Most likely you followed the link from my first, fifth or fourteenth page of Random Thoughts stories. And, as always, your comments are appreciated.
After at least a year of Rita bugging me about going, I finally went to the English Country dancing last night. I knew that Nancy and Barbara from my office went too, as well as Chris, who is Rita's husband. I'd heard for months how much fun they had, but it wasn't until yesterday I finally took the plunge. Okay, it was because of some prodding from my therapist who wants me to get out more. I agreed to go to three sessions in a row and make a decision about continuing after that.
Dancing is not one of my talents. In high school, I had the option of taking folk dance for physical education. Not being particularly athletic, I chose that option for two years and got A's both times instead of the B's I probably would have gotten with regular gym. We'd learn a new folk dance every few days, and by the time I'd mastered it, it was weeks later. It was with a lot of trepidation that I wanted to take up any kind of dancing at this point in time, remembering how pathetic my attempts were at 17.
When I got home from work, I didn't get in my pajamas like I usually do. I knew the dancing started at 7, but for some reason, I put it in my mind that it was at 7:30. I figured out to get to the church where it was being held I had to leave my house at 7:05. I made good time and got there at 7:20. I was surprised to see so many cars parked, but when I got out of my car, I could hear music playing. I walked around to the front of the church and went into the community room.
Sure enough, I was late. I hate being late and had I a clear mind, I would have left at 6:35 and been there on time. The group of about a dozen were people were in the middle of a dance so I quietly took off my coat and stood back and watched. There were two lines of dancers and it looked like they were having a good time. When my friends saw me, they broke into big smiles and I knew that I would be welcomed.
When the dance was over, both Nancy and Barbara came over to me and hugged me and told me how glad they were I came. When Rita saw me, she waved because she was at the other end of the room and talking to someone. I saw Chris on the sofa off to the back because he was hurting from an accident he had recently, so I waved to him. I also saw Noela who I drove up to Marble Canyon with last month. I knew nearly half the people who were there.
Barbara offered to be my partner for the next dance. She was the man and put on an old tie to signify that. Nancy was next to her while Rita was down at the far end. The man who was leading the dance was Scottish and had an interesting accent. He walked us through the steps a few times before we actually did the dance. It was either a very easy dance or I'm related to Fred Astaire, because I caught on pretty quickly. It involved a back to back movement and some little jiglike steps, and then we moved down the line to dance with other people. This allowed you to dance with everyone and not leave anyone out.
There were only two men so a lot of the women had to do the men's part. There were several women who refused to take on that role, even though the dance steps weren't that much different from the women's part. Maybe next time, I will play the man. I know how to tie a tie.
There were several more dances we did during the night. One couple brought in two bottles of sparkling cider for some reason. By then, I felt comfortable with all the people there, since I had danced with them all. I still mostly talked to my coworkers. Nancy and I were partners for the next dances, which incorporated some new steps. There was one dance where you were supposed to maintain eye contact with your partner and Nancy and I had fun with that one, staring deeply into each other's eyes. I caught on to all the steps except one, which was a half figure eight. I kept wanting to end up where I started. I am going to have to work on that one.
We had short breaks between dances. Around 8:30, Rita and Chris left. He was really hurting. The last dance we did, everyone seemed at a loss on how to do it, even though we tried it several times. Rather than having the evening end on a down note, the leader had us do a very simple one. We got in a big circle and held hands. First, we all went into the center of the circle, then the women and then the men. Next, we did some kind of spin and switched partners and then twirled around till we were partnered with arms crossed and walked in the circle. This move has a name but it's escaping me at the moment. You do this eight times and then the dance is over. It was just a few minutes after 9 pm but it didn't feel like I'd been dancing for 90 minutes.
I found out there are more formal dances every week in different towns. A week from Friday there will be one in Prescott and the following night one in Cottonwood. My friends all go and maybe I will. Depends on how well I do next week, if I seem to catch on a little better. In the one dance I didn't get, the leader actually took me by the hand and tried to guide me through the steps without much success. Normally, this would have embarrassed me, except I knew he wasn't trying to do that, but to help me. I could tell I wasn't the first one he'd had to help out.
Nancy and I walked out to our cars together. She asked if I had a good time and told me I did really well for my first time. So will I go back once my promised three times are done? Probably. I did have a lot of fun, I get to be with people I like and it was good exercise. I hate it when my therapist is right.
©5 April 2006It's the custom in our office to take everyone out for lunch on his or her Birthdays. The first one I went to was our big boss, Dennis last May. I'd been working for Elderhostel for about two months and while I really didn't want to go, I felt it was necessary to prove I was part of the group. We went to a really good Mexican restaurant and I was indoctrinated into the tradition. His birthday is only four days before mine and since I never told anyone when my birthday was, I wasn't treated to a free lunch.
There are officially ten people in the office, but Rita usually attends these, since she worked here for so many years and she's Chris' wife. Chris is the head of Elderhostel and on our side are Nancy, Jeff, Gloria and I. The Learning Institute is Barbara and Deni. Dennis is the head of the Center for Successful Aging and everyone's boss and is assistant is Crystal. Last would be Dave who coordinates programs for Edventures. It's a nice group of people and usually I'm more than willing to participate in these little group gatherings. The only other time we get together is for staff meetings, which aren't anywhere near as fun as the lunches.
Yesterday we celebrated Jeff's birthday. As usual, it was hard to pick a day that everyone could agree on and be available. Finally it was decided to just go ahead and do it on that Monday. Jeff is the youngest person on the staff, by a good 25 years. He turned 29 on Saturday. He picked the China Buffet, but last I'd heard it wasn't definite.
