Hold My Gum!

"Hold my gum I gotta sing"

Is not a simple request

It's a sign of love, may I suggest

To hold the sticky blob for another,

Is only for sweethearts and not for your brother

No Ordinary life if You Marry the Youngest of Five Boys!

He was tall and handsome with broad shoulders and thick curly dark hair, and very shy. I was drawn to him right away, and he tells me he knew we would marry after the moment he saw me when I was the night librarian at the college we both attended.  I found out he was the youngest of five boys....actually much younger than his brothers, France, Don, Leon and Scott. His next oldest brother Scott was almost ten years his senior...so the new baby Patrick (the only one born in a hospital) became the teasing target of the four older brothers. When we were around his family he was always on alert for a prank or practical joke.

 

Now this was new to me as I came from a quite formal New York family where everyone wore suits and rode the train to work in the big city. Our family moved to California 3,000 miles across the country when most of the silent film studios were moving and switching to "talkies". My dad was a controller for a sound studio and a money manager of golden age films. He spent most of his days at a desk balancing accounts and telling directors how much money they could spend. 

Patrick's dad had been a stock man and rancher on the Arizona Strip where the older four brothers were born. I guess you could not have found two more opposite people if you tried...as far as our background and upbringing went.

Patrick's older  brothers...Scott, Leon, and Don at the rancho

I remember as a kid going to Sequoia National Park and my brother Timothy and I begging our dad to stop so we could look at the huge trees. I had on a frilly dress, ruffled socks and patent-leather Mary-Jane shoes.  My dad was the kind who went on a trip for the drive and was content to see the sights through the windshield of a car. If he did stop it was only to do the "Chevy Chase" bounce-once-look...and then want us to get back in the car. I don't think I had been camping or even on a picnic until I met Patrick.

In the summer when growing up we would drive to New York from California my brother and I were placed in the back seat with a roll of lifesavers and a comic book....this was to keep us busy in the back seat for the daily very long drive...it took us exactly 3 1/2 days to drive to New York...the Catskill Mountains. My grandmother's house was huge, they ran a boarding country farm where they took in city folk for vacations away from the city. The kitchen always smelled amazing, and grandma would take me on long walks and explain about all the weeds and flowers, naming each and telling me how you could make a tea to heal different ailments. Maybe that's why I became a nurse, I think my grandma was a healer, she learned about plants from her mom who was part Indian.

We would then go into the city to visit my father's family. It was formal and everyone wore suits and ties to breakfast that was served on china placed on a white crisp tablecloth. My dad figured a place was not good enough to eat at unless they had tablecloths...I know in all his 82 years he never went to a fast food place.

So I fell in love with a country boy who teased and played tricks because he was subjected to such things by his brothers on a daily basis. My background was formal and quite stiff. Teasing was not anything I understood or was used to. On our wedding night while I dressed in my beautiful lingerie, Pat's comment was, "So you brought your curtains"...the next day while in the shower...he dumped a bucket of cold water on my head, saying, "Why are you mad..my brothers do that all the time and think it's funny." He couldn't understand why I was crying. I got used to the teasing quickly and even learned to dish it out a little. But he was always doing something new...like hiding in the closet and jumping out to scare me or one day when I was doing dishes and looking out the window over the sink...he jump up into view wearing a horrible scarry mask. My screams could be heard for blocks...great fun..he thought.

I had heard for weeks before our wedding that his brothers were going to kidnap him and chain him to a wall somewhere...or put a ball and chain around his leg and chain him to a train going to San Diego. As a preventative Pat even hid all his old shot puts to stop them from using them for the deed...I refused to go to the church building for the wedding until I got a call from my Dad that Pat had arrived to prevent me from being left at the alter. And during the reception the brothers showed up with a freshly painted ball and chain they had made by pouring cement into an old basket ball and putting the end of the huge chain into it and letting it dry. The thing was huge and heavy. Then Scott, the next oldest brother had spray painted it all black. Don, the second oldest and worst tease decided it would be bad form to actually chain Patrick to the wall since the paint was still wet and ruin his rented tuxedo. 

I was so worried about what wild scheme they had concocted that I was prepared with a hacksaw in my suitcase. I had even purchased several extra blades just in case! I was learning it was best not to fight, but to outwit the brothers.

