PTERODACTYL OR WIND

Instagram post by Cindy Maddera * Nov 13, 2019 at 3:29pm UTC

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I had just crossed over the border into Oklahoma and was cruising along at a brisk pace. The sun was bright and the highway stretched out in front of me through the flat plains of landscape. I was singing along with gusto to Lizzo blasting through my speakers when suddenly I felt a thump near the top front driver side of my car. I felt my car start tugging to one side and I struggled to keep it in the lane. I peered through the windshield to see what on earth was happening and you will never believe this, but a pterodactyl was clutching the side of my car in its talons. The large prehistoric bird had wrapped its claws onto a piece of plastic trim that fits alongside the windshield and it was flapping its leathery wings while a screech emitted from its open beak like mouth. I started screaming while taking evasive measures, like slamming on the breaks. The car fishtailed from side to side and smoke came off the tires. The pterodactyl was latched on tight and still screeching. I could feel the front tire start to lift off the ground so I sped up and jerked the wheel in the opposite direction. There was a loud popping sound or a thunk and the car plopped back down onto all four tires. I could see the pterodactyl fly up and away, the black plastic trim still clutched like a prize in its talon as it had popped free from my car. I sighed with relief, took a moment to calm my shaking hands and then proceeded south without further incident.

Okay. Here’s what really happened.

There is a strip of plastic trim that sits on either side of my windshield. It serves a purpose other than making the car look nice; it also protects the seam and seal on the windshield. A few years ago, I had that windshield replaced and when the guy doing the job put everything back together, he didn’t get the driver side piece on properly. So there was a gap at the top of the strip. Over time the gap became more and more noticeable and two days before I left for Chickasha, Michael said “We really should get that repaired.” Then I was driving through Oklahoma and I heard a loud thunk and saw some black stuff fly away. I had no idea what had happened. In fact, I was positive a giant black bird had just dropped out of the sky and hit my car. I stopped in Guthrie to put gas in my car, but before I got out, I looked at my phone for messages. Michael, knowing that I had made it to Oklahoma, had texted “Bet the wind’s picked up.” I nodded like he was there to see me and got out of my car only to discover that I had not been hit by a giant bird. That thunk sound I had heard was the sound of the wind ripping that plastic trim free from my car. I took a picture and sent to Michael saying “You could say that, yes, the wind has picked up.” He immediately responded with “We will get that fixed as soon as you get home. You do not have to drive a car that looks like that.”

So, we bought the part and the tech guys at the dealership installed it for free. Everything is fine and dandy. I’m just a little bit thrown about Michael’s part of the text that read “You do not have to drive a car that looks like that.” I have been driving clunkers and hand-me-down cars ever since I got my driver’s license. The Soul is the first car I’ve ever owned that was purchased brand new. It is the first car I’ve ever owned that didn’t start out with a few dings and a few thousand miles already on it. The car that I used as a trade in was riddled with dents from a hail storm. Insurance ‘totaled’ the vehicle because of the damage and that’s how it came into mine and Chris’s possession. I just assumed that when Oklahoma took my windshield trim that I would just be without trim. Except that’s not the case. I have become the kind of adult that doesn’t have to drive around in a ghetto mobile. I think this means that I am a successful adult.

Guys? I’m a freakin’ grown up!

THANKFUL FRIDAY

National Memorial

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It's Thursday and I'm sitting here racking my brain for some poetic and thoughtful phrasing on gratitude. This is how it is for most Thankful Friday posts. I get to the end of the week and I can't think of anything more than the possibility of taking a nap sometime over the weekend or going to bed at 8:30 PM on a Friday night. I also can't help thinking about all of the things that I need to accomplish before Sunday afternoon and how that's going to interfere with nap times. Ridiculous problems. Of course, there's always found gratitude and by the time Friday morning rolls around, I have most of my entry written. 

Today I am distracted by images my friends have posted of the Murrah Federal Building. Twenty three years ago, I was sitting on a couch in the lobby of my college dorm along with half of the other girls. We were all glued to the TV as we watched the news reporting on the bombing of the federal building. My roommate spent hours on the phone trying to get through to her dad. He was supposed to be at the federal building that day for a meeting or something, but he'd either been late or it got canceled. The how and why didn't matter as much as just knowing that he was safe. I remember how we all looked shell shocked and how the air crackled with uncertainty and confusion. Bombing? Oklahoma? Terrorists? What? This was an event that any person ever raised in the state of Oklahoma could never have fathomed as possible. Our disasters are nature born. We lose houses to tornadoes. Power goes out because of ice storms. Acres and acres are scorched from wild fires. We do not lose people and buildings to moving trucks filled with explosives. Yet, there we were, watching the whole horrific event unfold, watching as rescuers pulled people from the rubble. By the time it was all said and done, six hundred and eighty people would be injured and one hundred and sixty eight people dead. Nineteen of the dead, were children. This was the deadliest terrorist attack in the United States until the attacks of 9/11. 

