All we want for Christmas…to feel Love and Gratitude.

by admin

For Christmas this year I pretty much decided that I needed to be sure that I had a great day. I can’t really ever remembering particularly wanting the Heidi Doll. And that turtle Troll was probably something absolutely impossible to satisfy that my cre[aaazy, man!]ative mind had made up.

In this same way, no one really wanted to eat all those cookies or peanut butter balls, there was no family gathering at my house I needed to orchestrate, and I was around no one in particular who had any Christmas needs. Even my neighbor whose father had died was super super busy organizing stuff and planning a trip to Mexico, so we waved today while running to respective outings armed with food as I did have a two events with minor cooking responsibilities. So, I realized it should be a celebration and opportunity to have these few days to keep it simple and focus on what Christmas meant to me.

And I’ll tell you, it is a LOT less work. It makes me finally realize that term my father so often used about “make work”, though in different contexts than women. And, I do think is often what we (women) to do ourselves, at least if my yoga teachers had anything to share about their family Thanksgivings… I think we need to start competing on who can do less :). Much of what we do likely misses the point if we are expecting anything in return and when I started to simplify, I realized it wasn’t really missed much, if any. Green wreaths with cherries were pretty enough in my picture. Now, the prime rib …that’s something entirely different….

So, I started early to plan how I would spend this weekend, tomorrow and Tues, being free of any (moi??!!) past resentments, pre-conceptions, and time & money consuming last minute tasks. These had been likely only an attempt to try to control the happiness of others on Christmas Day while often neglecting my own needs. With all of this thought, I realized that the only thing that mattered with those primary relationships in life with whom I’d spent so much time  was one special gift.

Jack said it perfectly in this note which came with this golden gift. The gift is very beautiful, well-crafted and made with loving hands so here is a picture of that first.

Lamb, Mary, Baby Jesus, Joseph, Cow. by Jack Adams, 3rd Grade. Meade Grade School.

I love the way Jack forms clay, I’ll have to do another of his KU Basketball player.

But, it didn’t really even matter if he had given a gift or not, because his words just by themselves remind me of what this holiday is all about, Christ’s birthday. That is, Christmas is about the gift of Love. And, the idea aka the Faith in Christianity, is that the parent, God, had a son that was an embodiment of his love. And, Mary was the one who had the privilege of being his mother for the short time he was on this earth. Here is his note:

“This Gift Shows the true meaning of Christmas. The Gift of Love! Merry Christmas Mom and Dad. I love you!” Jack Adams, 3rd grade 1999-2000.

This  wonderful person who gave, spoke, spread his gifts given to him by God his Creator was Jesus. You know? A really good kid. Took what he was given in terms of his abilities, and saw the positive. He spread it in the way that he was able, to others, learning to somehow speak in such a way that his message from God spoke to very many people. In the real world that we live in, you can imagine how he  was somewhat of a threat to power structures. So he was killed.

That is, a person’s faith that God’s love is really what matters the most in getting through life and each day, was an idea that some in power felt needed to be put down. This is because fear is a very powerful force in governing others.  While it was an entirely different time, in some ways it’s just the same.  Fears, within ourselves in the fairly comfortable middle class reality of being fed and clothed, fears that society can evoke, fear we may let others evoke with theirs that ignites something also within us, and mostly within ourselves if we let it grip us. Fear of poverty, fear of indecision, fear of being alone, fear of self, fear of loss of self-control, fear of not being able to control. Whatever it is that pits one against another, and most often those two arewithin ourselves. Divide and conquer, right?

So God had a plan. If we can forgive ourselves for being human, we can always begin again by feeling love and gratitude.

God’s intentions came to us by way of a story told to a woman that saw Jesus after his image reappeared, but his body had disappeared. His spirit was still alive and he came back to tell what had happened.

I believe this happens to all of us in many ways with people that have come into our lives that are important. They come back in our dreams and in our thoughts. And if anyone else’s experiences are like mine, they are always positive. All gratitude.

Perhaps it’s easier to remember than it was to ever experience in real life. But, I do think at least focusing on the feeling of thanks makes everything about both giving and accepting love easier. It’s only then that I can see what I brought to that relationship and equally how well I treated and thought of myself within that relationship. It’s a mixed bag of responsibility, self-forgiveness, love and gratitude.