Through the years I've found it is best to ignore most of the teasing and other things too...it has worked for me rather than overreact and cause an argument. For the most part it has been a good plan except for the fact that I may ignore some things I should be paying more attention to...

But after 47 years of marriage my advice is...if you plan to you marry the youngest child of a large family, "Buckle up and be prepared for the ride!" It will be full of twists and turns, lots of nonsense, and most importantly full of fun.

Chased From the Light

Chased from the light 

Do the demons want your soul?                                               

     And chase you from the light to where it’s dark and cold 

Do you have the strength of spirit?

     To push away the whispers; and in your heart admit

That you have strayed from the path
     And suffer from your inner wrath

Do you know that if you have fallen in disgrace?

     There is only one who can erase

And make your inner self white and clean again
     Just open up the door and let Him in

Lay your burdens at His feet

     And all your fears He will defeat

You’ll feel the love He has to give
     And in His light forever live

 

Easter Family Fiasco!

I was in the UCLA Olive View hospital cafeteria eating an overcooked dried out grilled cheese sandwich with so little cheese it should have been advertised as a bread sandwich. My nursing students were sharing dog stories and discussed an array of chubby Pomeranians, golden retrievers and adorable lovable pit bulls?

As it was the last clinical day with my students before Easter my mind tracked back to a memorable dog story that just happened to occur the Saturday before Easter quite a few years ago. Our first dog was a Labrador retriever/blood hound/cocker spaniel mix. He was quite odd looking but very sweet, loyal and exceptionally protective to all the family. He considered us all his pack and fiercely guarded the kids and me…and tolerated the pack leader, Dad Patrick.

As tradition in our home went, the Saturday before Easter Sunday we dyed eggs. Those eggs would then magically be hidden around the yard for them to discover the next morning before we left for church. By then four of our children were born. The youngest Megan was barely four years old. Rebecca was seven, Colleen nine and Young Pat was eleven, almost too old for the egg game to be played out the next day. But he participated so he wouldn't be left out, and also to have an opportunity to tease his three sisters. Pat had invited the neighbor boys Richard and Steve Kuroda to join us. (They both had a crush on Rebecca)

I had all the dye, bowls, vinegar, boiled eggs and doo-dads for decoration assembled on the patio table. The patio was concrete with a shade cover and hanging baskets full of plants. I dutifully watered the flowers to have a pretty view out the back window and keep my eyes from landing on our falling-down back fence.

The fence separated us from a twenty two acre plot that had recently been sold to a developer. A strip mall was to be built on the land within the next few months. They had given us notice they were building a ten foot block wall along the back of all the homes to shield them from the noise and unsightly view. The construction of the wall was to take place in a few weeks so our sorry wood fence would be replaced by a nice new tall block one at no expense to us. I was excited as I knew our budget could not have handled such an extravagance. I even asked big Pat to move the bee-hives he kept next to the old fence so when the construction crew tore it down we wouldn’t have bees all over the place. (Another story)

Looking back I realize it's a bit ironic because Patrick had several places where he kept his bee hives; one of them was in a field next to Olive View Hospital which is where those hives eventually landed. But anyway…because he didn’t have the time to move them properly he put them alongside the house near the back door off the kitchen. (He said at the time they would only be there for only a few days, but I think they ended up there for several months)

There was a small patch of dirt near the falling down fence where I had been doing some of my impromptu teaching with the kids about planting, water and food. We were going to make sure when the fence finally came down our little garden of lettuce, carrots, beans and tomatoes would not be touched. We watered the dirt diligently and plants were starting to sprout. I remember the lettuce by that Saturday was at least two inches tall and I know we each had our own vision of a great harvest from our small cultivated plot.

So there I was with bowls and the newspaper spread out, the eggs cooked and spoons at the ready. The kids gathered around the table trying to carefully place their eggs into the hot water when I heard several dogs barking from behind the house and past our tumble down fence.

“Oh no,” I thought, “Some dogs are loose!” I ran to the back fence and saw a man slowly walking along the fences at the back of all the houses lining the lot.

I yelled, “Hey mister, we have a dog here, and our fence is low in a few places so please take your dogs out away and into the field so they won’t hop the fence. Our dog is pretty protective and this is his yard.”