I know that this doesn't seem or feel like a topic for thankfulness and gratitude, but it is one of the reasons why I will always be an Oklahoman. No matter how many times I am frustrated and embarrassed by the politics of that state or have to roll my eyes at some of the ignorance that rolls out people's mouths, I will always be an Oklahoma girl. The red dirt of that land is caked into my skin. It was part of the clay that molded my first thirty five years of life. Even though, I claim a new state for a home, my first home and loyalty is with Oklahoma. I can't help it really. Thirty five years allows you to collect more than things and I have a collection of framily and family that keep me tied to the place, but I was also a witness to what happened in the days following that horrific bombing. I watched as Oklahomans came together, took care of each other and comforted each other with a resilience and determination not normally witnessed. We take care of each other even if we don't agree with each other. The Murrah bombing linked us all together in a way I fail to have words to explain.

So, today, I am thankful for life I had in Oklahoma. I am thankful for the family I have in Oklahoma. I am thankful for the framily I have in Oklahoma. I am thankful for you.

AN EDUCATION

Tulsa

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When I was in high school, there was a brief discussion about possibly sending me to Cascia Hall Preparatory School, an expensive private school in Tulsa. The biggest draw for me was their orchestra. It meant that I could play my cello all the time in a real orchestra. Collinsville High School could barely afford a band, let alone an orchestra with stringed instruments. Stringed instruments where instruments of the rich. This discussion of attending Cascia Hall was brief for a couple of reasons: the price of tuition and being held back a year. Cascia Hall would have automatically put me a year behind. My parents really were not sure how they were even going to pay for my college education if I didn't get scholarships. They would have found a way to make it work if I had really wanted to go there, but it would have been a strain on all of us.

I stayed with public education and played my cello in a youth orchestra once a week. When I started my senior year in high school, I took classes at the local junior college to give me a leg up when I started college. The education I received at Collinsville did not prepare for college. Don't get me wrong. It was a good enough education. My teachers (most of them) did their best to teach us with the resources they had available to them. My sophomore history book was my sister's sophomore history book. I know this because she'd written her name inside it. She was five years older than me and the book had not been new when she was a sophomore. The students at Collinsville were used to books with torn covers, a missing page or two, and even a bit of mold growing on the inside. It was not uncommon to not have enough books to check out to all of the students. Meaning, you only got to use the book when you were in class. There was never enough money for new books, band instruments, choir uniforms or even for building renovations. Many of my teachers had second jobs. There was never a time when I was not hawking something for band or choir. We would not have had any of our arts programs without our fundraising efforts. 

This has not changed in almost twenty five years. Many teachers who teach in Oklahoma schools have second jobs in order to make ends meet. They are still teaching with books that are torn and moldy and out-dated. They are still teaching in buildings that are in desperate need of renovation. The teachers of Oklahoma are still doing the best job they can with the resources available to them. The protests are not just about a more than well deserved pay raise. It is about finally making the state of Oklahoma actually value an education for their children. I am a success story of the Oklahoma education system only because I had teachers who pushed me to take those college classes and attend biology camps. When they could not provide me with information and resources that I needed, they found programs outside of the school that could. This does not make Oklahoma teachers unique or special...because they are teachers. This is what teachers do and it is not an easy job. 

You will never be able to convince me that education is not one of the most important parts to our infrastructure. It deserves more funding than our prison systems and our military. This is why I stand by Oklahoma Teachers. 

GRIT

Treat

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I have moved just far enough North for the people in this area to refer to me as 'the southern girl'. They look to me to explain grits and butter beans (two things that don't come easy up here). We stopped at a restaurant near Lincoln's birth place where I ate a plate of sides, two of those being butter beans. It was heaven. I've been to a couple of places here that make an attempt at making grits. One place served up a bowl a grits with a slice of American cheese slapped on top. They called them cheesy grits. Sweet tea is something I am also expected to know a lot about, even though I was weened off of the tooth rotting sugar tea in my teenage years. 