It’s only then that I can bring that to another on the holidays as there were so many things that I enjoyed. But this time doing it with more love, more understanding, more forgiveness both of self and of another for not fulfilling any “want” or “need” that I have or had neglected to give first to myself.

Got it, Paula? That is, first remember that I am a Child of God as Paul Rock’s pebble reminded me a few Sundays ago. Then, to feel thanks.

And to know that so often when I am alone, that I have the very best companion.

It’s a time to enter the quiet

that often can get lost

with all the hubbub,

 it should be cherished.

Rosie and My Shadow….

by admin

I am now permanently settled in Hyde Park in Kansas City. It is very urban in my new neighborhood, at least as far as that definition goes west of the Mississippi. And of course, it’s all relative as I’ve been living for 28 years on a place where my next closest landowner was 8 miles away and a trek to another cowboy house was a city block.

And, I have been pondering as to whether or not I think Rosie has adjusted to urban living.

I have identified some defects of character that she perhaps needs to work on.  It’s not that these haven’t improved since Rosie and I moved to Wichita in February 11, at least she knows herself better.  But they still, and will likely always need, daily work.


  • For one thing, she always starts out barking at the boy dogs, but usually it’s just because they are the ones most likely to be curious about her. I think it must be her scrappy demeanor. And, ss her mother’s friend Ellen said, “it’s because they bark about their work…business and politics…it’s so much more interesting.” But, familiar gal pals are important, and it does take a while to attract the gender that she is really seeking and needing.

In fact, here’s a picture from Rosie at Starbucks at Central and Rock (Wichita) after she finally got the attention she wanted and was holding court.

Rosie and ladies at Starbucks in Wichita with little boy dog neglected at right.

I even felt kind of sorry for the little boy dog beside the table. Once she’d found her ladies, he was ignored not only by Rosie, but by all the other missies who might have otherwise found him quite adorable.

  • And, Rosie has also had two run-ins with pairs of dogs. I am not sure if they really count because the encounters were also with their owners and there maybe have been other issues….

a) One was in Santa Fe at Vargas Mall where I waswith a friend who was mailing some stuff to Ebay. These canines were big black labs. The owner, a calm organic transplant to New Mexico, was not happy all and shrank back in terror. The barking so reverberated in the mall that my friend around the corner at the UPS store came out to see about the ruckus.

I’m sure they were likely way more evolved than she, living in the Land of Enchantment and everything. And…she does have a bit of a Napoleon Complex.

b) This 2nd catfight was with the somewhat-but-not-enough-non-speaking younger 3rd European wife of my neighbor in Wichita. She doesn’t speak English, but actually quite mirror’d her one dog in behavior in both lack of respose and reaction as Rosie did her usual (friendly?) barking. Frankly, her husband told me later that his one dog was very aggressive and the other a sweetheart. He said it happens all the time, and that Rosie probably got the hostile scent, scent’sing two against one (the owner and fiesty dog).

  • She also doesn’t always respect others right to clean grass space. And, I have heard that at Jansen Place in Hyde Park that there is a $500 fee if one doesn’t tend to their pup’s pQQps.  Luckily, I’m on the other side of Gilham and somewhat in the Hood so maybe she can occasionally get away with leaving a little fertilizer. There certainly is plenty of other fertilizer on 39th Street, so I’m not that worried about it.
  • She actually got into quite an impressive fight with the pug next door, Cujo.A very beautiful girl was there one day in the front yard with Cujo. She told me that Cujo had been her pug, and was claimed by the houseowners because they (four guys) had christened her Cujo. I think this would explain why the female dog has a male name. That is, I think it should actually be Cuja.So, she is often over there to visit her girl.So Rosie and I were walking by and Rosie and Cujo encountered each other as Crystal and I spoke. Snarling and growling, we proceeded to chat turning only because at one point, the two lady pugs had each other’s ruff by the neck. We were totally fascinated and watched as they wrestled each other to the grass. I think blood might have almost been drawn.

    We both just sat, like good mothers, and let them work it out themselves until we realized that someone was going to fight to win. With that, I pulled Rosie back and we both smiled at each other, very impressed with our girls street savvy and ferocity.

So, while I do think we all must work on our issues, I have also thought about the encounters when Rosie has been put on the defensive, as she was in the first episodes. I feel like in dogville, it should be like that 70s book…that is, “Me and my Dog are OK, You and Your Dog are OK.”  Not all animals were raised with grassy, green sprinklered lawns to protect and received pet shrink care and acupuncture.

a final note:

Rosie did say she would work on her end but advises me to remember, “What you think of me and my dog is none of my business.” That is, it is only a reflection of her, NOT ME, so who cares? Is this really true?