He continued along, as if he didn’t hear.

“Hey mister,” I yelled louder, “Please get your dogs away from this fence, we have a protective dog here.”

“My dogs are nice and friendly.”

“Well mine isn’t so please take your dogs away from our fence!” By then he had reached the spot where the fence was only about four feet high and both his dogs easily glided over the fence and right into our little garden.

"Tuna Fish", our dog, in a totally protective posture bristled and growled, but when both dogs bore their teeth he jumped on the large collie and also managed to down the other one who looked like a bull dog. He had them both pinned in seconds. Tuna managed to hold one under him and had the other by the neck.

This stranger then jumped into our yard, grabbed a piece of fence board and began pounding and beating our dog on the back and head. Using the moment to escape because Tuna loosened his grip from the blows, the strangers’ dogs ran past the patio alongside the house right into the two live…humming bee hives.

The man followed his pets, and just like a “Three Stooges” movie, immediately he and the dogs ran back the way they went in, right into our waiting unhappy dog…AND the wrath of a mother…The man reached down and picked up the board again and began to beat on our dog…Having had enough I jumped on his back to try and stop him and while trying to avoid the waving wood I began to slip off. I hung on for dear life and in doing so, pulled down and stretched the neck of his sweater around his elbows…The knitted material pinned his arms to his sides and he was now off balance but continued to wildly brandish the wood as he went across the patio…breaking most of my planters sending pottery, plants and dirt across the table and into the Easter egg dye making a huge mess of our little project. All the while I hung on to his back like a tick on a bucking bronco.

The boys turned on the hose and were squirting at the dogs and the man (including me clinging to his back) trying to stop the melee. The girls ran inside and yelled for their Dad. He was taking a shower and when he heard the commotion quickly tried to get his pants on while soaking wet. He was struggling and hopping over to the window to try and discover what I was yelling about. As he stumbled around the corner and over to the picture widow he was shocked at the sight he saw. The pots on the patio were swinging like knockers on a bell, his wife was riding around clinging to a strange man’s back yelling like a banshee, the boys were manning the hose like firemen putting out a blaze and all the while the man with his arms locked to his sides was waving a huge hunk of wood scattering eggs, dye, and plants everywhere.

I remember sliding to the ground because by now the stranger was slick with sweat and water...my grip on his sweater finally let go. Dad Patrick then grabbed our dog and shoved him into the garage. (Tuna was growling with his few exposed teeth. He lost most of them from a high fever he had as a puppy because when we bought him he had distemper. I guess he was planning to gum the other dogs to death.)

By the time Patrick returned to the back yard, both of the interloper dogs were over the fence and half way across the huge lot. The stranger followed his dogs so fast, when Patrick, chased after them, he couldn’t catch up. He could see them far in the distance crossing the main highway. He got in the car and tried to find them, but never did. Later he told me he wanted to make sure the guy was okay, but I've always figured he was planning to punch 'em. The stranger and his dogs had vanished, never to be seen again.

(Here is Patrick, Colleen, Becca and Megan in 1979, and Me with "Tuna.")

Tuna was bleeding from his floppy ears and needed some antiseptic on his many scratches. Later, when I finally stopped shaking and gathered my composure I went to the store. Along with more eggs, dye and treats for the kids I bought our loyal dog a huge bone. We all mourned the demise of our little garden, and I didn't replaced my hanging plants.

The neighbor boys were impressed with my skills and I became an icon. "Don't mess with the Mom." They said, "She's a good fighter." They backed up the stories told for the next few weeks at Strathern Street school with some colorful details. All our kids bragged that Tuna and I were spectacular by providing the best egg dying and Kung- fu exhibition ever.

I think Patrick is still amazed by my behavior, and to tell the truth...so am I. But I guess you never know what you are capable of doing, until it happens.

We moved away from North Hollywood to Santa Clarita after Michael was born a year later. Our new home had five bedrooms, three bathrooms, a stream full of tadpoles behind it, and a block wall all the way around.

Tuna died of old age a few months after the "Stranger" incident and is buried in the yard he so valiantly defended.

NO CODE!

