HAPPY THANKSGIVING TO EVERYONE

Tis the season we're supposed
to recite all we are thankful for.
My list is so long that I'd
not only run out of room on this
blog... but also would never
get done saying all that I am
thankful for until New Year's Eve.

Each new year I write in my journal
what I was thankful for the
previous year and my thoughts about events
in my life. I have been doing
this for years. Once I'm outta here
and my daughters come in to sort
through all my useless shit they will
find my journals piled in the
cabinet under an end table.
These journals contain a lot of thoughts
and events in my life that they
have never been told. Hopefully they
won't be so shocked that they will
stash my ashes under the bathroom sink
next to the toilet bowl cleaner.

Okay. First, I am VERY thankful that
I wake up breathing every day. Not unusual
to be thankful for this at my age!

Second, is my family. My girls,
Eva, Anna, and Beth grew up to be
wonderful and independent women
capable of taking care of themselves.
All three are vastly different from the
other (Eva would disagree with this)
but each is a delightful gift in my life.

And for my husband Gene who was my
best friend for 30 years. If there is that
heaven he believed in I am sure he
got a special spot just for putting
up with my shit. Poor man was
stuck in a house with four females
with hormones. Plus the family dog,
Sunny, was a female. He didn't stand a
chance against us. Still, even until the end
he joyfully lived his life without seeming
to have a care in the world.

And for Arthur, the brainey nerd, who
put up with me for 10 years and
accepted that he was my 2nd love
without complaining. We often joked
that we were together because
we were the only two people on earth
who could tolerate each other.

I am not thankful that Gene and Art are
gone but I am thankful for the
happiness that each one brought
into my life.

I am thankful that at my
age I am still in decent shape.
At age 70 and without the assistance
of hair dye, botox, or surgery I
STILL look younger than most
everyone else my age. And that right
now I feel better than I did for
the 20+ years that I was in hypo hell
and undiagnosed. Unfortunately it
took a goiter the size of a half a
tennis ball then cancer to FINALLY get
diagnosed. But so far I have been
in remission for a bit over two
years and my magic Armour pills has
restored my life to feeling "normal".

And last I am thankful that I
have enough to live, buy and do just
about anything I please. Of course I do
not want a lot or live expensive.
It's just not my style.

Ah yes, LIFE IS GOOD.
I am thankful for the time I have
been granted to live, laugh and most
thoroughly enjoy this tiny blue
and fantastically beautiful
orb we call earth placed somewhere
in this never ending creation
we call the universe.

Happy Thanksgiving

LEARNING TO READ

This is my Daddy, Mom, brother, and
me when I was 3 years old. Notice
I am in the process of escaping.

I can't say I was a smart kid. Maybe
stubborn, persistent, always off to a world
of my own discovery. Very curious,
and probably a bit hyper-active.
Daddy nicknamed me "Contrary Mary",
which for the rest of my Mom's
life was used as an insult whenever
I crossed her.

I knew how to read by the time I was four.
I do not think it was so much because
I was a brilliant kid. One of my earliest
memories was getting my big blue book
of Grimm's Fairy Tales and sitting on
my Mom's lap while she read all the
stories over and over and over.
I don't know if I actually knew the words
I was seeing or if I had memorized
ever page.

I was also very jealous that my older
brother could read. I wanted to read the
comic books like he did. So I would steal
his old reading work books and sneak up
to the attic to study them.

Sunday morning we were all sitting at the
breakfast table. Daddy used to read the
Sunday comics while we were eating.
Daddy's favorites were
"Alley Oop" and "Li'l Abner".

Being Daddy's little girl I got on his lap
and started reading the words in the
balloons for each character. My Mom
remarked that it was cute that I was making
up words to pretend I was reading the
comics. "No", Daddy said, "She's reading
all the right words."

Of course Mom was in disbelief and demanded
to know who taught me to read. I was only
four, how did I know why I knew how to
read? I wanted to know how to read
so I learned.