Once the date was set in stone, changes happened. Crystal had choir practice that day so she wasn't expected. Nancy couldn't go, because finally, her daughter was starting treatment for Hodgkin's disease. Since we had all be anxiously awaiting the go ahead from her new doctor, we all understood her absence and she was missed greatly. Since the location for our lunch wasn't confirmed, I waited for an email or a phone call to let me know where, since I don't work on Mondays. All that time, I was trying to decide if I would go, because I have missed a few over the year. On the phone, Jeff told me he was glad I was going, and I asked him, really, in a silly kind of way and he said yes, really.
I decided why not, so I called the office and found out Jeff had decided on China Buffet, so I got ready to go. I swore too long ago never to eat there again, because I tend to eat more than I should. But Lowell and I went there recently when I was craving hot and sour soup, so I broke that promise to myself. At least with non family, I tend to try and conform to the norm,
When I got there, I saw Jeff waiting. As usual, he must have left early to stop by his house before going to the restaurant. I never understand why he has to do that, but I didn't question him. I tried to get the hostess to break a $20 bill for me, which after much confusion was accomplished. I thought that would make it easier to pay my share of the bill.
They sat us at a long table in one of the smaller rooms to the side and I sat directly across from him. It smelled good and we were both hungry, but we waited till everyone else arrived before we ate anything. Jeff and I get along okay, although sometimes I get annoyed that he dumps the stuff he doesn't like doing in my lap. Maybe because of his youth, he is so easy to tease and most of us do it mercilessly. I asked him how his birthday was and he said fine, and that he got Sirius radio for his birthday and he'd let me have the code if I wanted to listen too, which I thought was nice. He also told me he and his girlfriend had found part time jobs, to help them out financially. I forget what else we talked about before Rita and Chris came in, followed by Gloria and Deni. Next to arrive were Barbara and Dave, and finally, Dennis came in.
Beverages were ordered amid a lot of confusion and then everyone dashed off to the buffet table. I came back with a bowl of hot and sour soup, and then filled a plate with different entrees. Each plate looked different because we all have distinct likes and dislikes. Barbara is a vegetarian and Chris likes things really hot and spice. Jeff seemed to take just appetizers. I couldn't see what everyone took as I was on the far end.Jeff commented that Rita usually sits next to him at these lunches, and told her she was his birthday partner. We all laughed and said that's a new one. I let everyone know that Rita was my sister and that was better than a birthday partner. Conversation flowed easily as people got up to get more food. I knew I shouldn't have, but I did get a second plate, less than half full. I forget how it came up, but I mentioned something about marriage and Rita asked, did I miss something, who's getting married? I glibly replied Jeff and I were which of course is ridiculous because he's got a girlfriend who's trying to get him to marry her.
I think it was Deni who reminded us we had to sing Happy Birthday to Jeff. The birthday before his was Gloria's and Crystal wrote a little song for us to sing, that went to the tune of Deep in the Heart of Texas. Even though she wasn't able to attend, she wrote a song for Jeff. His song was to the tune of Camptown Racers, and one of the lines was how we loved to tease him. He turned bright red during the song, but there was no one else in our section at the time. Instead of saying happy birthday in the second line, most of sang the do dahs, because it just seemed more natural.
Almost everyone went to get ice cream for dessert, but not me. I can have ice cream anytime I want. I did take a small bite from Jeff's, as left-handed people are 17% more likely to take food off another's person's plate than right-handed people. I was more interested in the fried bread things. I think they are just thawed out frozen bread dough, fried and then rolled in sugar. They are best when they are fresh and still hot. We were all watching for the staff to put out more of the fried bread things. Deni went to get something and announced our wait was finally over, so I went to the buffet and took 3 on a plate. I offered one to Rita, who declined, then Dennis, who accepted and also Barbara did. I ate the last one, savoring the sweetness and the greasiness.
Chris divided up the bill between the rest of us as he always does and we read our fortunes from the cookies aloud. I was told to add the words, "in bed" to the end of each fortune, so as we went around the table reading them, there was much laughter at how the simple messages were changed by those two words. At once, it seemed like everyone had somewhere to go, back to the office or on errands, or for me, to go home.
I walked back to my car and drove the two miles home, still wondering why I felt I had to try to always fit in and make other people happy. I decided this time it made me happy to have been with my coworkers and share laughs and friendship. This time it was a win-win situation.
©18 & 19 April 2006I can only imagine what my mom felt fifty-five years ago on the day before I was born. She's not here for me to ask her, yet I doubt she felt what I felt in the very last stages of my pregnancies. She was more pampered because of the times and less worried about labor, knowing she would be getting drugs before labor got too intense. Or maybe she did, since I wasn't the first child. I don't know what time my father drove her to the hospital or if they were calm or startled by my imminent arrival, but I think she told me her labor with me was fairly short. I was born at 11:46 in the late morning, a healthy baby girl with big brown eyes and brown curly hair. While there was some debate about what to name me, my mother won out and I am Sharon and not Tamara. I wish he had won out, because then I could have had a nickname. How different I might have been if I was Tammy.
I weighed 6 pounds 8 ounces, and was 20 inches long. The story passed down over the years was that my mother's obstetrician thought I was so cute he offered to pay my parents a million dollars for me. My parents declined his offer and kept me. I heard many times that even if they had done that, I still wouldn't have had a father during my youth, because the obstetrician died young, too.
I've celebrated or at least acknowledged 55 birthdays so far. Most came and went with little fanfare, especially the recent ones. When I told people I was now old enough to go on Elderhostel programs, most didn't believe I was that old. Who wants to admit they're getting older? This is not exactly the best attitude to have when you work in a department of the Center for Successful Aging, where we try to celebrate the accomplishments of the elderly. I have seldom lied about my age, because it's just a number. Sometimes I feel 15 and sometimes I feel 115 but usually I feel close to my age. Over the years, I have aches and pains in parts of my body where there weren't any before, and I have accepted the grey in my hair as rewards for surviving so long. I am forgetful of a lot of things, both major and insignificant, but considering other people my age or older and their problems, I am doing okay.