The thing is, I've never considered myself to be southern. Yes, I was raised by parents who are southern. They were both born and raised in the middle of Mississippi as were both of their parents and those before them. Honestly, I don't know how far back the Graham and McCool line goes in that area. I could very possibly be unfortunately eligible to be a Daughter of the Confederacy for all I know. I would be very interested to know if we are any relation to the Reverend Sylvester Graham, the inventor of the Graham Cracker. Dad used to hold up a Graham cracker and ask "What is this?" and then after you said "it's a Graham Cracker!", he'd say "No! It's MY cracker!" Then Dad would laugh and laugh like he'd just told the funniest joke. He was the King of Dad Jokes. I was raised by people who were very southern, ate molasses on their biscuits and hamhock in their collard greens. 

This only makes me southern by proxy. I've never considered Oklahoma to be part of The South and I think this is a universal way of thinking across the whole state. Oklahoma is The West. The Frontier. The land of Indians and Cowboys. We are a hardy bunch, built to withstand tornadoes and dust bowls. Yet we can stop and ponder at a hawk making lazy circles in the sky (wink wink). Every single one of us who were raised in Oklahoma have at one time re-enacted the Land Run and performed the musical, Oklahoma. Friday nights are for high school football and Saturday nights are for rodeos. We've eaten loads of Indian tacos and Frito Chili Pie. Ice cream comes from Braums (though I think they're being boycotted right now for wanting to tear down the HiLo, which they should not be tearing down). Most importantly, we know that the best, most sweetest watermelons come from southern Oklahoma. 

I say this because I just ate the blandest watermelon, the third one I've purchased this year. Someone please mail me an Oklahoma watermelon. 

SIREN SONG

Katrina and Randy sent me this whirlygig. Thank you! I love it! #365

"Katrina and Randy sent me this whirlygig. Thank you! I love it! #365"

Last night, shortly after Michael had put me to bed, the tornado sirens went off. I had started drifting off on the couch during SNL. Michael took my hand and said "let's go." I didn't argue. I rarely make it through SNL. I had just drifted back into that place between awake and deep sleep when I heard the wind change and sirens begin to wail. I got up and put on a robe and went to find Michael standing on the front porch. He told me not to worry, we were fine and he'd let me know if we needed to go downstairs. I toddled back to bed and listened to the wind and rain. I wondered if the chickens were OK. The sirens eventually went off and all that was left was the sound of the rain hitting the window. 

I realized that it had been years since I'd heard tornado sirens sounding for reasons other than a weekly test. It left me disoriented. Confused. Misplaced. That sound was always a such a constant part of life when I lived in Oklahoma. Heard so often to become complacent to the sound. In those days though, we'd have a closet cleaned out well before the sirens would sound. The sirens just meant it was time to think about getting into that closet. We never lived in a house that had any kind of a tornado safe room. They tell you to go into an interior bathroom or closet. We never had an interior bathroom and the one interior closet was small, barely enough space for Chris, Hooper and I. We used to laugh about it, Chris and I. It was a joke. Really there was nothing else to do about the situation but laugh. By the time I'd pull all of the clothes out of the closet and lay them on the bed in our tiny bedroom, the room would look like a tornado had already hit. There would always be a picture of me and Hooper crouched in the closet, me wearing a helmet. 

Even then, we didn't trust the sirens. Chris would stand outside with a cup of coffee, watching the skies. I'd have Hooper on his leash at the ready. If Chris came inside, we knew to make a mad dash to the closet. Luckily we always managed to be on the side of the street that had just narrowly avoided destruction. The tornado sirens went off here the first Spring after our move. I was at work. My desk provided me with a perfect view of sky. I sat there eating my lunch while my colleagues sat in the stairwells. Chris went down to the basement with Hooper, but didn't stay long. The sirens rang for almost two hours. We never saw a tornado and later Chris and I would laugh about the tornado paranoia in this city. Here the sirens mean there's a tornado somewhere in this big city. There the sirens mean the tornado is in your neighborhood, probably knocking on your back door. 