And another tidbit of wisdom from her. In a kind way she suggested that when I am overly worrying about her, that

  • perhaps I should redirect my focus on my own program, being that the only person I can control is myself.

She is a wise one.


Mama’s Got a Squeeze Chute…

by admin


Mama’s got a Squeeze Chute she wears around her chest, and when Daddy comes home never gets no rest…

…in and out and in and out and in and out again…

…”Cause she’s playin’ all night,
and the music’s alright….”

…Well the kids don’t eat
and the dog can’t sleep.
There’s no escape from the music
in the whole damn street…

She goes, squeeze me, come on and squeeze me

Come on and tease me like you do
I’m so in love with you…

-Pete Townshend.



Irish Cow Punch(er) lines. Eddy’s too funny.

by admin

Eddy made a funny.

Mike had been in and out and somehow there came a discussion of an upcoming Polkafest or some Polish Festival.

Lacy Adams, Paula Adams, Eddy de la Hunt at O'Dowd's.

Enjoying my newest dance moves of late, my comment was that The Polka was not a very sexy form of dance.

Eddy’s remark was, “it is if yahr a fahrmehr!”

[here, I’ll translate for you. In Irish, he said, “it is if your a farmer.”]

“They forgit wich cattel ther hand’lin’!”


Ode de Savage and the Good ol’ boys at Eddy’s.

by admin

Prince Michael Savage, Paula Graves Adams, Eddy de la Hunt. First Meeting sum '11.

I saw Michael Savage, The Artist, the other day at Eddy’s.

We have different coffee schedules with our respective yoga-paint patterns.

Anyway, we only had a minute for an update.

We don’t really need to get into the context.

And, I don’t want to put word’s in someone else’s mouth, but I think it went something like this.

To paraphrase the Sauvage:

“Well, in the [good] old’n days, the wife [in the country] just died!”


A cock and bull story.

by admin

He'll be as useless as tits on a bull.

I can’t really remember what exactly was the issue here,

you’ll have to ask the Boss.

But, I do remember

that there was a female involved.

Baaa…when he speaks to me, He calls me Paula.

by admin

I am attaching a link for a wonderful sermon that I missed hearing last week on Mother’s Day at Second Pres.  It is very powerful and I enjoyed hearing this one in particular at home, as I am prone to crying in church. Click on Reverend Paul Rock: The Voice, the top sermon, delivered on May 13th.

Listen to him, but he is talking about how God speaks to us and how to find that voice.

The value of feeling really low and 12 steps to go up.

I first had to feel pretty low about other things and to realize that I had to give into the fact that I couldn’t run the show of my life. I will say a little because I believe the 12 step process that one particular anonymous group identified in 1939 as instrumental for so many should be at least peripherally mentioned. It worked for many people to give up alcohol and more importantly to take responsibility for whatever else about oneself that wasn’t working in life. And addictions can be many things in people besides chemicals. I know because I am an addictive person and you can see it in part when I write. It’s often those things that worked so well for so long to keep us going, working, doing, running, thinking but for some reason yet to be uncovered it just wasn’t working anymore.

Starting over Each Day.

And, it has been said in meetings that it is a bit of a bait and switch. This is because so many do have a problem with organized religion and a higher power, religion is separate and apart from this process. But at the end of the day, it finally does come around to finding a God within oneself. And, because it focuses on just each day, it is really what brought me back to understanding why people chose Christianity as a religion. That idea that each day, sins are forgiven, and to be good, feel good. To move on doing good things it is important to forgive oneself to be rid of resentments that can keep us stuck, lazy and in the past in a negative way. Focusing too much on not forgiving oneself diverts from taking responsibility for past actions with amends as well as doing important work in life in the future.

So, after all of that and really several months of just going through the motions, I came to Believe. After practicing and saying and repeating, something finally happened. It was not like this, though this picture kept going through my head.

Bernini's Ecstasy of St. Teresa


It did involve sunlight, though. I think this is in part because the sun is so warming and relaxing. It also so changes the way that everything looks at different times of the day. Everything is grayed and light blued in the morning, golden in the afternoon, and reveals every color possible throughout the day, all in the same still-life setup.