I never did mention to Mom that I also
knew what she was saying when she
spelled things in front of me so I wouldn't
know what she was saying.

That was my secret!

MY 7th THANKSGIVING

I cannot remember ever believing
in Santa Clause. I'm sure I
did before I was 4. Doesn't
every child believe? I
just don't remember.

I have an older brother.
Maybe he told me there was no
Santa. We were always fighting
and no doubt he spilled the
truth to get back at me for something.
Again, I don't remember.

I do remember thinking it was
stupid to think that reindeer could
fly or that Santa delivered
presents in a sleigh when there
was never snow in NJ in the 1940's at
Christmas. Besides I never saw
a reindeer pulling the wagons and
carts for the milk man, bread
man, or huckster. It was horses
that did that. Deer is what Daddy
shot and what we ate. Pretty much like
the chickens, pigs and cows. Did
I mention I was a farm kid?

I also questioned why it was always
god who would punish you all
year long until after Thanksgiving.
Then suddenly it was Santa
who knew if you were good or bad.
I was quite aware that it
wasn't god or Santa who knew when
I was bad. It was Mom.

To add to these doubts there
were always packages hidden under
my parents bed and on Christmas
morning it was only those
packages that appeared under the
tree. Then there were all
the Santa's at stores, at the church
and VFW parties, standing on
street corners in the city ringing
a bell. All in smelly, cheap
costumes with an obviously fake beard.
Mom tried to tell me they were
Santa's helpers and the "real" Santa
was at Gimbles Department store.
His beard was fake too.

Still, every year my Mom would
dress up my brother and I the day
after Thanksgiving for our
yearly trip to Gimbles to tell
Santa what we wanted for Christmas.
I clearly remember my brother and I
fighting and fidgeting while waiting in
line to see Santa.
He was instructed to hold my hand and
of course he kept squeezing it so hard it
hurt. And both of us could not wait
until it was over because then Mom
took us to the fancy restaurant in the
department store for lunch.

I was a Daddy's girl. When ever he was
working in the garden, cutting the
grass, raking leaves, cleaning
out the chicken coop, etc. I was there
following him like a puppy dog.
I could talk to Daddy. Mom was the
rule maker and keeper and whatever she
claimed was truth could not be
disputed. Dad would talk, tell me
to use my head and figure it out for
myself.

I guess I was about 4 years old,
I wasn't in school yet.
As usual I was following
Daddy around while he raked up huge
piles of leaves. I told him that I didn't
want to go see Santa. That I
didn't believe he was real. As usual
Daddy didn't tell me if I was right or
wrong. He just said I had a good
head on my shoulders and to use it.
But he told me that it was important
to my Mom to go see Santa because it made
her happy. He warned me that
it was not a good idea to contradict
my Mom. Just go along with what
she wanted. So that is what I did
until I was 7 years old.

On Thanksgiving morning I was in
the kitchen helping Mom. After she
rolled out the pie crusts she
would give me the trimmings and I
would roll them out, cut them
with the cookie cutter, then sprinkle
them with cinnamon and sugar to
to make cookies.

Mom said the big day was coming
when I would get to tell Santa what
I wanted for Christmas. And Mom added,
being her usual dictator self,
that I had better not ask for
too much since Santa knew that I
had not been good all year.

I told her I not only did not want
to go sit on Santa's lap that
I did not, and never believed he
was real. And, stupidly, I told
her that Daddy told me not to tell
that I didn't believe.

Well, this threw Mom into one of
her snits. She called Daddy into the
kitchen yelling at him for telling
me there was no Santa. Daddy saved
himself, and me, when he told
Mom that it was me who told him
I didn't believe. So then she called
my brother. He also denied that he
ever told me there was no Santa
and again claimed it was me
who told him I didn't believe.
Who knows or remembers what
the real truth is?