Technically I still live in Tornado Alley, though it's been since that first Spring since I've heard the warning sirens. I had forgotten the sound. It's odd to go from hearing that sound all the time to nothing. Tornados and surviving them are sort of sealed into the skins of Oklahomans. It's what makes us sturdy and resilient. Living without that threat has made me a little soft. Last night's alarm set my heart racing and my last conscious thought was if we had time to gather the chickens up and get them in the basement along with Josephine. The panic didn't last long, but it was there. It was enough to pull up past memories like that time Mom, Dad, Janell and I stood inside the camper wondering where our little dog, Bitsy, was seconds after a tornado passed by us. She'd hidden in the bathroom. I remember all those times Chris and Jen would borrow my car to go chase storms. I remember driving through south OKC to check on Chris's parents after the May 3rd tornado and realizing that if they'd lived just two or three blocks east, their home would have been nothing but rubble. I remember all those moments of sitting in the closet with Hooper. 

I remember that there's still some of that red dirt in my bloodstream.  

OKIE PRIDE

When I see this I know I'm about an hour away from mom and dad

"When I see this I know I'm about an hour away from mom and dad"

It was brought to my attention yesterday that Oklahoma has made national news six times in the last two weeks and not for being shining examples of humanity. "Is this a great state or what?" That's a very good question. I've always had my political problems with Oklahoma. That's no secret. Chris and I raged against the machine of intolerance and ignorance the whole time we lived there. For me? I fought that battle for thirty four years. We believed that Oklahoma could be better than OK. Sure...over time our souls began to show the toils of constant battle and if I'm perfectly honest, I was lured away to a new state by more than just a really great job. Though I still find myself fighting the same kind of battles here. It's just that there's more people fighting along with me which makes the fight not as hard. 

Sunday, a video of the Oklahoma University fraternity Sigma Alpha Epsilon chanting racial slurs went very public. My first thought was "what the fuck is wrong with Oklahoma?" I was embarrassed. I am embarrassed. Shame on those boys. Shame on those parents that taught these boys that this was acceptable behavior. I could easily rant on and on about the gross misconduct of these boys and it's not like we haven't seen this kind of intolerant bigotry behavior before. I grew up in a family where the N-word was used. Those boys probably did too. The difference is I had parents who treated that word as the worse curse word you could ever use against another human being. Those were the same parents who taught me to treat others as I would want to be treated.  

All this national attention on Oklahoma makes it hard to admit that, yes, I am from Oklahoma. I want out-of-staters to know that not all Oklahomans believe this way. We are not all bigots and ignorant. We don't still live tee-pees (seriously, a woman asked us that in DC while on a HS band trip). Oklahoma has a rich history full of strong, hard working people. We come together in times of tragedy and crisis to do what ever it takes to help our fellow Oklahomans in need. Examples include the Murrah Building and any tornado. Oklahomans are proud. In the wake of SAE's video, OU President David Boren immediately stood up and said that this behavior will not be tolerated. He took swift action to remove the fraternity from the university. While some may say that Boren was a little to harsh on SAE, I say no way. "This behavior will not be tolerated." Yeah, it's just a stupid fraternity full of the usual cliche of white rich think's they're privileged white boys. It's not the world. But it makes a statement. Hate will not be tolerated. There are consequences for your bigotry behavior. 

I've never been an OU fan. I'm more of an Oklahoma State Go Pokes! kind of girl. The actions of David Boren and the rallying of OU students in the wake of SAE's grossness, makes me respect that campus a little bit more. They make me hang my head high when I say "I am from Oklahoma." I'm proud to be an Okie. 

LOVE THRUSDAY

When I was little, I read all of the Little House books. My favorite one for some reason was On the Banks of Plum Creek. I was fascinated by the sod house or dugout that they lived in and would spend hours in our pasture "building" my own sod house. I'd wear my bonnet and one of my prairie style dresses and I'd set up a home in the pasture. What? I'm from Oklahoma. Of course I owned a bonnet and a prairie dress. Every kid in Oklahoma had some type of pioneer outfit because you didn't get through elementary school with out re-enacting the Oklahoma Land Run at least once. Actually, I don't even think you're allowed to graduate unless you've been in at least one performance of the musical Oklahoma! . Also, you probably know all of the words to the B.C. Clarke Jewelry store Christmas jingle. You could re-write any of those sentences with "you might be an Oklahoman if..." and my Oklahoma readers out there are all nodding their heads and raising a hand with an "Amen!". 

