My "Cold Turkey" Story - The MAC theatre - Dec. 11

Yikes! It's here.

I'll be at the MAC theatre in Uptown Dallas on Tuesday night, Dec. 11. Come hear some great storytelling by several writers... including yours truly.

Click here  to read about my crushes: Scooby Doo, crashing waves, and rolling down hills.

Visit OralFixationShow.com for more info.

A Surprise Job Offer

An unexpected job offer surprised me. The position had nothing to do with my writing skills. However, I can say with confidence the job was meant for me.

Five years ago, I moved back to Dallas. In the midst of searching for employment, I met two authors who inspired me to pursue my passion for writing. So, I joined a writers’ group, went back to college, and graduated last year with a journalism degree.

I wanted to pen a novel, yet many author-friends advised me to keep my day job since getting a book published might take years. Ouch. I didn’t have a day job. The old adage starving artist haunted me. Hence, I started my job search again.

I found many groups that offered advice to unemployed people about using job-search tools and networking. One online tool helped me pinpoint my top five natural strengths: connectedness, adaptability, empathy, belief, and woo. Definitely characteristics of a people-person. I also narrowed down my ultimate dream job—a corporate journalist for a company with employees all over the country.

Twelve days ago at a networking function held at a local church, a leader mentioned a job fair at Fossil, Inc. The company was hiring retail help for the holidays. A stirring in my heart began immediately. Applying for that position made no sense to me. I was born to write, not sell. However, I’ve learned over the years to heed such divine nudges.

Three days later, I walked into the company’s corporate office while asking God to close doors if this was not the job for me.

An employee handed me an application and directed me to a room with hundreds of job applicants. The overwhelming amount of job seekers blew me away. I wondered if I would make the cut since many of those applying appeared young, hip and chic.

As I looked over the paperwork, I noticed the position was for the call center and not for retail help. My four years of customer service experience made me a good fit for the job. I highlighted my willingness to work all shifts except Sunday mornings.

After I completed the forms, a company recruiter spoke with me. Once we finished, she led me to a waiting area. A smidgen of the original job seekers sat in the room.

I made the first cut.

Two other recruiters interviewed me several minutes later. I believe my confidence, authenticity, and love for people stood out. One of the interviewers, Jenna, left to go find the hiring manager. Her colleague told me temporary employees with good work ethic might be hired permanently after the holidays. She added people transfer all the time to other departments suited for their specific skills. My writing talent came to mind.

Finally, Jenna returned with the manager who commented on my desire to have Sunday mornings off.

I replied I could always attend service on Saturday evenings at my church’s main campus in a nearby suburb. When I mentioned the town, Jenna named my place of worship. My curiosity peaked. Jenna revealed she attended another church—the one where I heard about the Fossil job fair!

Stunned, I turned my attention back to the manager.

“I’d like to offer you the position,” she said.

“Really?” I’m sure my eyes glazed over in awe.

“Yes,” she replied.

Not convinced, I asked two more times, “Really?”

All of us laughed as the manager said yes.

Overwhelmed doesn’t begin to describe how I felt, knowing the Lord moved on my behalf. I have no idea where this job will lead. All I know is that I got my foot in the door at the headquarters of an international company with a solid reputation.

I start work this Monday.

Volunteer Donates 10,000 Hours

In my humble opinion, this article should be entitled Octogenarian’s Funny Bone as posted on this site on June 12.

Update 7/15/2012: Click here to view the July 13 article finally published in the White Rock Lake Weekly, an insert in The Dallas Morning News.

Hal Davenport honored for 10,000 hours of volunteer service

My Son's Farewell

There’s nothing like the feeling in a mother’s heart as she hugs her grown child good-bye. My son, Zak, finally graduated from college in May and accepted a job fifteen-hundred miles away in northeastern Pennsylvania.

We met this morning for breakfast at a diner in Dallas before his long drive to Scranton.  

While I forked my eggs smothered in some sort of cream sauce, he talked about his recent vacation boating around the Florida Keys with his dad.

Zak saw the excitement in my eyes as I relayed how I love interviewing people and writing their stories. I laughed a lot, enjoying his company, but avoiding the inevitable—saying good-bye.

He'd been living in Lubbock and attending Texas Tech since his high school graduation several years ago. And although I didn’t get to see him as much as I would have liked, it was comforting to know he was only six hours away in the same state.

Mary Gallagher Williams with her son, Zak, in December 2010

Now he’s leaving. Not exactly leaving the nest, but leaving no doubt. In that moment as he got into his car, I had to remind myself he’s a man now. The world is his oyster.

Moisture brimmed from my eyes as I watched him drive away in his Ford Mustang. He didn’t look back. If he had, he would have seen my chin quivering as I swiped the tears away.

I prayed what probably every parent in every generation prior to mine has prayed as they stood in my same shoes: Lord, protect my son and guide him.

Rear Guard Conquers Blue Funk

Have you ever been in a blue funk where your perception leads you to believe you’re insignificant? Perception is the keyword here.

