The One about Julie Andrews.

Tribute to Thanksgiving #13: "As simple as it sounds, we all must try to be the best person we can: by making the best choices, by making the most of the talents we've been given." - Mary Lou Retton

My mom has always been a very well-rounded musician: she has a lovely singing voice, an excellent ear, and plays the piano beautifully, too. At some point in her earlier life, she picked up the French horn and gave it a whirl; that was where my mom found her niche. She changed her major while she was at BYU to French horn performance and took the department by storm. These are, of course, stories I've heard from her college friends. I didn't get to ever really hear her play that much growing up, but occasionally she'd perform with a symphony in the area and she even made a Christmas CD one year.

Needless to say, thanks to the well-rounded talents that my mother possessed, music was a big part of the Jeffries home. I'm told that I have been singing since I was 2 1/2 years old. At that time, my mom was the director of a performance group chain called Sunshine Generation; the program originated in Utah. My brother and I were both in the group and spent time traveling with my mom and the 20+ performers to various towns and events.

I actually don't know when my parents knew that I could sing. I suppose I should ask them. All I know is that I started taking voice lessons when I was 6 years old.

Regardless of when or how it happened, it's just been in my life for as long as I can remember.
I've talked about my love for Julie Andrews before. I've talked about her class and her voice and her talents in general. I have a deep, deep respect for this woman - not just because of her talent, but because she has lived through my greatest fear: losing her ability to sing.

I'd heard stories and read articles and seen snippets of interviews where she talked about her vocal cord damage, but until today - until I decided what I was going to post about as today's tribute - I didn't really dig deep to hear it all. I spent hours researching the tragedy, and it resulted in so many tears being shed.
I remember when The Princess Diaries 2 was released and there was so much talk of Julie Andrews making her singing comeback in the movie. I know I'm not the only one who watched this part of the movie and hurt for her as she sang. Her range in the song was about four notes and she strained to hit even those. She spoke-sang most of the song.

I just can't imagine.

In an interview with Barbara Walters in February of 1999, just 19 months after the surgery that changed her life, she said, "To not sing with an orchestra, to not be able to communicate through my voice which I've done all my life and not to be able to phrase lyrics and give people that kind of joy, I think I would be totally devastated."

You can watch the "nitty-gritty" part of the interview here.

She underwent what was assumed to be a standard procedure in removing non-cancerous nodules from her throat and, in the end, was left unable to sing.

Without question, that is my greatest fear. Maybe it seems petty. Maybe. But it certainly isn't something I take lightly. In the last few years, I've become especially dependent on my voice. I think it's because I am recognizing that it is the tool that will help me achieve my dreams. The truth is, aside from my family and my beliefs, my voice has been the one constant I've had. To lose that... well, I just don't know how I'd be able to do that.

(And yet, I know I would have to if it came to that.)

In the 20/20 interview, Julie is questioned with a huge what if. Barbara Walters asked, "Julie, if you can't sing anymore, how would it change your life?"

She paused for a long time before she said it just as I would feel it, "Oh, I think it would change something inside me forever."

Amen, sista'.

So... after turning myself into a blubbering fool, it's important for me to specify what exactly I'm making this tribute about. I feel so lucky and grateful to have the joy that is singing in my life. I fully intend on doing everything I can to keep it around, and I hope to never, ever, ever take it for granted.

The One with the Dancing Dilemma.

It's the last day I'll be writing two tributes in one post! It's been tough doing that with my time constraints, but I did it! Now I can sort of slow down with one a day; I can focus a little more on one at a time, and I'm sure I'll find just as much to say.

Let's recap:
1) My brother
2) My dad
3) Unnaturally Green by Felicia Ricci
4) Ames and Emily
5) Christmas music
6) Adam West
7) Photos
8) Weight Watchers
9) Papaw
10) Complimenting others

Now, without further ado...

Tribute to Thanksgiving #11: "The ache for home lives in all of us, the safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned." - Maya Angelou

As I write this, my apartment is filled with a smell that reminds me of home: my mom's chili.

I can't even remember how many times I ate it as a kid; I just remember loving it all the time. Most often, we'd have it when it was getting cold out. The best thing was walking in from being somewhere or waking up and smelling it all through the house.

