Bus Stop

Back to childhood.

After moving from OJ Talley, we moved to a rent house on Merkle. We only lived there for a year while our new house was being built. My brother was in college at this point, and my sister was graduating from Norman High. I was still in montessori school. I don't remember a whole lot from that house. I do remember my sister's friend Jackie Ross, now better known as Fat Jack on the Sports Animal, doing cannon balls in our tiny swimming pool.

After Merkle, we moved to Brookhaven and we lived on Cedar Hill Rd. This is where I spent a majority of my childhood. From first grade to freshman year in high school. It was a great house. Ask all my friends. The Sanger's was the hang out. We had a huge backyard with a big pool. A detatched two-car garage that I used as a skating rink. The house was two stories. Upstairs is where my brother would live when he was home from college, what a bachelor pad. I just can't complain about that house. It was really the only home home I ever associate with growing up. I still have dreams about it. You know when you dream about home, that's the house that I always see.

But the coolest part about living on Cedar Hill Rd was that it connected to Northridge Rd , where my best friend Kim lived. Seriously, her house was the same distance to the corner of our two streets as mine was coming from the other direction. And that corner, was our bus stop.

Kim and I used to play together all the time. Typical kids. Always getting into something, very rarely trouble. Riiight. If we did do anything that was the slightest bit questionable, it was no doubt instigated by Kimberly. Those of you who know us both might have a hard time believing this, but Kim used to boss me around. Whatever she said, I did. Not that I didn't want her to make all the decisions, I sure as heck didn't know what to do. I have always been a follower. Let's take a brief look at some of the awesome stuff we did.

Kim convinced me that the large bamboo type plant in the back of my house was actually "Indian gum", and made me chew it.

I was put on the back of a golf cart and when Kim hit the gas I was flown off the back, injuring my tailbone.

We both were in Girl Scouts led by her mother. We can still sing all the catchy tunes. I circle is round and has no end.....

We always had the best Halloween costumes, which was my favorite part of Halloween. Kim, like with most things, made it into a competition to see who could get the most candy. I don't think we stopped running the entire night.

We would call each other every Christmas morning to brag about our presents. I remember when she got a TV. I was pissed.

I remember watching Overboard for the first time at her house. I remember her obsession with Whitney Houston. I believe the children are our future too Kim.

I remember our long hair and big bangs. Scrunchies on the corner of our t-shirts. Matching Keds. Side pony-tails. NKOTB posters plastered on her wall. Dairies with locks. Slap bracelets. Warren Bunch. Pat Tanner. Lars Noble. Carrie and Lisa Arvine. Melissa. Cleveland Cubs. Beauregard. Swimsuits with holes in the middle, not quite two pieces. Kyle. Father daughter ski trips.

Oh the lists could go on. Man those were the days. Who would have thought it would last 18 years? There is plenty more to come, huh Kim?

I love you. Thanks for bossing me around. I don't know where I would be without you.

Summer Lovin'

For as long as I can remember, or my dad can remember, or his mother could remember (if she was still living), our family has been vacationing in Michigan during every summer. This tradition began around 1910, when my great aunt went to resort on Silver Lake with a friend. The Dunning's were living in Chicago at the time, which is only a three hour drive south from the Silver Lake sand dunes. (yes Dunning is my father's first name, but it was a maiden name at one point. We like to recycle last names as first names. I think it's an old money thing. JK!) Anyway, she liked it so much that she convinced her parents into going the next summer, and they like it so much that they bought a one-room fishing hut and a piece of property.

One winter the fishing hut was moved across the frozen lake to the other side, where it would remain until the early nineties. You are reading that right. We lived in the original "cottage" summer after summer for almost 80 years. My grandparents added a kitchen, an extra bedroom, a bathroom, and a sunroom over the years, making it as cozy as a cardboard box. I remember watching mice run up and down the doorjams at night. It had lots of character. Oh, and did I mention the "mammy's quarters" out back? My dad's cousin Mac (short for McCormick, another maiden name), lost his parents when he was really young, so he had an African-American nanny. She and Bradley, my grandfather's "handy man", had to stay out back in an even smaller shack. It still sits out there to this day. We now affectionately call it the "Betty Lou", named after my grandmother Elizabeth Louise.