There are two birthdays I especially remember fondly. On my fifteenth, I had a sleepover for all my girlfriends and we dressed up and acted like little kids. I still have some pictures from that and we had our hair in pigtails and wore silly, short dresses. We laughed a lot but mostly discussed our favorite topic, boys. It was to celebrate our last year before we became grown up in theory. Back then, you had a big Sweet Sixteen party and I was no different. For that, it was at a nice restaurant and we all were dressed up. I wish I could remember the name of the place mine was held at, but hey, it was a long time ago and I can barely remember what I did yesterday. Maybe somewhere I have a memento of the event, and I'll go home and look tonight. There are pictures of that too, all my friends trying to look sophisticated. I doubt we pulled it off, because even then I didn't take things as seriously as I should have.
For my twenty-first birthday, I went to a bar. I think my ex was there, but I'm not sure because he wouldn't have been 21. It was a rite of passage and I had to do what was expected. I probably had one girl drink, you know, something fruity and sweet to drown out the taste of the alcohol, and was done. I don't drink, don't like the taste of most drinks, but it was my right to order a drink and so I did. It was probably another twenty one years before I went to another bar. That's just not my idea of fun, I guess.
This birthday will be quiet, maybe Lowell will remember and maybe he won't. (He did) I've already received a few cards from my close friends who no longer live in Prescott. I got one from my aunt and uncle. Several good friends sent me email messages to let me know they were thinking about me and others telephoned me during the day. I talked to just about everyone who is important to me today. Evelyn sent me an email card and a note saying she's mailed a real one and wasn't sure it would be here. I am trying not to think about all the people who are no longer in my life and how much I miss them, but of course I do.
I've already had a number of hugs and birthday wishes from my coworkers . I doubt there will be a cake, but I was taken out to lunch by my coworkers. We had good food and a lot of laughs and I know everyone enjoyed the lunch. And there was a small cake that everyone shared, and it was chocolate. too. Lowell had offered to take me out to dinner, but due to the late and large lunch, we've put it off till tomorrow. It's nice to have someone who loves you spend part of the day with you on a so-called special day. I've definitely missed that the last several years, and I plan to enjoy today to the fullest. There is no guarantee I will have another one yet I certainly hope that will be the case. I want to use my senior citizen discounts as often as possible and hopefully be a grandmother one day. There are many things I want to do or see before it's too late, so look out world, I'm still here and I'm still fighting.
©10 May 2006It's no secret to anyone who knows me well that I love ice cream. I always have and if there comes a day when I don't, I'll probably be dead or pretty close to it. I'll never forget my grandmother telling me one day that she no longer liked ice cream. I thought that was impossible, but now that I am getting older, I find my likes in foods changing too, but so far I have not stopped eating ice cream.
When I was a girl, ice cream was associated with summer. It was the Good Humor man driving his white truck down my street, bells announcing his imminent arrival. Kids up and down Merrill Avenue would dash inside and get a dime from their mom's and line up to buy a frozen treat. Or it was a family drive to 101st Street and the Tastee Freeze for soft serve ice cream. The ultimate drive was to Michigan City, Indiana and ice cream at Scholl's. One night my mom told my grandparents who lived with us that we were going for ice cream. Instead of going to the Tastee Freeze, we drove to Scholls, and my grandparents were worried when we were gone so long.
In my teenage years, ice cream was from Thrifty Drug store, 31 Flavors/Baskin Robbins or Farrells. At Thrifty, you could get a two scoop ice cream cone for ten cents back then. My mom used that as a reward for my brother and me sometimes. Later, in high school, it was 31 Flavors that I went to. It was about a half mile from our apartment in Van Nuys. It was a nice walk with friends in the early evening. I used to have milk shakes with Pistachio Almond Fudge and Mocha Almond Fudge and the clerk would always shake his head at me. Don't knock it until you try it. Farrells was a place we'd go to on dates or parties. Groups of us would try to devour concoctions of 15 scoops of ice creams and various toppings, or on a date, I'd just share a sundae with whoever I was with.
Up in the Bay Area for college and the first few years of my adult life, I still enjoyed ice cream. Ghiradelli Square in San Francisco for an Emperor Norton, or the original Dreyer's on Grand Avenue in Oakland. McCallums in north Berkeley was a favorite too. There was the Bridge in Winnipeg, Sebastian Joe's in Minneapolis, and that place in Memphis down off Mendenhall that we used to frequent. In Arizona the premier place to get ice cream is Cold Stone Creamery. It was rare there wasn't at least one half gallon of ice cream in my home freezer for us to enjoy.
Fast forward to moving to Arizona. I'd heard about the Snow Cap from a lady I knew, and on my first trip to Las Vegas with my son, we stopped there to check it out. I was told it was famous, and had been written up in several publications, including National Geographic. It's in the small town of Seligman, just off of interstate 40 and on old Route 66. The main street through town can't be more than two miles long. The town plays on its Route 66 history and is the main reason the town is probably still there. Souvenir shops line the road as well as old cars just parked there for nostalgia. Since my first visit there, I try to stop every time I'm driving that way, and usually do.
