My 75th Trip Around the Sun (Memoir)

February 22, 2025, marked the completion of my 75th trip around the sun—and what a journey it has been! Like everyone, I’ve had my share of good days and bad days, but this particular Saturday was unquestionably one of the good ones.

I celebrated my 75th birthday surrounded by my daughter, Shelly; my son, Will; my cousin, Debbie; and more than two dozen friends from the Galveston area. I hadn’t had a birthday party since elementary school, so I decided this one would be special—one to remember.

I rented the Club Room here at GYB, handcrafted a special shirt and party invitations, and took on the challenge of catering it myself, with Shelly’s help. The menu was a feast: homemade quiches, hash brown casserole, bourbon-glazed little smokies, yogurt parfaits, fresh fruit, a charcuterie board with homemade bacon jam, lemon blueberry muffins, bagels with cream cheese, and a birthday “cake” made of coffee cake. Shelly kept the mimosas flowing, and everything came together beautifully.

My friends Bev and Carol took charge of decorating, while Shelly and Debbie finished up the food prep in my apartment. Will became my unofficial “secret service agent,” tracking down my keys every time I lost them—which, in my excitement, was often. Oma arrived with balloons and beads, handing them out to guests as they arrived. Meanwhile, my friend Debbie (from Alvin) played photographer, capturing all the special moments as people trickled in beginning at 9:30.

The party was everything I had hoped for—a warm, lively gathering that celebrated not just a birthday but the life I’ve built here on this island. When I arrived in Galveston in the middle of the pandemic, I knew no one. But slowly, friend by friend, my world expanded. Now, I’m surrounded by a wonderful, eclectic mix of people who brighten my days and enrich my life.

I am one lucky 75-year-old!

My Mother-In-Law, A Memoir of a Unique Friendship

Thinking back to that day in early 1970, I can still feel the knot in my stomach as I prepared to meet the formidable Mrs. Downes, a woman who would leave an indelible mark on my life. A few months before my engagement to her son, Bill, I had been invited to dinner to “meet the parents.” I was extremely intimidated because of the stories I had heard about them.

In the 1930s, Mrs. Downes was a society reporter for the Washington Post. At the same time, Mr. Downes was serving as an aide to President Roosevelt. It was fate that the two would meet in the White House and later marry. Mr. Downes later became a Naval commander of the ship, The Idaho; and, later still, the head of Civil Defense. Even Bill’s grandfather was somebody important. The John R Downes Elementary School in Newark, Delaware, was named in honor of him. These people were way above my social class! I was a simple, country girl whose dad was a farmer and a mom who was a private duty nurse. However, I had been invited to dinner at their home, and there was no getting out of it.

 

As I entered the home, my trepidation increased. Hitchcock chairs, Duncan Phyfe tables, old clocks, Tiffany lamps, and a myriad of other antiques, whose names escape me, were arranged in every nook and corner of the visible rooms. In the dining room, the table was draped in white linen tablecloth. The table was set with Steiff Rose Sterling flatware, Blue Willow plates, sterling silver Paul Revere bowls, and sparkling, cut-glass serving pieces. Rows of antique, porcelain, miniature tea sets lined the plate rail that circled the room like a train track.

After introductions to Robert and Marylyn, I sat down at the table as the smell of prime rib, mashed potatoes, fresh rolls, and asparagus tantalized my appetite. However, I was too nervous to eat. As Robert sliced and served the meat, our conversation went from talk about my college professors to “those people in Southern Delaware.” And, yes, I was from Southern Delaware!

I began to wonder what she would think of me if she saw my make-shift home in Lewes and our “Green Stamp” dishes. What if I said the wrong thing today and sounded like “those people from down south?” Was Bill going to ditch me after this dinner? 

Marylyn’s square jaw marched up and down as she chatted on about her days covering the society news in Washington, D.C. One story I recall vividly is her shock at watching a senator’s wife unapologetically “double dip” her shrimp into the cocktail sauce. "I must make sure never to do that," I thought to myself with a silent "eye roll."

