May 20, 2013

When we announced that we were expecting baby #4, JJ pleaded to be the one to call and share the news with Grandma Sharon. He wanted to set up the conversation in a way that he could nonchalantly drop the bomb and await her reaction. He later detailed their conversation: “I asked her what she was up to, but I admit I only asked because I wanted her to ask me back. I didn’t even pay attention to what she said, but I’m betting she said something about watching the weather, since that’s what she’s always doing…” I belly laughed because I knew he was likely right on the money! My mom is the family weather-wonder-woman. Clear skies or storms ahead, I have come to rely on Mom to let me know when to be weather aware in Owasso. 

I hadn’t heard a word from her on May 20th, 2013, so I had no cause for alarm and no clue what was brewing in my hometown of Moore, OK. Following a nice, leisurely, media-free afternoon visit at a friend’s house, I rounded up my two younger boys and headed to pick JJ up from school. Waiting in the car line, I logged on to Facebook on my phone. A friend’s status read, “Tornado just touched down on 149th and May!” Hmm, that’s odd. That’s right next to my cousin’s house. It must be a joke or a mistake though, since I haven’t heard from anyone today. I’m sure it’s nothing significant. I dialed my mom’s number. I can imagine her irritation when she heard my completely oblivious voice on the other end of the line, “Heyyy! What’s going on over there?” 

“Oh, Steph, there’s a big tornado headed right for my house.” Now, my mom isn’t one to be very dramatic just for effect, but I was certain she was overreacting in this case. Tornadoes have threatened that house so many times over the last 35 years, but her house had always seemed to have a protective shield around it. All different shapes and sizes of funnels have touched down nearby but always stayed just blocks to the north, to the south, to the east or to the west. Like clockwork every spring for as long as I can remember, the dark, scary clouds circulate above her house, but change their minds about forming a funnel and retreat. I fully expected this menace to thin out and disappear before it ever came close to her neighborhood. I had no frame of reference for what was happening; nevertheless, I understood that any tornado is a scary one, especially when you’re by yourself. I just needed to be a calming voice in her ear. I assured her everything was going to be ok, she was going to be ok, etc… 

She was watching the television as she stood on the phone with me. I started asking questions to gauge the best approach to keeping her calm.
“Have you cleared out the closet?”
“Yes.”
“Are they saying to take cover in the central part of the house?”
“NO! They’re saying get UNDERGROUND … Someone’s calling on the other line…… that was Peetie, he told me I need to get out of here. I can’t leave. I don’t know where I would go.” I remembered the exact same directions given during the course of the last deadly tornado that ripped through Moore: get underground.
“It’s gonna be ok, Mom, you’re gonna be ok.” My confidence was wavering. I started to wonder. I was so confused. It was all happening too fast to process. My mom was scared, and there was nothing I could do from where I was. I just wanted to be with her. I didn’t want her to be alone. I worried more about her blood pressure than the destruction from a tornado. I just didn’t want her to be alone.
“Steph, I’ve got to hang up. It’s here. I have to get in the closet.” Her voice was laced with panic, and I fought for the right words to calm her.
“Ok. I love you, Mom. You’re gonna be ok. Stay calm. Pray. Call me when it’s over. Whatever happens, it’s gonna be ok. It is well with your soul.”
“I love you too. I gotta go.” Click.

Inching forward in the car line 2 helpless hours away from my mom, I dialed a friend who lives just outside of Moore who confirmed the severity of the situation all the while trying not to alarm me. He was already headed toward Moore to see what he could do to help and offered to check on my mom.

JJ stepped into the car and as we headed for home I explained what was going on. Dread and concern trickled in with each passing moment of no call back. I decided to try calling her, although I knew even if she were safe the phone lines were likely down. To my surprise, she answered! In all my years I had never heard such distress in her tone, but I was just so relieved to hear her voice I didn’t care what words she spoke. I asked what happened. “Oh, Steph, it hit my house. All my windows are blown out. There’s mud and debris everywhere. I don’t know what to do, what do I do? This is awful! I wonder if someone can come…?” I made sure she wasn’t hurt and then assured her that someone would get to her soon, just hang tight and be careful about walking around. I asked about the roof. “I don’t know. I haven’t even been outside. I’m going to go see, I’ll call you later.” Click. 