Yesterday, I had to drive part of a group of Elderhostelers up to Peach Springs. The other part of the group was being driven there by K.T., and we had planned to just go, drop them off, and then she had to go to Sedona, and then I'd come home to Prescott. Just outside of Chino Valley, Nancy called to tell me I had to drive the cargo van back because the 15 passenger vans were needed in Peach Springs. That meant having to wait for the coordinator who was driving that up, Mike, to meet us there. As I was turning on to the interstate, my phone rang again and it was Mike, telling me he'd just left Prescott and to wait for him. I teased him and told him I'd wait forever for him, and he was flustered. I had left about ten minutes before K.T., so I knew there would be about a 45 minute wait or longer for Mike to get there. I asked my nine passengers if they wanted to drive through beautiful Seligman, or go past it. I'd be exiting on the far side of the town otherwise. Someone asked, isn't there an ice cream place there? I said yes, and asked if they wanted to stop. After some discussion, they said yes, it sounded like fun. So I exited the freeway at the more eastern exit and cruised into town.
The Snow Cap was founded in 1953 by Juan Delgadillo and his family. According to the history of the place on the menu, he built the place in his spare time from lumber found along the railroad tracks. I don't think it's changed much in fifty odd years, except for the prices, and the constant addition of business cards on the walls, ceilings and wherever you could stick one. I've posted some links below to web sites mentioning the Snow Cap so you can see what it looks like and learn more about it, if you are so inclined.
We parked across the street and entered the small establishment. One of the men fell for the door handle on the wrong side of the door gag. Yes, it's not just ice cream you get, it's a lot of laughs too. I won't tell you all the jokes they pull on customers, but suffice it to say my group laughed and laughed. Even when the son, John, pulls them several times in a row, they still were funny. A couple came in and joined in the fun. When I finally ordered, last, he asked me what I wanted. I said, the usual. I've been there several times, but I knew he didn't know what I meant. He said, banana shake and I said, no, chocolate malt. The group was wandering around outside, looking at the cars and other odd mementos collected on the property. Some of my group were looking at native American jewelry sold next to the place and some were talking to the couple we'd met inside.
Finally, I felt it was time to get on our way for the last 40 minutes or so to Peach Springs, and reluctantly they walked back to the van. Still smiling like little children, they took their places in the van. I told them they must never tell the other group about what goes on at the Snow Cap, and they agreed, they would keep them in the dark. They had driven by and I'd talked to K.T., but they decided not to stop. They don't know what they missed. The ice cream isn't fancy and they don't have dozens of flavors to choose from, but what they do have is better than most ice cream places. Check it out for yourself and you'll see what I mean. By the way, while writing this, I finished off a bowl of my two favorite flavors, Mocha almond Fudge and Pistachio Almond, which was my father's favorite flavor.
©18 May 2006I was driving home this afternoon and saw a huge cloud of smoke in the not too distant sky. I couldn't make out where it was, only that it was south of Highway 69 and I live to the north. I knew it was smoke from a fire, and I worried how big it was, which way if any it was going to go. As I drove more towards Prescott, I decided it had to be on Old Black Canyon Highway. I figured it was no more than ten miles from my house, which is far but it sure didn't seem like it at the time.
Fires aren't uncommon in Arizona. Since I've lived here, there's been a drought and what plants are around, aren't thriving. They're dry and brittle and truly a fire hazard. It will take more than a good rainfall to solve the long term problem and even to solve the short term one. There are signs to leave a defensive space around your house, and I've worked for the last few weeks to do just that. There are at least three feet of nothing where I've cleared around the perimeter of my house, so hopefully that would be enough. Even more hopefully, I won't have to find out.
The closest I ever got to a fire was one time when I was driving back up from Phoenix. A truck, loaded with hay, was on the side of the road in flames. You could see the flames and how they were spreading on the land to the east of the interstate. Traffic was slowing down and I managed to be one of the last cars they let pass the burning truck. I felt the intense heat of the fire and breathed a sigh of relief when I was ahead of it. The highway patrol shut the interstate down, and people were parked there for hours till the fire was under control. The land doesn't look scorched there anymore, and that little fire didn't even earn itself a name. Most fires do, based on the area of the fire. I was glad to get home safely that day.
Once inside my house, I looked out to the south and watched smoke continue to billow up in the air. The wind was relatively calm, and it didn't seem like it was growing. I tried to do some other things to keep my mind off the fire, but I was compelled to go back to look out at the possibly impending danger and decided it was better to be safe, than sorry. I called my daughter knowing she would calm me down, and that she had been through much worse during Hurricane Katrina.
It was two or maybe three years ago we had a big fire here in Prescott. The town is nest to the Prescott National Forest, and it started back in there, way on the west side of town. The first day, I could smell smoke, but I didn't see anything. Each subsequent day, you'd have never known there was a fire from where I live. There were evacuations and the Red Cross set up tents with food. For several nights, people went to the high school or other public buildings for safety. I didn't venture into Prescott because I was afraid of what I might find. There were maybe a dozen homes burned, that were back in the woods. I thought back then about what I would need to gather up quickly if I had to evacuate, but that was all I did.
It was at the turn of the century, the other one, that Prescott had its big fire. Most of the downtown area burnt to the ground. Tales are told of how downtown saloons had patrons carry out their big wooden bars across the street to spare them from burning. Only a few brick building older than 1900 remain in the center of Prescott. Almost all the wooden structures were destroyed. The fire of a few years ago didn't destroy as much, but it could have, without lots of firefighters and modern firefighting techniques. It's rare to hear a plane overhead, but those day, the sound was common and comforting.
I kept going back to the sun porch, trying to determine what the fire might do. I called the fire department and they said it was in Walker, not on Black Canyon highway, and that they were pretty sure it wasn't headed towards my neighborhood. While I wanted to believe them, I still decided I should be prepared, Maybe that's not the motto of the Girl Scouts, but I needed to keep busy. I got out a big plastic tub I'd bought to put out of season clothes in for storage, and began selecting what was irreplaceable to me. Of course, the first things in there were things that belonged to Greg. His old t-shirts, caps, a mug with his name on it, things like that. Then went photos of my family and some special items to me. My father's old watch. My mother's old charm bracelet. The perfume bottle my father brought back from France and World War II. Important documents like my passport and birth certificate. I put the container near the garage door, and as I walked around my house, I'd add a few more items. I told myself I'd have to take my one favorite print down too, as well as my bulletin board, if I was told to leave.