Her pepper-gray hair, knotted into a tight bun, emphasized her high cheekbones and thick eyebrows. She wore long, colorful beads that hung to her waist, bright-red nail polish, and real gold earrings. I’d heard from my college chums that she volunteers at the college library as a “Shusher.” I remember thinking she seemed to fit that part perfectly!

I cut my meat slowly, taking a bite now and then, contemplating how to contribute to the conversation. Then, glancing around, I noticed the Downes’ had already finished their meal. How had that happened? 

I don’t recall much more about this first meal together; but obviously, it didn’t stop Bill from marrying me. A few weeks later, our engagement was announced, with our wedding to be held on December 26, 1970. Bill went off to Army helicopter school in Forth Wolters, Texas, and would not be home until Christmas. We would marry then and head back to Texas together the next day. 

My mother-in-law was delighted to discover that I had no preferences about the ceremony. She immediately got busy making all the arrangements from getting the church, organizing a small reception, and making a list of those she wanted to attend. Personally, I was glad all I had to do was buy my gown, invite my own people, and show up! My dad had informed me earlier that “he wasn’t going to pay for any more weddings this year.” He had already paid for my brother to marry the year before. So, Mrs. Downes’ natural inclinations to “take charge” was actually a blessing for me. 

The wedding was small, yet perfect. Afterward, Bill and I traveled to Mineral Wells, Texas. A few weeks later, we made our way to Fort Rucker, Alabama, where Bill completed his flight training. Six months later, he departed for Vietnam, while I returned to Delaware to continue my studies at the University of Delaware. 

Now, she could “watch over me” while Bill was away, and "watch over me" she did – with both good and not-so-good outcomes! First, she put a deposit down on an apartment and completely furnished it with items she and Mr. Downes bought at auctions, one of their favorite pastimes. 

I didn’t have to do a thing but move in. After I was settled, I took a job at DuPont Company as a typist. I also re-enrolled at the University of Delaware on a part time basis. When I wasn’t working or going to school, I was out with my friends. This made it hard for my mother-in-law to keep track of me!

Somehow, Mrs. Downes obtained the phone numbers of all my girlfriends. This was before cell phones, so the friendly, five-pound phone book was her best friend. Whenever she couldn’t reach me at home, she would call my friends, one after the other, looking for me. I would finally get notified by one of my friends that "Mrs. D is on the hunt for you!" Eventually, I returned home, called her back, and settled her down. 

I remember one day in particular that ended in not-so-good consequences. I had gone out with a friend in her car, leaving mine at home. Meanwhile, Mrs. Downes was trying to locate me, but none of my other friends knew where I was. Frustrated, Mrs. Downes drove to my apartment to check on me. When she discovered my car out front, but received no answer when she knocked on the door, she was positive that I was lying dead on the apartment floor from exposure to gas fumes. So, what was she to do? What any hysterical MIL would do, of course. She called 911! When I got home, there was the fire department about to enter my apartment. When she saw me, she yelled, “Where the hell have you been?” 

I wasn’t very happy being yelled at, but eventually everything was resolved. The rescue squad went home without breaking down my door, and Mrs. Downes and I parted on friendly terms. But, from then on, I found it best to let her know where I was at all times. It was much easier that way!

My friends often asked me how I could tolerate such an “interfering” mother-in-law. For me, it wasn’t as hard as they imagined. Yes, she could be very annoying, but, at age 60, she was old enough to be my grandmother. To me, she was gift. I now had an older person to care about me, to take me shopping, and to invite me into her life. This was something I never had, as both of my own grandmothers died when I was very young. 

Mrs. Downes took me to antique auctions where I learned how to shop for the best pieces to furnish my new home. She took me to the Faculty Club at the University, where I not only learned some social skills but also how to enjoy fine dining. When I became pregnant, she took me to the finest department store in town and bought me a whole wardrobe of maternity clothes. She shared her family history with me and listened to me for hours as I shared my life story with her. I believe we developed a mutual respect as well as deep friendship.