Later she recounted that when the tornado barged in the front door and ransacked the place, she prayed aloud and used every ounce of her strength to keep the closet door pulled shut because the force of the suction was so strong. She compared the sound of the wind to that of fighter jets zooming right past at close range. As far as damage, the roof was completely lifted off but set right back down about 3 inches away from where it was supposed to be. Flying debris punctured several holes in the roof and the walls both inside and out. Bricks had fallen off the house. Windows were busted and blinds were mangled. The garage door twisted and blew in. Broken glass, insulation, and splintered wood littered the ground inside and out. Yet the house still stood, and strangely most of her belongings remained in place.

The same was not true for any of the homes around her. Next door on both sides and across the street, the homes were reduced to heaps of rubble and maybe a few 2X4s still standing. Their walls came crashing down and the roofs have disappeared. The house diagonal from her was identical to hers and had the whole 2nd story, carpet and all, ripped away and thrown who knows where. But her house put up a fight. 

Split personalities are warring within me, and vying for attention:

The sentimental sap in me just can’t help but be devastated at the thought that 800 S. Bouziden as I know it, is history. Even though it stands, it’s too badly wounded to survive. Nearly every childhood memory I have is tied up in those walls. My mama poured her heart and soul into making that house a home, not only for us kids, but for all of our friends, our kids and their friends, our extended family on both sides, and even perfect strangers. 800 S. Bouziden was the central gathering place for holidays and special occasions, a safe and secure place to go when you were struggling. Always good food to eat, a soft clean bed to sleep in, and conversation for as long as you could keep your eyes open. She took care of that house as if it were a living being. Looking back now, I like to imagine that it did actually come alive just long enough to show its appreciation for all the years of her TLC. It’s almost as if the walls themselves somehow absorbed the overflow of love poured into the all the folks that came and went over the years, and used the strength of that love to stand up against the winds that tried to claim it. Only after that F5 tornado tapered off and vanished back into the clouds did the house quietly relent to its wounds. It wasn't about to let that monster claim my mom's life, and it certainly wasn't going to let the bastard have the satisfaction of seeing it die. 

The child of God in me realizes that the house and everything in it is just stuff. The house doesn’t have feelings, it’s not a person. It was not a living spirit-house of love that provided a hedge of protection around my mom that day. It takes little more than a quick glance down Bouziden Drive to own the fact that God himself protected her. But in making such a bold statement, a troubling question surfaces: why did God provide a hedge of protection around my mom and thousands of others and yet remove His protection from 24 other helpless individuals that day? How heartlessly presumptuous would it be to assert for any moment that my mom had more faith, loved more, or that she/her house/her emotional investment was stronger than anyone else's? We certainly can’t say that God was on her side but not on the side of the 24 others, because the Bible tells us for any of those 24 who are in Christ, “to live is to die and to die is gain.” The bottom line is that it just wasn't her appointed time to go yet, so God protected her. There remains a purpose for her life here on earth. But the sobering truth is that her appointed time WILL come someday, as it will for all of us.

From the moment we draw our first breath, death begins to pursue us, much like this inescapable tornado. We don’t know when, where, or how it will happen. Even if we can see it coming, we can’t stop it from happening. We can't hide behind any of the stuff we accumulate when it comes for us, and we can’t take any of it with us when we go… not even our own bodies. When death has come, we are left with a bare naked, fully exposed soul, and nothing more. Personally, I hesitate to genuinely examine my own heart, but when I do, I can think of nothing scarier than my fully exposed soul. Lay that soul out before a human judge and I’d no doubt crumble with shame. Without an attorney with exceptional credentials to plead on my behalf, I shudder at the idea of any portion of my soul laid out to be judged by God. My heart runs to Jesus with even more desperation at this thought. The Judge’s SON, he's my attorney. It's so sweet to trust in Jesus, just to take him at his word that he died and rose to save souls. And that my soul, the only thing I’ll have left when it’s all over, is safe and secure, and can never be separated from him. 

The May 20th tornado stole my childhood home. 
Even so…  it is well, it is well with my SOUL. 