Of course I think it's delicious, and I'm biased, but it's a comfort... which is exactly why I'm making it right now. I love being away from home and having something so small make me feel like I'm there.

Tribute to Thanksgiving #12: "Our strength grows out of our weaknesses." - Ralph Waldo Emerson

All right. Let's talk about it. My biggest trial? Dancing.
This seems a little strange, I'm sure, to be blogging in a gratitude journal about something I'm so insecure with... but I've really been thinking on it lately. I obviously want to pursue musical theatre performance as my career. It's obviously what I am the most passionate about. But this is a wall I often hit.

My problem lies in picking up the dances quickly. Eventually I can make myself look like a decent dancer, but starting out and learning the dance as quickly as those around me is where I run into a real jam. I find myself getting extremely frustrated and sad if I can't get it, and I've found that I have to work ten times as long as the next person. It probably seems minuscule, but this is my lot.

I know it seems trivial to be calling this my greatest load to bear, but it's the truth. To feel as deeply for something and to feel like there is something standing in the way is less than pleasant.

I was talking to a friend the other day and I said, "I think about it as a struggle everyday." Certainly I run into occasional, sometimes daily, issues... but I eventually figure those things out; this lives with me day in and day out. I've taken lessons and classes where the frustration of not getting something without killing myself over it gives me panic attacks. I feel so out of control when I'm dancing or learning a dance.

During the conversation I was having with this friend, he said something along the lines of, "I feel that success isn't gained by eliminating our weaknesses, but that it is found best by investing in our strengths."

My point is this: I believe that this is something I'm going to deal with for all of my career... but I fully intend on doing just that - dealing with it. Working with it. Trying to fix it while not becoming fixated on it. Not ignoring it, but not letting it define me.

And being completely grateful that we are given things in our short lives to keep us humble human beings.

The One about Papaw.

Tribute to Thanksgiving #9: "Our veterans accepted the responsibility to defend America and uphold our values when duty called." - Bill Shuster

This is my grandpa, Douglas E. Berlin. We called him "Papaw." He's my mom's dad. He passed away on December 10, 2009.

Since it's Veterans' Day, I couldn't think of anything more appropriate to talk about. I only know that he served in World War II; I don't know as much as I should about his service to his country, so I will focus on what I do know about him: his heart.

I'm not as close as I would like to be to my grandparents on my dad's side, but my whole life has been full of love from my grandparents on my mom's side, and that's so much to be grateful for. In my childhood, and even in my adult life, I spent countless hours - 10 hours there, 10 hours back - driving/riding to Bogalusa, Louisiana to visit them. It wasn't until the last few years that both he and my "Nanny" (my grandma) moved to Waxahachie, Texas, just 20 miles from my hometown, in order to be closer to family.

I talked about photography in my last post. I think Papaw lived by it more than anyone I know... I don't think a single day went by when my grandpa didn't pull out his camera to take a picture of something - no matter how random it might've been. At the time that he was taking the millions of pictures, none of us realized that he found it so important to document even the tiniest moments, and more than that, none of us truly realized how much we'd appreciate them in years to come. Now we not only have these moments documented, but having the memory of who took them as well.

December of 2009 was a horrible month. I was here in Utah while my family was dealing with the most traumatizing situations. When I finally arrived in Texas on December 11th, we all packed up and got ready for the drive to Louisiana for Papaw's funeral. With everything that was happening, it was really hard to be positive about anything that was going on. I don't really remember much of the drive there, to be completely honest. It wasn't until his service that I actually started hearing what was going on around me and recognizing how beautiful it really was to have him in my life. There were so many people there to show their support for my grandpa.

Best of all was my Uncle Allen's eulogy to my Papaw. It was such a gift to be able to watch as Allen radiated with pride for his dad and to be able to look around me at the people that loved my grandpa during his time on this earth. He truly was a GREAT man, and I feel so lucky that he is mine.

Tribute to Thanksgiving #10: "Helping others' confidence is the greatest gift anyone can give... a sincere, well-deserved compliment has greater purchasing power than money." - Dale Turner

I remember a post last year where I talked about the power in lifting up others with our compliments.