I knew the hard work had paid off when I felt I really now saw

Great Beauty. Masterpieces.

Not all of the time, just when I am conscious.

But in these moments, all of a sudden the

yellow was buttery,

the green was a meadow,

the blue was indigo and

my reds were tame and quiet.

I have studied art and been around beautiful paintings, sculpture, buildings all of my life. I’ve visited complex cities that were both planned and evolved with people, time and place. Some were places that others may not have thought of as beautiful like junkyards, but I’ve always been open to thinking there was something to see and learn in any place, any person. I never associated this with God.

Still my most beautiful picture, place, moment captured. Trash sack and School Bus. Colorado Line, summer 2011.

Even when I made things, my meditation, I never really thought of this as God.

And later when I so relied on my mind to remember, there and in my dreams, I have always seen vivid color and detail. It does not always matter if something is in front of me, I can still see it, taste it, smell and touch it in my head.

When I lived in southwest Kansas,

I lived in the past when I studied stone buildings and read Webb’s the Great Plains.

I was in the future when I studied Rem Koolhaus and read Metropolis.

I was with my friends when I was lonely,

and I was in Paris when wanted to explore, see, draw and be alone to experience.

And I was in the present,

when I was cooking, driving, raising a family, doing my work,

but being connected to all of that and feeling important about what I chose to do.

Paul Rock also speaks to that in his sermon. That is, pretending. Some people call it daydreaming, but when it shows up in what we do on earth it is more than that. This is the idea hat there are crowds cheering, people watching, and that what we do matters, civic responsibility and hard work. And for all that organized religion gets knocked around, that the belief in good through religion is something that at one time and still does unite Americans in values and in large part helped us to build a great country. If one doesn’t like the word religion, just call if faith, faith in building something that is good or in large part tries to be.

With faith, suddenly Life is electrified through everything on earth and it is all connected.


The Work of it, the Practice, to hear Voice.

Within Paul Rock’s sermon he also talks about Voice, real voice and hearing. I actually have practiced this, not often enough, when I really work at setting aside a time and place to have a conversation. The pauses, the questions.

I’m not so great at conversation with others in general. I talk way way too much about self, answer questions with too much detail, explain, random and tangential and wonder why I’m always the one talking and having to offer, often way more than I really want or need to say. It comes off as unhealthy narcissism when I am often just engaging in a nervous habit that in part was necessary to share about my unorthodox life but no longer has value.

I am working at the Art of Listen, being still. (though professionally here this translates to just baby steps with partial “edit”).

And of staying in the moment.

Maybe actually trying non-verbal connecting, even with other women and we are so verbal!

I have to say, the last place I found was just happening to sit upon a little padded bench in my foyer at The Illinois in one of these conversations I knew had to happen at that moment. When I looked down, terrazzo and border tile and when I looked up,  there was a beautiful plaster ceiling of white.

My little Borromini Chapel at The Illinois. How on earth did God help us do decorative plaster?

So, at the end of the day, it is work and practice and I could be doing a whole lot more, though out each day. But, I am getting pretty good at it. In fact, the birds awakened me this morning earlier than usual to get this sermon of Paul’s out there before church this morning.

So, both the seeing and the hearing are working pretty well.

 Off to shower. I think instead of running this morning,

I will have to let God treat me to a some tasting before church with a chocolate mocha decaf.

And I’ll get to church early,

to take time to smell the lilacs by the fence

of the house along Oak where I park.

Have a happy Sunday.



Reservoirs and Foreshortening Skills. Finals Week. Carry on. your first student, mom.

by admin

Drawing of Bob Burnquist. by Jack Adams, age 11.

I really shouldn’t talk about my family too much. But, I had the privilege of living with a man that would leave drawings like this on his bedroom floor. He was eleven. Look at the right hand…

Here are some things to know about Bob Burnquist.

  • He was the Brazilian professional skateboarder who was the first to land a fake to fake 900, the 5th person in history to have ever landed the 900. I have no idea what this means.
  • He has a signature trick called “one-footed smith grind”.
  • He started the Bob Burnquist Foundation to bring knowledge about organic farming and gardening to schools.

But back to this man with whom I had the privilege of living.