On the way home from Arizona on February 26^th 2013, I sat

in the second row. As the plane began to take off the stewardess

began to give directions waving her hands and doing the double

crossed wrists demonstrating the exits. The demo for the seat

belt was a bit hard for her as her nails were so long they

impeded her ability to close the seat belt. Then as I watched the

fiasco of the Oxygen mask and her fumbling to get the small

elastic straps between her fingers, I began to worry. I wrote this

little poem to address my concerns.

No Code!

I heard the nails go clickety-clack

And shuddered to think of a heart attack

Should the girl giving the demo and wearing the wings

Do CPR on a passenger while wearing those things?

Could she save my life in manufactured talons?

I think not! More likely she’d end up a fugitive felon

She could puncture a lung or probably something worse

Hey, I’ll take my chances; Stop Her! I’ll end up in a hearse

By Special Request..."The Christmas Tree Exploded and I set the house on fire!"

Our California house in Christmas Glory!
The new owners will never match this!

It's a beautiful day today, blue sky, white fluffy clouds, and the newscaster said it would rain...I guess if your a weather person it doesn't matter what you say! It was supposed to rain and snow last week...I didn't do that either...It hasn't snowed for 20 years and It's never snowed around Christmas. I guess that's why I always tried to create a perfect holiday since we don't even have the cold weather to add to the spirit. I can blame almost burning the house down twice to the great California weather.

(Now we are in Arizona, with no fireplace...my husband is very glad.)

But, I digress....this is the story of my quest for the perfect Christmas which pretty much exploded right along with the Christmas tree...innocently of course. That year to save money we cut our own tree and it was quite lopsided...however...we put it in a corner to disguise the misshapen limbs, then after the children and I had it all decorated, (Patrick was at a church meeting and we were going to surprise him when he got home with our beautiful decorated tree.) I decided to straighten out the crooked limbs by snipping some of the parts that stuck out with the garden sheers....(BAD decision)

Well you guessed it...I snipped through the strings of lights and when the live wires came in contact with the metal sheers all the strings of

Safely away from fireplaces and real Christmas trees in Arizona

lights and half the ornaments exploded in one horrific POP SIZZLE. Now the kids were delighted...never had they seen such a grand display of fireworks...and right inside the house...I had to open all the back windows to get the smoke and electric smell out.  and quickly loaded the kids in the car, Pajamas and all...and we drove to the Do It Center and bought new lights and several boxes of ornaments. We had the tree all re-decorated by the time Pat got home and he never knew the difference...until the kids told him about the light show!

A few years after that I almost set the house on fire. I was once again naive enough to try and come up with the perfect Rockwell moment (since we don't have snow). 

I've given up the quest for holiday perfection and I don't try that anymore, but at the time I still thought I could make it happen. Anyway, it was around five in the morning, dark and cold....unusual for December, I wanted the family to come down the stairs to see a beautiful lit tree surrounded by gifts...a fire in the fireplace with hot chocolate and warm sweet rolls set out.

Now, remember it's rarely cold enough to light a fire so we have not had many fires in the fireplace, and even then they were started by Patrick or Michael with their Eagle Scout skills put into play...But I... in my exuberance thought I had seen them do it enough to get the yule log going myself...not so...I had the flue shut! Oh I got the paper and twigs under the log blazing away, but the smoke rolled out into the living room like a thick black blanket..realizing my mistake I tried to reach in and push the handle the other way, but by now the flames were not only going...they were licking up and out of the fireplace setting the garland and some of the other decorations on the mantle, on fire.

The fire alarm went off (which usually means dinner is ready, as my cooking skills are a bit lacking) and big Pat came bounding down the stairs. He and son Michael threw water at the fire and had it out in seconds. but the black smoke had laid a thick layer of soot up the front of the fireplace and across the ceiling. All the decorations near by had melted into green and red blobs. What a mess. I was so mad at myself and could only think of having to clean up along with getting the turkey dinner on the table for the 26 people we were expecting to arrive in about 4 hours.

Without even stopping to scold myself I pulled it together and went to work with cleaner and got the soot removed immediately. I moved around some of my decorations and filled in the empty places where things had gone up in smoke. The only thing left was the smokey smell and I got rid of that by opening all the windows and doors (learned from experience) and lighting some candles. By the time Patrick came back down the stairs with a camera to record my fiasco...HA! the mess was gone! And thank goodness there was no record of my mistake to show our guests or tease me with....