I had a conversation with a dear, dear friend today about this exact thing, and it's come to my attention that I don't do it enough - I don't express compliments as freely as I should. During this conversation, I decided that I would try harder to give compliments to those that I find impressive in whatever manner - their performances, their physicality, their behavior, etc. - and try to make it as natural as possible and therefore become a more positive person.

It wasn't easy. Isn't that sad? I had to really work hard past the pride that I had in order to make someone else feel a little sunshine in her heart.

So... I'm grateful for two things: this challenge and the friend that helped me make it. Here's hoping I actually fulfill it.

The One with the Pictures.

Tribute to Thanksgiving #7: "Memory is a way of holding onto the things you love, the things you are, the things you never want to lose." - from The Wonder Years

Since yesterday's post about Adam, I've been determined to find the one picture of him that I remember taking. Just to help me remember him better. And I did find that picture.
Which led me right into this tribute...

I have hundreds of printed photos and even more digital ones that I am able to look back and reflect on. As I dug through my collection, I found pictures of moments and stages of my life that I had almost forgotten about.

Perhaps stages I would've rather never went through in the past... but I can actually look at and laugh at now. Like this...
Or stages that I don't remember that well, but am able to still reflect on...
I am so thankful for photography and the memories that a single photo can provide.

Tribute to Thanksgiving #8: "When we are no longer able to change a situation, we are challenged to change ourselves." - Victor Frankl

In June of 2010, I was gearing up to open Annie Get Your Gun at Rodgers Memorial Theatre. It was just a couple of weeks before we opened when a few of our costumes were brought in for us to try on. My double was teeny-tiny and had no trouble fitting into the adorable costumes the theatre had rented for us. They gave me the ones that they had rented for me and I went into the dressing area to put them on. Not a single one fit.

I lost it. I went back into the fitting area and just wept as I put my street clothes back on and put the costumes back on their hangers. My director knocked just as I was finishing the task. She saw that I was crying and didn't say a word. She just wrapped her arms around me and let me just fall apart.

It wasn't just those costumes. There had been things that hadn't fit me before. This was really nothing new. But I suppose this was the straw that broke the camel's back. I wasn't huge, but I was definitely overweight, and I was unhappy with myself because of it. It seemed to be validation of how crappy I was feeling about myself. I remember thinking that this was an obvious reason for me to not love myself, why my self-esteem was as low as it was.

For three months, as I've mentioned before, I lived in a state of self-pity. The worst I've ever been, the most self-hate I've ever doled out to myself, the most depressed I've ever been, the most uncomfortable I've ever felt, the most unlovable I ever imagined feeling. I felt like my life was honestly falling apart.

Then on September 27, 2010, I woke up at 7 AM, as usual, and sat up in my bed. My mirror hung on the north wall of my bedroom. My bed sat in the center of the western wall. As I flung my feet over the side of my bed, I stared at my reflection in the mirror. I was wearing my orange 2005 Tony t-shirt and my pink- and green-striped pajama bottoms. My hair was in a messy bun on the top of my head. Of course my face was clean of any make-up.

I sat there for a very long time looking at myself, I remember, before I stood up, grabbed my towels and went to shower. During my shower, I thought about how long I had just spent staring at my reflection and how, while I was doing so, I was absolutely disgusted by what I saw. And what's worse, I knew that every time I looked in the mirror, that is how I felt about myself.

I knew something had to change. I knew that for years I'd said, "I'm going on a diet," or "I need to lose some weight," but I'd done nothing about it.

So I turned to the only thing I knew:
I'd done the program with my mom for a short time in high school (with no success because I didn't commit to it). I called in to work and said that I would be running a little late. I stepped on the scale and logged my weight. I turned on my laptop and went to Google's homepage. I typed in the words, "How many Weight Watchers Points am I allowed?" I clicked on the first result and calculated my points. I opened an Excel document to put in my information. I finished getting ready for the day and went to the store where I bought Special K bars, Progresso Light Soup, light string cheese, some Lean Cuisine, a new water bottle, a banana and some Diet Coke.

I've told very few people this next thing because I consider it a very personal thing...

