The years may have caused a change in our hair color and style and added a few wrinkles, but nothing has dampened our spirits and love of life. Over the years we have laughed and cried together, seen each other through marriages and breakups, babies and losses of parents, watched kids grow up and go away, some too soon and some not fast enough, and most of all enjoyed and treasured each others friendship as we continue to do. In the midst of this, we encountered Mr. Superintendent who not only didn’t like my friends because they were fun, but also because they had history in the district and basically a fan club.

They were all excellent teachers or administrators who loved kids and gave all students everything they had to help them grow into responsible young adults.  It didn’t take Mr. Supt. long to figure this all out, and in his typical loving way he began to refer to them as “old cows.”

Since these are wise and tough ole educators they turned it all into something fun and began calling themselves: the Moo-Moos.  And it stuck.  Nowadays, many still get together every month or so and talk about the good ole days as well as show off a few grandbaby or  travel photos,  share hobbies, or just catch up on the gossip—a few of the things that bring joy in this stage of their lives.

I appreciate them and all my earlier colleagues tuning in to my posts, and making comments when time allows. Just remember all the fun times, Moos, and don’t forget there is a reason we call that thing we flush a john!!!! Now, prepare for a book signing!!!

I love my old red Jeep that I purchased almost 19 years ago. It is still in mint condition with only 76,000 original miles.  Back when I was younger, it was a “man magnet.” Today, when men stop me at the post office or grocery store it is only to ask what year the Jeep is or if I am interested in selling it. And these are older men, not like in the good ole days. True, I am older as well, but the Jeep is just as cute as she was back in 1991.

Spring Break used to be fun because the young boys would pull up with great intentions of flirting and then they would see………..well, an “older woman.” So much for the “show me your t—! I would have had to raise them up over the steering wheel. Now, that is not exactly too sexy for your car!

In spite of all the offers I get to purchase the Jeep, I will never sell her. My friends, Bill and Dave, fight over who can buy it to take to their deer leases.  I would never let “Ole Red” go to a deer lease and be dragged through the mud and overgrown brush. She and I have too many years together and too many good times to ever let her go.

I was on my way to a professional development session in Richardson the day I saw her up on the riser, all shiny and new.  The next day I went back and bought her. I traded my “real” car in because I couldn’t afford a play car and another car at the time.

These were the days when I always wore high heels and suits with skirts and served as assistant superintendent for a suburban district outside of Dallas. I also had the boss from Hell, who did not like anything remotely connected to fun, and didn’t like anyone else who did.  When he saw the Jeep parked next to his big black Tahoe that next morning, I know he must have been horrified – not because he was thinking about how I was going to get in and out of it all dressed up professionally because I guarantee it was a better sight than his big butt lumbering out of his monster truck; he was thinking about how much fun I was going to have and he didn’t like it one bit.

Now, this guy is the only boss I ever had that I didn’t like, and there was good reason. He was one of the “meanest” people I have ever known, and very proud of it. I wasn’t used to this because my boss before him was a true gentleman and all around good person. I hope both are reading this, but I know the cynical one isn’t because this is something fun.

But my point is I wouldn’t care. He was so bad he bragged about putting salt on the shrubs the PTA bought for one of his campuses back when he worked in a different town just because they didn’t confer with him about what kind to buy before they purchased and planted.  Do you know how many bake sales, etc. it took for the PTA to pay for those shrubs?? Shame on him! I know I really should feel sorry for someone that miserable, but I just can’t get there.

If he could see me today at the island, he would really be upset because I am having way too much fun.  Eat your heart out, Mr. Superintendent. Oh, and I failed to mention that when he “left” the district, I was promoted to his job. God not only opens doors—he sometimes lets them hit others in the butt on their way out. I don’t guess Mr. Supt. will want an autographed copy of Keeping Faith, do you?