Now...I must brag...One year we had the perfect outdoor display of holiday decorations. You see our house looks a bit like the Griswold's house in the movie "Christmas Vacation" (When we were done I put up a sign saying "Griswold's" and freaked out the mailman as he thought we had moved...he had never seen the movie with Chevy Chase.)

Michael, our youngest son had always wanted to put up tons of lights so I said okay...not realizing the pull of electricity would constantly flip the fuses and turn off lights everywhere in the house. We solved the problem by running electric cords from different outlets all around the place. I must have run to the hardware store ten times, not only for lights, but new extension cords...and that year the bill was outrageous...but it was worth it.

Ever since then the neighbors have tried to keep up with the extravagance even though we only put up the 60 strings of lights one time. And it was the only time my grand plans turned out okay...well almost, except for having to reset the breakers several times every evening.

Mike proud of his illumination victory in 2010

Since Michael got married and moved away, (He was my partner in Holiday illumination) I 've been cured of trying to have our holiday resemble anything close to what you see in any of the classic Christmas films...and as my decorations get faded or broken I force myself not to replace them. So each year the boxes I drag out of the loft gets smaller in number and next year I'm going to order a cooked turkey from the grocery store. Heck, the weather's great and I've got better things to do than cook!  (Like plan my next fiasco)

Patricia, daughters Colleen & Megan, grand daughter Jess...crazy decorating

How can you Ignore me? Ode to the porta-pot!

Yesterday after I read on a radio show "Naked came the Bruce", (Paul Strickland was nice enough to give me a 40 min. interview on KBET radio about "The Jingle Bell Bum") I got a call from my four year old grandson...He began, "Why did Tigger look in the toilet." It took a while to figure out he was telling me a joke. I went ahead and gave him the courtesy laugh. He called his Bubba...(Patrick) and told the same joke. Pat was in a staff meeting and didn't even get the joke until I explained it to him that night on the phone. Of course Ben sometimes is hard to understand in his four year old excitement of learning how to make folks laugh. It wasn't a great joke, but he is definitely following in his grandpa's footsteps. Patrick seems to be in his glory when he is pulling a joke on someone.

(I'll tell you what's under the large American flag he hangs behind his desk in another Blog entry.)

Anyway, I just realized Patrick has abused my talent by calling in the middle of the day with one of his hair brained ideas and wants me to write a poem about someone or something. I began to think of all the wasted time when I could have been writing some very important story or novel...and yet some of the stuff Ive written at his request has been quite clever if I do say so myself. Most are about people and if you don't know the person you could never see the humor, however some are about subjects that are universal...I rather like this one.

How can you ignore me? Ode of the Porta-pot.

What is the thing no one will discuss?

Or has the thought to mention aloud

Ignored ‘til you need me I’m otherwise shunned

Anxious to greet me while on the run

I sit and wait for your daily visit, patient enduring your cheeks to caress

I care not if your deposit is liquid or odoriferous mess

No one will admit what my four walls are for

Or why your sorry ass must enter my door

It’s a thing you all do, to get rid of your poo

I wonder why you’re ashamed of my walls azure blue

And when they come with the truck, hoses ready to sanitize

You turn away hold your nose, and cover your eyes

So in my exile away from all human vision

What sadness surrounds me by your outcast decision?

Away from the throng, away from you all, still travel is worth it to reach release

Whether its mild soft cheese or some hot XXX Cantonese

How can you keep me away in my dark noxious fumes?

Are you so ashamed to expel your legumes?

Yet whither thou goest, It matters naught

You’ll forever need me, your trusty olde porta-pot

With paper to soothe your sore smooth bottom

Sorry for the absent Bidet…I no got-em

I await you still; I hold no grudge…so visit me often, no matter how far

For it’s better than putting your c--- in a jar.

Airport blues, or should I drive?