I don't remember that week. I remember it was tech week for The Drowsy Chaperone, but I don't remember how "hard" it was to start eating better. All I really remember is stepping on the scale the next Monday and seeing a weight loss of 7.1 pounds. That was all I needed to keep going. I truly believe that Heavenly Father took my hand, covered my eyes and walked me through that week in order for me to start. Because seeing those results made me happy... and He knew that.

As of today, I've lost a total of 45.3 pounds, and I am the most confident I have ever been. I remain the happiest I have ever been. The goal is 50 pounds, but I am in a place right now where my body is no longer an issue to me. Instead of hiding it, I don't mind showing it off. I'm proud of it. But more than proud, I'm grateful - for Weight Watchers, for that first week, and for the support around me always.

The One with Batman.

Tribute to Thanksgiving #5: "All music is beautiful." - Billy Strayhorn

I know that it's an ongoing argument among some people about when Christmas music should be played, but I'm definitely one of those people who doesn't really care when I hear it. I appreciate it at anytime.

I do tend to leave it for around this time of year, just to keep the excitement of it. This year was different. The show I'm in right now is A Christmas Carol, so Christmas music has been a part of my daily playlist since September. And I'm more than okay with that.

Yesterday was STRESSFUL thanks to my impeccable procrastination skills. From 8 AM until 7 PM, I was going non-stop trying to fix problems I'd made for myself. I was in a pretty sour mood, honestly.

But last night as I was watching rehearsal, the music of A Christmas Carol acted as a medicine for my tension. I couldn't stop smiling. I'd be crazy not to be entirely grateful for that.

Tribute to Thanksgiving #6: "Do or do not. There is no try." - Yoda

It's probably pretty clear that the LDS culture is not as prominent in Texas as it is in the Western part of the United States. For one thing, church meetinghouses are few and far between. The closest ward to my house is about 20 miles from my house and takes about 30 minutes to get there.

In addition to the sparsity of the church buildings, instead of high school students having time set aside in the actual class curriculum actually attended early-morning seminary. My seminary class started at 6:10 AM, so with the travel time and the time it took to get ready for the day, I was up at 4:45 AM every Monday through Friday for all four years of high school. It's not hard to believe that on most days, I felt like this... But one person made it worth it.

I met Adam West when I was 14 or 15 years old, when he was my Sunday school teacher. He and his beautiful wife, Susie, had just moved into the ward. Adam West brought a freshness to Sunday school that I didn't really know how to handle at that age. After a very short while, I recognized what I was feeling as fun mixed with learning. I looked forward to Sunday school every time and was so sad when the year was over and I was no longer in his class.

So, when he was called as the seminary teacher, I could have sprung right through the ceiling with joy.

He made coming to a class at 6:10 AM so special. He always showed up so bright-eyed and happy and excited to teach us... which made us all excited to learn.

When someone would start to fall asleep, he threw a pencil at him or her. He made Scripture Mastery Friday hilarious with his contests. He had the best impersonation of Yoda and would often quote, "Do or do not. There is no try." He told the most incredible stories about his conversion, his life, his family, his dreams, his aspirations.

During the day, Adam West (whom we often called Batman) was a professional motivational speaker. He attended conferences and influenced the lives of the people who listened to him talk. He truly was a force to be reckoned with. He brought a confidence with him wherever he went, as well as the most tender heart you could imagine. I'm not kidding. I have never known anyone as kind.

Occasionally, Batman would invite his students to his "bat cave" for a party. We were able to get to know him even better, as well as his sweet wife and his twin baby girls. It became a bit of a family bond with him; we really couldn't help it.

The most altering moments of the relationship I shared with Adam West was in the moments after seminary class, though, when I would feel so inclined to stay and ask him questions and pick his brain about life. I was a troubled high-schooler... ask anyone who had to deal with me. Adam's insights, his opinions, his stories, and his faith were so honest that he always seemed to say just the right thing, even if it wasn't really what I wanted to hear. He became a dear, dear friend and an excellent mentor.