Every fifteen minutes or so, I'd find myself drawn to the sun porch, to gauge the fire. I knew it had a ways to go before it even got to the highway in town, and I felt if the need arose to leave, I was ready. The smoke continued to rise, but the bottom part, the burning area, never seemed to get larger. More items were tossed into my container; an old watch of Greg's, my computer memory stick. Now my only real concern was if they did want us to evacuate, how much of a disaster would that turn out to be. There is really only one road out of town from here, and that is Highway 69. I wasn't going to let that stress me, nor was I going to leave just then anyway. I'd told Evelyn it was a shame I didn't keep the hang tag that came with the new phone books, that you'd hang on the door saying the house was empty. She said they didn't have those in New Orleans. I kept checking the television stations, but since we don't have our own local one, there was no information. The local newspaper's web site was useless too. When the 5 o'clock news came on, they showed footage of a fire up near Sedona and not ours. The other fire is closer to a lot more homes, and it's a much bigger fire, as I can see the smoke from my front window. The TV news did show our fire and I found out it was named the Green Fire.
Finally I could see what the lady at the fire department told me was true, that it wasn't heading this way, and it was just about under control. I just now went to look and you could see smoke, but it was light and wispy. I was safe, my home and belongings were too. I got lucky this time, and hopefully, will the next time, if there is one. My container is still packed, and over the weekend, I'll take everything out and cherish my most important possessions as they bring back treasured memories. If there had been a big fire, and the items in that container were all I could save, it would be enough. The rest are just things; these are irreplaceable.
©1 June 2006For just about as long as I can remember, music has been an important part of my life. My grandmother sang lullabies to me, both as a baby and later when I was older and asked her to. If I try hard enough, I can still hear her voice singing, high and not quite on key. It never mattered to me, just that she would sing to me.
I had an old record player as a kid. Being that I was alone a lot of time, I would sit in my room and play my records and sing or dance along with them. The only one I remember pre rock and roll is a nonsensical song by Ray Bolger called the Foot Foot song. Very few people I told about that song believe it ever existed, and now I have proof because I recently found a fragment of that online, and downloaded it and it takes me way back each time I play it. Actually, I think I am still stuck at age 4.
I got my first LP in 1956. It was Elvis Presley. The one with him on the cover where you can tell he's shaking his hips, and the word Elvis on side and Presley on the bottom, because I loved the song Blue Suede Shoes. I know it was that year because my father bought it for me and he died in February of the following year. Then I started to buy 45s. The very first one I got was Bryan Hyland's Itsy Bitsy Yellow Polka Dot Bikini. Somewhere in my things back in Minnesota, it's there with the rest of my 45's. I could still listen to it on my father's old mono record player, which is back there, too.
When I was eleven or so, I bugged my mom to buy me an acoustic guitar and get me lessons. She relented and I took about six months of lessons. The man who was my teacher didn't want to teach me current songs, but he did teach me the basics. Of course, I had no talent, but that didn't stop me from playing. I gave it up in high school.
As a teenager growing up in Southern California, I loved surf music. And the Beatles. I was thirteen when they appeared on the Ed Sullivan show. There's a photo of me sitting in front of our television set going crazy over them. I listened to the radio or my record player non-stop when I was home. It was all the current 60's stuff, and even then, what I listened to altered my mood. Or my mood altered what I felt like listening to at the moment. One time, my mom came in my room and I had the words to Leaving on a Jet Plane written out, because my high school boyfriend was going up to Berkeley. My mom thought I had written it. Even today that song makes me sad. I didn't go to too many concerts back then, probably because none of my friends did. I could change radio stations while driving in my car with the best of them.
It was in high school that I developed a love for classical music, thanks to my boyfriend Frank. He played classical piano and being the devoted girlfriend, I would listen to him practice. I still love the Beethoven's piano sonatas he played and I can "sing" them as though they had words. I used to go to the Huntington Library in San Marino and take out records. My tastes expanded in college with a music appreciation class. I love going to the symphony even though I haven't done that in years.
By the time I got up to Berkeley, rock had gotten harder and psychedelic. I used to buy LP's at Leopold's on Durant for a whopping $3. One of my favorite albums back then was Let it Bleed by the Rolling Stones. I would listen to that over and over again, side 1 then side 2. I went to a few more concerts then, but not as many as I should have, considering where I was.
At Berkeley I was a disk jockey on the campus radio station, KALX. I was one of only a handful of girls who had their own show, and naturally I got the lousiest time slot. One year it was Saturday morning and the next it was Sunday morning. My friends thought it was cool and I got to play whatever I wanted, depending on my mood. I started hanging around more at the station and fell in love with John, and ended up living with him on Brook Street, along with a bunch of other guys from the station. When we broke up, Fred came into my life. I started being his "groupie" when he and his band would play. It was Fred who introduced me to a lot of different music I'd never heard before, like the MC5, Bonzo Dog Band and the Velvet Underground. Plus, he dragged me to a Bruce Springsteen concert at Northwestern, and I came away a confirmed convert.
Then the kids came and so did MTV. I was so excited to have cable in 1982 that I used to watch videos all the time. It was a nice change from Sesame Street and singing C is for cookie. I did like Raffi and never minded listening to him on long car rides. Or when I got on my French kick, Henri Des.
Greg that was my child with the most adventurous taste in music. He listened to Blink 182 in the early years, as well as local bands. I learned to like Poor Old Lu and Sunny Day Real Estate. It was due to him, Evelyn found Better than Ezra. I started listening to their stuff and it eventually became songs I wanted to hear. Now when I listen to the songs Greg did, I feel closer to him. Even the songs I never heard with him, like Lifter Puller's To live and Die in LBI. I love the connection to him that the music provides.