We only had about 120′ of concrete on the ranch, a curving 3′ wide sidewalk from the freestanding garage to the house.  You can see on this site plan underneath these words. Note that the larger curving drives between the buildings are NOT concrete but packed dirt.  In fact, this sidewalk was about the only concrete within a 6-10 mile radius of our home depending on the direction. [concrete inside of stock tanks does not count, not big enough for skateboarding even in a small circle.] But the point is, it was enough for this man I lived with to master many moves on the board he bought for himself.

Determination knows no dirt boundaries.

This man is likely both dee-jaying and studying engineering stuff like formations and reservoirs this weekend.  And I hope, dancing in-between all of the work and play…to keep it fluid…to keep it loose.  He taught me all of my best moves.

Thanks for showing me how to rein it in and check both sides of the gray in life. Dance hard, dance on.



funnyisms from the cowboys in the field and on the road.

by admin

The route from the ranch to Taos goes:

  • liberal.
  • bypass guymon at Hitch Feeders, now pig farmville.
  • Boise city
  • Clayton
  • and then the long stretch to springer (83 miles).

Taylor Springs consists of a bathroom, scones, a gift shop, a John Wayne picture above an antique commode and gas, among other things. Everyone from miles around gets their mail here and there are only about 16 boxes. I felt right at home when I saw they had a few provisions for the locals such as canned vegetables and a very huge frozen brisket. No milk, it might spoil for lack of customers.

We had this in the nearby town of Gate when I lived on the east ranch with mailing address in Forgan, in the Oklahoma Panhandle. Gate was big time, though. That is, relatively more populated. In Gate they would have chili or chicken and noodles in a crockpot so you have frito pie or whatever was on their menu if you stopped in over the noon hour and there was anything left.

Someone told me once, “those people in Gate only got running water a few years ago!” But, I think that was just people trying to think they are better than other people.

This is the Taylor Springs Quik Trip with the beautiful sexy owner and handsome gentleman local customers. Everyone is always so kind.

Leave it to me to find the most expensive thing in the gift shop. I photographed in the event that anyone is collecting vintage child’s cowboy boots. These are very nice.

These are very early and have the inlay. I kept all of Jack and Lace's boots and they make a graduated fill of a triangular pediment area on the sloped front porch which was glassed in.

 John Adams would always always say to me when we drove to Santa Fe,

” it could be a lot worse.” I would laugh, as I never really felt that way about living on the high plains, or anywhere for that matter. 

We actually had a former cowboy, Mike Simmons, who later worked in northern new Mexico on a ranch. It was outside of Roy which is close to Wagon Mound, so named as the Mesa looks like, yes, a conestoga if u are driving I 25.  “Outside” being a relative term.  They were 65 miles from town and the kids were on the schoolbus for an hour and a half.

Since I'm from Prairie Village with the statue of Pioneer woman and family, I like the name of this town.

Mike Simmons, who was Polish, was most famous for an expression that has been passed down within the Adams Family. He was digging around for something (don’t ask me what for, probably a water line to a stock tank?) out in a pasture with Dave Holden. Dave was a “lifer” cowboy on the XIT, at least at that time, as Dave grew up with John Adams.  After they hit the line as always happens one knows who digs, Mike wondered if it was a gas line. So of course, threw a match down into the pit.

After it razed off his eyebrows and took his hairline a few inches back, Mike smiled and said, “That’s some kinda HOT!”

This can really apply to anything, though I tend to use it for foods. For example,

  • taking that bite of pizza too early,
  • tricking your by son telling him wasabi is pistachio ice cream,
  • eating fried cracklings from the skillet when making chicken,
  • or, too many packets of peppers per one bite of thin pizza. I like pain with my peppers.
This just visualizes my pepper statement above. These were not hot, but the conversation was very warm this lovely evening in Santa Fe.

Just some beautiful peppers from a lovely dinner on my trip. These were not hot, but the conversation was very warm and nice.

Now, I do take issue with this next remark as it might seem to imply to some that Cowboys are not smart and this is not true of those I have encountered. Smart is, anyway, is as smart does says Forrest. But, as Raymond Adams told me once:

“We don’t hire accountants as cowboys.”  I just look at this statement as this. They can all count, but the Cattleman is always there for the final one, in the field and on and off the truck. And frankly, the cattleman really aren’t accountants nor can they explain the tax return much better than any average person.  Accountants are accountants. 

This is another funny John Adams-ism and he is VERY as was his father, Raymond, and all of his brothers, Eddy, Clay, and Uncle Charlie.