I graduated from seminary in 2005 and moved away to college in 2006. I came home for a little while in 2006 and spent one of my evenings at his home with him and his sweet family. I made dinner at his house and spent hours there talking to he and his wife and playing with Savannah and Olivia. During this little get-together, I remember him saying, "Angela, you are meant to do great things." I know it sounds like a cliché statement, but that was the first time anyone had said anything like that to me. I was adamant to prove him right. I am adamant to prove him right. He believed in my abilities unlike anyone I'd ever known. I have never, ever forgotten those few words.

Then, I got a phone call from my mom in September of 2008. I remember where I was walking on-campus and that I stopped dead in my tracks when my mom said the words, "Adam West passed away today."

I knew he had been battling cancer, but because I was so far away, I really had no idea how bad it was getting. When I'd first heard he was sick, I felt like I needed to write him a letter telling him how grateful I was for his guidance through so many of my hardships and the support I had from him. So... I did. I wrote the letter, I put it in an envelope.

And I never sent it.

I didn't take the time to address the envelope and stamp it. Ten seconds of my life and I could've expressed appreciation for my own real-life... well, pardon the cheesiness... superhero.

I came across the letter last night and re-read it. It is several pages long and written in purple pen. As I read it, I started to beat myself up about never sending it. Then, I felt such warmth in my heart for this man. He changed so many lives; he helped so many people... just by being himself. I put the letter back in it's weathered envelope and had the overwhelming feeling wash over me: he knows exactly what that letter says.

The One about Books and Bells.

Tribute to Thanksgiving #3: "I cannot live without books." - Thomas Jefferson
Every now and then, a book falls into your lap...

I have to share a story.

I'm willing to bet that every person involved in musical theatre that found his/her way there him/herself (as in, they weren't forced into it as a child) has that one show that sort of spoke to him/her and said, "Hey, this is why you want to do musical theatre!" For me, that musical was Aida. It was my junior year, and my choir class was singing an arrangement of "Written in the Stars." My boyfriend at the time and I were the soloists, and for whatever reason, that song was all it took for me to delve right into the show. I downloaded all of the music and memorized it. I became completely engrossed in everything Aida.

So... when we went to New York in 2004, I knew I had to see it live. I'd lived with it for almost a year by then and had never seen it, so when the opportunity arose, I was going to take it. There was all this talk from other people in our trip group about going to see another show, a new show, called Wicked. I didn't listen; I didn't know it, and therefore I didn't care. It's no secret: I was a BRAT and pretty determined to get what I wanted. I insisted - by whining, of course - that we go see Aida instead. So... we did.

And it was such a let-down. Not only did Deborah Cox (who played the title role) blow her vocal chords at the end of the first act, but the quality was just... meh. When I walked out of the Palace Theatre, I still appreciated the music somewhat, but my love for the show was pretty much gone. I'd thrown a fit to see a show that ended up not even being that good. I guess I deserved that.

Two days later, the day before the 2004 Tony Awards, we flew back to Texas. My director had bought the cast recording of Wicked and was listening to it in her Walkman CD player (remember those?) in the seat behind me. About an hour into the flight, she tapped me on the shoulder. "You have to listen to this," she said, and handed me her headphones. There was a small flourish of music as she pushed play and then I heard the lyrics, "I'm limited..."

By the end of "For Good," I was practically drooling. I asked if I could keep listening to the CD, and she let me for the rest of the flight. By the time we touched the tarmac at the DFW Airport, I wanted to turn right back around and fix the mistake I'd made in missing out on seeing Wicked. It would've been the original cast with Kristin Chenoweth, Norbert Leo Butz, Joel Grey, and... wait for it... 2004 Tony winner for Best Actress In a Musical, Idina Menzel (who won the award the day after I discovered the show).

Besides to fill you in on how stupid/bratty I was, I wanted to give a little background on where Wicked came into my life and therefore lead into the explanation of today's tribute.

I know that I join hoards of women - little girls and teenagers, even - that call Elphaba in Wicked "the ultimate dream role." I know how silly it sounds; I know how stereotypical it is. But I would be a fool to pretend like I wouldn't die to play this role. I've said it before and I'll say it again... if I played Elphaba on Broadway for one night and died the next day, I would absolutely die happy.