Did I get mad at her? Yes, many times. Her overprotectiveness and worrying was often “over the top.” But, in the end, it was worth it. I learned so much about life from her and she treated me to experiences I never would have had. We developed a special bond that will forever be one of my most cherished memories. 

A House to Remember (Memoir, written in October 2023)

 A House to Remember

By Cindy Downes

 

What do you get when you combine a World War II veteran, a 240-acre farm, and a prisoner of war barracks together? A home. That’s right - my childhood home for eighteen years. My dad, recently discharged from the army, purchased the barracks for $650, moved it onto his family farm in Lewes, Delaware, and divided it into three sections. He used one piece for our house, one piece for a shop, and the remaining piece was used for the ends of the buildings and room dividers. 

This home of ours featured crumbly plaster walls, an asbestos roof, and rough-hewn wooden floors. It was rustic for sure, but we did have all the luxuries of life including electricity, water, heat, and an indoor toilet. 

 

When we needed water, we grabbed a bucket or two and carefully navigated down rickety wooden stairs to our basement below. We then headed over to the pitcher pump and gave it a few strokes. Instantly, we delighted with refreshingly cold spring water as it gushed up from our very own personal well. 

 

We were never concerned about cold winter nights in this cozy coastal dwelling. Our home had Big Bertha, a heating system like no other. Big Bertha was a 55-gallon oil drum, stacked horizontally on cement blocks and conveniently located in the corner of our main living area. To keep it spewing out its luxurious heat, we periodically chopped down an old tree from our woods, sawed it into two-foot pieces, opened the fabricated metal door of Big Bertha, and stacked the wood inside. Then, we fired it up, sat back, and got warm and toasty. We even cooked meals in Big Bertha using a sturdy, black, cast-iron pot with a lid. We enjoyed such delicacies as fresh vegetable soup, chicken and dumplings, and chunky beef stew. 

 

Another feature of our house was its indoor outhouse. There was no need for us to venture outside in the freezing snow or in the middle of a hurricane as our outhouse was in the basement. It consisted of a five-gallon bucket carefully placed under a booty-sized hole cut into the top of a red wooden box that sat over the bucket. The women of our house implored the menfolk to aim properly as the top of the bucket did get slimy now and then from inaccurately streamed liquid waste. Lucky for me, the job of emptying this innovative convenience was left to the boys. 

 

My dad was before his time when it came to creating our kitchen as it had a modern, open floor plan like the homes of today rather than the chopped up back kitchens that were common in the 40’s. He custom built a ten-foot-long table, along with matching benches, that he placed down the center of this kitchen. Not only did he create an abundance of space for dining and conversation, but he also enabled the women of the house to prepare the meals and socialize at the same time. We weren't stuck in a "back kitchen." I remember many good times around this table, especially when my relatives from New Jersey came to visit. We dined on Uncle Freddy's fresh caught fish and our own home-grown produce. Afterwards, we ladies would play pinochle for hours, at this table, while the men sat in the living room and smoked. 

 

Gradually, children were added to our household including my brother Randy in 1947; me in 1950, and my brother Keith in 1955. This meant two more bedrooms, one for my brothers and one for me. Neither of these bedrooms had doors; but when I got older, I created my own door from curtains I made. This was another unique aspect of our home. Unlike the women who lived in town, we didn’t have to drive to the nearest city 40 miles away to buy fabric. Instead, we could get all the fabric we needed from our chickens. Chicken feed, at that time, was sold in beautiful, floral-printed sacks. All I had to do was cut the sacks into appropriately sized pieces and then sew away on Grandma Wilson’s treadle sewing machine - a Singer, of course! Not only did I make curtains for my bedroom door from these sacks, but I also made clothes for myself that I wore to school. I may not have been the most fashionable student at school, but I did learn a marketable skill. I later used this skill to help fund my way through college at the University of Delaware. 