Recently I found I liked country music, something I had scorned for years. Sure, I liked a few things that were crossover hits and I'd heard of some of the more popular artists, but I never dreamed I would like the genre for itself. I still don't like some of the real twangy stuff, but the new artists seem more relevant. I want to find Dierks Bentley or Gary Allan and take them home with me.
On my computer I have over 1000 songs. I've gotten them over time, from friends, irc and from my own cds. The content ranges from oldies to current songs, and everything in between. I've made a number of cds to listen to in the car based on what I felt like listening to at the time. I labeled the cds by the month and year. There are some I've only listened to once or twice, but I like knowing they are there. Some I listen to almost daily. Most I listen to depending on my mood. Ones that will evoke memories and take me back in time or to a specific place. Ones that life my spirits and ones that make me cry. Ones that make me feel like I'm a teenager or back in college, without a care in the world. I have only 260 or so on my computer at work, because I don't feel I should overload the hard drive, but I add a new one every so often. I listen to certain songs at certain times to fit my mood, or change my mood. I am listening to music now, as I write this, a play list of songs I feel like listening to today. I love music and how it moves me to other times, places and spaces.
©2 July 2006I haven't always hated this month, but I do now. For the past seven years, it's been a major hurdle to get over. In July of 1999, on the 3rd, I received a phone call from my ex. Any call from him was bad news, and this was no exception. Greg was back in the hospital, I tried to take notes as he described to me what was going on with Greg this time. On a piece of notepaper from some random Days Inn, I scribbled damaged kidney, tumor or blood clot out of the heart, spots on the lungs and Tues a.m. which was July 6. I also did some doodling as we talked, like I always do. Even today, when I look at that piece of paper, tears spring to my eyes. The call was on a Saturday and the Tuesday morning meant surgery was scheduled for that day. I already have plane tickets to go to Minnesota later in July, to be with the kids while Fred went on a business trip, so I decided not to leave till the 5th.
I called Northwest and tried to change my ticket, but they said I couldn't, because I hadn't left on the first part yet. In tears, I was fighting with the woman, but in the end, I forked over the airfare. What choice did I really have? I don't remember what happened to the other ticket. Maybe I used it later in the year. I made plans to leave from Sky Harbor airport in Phoenix around 4 in the afternoon. Michael would take me to the airport and I'd leave my car with him. I left the return part open, because I knew I'd be staying in Minnesota most of the month now.
This was the second time I'd called on Michael for this favor. About one month after I moved to Arizona, which was mid May,I had to go back to Minnesota as Greg was going to have his fourth surgery, that one to remove a tumor in his brain. Greg sailed through that surgery, and was home in two days and driving in four. I had no reason to believe this surgery would be any different, which is why I waited the extra day to go back.
On the 4th, I packed my clothes and got ready to leave. My new neighbors from across the street invited me for dinner. I had already asked them to watch my cat and get my mail, and it was a good diversion for me. We watched the fireworks from their back porch and then I went home. Once I got back in my new to me house, I tried to relax. After all, I had done this many times before.
The drive down to Phoenix was easy and Michael hugged me and took me to the airport. I waved goodbye to him and told him I'd call him to tell him when I'd be back so he could pick me, because at that time I had no idea how long it would be.
I boarded the plane and settled in with a book, but figured I'd take a nap like I usually do on planes. But we didn't take off. There was a dust storm and there was little or no visibility. I knew nothing at that time about the monsoon, but it is fairly common to have dust storms and no rain, late in the afternoons that time of year. The flight was delayed about an hour and I was getting edgy. Finally we took off, and the flight proceeded to Minneapolis, but there was going to be another glitch. It was storming in Minneapolis, and the flight was going to be diverted to Duluth. I could have screamed. I wanted to be with Greg, I should have been there already. The flight attendants tried to assure everyone it would be fine, that somehow those who had connecting flights would make them. On the way to Duluth, the storm must have subsided because the pilot announced we would be turning back to Minneapolis and landing there after all. At this point, I think we were at least two hours late.
Before landing, the flight attendants asked the passengers who weren't trying to get to a connecting flight to stay in their seats. As soon as the plane stopped, everyone on the plane was standing. In my agitated state, it felt like it took hours to get off the plane, I didn't have a cell phone back then, so as soon as I got off, I found a pay phone and called the hospital. I knew Fred and the kids would have checked to see if my flight was on time before heading out to the airport. Evelyn said she was leaving right now to get me. There was no traffic that time of night, but it still seemed to take forever before she pulled up to get me.
We got to the hospital after 11 p.m.. It was so good to see Greg even though he looked awful. He had been feeling pretty lousy the last month, with throwing up in the morning and stomach pains. I decided to spend the night at the hospital, so everyone else went home and would be back early, before the scheduled surgery. I don't remember what Greg and I talked about, but I do remember we watched this program, Change of Heart. The premise was a couple went out on a date with other people then decided to break up or stay together. If you've ever spent a night in a hospital, you know sleep is impossible. When I wasn't sleeping, I would just look over at Greg and cry. I wanted to take him into my arms and hold him like I did when he was a baby.