I'd heard the hubbub of the release of a certain book for a little while during the summer, and I sort of forgot about it until I was taking care of some Christmas shopping on Amazon last Wednesday. It came up in the "Frequently Bought Together" section when I was looking at the description of a different product. Of course it sparked my interest. Amazon has the option to read the first chapter on their site, so I did. I didn't think twice after that; I bought it on Kindle and have been reading it in my free time since then.
Felicia Ricci was the Elphaba standby in San Francisco to Eden Espinosa in 2008. She compiled her experiences during her time with Wicked every step of the way. It's unbelievably detailed - I feel like I'm cheating as she reveals tiny little secrets: how you learn quick changes, where you live when you're out of town, how often you can pee during a show.

But better than that, it's inspiring. She shares the audition process and how she felt as she went through the grueling process. She talks about her insecurities and her ventures, her hardships and her dreams and emotions.

I'm not joking: any aspiring actress - especially in musical theatre - should read this book. How could I not be grateful for such a good read?

Tribute to Thanksgiving #4: "A friend is one who knows you and loves you just the same." - Elbert Hubbard
This is Ames and Emily. They are the cutest married couple that ever did live.

I met Ames in August of last year, during The Drowsy Chaperone. I met Emily shortly after we opened, when she would some see the show. We were instantly friends: Ames, Emily, Kyle and I would spend countless hours together and continue to do so as we all auditioned for and were cast in A Tale of Two Cities. After that, we all auditioned for and were cast in Dirty Rotten Scoundrels. After that, Ames and I were both in Joseph together.

It's been a little over a year since I met the two of them. I don't really know how to express the appreciation I have for the friendship that I have forged with them. They just seem to make every little thing they touch sparkle; they make things important and special. My birthday last year was special because of them; ringing in the New Year was special because of them... just to name a few.

It seems that there are always things to talk about with them, things to share and even things to debate. I have such admiration for their well-thought-out opinions and outlooks. They are respectful and therefore respectable. They are fun. They are classy, nice, smart, eclectic, and a wonderful privilege to know. I never feel judged in their company.

Above all else, they are remarkably loving... and two of my very best friends.

I feel proud that I can even say that. They are such a special light in my life, and I hope and pray that I can hold onto them for a long, long time.

The One where I Start the Tributes.

As I sit in the arctic that is my office this morning, I've been perusing through Facebook news feeds, Twitter feeds, and blogs that I follow. I've noticed a lot of people are taking the time to countdown their "Days of Thanks" or "Days of Gratitude" in the month of November in recognition of the Thanksgiving holiday, of course (which a lot of us, myself included, toss aside due to the Christmas season).

I have found myself inspired by these acclamations - some entire blog posts, some simple yet profound one-sentence statements - and I want to follow in the footsteps of the writers. After all, as I have said before, I prefer that the main through-line of this entire blog be that of gratitude.

I have a feeling this will do a lot for my personal life. It will help in my consistency of blogging. I sometimes let the inconsistency of my posts be my excuse not to write, if that makes any sense. I intend on writing everyday this month about at least one thing that I am thankful for, even if it's short. Doing this will also help me stay in the moment. Sometimes, when things get too busy, I have learned the hard way that I become a bit robotic (as I have blogged about before) and disallow myself opportunities to take in what is happening right at that moment in time.

My biggest hope of all, in taking on this effort, is that I become a more grateful individual, that I don't take the things or the people around me for granted, and that I, in time, make this a habit. After all, it takes 21 days to form a habit, so it seems I've decided to do this little project just in the nick of time.

I realize that it's November 7th, which means if I start today, I am six days behind. No big deal; for the next six days, I will just do two a day to make up for it. That should really get the ball rolling. I've chosen, just now, to refer to these posts as "Tributes to Thanksgiving."

Before I begin today's tributes, I want to state a few disclaimers... 1) These details that I choose to write about are not meant to be listed according to priority. I will just write them as they come to me. 2) I anticipate that some will be minute elements or small things, and some will be absolutely immeasurable. But everything I choose to write about is important to me. This means that I could get very long-winded on the subjects. 3) I will probably repeat several aspects or people or thoughts I have expressed before in my blog; I hope you'll understand and forgive my redundancy. 4) I fully intend on continuing my posts regarding issues I run into or thoughts I have or soapboxes I want to stand on.

Now that that's out of the way...