Flight travel is a tricky game at best

Airports like armed camps, everyone distressed

The line to start your journey begins at the curb

You gather-up your bags and feel quite absurd

For no matter how carefully you pack they’re stuffed full

As you drag them to the counter you look quite pitiful

Then..."One weighs too much," a man says with glee

So you re-arrange your underwear, out there for all to see

The worst insult comes as you stand in the longest line

Worried you'll miss the flight even though you're on time

With cavalier sluggish movements from the man way up in front

Who treats each person as if he's on an insurgent weapons hunt

Frail old ladies are searched, and wide-eyed small children cry

Your head is screaming on the inside, but outside you only sigh

For they study each passenger as if doing biological research

Your placed in front of an x-ray for the naked full body search

And I know when I die as a result of x-rays and Twinkies galore
(I just heard Hostess is going bankrupt...what will I do without Twinkies?)
I'll be preserved with a visible glow from here to Baltimore

Is it worth the hassle that continues during the flight?

"Buckle-up, don't move, no bathrooms," the gestapo isn't polite!

You sit between the large man who flesh oozes into your lap

And the stinky guy on the other side uses your shoulder for his nap

Could I drive there and not have this painful worry and stress?

Even if it took a bit longer than taking the nightmare express

Consider this next time your on-line and plan to reserve a seat

Even with high gas prices the comfort of driving, can't be beat

 

Pack'n Heat in Wallmart again!

(This is the "No Firearms" sign I saw..in upper state Az.)

My husband is in high demand at Intel in Arizona. SOOOO He is off again, well to clairfy, I know you know he's off most of the time...What really I mean is...he's gone to Arizona for  another contract stint of a month or two or so...

My cutie is right behind the bare-belly guy....these are a few of his closest  friends doing the haka...don't ask...this is fun?
and believe it or not...I miss him when he's gone...

After spending a bit of time in the hot flat state, we discovered there are a lot of things we rather like about Arizona, not the heat, but some other stuff. We like their politics for sure.

But, Arizona is very different from other states we have visited. We discovered this early on after living there for a month or two. One weekend we went to a little town in Northern Arizona to get away from the heat...it was only 92 in the daytime, instead of 115, and went down to 69 at night. Even the water from the tap was cool...not cold mind you...but at least cool.

There were a few pines and mountains which is a change from the flat around Chandler which is near Phoenix and is flat, flat, flat.... Anyway we went out to dinner the first night we were in Payson. I noticed on the door was a sign warning to not carry a weapon inside. Since neither of us had ever seen such a sign we decided it must be on all restaurants in Arizona. But then as we drove back to the motel, I looked at the numerous fast food places...every fast food place I had ever seen was present within the space of two blocks...(except In-n-out) Anyway, none of them had the special sign.

It wasn't until the next night when we went to get a burger we figured out how the law must work. The burger place had a small bar area in the corner of the establishment. And there again was the sign...no firearms. I came to the conclusion that any place where they serve alcohol you are not allowed to carry a loaded firearm...into the establishment. (See photo above)

We recently discovered the State of Arizona has a state gun...the Colt 45. An interesting and cool fact I thought, until I went into Wall-mart and saw a young man with a gun strapped to his hip in the check out line.

It was out there for everyone to see, so it wasn't a concealed weapon. (I wanted to get a concealed carry license for my Glock, here in Arizona, but guess it's okay if I just wear it hanging from my purse.) I know you need a permit to carry a concealed weapon, like in a shoulder holster under your coat...but this was in the open! so it was okay ! 

I mentioned the semantics to Patrick..."It wasn't concealed...it was right out there in the open like when we were on a train in Italy and a bunch of guys came on with Uzi's over their shoulders." That experience was intimidating and a bit scary. But then again the military men were in uniform and you knew they had at least trained to use their weapon, quite different from feeling confident about a dad shopping with two little kids in the cart looking for bread and bananas packing a gun on his hip!

After we got home that night our son Patrick called and shared an article he read about a guy in Chandler who shot his penis by having his gun in his waist band in Fry's groceries...the same store where we shop...I'm not sure if I would offer first aid help to a guy so stupid he didn't have on the safety...but most likely my nurse self would take over...Or maybe NOT!
 

After seeing the Wallmart packin' dad, I thought...what if a guy was drinking at a bar without his gun...then went down the street to Safeway fully drunk...but there he could have his gun! Maybe that's what happened to the guy in Fry's

 

"I See Dead People"

And, after spending time with Patrick's kids it made me realize once again that the best way to to connect with them (important since I teach Pediatrics) is to remember how it was when you were looking through younger eyes.