In the early nineties we tore down the "cottage" and built the "cabin". It still isn't finished. We do one big project every year. It's getting closer, but in my opinion it doesn't really matter if it ever gets finished. One of the reasons we like it so much is that we are so relaxed up there. Time seems to stop. You live in your swimsuit. You eat blueberry pancakes every morning, made with the blueberries that you picked. When you do finally wake up, it's by the sound of your cousins walking in, and the screen door slamming. During the day you live in your suit and your towel, making frequent trips across the lake to the sand dunes or to Lake Michigan if the waves are big. To watch the sunset at night you bundle up in jeans and sweatshirts. You always make an ice-cream run to Whippy Dip, frequented by George Went who plays Norm on Cheers. At least once, maybe twice you race your cousins in go-carts at Craig's Cruisers followed by a beating at bumper-cars across the street, all that after you've been dominated at putt-putt by yours truly. Then more Whippy Dip. Oh, and you have ride a dune scooter ride at Mac Woods, and later that night return to the dunes to take the flag.



So you see, it doesn't matter if the cabin is ever finished. We will always enjoy our time there. Together. Family, and the occasional friend. I hope you all get to go sometime. But more than that, I hope you get to have traditions similar to these with your families. And if you don't, it's not to late to start them. It doesn't have to be an 18 hour drive to a vacation spot every summer. It could be anything. Make traditions. Your kids will thank you.

24 years and 9 months ago.

That's were it all started folks. My guess is some crazy couple of kids got together on Valentine's day, and in the heat of the moment, I was made. Romantic huh? Well, you have to start somewhere.

I'm turning 24 this year, actually a few weeks from now. Naturally I'm doing some reflection on my life...up to this point. Goodness, I've been through a lot. We've been through alot. November is going to be dedicated to memories. Starting today with early childhood.

I grew up knowing I was adopted. Just something my parents told me, somewhat like "You're Jewish" or "You're American". You always have known, and maybe at some point you ask what that means. "Mom, what does adopted mean?" I asked around age four. "Well, it means the you didn't come from Mommy's stomach but you were made for us by God, to be a part of our family." Easy enough. That was all I needed to know.

So I lived with Mom, Dad, Carter, Amy, Chauser, and Sparky on OJ Talley Circle. Man, oh man did we love that house. It's located in the Trails backing up to highway 9. Perfect little circle drive where I could lurn to ride my tricycle. (Did you know I didn't learn to ride a real bike until I was 9!!?!?!) My best friend Lauren Burton lived just around the corner. We used to meet in the middle, the corner of our two streets, where both of our mothers could watch us the whole time. We got in a lot of trouble together. She is still one of my nearest and dearest friends.

I have lots of memories of that house. We only lived there until I was 4 or 5. I remember sitting in the sunroom watching the original Superman. I remember the metal feed bucket that I used as a swimming pool. I remember watching Carter, Amy and Dad put my swing-set together. I remember birthday parties with Cabbage Patch themes and Carter as the magician. I remember turning the page to the magical noise of the read-along tape. I remember thinking that people on the TV could see me and not wanting to change clothes infront of them. I remember leaving the house while it was still dark to head to Michigan for the entire summer.

Wow, how is it possible to remember so much of a time so long ago? I love it. I wonder if the people living there now would ever let me come walk through. Wouldn't that be a trip?

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Pops in Picture

This is the man the day he had all of that chest discomfort. You know, I was thinking later, what if he had gone to the game with me? He would have walked up all those stairs, possibly had a real heart attack, and then after that explosion we would have been on lock down, making it impossible to get him out of there. Another illustration of God's providence.


This is Dad the night before surgery, watching his monitors with Amy. The doctor told us if he had waited until his scheduled appointment on Thursday, that means he wouldn't have been in surgery until Monday, and he most likely wouldn't have made it. Thank God my uncle Fenton is a doctor and he had some pull with this doctor. God's providence.


Mom and Dad minutes before surgery. Side note, anytime a new nurse or doctor would walk in, my dad would say, "My wife wants to know when we can have sex again." Just an illustration of my fathers sense of humor. Purely innocent I assure you.



This is Dad TWO DAYS after a quintuple bypass, offering goodies to all the nurses and patients on his hall. (Google quintuple bypass.)



Dad, Amy (my sister), and Carter (my brother). What a handsome crew.

Popsicle Head & Della Dawn

This is my dad, who I sometimes affectionately call Popsicle Head. This past Saturday, my father had thirty minutes of chest pains and didn't say a word about it to anyone until it was over. I'm sure he had logical reasons as to why he didn't want to tell my mom because he knew she would panic, or why he wouldn't tell me why he was skipping out on the football game, but he still wanted me to go and have a good time. He may have been looking out for our best interests, but I am still frustrated with him.