Stephanie Martinez Ruttman

“The thing is, each one of us is the sum total of every moment that we’ve ever experienced, with all the people we’ve ever known. It is these moments that become our history, like our own personal greatest hits of memories that we play and replay in our mind, over and over again.” (Leo, The Vow) 

The following are my own personal greatest hits of memories of the house that built me….

My earliest memory is sitting in the high chair at the kitchen table and eating tostadas. I didn’t like hamburger meat, but it was a key ingredient in the tostadas and Mom made me eat them. I gagged and threw up my dinner. It was YEARS before I could eat tostadas again. Another time I remember having an earache that kept me up at night. I’ll never forget my mommy sitting criss-cross on her big soft bed, holding me in her arms and rocking me back and forth in the dark, patiently singing softly to me for what seemed like hours to try and comfort me. 

I remember laying in bed with Kyla after Brent moved out and she moved into his old room. We were laying there in the dark facing each other. I can remember studying her face in the pale blue/grey shadows cast by the moon shining into the window, and hanging on to her every word as she carefully explained to me that I was a sinner and needed a Savior and that Jesus died on the cross to save me. I believed her with my whole heart, and with childlike trust and faith, prayed with her to receive Jesus that night. It wasn’t until years later that I would come to understand what it means to follow Christ, but I will never forget that night and how God used her to lead me to Him at a very early age in that upstairs room on Bouziden. 

I have a million snapshots of fond memories: climbing on the counter top to sneak spoonfuls of Nestle Quik,helping Mom plant the garden and pick vegetables. Snapping green beans. Staying up late to wait for Dad to come home, listening for the door to crack open, seeing his head poke through, hearing him start singing Daddy’s home, running into his arms, and looking for the brown paper sack with the goodies he brought home. Convincing Mom to let me stay up late to watch MASH and Taxi with her. Performing a unique interpretive dance to the theme songs each time. Sleeping in Mom’s bed until I was fourteen. Tracing the designs on her wooden head board with my finger when I couldn’t fall asleep. Sneaking out of her bed to the hallway and secretly watching MASH and Taxi as she sat, unsuspecting, in her spot on the couch. Playing with my imaginary friends, Binkie and Jennifer on my swingset. Fighting with Juan over… well, everything really … but especially how many more BBQ wienies were on his plate than mine. Juan’s band “High Frequency” practicing in the upstairs music room. Peetie imitating Max Headrum and sneaking outside to make scary faces in the living room window at night. Laying out in the backyard with Kyla and Nay Nay, using baby oil as suntan oil and a sprinkler to keep us cool. Playing music with Dad, singing and playing the piano along with him, Juan, Peetie and Brent. Hip-bumping the back door to get it to close. Climbing the fence to pick the cotton pods from the cottonwood tree in the back, prying the pods open and collecting as much “cotton” as possible. The coloring books and crayons in the coffee table under the stairs on the enclosed side, the big family bible in the open side.  House was always clean, but ESPECIALLY before we left to go anywhere and before going to bed.

I remember using the green measuring cups as miniature pretend pots and pans. When Mom would finally sit down at the end of the evening, I would often drag those out (not without hearing one of those famous Sharon sighs) and convince Mom to let me “cook” ice cream, dice up pickles, cheese, anything REAL that I could pretend was a fancy meal. As I got older, I used those measuring cups to hold ranch dressing or salsa for chip-dipping.

Here’s one I bet no one remembers: From as long as I can remember I sensed tension in Mom and Dad’s relationship, though I never knew why. Once I was determined to put together a charade that was sure to rekindle their affections for each other. I think I asked Mom for her wedding ring and put it in a ring box. I invited the whole family (who were all just humoring me I’m sure) to come up to my room and I attempted to throw a dance party. I put on an old 45: “Bop” by Dan Seals, an upbeat and fun song, and encouraged them to dance together. AWKWARD! But I wasn’t giving up. I thought for sure if they could just remember the good old days when they first got together, they could put whatever was troubling their marriage behind them. I gave the box to Dad and made him re-give mom her wedding ring. Of course, everyone thought it was a very sweet and naive gesture. I’ll never forget Mom sitting on my bed and scooping me up and asking me what this was all about. She has always encouraged me talk about things that were bothering me. I’m sure my husband appreciates that I can do that very well now, thanks to her!!