You might think that was the end of
it? No, Mom went on and on about
what her friends would think
about her daughter not believing.
And that whether I wanted to or not
my brother and I were going to
go tell Santa what we wanted.

I told her that I would NOT sit
on Santa's lap and I would NOT talk
to him. And this only made
Mom angrier and yell louder at
me for being just like my father.
Well, that made me really mad and I
blurted out "I don't believe in
the tooth fairy either!"

So she told me not to bother putting
my tooth that was loose under
the pillow. There would be no money
for any more lost teeth.

Ah, but I won that one too.
When the tooth finally fell out I
gave it to my Daddy. He gave
me a quarter. This made my brother
really mad because Mom had only
been giving him a nickel
for his lost teeth. Ah, sweet
Victory in the brother/
sister wars.

And an additional note to this story.
Our family had moved to our new
home on Kendall Blvd. Eva
was about 7, Anna was 5 and
Marybeth was just a baby.

I never really told my girls if there
was a Santa or not. I guess they
believed, I didn't promote that they
should. We were sitting around
the kitchen table and Eva asked me
if there was really a Santa.
I didn't say yes or no but I did
tell them that Santa was a business and
sold toys to parents just like
they did at the stores. That I had
to pay Santa for the toys and
that Dad and I didn't have much
money that year so we couldn't buy
them every thing they wanted.

Years later Eva told me that I was
a mean mother for telling her
that. Guess that's where I gained
the name "Mommie Dearest"?

HUMMINGBIRD WARS

It was the biggest spider I've seen
in years. The orb was at least
three feet by three feet.
It spanned from the patio railing
up to the roof totally covering
a triple planter and the front of
the hummingbird feeder.
I wish I took a picture.
The orb was perfect and
beautiful.

Although the chill of fall has
started for most this is
Southern California and it is still
summer. I was sitting on
the patio having my morning
jolt of caffiene before going out.

One by one the hummingbirds approached
the feeder. Although it is normal for them to do this,
none would fly around the web to reach the feeder
from the other side. The would just keep
buzzing back and forth in front
of the feeder as if they were intimidated
by the size of the spider.

When I was a kid I remember seeing a
large spider snare a small mouse in it's web.
So I guess seeing a spider almost
their size the hummingbirds were afraid
of becoming snared in the web?

I have never seen hummingbirds
cooperate in anything. In fact they seem
to take great joy in constant attempts to
intimidate each other. Especially
for exclusive rights to the feeder.

Then two hummingbirds started to buzz
in front of the web. The male actually
appeared to be buzzing a fraction of an
inch from the spider as if to try to
chase it off. But the spider held it's
ground in the center of the web.

What happened next was totally unexpected.
Together the two hummingbirds
started to take the supports for the
web in their long beaks then flying backwards
to tug at them. First one of the webs attaching
the web to the railing broke partially
collapsing the web. The spider
held it's ground.

The hummingbirds continued to tug
at the web until it totally collapsed and
the spider ran off into the plants.

As soon the as web was collapsed
the male hummingbird chased off the
female to use the feeder first.
Back to normal nasty bird hummingbird
behavior.

Maybe you find this little story rather
boring. But for me these are
the little things in nature that make
it so exciting and interesting.

LIMITED TIME......

THESE ARE THE PLACES
WHERE I BECOME SO TOTALLY
IMMERSED IT THE
MOMENT
THERE IS NO ROOM FOR THINKING
I JUST AM
(Beach in Northern Oregon)


Limited Time:

I live in an apartment built on the side
of a mountain. I am on the 2nd floor
and my patio faces a retaining wall
so that I am eye-level with the ground
about 10 feet away.

Living among the trees and flowers
on the side of the hill was a brown
salamander. I've been watching it
go about it's life for the past 6 months.
It scurries up and down the shrubbery,
monitors a few ant hills and blooming
flowers looking for insects to dine on.
It is always on the look out for the pair
of red hawks who would find it a tasty
snack. It was as if it had it's own piece
of paradise and it's life meant only for
the pure joy of existence. Sunning on
top of the wall, doing those funny push ups
that salamanders do, it seems to have
the perfect life.