I think that like me, my dad is scared. Both of his parents died in their sixties from heart attacks, and he is 64. His younger brother has already had two major heart attacks and open-heart surgery, and his brother has had procedures done to prevent his already clogged arteries from getting worse. He is by far the healthiest among the men in the family, but this episode I'm sure has him nervous. And apparently this isn't the first time this has happened, the family decided not to tell me about the others until now. (I'm still a little bitter.)

I talked with him for about an hour today about all the tests they have run and will run over the next couple of days. A lot of it is medical jargon that both he and I don't understand. He was bragging on his doctors though, so I'm convinced he is in good hands. Mom is going with him tomorrow to Baptist Hospital in Oklahoma City, where he will spend most of the day. (My uncle Fenton is a doctor there, which makes me feel better.) There are going to put another stint (I think) into a major artery in his groin area, where they will put dye into his blood stream and take pictures. This will determine whether or not he will need work done to open up clogged areas around the heart. If he does need cleaning or unblocking, they will go ahead and do it tomorrow. He says he won't have to stay overnight most likely. I will probably take off work and go up there for a few hours. Please be praying for him, the doctors, my mom, and the rest of family.

I know there a few of you who know what either losing parents is like or the threatening idea of it. It is such a strange feeling. I have mostly been thinking about our relationship, the things I enjoy and the things I would like to change. The fun times we have in Michigan, on the golf course, working on my house, or watching Seinfeld. I love my father’s infectious laugh and the way he eats tomatoes like apples. It bugs me, but I laugh when he always wants me to "take my shoes off and relax". He stresses me out when he asks, "Are you going to go out like that" after I have spent an hour in the bathroom getting ready. I love his Chevy Chase sense of humor, his love for westerns, and his guilty pleasure of Lifetime-TV-for-women-made-for-TV-movies. His theology makes me angry and his love for money infuriates me. But I'm proud of his sense of tradition and commitment to his family. I love that he quit drinking because he loves me. I love that he stops by my house just to see if I want to go to lunch. I love that he tells me never to get married but to take care of him for the rest of my life (not his). I love my father. Even if he is crazy Mr. Sanger.

Saturday Night

Well most of you know what happened Saturday night at the OU game. A young man took his own life outside the stadium during the second quarter. He had built some type of bomb, and while sitting on a bench in the south oval, 20 feet away from Jonathan's bike and my bike, he blew himself up.

Jonathan and I were sitting in the north-west corner of the stadium when we heard the thunderous boom. Concerned, we contemplated the cause of the noise. Thirty minutes to an hour later I got a call from my friend Clark who was working at the Corner Market, saying that he was told there had been an accident with a propane tank. This made sense at the time; there were a considerable amount of tailgaters around the stadium. It wasn't until after we were directed around the stadium to Lindsey street when we heard an awful rumor that it hadn't been an accident at all. A young women on a cell phone was explaining to a friend that "some kid strapped a bomb to himself and blew himself up". Jonathan and I looked at each other thinking, "who is this lady? You don't just go spreading stupid rumors like that around. That's awful."

It wasn't until we walked back to my house and saw on the television that her sick rumor was actually the truth. As we sat there, a map of campus (our campus, that we walk on everyday, in my hometown, not three blocks from my house) was on TV. "We have reason to believe that an individual has used a bomb to commit suicide in the south oval here at OU, outside of the George Lynn Cross building. It is not clear whether or not this individual was involved in an international terrorist circuit. But officials are assuring us that there is no immediate danger to any of the football fans out here tonight." My heart started to race. That feeling of confusion and sadness. I had the sudden urge to burst into tears. I was able to hold back my feelings somewhat; every once in a while letting out a curse or a swear. I did manage to exclaim, "Jonathan, our bikes are right there, they are parked outside Cross." I spent the rest of the night staring at the television, in a daze, wanting more information, calling my dad for emotional support.

I think I am still in a daze. I really can't believe it happened. After church today, I went to the south oval hoping to retrieve my bike. The fire department, the head of Homeland Security for the state of Oklahoma, and multiple news crews were there. As I walked up, my bike was being washed clean by the power of firehose. The blood and human remains was being removed. I was escorted closer to my new cruiser, with explainations spinning around in my head, and news crews getting closer for a listen. I again felt very sad. I did a couple of interviews, called Jonathan several times, and finally made my way out of the scene.

I just recently recieved the link to one of my interviews. www.player58.com , I am the second video down. I look very disturbed. They cut me off before I got to the part where I express my gratitude to the OUPD for handling the situation the way that they did. I can't imagine how it would have been if we had been evacuated. There would have been extreme panic and chaos. So I look like a complete ass, I really am grateful.

Please pray for healing here at OU.