Mom never seemed to want animals, and yet we always ended up with them somehow. We always had some kind of pet. Peetie used to hypnotize them: rabbits, dogs, cats, you name it. He would grab them by their scruff and hold them in front of his face for a few seconds. Then he would slowly lower them onto their backs on the ground and remove his hand from under them. They would remain still on their backs until he clapped!

The playhouse. I seem to remember we got the playhouse from Uncle James and Aunt Ruth. I don’t know if that’s accurate, but that’s how I remember it. When we got it, Dad let me help him paint it with the same colors as the big house. I remember being so excited to have a miniature version of the home Mom had made, and thinking of the playhouse as sort of practice for having my own real home someday. I was eager to imitate the things I had seen my mom do: organizing, making sure everything had a place, sweeping the floors, washing the windows, dusting, preparing and serving a meal (with play food and miniature dishes at a miniature table) etc… Yeah, that lasted just a little while before I got exhausted and gave up trying to keep my tiny 20 square foot house in the same spotless condition as my mom’s 2000 square foot one. I loved that little play house though. I used to pretend I was running a fast food restaurant, sliding the front window open to take orders and exchange play money for play food and thanking customers for their business and inviting them to come back soon. When I started to get too old to play with dolls, I decided to display some of my favorites on the shelf in the playhouse because I just wasn’t quite ready to box them up or give them away. One of them was a doll given to me by my best friend Joy.

It was actually named Stephanie: a plastic doll with life-like hair and eyes that closed when you laid her down.  My dad had used big stickers to spell out my name on the wall that held the built in shelves, so I put my Stephanie doll on that shelf. After a couple of years, one of her eyes became a little “lazy”. In the winter time, we would put a heat lamp and towels or blankets in the playhouse for the pets. Mom would make me go out there to check on the pets after sunset in the wintertime. I always dreaded those nights because the red light from the heat lamp made the Stephanie doll look creepy to me. The nights were eerily quiet and I was always anticipating her making some kind of sound or blinking at me or following me with her eyes or twitching ever so slightly. I would hurry in and out of there so fast! One might think I would move her, but I was terrified that if I moved her, she would become angry and I would come out one night to find her in her old spot on the shelf…

Ohhh, one time, not long after I got the playhouse, my brothers (and Rodney maybe? Or some neighborhood kids?) were wanting to test out a new BB gun. They wanted to use my playhouse as sort of a blind and stick the gun out the window to shoot a bird. I was NOT going to allow MY new house to be used for that kind of barbarianism. No way…. BUT they convinced me to let them do it by ASSURING me they were just going to “clip” its wing FOR ME so that I could keep it as a pet, and it wasn’t going to hurt the bird in any way, shape, or form. But I just couldn’t tell Mom until after they got the bird for me, because there was no way she would go for it unless we had the bird for her to see. I reluctantly gave in, enticed by the idea of getting to hold a bird just like Snow White! We piled into the playhouse and after what seemed like forever (my gut doing flip flops and my head swarming with doubts), they aimed and pulled the trigger. Direct hit … to the chest, NOT THE WING. The bird flopped around for a few seconds before falling still. I was HYSTERICAL! “WAHHHHHH!!!! YOU LIIIIIIEEEED! YOU PROMISED YOU WOULDN’T HURT IT!!! YOU PROMISED!!! WAHHHHHHH!!!!” My brothers tried to get me to shut up before Mom heard my wailing and came outside. They threatened me with my life if I told her what they had done. I couldn’t get myself under control, I felt 100% responsible because I gave in. I was devastated! Sure enough, Mom came outside, probably thinking I was seriously hurt because of the pain in my cries. I remember refusing to tell her, because I could see the threatening pleas in their faces as they stood behind her, and her taking me by the shoulders and threatening me with my life if I DIDN’T tell her why I was crying. I decided that dying with the truth would be better than dying with a lie, so I ratted them out. I don’t remember what happened to them, but I remember finding a lot of relief that the truth was out and I remember her comforting me there on the back porch… and we’re all still alive today so I guess she didn’t kill them. Lol

I remember wishing as a teenager that Mom would invest in a pool or a pool table or fancy electronics so that my friends would want to spend time at our house. Mom always insisted we didn’t need any of that. I didn’t believe her at the time, but she was right: my friends always seemed to enjoy being at 800, even though there wasn’t much to entertain us other than a large kitchen table, a record player, a few musical instruments, and facetime the old-fashioned way… like, face to face.