I realized as I was writing a few paragraphs up that there are two extremely significant individuals that I have failed to ever write about. What opportunity more fitting than now?

Tribute to Thanksgiving #1: "A brother shares childhood memories and grown-up dreams." - Unknown

My family really is remarkable. I know that I'm so lucky to have them. I've gabbed about my mom and my sister in posts past (and in posts future, I'm sure). I'm actually surprised that I haven't expanded more on this next young man, though, as he has been an infinite force of positivity in all my 24 years.
I don't know anyone like Roy. While he is the picture of what a "big brother" should be - supportive, funny, a confidante, protective, etc. - he is also a light to everyone around him. I have so much respect for his abilities and his knowledge but most of all, his care and kindness.

I'm grateful for the laughs I have with him in reminiscing our childhood - from realizing how much TV we actually did watch as kids to joking about how much we got picked on to remembering moments that we may have momentarily forgotten.

Roy goes out of his way to be a good brother. He even makes it a point to call at least once a week to touch base with his family, no matter where he is. I like to think that he is the glue that really holds my family together.

People are drawn to him. He's hilarious, of course, but also just has this magnetic personality that people can't seem to avoid. This has been something that I have admired about him for as long as I can remember. I recall times when I was younger when I would literally brag about him to my friends. While I may not do that as much anymore verbally, in my heart I'm still convinced that I have the most admirable, classiest, and sweetest brother on the face of the planet.
I also think he's also the smartest... why, you ask? Maybe he just passed the Texas state Bar Exam and is getting sworn in as an "attorney at law" this week.

Sincerely, though, if I could have chosen qualities that I would've wanted my big brother before we came to Earth, he still would've been just like Roy.

Tribute to Thanksgiving #2: "My father gave me the greatest gift anyone could give another person: he believed in me." - Jim Valvano
I never have expressed it enough. In fact, I have had nightmares where something happens to him and I never get the chance to express it. Of course I don't want that to happen, but I've never really taken the time to voice my appreciation of this amazing man. Now is absolutely the time to do that.

I had a really incredible childhood. Of course when I was living it I didn't think so because I was always the one to dramatize and make negative every little situation (I realize I do that sometimes now, too). I lived in the country, in our log cabin, on our four acres of land, with my older brother and younger sister, my mom and dad. While I lived at home, I learned the importance of manual labor and imagination. I never wanted for anything, really. It was all right there at arm's length.

My dad is a strong man. In case you didn't know this, he was actually the Oklahoma state championship wrestler in high school. I'm convinced he can fix anything and lift a million pounds at the same time. He's come face-to-face with Death a number of times and prevailed.

But truly, his physical strength pales in comparison to his emotional and spiritual strength. In his 59 years, my dad has been through some of the greatest hardships I could ever imagine and still manages to express so much love in his everyday life.

I stand amazed at the work he puts into projects and manual labor. I can honestly attribute my willingness to work hard to my dad. He occasionally put us to work when we were little. Before I was even 15 years old, I had tarred a roof, helped build several fences, tilled a garden, cut cattails in a pond, helped build a shed, shoveled, raked, mowed, hammered, climbed, pushed and pulled my weight in rocks and wood. Of course while these things were happening, I wanted to die. I never imagined that I would one day appreciate what those tasks taught me. But I do!

Besides teaching us how to work, and more importantly, my dad has given me some of the grandest memories of my life. Once, we washed his truck in rain water on a business road. I've bottle-fed a newborn calf and had proper burial of some of my most precious dogs. I've been chased by a (harmless) garden snake. When it would "snow" in Texas, my dad would link a huge "sled" to the back of his truck and drive us down the country road. When I was very little, he made a mud-hole in the driveway for Roy and I to play in. He made a tradition for ringing in the new year to jump into our icy swimming pool at midnight. He's woken my siblings and I up with "quacking" noises, Martha's pet duck beside him, outside of our bedroom windows early in the morning. He makes the tastiest stews, the yummiest pinto beans, and the most delectable breakfast burritos.

As I sit here and type these few things, I am overwhelmed with the pride I have for my father. Because of him, I'm able to look back on my childhood and laugh... but above all, I am able to say that my dad is absolutely the best man I know.