Yesterday I was relaxing on the patio
watching a yellow butterfly coast on the
breeze, the hummingbirds intimidating
each other for exclusive rights to the feeder,
and the salamander streaking across the
space between bushes.

Then out of nowhere appeared a scruffy
black and white house cat. I guess the
salamander did not realize this too was a
predator. In a flash the cat pounced and
ran off with the salamander in it's mouth.

And yet, another reminder that our time
on earth is not permanent.

Presently the children of my neighbor, Mary,
are clearing out her apartment.
She died in her sleep Wednesday morning.

Mary was the nicest, sweetest neighbor
you could imagine. She was the neighbor who
brought me chicken soup and home
made cookies after my surgery and after Art died.
She said I needed comfort food.

Mary did this for everyone in the building.
She was a friend to all as well as sharing
her love of life and joy with living no
matter what her age and maladies did
to slow her down. I never asked Mary her
age. I assume she was in her mid 80's.

And now as her children pack up her belongings
it is as if they are packing up her life.
Soon the apartment will be occupied by a
new tenant and it will appear as if
Mary never existed.

Mary is gone from existence here on this earth
but the spark of her life will forever burn
somewhere in the universe.
She will never be gone from the memories
of her family and friends.
Mary was a lady who made a difference
in every life she touched.

I shall choose a star and name it Mary Caldwell.

HAPPY
BIRTHDAY
DIVA
EVA

Now the secret is out....
How at age 39 could I possibly
have children older
than I am?

Well, here ya go....
This is Eva as she emerged
from my egg.
Like any good mother
hen I was there keeping a
watch over my clutch of "Egg".
Tee Hee

I love ya "GOOD DAUGHTER"

LIFE & SHADOWS LEFT BEHIND

And sometimes when we touch
The honesty's too much
And I have to close my eyes and hide
I want to hold you 'till I die
'Till we both break down and cry
I want to hold you 'till
The fear in me subsides.


When was the last time I heard that song?
And why was it played that day? Art must
have been listening to the radio too. As
he came through the door to me I was on
my way to him.

We clung to each other as if we were
giving the other our life. We did not
speak, we did not move. Our embrace
was so powerful and emotions so
strong that we burned a permanent
hole in time and space.

We said good bye that day.

We never again discussed the hope
that a new treatment would stop his
cancer. The first surgery three
years ago. A year later two more
surgeries. Then two rounds of
kemo and endless blood
transfusions. Finally two series
of external beam radiation.
No longer to kill the cancer but
just to ease the pain.

The last trip for scans to show
where the cancer was spreading
was the first time I saw Art visibly
upset. He could no longer walk
more than a few steps and needed
a wheel chair to get to and from
the car. Two days later he went
back to the hospital.

I stayed with him those five days.
The last two he was on such strong
pain killers he was unresponsive.

I had stepped out of the room for
a moment to ask the nurse a
question and I heard Art sigh
heavily. I ran back hoping he
was again conscious. Art's
breathing kept slowing and
then stopped. I called the nurse
to note the time of death. She
said not yet, his heart was still
beating. It was exactly 2:30pm.

I placed my fingers on his neck
to feel his pulse in the carotid artery.
It was strong and did not slow at
all for 15 minutes. Then gradually
slowed and then stopped at 3:10pm.
His heart kept beating for over a
half hour... as if he did not want
to take his heart away from me.

That moment will cast a shadow on
me forever.

Like I said.... this would be a difficult
blog to post.... because this is the way
it needed to be said.

The picture is Art and I at Bryce Canyon.
The sun was behind us casting our
shadows on the wall on the other side
of the canyon. You can't tell in the
picture but our shadows were at least
40 or 50 feet high. We were giants!

The song by Dan Hill.