Debating Theology

Some of my favorites as I got older were: making “radio shows” with Joy, dance routines with Diana and Lacy and Nay Nay, playing the piano, singing Christmas carols and the oldies with Dad and Freddie and my brothers, trading timed arm-tickles with Nay Nay, playing Rummy in the living room floor with Mom, making pickle in the middle, coming home from school and trying to guess what was cooking from the porch, or whether it was bathroom cleaning day if you could smell the Pinesol. The smell of Tide and Downy. Debating theology with Joy. Hearing Nay Nay’s laugh echo throughout the entire house from the kitchen table where someone (usually Bron, Rhea, Shawna, or Brenna) would be telling a good story. 

Nay's laugh at Mom's 70th

Listening to records and giggling and being goofy with my friends. Making videos for English projects with my friends. Tasha taking a big ole bite of a jalapeño, Tasha walking in on Juan in the upstairs bathroom, Tasha taking an entire day and trying to teach me Russian by labeling everything in my room, Juan and Tasha fighting over TV time! Freaking Cindy out about Anita. Staying up late listening to music and talking for hours and pretty much sharing a constant stream of life with Melissa. Bringing JJ home, and not giving him a bath for a whole month because I was scared to and Mom enjoyed doing it for me. Biscuits and gravy and white grape peach juice every morning and tuna salad sandwiches for lunch every day in the first few weeks of JJ’s life. 

After Brad and I got married and moved north, 800 S. Bouziden was our home away from home any time we wanted to visit, but especially during OU football season, Thanksgiving holidays, and Martinez Christmas After Christmas (Dirty Santa, Mexican Train, toys with noise, complimentary Date Log calendar). No internet, no Wii, no DVR, no problem. We all still loved going to Grandma’s. Sweet tea and jars of snacks were always waiting for us. The kitchen table was the center of activity and delicious food. Better come to the table when it’s ready, or you get the Sharon sigh and the bug eyes. 

We knew the kids had reached the age of understanding us by meeting the “Where’s Grandma’s butterfly?” milestone, usually around 6 months. I’ll remember my kids asking for bubble gum first thing as they walked in the door before they even said hello. Making lemonade, trying to sneak marshmallows, having floo floops (all the good cereal) for breakfast, peanuts or fritos and bean dip for snacks, and biscuits and gravy (again) usually for lunch because we all slept in at Grandma’s, Christian and Coleman standing on the ottoman and singing their songs for everyone, all three boys playing with the little people house, the black puzzle, and the jacks. 

Coleman would get in that drawer in the kitchen and bring those jacks and a big green plastic slotted spoon to the living room floor. Mom would get as many jacks spinning as she could, and Coleman would whack them with the big plastic spoon. Mom would make a big motion with her head and he would just CRACK up laughing.  He got to where he would start laughing at the onset of the IDEA of playing this game, anticipating that feel-good giggle fest.

JJ always liked to try to trick Grandma into thinking we didn’t bring him. He would hide by the garage and wait for her to ask where he was and listen to her lament over the thought that we had forgotten him or he decided to stay home. Then he would pop out of hiding and she would make a big fuss over him. Sometimes he would call herwhen we turned down her street and trick her into thinking we had to turn around and go home for some reason. Then of course seconds later we would pull up in her driveway and she would act so surprised to see us. She pulled several of JJ’s teeth right there in her blue chair. She told him bedtime stories about growing up on the farm. She taught him how to play checkers, and would NEVER let him win. Beating Grandma at checkers was quite a big deal. 

She would always have Diet Sunkist, Oreos, and Mini Butterfingers for Brad. Mom always wanted to know before our visit what Brad would like for her to fix for dinner, and she would make that. He would always come in, give hugs and kisses, get everything unloaded, pour a Diet Sunkist and plop on the loveseat until it was time to go to bed. I think he probably got more R&R at 800 S Bouziden than any other place in the U.S.! 