At post conference yesterday...this is exactly what my students expressed was the best way to gain the trust of the pediatric patients they were caring for. One student told us,"My goal today was to gain trust and learn how to interact with kids. Then I discovered that after giving the little girl stickers and playing video games she was much more cooperative when we needed to draw blood." Trying to think like a kid is easy for my husband, cause "He are one".

A while ago after attending my brother-in-laws' funeral I realized how important it is to think like a child if you want to really know them. 

I didn't go to a funeral until I was in my late 30's. It was a distant acquaintance and I wasn't emotionally involved but my own children, and grandchildren have attend family funerals at quite a young age. I've learned that children have a very different attitude regarding death. I first discovered this when my oldest daughter was around 3 years old.

We attended my husband's grandmother's funeral and she wanted to look into the casket during the viewing. She was anxious to see what was in the box everyone was looking at. My husband picked her up and stood a way back from the casket so she wouldn't reach out and touch anything. She began patting my husband's cheek and telling him, "Daddy, look at the sleeping lady, she has a pretty dress on."

Other children who live a farm-country life see animals born and others die and have a bit different point of view. When Uncle Bruce died and the graveside service was over, my grandchildren who were there wanted all the talking to end so they could ride on the tractor that pushes the dirt into the grave. They had a different understanding of death and what it means because they are more exposed to death than city kids. 

Often adults forget to explain things to children or try to help them understand what is happening. Then we can't understand when what they say makes no sense to us.

Two years ago my husband had two brothers die within two months. My daughter Megan lives in Utah not too far from the Uncles who passed away so her children knew them both and had spent time visiting with them and listening to old stories.

The younger brother Scott passed away first and we were all gathering for the graveside service. My husband and his older brother Don, who lived nearby, decided to drive to the neighboring town to pick up Leon (another brother) so he could attend Scott's funeral. They decided to use Scott's van as it was set up for a wheel chair and would be a better transport for Leon who would need his wheelchair.

While we were waiting for Patrick and Don to return with Leon, Megan's children were restless and began walking around the cemetery looking at the rows of scattered gravestones. The two older ones, Ali and Trevor were reading the dates and names on the monuments dotting the space and had gone quite a few yards away as they looked at the headstones.

I greeted the few people I knew, explaining we were waiting for the brothers to return with Leon from the convalescent home and noticed Ali the oldest of Megan's children looking puzzled and walking over to the gathering of people, and then back to a gravestone several rows away. Ali was about ten, a very serious thoughtful and observant young lady. I noticed she was looking at a woman very carefully, and soon went up to touch the woman's skirt and hand. Then she went back to stare at a headstone. Finally she came over and softly said, "How come if she's dead, she's walking around." In the emotion and bustle of the day I didn't realize until later what had happened or why she made such a strange comment.

The woman's husband had recently passed away and as was the custom she had purchased the adjoining plot with a joint grave monument which had pictures of them both. Ali was confused. She couldent' figure out why, if the lady had her picture on the stone, (which she knew meant the person was dead), that lady was in the cemetery walking around.

Soon after that her young brain got another shock. As Don and Patrick drove up in Scott's van they carried Leon from the van and placed him in the wheelchair. It was cold and windy so Patrick reached into the van and grabbed Scott's flannel shirt and hat and put them on Leon. He was all bundled up in Scott's clothing and did not move as they rolled him slowly toward the grave.

Ali was sure the person in the wheelchair was Scott because she recognized the clothing and thought they were going to put him in the box and then into the grave. Her eyes got big, she grabbed my hand and leaned into me saying, "Why didn't they get him in the box before everyone got here." I had no idea what she was talking about or why she gave a little squeak as Leon, who she thought was her dead Uncle Scott, stoodup from the wheelchair to say the opening prayer.

So pay attention to kids and most likely the strange things they say will make perfect sense, "I see dead people", may be true when you understand their point of view.

Is hard pizza like hard cheese? I'm having flashbacks!

