Edward M. Kennedy—and he died.

Perhaps you have had the experience, as I have had, of attending a memorial service where the eulogies made you question whether the speakers accurately described the person who had died.

But by devoting 12 minutes, 30 seconds to hear his son, Ted Kennedy, Jr. talk about the person whose politics polarized, stunned and inflamed his opposition—a man who wore the face of the Democratic Party for the past 46 years—the son’s tribute caused a wall of prejudice to crumble. http://video.nytimes.com/video/playlist/politics/1194811622221/index.html#1247464293400

Son Teddy had bone cancer at age 12. As he described how his father helped him believe that he had a future after having his leg amputated, this story alone made me see a man, not a monster.

Teddy spoke of the hours he spent with his dad preparing for sailing races.

“Why are we always the last ones out on the water?”

“Because the others are smarter and more talented. But we will win because we will work harder than them.”

Teddy, Jr. said that one of the harder lessons his father taught him was how to like Republicans.

His father said, “Republicans love this country just as much as I do.” Edward Kennedy recognized the incredible shared sacrifice involved in public service, Republican or Democrat.

Ted Kennedy, Jr. said that his father loved history, biographies and was a Civil War buff, visiting sites of battles to better appreciate the soldiers’ sacrifice because he “believed that in order to know what to do in the future, you had to understand the past.”

I believe that, too.

The passing of Edward Kennedy telescopes the drama surrounding the Kennedy family, a saga I have watched unfold for most of my life, and his death may signify the end of a political dynasty.

Every eulogy, true or false, reminds me, though, that being loved covers a multitude of sins.

From a Distance

From so far away that I wondered whether my point and shoot camera (a Canon G10) could record anything, this one picture captured the bride's joy.

As the couple entered their wedding reception, we gathered among guests who this past weekend made the drive to Canadian, where the bride's ancestors first arrived in the Texas Panhandle during the mid-1800's. Those great-great grandparents later settled in Pampa where the bride's parents have lived all of their lives and where we had lived for 25 years.

A serendipitous occasion for my husband and me, we knew two-thirds of the people who attended this lavish event. Like something out of the movie Sabrina, everyone savored a picture-perfect evening that people who live in Dallas or Houston or San Antonio might enjoy 2 times a year--once in the spring and once in the fall. Like ice cream on top of cake, it tasted yummy just being there.

Weddings bring people together from a distance. Back in the Panhandle, traveling a shorter distance to see people we know and love and have missed makes Lubbock feel like coming home.

Consider the Birds

Two weeks, 10 pounds of sugar and about 200 snaps later, these pictures from our vacation in Cloudcroft, NM capture the fascination each of us had with the hummingbirds who every day visited our porch from dawn until nightfall.

Cursory research suggests that hummingbirds remain a few hours from starvation at all times, so I considered syrup-making serious business.

4 cups boiling water to 1 cup sugar, let it cool. Fill feeders.

Consider the birds, how would they fare after we had gone?

Which reminded me when my friend Sheridan said as I instructed her how to avoid the 30-foot tree while backing out of my driveway, "How do I get along without you when you are not with me?"

Stick out your tongue

Turns out the movie Ice Age gave Dax the idea to stick his tongue inside the freezer.

Note the chocolate on his face revealing that at this point, he can eat, drink and talk about the incident.

I'm still cringing even as I marvel at the body's ability to heal.

Right off the tip of his tongue

If you ask an 8-year-old why he stuck his tongue in the freezer, don't expect a rational explanation.

"Where did you get that idea?"

"I don't know," he says.

Was he trying to cool off in this 100 degree heat?

And then you think about the bazillion ways boys have of exploring their world.

We don't know how long Dax cried for help before deciding he had to break away, and running in the back door with his tongue bleeding, I was the first to meet this crisis.

After lapping running water for five minutes, a cold rag and Tylenol soothed the tip of his tongue. Oowie.

Anticipating possible dangers challenges the most vigilant parents who wish they could run interference between their offspring and everything that threatens their safety.

Remarkably, Dax had an appointment with the pedodontist this morning who said that it would take two weeks for his tongue to fully heal. Like a bad burn.

So controlling the tongue, I'm reminded, includes not only what we say but where we place this tiny muscle known for its strength.

No Small Feat

Forget the move to Lubbock 8 days ago that demanded of me grit and sweat and long day’s journeys into night. Yesterday a trip to the shoe store to shod the youngest 3 of my daughter’s 4 kids made me think that branding cattle might come easy.

Rope and tie down one boy long enough to slap one foot on the measuring device—there’s one at the ready for right or left foot. Grab a pair of new socks from the display, lace and tie up one foot on the slowest boy, cut that kid loose to hobble around the store to investigate every item within reach of a person 35 inches tall while the other two take a turn choosing or being convinced they like the style they will go home wearing, mother bent at the waist to assist the poor sales person who has to pretend she enjoys her job, and I with my camera capturing chaos. Ta-dah.

So many shoes and so little time. Stickers and a quarter dropped in a gumball machine got us out the door. I can only imagine the calm after our fury.

“Handsome shoes,” one of the twins said as he lifted his foot so I would take a picture. Then he said, as he always does, "See it. See it," waiting for me to show him the viewer.

The feet are small but growing, each step into the next size appears enormous at the time, and the challenge of keeping feet confined to shoes in summer seems futile.

But for a day, every kid wearing a new pair of tennis shoes feels more like Cinderella than a cow branded or a horse shod, and that is no small feat.

An American Idol Experience

What do you get when you don't get what you want?

Experience.

That's what I told Rose before she began the American Idol audition process. Although she was not sure she wanted what she sought, we decided beforehand that the trouble was worth the egalitarian experience.

An aphorism that applies when things fail to turn out the way we hope, I had to admit that everyone there had their hopes, if not dreams, of a "golden ticket." American Idol has tapped into a vein of desire in enough people to produce 9 seasons of the number one show in television.

People will stand in lines, sleep in parking lots and come from all parts of the country for the slice of a chance at a recording contract, a glorified emblem of the American Dream. A compressed cattle call audition, typical in New York and L.A., is how I would describe the process. But hey, nobody made anybody suffer for their art.

We can always choose to take with us something that contributes, informs or otherwise enhances subsequent experiences, each forming a portion of our unique stories.

Rose and I sat in the crowd of 10,000, among the first persons to occupy the new Dallas Cowboy Stadium, an experience in itself. Since I cannot foresee myself attending one of the upcoming football season's games, taking pictures inside made my day.

When the towering glass doors opened, sliding and stacked to the sides like a hero sandwich, massive amounts of air conditioning poured into the atmosphere.

Rose said, "That was cool."