The younger boys would sleep in the fireman room. Lol, one time we forgot to bring the most essential item for an overnight stay away from home: Christian’s taggy. Brad and I were out with friends for my birthday when Mom put the boys to bed and discovered we had left it behind. She tried to offer him one of her slips as a substitute and he turned his nose up at it and said he didn’t want to use her underwear. LOL!!

Sadly, the only time Savannah got to be at Grandma's was when she was still in my belly. Our last get-together at 800 S. Bouziden was for her baby shower.

As an adult with 4 of my own kids (currently) I often wonder if I’m making the sort of home that my kids will collect these kinds of warm memories in. I hope I am. Mama, you have set a high standard in the art of homemaking. God has used the tragedy of this tornado to help me realize that while I LOVED our house, it’s not the house that was a home. It’s you. It’s always been you, and everything you have stood for. Hospitality. Listening to people. Using bug eyes, when bug eyes are called for. Providing an atmosphere where relationships are cultivated and nurtured. Generosity. Service before self. 

For 35 years, I've been watching you. And when I grow up, I wanna be like you.

I love you,
Steph

Pineapple

Brent and Pauline’s cat Puff had kittens and I begged mom to let me pick one. Pineapple was an orange and white little sweetheart, and we became instant friends. Mom reluctantly agreed to let me bring her home, so long as I understood that she was to remain outside and that I was responsible for taking care of her. 

On rare occasions when Mom would let me bring Pineapple inside, we would turn the TV to the channel that aired 24/7 footage of fish swimming in an aquarium (weird, looking back). Pineapple would sit in front of the TV for the longest time, ears erect, tail swishing, ready to pounce. We all had a good laugh at Pineapple’s expense when she saw her opportunity and took it, only to be met by a hard glass surface. She would be so confused!! She would back up try again and again to no avail, keeping her entertained for lengthy chunks of time.

Somehow I taught her to play hide and seek with me around the couch, and each of us got a kick out of sneaking up on the other and scaring the daylights out of each other. 

When she got older, she learned to signal me from outside when she wanted my attention. She would jump on the screen door in the back and hang there until I went outside to play with her. Sometimes she would hang there so long she would lose her strength and fall down, but after a few seconds, she was right back up again, just waiting for me. Every single time I went out to pick her up, she would close her eyes and would purr loudly as she licked my chin to greet me. 

Her best friend besides me was PomPom the Pomeranian. They would chase each other around and play all day long and then cuddle up together next to the back door behind the patio furniture and take naps. One summer PomPom got ticks so bad we had to have him shaved.

When we brought him home, Pineapple didn’t recognize him. PomPom kept trying to play with her and she would arch her back and hiss at him. He was perplexed and devastated: he could not understand why she was being so mean to him! It was a hilariously painful sight to see. Eventually she figured it out and they were in cahoots again. 

Sidestory, speaking of PomPom: At one time we also had two rabbits, who we thought were either both boys or both girls. I named them after my imaginary friends: Binkie was the big one, Jennifer was the smaller one. Pom Pom never went to be neutered, and, seeing as how we didn’t own any female dogs … he tried taking advantage of just about anything that moved… including the rabbits. EW!! We had to drag that dog off of my poor rabbits so many times that, one day when Mom went out to check on the rabbits and discovered there were newborn babies, confusion over how this could be led her to consider for a split second that some scientific phenomenon had occurred, and we had a mutant cross between dog and rabbit!! It took a moment of clarity for her to realize we had been mistaken about having both males or both females. Binkie was a mama, and Jennifer was a daddy!!

