every season.