Recently, I was in such a place. A pity-party place God never intended for me but used to show me my worth as a friend.

Within a short period of time, two people cancelled their plans with me. Why was I so bummed about this? Well, as a youngster I was taught the value of keeping your word and telling the truth. By doing so you showed respect to others.

So when a friend with a history of backing out on plans cancelled just hours before a ticketed event, I felt disrespected. Another person didn’t tell the truth about her reason for cancelling another get-together. These two situations and several others came at me like rolling thunder clouds. I felt chewed up, spit out and stomped on… repeatedly.

Felt is the pertinent word here.

A celebrity recently said rejection is God’s protection. Hmm. God must have been in the middle of showcasing that He would be my “rear guard” (Isaiah 58:8 NKJV). Although I felt rejected, God saw the bigger picture. He had my back.

I must add that since moving to my new Dallas apartment, it’s been harder making new friends. We all desire human companionship as well as a sense of community. God created that need in each of us.

As I poured out my melancholy heart to an out-of-state girlfriend, she prayed for me. Two hours later that Friday night, I stood beside a volunteer named Carrie while serving meals at a soup kitchen for the homeless. Please note I’d never volunteered during that time slot before nor met this lady.

Have you ever had something so unexpected change your outlook about yourself? Something that can only be explained as a God thing? This encounter was one of those moments.

When I told Carrie I was looking for a new church home, she invited me to a service in a Dallas suburb the following night. You know what’s amazing? I’d been visiting that church’s north Dallas campus for several weeks.

A coincidence? I think not.

After that Saturday night service, Carrie, her husband and I drove back to their loft in downtown Dallas. Wow! I was blown away. I’d chosen that historic building where they live as the home of a character in my fiction novel.

A music festival was in full swing at the park across the street from their place, so we stepped outside to enjoy the concert. The sights, sounds, and smells of a Saturday evening in downtown rejuvenated my soul. A calm delight settled in me as I got to know this beautiful couple. We talked about our families and told many of our life stories—some pretty comical. This must be what New York City is like at night when you’re in the company of good friends.

It amazes me I felt like such a failure in relationships the day before, yet there I was having a great time with these people. God is so merciful. He used a chance meeting to show me I am still important to Him, and still capable of cultivating authentic friendships.

Using Carrie’s apartment building in my story was a godsend, showing us something we had in common. With both of our lives built on the rock of Christian faith, what better foundation to build a new friendship?

“Then your light shall break forth like the morning, Your healing shall spring forth speedily, And your righteousness shall go before you; The glory of the LORD shall be your rear guard.” – Isaiah 58:8 NKJV

Joggers Couldn't Slow My Pace

I didn’t stick to the plan. What plan is that you might ask? The one I blogged about earlier this month. Let me tell both new and previous visitors why I didn’t adhere to it.

I avoid riding my bike around White Rock Lake on Saturday mornings. The crowds won’t allow for a steady pace at that time of day. My aim is to ride only on weekdays, but I missed the last couple of days and just had to get back out there. Besides, I needed to work off the calories I consumed in the last 48 hours. I surmised that beginning my ride at 6 a.m. would be better than starting off two hours later.

By a fluke, I woke up at 4:30 this Saturday morning. However, I got sidetracked and didn’t leave my place until 6:45. As I rode, I encountered a few walkers, runners and cyclists. My heart rate increased as I pedaled uphill within the first five minutes. I felt exhilaration.

A fisherman stood in his boat flicking his line, his silhouette beautiful against the backdrop of ripples glistening on the water. The morning sun cast a serene glow across the lake as the surrounding landscape slowly came to life. My soul was at peace.

I followed the path around to where it borders the Dallas Arboretum. Botanical scents mingled with the gentle breeze. Aah. What could be more rejuvenating than exercising in such a perfect setting?

Then it happened, suddenly. Joggers appeared out of nowhere in abundance.

No matter what direction you’re headed on the path, you follow the normal flow of traffic in the right lane. Many of the oncoming runners were in their left lane. From my vantage point, that’s their wrong side and my right side!

I weaved in and out of the pedestrians and other cyclists as I pedaled toward the Bath House Cultural Center. At one point, a group of joggers spanned the entire width of the bike path. Did they not read the signs detailing the proper etiquette while using the path? Flinging up my arm, I hoped they would see I was exasperated. Thankfully, they parted like the Red Sea, allowing me to pass through.

The bike path doubles as a seldom-used road near the Bath House. As I approached that Dallas landmark, cars lined both sides of the street. Banners showcasing the name of an athletic retailer alerted me I was in the midst of some sort of group race or run.

I resumed my pace after passing the Bath House crowd and knew I’d meet up with the runners en masse again. Sure enough, the head of the pack came into view near the Mount Vernon mansion. However, this time I avoided the swarm by biking on the street that runs parallel to the path.

I’m grateful there were no collisions. And despite the running event, I made it around the lake in 45 minutes—faster than my last time. That speed is slow in comparison to the pace of the cyclists who race. But, hey, I’m building up my endurance. I’ll get there one day.