Any way..sod house...Laura Ingalls Wilder. I still had long hair then and mom would put it into two long french braids. I'd put that bonnet on and I was Laura Ingalls. I'd fill my Strawberry Shortcake tablecloth up with dishes, a teapot, maybe some bread if I could sneak it from the kitchen and tie up the ends in a hobo sack and cart all of it out to my makeshift sod house. There was a lot to keeping up your sod house. Sweeping. Setting the table. Finding water. Prairie life wasn't easy and I'd spend all day working on it. While most kids were playing G.I. Joe or Smurf, I was playing Little House on the Prairie. This was not unusual. I played more book characters than cartoon characters. There was a tag game we used to play where you had to say a cartoon character name to keep from getting tagged. I was always getting tagged because I couldn't come up with a cartoon character as quickly as a book character. The summer I read the Little House books was the summer I lived as Laura. 

As we made our way up Hwy 29 through South Dakota, my eyes grew large as I read "Laura Ingalls Wilder Homestead, Exit 133". I looked over at Talaura to see that she had the same look as I felt I had on my face and said "We might need to make a detour". Talaura did some fast research and when it was discovered that not only was it Laura's homestead, but also where she met and married Almonzo Wilder there was no question. We detoured. I may or may not have emitted a squeal of delight as we drove up to the homestead and once we were inside, I headed straight to the dugout, which had been built as a replica of the one the Ingalls lived in on the banks of Plum Creek in Walnut Grove, MN. I placed my hands on the dirt sod walls. I could smell the earth. I watched my feet kick up little clouds of dust as I walked across the floor. I was standing inside a book. And I've just teared up thinking about it. For a moment, I was once again that little girl with french braids and a bonnet, playing in the pasture. 

This is what books and reading does to me. It turns me into a nostalgic sap, but I don't even care. In my lifetime I have been Alice chasing a white rabbit, Lucy peaking through a wardrobe door. I was Juana Maria, surviving on my own on my own little island. And I was Laura Ingalls, living a prairie life and falling in love with Almonzo. I have lived so many lives. 

Happy Love Thursday.

FREE MUSEUM DAY!

Talaura sent me a link to all the museums in Oklahoma that were being sponsored for the Smithsonian Free Museum Day and I noticed that The Fred Jones Jr. Museum of Art was on the list. I keep saying that I want to go there and I've heard really good things about it, but there's always a reason not to go. This time, I had no excuse. Plus it's much easier to drag Chris to these things when it's FREE! The museum itself is relatively small, but what it lacks for in size it makes up for with some impressive names in art. They have several Renoir's along with the usual listing of French Impressionists such as Degas, Van Gogh and Picasso. Actual, we were able to see a Van Gogh that had never before been on display for public viewing. A private donor recently loaned it to the museum. It is one of his earlier pieces, a nice portrait of his nurse maid. The only thing I didn't like about the museum was how impossible they made it for me to not want to touch things. The French Impressionist wing is set up as if you were walking through someones home. So, along with the art, there's all this brick-a-brack and furniture and some of the paintings you can walk right up to and put your nose against them. They probably realize the temptation they've set up by putting the paintings on display in this way because they keep you well attended. The security guards were ever present and watching, but they also made good tour guides.

My favorite collection though had to be the State Department Collection which included the O'Keefe and the ones by Morris. The O'Keefe may have been small, but it made me hunger for more. I think we need to plan a trip to Santa Fe soon.

GARDEN DIARIES

Over the weekend, Chris and I met my family at Philbrook Museum for the To Live Forever exhibit. The exhibit itself was great. They even had a page from the actual Book of the Dead. Chris and I read it out loud and promptly had to leave since we'd woken all the mummies. I've been to Philbrook many times and didn't feel the need to roam the rest of the museum. So we all headed out to the garden to look for a piece we'd heard might be out there done by the husband of an old high school friend.

Philbrook was originally the home of Waite and Genevieve Phillips, the famous oil tycoons. Waite left his Tuscan inspired villa and the surrounding 23 acres to the city of Tulsa as an art center in 1938. My brother even attended classes here as a child.

The home itself is magnificent, but the gardens are magical. I had never even realized they were there. Every time I've gone to the museum, it's all been for the inside stuff and it's always been on dreary yucky days were all you want to do is inside stuff. But Saturday was beautiful and we wandered all around the gardens. There were cotton plants and butterflies and lilies and even a section of vegetables. In fact, Philbrook grew more then 1,000 pounds of produce for the Community Food Bank of Eastern Oklahoma in 2009.

This was all the inspiration Chris and I needed to go home, pull out the old things and plant some new seeds for the Fall. We are looking forward to Fall crop of spinach, radishes, broccoli and carrots.

Feel free to enjoy the rest of the pictures here. Enjoy!