Today I survived the gymnastics run of Patrick Jr's kids, and thinking back am delighted to recollect Megan, and Camile Rich. They were both on the Olympic hot-shots. A pre-training kind-of Bella-Karoli potential Olympic group. All work and not much play. Driving into the San Fernando Valley from Santa Clarita four times a week came to a screeching halt the second Meg said, "Mom this isn't fun anymore." Even with her Pepita legs, flip, flops, balance beam twists, and uneven-beam flying...I was more than happy to stop the "valley run".  I think Camile continued for a short time after that and both we moms considered the year or two we spent driving there as good exercise for kids, and a lesson in patience for us..., not training for an Olympic career.  Meg put her Hanrion traditional awesome legs to good use as the girl who stole the most bases ever at Saugus High School when playing softball, and then onto track which continued into college with a full ride scholarship at Southern Utah University. She is running still, and coaches a high school track team today...for fun so she says, but she does have a competitive spirit.                                                            Megan's Track Team...



Later that same day after gymnastics, I promised to take Pat's kids to the grammar school skate party. Oh my gosh. Harriet Hunt where are you when I'm having a flash back?  (Harriet was my best friend in the 5th grade and my roller-buddy) Going to Skate King with the grand kids reminded me of the Van Nuys Skate Place...flashing lights, blaring music, and the staff  who conspire to stop all fun activity.

The meanie skate-cops had the nerve to try and scoot off little adorable 4yr. old Becca from doing her free style routine in the "middle of the rink".  Many kids and adults defended her and told them to back-off saying "she's the best skater in the house tonight"...and indeed, she was in a world of her own. However, I don't remember ever eating the hard-tack pizza that the King rink served. But then again, I never had that kind of money to buy a pizza when I was 12.

Patrick, Angela, Pat and Pat...
Great Grandma Helen, 
Broc, Josh, Katie,
and Becca.

Maybe that's why I was so anxious to skate for the T-Birds. I needed the money and was very used to ducking and weaving away from the "roller-guards". So weaving past others to score came naturally. Ha, and If you believe the "Pat the Dad" tall tale about how we met when I was a T-Birds jammer, then I have a bridge to sell ya! Possibly the implication of being a roller-derby-jammer is why my shoulder is out of whack for the second time. The illusion of smashing into the wall  must have produced the problem of a ripped rotator cuff. OR, It must be one of those unsolved mysteries.

But No! There must be an explanation for my shoulder woes. Think! Did my bad shoulder come from once being dropped from a flying arabesque when a surfer held me aloft while shooting the curl? (in the 60's), or from being a nurse for 40 years in ICU and moving around 300# comatose patients.

No the truth is, I've wrecked my shoulders through the years in various ways. From playing basketball, to moving patients, falling off a bike during a race, swim training for a triathlon, moving furniture, picking up squirming children, yanking 75# suitcases from the back seat to the front seat one handed...yeah...that's it...Injured from thinking I'm Wonder Woman!! (She and I are the same age...It's true)

Then, today I got the call they cancelled my surgery, heck, guess I can hold out for a few more years.

 In my surfing polka-dot-swim-suit...(before being dropped and getting a really nasty black eye)

SEE, Megan really does have my legs!

Me and Barbara Laws at Jr. High Graduation. Harriet, Barb and I were like peas, carrots and corn?

 

Eight Wonder Of The World...Wallmart!!!!

Each day I see zombie people wandering aisles with their carts

Butts tucked into stretch pants along with other parts

They park and off they slowly go heading to the door

To find those things they think they need and other stuff galore 

Outside the girl with a petition banning bacon accosted me first

However it was the man in a wheelchair who protested her impudence

"How dare you deny me bacon for without it, I cannot eat

Are you insinuating that's why I can't get up upon my feet!" 

They have movies in a bin, some one dollar other's five

But why pay the price when this place has the action of a hive

For here you can get most anything your little heart desires

Like food, or drugs or guns to shoot and stuff to make a fire 

Now some say Disneyland is the best place to people watch

But if you hit this wonder, your viewing pleasure goes up a notch

For you can get a parenting lesson on the aisle with all the toys

Which is near "Appreciation of Music,"…It's the place will all the noise

 

Adventure and Romance is at the lingerie rack where a lone man

Tries to buy his wife a gift, wishing she'd asked for a frying pan

So if your cash is low for frills, can't pay the power bill

Just hit the local Walmart to get your entertainment fill