Hospital Volunteer Celebrates 45 Years

My newest article published online at:
LakeHighlandsToday.com

The online link below is for the same article that was printed in a local neighborhood insert of The Dallas Morning News (paper copy) on 5/18/2012.
WhiteRockLakeWeekly.com

One Balmy Night on Greenville Avenue

At a restaurant on lower Greenville Avenue this Sunday, I eyed the Blue Goose Cantina across the street as I ate lunch with a group of people.

It’s hard to believe almost 30 years have passed since I last set foot in that Dallas eatery. I remember that evening so vividly from three decades ago when mobile phones were the size of a man’s shoe. I was a young newlywed at the time.

Greenville Avenue sidewalks were packed that night with foot traffic. Music filtered from the bars and restaurants. The smell of sizzling beef fajitas added to the nighttime ambience. Laughter overflowed in abundance.

A photograph taken later in the evening outside the Blue Goose shows my skin a sun-kissed, golden brown. I’m wearing a red Mexican dress embroidered with colorful flowers. You know, the kind of stitching that adorns touristy clothes made across the border? I'd bought it while honeymooning in Cancun only a few months earlier. I don’t recall if I decided to wear that outfit simply because we were eating at a Mexican restaurant. But who knows. Maybe I really did plan it that way.

In another photo, one of the men wears sunglasses just like the Blues Brothers wore. He clenches a fat cigar between his teeth. My husband makes a ‘v’ with two fingers above that friend’s head. In a third snapshot, all six of us are smiling as wide as the Grand Canyon.

I’m blessed with such a fond memory filled with laughter on that balmy night so long ago. It was a time of happy innocence.

I’ve lost touch with two of the people in that picture. The other couple moved away, but at least I’ve kept up with them over the years. And that dark-haired guy I married? Well, I’ll save that for another blog post.

You can never go back and recapture those moments. But I wonder if those long-ago friends remember that night with fondness like I do.

The Stewpot Patrons

Older folks shuffle slowly behind their metal walkers. Younger adults enter with headphone wires snaking down their necks and disappearing beneath clothing. Others carry garbage bags filled with their only possessions.

My task this day is to ladle a spoonful of beans on these clients’ plates. Within forty-five minutes, three vats that once held the steaming lentils are empty, taken away and replaced by a staff member.

Twice a week at lunchtime in downtown Dallas, I help out at the Second Chance Café located in a homeless assistance center and run by The Stewpot. Those without a roof over their head are guaranteed a hot meal two times a day, seven days a week here. For an hour and a half on both days, I get to serve others instead of dwelling on my current situation—searching for a job.

“Thank you for coming,” a raspy-voiced woman says to the food servers. “We appreciate it.”

And they really do.

Several people coming through the doors are whom many Americans expect to see in such a place: the senior citizen with unkempt hair and sunken lips; the patron with bloodshot eyes placing one foot in front of the other as if trying to pass a sobriety test; and the person scoffing when a helper tries to hand a food tray to her—a sure sign of some mental disorder.

A man small in stature pulls down the bill of his ball cap as if trying to hide the massive abrasion now scabbed over on the side of his face. Another enters the building with a shiner below his cracked eyeglass lens and a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. The situations they face each day in their dog-eat-dog world rip my heart wide open.

Then there are the clients that surprise me: the twenty-something with a computer satchel slung over his shoulder; the lady with beautiful ebony skin and manicured nails; and the silver-haired gentleman who looks as though he should be sitting in a plush leather chair in a corner office instead of a plastic seat in a soup kitchen.

These are the faces of the homeless. With their bellies filled, they make their way out of the building and back to the streets.

The Bible makes it clear Jesus wants us to help the poor and feed the hungry. As a youngster, compassion for the downtrodden tugged at my heart. Now, serving the homeless satisfies that deep desire to do something for the less fortunate—it just took me decades to figure that out.

My life feels in balance just knowing I’ve touched others with the love of Christ one meal at a time.

“Then the righteous will answer Him, saying, ‘Lord, when did we see You hungry and feed You, or thirsty and give You drink? When did we see You a stranger and take You in, or naked and clothe You? Or when did we see You sick, or in prison, and come to You?’ And the King will answer and say to them, ‘Assuredly, I say to you, inasmuch as you did it to one of the least of these My brethren, you did it to Me.’”  – Matthew 25:37-40 NKJV

Saying good-bye to my forest friends

Today is my final day to be in this place I have called home for the last four years. Grapevine, my suburban community, could be mistaken for a frontier wilderness with all the wildlife one sees. Just last night I saw another fox, the second one within a month. And here I thought only armadillos, possums, and raccoons visited from the riverbanks and wooded areas!

My new urban apartment is within walking distance of White Rock Lake. Now I’ll have water fowl living nearby as well as four-footed critters.

And I’m excited about the 10-mile bike path that circles the lake. My silver and blue mountain bike has sat idle for too, too long.

Look out, Dallas, here I come!