Back to Pineapple, once I went outside to play with her. I scooped her up in my arms and she pushed away from me and jumped out of my arms. What? She wouldn’t have anything to do with me! I tried to pick her up again and she eluded me. I caught her and tried to snuggle her, and she resisted. I was confused and hurt! I went to Mom with a lump in my throat and told her that Pineapple was acting weird and wouldn’t have anything to do with me. I don’t think she believed me at first, but then when she came outside to observe she saw I was telling the truth. After a few moments, she realized I had not put my glasses on and told me to go put them on and come back. When I returned, Pineapple came running to me. I scooped her up and she licked my chin…

Once she disappeared for several weeks. My brothers assured me she had been hit by a car or had been taken out by a dog (either way she wasn’t coming back), but I argued that she had run away, I just couldn’t understand it. I knew she would come back. I just knew it. Every day for weeks I would go outside and call for her and expect her to come running out from under the play house where she often hid. Well, she DID come back one day! She showed up while I was at school. Mom called me out of class, and met me in the office with a rose and a note attached that read: 

Mom checked me out early so I could go home to see her. As soon as I got home and swept her up in my arms, she licked my chin for a really long time. 

Over the next few weeks she got a lot fatter and it dawned on us that she was about to have babies! One evening I went out to check on her before we went out to eat. She was in the play house, obviously in excrutiating pain. I panicked, not understanding what was happening. Mom explained that she was in labor and would probably have the kittens by the time we came home from eating. My heart was breaking for her. I didn’t want to leave her, but Mom seemed to think she’d do much better if we let her be. She gave birth to her babies in the doll cradle inside the play house. I loved those babies, but they didn’t survive past a couple of months. The vet informed us that they died of pneumonia, a complication from the bigger problem of feline leukemia, which meant they got it from their mama and the disease would eventually claim her too. My brothers thought it was great fun to make little kitten sounds after they were gone, to send Pineapple searching for her babies. I threw crying fits over that. Probably some of the most painful moments of my life were the last minutes alone with her in the vet’s office before they took her back…. Even so, it is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all. Pineapple is one of my most favorite and most vivid memories of 800 S. Bouziden.

-Steph

Brad Ruttman

In the short time I got to spend  at Sharon's house, I still got to experience many lifelong memories. I'll never forget getting to meet Sharon for the first time, how intimidated I was, and how quickly 800 S Bouziden felt like home. Just being there during a holiday made you understand that this was the hub of the Martinez/Clark family. No matter where everybody was, everyone always eventually ended up at Sharon's house. I'll never forget my babies playing on the green carpet, playing in the bottom drawer in the kitchen, looking for Grandma's butterfly, and playing with all of the toys in the downstairs closet. 

For me personally, I'll always remember the kitchen table. I'll always remember that as the place in the house where relationships were built, fostered, and maintained. Even if the delicious food was all consumed, the games were finished, and it was just folks talking, the table was the place where the center of attention always seemed to be. I will miss 800 S Bouziden because it really felt like home, but I know the new place will be just the same because Sharon will make it that way.

Juan Martinez

800 S. Bouziden…..My memories start in 1978, when we would go to the house every Sunday after church to see the progress that was being made with the construction.   Fast forward.  I remember taking a picture of the first day of kindergarten on the front porch in my chocolate brown bell bottom slacks and brown and white striped shirt and white shoes.  My mom told me I was so handsome and looking back I have to agree with her!  The Pink Panther…I was 7 or 8 years old,  I remember watching The Pink Panther and this scene in which there was this nude woman in bed with pink feathers falling from above… I was laying on the floor on my stomach with my hands on my…well you know where they were.  Turning to my mom, I said to her…”Momma… my boners getting big.”  Although she tried to hide it, she about died laughing.  I remember Brenee about jumping through the ceiling and about amputating Kyla’s breast with her bare(or bear) hand when Jason came out of the pond.  I'm pretty sure she peed her pants too…LOL.  I remember the anticipation of Dad taking me, Peetie, Brent,  and whoever wanted to go on our vacations to New Mexico and Colorado…so excited that I couldn’t sleep the night before.  Almost like Christmas in August.  Piano lessons and fighting neighborhood kids in the front yard.  Mom always said I would regret quitting piano lessons when I grew older…Somehow she was right..   My dad teaching me a few chords on the guitar in the bonus room…then playing “the Oldies” together.  Stephanie learning to play the piano.  High Frequency…the first band we put together. We would practice in the bonus room… Prolly drove Mom crazy but she allowed it and she bought us beer..really I’m just kidding about that last part!!  I remember this one time when Peetie and I was upstairs.. we must have been bored, but he made some kind of makeshift drum set using a wire clothes hanger as drumsticks, a somekind of light fixture base as a cymbal, and I can’t remember what he used as a snare but I promise you it was something unorthodox.  Anyway, I was playing a song that I made up that sounded very similar to The “A” Team theme song.  He started playing along with his Mexican-American drum set and we created such awesome music that could be heard throughout the bonus room…Mom came up to listen to the hit song.  At that moment, she breathed a sigh of relief knowing that her boys had no future as rock and roll stars.    I remember sneaking out of bed at 10:30 at night and watching TV…M*A*S*H* and Taxi…Sometimes I would turn on the TV and watch Benny Hill!!  I remember the excitement of Christmas..always wanting mom to put up the Christmas tree.  