 

Our home continued “as is” until I turned twelve. That was the year of the Big Remodel. Gone was the indoor outhouse, gone was the pitcher pump, and gone was Big Bertha. Now, like the rest of the world we had a double sink in the kitchen with running tap water; a full bath with pink and green tile, a tub, sink, and flushing toilet; and an oil heater in the floor that warmed the whole house. And, best of all, no more trekking down rickety stairs to the basement. Everything was located on the main floor. 

I still remember the smell of the coffee I brewed for the men as they worked, the excitement I experienced as I flushed the new toilet, and the comfort I felt as I stood on the heating grate with the warm air billowing out my skirt like an umbrella on the beach. 

 

All these modern conveniences did provide us with a more comfortable home, but they never took away from its uniqueness. Not many people can say they grew up in a POW camp - at least, not by choice! 

Fun with My Rebel Friends at Shelly's Parade Event

Today was an absolutely blast! Shelly made her debut in her very first Galveston parade with her decked-out Jeep, and she asked me to take some photos. So, I put out a call on Facebook, asking for a few friends to join me. Carol, Bev, and Susan were up for it; and, wow, did we have fun! 

 

The day started bright and early with everyone meeting at my place at 8 a.m. so they could tour my new space. From there, we headed over to Galveston Bagel for breakfast. Our next stop was the Library, where we explored their museum and got to chat with some Navy Lieutenants giving a “show and tell” on the Constitution and oceanographic equipment. They even handed out goodies, including this clever little pen that doubles as a screwdriver and level! Super geeky! 

Afterward, we made our way to where Shelly and her friends, Larry and Colleen, were lining up for the parade. We snapped some photos of them prepping for the parade. 

 

Here you can see the new grill Shelly installed that look like teeth! 

We then stopped and chatting with some of the other parade participants, including this group of dancers.

Then, with an hour until the parade kicked off, we decided to go shopping. In and out of stores we went, all along Strand Street, most of which I had never been in before. I bought some jewelry and a mug. Then we sat and chatted while we waited for the parade to get to us. Shelly's jeep stole the show, of course! 

(Sorry for the dropped video in middle - I don't know how to edit!)

When the parade wrapped up, we resumed our shopping spree—but not before stopping by LaKing’s for ice cream, which we all agreed was lunch! We wrapped up our day around 3 p.m.

 

I loved getting to know these gals better! I'd known them from UU, but we’d never just hung out. Spending time with them today was a revelation—Susan, Bev, and Carol have a serious streak of adventure (and a touch of rebellion!). They even “encouraged” me to jaywalk and pull a U-turn right in the middle of the street! But, turns out, even these strong Texas women have their limits. They refused to let me make a left on Holiday Drive at a red light when I hadn’t noticed the green light was only for going straight! 😂

 

I can’t wait to see what kind of mischief we get into next!

Life Changes Things

Life changes. Every year that I get older, it seems as if I have a new adjustment to make. Now that I'm working and being Bill's chauffeur, it seems I am having to adjust my writing schedule to accommodate it. For the past two years, I've enjoyed writing for Oklahoma Living Magazine, but, unfortunately, this type of writing requires me to travel and interview people. I don't have the time to do that now that I'm tutoring, except for in the summer. Because of that, I was forced to give up some of the assignments that I had for the upcoming year - a big disappointment.

However, as I sat thinking about it and feeling sorry for myself, I said, "Self, what other kind of writing could you do at home in the middle of the night and in between your other responsibilities?" I realized that I could write on spec about topics that I can research at home - no travel or interviewing. I could also work on my mystery and/or children's books that have been sitting in my files. So, that's what I've decided to do.

First, I sent off some queries for magazine articles I could write at home in the middle of the night. I got four assignments!

