An update on—and happy birthday to -- Kid Billy

                 On Thursday, March 19, Kid Billy a.k.a. Billy Joe Paulus, turned the ripe old age of 30. Gee-whiz, it seems like only yesterday he was 8 months old and asleep on a woman’s shoulder in a foster home somewhere in rural Clark County--on a 72-hour hold from Human Services.

                Still asleep, he was moved from one shoulder to another—mine—placed in a newly-purchased car seat, and we traveled to Benton in Saline County. We were both unaware of what our future together would bring. 

Seventy-two hours? How about thirty years? His first five years were spent in Benton on West Sevier—across the street from Our Lady of Fatima School. At only $135 a month, the tuition was worth walking him across the street to (the late) Mrs. Debra Cloud’s classroom. He loved Mrs. Debra.

In September after the beginning of first grade, I took a job in Arkadelphia. Before I could secure a house there, I drove back and forth. The Fatima teacher and principal wanted to medicate him for ADHD. I actually asked the teacher (whose son was a problems my in middle school music class) if she wanted me to take him out of school that very day. She backed off and said no, so we were good for a time.

We found the perfect house in Arkadelphia on North 15^th Street with great neighbor-landlords. They had a son a little older than Billy named Jesse. And they had cats.

Sure enough, Dr. Kluck watched Billy for 10 minutes and pronounced him, yes, definitely afflicted with ADHD. He prescribed Ritalin.

But that was then and this is later.

 On the first day of March when he was 23, I watched him sing with both the Henderson Concert Choir and the Chamber Chorale. He stood stock-still for long periods. His hands held the music folder up so that his eyes could flit from score to director without obvious head movement. Focused? I’d say so!

After the concert, he introduced me to the friend who’d asked him to go in with some others and rent a house in town for next term. I wrote out his part of a down-payment (in addition to paying his on-campus apartment rent: what we do for love) on the spot.

                I still give thanks to Dr. Jim Buckner, who offered KB, from Benton High School, a band scholarship to HSU. Thanks also to the former choral director, Dr. Eaves, who accepted KB into the select choral group, and to Dr. Ryan Fox, the choral director, for being supportive friends and excellent—no, superior––choral men. KB was one of only two or three non-music majors in this group. Which made Grandmother extremely proud.

                Even today, two trumpets still lie somewhere in our residence, unused. But KB, after six years as a Reddie, who changed his major three times, and finally quit school, worked at Cracker Barrel in Arkadelphia, then in Bryant, and now in Hot Springs where he lives.

                This “fifth child” of mine is why I don’t volunteer. I think 30 years of raising a grandson, seeing him through low-salary times by paying his car payment and rent occasionally, should be considered my volunteer work.

As well as my passion. Happy birthday, Billy.       

Four writers enjoy a week away, thanks to the gift of a reserved-but-unneeded condo

  For a month the writers group, variously known as LBJ&P or PBJ&L (peanut butter jelly and…), had anticipated the last week in July as our much-needed, extended get-away. A sister, newly-moved from Virginia to Little Rock, gave me, Pat [aka Penny] the week she had reserved, but didn’t need.

Three of the writers would leave husbands, grandsons-for-summer, and various pets. I left feline Greye to the care of close-by daughter.

The condo opened Saturday afternoon. I found a sub for church the next morning, and left in time to get to Hot Springs by 4.  Oh, the weight-lifting exercise getting my stuff down six wooden steps while holding on to the rail with one hand, six more steps to the door, leg lifts into the suite, then relief as I set each box and sack down and pulled the suitcases-with-rollers to their places. Since I was first, I took the large bedroom.

                                                           Bed as computer table

We’d agreed to manage our own breakfasts, to potluck lunches and possibly eat out for some dinners. Soon, Bridget called and said that when her four-year-old grandchild was back into his mother’s care, she would drive over. The other two would arrive on Sunday as planned.

Barb (Bridget) and Jan (Juanita)

Lydia (Lynda)

                When we were all in place, the fridge groaned.

Bridget brought out colorful mini-journals, stickers,and markers. We were to choose one, add our names and decorate the covers. “Every day, we are to write in each of them something positive,” shesaid. That night, we feasted on Lydia's [aka Lynda’s] enchilada casserole––a request.

Our “scheduler,” Lynda, suggested we eat breakfast at eight, then write from nine till eleven-thirty. Does that sound like a long time? It isn’t, not if you have a goal or project. And we all did. Lunch at noon. Either write all afternoon, or nap, or we could take a break and “do the town.”

Bridget and Lynda set up their workplaces at the dining table, Juanita, from a comfortable chair (with a side table) by the window, and in the large bedroom, I spread out on the bed. 
Monday afternoon, we visited the Higdon Ferry flea market. My sisters might be glad to know I didn’t buy one pear-motif thing, not one piece of blue glass, and not one book!

One afternoon, we visited The Winery for a taste test, and purchased either wine or various related items. On the way back, we stopped at Rod’s Pizza. Each took home one-half pie for later.

Wednesday morning, three of us had to high-tail it back to church in Benton for the final bell rehearsal before a presentation on Saturday. Juanita stayed behind, tasked with preparing lunch “from anything in the fridge or on the counter top.” It was a repast fit for a fancy tearoom, with a pastel presentation centered with a tray of fresh fruit. Oh, my.

Thursday morning, my son Eric, from Hot Springs, came over for a short visit. He said he heard us use names of folks he hadn’t thought about in many years. That evening, we ate at Outback––with steaks.

Friday, the last full day, we worked as usual, reviewed each other’s pieces—when asked––and listened to additional chapters of future novels or revisions of earlier works. Lynda and Juanita were leaving from wherever we ate, so Chili’s it was. Soon, the storm hit and rain blanketed the mountains ‘round about.

Bridget and I finished the evening doing our own things, both at the dining table. We had made a week’s circle together and would check out early Saturday to get to our presentation site by ten a. m.

Each of us enjoyed the respite from home, the deepened fellowship, and exulted in the amount of writing we accomplished, thanks to our benefactress, Barbara Stefan.