She has the best Christmas tree ever.  I remember mom making Christmas ornaments…popsicle stick sleighs, macaroni angels, drums, owls…she always has such a magnificent tree.  

I still look forward to Mom's Christmas tree.    Anyway….the one party I had at the house…It could have been a disastrous event, but nothing was broken…except for a couple of hearts…and not by me…I could go on and on and on...one of my most favorite pictures of Rylee was taken in Grandma's back yard… Rylee was in some green and white striped overalls with a flower in her hair and she was holding a plastic bat and ball.  I loved swinging Grace in the swing hanging from the tree.  Oh yeah the tree…who knew that planting that tree in the back yard some thirty years earlier would serve the purpose it did on May 20, 2013?  What a mighty tree to play an instrumental part in keeping the house from being totally leveled and sparing the life of my wonderful mother….I have many memories of my home, too many to write down.  But these are some of my favorites that I will hold in my heart and soul for years to come.  

Amy Martinez

In the short amount of time God has blessed me to be present in the lives of the Martinez Family I have enjoyed many precious moments and treasure each memory that was generously shared with me.  A significant conversation shared with Juan's mama on the back patio was when I first knew she was more than my future husband's mom, she embraced me as her daughter too.  It wasn't something she said, it was a look in her eyes and the way she held her mouth just so.  So many of my "firsts" in the old family home would also be my last.  The first "Prom Photos" for the firefighters banquet, my first Thanksgiving, my first Christmas and birthdays; all memories I treasure.  I even learned to enjoy the stopping by unannounced that Juan frequently took me to do.  I loved that everyone time we left she would stand on the front porch and watch us go, waving good bye- every time.  Everyday we create new memories and with each moment we have the opportunity to make it special.  Mama Sharon spent 35 years in a home making it special, and in the process she entered the hearts and lives of too many people to count, in turn making her exceptionally special and loved.  I look forward to the special moments that will surely fill the new family home with love, warmth, and people that magically become family.

Steven "Peetie" Martinez

For me, home was the heart of Moore and the focal point of the universe.  If it wasn’t happening there it wasn’t happening at all because you see the world literally revolved around our home, everyone’s home, a home that knew no strangers and a home bursting with all the love.  The span of almost 35 years of memories is an endless abyss spanning from the moment we left south OKC and headed for the promised land of Moore, to the final day where Moms mounted the track hoe and took the initial 10 minutes worth of heartbreaking demolition swipes at our badly broken & tattered but ironically still standing home.  Initially I could not understand why mom was so protective after everything salvageable was cleared from the home and placed into storage but after spending time over there alone, it became clearer by the minute and eventually that question was answered through my own reflection. The time I spent getting the house ready to the point of demo was part of a healing process for my own soul to reflect back and hear the walls of this hallowed home echoing the laughs, the love, the screams and cries of everyone living and those dear to our hearts that have passed.  A museum of memories, this was a place that had an impact on too many lives possible to count.   A place where meals were prepared with all the tradition and love passed from generations.   

Dinner was always on the table at dinner time with enough to feed a small army twice over and leftovers to feed many latecomers.  The scent of pine sol cleaner, bleach and downy fabric softener was engrained into the building materials.  You would’ve thought the home was self cleaning but we all know the force behind the obsessive cleanliness.  I can’t help but mention and appreciate the years of hard work that went into providing for our home and all that it stood for.  Memories?  Yeah I have em….