In the morning, the doctors decided to postpone the surgery to do one more test. They were pretty sure the tumor in his kidney had grown into his heart. It was a brief reprieve, more time to spend time with my children. For my birthday, they'd gotten me a digital camera and I brought it with me. In the afternoon, I said I wanted to take a picture of them. Greg said no, but I pulled rank and said yes. I took two of them all together, Greg, Evelyn and Lowell. One of those pictures is on my computer desktop and I have spent hours studying it, looking into Greg's eyes and you can tell he is already somewhere else. Lowell then took one of me with Greg. The doctor told us everything looked good from the test they'd done and his surgery would be the next day. The day passed with us watching videos, playing on Fred's laptop and just hanging out in the hospital, a place I had grown to hate. When Evelyn and I were volunteers there, we had no idea we'd have to go there as family members to a cancer patient. When it was time to go, Evelyn decided to stay over with Greg, because I was going to stay after his surgery. I left reluctantly, and we drove to the house where I'd lived for ten years until I left.
Wednesday morning, July 7, 1999. I had slept down in Greg's room, and woke up when I heard Fred's footsteps from the bedroom above me. I dressed and we were off to the University of Minnesota hospital. Evelyn and Greg were already up, but Greg looked pale. I made him brush his teeth before the surgery. He was a big fan of the Price is Right, and so we had to watch that show. He always wanted to be a contestant. That particular day, both winners spun the big wheel and got the $10,000 prize. I wonder how rare that is. We were watching Space Balls when they came to take Greg down to the surgery floor. Evelyn and Lowell went into the waiting room and Fred and I went to wait with Greg till they were ready for him. For some reason, I started crying and had to walk away. I'd never cried before one of his surgeries, not even the first one. I managed to pull myself together enough to come back and tell him I loved him and to hear him tell me he loved me too, and they wheeled him into the operating room.
The first time I was ever in the waiting room was five years earlier, with Barb, who was the mother of our first CARE partner, Christine. Then I was there to support her as best I could. I just had my children and ex husband to support me now and I had to support them. I think Evelyn and I went up to the cafeteria first to get lunch, where we cheated and used our old volunteer passes to get our meal free. Then Fred and Lowell went up, and then it was the waiting game. I was going to spend the night with Greg, so I dozed off on a chair. I know I felt Greg's soul pass through me on its way to heaven as I slept.
Then I was being shaken awake. I knew he was dead. The nurse took us to a small room to wait for the doctor. They don't want to give you news like that in a waiting room of people and upset everyone. The doctor soon came in and he started to tell us about the surgery and I interrupted him and flat out asked if Greg was dead. He said yes, and we all fell upon each other in sorrow. I wouldn't be surprised if the people in the waiting room could hear us wailing. The doctor tried to tell us what happened, but what difference did it make? Greg was dead. He lost his battle, which I knew he would one day, but not that day. I said I wanted to see him. I had to see him. Lowell didn't want to go, since he was just 13 so a nurse stayed with him while the doctor, Fred, Evelyn and I walked down a hall to I don't know what exactly you'd call the room. There, on a gurney, was Greg, lying face up as though he was sleeping. But he wasn't. His skin was already starting to turn blue and his skin was cool to the touch. His chest was covered up so I couldn't see how the newest scar had maimed his body. The tears just fell out of my eyes and I touched him and kissed him and didn't want to leave and say a final goodbye to him. If I close my eyes now, I can still picture him. Trust me, seeing your child's dead body is the worst thing in the world.
Finally, we tried to compose ourselves, went back to be with Lowell and to decide what to do next. We were still in the little room outside the waiting room, in tears and in shock. Finally, one of us said, I guess there are people I need to call, then someone else did. Except Lowell. In a heartbroken voice, he said, "I don't have anyone to call. Greg was my best friend". It broke my already shattered heart. We made our calls and met back in the room.
Eventually, we took the elevator up to the fifth floor and slowly walked down the hall to Greg's room. We gathered up his clothes, cds, videos, and the rest of his belongings. I took the toothbrush he had used that morning and still have it today. It was decided Evelyn would drive back to the house with me, and Fred and Lowell would drive together. I think I drove, but I don't remember. I do remember driving out of the parking lot and thinking about all the times I'd parked there, Evelyn and I cried the entire way home, and sang a song we'd made up when we used to drive home from seeing Christine. It was because of the parking lot attendant one night, and the words were I'm a drunken Indian. I guess it wasn't much of a song.
I think we all sat around like zombies that night, though some of Fred's coworkers came over and brought food. Oh, how they brought food. As if somehow an abundance of food would make everything all right. The next day, Fred and I had to make arrangements for Greg. He was going to be cremated. Somehow we walked through the door, holding hands to support the each other, and picked a date for a memorial service. At the last moment, I remembered something and asked the man to cut off a lock of Greg's hair for me, before he was cremated. I had thought about it and told Fred to remind me, but both of us were in a fog. Perhaps it was Greg who reminded me.
Greg's memorial service was set for the following week, on July 13. A minister had to be picked, music to be played, friends asked to say something. I don't know how it all got put together. Each day, people came to the house, but I spent most of the time in Greg's room, with Spud, his stuffed elephant. Looking at the things that were important to him, smelling his pillow, trying to save every small memory I could. I used the digital camera to take a moving picture of his room. I touched all his things to feel his presence.
Under Fred's guidance and with the help of his coworkers, the service was pulled together. He knew a non-denominational minister from work and she agreed to lead the service. We had to write the obituary and then the paper did a short piece on Greg's life. All of Greg's friends agreed to speak, as did Lowell and Evelyn. I couldn't. On automatic pilot, we dressed that day and went to the funeral home. It was impossible to believe that life was going on as normal all around us when our lives were in such chaos. Most of the people at the service were Fred's friends, although a few people I knew came and that pleased me greatly. I had been gone three years already and I was appreciative of those that cared enough for me to come. It was a beautiful remembrance with lots of stories about how people loved Greg and were touched by him. Even his favorite band showed up to speak about him. They dedicated their next album to him.
Afterwards, I hugged everyone, but couldn't stand still. The man from the cremation place gave me the envelope with his hair, and I put it in my purse. Everyone was invited to come by the house, and there were lots of people there, but once again, I took sanctuary in Greg's room, far away from the people. Then they all went home and it was the four of us. How wrong that was, it should have been the five of us.