People often commented about what a great life this would be…the fresh air, slower pace, and in general their idea of slow and leisurely pastoral lifestyle. Even more humorous, how lucky one was to have been fortunate enough to have been “given” this to work. Won’t even go there. Usually, it was somewhat based on the perception of  having  a horse farm in southern Johnson county and not by anyone owning a ranch who employed someone to live on it and manage. Though John usually would say very little, I know his thoughts and words to me were:

“do you think I’m living out here for my health?”

Ranching is the business. Cows are on the ranch that make the beef. The rancher and cowboys take care of the cows and the rancher takes care of the business no different than an owner takes care of his be it a store or a factory. Wide open spaces with no people or towns for miles and miles are where the cows are. Where it takes an hour to get milk or the kids to school.

Bulls being bulls.

At least it is for those whose cows pay the bills and send the kids to college, for it does take work and active management to make a ranch make money. Ours was not a Party Ranch, though I did have some nice parties there.

This fuzzy picture is exactly how it feels at nightfall.

And another tidbit, in the realm of “advice.” And this is from a city girl, so I’m just trying to help out if the situation ever arises socially. Don’t even think to ask how many acres or head of cattle one owns in a casual conversation. There will be a pause. And you will get a reply something like,

“enough to keep us busy.”

And I like to explain to people why this is not acceptable to mannerly, old school, rural people as John did not, being more polite than I, perhaps. It is similar to asking to see someone’s tax returns, number of shirts they have sold, or how many mailings they do per day.

It is funny interesting, as often there are people who ask who know exactly what they are asking and I can see the calculator tallying. I know because they ask me!!  But this goes on everywhere. Don’t let anyone fool you that holding onto a few assets for several generations (can anyone do division?) over time means everyone learned the same manners about talking about money. Being that I am not from one of those families (my mother scared me with “rags to riches, riches to rags” from birth!), it really isn’t relevent for me to be discussing anyway.

Sing it cowboy, "this land is my land, this land is my land...from the salt cedar the river highland...this land was made for me and me..."

The ranches down here are different than where I lived in southwest, Kansas. They are very large and spread out with sometimes one employee tending to areas that seem to be a whole township to me. With the climate, sparse vegetation and years of drought the cows per unit is very very low. So ladies, if any handsome man tells you he has a ranch in New Mexico, you might want to check on the stats and definitely go for a visit before getting too serious.

I was actually already engaged after I saw the XIT where we were to live. I visited for the first time after I was engaged on a return trip from Santa Fe where I flew into Liberal. And, I cried a bit after this trip for no real reason I knew of except being an emotional person. It was and still is the most beautiful ranch I have ever seen and I was in love. And I guess that cowgirl expression that “if you are going to say no, it’s best to say so right away” just didn’t apply to me as I’m not really a cowgirl by birth. I seem to dive in, have trepidation, and think it is too late to turn back. It has always brought adventure. But, I am now learning other ways that are softer, where I can say maybe and someone will wait until I’m ready to go.

I really did not intend for this to be a story, I just wanted to post pictures from Springer. But I will only add one anecdote about the restroom stop at the intersection in Springer. In part, it is because I have some great pictures from this intersection with my daughter. The story is this: I lost $400 in cash that I had saved for my Santa fe trip in the restroom one time when I was traveling with my sister and left my coin bag.

[I do tend to stress around nuclear family with three eldest children and me the youngest as everyone is always needing something or someone to organize, ME.]

It really cramped my shopping, so at first I was so depressed and down on myself for a bit. But, I went home after having spent no money at all and having had a lovely time. This can be a GOOD FEELING AFTER A TRIP, I had this in France, too. And guess what?  A very kind lady called me a week later with my cashola. She tracked me down somehow by calling some numbers in my wallet, having picked it up and not wanting to leave it there!  God really rewarded me for my parsimonious-ness that day.

So Springer brings me thoughts of prosperity and good fortune, always!

Here are one lovely sentimental picture from Springer, New Mexico at the Cactus Club with my daughter Lacy, about Christmas 1989 when she was not even a year old.

Lacy Amelia Adams and Paula Graves Adams on the door and steps beside the Cactus Club. Springer, New Mexico.

This is the Door by the Cactus Club where Lace and I saw below 13 years later.

So, I guess the other stories and pictures will have to be another day.

The End, but only of this story.