Next, I pitched an idea to the kids in my writing class about an extra assignment - writing the novel. If any of them take me up on it, we'll form an online critique group and work on our stories together. We're going to use the book, "Seize the Story: A Handbook for Teens Who Like to Write" by Victoria Hanley. We'll work through this chapter by chapter throughout the school year. We'll critique each other and I'll help them learn about the publishing business (as much as I know) and maybe even take them to some writer's workshops.

So, the bottom line is this:

“Nobody can go back and start a new beginning, but anyone can start today and make a new ending.” -Maria Robinson

Tulsa Council of the Blind

Logo of person with white cane.

As many of you know, my husband Bill is legally blind. He began losing his vision in 2006 after a visit to get contacts. We visited eye specialists from here to the East coast in search of answer to why he was losing his vision, but no one seems to know. The specialists at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore, MD, finally decided it was probably genetic or an autoimmune disease. He said this is the standard answer when they can't figure it out.

We were both hoping the vision loss was temporary; but, after consultation with doctors from Dean McGee, John Hopkins and Mayo Clinic, we finally had to accept the fact that, barring a miracle from God, he would probably not regain his sight.

In the meantime, we were both struggling to adapt to these changes. Bill was struggling with his lost of independence. No more could he get in the car and go somewhere. He has to depend on me to drive him. I was struggling with a change of roles. Bill had always been the one who went out to work. He loves being with people and want to go, go, go. In contrast, I enjoy working at home alone and only like to go out on special occasions. It was the perfect marriage. He enjoyed going out and I enjoyed staying home. We were both happy. But now, our roles had reversed. How would I be able to take care of all the things that Bill used to take care of? How would Bill be able to adjust to staying home and being dependent on others? This was a scary time for both of us and we didn't know where to turn for help. The doctors only worked on a diagnosis; they gave no advice on where to get emotional support.

In desperation, I began searching the Internet for blind support groups and only found one: National Federation of the Blind. We went to a meeting and quickly wished we hadn't gone. The leader of the group told us in no uncertain terms that if we came there because "Oh, I'm a poor little blind person and I need help, you've come to the wrong place." Both of us wanted to slide under the table and disappear. We stayed for the meeting, but were so glad to go home. That was definitely not the help we were looking for. We went home and prayed for help from somewhere else.

Finally, after searching the Internet some more, I ran across a small posting from a person who ran a support group in Tulsa called the Tulsa Council of the Blind. We went to the meeting and found just what we were looking for. They were helpful, supportive and caring. They told us where to go for more help and who to contact. This was the breakthrough we had been looking for. From there, Bill has been able to get help from the VA, the Oklahoma Department of Rehabilitation, and more. Emotionally, we have both learned to adapt and are making progress in getting back to a new normal.

I said all that to say this: I have just finished creating a website for Tulsa Council of the Blind. My goal is that this website will not only make easier for someone to find this organization, but that it also will help others get the help they need when going through a transition such as ours.

With the help of the staff, I have including information about the organization and its services, as well as links to other websites with helpful information for both the visually impaired as well as for the family and friends of the visually impaired. While on the site, you'll learn interesting facts about the blind, gain knowledge about the causes of blindness, discover resources for helping the blind gain confidence and independence, and even find educational resources for parents of school-age children who are blind or visually impaired.

If you know anyone who is losing their vision, please send them to the Tulsa Council of the Blind website.  And if you have a website or blog or Facebook page, please link to the website so that others can find it. Don't let them go through this alone!

UPDATE: Sept 21, 2012. I just received a nice note from the new president of NFB apologizing for the treatment we received at the NFB meeting. It's nice to know that someone cares enough to reach out and make it right.

UPDATE: Oct 20, 2019. I no longer maintain the Tulsa Council of the Blind website.

Half Time by Bob Buford

This book changed my life. After reading Half Time, I was inspired to finish my college degree (See Empty Nest Mom Goes to College) and then become a freelance writer. I just discovered that CBD is having a sale on this book - only $3.99 until Thursday, Feb. 11th.

If you're looking for inspiration on what to do with the rest of your life, you need to read this book.