The days after that just passed without me noticing them. Eventually Fred went to work and then on the trip he had scheduled. After he came back, I left. I think they all took me to the airport, but I had to get on the plane alone and go back to Arizona, where I knew no one. Being that this was pre 911, I was surprised and grateful to see Michael at the gate waiting for me. I fell apart in his arms and we just stood there a while before getting my bag. I don't know if I ever told him how much that gesture meant to me.
I cried the entire way up to Prescott, and when I walked inside my house, I was in a panic. What on earth was I doing in Arizona? If I had not just bought it, I know I would have gotten some stuff together and just driven away. I stood looking out the front window and screamed and cried till I was cried out.
The next day, I decided to create the web site for Greg. I spent days at the computer, writing the copy, picking the backgrounds, and organizing the site. I think it kept me sane enough to realize I had to accept things as they were even though I was still so angry at the universe. Looking back, I am so glad I did that, because now I have a record of who said what at the service and what songs were played. I thought about all the things Greg loved and how I could keep him alive through the web site.
Sure, I hate July because it means another year is half over and I haven't changed the world or myself in any significant way. It means it's going to be too hot for another two or three months. I hate July mostly because I lost such a big part of myself in an instant, kind of like the way fireworks explode in the sky, look spectacular for three seconds and then it's gone. Forever. Greg lit up the world around him during his brief time on it and will one day be forgotten, but not as long as those who love him can remember him and smile.
©4 July 2006My late son, Greg, is a rainbow. It wasn't until a year or so after his death that I realized he was a rainbow and I don't really know why I picked the rainbow. I could have picked a lot of things, like clouds, or butterflies, or a certain song, but I didn't, and now I am always on the lookout for the rainbow after the rain. One time I even saw a rainbow in the winter sky. Whether I'm in the house, outdoors or in the car, if it's raining in one direction and the sun is out, I am searching for my Greg. Sometimes I feel like the girl in the Exorcist, trying to spin my head in every direction to find him.
When I am lucky enough to see a rainbow, I talk to Greg. I always tell him how much I miss and love him, and that I am so glad he came by to see me that day. I ask him to do certain favors for me and help other people who I am concerned about. I tell him how nothing is the same without him. And I cry and cry. It's only normal.
Arizona is a desert, so you'd think there wouldn't be much rain here, and normally there isn't. We don't get the same amounts of rainfall as other parts of the country. We have what is known as the monsoon, rainy season, and we're in it right now. It lasts maybe two months and it's due to the hot temperature in the afternoons causing the moisture in the air to turn into rain, or something like that. In July and August, if the rain comes in the afternoon, I might see a rainbow out my front window. I always feel blessed when one arises from the storm.
All my friends and family know that I am convinced a rainbow represents Greg and his spirit. At work, they know I will walk outside during a shower and look for him. They also keep their eyes open for him and I get reports that he's here or there, because he can be anywhere he wants to be. If it's a friend here in town, I might get a call to look in one direction or the other, because he's there. It's comforting to know that my friends are thinking about me, and taking the time to speak to Greg when they see him.
The last time I saw Greg was the day after the seventh anniversary of his death. It had rained the day before, and the day of, but I couldn't find a rainbow. I was hoping for a sign from him, because each year, instead of getting easier, it is harder for me to accept his death. If I live long enough, he will be dead as many years as he was alive. So when Lowell called me to tell me someone called him to tell him they saw a rainbow, I rushed out to look. Sure enough, Greg was spread over the sky above Prescott Valley. I sat on the couch in the living room and talked to him, and he started to fade. I hate when that happens, because in a way, it's like losing him all over again. I told him goodbye for now, and went into the kitchen.
I glanced out the door to the sunroom and there he was again, in full display. I went in the sunroom and sat down, just looking at the rainbow. The tears came back easily, and I cried as I continued my visit with Greg. Sometimes I yell at him for dying and leaving us, and sometimes I just tell him I love him and miss him. I did a little of both sitting out there, until he slowly vanished into the air. I was hoping it wouldn't be too long before I would see my rainbow again.
This morning, when I went to wake up Lowell, he told me he'd seen Greg last night. He was at the pool hall, with the doors open, and all of a sudden there was a big flash of lightning followed almost immediately by a loud thundering boom. As he looked out the door, there was the rainbow. He told me he said Hey, Greg, I'm not deaf. I asked him why he didn't call me and he replied he assumed I'd be looking out the window! Why he thought that is beyond me. It was still rainy off to the west as I drove towards town, and I searched the skies, but Greg stayed hidden.
When Nancy came into work this morning, she asked me if I'd seen the big double rainbow earlier. I said no, that I'd looked several times outside for a rainbow, but it was eluding me. It is so rare we get rain in the morning, but I did look. I asked Nancy is she talked to Greg, and she said yes, and I was glad of that. Barbara asked me the same thing when she came in a few minutes later. She lives closer to me, so now I knew somehow I had missed an opportunity to visit with Greg. She was trying to describe how she saw him flashing like, and I felt sad I didn't find him. She too said she talked to him while watching him.
All I could think of was that Greg is avoiding me, but I know that is absurd. Greg is with me all the time, not just when I see a rainbow. He is forever in my heart and my thoughts and I can talk to him anytime, whenever and wherever I feel the need. His being a rainbow is another way he is kept alive in people's memories, even those who never knew him. I love knowing he is still touching people and leaving his mark on others just as he did every day he drew a breath on this earth.
©19 July 2006There are more stories I have written to read. Please remember these are my original stories and thoughts, and to copy or otherwise use them without my permission is a copyright violation. I would love to hear your random thoughts on any of these stories.